Swords, Rings and Magic Things - Chapter 3 Target: Napalm Flask

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'Confirmed to be a small bottle. Glass is tinted orange and does not have a cork or stopper. Confirmed properties are turning anything poured inside then out flammable. i think agatha said it also turns them explosive sometimes? Another confirmed property is sometimes turning substances explosive'

Leslie feels a presence peeking over her shoulder, and also feels a brief flare of pride at not startling this time.

"You. Actually wrote it down."

Leslie clutches the notepad. "I might forget! I need to make sure."

"'M not making fun of you or anything, Les! Just a little surprised."

She ducks her head, and pretends to return her attention to the shelf in front of her until Agatha pats her shoulder and moves away to look around herself.

The antique shop had a. Unique. Way of muffling any noise from the street outside. It wasn't silent inside by any stretch of the word, but any vehicles passing by were only noticeable by the smudges of shadow that passed by the store window. When Leslie had quietly commented on this, Agatha had chuckled and told her; "Yeah, that's normal."

Her attention should at least be on looking at the items around her. At least, just to pass some time inconspicuously. Their target might be on one of the shelves on this side of the shop. Might be where Agatha is currently looking through. Might not even be in this particular shop at all.

Her feet shuffle and she glances over a shoulder at the display filled with bottles again. She sees the guy still picking through them, one of the shopkeepers still trying to assist him, and manages to attract the stare of the other shopkeeper.

The tips of her hair slap her in the cheek with how fast she turns back away. The sting mirrors the burning flush that follows.

Agatha doesn't look in her direction as she mutters. "Dear, that's the third time you've looked in the last five minutes,"

"Sorry," she mumbles, and tries her best to look interested in the, uh.

Her nose is buried into her notepad as she shuffles away from the. Interesting sculptures. No wonder these are out of sight from the window. Jeez.

Agatha is not far away from her, and she wonders as to whether she'd be annoyed or not by her following to where she is. The reasoning of 'she hasn't acted annoyed with me yet' and 'I really don't know what to do with myself' wins out.

Her gaze is given fully to the amulet she's holding, but a thin smile spreads across her face when Leslie approaches. "D'you finally actually look at the art?"

The heat on her face is fresher than dough that hasn't been baked yet, but she's also confident that her skin is dark enough and that the warm lighting is dim enough that it's not visible. The feeling that Agatha somehow knows anyways persists. "Why's that even in an antique shop," she mutters in place of an answer.

"'Cause they're antiques, sugarplum." Agatha, without looking away from the amulet, pulls her wand out from her jacket.

"Agatha," Leslie yelps, and before she can help herself, she whips her head around sharply to see if anyone else has noticed.

No one had been looking at them. But the other shopkeeper, the one that has been staring at her every time she looks at the bottle display, the one with the horn-rimmed glasses and what looks like a permanent downturn to his brow, she'll assume had his eye attracted by the sudden movement.

He's glaring now, and she swivels her head back around.

"Relax, Leslie."M not trying to do any harm here. Just look for a sec," She holds up the wand between them.

Leslie attempts to check if the wand is visible from the other side of the store without actually looking towards the other side of the store. No one is actually reacting to a wand being pulled out for whatever reason, and she'll accept the idea that Agatha has already taken keeping it hidden into consideration.

She looks at the wand. "Mmmhm."

Agatha snorts quietly. "I want you to look at my hand, you silly girl. Look at how I'm holding it." The wand is still pointing up, and she raises it up a little higher. "Hand actually wrapping around the handle, and not just fingers barely holding the end. No, really," she adds at Leslie's nodding. "That's most likely what gave you away, Les. Now, show me."

She shuffles her feet. If she bends her ankle far enough, she can feel the end of the wand hidden in her boot dig into her skin. "I really don't want to pull it out right now," Leslie says hesitantly. "I think that the guy with the glasses-"

"'S'alright. You can show me later. Just pay attention for now." The wand tip lowers and points towards the amulet.

