Shopping with Shizune

We only have a few minutes left before the store closes, but Shizune insists on haggling with the shopkeeper over the price of a winter coat. Watching from a table of sweaters nearby, I can't help but laugh at the man's tired wince as Misha's translation beats into his eardrums. For my part, I've learned that it's best to avoid getting involved when Shizune goes on a tirade; it never really ends well.

So far she has him talked down to 1500 yen, which is a fair discount from the starting 2200, but the competitive glint hasn't left her eyes. Signing rapidly, her hands cut the air like knives driving the poor man to flinch; an action he repeats when Misha voices the words.

"1500 is ridiculous; it's not even quality fabric~!"

Misha's translations still don't quite carry the right amount force, but she makes up for it with volume.

“1400 is as low as I'll go,” he replies, rubbing his temple, “I have to close the shop soon so... please.”

Shizune has been taking advantage of his desire to go home for the day.

After Misha relays his offer, Shizune ponders her answer for a moment, dramatically adjusting her glasses in the process. The cat-like grin plays across her lips as she nods curtly, and the shopkeeper audibly sighs in defeat. They exchange the bills and Misha picks up the bags while Shizune parades over to take my arm, casting me a devious smirk.

[Proud of yourself?] I sign, shaking my head slightly.

[Mostly,] she replies, heaving a sharp sigh, [I could have gotten another hundred off, but I saw you getting frustrated.]

[I don't want to miss the bus,] I retort, pointing out at the busy sidewalk, [the next one is a full hour later.]

“Hicchan~!” Misha booms, swinging the bags in her arms, “aren't you gonna carry these for us?”

Looking down at Shizune's hand, carefully wrapped around my elbow, I sigh, “I think she's planning to keep my hands occupied.”

After Misha translates, Shizune turns a coy grin at me and raises an eyebrow; it's a look I've seen before, one that has lewd implications. Turning us away, she signs quickly so Misha can't see, [Not just your hands.]

Maybe I should be used to it by now, but I can't stop the flush of red from reaching my cheeks. Sometimes I think she does this on purpose.