The wrinkled, elderly woman had one handheld as high in the air as her short arm could hold it, and she had a satchel over her shoulder full of more. Sprite pushed her way toward the old woman.

“Mioko, I need a handheld,” Sprite said, still approaching.

“Ah, little Sprite,” Mioko said smiling, eyeing Sprite through squinted eyes but not moving the handheld from above her head. “You look the same.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“Long time, no see,” the old woman continued, keeping all bidding devices away from Sprite.

“I need to make a bid, Mioko. Give me a handheld.”