♚♚♚
EBEL visited the shop again that day, disproving Rock’s doubts.
He arrived at the same late hour as the prior night and in the same werewolf form.
“Shopkeeper, forgive me for not keeping my promise.” The werewolf’s pointed ears folded flat against his furry head as he stood in front of Rock while she closed up shop after sending Phoebe home for the day. How scary he came across to her yesterday felt like a lie when she saw him submissively hunched over like a badly scolded dog.
“You didn’t keep your promise? I didn’t think you would actually come back at all,” Rock told him frankly, her fear left in the dust after waiting a whole day for him in vain.
“I don’t steal,” Ebel burst out, offended. “My appearance runs counter to what I’m about to say, but I endeavor to act in a manner that doesn’t disgrace my title.”
Certainly, if theft were his goal, he could’ve threatened her and gotten away with anything in his werewolf form. His gentlemanly behavior devoid of aggression proved he at least had no intention of harming Rock.
Ebel spoke apologetically over Rock’s reluctant acceptance of his excuse. “On that note…this is incredibly difficult for me to say, but I lost my wallet again.”
“How did that happen?”
“Drunkards often pick on me when I’m walking in the slums. Things were going well when I took on this form to casually sidestep them, but then the soldiers were called for along the way.”
Some people definitely had a way of always finding trouble with others, but in Rock’s opinion, he only made things worse by transforming into a werewolf every time that happened. Nothing was reported in the morning paper, but “Werewolf Disturbance” seemed like a likely headline for tomorrow’s edition.
“I was so preoccupied with throwing them off my trail that I failed to retrieve my wallet.” Ebel scratched the area between his fluffy ears with his sharp black claws. “And I find myself without clothing yet again this evening. I am fully aware I’m asking for a lot, but…”
Exasperated to the core by the way he broached the subject, Rock sighed. “Do you waste good clothing every time you become a werewolf, Your Excellency?”
“I do not waste clothing…because I want to—”
“No, you do waste clothing. As a tailor, it is difficult for me to forgive anyone who doesn’t respect the clothes on their back, even if that person is His Excellency the Count himself.”
Rock had put her heart into each stitch that went into every piece of clothing she gave him yesterday night. The material may have been too inferior for the count’s wardrobe, but that didn’t make it any less valuable to her. Picturing the results of her labor in shreds aggravated her more than not being paid.
“I am sorry. But I made every attempt to care for the clothing I bought at your shop,” Ebel beseeched in a thin voice, his head drooping along with his ears. His stunning bushy tail tucked between his legs.
At a glance, he looked like a supernatural werewolf, but he showed his depression like a big dog. He was becoming more difficult to understand by the minute.
Losing most of her anger to exasperation, Rock let out another sigh. “Your Excellency, am I correct to understand it is not your desire to waste clothing?”
“Absolutely! You could say what happened last night and tonight were entirely out of my control. So-called acts of God.” Ebel nodded his head vigorously. “I would jump at any solution that wouldn’t destroy my clothes in the transformation process. If this keeps up, one of these days I’m going to return to my mansion naked as a newborn babe.”
“I might be of service in that case.” Fortunately for Ebel, Rock had both the skill and knowledge of an expert tailor. “If you will pay me for last night and tonight, plus add extra for the custom-made tailoring fees, I will tailor an outfit to fit your needs. Naturally, these will be no ordinary clothes. It will be clothing that doesn’t rip apart when you transform. How about it, Your Excellency?” Affected by Ebel’s depression over ripping his clothes every day, Rock made this offer.
Ebel’s drooping head jerked up, his golden eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “What a brilliant plan!” With his ears perked and tail wagging, he leaned forward and gazed into Rock’s eyes. “You have my thanks, shopkeeper! I most assuredly want you to do that for me!”
“P-Please wait. Money comes first, Your Excellency.” Panicked by his wet black nose rubbing against her cheek, Rock quickly pushed the werewolf away.
He answered her with a roaring laugh. “You have a point there. Then I vow to have the money to you on the morrow.”
It was a verbal promise, but Rock had little choice but to believe he’d keep to it.
Rock handed Ebel a full set of gentlemen’s clothes as she had the prior night, and he returned from the fitting room dressed as a dashing young man.
“Shopkeeper, may I ask your name?” Ebel inquired on his way out the door, burnt sienna hair on his head in place of furry black ears.
Rock found his unexpected question suspicious, but she had already learned his name. It wouldn’t be fair if she was the only anonymous one. As it stood, Phoebe was the only person in all of the imperial capital who knew her real name.
“I go by Rock Floria,” she said, introducing herself with her alias.
Ebel repeated it with a refined smile. “Rock… It seems a little too lackadaisical to be your name.”
“I’m fond of it, thank you.”
“Then I shall do my best to grow fond of it too,” Ebel conceded. His eyes, gazing straight into hers, gleamed the same striking shade of gold in human form too.
He must grab the attention of everyone in the slums with his attractive looks, Rock mused, then added for good measure, “Do whatever it takes not to quarrel with drunks again tomorrow.”
She warned him with a hint of cynicism, yet Ebel’s eyes widened into golden saucers, his face lighting up. “Thank you, Rock. I will keep my promise this time.”