Leslie stares.

The way she's holding it, her thumb is face up and pressing on the wand, with the rest of her fingers curling firmly around. "This is for aiming. Gets a little hard on the wrist sometimes, so," She turns her hand counterclockwise, with her knuckles now facing upwards. "This is for tapping shit right in front of you. Now pay close attention to this one-"

She turns the wand in her palm, until the handle rests between her middle and ring finger. Her fist closes around it tightly and she holds up aloft, the tip 

pointing upwards. "This is for when you don't have a finger to spare!" Her tone is low, but still manages to be devilish.

Leslie splutters, and reaches for her pen anyways.

Agatha cackles quietly, and goes back to holding it properly (in the 'tapping shit close to you' hold, Leslie notes). "Pffhaha. And lastly- you actually writing this down?"

Leslie pauses with her pen halfway through a note and mumbles. "I don't want to forget,"

"This is the sort of thing that'll just come to you with time."

"Still."

Agatha nods. "Alright then. Whatever floats your boat. Now, and lastly. You don't hold a wand with two hands, Les. You just don't."

Leslie can feel her face fill with heat again. "Was it that obvious?"

"Very. You'll almost never have to actually grip your wand with both hands."

Almost? "What kind of situation would you have to do that?"

"You'll know it when you see it, honey. Now, this spell is, uh," She pauses and points at the amulet. "Well, it's more useful for me, but why don't you see it too."

Leslie tries not to flinch when the sensation of magic unfolds in front of her. It's not the adrenaline-searing sensation of a harmful blast. It's not the soul-revealing, heavy sensation she's used to either; the one that always left her feeling like a fly caught in a spotlight. Frozen and pinned by it, but not the one it's meant for.

She also tries not to flinch because casting magic on things in a shop was probably bad conduct.

There's only a small glow of green, and it fades within seconds. The magic feels like -- she's not sure what it feels like, other than unfamiliar and also, somehow, unthreatening.

Agatha nods, as if something she'd been expecting just happened.

Leslie does actually flinch when someone begins talking loudly.

It's the shopkeeper with the glasses. "I realize that this city might be able to support using spells all willy-nilly," His tone is loud enough to attract the attention of the other shopkeeper and Leslie wants to sink into the floor. "But I'd appreciate it if you didn't use it in our shop."

Agatha nods again, but at the amulet. It's held aloft and she squints at it. "Yyyyep. That's what I thought. Yeah, I'm gonna need a word with you," she directs at the shopkeeper.

He looks personally affronted as Agatha makes her way over to him with the amulet still in hand.

Leslie is still staring at Agatha's back in shock when she realizes that she can take another peek at the bottle display without looking suspicious. She returns to scribbling notes in disappointment when she confirms that the same guy is still loitering in front of it.

'optimal for rude hand gestures. i think that's what it was. come back here and clean this up later after getting confirmation'

The instant her pen leaves the paper, she can feel a familiar sense of jitters settle back in her bones, and she forces herself not to glance over again. I need a distraction.

Her attention is given around at what's nearest to her. She notices amulets arranged on a shelf, a box of worn books, slightly dusty snow globes, antique keys on another shelf, a small bowl of old coins, jewellery boxes stacked atop each other and open to display their insides, the smell of must without the tickling of dust, fancy fountain pens, certain sculptures she forces herself to not stare at before deciding that this humiliation is not worth it and shuffling back more to the front.

More books on this shelf. A wooden sewing box on the shelf under it. There's a bottle that briefly piques her attention, then quickly lets her down with its clear and uncolored glass. A tiny wooden chest of drawers. Then, the next table catches her attention.

A table with a large amount of dice spread atop it. Dice, in all kinds of colors, and sizes and wow she has never seen a die with that many sides before. Some are stacked somehow, some in piles, some bunched together in individual groups. There's a row of bowls, each filled with a color of dice, and they're arranged in a rainbow. Then she spots a set of actual rainbow dice.

