Work Text:
The Kwik-E-Mart's bell jangles violently as Snake shoulder-checks the door, his leather jacket smelling of damp asphalt and Marlboros. Apu looks up from inventory spreadsheets, fingers pausing over the calculator's worn buttons—then relaxes when he sees the lanky ex-con cradling something in his grubby bandana.
"Check this cosmic shit out, babe," Snake rasps, unfurling the cloth to reveal a labradorite chunk the size of a robin's egg, its blues and greens swirling like gasoline in a puddle.
Apu's breath hitches; he remembers such stones lining temple pathways in childhood.
"I, like, already filed off the serial number, dude," Snake adds proudly, revealing jagged scratch marks along one facet.
Apu touches the gem's cool surface, then Snake's chipped thumbnail, and doesn't ask which Portland boutique lost its display that morning.