"What kind of item? You can tell me first. If we have it in stock, I can sell it to you on my master's behalf. It'll be faster that way."
'It's not like you have any other business. Are you talking about efficiency just so you can slack off?' Rorschach specified his request, "I need a Magic Staff that can store and instantly cast Magic. Preferably a custom one."
Canselit scratched his head. He had naturally curly black hair, which suggested he had blood from the southern part of the Kingdom—a race that was granted full citizenship at birth in the Old Empire. "Alright, you'll definitely have to see my master for that. Please, follow me."
The butterfly on the Apprentice's hand flew off, spiraling upwards as if to hit the ceiling. Just then, a wooden trapdoor on the ceiling opened, and a rope ladder was lowered.
"Come on up. It's best not to fly using Magic. An impatient customer once slammed himself into the attic ceiling." So, Rorschach followed the Apprentice up the rope ladder.