She's reaching for them when a new voice calling makes her jump. "Can I help you with those, miss?"

Despite the fact that she hadn't actually picked up any, she still manages to make some drop to the floor when she jumps. After scrambling to put them back, she recognizes the voice's owner as the shopkeeper that wasn't wearing glasses. The woman behind the counter, with the short, pale blonde hair that she kept tugging at. Recognizable as the one that had kept trying to assist the guy still in front of the bottle shelf.

She's looking at Leslie expectantly, and the realization that the question had been directed at her smacks her in the face.

It's a terrible fumble for words. "I, uh, no! No, I'm fine." She looks at the table again, and notices a set that looks star-themed. ".... The dice are really pretty!"

A beam takes up her expression and her response is cheery. "Thank you!"

Leslie takes another look, and decides to give up on the rainbow dice for now.

She moves on to the next shelf, filled with Faberge eggs, and slinks closer to the front.

"-never said that it was beneficial."

"Actually give me a straight answer, sonny. Would you really have sold this?"

The sounds of the heated discussion at the front were now intelligible to Leslie, and she can't help her attention piquing at the stern tone Agatha's using.

"Obviously. It's there, part of the rest of them, and if someone wanted it, then I wouldn't stop them."

"The wolfbane in this amulet's not been treated right. Harmful to werewolves in this state."

"Well, yes. That's what they used to be for. This is an antique store."

"I know that, sonny. I'm from those days, for cryin' out loud. Would you have told anyone who came into this store and asked about this here thing that it's a wolfbane amulet?"

"Yes, I would have. That's what it is."

"Would you have told 'em it's an old kinda one, one that harms werewolves instead of the kind that helps nowadays?"

"Yes."

"Without being asked."

"..."

"Thought so. Someone coulda hurt themselves doin' that."

Motion by the front catches Leslie's eye, and she looks to see that he's thrown his hands in the air. "Well then, thank god for nosy little old ladies like you!"

"You're damn right, boy. Now, how much for it."

"What."

"How much for it, boy? 'M not leavin' it in here with an irresponsible young man like yourself."

Leslie slides closer in the display's direction, and peers as best as she can past the guy. Under the guise of looking for where to check next, she scans what she can see of the collection of bottles.

"... Fifteen."

"For a poisonous little hunk of metal? You're kidding. Eight."

Red bottles. Tiny, tiny bottles. Blue and green bottles. Purple bottles. Some filled with decorative sand. The guy in front of the display shifts, and reveals more.

"For this old piece of jewelry that is no longer produced? Fourteen."

"You are one of the least convincing sales people I've ever heard. Nine."

Her heart leaps when she spots a small, orange tinted bottle, higher up on the display shelf; then, for once, it settles comfortably. Satisfied, she turns back around and pretends that she's still looking.

"... Thirteen and a half."

"Eleven. Which is eleven bucks more than it's worth, mind you, so you're getting a real deal here, let's be honest."

"Thirteen and that's my last offer."

"Really now. Greedy. Kids these days-"

The scuffle of feet is what registers as out of the ordinary before anything else; the shout of the glasses-wearing shopkeeper comes next.

When she looks up, the door is swinging open, all three adults staring at it. 

Missing are the guy who'd been waiting around for so long, and several items from the counter. And from the shelf she'd been spying.

Her heart leaps when she scans the shelf and doesn't see the orange bottle.

The fact that all eyes are suddenly on her registers somewhere in a distant corner of her mind; it's because she's vaulting for the door. "I'LL GET THEM."

She makes it outside, onto the street, makes it to the motorcycle on the curb in front of the shop, and the sight of him speeding down the street meets her. The sword is grabbed, and she's trying to put it back onto her back when Agatha leaps onto the bike.

"Come on," Agatha says as Leslie grabs at the back of her jacket. "You got a thief to catch."

The motorcycle takes off at a speed that's frankly, in Leslie's opinion, still too fast. Even for an empty side street.

