Osric knew better than to touch anything after that one incident.
It had only taken him a few visits to the backroom to grow accustomed to the near omnipresent threat that Tarot's Moogle associate represented. The little blighter took to following customers about as the browsed the warehouse aisles, and the bugger was more often than not invisible while he did so. Smart, that one; he'd leave his... implements... lying about on tables, in drawers, on shelves, in dark corners, and so on and so forth. A floating club, a customer could see coming. A bat blending in amongst the merchandise? Far more difficult to spot.
The sergeant had been rather overwhelmed with excitement one sun, having come across a first-edition volume of a particularly raunchy novel, so much so that he'd lifted the text off a bookshelf and made for the door to the storefront to inquire after its price... only to be met with a two-by-four to the back of his head and to wake up bells later to Tarot dumping cold water over him. Suffice to say he'd learned his lesson.
So much for a lack of situational awareness.
Now, though, he paced rather languidly up and down the length of the warehouse, eyes open for implements... and for gifts. A tome for Kanaria, perhaps, or a new pipe for Kahn'a, or incendiary compounds for Askier. He kept his eyes open for articles of a more professional bent, as well. Files, documents, bits of clothing that could lend themselves to useful disguises, poisons, potions, enchanted artifacts, anything that looked out of sorts....
What I wouldn't given for a gods-damned trenchcoat.
It had only taken him a few visits to the backroom to grow accustomed to the near omnipresent threat that Tarot's Moogle associate represented. The little blighter took to following customers about as the browsed the warehouse aisles, and the bugger was more often than not invisible while he did so. Smart, that one; he'd leave his... implements... lying about on tables, in drawers, on shelves, in dark corners, and so on and so forth. A floating club, a customer could see coming. A bat blending in amongst the merchandise? Far more difficult to spot.
The sergeant had been rather overwhelmed with excitement one sun, having come across a first-edition volume of a particularly raunchy novel, so much so that he'd lifted the text off a bookshelf and made for the door to the storefront to inquire after its price... only to be met with a two-by-four to the back of his head and to wake up bells later to Tarot dumping cold water over him. Suffice to say he'd learned his lesson.
So much for a lack of situational awareness.
Now, though, he paced rather languidly up and down the length of the warehouse, eyes open for implements... and for gifts. A tome for Kanaria, perhaps, or a new pipe for Kahn'a, or incendiary compounds for Askier. He kept his eyes open for articles of a more professional bent, as well. Files, documents, bits of clothing that could lend themselves to useful disguises, poisons, potions, enchanted artifacts, anything that looked out of sorts....
What I wouldn't given for a gods-damned trenchcoat.
![[Image: 1qVSsTp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/1qVSsTp.png)
