Proportionality

Twilight knew the percent chance of her flipping heads as she idly tossed a bit up into the air--49.467398% when she took the slight weight difference of the two sides of the coin into consideration. She did not know the percent chance of her bored flip casually deflecting a ninja star into the tabletop in front of her.

The bit whizzed away, like a slug ejected from a rifle.
"Uh--" she stammered to the shopkeeper, "you just saw that, didn't you?"
"Nah missh," he spat back.
"You didn't just see that. That ninja star."
"Nah missh. I don't shell ninja shtars."
"It hit the bit I had tossed in the air. It made a--" she made a click with her tongue, a poor imitation of the sound of sharpened steel colliding with soft copper. "You didn't see that."
"Nah missh."
"You're staring right at me."
"Nah missh. Impolite to shtare."
"There's a ninja star embedded in your stall," she said, pointing triumphantly at the small chunk of metal wedged between knots in the wood.
The shopkeeper looked down at the ninja star with a look of vague distaste, as if Twilight had just spat it onto his table. He turned and grabbed a marker. Before Twilight could ascertain what he was up to, he slapped a blank sticker onto the protruding weapon and scribbled, "For sale!" on it.
"Are you serious?" Twilight moaned.
"Would you like to buy a ninja shtar?" the shopkeeper asked. "I'll part with it for just one bit."
Another ninja star whizzed in from the right and hit the shopkeeper in the shoulder. He grumbled, "Shhhhit," and went down. Twilight was almost relieved.

Small details make stories seem large. Don't forget!
I'm working, I swear! New stories soon.
Happy Tuesday.

Comments

[Avid Reader]

Commence read.

Simple and detailed.