Felicia chewed her lip as Jira went off on the salesman, wrapping the wax paper around the candied apple and carefully slipping it into one of her overall pockets. She found her attention wasn’t as captured by his heroism, if you could call it that, as the pulsating vein that was beginning to appear on the man's swollen tomato-colored temple. He looked angry... really [i]really[/i] angry. She sure hoped the masked man knew what he was doing. 

Her worries temporarily seceded as the masked man placed a hand on her back and... wait, what was he inviting her to do with him?! What did he mean by accompanying him? This [i]night[/i]? 

She reproachfully pulled away, a suspicious scowl set on her face… which promptly melted away as he removed his mask to reveal a rather stunning looking man. It was hard to say considering his youthful features and behavior, but he couldn't have been much younger or older than herself. This she found surprising. 

Felicia had taken him to be a hyperactive young man that had a weird fetish for older ladies. She tried to remind herself she really wasn’t all that old, but it was a vain notion. She felt like she was nearly 40 although she was only 26 and she doubted that would change any time soon. As it were, however, she felt a small tint of color flooding her own cheeks when she noticed how red the no-longer-masked man’s face was. 

She opened her mouth to, as politely as possible, request that his superfluous little romance farce end here and now, but was cut off by the sound of eerily amused laughter that stopped them both in their tracks.

"You shouldn't have done that," the salesmen grinned, his face no longer red. There was an unnerving calm about him that gravely concerned Felicia as she stared. The man then suddenly looked as though he were about to sneeze-- a curious happenstance considering the menacing air he'd just been trying to put on not but a second before.

"Ah... ah... AHHH... CHOO!”

Bringing a closed fist to his mouth, a small cloud of shimmering white dust flew from the wrinkled crevice of the man’s palm. Instantly, a spell of drowsiness seized Felicia and she doddered precariously on her heels, fighting to stay awake. She collapsed rearward-- expecting to fall up against the wall of the building they stood beside, but instead she felt someone's arms catch her and pull her into the building through a suddenly opened trap door. The dark mouth of the mystery building swallowed both of them up in less than a second-- escaping the notice of the crowd. Through blurry eyes, Felicia watched the daylight disappear with a creaky snap.

Masters of their despicable craft, the same two men who had tripped Felicia into the pots had their captives’ hands securely tied in less than half a minute. The room wherein they worked was pitch black save for a faint, flickering light coming from a basement stairway. One man threw Felicia over his shoulder whilst the other, rather unceremoniously, dragged Jira down the staircase by his heels. The poor man would likely suffer quite the headache when he finally came to. 

The pair were tied back to back to a wooden support beam and the men, mere silhouettes against the lone candle within the dark, dank basement, began freeing them of the items in their inventory. 

“A fish merchant? Seriously? She looks like she’s been wearing these overalls for the past 10 years,” one of the men groaned as he prodded her bobblehead with his finger, “She’s got a nice sword on her though. I mean-- it’s a piece of shit but at least it looks nice.”

“I dunno—this one looks pretty loaded,” the other smiled, groping Jira’s wallet in his hands like it was a woman’s breast—a lewd grin parting his dimly lit lips. 

“Don’t even think about it, Rigby. Put the junk on the table and wait for the boss to get down here.”

The other man grumbled as he tossed the fat wallet onto the wooden table that housed the candle. 

“Hehe, look at this,” he said, brightening up as he held up the grappling hook.

“Whoa! Shit, dude! Those things are fucking rare!”

“Hehe,” the man aimed it at the table and fired—obviously oblivious to what exactly would happen. The end piece shot forward, latching onto the wooden edge of the table. Suddenly, it jerked both he and the table together—causing the candle to topple over and sending the man lurching head first towards the table. He let go just in the nick of time, sprawling out painfully on the cold stone floor rather than smashing his head against the tabletop. 

The candle weakly sputtered before finally going out.

“You’re such an idiot.”