Serenity's proprietor pursed his lips, and Quinn's heart leapt to his throat. The eccentric elf had kept his eyes closed for the duration of their interaction, and now that he wasn't smiling anymore, it struck Quinn how extremely odd that was. Was there something wrong with the elf's eyes? And more importantly, had Quinn pissed off a member of Solaris's elite caste?

The elf tucked his violin aside and moved to the nearest table. There he selected a vial that pulsed ethereal green and offered it for Quinn's inspection. It was labeled Good Night's Sleep, and the description stated that a drop before bed each night guaranteed an end to insomnia. Quinn weighed the vial uncertainly.

"Mr. Parcel, do you see a price listed on any of the items in this store?" the elf asked.

"No, Sir, but I bet they're expensive."

They were potions. They had to be.

Taking the vial back into his hands, the elf twisted it so that beams of light refracted from the glass, dancing this way and that. "In a sense, you're correct. You couldn't purchase any of these for less than ten thousand lira. That's because I don't deal in monetary transactions. Money is worthless. People, on the other hand, have potential."

The elf tapped his chin thoughtfully. "What are you running from, Mr. Parcel?"

Quinn blinked, caught by surprise. How could a stranger possibly know that he was running from something? Any suspicions he had about the man being an elf disappeared. Only those aging, perverse moneybags enjoyed playing these sorts of mind games.

Perhaps sensing his cynicism, the elf continued. "It's an innocent question. You don't have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable. I would be remiss, however, if I didn't give a reminder that sometimes, having a sympathetic ear listen to your problems is the best way of solving them."

The orc didn't know which call to make. He had a gut feeling that he should leave the store right away, and he had the elf's permission to go, but what if he could find a solution by sticking around? A better opportunity than this wasn't going to present itself, not with the amount of time he had left. Could he trust that the strange elf would be satisfied with just... talking?

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Serenity's proprietor folded his hands. "Why don't we try this. Relius, here, will prepare a snack for us. You can take your time, and if you feel so disposed once you've finished, we'll chat about what's bothering you. No conditions attached."

Quinn mulled it over. Possible elven mind games aside, the invitation held a lot of appeal. Fear and uncertainty were clawing away at him from the inside, and it was so tempting to unload that burden onto someone else. Plus, he was hungry.

"I... I guess that sounds nice," he faltered. "Sure."

"Excellent."

The orc followed the elf and his silent assistant to a lounge area behind the partition. A table with a fancy tea set had been prepared in advance. Quinn was puzzled for a minute at the sight of the lone chair, but he slid into the seat when he realized that the assistant, Relius, wouldn’t be joining them. The elder gentleman made their tea and pulled out some biscuits for them, then retreated to the front of the store with professional detachment.

An awkward silence ensued as Quinn waited for his drink to cool. He wasn't sure how or where to start, and he'd discovered that he'd been inadvertently falling into a trance, staring dumbly at his host stir sugar with a spoon. Blasted elven charisma. He wished it would stop doing that.

The other man smiled. "Goodness. Where are my manners? You've introduced yourself, and I've yet to do the same." He proffered a hand. "Sebastian Hale, or, as the local children call me, Mr. S. Now, I'm certain you have many questions, Mr. Parcel— may I call you Quinnius?"

"Just Quinn's fine," he said.

"Well, then. Ask away, Quinn. I won't bite."

"Your eyes," Quinn said, motioning to his own pair, "are they...?" He let the question hang.

"I can't see."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to be rude."

"It's quite alright, Quinn. No offense taken. How are the biscuits? Acceptable?"

Grateful for the intervention, the orc crammed a biscuit into his mouth. It was an action he regretted instantly; the biscuit was dry and vinegary.

"They're fine," he gagged, spitting the mess out into his napkin. He thanked Eliora for sealing his host's sight.

Mr. S prodded at the biscuit on his own plate with a look of sheer disdain. "I allowed Relius to select them the other day. That was a mistake. His culinary taste is rather austere. He's lacking in that respect, along with many others."

"Well, the tea's good," said Quinn, hurriedly gulping down a mouthful of the still boiling-hot liquid. It scalded the roof of his mouth.

"Is that so? I might not need to eliminate him, then."

The two men shared a laugh at the assistant's expense.

They continued to make small talk as the evening wore on, and somehow or another, Quinn overcame his fear of the store's eccentric proprietor. Mr. S really wasn't as sinister as he had first seemed. In fact, Quinn got the general sense that his host suffered from a case of severe boredom and merely wanted company. By the time the orc had drained his teacup, he had decided to spill everything. In the worst-case scenario, he'd walk out the store no more at a loss than he already was.