"Escuse me, sirrah! Mista Wilhelm, sirrah!" A flutter of a handkerchief, pure white in the afternoon sun where a dainty black hand jerked. The voice seemed cracked, in need of a drink of water. "Mista Wilhelm, sirrah, is that you, deea?"

An woman approached the trio, the gentle clacking of a wooden cane accompanying each slow trodden step. The black gloved hand stretched out from a gray cloak, the hood pulled deep over her head, but, while it did conceal her body from the elements, did nothing to hide the shape of her hunched form. The arch of her back looked like a bridge connecting to unknown lands. The white handkerchief retreated back behind the folds of her cloak only to reemerge once more to grasp the cane. "Mista Wilhelm, pleasha to make ya acquaintance again, deeah...oh."

Her head craned over to the couple standing before the boy where the distance had considerably doubled between them since the old woman appeared. As decrepit as she looked, she had managed to capture the attention of everyone here. "Ah'm sorreh, deeah. Ah didn know ya had customas. Beg ya pardon sirrah and madam and nice ta meet you both." She gave a half bow to both of them where she received a half-hearted 'hello' from both, a motion from instinct more than courtesy. Regardless she somehow wedged herself between the man and the boy. "Nah, deeah, still have somma that wonderful cream do you? Ah'ma 'fraid I just ran out."

"Ma'am, you aren't here to buy something from this swindler are you?"

"Why, 'course ah am, sirrah!" She turned and faced the man. Craning her head up to match the man's gaze had revealed what looked like a grin filled with teeth. "Nah, isn he the sweetest thing? He's the nicest boy Ah've eva met, and all grown up and ahn 'is own too!" She reached out for a friendly shove towards Wilhelm, laughing the broken laugh of hers. "Your motha must be so proud of ya, deeah!"

"I beg your pardon, ma'am, but his products are fake!" He lifted the container of cream to his face, shaking it vigorously. "This hasn't done a thing for us except instill a putrid--filthy--"

"Ah!" The old woman pointed at the container, grinning still before she drew one of her own from a fold on her cloak. "Why, that's the cream of a mamaid's fin isn it?" She lifted her own, shaking the empty container with delight. "Tide me ova for six months it has. Fantastic concoction, isn it madam?"

"Have you not listened to me at all? This is a fake! A false promise--How can you believe that mermaids exist let alone know that the intimate details of a mermaid's tail grant something as pointless as youthful--"

The old woman had thrown off her hood at that very moment and revealed, quite dramatically, the status of her skin. She was, in fact, not old. Not a single wrinkle danced from her eyelids, no creases touching her lips, no, her lips themselves appeared rosy and warm. And yet a head full of white hair, aged and course covered her delicate scalp and draped down her face. The hair cut resembled something a young girl would wear and, quite frankly, she looked like one who had bleached her hair.

And yet the wife had released a gasp of surprise. Even the man had choked on the remainders of his words upon looking on her face. A blush had even dared graze his cheeks.

"Oh my!" The woman hadn't bothered walking around her husband. Rather, she preferred to push past him lest the old yet young looking woman disappear like an angel. "Oh goodness, you look wonderful!"

"Ah thank ya, deeah!" She raised a black gloved hand to clasp her cheek, grinning with perfect white teeth. "Ah feel seventeen yeeahs old thanks to Mista Wilhelm!"

"No."

"Ya have my good word, madam!"

The wife swung her gaze over to her husband who shot her one of his own. "Miranda--"

"Oh, Greg, she's living proof!"

The old woman waved her hand towards the man. "It takes ah while to start working, sirrah, just give it some time." She cast a glance back to the wife, a sweet smile spreading across her face. "But ya look beautiful, madam! Ah ta be young again!"

"Oh no, ma'am! See here? I'm developing premature wrinkles I'm sure!"

"No! Ah can hardleh see 'em!"

"It's true! Look harder, it's hard to notice in the shadows--there! See it?"

"Oh, pish, deeah! Nothing a lil dab won't cure."

"Miranda!"

"Greg, please."

"I said no!" He faced Wilhelm once more though with less ferocity than he had before. "Give us back our money and we'll be on our way!"

"Greg--"

"Our money, boy!"

"Greg!" The wife reached over the man's shoulder, instantly snatching the balm from his hand. Her face was twisted with insult and irritation. "Don't you want me to look beautiful? Don't you care about my needs?"

"Miranda, it's--"

"You're impossible! Absolutely terrible! I can't believe you!" She spun on her heels, lifted her dress and instantly began storming off, balm in hand.

The man had called after her before casting a look down at the old woman. They had exchanged a silent conversation through her grin and his frown before he cast a short glance back at Wilhelm, almost as if to say, I'll be back, boy! He dashed after his wife, shouting her name.

The woman watched after them, waving her handkerchief with much enthusiasm. "Ah, lover's quarrel." She turned her head, the grin instantly dropping from her face. She gave Wilhelm a long painful glare. "I can't leave you alone for a minute without someone trying to punch you in the face, can I?"