Chapter 7: Chapter 7

The next day, I approached Misty's store about half an hour after opening. I figured she wouldn't want me there bothering her before she had fully woken up. 

I stood outside the dingy, unwelcoming shop. 

I thought she should keep the door open. You wouldn't know the store was open, but for the sign. It wasn’t cold enough outside to warrant it be shut.

And if she refuses to keep it open, a bit of space should be cleared so you could see it's a welcoming store. Sure, the displays at the windows were nice, but the door didn't need to have several things hanging off it, hiding the view inside. 

I pushed open the door and a bell jingled overhead.

"Good morning," I said, in a calm tone, though I couldn't get rid of all the chirpiness.

It was a good morning, undeniably so.

The store hadn't changed since I left it. 

On the right were clothing and accessories for budding magi. The scarves were far too long. And those monocles came pre-dusted so that they might wipe them with the hem of their sleeve while pondering something ponderous. 

On the left, books sat on a few rows of shelves, others held miscellaneous stuff, some of it junk-looking, though at the bottom was the best bit. All the video games.

That did bring up a question in me, though. 

"So, like, is mana a thing? Mana potions, all that jazz?" I asked.

"The question you should be asking is," Misty replied, not looking up from her Gameboy, "chicken or the egg?" 

Today, Misty wore a black wide-brimmed hat above extremely heavy eyeshadow. She'd also applied long black eyelashes, and her hair fell straight under the hat, shining magnificently.

At her long neck was a black choker with a red heart hanging off the middle. Her skin looked extra pale today, like she had applied makeup to give the added effect.

"Is there a definite answer?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Maybe later." She took a sip of coffee.

'It must be convenient, being able to heat up your coffee," I said, and then, "Hey, if mana runs out, how come you didn't use a potion on me the other day?"

"It's not the same. You need to feel it all," Misty said. "No outside influences muddying up the process. Also, they’re expensive."

Her cleavage line went down in a round line from her sleeves, though it stopped just before revealing any hint of her breasts. But considering how much of her chest was exposed, it was still quite distracting, especially with how flawlessly-pale her skin was.

"So," she said, standing up, moving her stool over to the corner of the counter, "all yours."

When I came over to her side of the till, I noticed her long flowing skirt—black with a red gradient running across the bottom, almost like blood, matching the red heart on her choker.

The long skirt ended just above her long-heeled boots.

If I didn't know any better, I could have sworn she was making an extra effort. 

Meanwhile, I had worn my least scruffy sneakers, and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows—because my friend’s sister once told me girls loved that.

I had undeniably made an effort too.

And as I slipped past her, I took a long inhale of her perfume. She had never worn perfume before, and it was...contrastingly sweet to the nostrils compared to her oft-sour demeanor.

I sat on the stool.

Misty bent down to reveal the magnificent curves of her lower back to ass. She handed me a vintage-as-hell laptop from under the counter.

I blinked at it as I put it on my lap and opened it up, turning it on.

Windows Vista.

"Jesus," I said. 

"What? It works just fine. It's not like it's from the eighties or anything! I got a modern one so you wouldn't complain."

"Whether it works ‘just fine’ is debatable. Whether it's modern? No, it's not. Luckily, I brought mine."

I pulled it out from my bag, put hers away, flipped mine over, and passed it to her. "Log into your website maker thingy, please."

"Website maker thingy? Is that the proper lingo?"

"Is that the proper lingo," I imitated her. "It doesn't matter."

"Calm down, don't get in a mood with me."

"Me, calm down?" I raised my eyebrows at her. "I'm the king of calm."

"And what does that make me?" She put her hands on her hips and turned to me, making a gorgeous slim figure, yet her hips filled out the skirt. 

I could say a thousand things, most of which were sure to annoy her.

Some might not, though.

"Moody Morgan Le Fey," I said.

She cocked her head, mused on it a moment, while the shadow from her brimmed hat covered her eyes, and then she said approvingly, "Badass."

 

***

 

So the day went on. I made a list of the website's essential features and the stuff she probably wouldn't ever need. 

"Why do you need a ‘my favorite memes’ section?" I asked.

"Erm, because they're my favorite memes?" she replied sarcastically. She was on the shop floor, standing on a stool and running a duster over things.

"You don't need that for a store. It just gets in the way of people giving you money."

She seemed to want to argue at first, but then shook her head and said, "Fine."

Then, as I had wanted to do from the moment I saw it, I started consolidating the essentials in a top bar. 

Magic Menageries. 

Retro Games and Gear. 

My Youtube Channel! 

About Us. 

While below, I planned to display her most interesting items on a fancy splash page. 

Then, wondering if I should tell her how easy it was, I found one of those website makers and began compiling the stuff. I even went around the store to take photos of items I thought were cool.

"You should catalog your entire store online," I said, picking up a few choice items. "Or at least the stuff people actually want to buy."

"Ugh, I can't be bothered with all that selling stuff online business," she said, rearranging the window display.

She was giving me a highly distracting view of her behind, both cheeks seeming to move in opposite tandem just from her moving her arms. 

Now she must just be doing it on purpose.

"How do you even make money?" I asked. "We haven't had a single customer."

We. Perhaps a freudian slip.

She turned and scowled at me as if I had said something stupid, which, for once, I could fully attest I had not.

Though I did have to quickly turn my gaze from her magically round behind, and I was sure she had seen me looking. Perhaps that was what the scowl was about. 

 

***

 

After a few hours, I managed to get the site to a respectable level, even installing an online store, despite her ignorant objections.

