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Wisps of green and white intertwine around its fur, lighting up the areas in between and revealing all sorts of squirming, dreadful things. In its paws is a sphere, covered in bright blue and pink marks, painted on like some sort of graffiti artist went wild on the contraption. Ends of bolts stick out on the surface, too, giving holds for its toes to grasp and fiddle with. The wisps continue to flow from the object, swirling up and caressing the thing’s face with soft, gentle touches before they melt away into the air. “I do quite enjoy this one.” The thing’s voice croaks out into the shop, vocal cords rusty as they vibrate like they haven’t been put to use in a while.
A hum comes from the other side of the shop, old and raspy to match the thing’s. “Yes. That en’,” a tone of hesitation, “I done thinked you’d might’ve liked it.” Then, a deep sigh and a sputtering cough. The thing turns to face the man, tilting its head slightly as it focuses on the words. Those wisps continue to play with its fur, curling and crawling and clinging. “Don’t know what it do. May-be it just fills up me shop with a buncha smoke.” An awful laugh is shared between them, sort of like if a coyote and a man who smoked ten packs a day just told the funniest joke in all of history.
“Well, I would like to take it off of your hands. I could do with some… atmospheric smoke.” The thing turns its gaze back down to the ball. Its blackened hollows fixate on that sphere, staring and staring. Paws clutch at the metal, harsh and tough but careful of its own claws. More wisps curl out, floating up and back down to slither around the thing’s long, pointy ears. They slide down its back, exploring the surface and swerving out of the way where unexpected visitors poke their heads out.
A cough, obviously purposeful and fake, interrupts the thing’s staring contest. “So, that’ll be ten gol’ pieces for ya’.” Its head snaps up to the man, rapid and rigid.
“Ah. Yes. Ten. Such a nice, even, simple number.” The thing clears its throat, too, as one of its paws lifts up above the sphere to play with the wisps. They curl around its wiggling fingers, breaking into smaller strands clinging to its knuckles before slowly dissipating into the air as more wisps surge up. “Seems reasonable, as you always are with your prices.” The thing gently, ever so carefully, places the ball back on the shelf it came from with a soft clank. Other contraptions surround it now, but still it sticks out like a sore thumb.
Pop, click-pop, pop pop pop. The thing straightens its back, groaning slightly as it stands on four skinny legs. It sways a bit, left, then right, then still. Paw after paw, it pads its way over to the counter. It’s tall enough like this to peer over the edge, and it rests its jaw on the dusty wood. “So, you see,” its words are a bit flat like this, trying to talk with the wood beneath it, “I do not actually carry any gold with me this time.” The man raises one bushy eyebrow. “So, I was thinking, perhaps you’d like to do a sort of trade, an entrepreneurial opportunity, if you will.” It stares up at the man, short but sitting on a tall stool so that he effectively “towers” over the thing.
“A wha’ now? A ontray-pro-number?” His voice is gruff, unbelieving, and unwilling.
The thing shakes its head a bit, swish swish as its fur brushes against the counter. “No, silly. I propose one service for one product. Perhaps you’d like to…” It hesitates, “pet my head in exchange for the peculiar object.”