Loki’s eyes shift subtly and slowly, now and then, from Irishman to Irishwoman – though for the most part, they tend not to leave the former, lest he miss a cue. He takes careful note of the objects brushed by the mastermind’s fingers, categorizing them according to their potential usefulness to him; only Iris knows what might be of use to her.
His gaze never leaves Jim’s face as Iris speaks to him, or if it does, it does not stray from his person. It alights on the fingers moving deep within a pocket – moving around something small and solid – and then flicks quickly to his face just in time to meet those deep, black eyes. The corner of his mouth twitches lightly in response to the unspoken question. Perhaps yes, perhaps no. If you show her, then we shall soon find out, shan’t we?
Because it is important to note that while Loki may regard Iris as a friend, he’s not really in the habit of mollycoddling. He’ll pick her up off the street, broken and bleeding, and bring her home. He’ll teach her some weak magic so that she might be better able to protect herself against the arcane evil she has chosen to hunt. He has brought her here for the same reason. But he is not her chaperon or her caretaker; he is a friend. And he has brought her here knowing full-well what may await her, with confidence in her capability to both govern and guard herself.
“A - er - a tour?” Iris asks, visually taken aback. She hadn’t really been expecting there to be more to the shop; and it shows. Or did he mean a tour of this room? She had already looked at this room. Or at least she thinks she’s already looked at this room.
Her brows knitted, she looks about the shop she’s already standing in as though she’s unsure if she’s missed something, before her eyes drift back to the proprietor, resolve unshaken; she is at least certain that there is nothing out here that suits exactly what she was hoping to find. Loki wouldn’t have brought her here unless this place was extraordinary - and so far, as interesting as it has been, extraordinary it isn’t.
“Aye, tha’ may be best.” She capitulates, with no small note of bewilderment in her voice. “Coul’ do with a wee bit’ve both, I reckon? Ain’ right sure wot’ll work fer wot I’m after, but th’more I ken get my ‘ands on… er, the more I ken afford, y’see, I figgure the better off I’ll be. Aheh, though - well.”
She grins, nervousness back in her demeanor. “Afford’s the… well, ne’ermind that. A tour, firs’, aye? No sense gettin’ ahead’ve m’self, I ain’… actually given much thought’s wot I’m lookin’ fer… M’sure I’ll find sommat.”
The shopkeeper affords her a small smile, seeming to find amusement in the way she visibly looks over the shop again. The doors in the walls are purposefully well concealed, things that you wouldn’t see unless you (like Loki, like Jim) had seen them prior. After the cue he’d received from Loki, he’d switched most of his attention over to Iris, though he did make certain to keep an eye on the god. It wouldn’t do to be hasty and leap to conclusions as to the god’s purpose here.
Even if his purpose had been communicated already.
Many things (the truth admittedly included) are communicable. Nonetheless, he nods, the picture of professional decorum. “You’ve seen this room, already- it hosts the… everyday objects. The sort a shop of this genre would be expected to carry.”
A smile, quicksilver and pleased with itself flashes across his face, and then he turns, gesturing for Iris to follow. “What I believe you’re looking for- and do correct me if I’m wrong- is through here.”
He has to skirt a few desks to get to the wall hosting the magical extension of the shop, running his fingers almost absently over them. If Iris and Loki are paying attention, they’ll see that he’s slightly cut one of his fingers, just a knick, really. Stopping in front of the door, he raises a hand to the centre of it, flicks his fingers through the small well of blood, and then traces a complex pattern on it, every finger moving individually in a blur.
He’d swapped out the system that Loki had previously observed months back, with the shop’s latest overhaul.
The door fades into perceptibility, and with a quiet look of appreciation for it, he turns the handle.
There’s no easy way to describe what happens next.
The shop doesn’t really dim at all, except the light seems… sucked into the revealed room. It’s not that any power becomes noticeable, not with the strength of the wards Jim has up and around the place, except the surging of power is enough that it almost steals Jim’s breath away.
The room extends back far further than the shop, rows upon rows of weaponry and armour of all shapes and sizes, from delicate earrings that grant a semblance of immortality in exchange for blood to a full suit of armour standing in a corner, effects unknown. The room has only gained objects of further strength since the god’s last visit.
Jim steps aside, gestures for them to precede him in.