"The trouble with pricing is tax," Juliet muttered to herself, picking up a small bag of tangerines and taking note of its green price tag, "$3.99 indeed. And seven cents a dollar. That's twenty-one cents… ninety-nine and twenty-one make…" She huffed and reassured herself that a five-dollar bill would cover it. Why not just put the full price on the tag and be rid of the unpleasant surprise at the register? She wasn't the sharpest at math. Her little outing on this Saturday afternoon seemed more like a mental challenge than an enjoyable excursion. It was tough to be frugal when you didn't have a complete understanding of the monetary system just yet. Give it another month, she would have it down.
She added the tangerines to her basket and kept a general total in her head. She came for tea and she would be leaving with a few things extra. But wasn't that always the way? After picking up a carton of milk, a box of soda crackers, and the tangerines, she felt the only thing that remained was what she had originally ventured out for.
Not that she was in a hurry to go home, mind you. Juliet drifted down the tea aisle, which had been apparently merged with the various brands of coffee and powdered flavorings for water. She was about halfway down the aisle when she finally began to see what she was looking for.
"Certainly nothing Oriental," she said softly, her gray eyes scanning the labels and the flavors.
"Nothing Oriental. So glad my act of courtesy displeased you," droned a voice from beside her. Juliet jumped slightly and turned her head.
"Oh, it's you!" she said. Whether it was from surprise or nervousness, she wasn't sure. It was the same man, the man from up the street. He did not look at her nor did he seem at all perturbed by her reaction to his presence. He simply reached up and grabbed a box of tea bags, reading the label. Juliet adjusted her stance slightly, glancing between him and the shelves.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so—"
"Shocked? Even crazed, blood-covered men like to go grocery shopping now and again," the man interrupted, putting the box back and grabbing another. He made a displeased face and quickly replaced it.
"That isn't what I meant… it just… surprised me that anyone had snuck up on me as you did."
"I didn't sneak," he replied, reaching in front of her face for a small orange box, "You have very poor perception skills." Juliet huffed quietly, frowning at the hand before her, and then watched it retreat back to its owner.
"Not that poor."
"Oh, quite poor. I've been listening to you talk to yourself almost since you arrived." Juliet frowned slightly, reaching up for a gray and blue box.
"Have you? You've been following me?"
"Not at all," he answered, "You have a very loud mumble." Juliet dropped the box into her basket and put her hand on her hip.
"I don't mumble," she scoffed. He turned his head and looked at her for the first time since the beginning of their conversation.
"There. You did it just then." The shorter woman turned back to the shelves, annoyed but not annoyed or rude enough to cut the conversation short and leave the man in the tea aisle. After a few seconds of watching him select his tea of choice out of the corner of her eye, she piped up again.
"Despite what I said, I would like to thank you for letting me use those teabags." He paused for the briefest second, then dropped box into the cart and began walking away.
"You're welcome," was all he said. Juliet blinked, then took a few steps to follow him.
"I hope you don't think I was rude for holding a negative opinion over Oriental… It's only a preference," she explained. He didn't turn his head or stop walking.
"I understand that," he said nonchalantly, turning the corner and going down another aisle. Juliet frowned again and hopped once to catch up to him. Her legs were much shorter than his, and he was by far more aerodynamic than she.
"It's just I find the taste too flowery," she continued.
"Are you following me now?"
"I'm not following you," she replied crisply, "I'm just… continuing the conversation till we've had a proper farewell." Here the man stopped short, and the little woman bounced off of him. He didn't move a bit and only turned his head slightly. She could only see his blind eye, but she could swear it must have been looking at her. She took two steps back, tightening her grip on her basket.
"… And what would you deem a proper farewell, madam? I'd very much like to continue my shopping without frivolous small-talk." Juliet puffed her cheeks, turning a slight pink in frustration.
"Well, perhaps I shan't bother you anymore."
"Only perhaps?"