The speed drops sharply when Agatha remembers the speed bump located in the street. They still take it at a speed that has Leslie getting jostled roughly.

The ground they'd rapidly gained on him lessens a little as they slow, before he ducks into a narrow side passage between buildings. Leslie is already off and running before the motorcycle stops completely, with legs a little shakier than before.

"You have got be kidding me." She hears Agatha say flatly, before the sound of her footfalls follow. "Just wanted a little chase on the bike, that's all I ever asked for-".

The air here is colder here than out in the street, where the buildings don't let in what little autumn sun there is. The ground is cracked and the concrete uneven at points which reminds Leslie that the thick boots she'd escaped with had been chosen for warmth, and not for running.

She's gratified to see that there's a wooden plank wall in his way up ahead. She's less than gratified to see the thief not slow down, jump, grab the top and somehow climb over.

Her sprint skids to a stop. The planks are roughly a foot taller than she is, and she throws a hand to grab at the top. Leslie plants a foot against the old wood, tries and fails to lift herself even an inch higher, and comes face to face with the realization that she has no clue what the next step to climbing over fences is.

Under the foot she has against the warped wood, she feels something solid. "Lift your other leg," Agatha grunts from behind her.

Her other leg leaves the ground before she can lift it, and she shakily scrambles to the top of the fence. She catches a glance of the rest of the way, the street outside the other end, and the thief running before she looks back down at Agatha. "But what about-"

"Just go, I'm right behind you. I'll be only a sec."

Leslie looks back over in time to see the thief reach the other end. She pauses only to look at the distance between her and the ground, briefly pray that her coat doesn't get caught and tear on the wood, then lets herself fall.

Pain slams through the soles of her feet, up her ankles and wraps around her shins, even through the thick boot heels. She however, manages to stay upright, and glances back to the wall. No ripped patches of olive green are hanging from it, and she can see a hand already clasping the top of the wood.

She throws herself back into running.

The street on the other side is more filled than the one they'd come from; still only less than half a dozen cars in sight. She has to sharply look around before seeing him running the sidewalk to her right. The sidewalk is also, luckily and unluckily, not very filled either. The adrenaline pumping through her is what she's attributing her ability to not feel a stitch in her side yet to.

Then the thief, still a distance away, reaches a back-doored van and pulls at the doors, and she feels the energy suddenly slip from her.

Her run slows, but not enough to stop being a run, and when she feels someone nearly ram into her and grab at her shoulder, she doesn't have to check to know it's Agatha.

"There's a- he's got a van-" she gasps.

Agatha swears loudly. They get closer, enough to hear its engine start up.

Leslie stares at the van, trying to burn it into her memory; red, used but not worn, the doors at the back padlocked shut.

Then Agatha slows further, still holding onto Leslie's shoulder and forcing her to slow too. "Les, listen," she begins, getting Leslie to look back at her. "We're not gonna catch up to him on foot; I'll go back and get my bike -- just stay here and-"

She's already gone back to looking at the van. It's begun moving, getting away and-

Leslie spots a speed bump in the van's way, and the beginnings of an idea spring to mind.

Don't think. Just do it. Don't think don't think don't think

Agatha bellowing her name after her is a faint sound in her ears when she breaks into a sprint again. She can't tear her eyes away from the van, can't shake the conviction that it's going to speed up and zoom away out of sight if she looks away for even a second.

It does speed up, too fast even for a fairly empty street, but it slows down again sharply, and she manages to get close enough to see the scuffs on the back doors. It still takes the speed bump too fast to be safe.

She swipes for the back doors and misses it by inches. The front wheels go over the bump, and she slams her palms against the back doors.

The padlock unlocks, the doors fly outwards and open, belatedly showing off why he'd needed a padlock to keep them closed.

Her grip on one of the doors stays firm, even as the van begins speeding up with the back wheels going over the bump. Her feet skid twice before she manages to force every last drop of idiocy she still has in her into her arms, and yank herself on.

