Look alive? Raz must've out of his mind at this point to be making such a demand.
"You're out of your head if you think I'm selling any of my pretties." Stated Spaz the preteen, scowling and setting her feet wide apart, crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly. "That mouse was a gift, and I ain't givin' it up to some barmy magical pawn-shop bloke." The item she spoke of was exactly what they were referring to, a common brown mouse floating in a miniature glass jar filled with formaldehyde. That mouse, as well as a stillborn rabbit fetus, a stolen switchblade, and several pieces of animal-bone jewelry that Ringer had made for her were the only things that Spaz carried on her person at all times.
Razzle stood his ground, as well "Spaz, we need some effing money, or else ye're gonna be the laughin'stock of ogwarts!" He frowned down at her, clearly disapproving of her childish behavior. Alas, spaz did not, by any means, let up. And so ensued the staring contest and battle of wills.
After about ten minutes of standing in the middle of the alley and looking pissed at each other, people began peering at the pair from behind darkened windows, mossy, leering faces grinning out at them as if willing the adult to up and smack this eleven-year-old girl. Noticing this, Razzle turned his back on her, conceding the battle.
"Fine." He grunted, motioning for her to follow. "C'mon, we're drawin' th' wrong kind o' crowd, now." Spaz grinned smugly as she trotted after her companion, then glanced back to the disappointed-looking old woman in the window, shuddering with a very new breed of disgust.
"So, you've got stuff to pawn, then?" she asked, brow raised, still smirking widely.
"Yeh." Assented Raz gruffly as he ducked into a doorway set deep in the alley wall.
Spaz followed him, a bit miffed that he'd tried to stiff her for her stuff when he had his things to pawn. Well, she'd won out in the end, so what did it matter? She nodded decisively after this conclusion was formulated, and she left it at that.
Well, maybe she wouldn't have, if she had not been distracted by all of the gleaming, leering, wicked sharp and altogether terribly evil-looking items that were crammed onto every available surface. She reached out to touch a big, gaudy silver cross set on a velvet pillow atop a dusty cabinet.
"Don't touch!" Snapped Raz, glowering, and she snatched her hand back abashedly.
"Sorry, man." She muttered in apology as Razzle wended his way between two chests of drawers, and out of sight.
She stuck her remarkably long, pink tongue out after him, and turned her attention back to the merchandise, all of which looked entirely too enticing to the eleven-year-old.
But again, she was distracted, as a father and son with matching white-blonde hair walked into the shop.