Brom walked down the street, carrying one of those four-foled cardboard trays for carrying drinks. He had coffee in them. There was four of them, made up in different ways. One, that was simply black, was his own. The others he hoped to ply Ardara with.<br/><br/>Clad in one of those long, ridiculous leather coats (it was actually a fake leather of human fabrication) that reached down to the knees, Brom wore the garment to conceal that he was ridiculously well-armed. He had a pair of semi-automatic pistols hidden within the jacket's confines; a revolver that fired a round with enough power to break a weak wrist and a barrel of such a length as to raise questions of overcompensation; a number of knives balanced for throwing; a number of combat knives; spare ammunition; a length of piano wire. And that was just what was concealed by the coat. Beside each ankle was a smaller pistol, and across from each pistol a throwing knife. His belt was a weapon, supposedly a blade in itself - a human invention that Brom considered more of a toy than anything else. And finally, there was his left hand - his silver left hand that was imperishable and untarnishable, a masterwork that couldn't be forged in these times of faded magic. In a fight it was better than a flesh and blood hand, though it was an imperfection and the Sidhe despised imperfection.<br/><br/>That wasn't even to begin to consider his collection of weapons, either, back at his home. He'd quite a collection there. Some of it consisted of pieces purchased at Adara's shop, but others were modern weapons purchased from shady men who professed to hate the government. Brom'd been forced to purchase some 'literature' and pay lip service to ridiculous politics in order to gain the trust of the men who would sell him fully automatic longarms, their parts, and ammunition. It'd been worth it, and the skill for dissembling that was the hallmark of the Sidhe had served him well.<br/><br/>Beneath the jacket and the neccessary accoutrements to carry around his personal armoury, Brom wore a white t-shirt and blue jeans. He had running shoes on, of some brand that he was assured was 'wicked rad.' Of course there was the black (also fake) leather glover over his left hand, with its flared cuff that covered part of the upper arm.<br/><br/>The bell didn't jingle when Brom entered, out of some purely skill manipulation that he'd developped over the hundreds of years where he'd patronized guerilla warfare and the unmanful stalking during the night to murder from darkness. It lacked the elegance and style that made the Queen's Darkness so feared, or the honour that made Ardara a goddess to whom blood and lives had flowed in plenty.<br/><br/>As Bella was already engaged in business, Brom walked over to a display of daggers, and pretended to be interested in them. And he was, perhaps. One could never have<em>too</em>many knives, after all.