CW: Heated Altercation, Crude Language

The clanging ring of wind chimes resounded through the air when they

hobbled onto the steps of the pastel-patterned floor.

The door swung back and forth like a weighty pendulum, hallow pants echoing at the back of their mind, their lungs ill-suited for covering great distances.

Caramel, chocolate, cinnamon, cardamom, food coloring, and all sorts of spices mixed with a great heaping of sugar, the heat metastasizing all sorts of colorful confections wafted throughout the establishment.

They took a few steps towards the counter, the cashier looking up from his phone, eyes meeting with a hooded figure with a light auburn skirt hugging their midsection. Their hands were nestled within their hoodie pockets, and a mask concealed 60% of their face.

The cashier, whose name tag spelled out 'Davide', felt a sudden visceral pang, as if the person on the other side of the counter gave an off vibe. He thought the skirt was cute though. 

"What'll ya have, dearie?" voiced out Davide with the cheeriest tone he could muster.

They eyed the candy splayed out in front of the counter, and a certain lollipop captivated their attention. 

"Cinnamon and Cherry Crunch Triangular Lollipop, you can poke someone's eye out if you try hard enough!"

They took out a hand from their hoodie pocket and nabbed that lollipop from the side of the counter, placing it in front of the cashier gently.

"Will that be all then?" questioned Davide, unable to rid himself of the unshakably unnerving feeling emanating from an otherwise unremarkable interaction.

The intended recipient of their words responded not, however. An awkward couple of seconds passed before Davide shattered the silence once more.

"Alright then, that'll be 1.99 please." David had memorized all the prices of the miscellaneous goods presented at the counter by heart. 

The hooded figure pulled out their other hand and gave the cashier some loose change, enough to pay for a quintessential lollipop.

Davide counted the change, put it in the register, clacked on his interface, and printed out a receipt. 

"Have a deliciously dainty day!" chirped Davide, who had also memorized the candy store's official farewell.

The hooded figure sidled out the door, lollipop in hand.

The malaise that Davide was encumbered with at the presence of that odd rando suddenly dissipated into thin air.

"Thank the heavens!" David sighed. He had a paranoic inkling that his lease on life was soon to expire the moment he laid eyes on that cr... person. He couldn't for the life of him place his finger on it, but something was up with that mysterious customer. 

"Out of all the things they could've purchased, why the triangle lollipops? No one ever got those, they were as tough as Jawbreakers and that tip looked precariously pointy, maybe there is some truth to their branding... are they planning to poke someone's eye out? Oh, whatever. It's not my place to presume such preposterous prejudices."

The urban infrastructure where they were situated made it so denizens were able to get around in most areas without the use of a car, and they were rather grateful to the urban planners. 

Only a car or two littered the street near the intersection they traversed every day, as well as a hefty number of motorcycles and bicycles on bike stands. It was a contributing factor to the pinnacle of tranquility that this quaint town was.

They crossed the street leading to the ice cream parlor opposite their previous stop.

They entered the vintage locale that many a local frequented when they wanted a quick and brain freeze-inducing pick-me-up. 

The owner was a stocky, yet sweet old chap that loved to strike up a conversation with his patrons. His husband was at the back, churning out more ice cream for restocking storage at the back. 

Everyone in the town loved the two of them and their business, they were an irrevocable part of the landscape. 

On this very night, the moonlight shone from the window, and where there were usually bustling customers lapping up creamy, delectable treats, there was no one but the owner, his spouse, and the only patron they anticipated to serve tonight.

They looked at the menu, wondering what flavor they wanted to gorge on. Meanwhile, the owner was at the counter, tapping on his iPad, slaving away at trying his hand at being granted favor by the Gacha gods. 

Ever since one of his regulars showed him this Gacha game released two years ago, he's been hooked ever since. That anniversary drama that transpired a year or so ago was quite a doozy though, he mused to himself.

*******************************************

"When I said you needed to curb your gambling addiction, I didn't mean shift into a digital sphere!" quipped his frugal husband, powerless in the face of his love's profligate whims.

"Well, think of it this as an investment. Us whales are funding the anime for this Gacha game, we're the beacons of hope for such a venture to come to fruition. Thinking about that makes me feel just a tinge less guilty about wasting our coffers." retorted the shop owner.

"Well, I do like me a good anime adaptation, so I'll let your prodigal spending habits slide this time 'round." said his spouse in resignation.

*******************************************

Just as they were about to order, they sensed someone quickly approaching the ice cream parlor. 

Glancing to their left, an encroaching silhouette slowly filled in the floor surrounding the bottom of the door, right before someone stormed into the ice cream parlor, grumbling and as if inebriated.

Belligerent as they seemed, they stopped in the middle of the ice cream parlor before shouting "Open yo-your cash register, n-no-NOW!".

The parlor owner snapped out of his Gacha-gambling preoccupation, only registering the lanky figure in the middle of his establishment and his vehemence. 

Firm as he was, the ice cream parlor owner stood his ground and tried to mollify the clearly intoxicated hoodlum trying to pathetically ransack the establishment he and his husband had worked so hard to maintain.

"You're clearly not in the right state of mind to be doing this... well, you shouldn't be doing this in any state of mind whatsoever, unless you're destitute, in which case I'd be gladly able to donate some funds and lead you to a nice homeless shelter, but seeing as how your entire get-up costs more than what I'd make in a lifetime, I'm skeptical as to whether that is actually the case." rambled the owner, he had quite a habit of doing that.

"Shut the fuck up, you ***!" roared the attempted robber.

"No point in reasoning with drunkards like you, I'm dragging you outta here and calling the cops." The parlor owner went out of the counter to subdue the audacious drunkard stirring up quite the ruckus.

"You'll do no such thing, fucker!" spat out the robber.

They haphazardly pulled out a gun from their coat pocket and pointed it at the gobsmacked owner.

"I won't repeat this again, open. the DAMN CASH REGISTER. NOW. " The robber's aggression was palpable.

The parlor owner paled at the sight of the firearm pointed directly at him, though shaking unsteadily.

"Fucking hell." thought the parlor owner. He wondered whether his luck ran out, that his godly streak of non-altercation was bound to be cut short at some point.

The parlor owner's husband came out of the storeroom, completely oblivious to the situation unfolding before him.

"What's all the commotion??" His husband broke a sweat when a gunshot dangerously blared closely towards him, barely missing him by a couple of centimeters. 

"What the fuck is going on, Chan?!" The parlor owner's husband demanded an answer, but also cowered when catching sight of the armed rapscallion who was probably the one who shot the bullet nearly piercing him but not so.

The hooded figure standing inside to the left of the door spectated the scene transpiring, bewildered by the shocking turn of events that the past 10 minutes have laid host to.

"Well, let me put it simply fo-for your cuck-to-be of a husband. If he doesn't hand over al-all the co-contents of the cash register to me, I'll shoot your fucking brains out, de-de-de-f-file your corpse, and force him to watch." threatened the intoxicated robber viciously.

"Or... this little fella gets it." They turned to the hooded figure.

A sudden dread washed over the hapless hooded figure, so much so that they tripped over themselves when headed out the front door.

Unfortunately, the intoxicated robber managed to sprint and grab the hooded figure in a chokehold, pointing a gun at the side of their head.

"Ughh" The hooded figure grunted, gravely dismayed by the circumstances that befall them at this very moment.

The robber took off the hooded figure's hoodie obscuring the peripherals and posterior of their head.

~To be continued...~