with your fixed expression

Lorithia frowns as she circles the peculiar array of objects L'cirufe has laid out for her leisurely inspection.

The self-heating pot is interesting...but certainly no more. The ornamental trees, the scent bombs, the various evidence of failed R&D experiments, all somewhat charming, in an idiotic way. Without any other customers, the shopkeep enthusiastically employs himself with a courteous nonsensical humming and servicable flourishes of ancillary information regarding each observed item.

The leader of the High Entian Ministry of Research, however misguidedly, believes herself to be the stone from which L'cirufe cannot despair to obtain blood. In her mind, she will toy with him for all his usefulness and all his uselessness alike, and then she will be through.

The Miran native, meanwhile, is none deluded by her airs of genuine customership. Aer eyes twinkle at the novelty of it all, surely, and when Lorithia turns to depart, expecting a procession at her leave, L darts to her side and kisses her hand in a show of obsequiousness xe knows can only be matched by true fools.

Have we been of service, dear Lorithia? It is not us with our credits, after all, who will be so insistently paying.