The carpet smells. It's harsh against her cheek. It's the kind of carpet that could convince you that everything is wrong in the world as long as you kept looking at it.

She gets to her knees, and nearly falls backwards in the mostly empty backspace when the van puts on another burst of speed, and actually falls back to the carpet when it takes a sharp turn. It's only after she manages to shuffle forwards a little, then actually looks up that she realizes the thief has been alternating his sight between staring at her in utter befuddlement and the road.

A few shuffles more in an instant where he looks away, and she grabs onto the back of his sitting spot, and shoves her head through the space between both seats.

He screams a curse at the same moment she bellows; "Where's the stuff you stole,"

The van brakes hard enough for the momentum to crash her forehead forwards, then speeds up harshly enough for her to fall backwards.

Leslie gets back to her feet, keeping to a crouch.

He swears loudly when she reappears, but with a wand. She manages to distract herself a moment with recalling 'which hold is for aiming again', but then just jabs it in his direction, in a way that is hopefully menacing.

"Where's the stuff you stole?" she demands.

Now she can be fairly certain he's sticking to empty roads, because he stares at her for a full five seconds with the van not slowing in the slightest, and they do not crash into anything. His eyes flicker past her, and alert her to the passenger seat.

There sits a tied plastic bag filled with small antique items. She reaches-

"Why do you even-" The van turns sharply again, and Leslie feels her ribcage crash against the side of the seat, and then falls backwards again. "-care?!"

Leslie rolls and stumbles back up to her feet, and sticks the wand back at him. "I just do, okay-" She clings to the back of his seat and manages to not fall prey to smashing her head against plastic again. "You took something we were looking for!"

"What-" He stops himself and stares in shock. "You were gonna rob the shop too?"

"NO." She jabs the wand (hopefully) threateningly again. "I'm not-" (her mind jumps to the sword, still hanging on her back, and her gut squirms) "-not a thief. Not like you."

"Of course not, you were antiquing with your grandma-"

"She's not my grandma," The van brakes again, and she teeters forwards, but does not hit anything. The sword's handle presses against the passenger seat, and the straps dig into her shoulders.

"What-what the hell is that with you?"

Leslie hits her wand against the top of his head and blurts the first thing that pops into her head. "It's a bigger, meaner wand, and it'll fuck you up even worse! It's also none of your business!"

"This isn't your business!"

"Yes it ifffm-"

She whacks her wand against his head again, but the hand he's shoved against her face doesn't deter. Before he can start shoving her back into the back, she licks his palm. It doesn't stop him from succeeding.

When she picks herself back up into a squat, the van swerves, and then sharply stops. The new bump on her head from the hard part of the seat is ignored, and she dives back into the space between the seats.

She realizes that he now has both hands free because they both do the exact same thing; one hand reaching for the other, and one hand reaching for the stolen items. A hand fists in her hair and she begins hitting him around the head with the wand again.

The feel of plastic hits her palm, and then a stab of pain lodges itself in her neck when he harshly shoves her head towards the passenger side. The plastic clutched in her hand pulls, then tears. Just as suddenly, the hand in her hair releases, and there's the sound of a door being shoved open.

She gets her neck back into proper position quickly enough to see him sprint away with the items and the remains of the bag cradled in an arm before the door slams shut.

Thankfully, he's running in the direction the back doors open.

The pavement hits her feet fast and hard. "Come," she blusters, before actually finding her voice."-come BACK, YOU COWARD," Her hand is still up and aiming even though the finer points of actually shooting a wand were still lost on her.

The ride was anything but long, so they can't be far from where they started; she still can't recognize the street. It is still mostly empty, with the only cars visible parked by the sidewalks. The buildings on this street are mostly apartment buildings, dotted with one or two small grocers.

She spots him fumbling with something in front of the metal doors of one, before he enters. The doors close behind him, and the sound of a lock's turn is audible when she reaches them. They meet eyes through the glass parts of the door.

