AGALMATOPHILIA

_-:2:-_

His head snaps up from the counter where he stood, fluffy brown hair cascades over his forehead, dipping down to cover two pretty mocha eyes.

Said eyes watch as a man struggles with the door, unsure wether to push or pull.

The brunette flicks the offending strands of hair away with a swift jerk of his head, eyes focused on a short, balding man now entering the facility.

The stranger bustles through the door, an umbrella in hand, striding up to the counter with an entitled gleam in his pale baby blue jewels.

"Hi! How may I help you today?" Brendon, the shop assistant, straightens up. He brushes his clammy hands along the pleats of his pastel skirt, the stranger eyeing him up and down, turning his nose up once he spies the soft yellow skirt.

Brendon let's his eyes squint a little in anger, knowing the man wouldn't catch on if he was too busy judging him.

"Well clearly I'm in here for a doll," the chubby man rolls his eyes, Brendon only smiles politely, something boiling in his chest.

"Well you're in the right place! What kind of doll are you interested in? We do porcelain, china, wooden-"

"Whatever is the best, only the best for my son,"

Brendon nods, removing a tiny note book from the shop drawer, the pen tucked behind his right ear is now useful as he scribbles something.

He's tempted to scribble down how ignorant and annoying the man before him is, and how he and his boss should choose him as the next piece of art.

But the skin is too greasy.

"So are you looking for a posable doll?" The brunette watches the man ponder for a moment, eyes running across the beautifully crafted toys lining the walls.

"No, just something as more of a decoration, one of those ones with a soft middle," he's bored, and ignoring Brendon, but the feminine figure behind the counter pays no notice to the lack of attention the customer gives, not particularly caring to pay him attention either.

Pen on paper, scribbling, Brendon notes down a few details.

"Alright, and what colour would you like that in?"

"Are these all hand made?" The customer yet again disregards Brendon, fingering a small dolls detailed hand.

A sharp, tolerant tug of a smirk pulls at Brendon's lips, forcing himself to stay calm.

No one is to touch the toys without intent of buying, so says the dozens of signs littering the shelves.

He's away from the counter now, to the left side of the shop, the toys lining the shelves fall victim to his greasy hands as they pick up and examine their dainty little forms.

"Yes they are! We hand make all our toys," Brendon bears a grin as he waltzes over beside the short round man, plucking the doll from his grasp and hiding it up higher. "We make them from the finest products, I just need a few details about this particular order of yours and we can get started on prices,"

A snort erupts from the fat throat of the customer.

Brendon detests how his jowls wobble with such cocky confidence.

"Alright kid what do you need," not a question and more of an order, Brendon still holds that unshakable smile, gripping his pen tight.

"Skin colour?"