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Sisters catch up over tea.


Koshka glared at the would-be perpetrator with clear disdain, tapping the counter with her manicured fingers as the young man tried to talk over her, arguing with her over the kind of items she would buy, which did not include televisions. Not only that, but the shopkeeper suspected that the TV was probably stolen. She would bet a month's earnings that the TV had been taken from somewhere within a few blocks of this store, otherwise why would he be trying to sell it to her? One definite giveaway was that there was no remote, and when she'd casually inquired after it, the man had shrugged.

"Sir, I told you, I only buy valuable metal and stones. I have n need for a television. Kindly take your sagging jeans and get the fuck out of here, mkay?"

"Fuck you, cracker bitch!" the man squawked angrily, trying to intimidate the petite woman with his bulk. At that, she swiftly reached under the counter and pulled out a shotgun. "Out. Now."

The man swallowed and took his TV back.

"Actually, no, leave the TV. It's mine now." When he started to protest, she cocked her gun. He looked down the barrel and backed away. She smirked at him. "Now, if you want to round up your friends and break into this store tonight... please do. It's been a while since I had some fun." She gave him a smirk that made a chilly January evening seem warm and inviting.

The hood rat ambled out of the store, muttering to himself. She put away her shotgun and sat back down in her chair after pushing the television to the side, sipping her coffee and reading her newspaper as she waited for her next customer.

Puck eyed the confrontation from across the street, using a careful touch of magic to listen in to the conversation and observe the confrontation, akin to being the proverbial fly on the wall, if from a distance. He bit down on his lip, holding back laughter as Koshka scared away the young thug. Once the man sullenly took his leave, the trickster allowed himself a few more moments to admire Koshka. Sighing, he dropped slowly to the ground.

Though he could sense that, just maybe, he was wearing her down, his insistent approach had yet to seal the deal. While Puck was a lot of things, patient wasn't among them. And, having spent the last week - and over a thousand years - mulling over his options, he was pretty certain he had settled on a workable plan. If he could be the kind of man Koshka wanted, would she take an interest in him?

He'd gone into carrying out his plan with careful attention. He couldn't use simple glamour for his guise. He had to have a substantial background to further his persona. So, after some investigating, he had come up with a back-story that seemed plausible, and gave him a legitimate reason to seek the services of Koshka Dengiov.

So he'd formed the persona, and body, of a tall, conventionally attractive human male. It'd felt a bit odd, taking on this shell, but Koshka would have detected glamour. After backing away from the window, he slipped down the alleyway, emerging several moments later as a sharply-dressed man, silver-framed glasses resting on the aquiline bridge of his nose. His suit was navy blue, with a starched white shirt and pewter-hued tie. His blonde hair was short-cropped and neatly-styled, and in his left hand was a suitcase.

Puck looked down at himself, wiggling around a bit to adjust to his new height, which now put him squarely at six feet one, nearly a foot taller than he really was. Lifting his head, he pushed the bridge of the glasses up his nose before squaring his shoulders and walking down the sidewalk to the shop. He caught the reflection of his new self in the windows of the storefront. How would Koshka react to this?

He took a deep breath as he stopped at the door in front of Koshka's shop, looking at the sign next to the door.

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