Leslie pushes a palm against the door, hears the lock click again, and barges inside.

He's on the first stair when she manages to snag at the back of his jacket. She yanks, and while she meant to just pull him off the stairs, he stumbles backwards and falls to the floor, still holding the items in an arm.

Her wand is pointing down at him, and he's scrambling backwards towards the entrance, and they both hear the heavy door swing shut by itself.

"This is where you're supposed to stop moving," Leslie grouses.

The looks he gives her is incredulous. "Or what. You'll shoot? If you haven't used it yet, then you probably aren't gonna use it at all!"

She frowns at him. It grows deeper when she can't think up an argument other than 'shut up'. "Shut up," she grumbles, and jabs the wand down in his direction. "And just hand them over. I'm tired."

His eyes narrow, and he cranes his neck to look at the door, like he's checking it really closed or not. "I fucking locked that, what the hell," he blusters, looking back to her. "What the hell kind of magic did you use?"

"Uhhh," She pauses, and hopes the hair toss looks confident enough to make up for the unsure sound. "Special magic that's none of your business. Now just -- just hand over the stuff, please."

He glances between her, and the ripped bag in the crook of his arm and back to her again, like the decision between his well being and some things he stole is a rough one. "Okay, hey. Listen." A hand slowly reaches into the remains of the bag. "Which one is the one you wanted?"

"Small bottle. Orange."

He rummages through the bag, and out comes the bottle she'd stuck her eye to in the shop. It's held out between them and he gently waves it. "Okay, if I just, uh. How about I just give you this, and you let me go, and we forget this happened?"

Her arms ache, and her shoulders ache, and her legs feel limp, and she can feel the new bruises forming already, and her head hurts, and the adrenaline is fading away, and she's tired. It's the second time she's had too much excitement in a day, and she can feel every last part of her protesting it.

The shopkeeper, the one who'd been so happy just because someone had complimented her dice, comes to mind. The thought sticks.

"No. No." Leslie shakes her head, more to clear it than say 'no', and reaffirms her stance and aim. "Give them back."

"I'll give you two things,"

"No."

He scuffles backwards another inch. "I'll give you half!"

Her shoulders slump and she stomps a foot. "NO. Just hand them over. All of it."

There's a distant screech of tires outside.

Both his hands are up. "You sure?"

Her patience abruptly screeches to a halt. "For god's sake-" She shoves the wand into a pocket and reaches to slip the wrappings off the end of the sword.

The metal is cold and hard in her hand as she pulls. She gets half of it out before her arm reaches the end of its unbending capabilities, and before she remembers that trying to pull out a long-ish sword on your back is a dumb and unwieldy idea anyways.

His reaction is instantaneous, even though she's done absolutely nothing to threaten him yet. "Okay, okay- OKAY," he screeches when she steps closer.

A hand is still free, so she pulls out the wand again, and pretends his sudden compliance is because of its reappearance. "Get up."

He stumbles to his feet.

She begins shuffling around, and he thankfully gets the drift, shuffling in the opposite direction. When they both have reached halfway to switching places, he stops. "Wait, wait, shouldn't I hand these over first?"

She glances at the stairs. "... Actually. Yeah. Give 'em."

The sword has to be re-sheathed to free a hand for receiving the bag, but he still eyes it in a way that is satisfactorily wary.

They continue circling each other until Leslie has her back to the door, and he has his to the stairs. That's when Leslie registers a beeping on the other side of the metal doors.

Her eyes lock with the ones staring in through the glass when she turns to look. Said eyes do not look happy.

Leslie lets Agatha in. The beeping muffles when she shoves the device back into her jacket. The thief looks like he's unsure between being relieved or more panicked at the reappearance of the old lady.

Agatha places a hand on Leslie's and gently lowers the wand's tip for her. Then she pulls her projector out of her jacket.

