kikimora camera shop
The shop is hidden in a little enclave, sandwiched between a private sculpture gallery on one side and one of the island's many cafes on the other. The location is a bit out of the way and often overlooked by passers-by who don't know of your little shop beforehand, but the choice of real estate affords you plenty of privacy in the event you and your wife decide to get frisky during business hours. Not that you would dare put your hands on your kikimora while she is hard at work, oh no (wink).
Your shop offers everything from the latest digital mirrorless cameras to the venerable classics of days past, their massively sized frames only rivaled their hefty telescopic lenses. Of course, old cameras need old camera gear, and you are proud of your store of new-old-stock adapters, hot shoe mounts, and boxes upon boxes of film rolls.
All to say, plenty of fascinating crap to collect dust and be dusted, the latter of which your wife is more than happy to address. Her morning ritual involves a feather duster in one hand and a can of compressed air in another.
You'll never forget the time you shot a quick spurt of air into your wife's tail feathers as a joke and the squeak of surprise (and, you like to think, a little bit of arousal) she made in response. That's the sort of thing you two would get up to in order to pass the time as you look out of the shop windows at the vast ocean waves out in the distance, illuminated from above by the rising sun in the morning and from behind by its setting in the evening.
Beyond inventing new ways to bully, er, express your love for your wife, your clientele is the second most interesting part of the job (barely winning against the fascinating details of those full frame E-mount adapters that you were procrastinating on stocking the shelves with): the majority of your visitors are couples.
- Plenty of mermaid-human tourist pairs looking for simple point-and-shoot deals to commemorate their time together in Court Alf. You always recommend a waterproof model just in case things got spicy between the Song Maiden and their guest (who would usually end up being their husband).
- Replacement flash attachments for the husband of an elf with a particularly potent humiliation fetish. Apparently the sound of a physical shutter and the flash of a camera during snoo-snoo time were major turn-ons for her. After handing the man the receipt, You hear your wife whisper something to him about rope and knot recommendations. You pretend not to listen.
- A bicorn and husband looking for a video camera that could capture 8K footage for definitely-wholesome and heartwarming, ahem, video-letters. It's a bit hard to make recommendations on SD cards over the sound of the bicorn's heavy breathing at how many hours of footage could fit into each card, but you somehow manage. When you ask whether they'd like the tripod or gimbal, the bicorn and husband look at each other before answering in sync: "Both? Both. Both is good."
Being just a stone's throw away from wedding-crazed Al Mar means you get your fair share of caffeine-addicted, ever-stressed wedding
photographers, too. Today, one anubis photographer was close to having a panic attack until your kikimora showed how to operate her new digital camera using the physical buttons instead of the touch panel. Meaty paw pads and touchscreens don't mix well, and in retrospect you feel a little guilty for holding back laughter as the jackal girl tearfully tries to change her ISO settings without formatting the memory card again.
After getting your last customer of the day squared away you decide to close up shop a little bit early. You're planning on celebrating your shop's second anniversary by taking your kikimora wife out to a surprise walk on the beach, gifting her the scarlet-red Nevian Rose in your jacket pocket, and then enjoying the sunset at one of the seaside restaurants you've had your eye on.
You just need to shut down one of your demo camera units and you'd be done. You hear the comforting click of your wife's taloned feet against the wood floor of your little shop as she comes up behind you to give you a big hug for a day's worth of work well done. You flick the power switch off of the demo camera and see the digital display simply say: "Auto-cleaning sensor, please wait..." before blipping off.
You feel your wife's snuggling suddenly stop.
"What did that just say?" She asks.
"The camera. What did it just say?"
"The camera?" You scratch your head. "Something like 'auto-clea...'" You stop. Oh no.
"Auto-what?" You feel the kikimora's feathers rustle as she tightens her grip around your waist, converting what started as a hug into something that feels like the prelude to a suplex.
"Wait, honey, I can explain..."
"I thought we agreed on our honeymoon," she says in a calm voice. Uh, oh. She was always calm when she got angry. "No roombas. No smart dishwashers. No automatic cleaning."
Your heart rate is heightening, and you can clearly hear the thumping in your throat. "I... uh..." Your head races. "It's different," you try to explain. "Sensor auto-cleaning is like... you know, like letting clothes air-dry! It's automatic, but it's also not." You snap your fingers. "Yeah." You nod your head again. Damn, you were convincing.
"We use a dryer," the kikimora replies flatly.
As you search for a back-up excuse, you feel your wife loosen her grip on you and ruffle your hair. You look up at her and she has a smug face on as she lets out a quiet giggle. "That was for the compressed air on my butt," she says, sticking out her tongue, before extending a hand to you. "Now that we're even, how about we enjoy some of the evening air? It's beautiful out there."
You pat your chest and heave a sigh of relief when you feel the Nevian Rose in your inside pocket still intact in full non-crushed glory. You take the kikimora's hand and hold it tight, guiding her out of your little shop and towards the expansive sea cost before you. "I know exactly the place. Come on, I have something to show you."