Ah, the Zippo. Truly an amazing display of mortal technological prowess. Ransome now owned one of his own, and he flipped it open and closed, watching the flame, as he sipped at his coffee. He did not particularly need the lighter - he had tried smoking when it was big a few hundred years ago, and had not been impressed - but then again a lot of the things Ransome had been buying lately were just novelties that were fun to have.

There was this relatively new thing in this era called "retail therapy"; Ransome had found that he rather enjoyed it. Whenever he was feeling down, he would take a bunch of money from where ever he could get it, and go buy himself something nice. A new suit, a new lighter, some expensive cologne... little things like that. And now, with his newfound position as a sort of figurehead for a gang, Ransome could get money for his therapy whenever he needed it.

He was not quite sure how he felt personally about "Pinstripe" Lou Romano, the leader of the little operation. From the first time Ransome had spoken to him, the man had not exactly struck him as the sharpest knife in the drawer, but if the guy had somehow made the pattern on his suit into an intimidating symbol, then the agacella figured he must have done something right. Still, the amount of money he could get simply by asking Lou never ceased to amaze Ransome.

The agacella swirled the dregs of his coffee around in the bottom of the paper cup, and flicked his Zippo lighter on again as he thought back on the last few weeks. How he had landed himself here and all. Lou's mafia was really not what it could have been, with pressure on all sides from a bunch of other local gangs. Ransome had gone and done them a huge favor by lying to fool them all into thinking that he was some sort of mythical hero attracted to good leaders.

Lou's bunch had eaten up his bullshit like candy. Whatever false legitimacy they gained from having Ransome around seemed to do wonders for the group's morale, though. Their ranks had grown at least a little bit in the last couple weeks, and everyone seemed to be even more enthusiastic about selling drugs and beating the snot out of other guys.

And all Ransome had to do was be there.

Definitely one of his best schemes yet. The agacella poured himself another cup of coffee to celebrate.

He was about to start sipping at the steaming beverage when he heard the sound of someone cocking the hammer of a handgun. With a slight longsuffering sigh, Ransome turned - and found himself staring at the barrel. On the other end of the weapon was a rather portly man whose face and forehead were red with anger all the way to his receding hairline.

"You're that guy of Lou's aren't you?" the man asked in that tone that said he knew the answer was yes. "What do you think you're doing here?"

Ransome felt an icy rush of fear down his spine, but did his best to keep his features smooth. He was almost one hundred percent certain that he was not going to die of old age at this point, but the agacella was not eager to find out how well eating a bullet would go over. Slowly, he closed his fingers around the lighter, to hide it from view. Just keep talking, get the guy to put away the gun....

"Getting some coffee," he replied. "The woman gave me the whole pot. Would you like any?"

The fat man's hand shook a little as he gestured with the gun. "Get up and go outside. You know this block is our space 'cause my friend Tony warned you last week. We don't need Lou's little pet demon shitting up our coffee joint."

"Alright, coming," Ransome said as calmly as he could manage while suppressing the urge to break this guy's nose for calling him a demon. He got to his feet and walked out the coffee shop's side door, followed closely by the fat man with the gun.

The other guy had apparently brought Ransome's cup of coffee with him on the way out; as soon as Ransome turned around after he got outside, the cup hit his chest just below the third button on his white dress shirt, and splashed hot coffee on the agacella's chest before landing on the ground in front of his hooves and getting a bit more brown liquid on the bottom hem of his pant leg.

And that was it. Ransome had been willing to that point to try to negotiate his way into the good graces of Tony's hitman, maybe win him over to his own side just for Lou. But if this guy was going to call him names and throw coffee, well, he needed to be taught a lesson. If there was anything left after that, then maybe he could encourage him to change his loyalties.

As the fat man leveled the gun at Ransome again, the agacella took a deep breath to gather some of his fairy magic into his lungs, then flicked open the lighter as he blew across the little flame. Fueled by the magic, the fire turned a brilliant gold, angling in the direction of the fat man and growing into a rather formidable-looking fireball.

Ransome's fairy-fire couldn't even melt ice cream. But this guy didn't know that. His features went from a slightly-puffy angry red to a rather slack sissy white as he yelled and backed away, dropping the gun in order to shield his face with both hands.

The agacella ran at him and elbowed him in his solid gut, knocking him off balance, then stomped as hard as he could manage on the man's foot with one of his hooves. The fat man would have quite a hard time walking himself home today.

"I'm no demon, I'm a creature of myth and legend sent to aid mister Pinstripe Lou and his bunch," Ransome snarled at the man, eyes wild with his anger. He flicked the lighter open again and leaned closer to the fat man, watching him squirm for a moment in terror and anticipation of another bust of flame, then added, "If Tony doesn't want me, or any of Lou's and my friends on this block, then he can send his own mythical representative down here to take me out."

"Please, alright! Don't kill me! Oh gods, it hurts!" the man blubbered. It was amazing what men turned into when you took away their weapons sometimes.

Taking deep breaths in an effort to calm himself down, Ransome continued to glare at the man as he backed off, closing his lighter and slipping it into his pocket. He leaned down to pick up the fat man's discarded gun. "So long as we have understanding, you're free to go."

"Y-yes, of course. I'll tell Tony!" The man struggled to his feet, gasping in pain as he did so.

Ransome waved dismissively to him with his free hand, then tucked the gun away in the pocket of his jacket. At least he had gotten some retribution for the ruining of his coffee break and the soiling of his shirt. Now he just had to try to remember where the dry cleaners were.

Or maybe he could just buy himself a new shirt. Or two or three. Nice expensive ones. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at the thought. Once he was at least presentable again, and out of his stained shirt, he could go shopping. Good old retail therapy.