"I got them back." Leslie tells her.

Agatha glances at the bag in her hand and nods. "So you did! Good job."

The silence goes unbroken for another few moments as Agatha scans the small stairwell entrance, and the thief.

She shakes her head. "Car used but fully functional. Apartment building in a not uncheap, but safe area. Cheap jeans," Her projector lowers, and the thief sags in relief. "Just an ordinary young man who's stealing either for fun, or on a dare. How close am I?"

The 'young man' in question looks away. Leslie spots red forming on his pale cheeks. "... Got bet I couldn't snatch magic items."

Her face scrunches, and she waves around the projector. The startled reactions this nets her go either unnoticed or ignored. "Okay, kid, come on, I know no one actually doesn't break the law at least once in their lifetime, that's natural," Agatha also doesn't seem to register the scandalized look Leslie throws her way. "But if you're gonna do that, then at least have a halfway good reason. Damn fool."

She grunts, and gestures towards the stairs with the projector, and continues to not react to them both trying their best to not come into its aim.

"Go. Just go. And count yourself lucky my girl here's the one that caught up to you first."

The thief follows her order, taking three steps at a time in his haste to leave.

It's only after he's skidded up the stairs and out of sight that Agatha looks back to Leslie and suddenly pinches her nose.

Her tone is both incredulous and almost sharp. "What exactly was that?"

Leslie holds her stinging nose between her hands, and her voice comes out nasal. "Ummm. Retrieving stolen goods?"

"No, it was stupid is what it was." Agatha clamps her mouth shut, and shoves the projector back into her jacket. A deep sigh escapes her, and her shoulders sag a little.

Leslie can feel the starts of guilt squirming to life in her gut, but it slows when she hears the clinks of glass bumping in her arms.

Agatha points at the sword handle. "Did you really have to?"

"... He only started listening after I pulled it out."

"Of course. Not that you needed me, but it's how I found exactly where you'd gone." She turns to the door, and makes a 'come on' motion. "Wrap that thing back up. Let's go."

Leslie follows Agatha out. Down the street, she sees the motorcycle parked right in the center of the asphalt. It's by the van she'd managed to jump on.

After a few seconds of silence, Agatha speaks again. "Okay, listen, I can't call it stupid and- no. No. I can. That was stupid." She pauses and glances back at Leslie. "Jumping onto the back of a locked van. Dumb. But, somehow. You got results, so I can't let that go unsaid. Your stupid got the job done."

She looks back again at Leslie, and she's smiling. "Good job."

Leslie ducks her head and feels pride. A small, but deep drop of warmth in her chest.

"I mean, bad job on the stupid, but good job on the, uh, everything else, I guess. Whatever."

They reach the motorcycle. Agatha takes it by the handlebars and begins pushing out of the way of the road. When she stops, she stands with her hands still on the handlebars and stares at Leslie contemplatively for a moment.

When she asks her question, Leslie feels the little drop of pride evaporate into a flare of knee-jerk panic. "How'd you open the padlock on the van like that?"

She knows the knee-jerk panic must show on her face, but she still tries to school her expression. She can't see her own face, but whatever she's done feels like a grimace. "It's the-"

Her hand flies up and taps the sword on her back, and she decides on the spot to take a half truth.

"It's the Opening," she blurts. "It Opens things."

She can't entirely tell what Agatha's expression is, but she's fairly certain it's either unimpressed or skeptical. "Really. Wow."

Leslie notes that her expression has now morphed to 'sarcastic'.  "The sword lets me do it!" Leslie insists.

"Without you even touching it? How does that even-"

"Don't question the sword, it just DOES."

Agatha holds up a hand, and Leslie clamps her jaw shut. Her head tilts. "If you just don't want to explain yourself, you could just say so, Leslie."

Shame twists in her gut, but she refuses to give into the urge to duck her head again.

"Now," Agatha swings a leg over, and looks her way expectantly. "You comin'? We got a couple things to return."

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