Just Get Me A Sword Grip Already
"Hey, you. Make me a new sword grip. My old one's just rotted rags."
The black-haired boy's eye brightened at the sight of a potential customer.
"Sure! 5 pintas per square inch of cowhide leather, low quality, middle quality's 7, and high's 10. Horsehide is one less pinta, snakeskin's five more. If you want me to attach it to the sword, I charge 2 pintas more. You won't find a better, cheaper, or faster leather shop anywhere else. For sword grips, I suggest snakeskin low quality, as it's roughness makes it easy to hold, and tough enough to last through some wear and tear. If you'd like, I could easily give you a discount--"
"Just get me a sword grip already!" the girl snapped. She wasn't in a very good mood. "You don't need to worry about money, don't insult me like that. Just do it. Or maybe I'll go to a different stall."
The boy held up his hands apologetically. "All right, all right, no need to get so riled up. Let me see that sword, and the hand you hold it with."
"What d'you need to see my hand for?"
"If it's a sword grip, then of course I need to see what handles it. Oh, so you have two swords. Strange positioning."
"It's not strange! Normally, you see people with swords at their hips, or swords on their backs, right?"
"Sure, but never both. But that's besides the point. Which one needs a grip?"
The girl laid the sword from her left hip on the counter, with the sheath still on. "The katana. I'd have thought you'd be able to tell just from looking. So you aren't that experienced with this, after all."
"In my opinion, both of them need new grips--but if I said that you'd really have moved to a different stall." She gritted her teeth, annoyed at defeat. "Now, your hand."
She held out left hand.
"You draw the left sword with your left hand?"
"Yes!! I do!! Stop questioning me! Get me my sword grip already!!!"
The boy poked at her hand. It was rough, calloused, and gripped like iron, but still had a feeling of feminine delicacy about it. He moved on to the katana. Its sheath was plain black, except for the gold tip and small red diamond mark near it, and had several scratches where the wood showed through. The gold hilt was fashioned after flower petals, and the handle, black to begin with, really was nothing but dangling ribbons. The boy didn't unsheathe the sword, just deftly began to remove the tattered leather. He selected a new piece from his stock, cut it, and wrapped it expertly around the metal handle. The girl looked on approvingly.
"It's horsehide, middle quality. 30 pintas. Take it or leave it."
"Kid," the girl said, shaking her head, "how often do you eat?"
The boy laughed lightly.
"I smell a returning customer. The name's Kake [pronounced KAH-keh. Yeah, Japanese pronunciations. I don't mind mispronunciations that much, but "cake" is a little...]. Come on, 30 pintas. I'm hungry."