"I won't then!" she snapped, then shrank back slightly at the tone in her own voice. She looked around to see if anyone else had heard. Apart from an odd look from a very old man, she didn't see any reason to believe so. The tall, thin man turned his body around to face her and tilted his head in a mildly unnerving way.
"You get frustrated very easily, you know. Very rude."
"You're one to talk," she shot back, though quieter than before. He blinked.
"Would you like to answer my question now?" Juliet narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, clenching her basket in one small fist.
"What question is that?"
"Your definition of a proper farewell; I believe I inquired about it." The red-haired woman made an exasperated noise, dropping her arms.
"That'll do!" She waved a hand carelessly at him and turned to leave the aisle.
"That wasn't much better than my exit," he pointed out. Juliet turned on her heel.
"I would very much loathe to be compared to you," she said haughtily, turning her small, round nose up. His head straightened and when it did she suddenly felt as if her were towering over her. He very nearly was.
"The feeling is mutual, I assure you," he shot back lowly. Juliet did not flinch away from his tone this time; she only straightened up and met his glare evenly.
"Since you are so clearly lacking in simple manners, allow me to point out that a proper farewell is done after a proper hello."
"Neither of which you have explained," he accused. She pursed her lips.
"What. Is your name…?" She took a breath, determined to reign the conversation in before it became cut off from either of their tempers. He hesitated, as if deciding if the small, round woman before him was worthy of such information. It must have been a very difficult decision, because he stood in silence, scrutinizing her, for quite some time.
"Reginald," he said eventually. The word almost stumbled out of his mouth. Juliet bobbled her head ever-so-slightly, tossing the syllables around before she repeated them.
"Reginald. Why, that's a very lovely name," she sighed, her flared temper cooling down significantly by the second, "Reginald, thank you very much for your tea the other day. I appreciate your generosity."
"Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?" His head tilted again, almost in a teasing way. Juliet's red lips curved into another small frown. They stood in silence until he eventually asked, "What?"
"You didn't ask my name," she pointed out.
"I don't care to know it." She let out a tiny sound of surprise, her face flushing red.
"…fine. There's your proper fare—"
"On the off chance I did care to know it, what would it be?" Juliet stopped mid-sentence and crossed her arms again.|
"Interrupting is rude."
"As is leaving a question unanswered."
"…Juliet." He did not appear to absorb her name as she had with his.
"There now. Juliet, you are quite welcome for the tea. And thank you for turning a fifteen-minute shopping trip into a small eternity of painful socializing and pointless conversation."
She did not have time to retort, because he was walking away before the words had gotten out of his mouth. When he had disappeared around the corner, the woman groaned in frustration and stomped her tiny foot, which she knew was rather petulant but didn't much care at the moment, such was her irritation with her neighbor.

Skarr didn't allow himself to think about the grocery store until he was back inside his home and in the process of putting away his groceries. His face bore a very distinct and disgruntled frown, although if anyone cared to truly notice they would see it was not its usual full-on scowl. He was not necessarily unhappy (at least, no more unhappy than usual), but he was very confused and irritated. He wasn't surprised to have seen the woman, Juliet, at the market. It was a small, local establishment. Most of the neighbors used it. But he was genuinely surprised that she had instigated a conversation with him rather than duck her head and slink to another aisle as if he had the plague. Most did just that on a daily basis.
Not only had she started the conversation, she kept it going. Rather annoyingly, in fact. She was persistent. And for what? Manners? Those didn't amount to a pile of shit and he knew it. He was not the sort of man people talked to out of politeness. Then again, she did seem like a gentle sort of lady. Soft, almost.
Squishy, perhaps.
His frown deepened and he shook his head to clear it of pervasive thoughts about accentuating green dresses or wide curves. Maybe the whiskey was starting to wear on his brain cells after all.
One thing he knew for certain, and he acknowledged it as he put oatmeal in the pantry: as frustrated as he seemed to make her, she didn't once undercut him for… really much of anything. She called him rude, but that wasn't actually false, and therefore perfectly acceptable. She had plenty of space to turn her back and walk away from him, nose in the air. Come to think of it, she didn't have to follow him out of the grounds aisle to begin with.
