Unfazed, he leans the Angelina II against her kickstand and hefts the cross onto his back before heading up the steps himself, dry wood creaking under his boots.
The air is slightly cooler inside, and the shop is dim, lit by squares of light at the windows and a sputtering kerosene lamp by the register that the proprietor blows out as he counts the drawer.
Disinterested eyes flick up to study them, but the tone he uses is more reluctant than outright surly.
"Help you?"
"Yes," says Wolfwood, decisively. "My friend and I need tickets for the next steamer headed to December. One's stopping here today, am I right?"
The foot of the Punisher thunks, sudden, to the ground, and when the shopkeeper looks up again, Wolfwood's leaning on the arm, casual, smiling, and whatever his immediate answer would have been dies on his lips.
"Tickets're expensive, preacher," he says, almost apologetic. "Can't buy goods just with prayers."
no subject
Unfazed, he leans the Angelina II against her kickstand and hefts the cross onto his back before heading up the steps himself, dry wood creaking under his boots.
The air is slightly cooler inside, and the shop is dim, lit by squares of light at the windows and a sputtering kerosene lamp by the register that the proprietor blows out as he counts the drawer.
Disinterested eyes flick up to study them, but the tone he uses is more reluctant than outright surly.
"Help you?"
"Yes," says Wolfwood, decisively. "My friend and I need tickets for the next steamer headed to December. One's stopping here today, am I right?"
The foot of the Punisher thunks, sudden, to the ground, and when the shopkeeper looks up again, Wolfwood's leaning on the arm, casual, smiling, and whatever his immediate answer would have been dies on his lips.
"Tickets're expensive, preacher," he says, almost apologetic. "Can't buy goods just with prayers."