He didn’t get up to the markets every week, but at least once a month he bit the bullet and made the trip. The familiar odour of his cheeses was what kept him going amongst all the bustle of the Hogsmeade High Street, which was not the person-to-dragon ratio he preferred in any environment, although dragons generally had fewer sickles to spend.
So he stood stock-still behind the stall and did his best to watch people flowing around him whilst also trying to avoid eye contact with anyone who looked his way. It was a delicate dance, and at the present moment, Howell had failed at it.
A customer. A customer who had not yet dictated how much cheese they wanted. Fuck.
No, the customer had questions. Even that proclamation had Howell breaking out in a sweat. (If that was not the many insulating layers of his dragon hide coat.) He stared back long enough that there was no doubt the stranger was talking to him, and then said, much as if he was being held at wandpoint: “About the cheese?” Merlin’s testicles, he hoped these questions weren’t about anything else. At least he might have answers about the cheese.
(Howell was not a natural salesman.)
So he stood stock-still behind the stall and did his best to watch people flowing around him whilst also trying to avoid eye contact with anyone who looked his way. It was a delicate dance, and at the present moment, Howell had failed at it.
A customer. A customer who had not yet dictated how much cheese they wanted. Fuck.
No, the customer had questions. Even that proclamation had Howell breaking out in a sweat. (If that was not the many insulating layers of his dragon hide coat.) He stared back long enough that there was no doubt the stranger was talking to him, and then said, much as if he was being held at wandpoint: “About the cheese?” Merlin’s testicles, he hoped these questions weren’t about anything else. At least he might have answers about the cheese.
(Howell was not a natural salesman.)
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