"Proper farewell…" he muttered crossly, closing the pantry door. He crossed over to his kitchen table and pulled out his new box of Oolong tea. He paused, looking through the box rather than at it. If she didn't like Oriental teas, what did she like? What was that box she had grabbed and put in her basket? It was gray with blue details… He snorted in mild disgust, crossing to the cupboard over his stove and stowing the box. What did he care, honestly? The more he thought about it, the more he found he didn't really care.
She had sparked his curiosity is all. She was a strange woman, no doubt. That must have been it. She was just an odd, chubby little woman.
With a poor attitude, he noted.
He stored his empty bags in a drawer and then leaned on his counter, staring out the kitchen window.
A poor attitude and a bad blush. Bad complexion altogether. Must be rosacea. A small voice in his head piped up that he was certainly not one to judge on skin conditions or displeasing facial features, but he squashed said voice almost instantly. A bad, easily-achieved blush. And her hair was too curly. There was too much of it. And her hands were… were too tiny. Yes, much too tiny to do any good.
His thoughts wandered down all the possible difficulties those tiny, white hands may have before he shook his head and reeled back slightly.
Disgusting.
Come now.
No, don't.
"Damn it all."

Juliet left the grocery store feeling very annoyed. Much more annoyed than she had been when she had left her house that morning after a tense breakfast with her husband. And that was quite a bit annoyed. Arthur's silver car was not in the drive when she came home, and for that she was very grateful. She prayed he had been called away into the firm and she would not have to see him until much later in the evening.
Once inside her house, she set to putting her few groceries away, muttering to herself as she did.
"Proper farewell… Only being polite… Oh, I don't care to know it... cheeky… rude…" She griped and snapped at her carton of milk as she stowed it in the refrigerator, which was really unnecessary because the milk had certainly done nothing at all to Juliet besides being made of delicious almonds and provide a healthy alternative to whole milk. Her poor tangerines had already heard enough out of her complaining over pricing and taxing, but even they were not spared her tirade. But it was therapeutic. Even as Juliet complained, she felt her anger fading.
What a strange man. How oddly he talked. She wondered in the back of her mind if he talked to all people like that. He must not have very many friends. But suppose he did have friends and he only talked to her like that? Well, he may talk to her any way he would like because it certainly did not compare to the past two years of her life. Juliet dropped heavily onto the love seat in the living room, her muttering now ceased.
Had she been too pushy? No, of course not. She had thanked him and he was the one who had responded rudely. She was only being civil. Neighborly. She absently traced the pattern on one of the throw pillows with her pinky finger. Maybe her manners had made him uncomfortable. But he certainly sounded English (in some form), he should be used to proper conversation techniques. Unless he had decided, as most tend to, that manners are very time-consuming and growing increasingly trivial. She snorted softly at the thought. The man was at least forty, if she had to guess. He was too old to think of simple etiquette as trivial. That was for younger people.
People her age.
She held the pillow in her lap. He was a frustrating man. Why is it he seemed so distant? It was almost mysterious, if in fact he looked to have much mystery about him. She pursed her lips and turned pink across her round face, squeezing the pillow lightly. He was very tall, wasn't he? That didn't have anything to do with mystery. It was just something she had noticed after being stared down by him.
And his eyes—well, eye… it was intense. The blue one, that is. The blind one disturbed her a great deal. She felt like it could see both through her and inside her. To her very core. That, of course, was ridiculous, but she was only recalling how she felt. She delved briefly into Edgar Allen Poe's "Tell-Tale Heart," and empathized with the murdering man on the most superficial level. She didn't find it disgusting.
Only intimidating.
Everything about the man up the street seemed oddly intimidating. She felt her arms prickle at the thought and hugged the pillow tighter.
Enough of this.
She stood and made her way to the hall closet, awkwardly managing to take down the cardboard box filled with her romance novels. She fished one off of the top and hid the box again. She needed a hot bath and a good book, dog-eared from blatant favoritism.
Before her mind started to wander again.