He’d been looking for a decent spring roll in china town when it started to pour rain. He ducked down an alley where the scaffolding offered some cover, and happened on the strange little bazaar; inset in the back of the alley, with obscure runes scrawled in the window instead of an actual, discernible language. He was soaked, caught without his umbrella, so the temptation was there; then a scrawled sign in the corner of the door reading “Exotic Hand Cannons” caught his eye, and that was that.

Inside the air was stale, old and decaying. Disintegrating tomes and strange vials lined the shelves in the musty, tight pair of aisles; candles dripped on the counter and the walls, giving the whole shop a supernatural glow. As he came around to the counter the door banged shut, and what little light the few candles cast was barely enough to see over the counter.

There was a rustle in the back, and a slender form floated through the bead curtain up to meet him on the opposite side of the counter. From what he could make out, she was a hideous old hag, her features skeletal, long raking bones splitting through her emaciated skin as she rapped her fingers on the old maple counter.

“Hi…I, uh, saw your sign about the handcannons and uh…do you sell hawkmoon?”

The old hags voice was like an old iron gate in desperate need of grease.

“We only sell thorn, child.”

“Oh, uh…thanks then.” Then he remembered his phone conversation from earlier in the morning. “Say, my uh…my date stood me up for tonight, do you want to join me for some French cuisine downtown maybe?”

“I can be ready by 8 if that works for you.”

“Hey, swell, I’ll pick you up here.”

***

He pulled up to the alley at 7:45; it was still pouring but he’d fetched his umbrella earlier in the day. She was waiting at the door; in the murk of the alley he could hardly discern her features better than earlier in the shop.

The restaurant itself was badly lit as well, and her face remained a mystery to him; but the conversation was lively, and they had a terrific time discussing the merits of characterization and the importance of not quantifying the power of handcannons too often in the menu screen.

“Otherwise no one would try them out!” she cackled over her Bordeaux.

“That’s what I keep telling people! If you don’t actually upgrade the damn thing and shoot some aliens with it, how will you ever know if you really like it or not!?”

“And the system they’ve created is so obfuscated!” she concurred. “Even if they did quantify everything you’d never work it all out because they programmed it so badly! I feel like I’ve been shouting at a brick wall about this!”

The dinner was excellent; they were both enjoying themselves enough to split a crème brulee for dessert. He dropped her off at her alley on the way home.

“Do you…want to come in?” she asked cautiously.

“Uh, Xyor, I had a lovely evening,” he stilted. “I’m sorry, I’m still tied up with this exo lady, she keeps calling off our dates and giving me cryptic excuses…I’m just not ready to move on yet.” Xyor‘s glowing, soulless eyes were as sympathetic as hellish orbs of death can be.

“I had a lovely time Cody. Good luck finding your hawkmoon.”

The door closed; he looked up through the rain, and made the long slow walk back to his car.