Then, the bell above the door jingler, and a man walked in, wearing a long gray coat and brown hat. I judged him to be an unchosen, considering his ordinary get-up.

He walked over to the counter and, mistaking me sitting there to be working, said, "Ah, hello, I—"

I smiled and pointed to Misty. "That's the one you want."

"Ah, yes, excuse me," he bumbled, then walked over to Misty, who, despite being much smaller, seemed to tower over the poor man.

He could only be asking for one thing—a refund.

"Hello," he began, clearly having rehearsed this speech a thousand times before entering the shop, "I brought this spinning device from you several weeks ago, and my son has complained it doesn’t work." 

She held her hand out expectantly, saying nothing. 

"Ah, yes." He dug into his coat pocket and handed it to her, wrapped in several layers of newspaper.

She tore it apart and looked at the device. I couldn't get a close look from where I was sitting, but it just looked like an oversized spinning top.

"What's wrong with it?" she demanded.

"It-it stopped spinning."

She stormed over to the counter beside the register, gave her wrist a flick and let the device drop onto the counter.

It spun.

Then, wordlessly, she raised her eyebrows at the man.

"W-well," he said, "it did stop eventually."

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Misty, the man, and I turned back to the spinning top to watch it eternally spin.

"Looks like it is a dream," she said, giving me a glance and smirking.

"W-what?" the man questioned.

I realized she was referencing Inception. 

While it was a monumental occasion for Misty to joke around with me—I still wasn't sure if she liked me or not—I felt bad, so I didn't smile, knowing he would see if I did. 

If she wanted to be jovial with me, she would have to do it not at someone else's expense.

Misty shook her head at me and picked up the toy.

"It hasn’t stopped spinning yet!” the man protested.

She looked it over. "It's all chipped up," she said. 

"W-well, yes, my son has played with it, n-naturally."

"You know it stops spinning when you stop it, right? It's not all-powerful enough to halt a child's sticky hand." She inspected it for moments more and said. "Did he slam his Beyblade into it?"

"Bey...blade?"

"Beyblade, you know—"

"Let it rip," I mumbled quietly enough for nobody to hear.

"Right," Misty said, having heard me. "Exactly."

"I don't—" the man began.

"Well, here's what we'll do." Misty set the spinner back on the counter, gave it a spin, and said, "You come back at the end of the day, and if it's not still going, I'll give you a replacement."

"B-but how would I know?" he stammered.

She shrugged. "You'll just have to trust in our customer care policy. Now, go away."

"I’ll have you know..." he stammered, beginning to gain confidence as he wagged a knobby finger, "I’ll give you a bad review on—"

All the more effective for her big black boots, Misty stomped forward and said, "You will get out of my store!" Then, her demeanor changed to a freakish smile. "And you'll come back at four-thirty." She walked over to the door and opened it. "See you then!"

The man looked at me as if I would say something.

I gave him a shrug and said, "She scares me too."

But she didn’t, not one bit. What did that say about me?

He left, and Misty continued her work, organizing the window display.

Beside me, the spinner continued to spin.

"You could have handled that a little better," I said.

Not looking at me, she retorted, "Does the sign out front say Pete's Powerful Potions?"

"Cool idea for a second store," I said.

"Shut up."

"I do love spending time with you," I replied sarcastically. "I never want it to end."

She froze, and I wondered if I had just revealed some accidental truths.

"Whatever," she replied.

 

***

 

I continued working on the website while she showed me—with what I thought was pride—some of the items in her store. 

"See this? This is a universal remote." She held out the ordinary-looking remote.

"Right."

"No, dummy, I know what you're thinking. It's universal. Lights, TVs, microwaves, your wife! I add that last one for jokes sometimes. It always gets a few sales. I change it to husband if the customer is a woman, obviously."

I added what might’ve been the final touches to the website—at least for the prototype.

"You know," I said, "when I thought magic shop, I didn't think it would all be so—How do I put this? Rudimentary?"

"What do you want, then, magic potions and lotions and things out of this world? It's a general store. People come to buy...general things."

"And video games," I added, chuckling at the nonsensity of it.

"Exactly."

As we spoke, the bell rang again, and a man in a trilby and long leather duster walked in with lapels on his shirt and pointed boots.

Some kind of camera hung off his neck—a vintage style one, with wind-up film and a huge attachment for the light.

He turned to Misty, pulled his trilby off, and gave a slight bow. "M'lady."

My eyes all but rolled to the back of my head. 

Magi.

"Hello, Clint," she said with as much civility as she could muster.

Behind him hopped in a woman, who wore tight leather pants with thousands of buckles and clasps on them, pointy leather shoes not dissimilar to the man's, and a vest-shirt combo.

Her hat? Sort of like a pirate’s. 

"Miss Misty!" she said, overly familiar.

Misty sighed. "Jeraldine."

The pair perused over the outfits in the corner. 

Misty sighed again, extremely loudly.

Even though I hated the magi, and I especially hated the way they dressed—If that’s judgemental of me, who cares, it's not like I say it out loud—I still thought Misty shouldn't be so rude to her customers, especially those she knew on a first name basis.

"We're closing for lunch soon," she said.

Misty had mentioned we would take lunch at one p.m., and it was currently half-twelve. 

The two magi browsed the accessories section as the woman held up suspenders to her boyfriend's rotund chest.

I wondered if they all dressed like goths, would I feel the same about that attire? Or was it because Misty had her own specific style that I liked it?

Or did I just like it on her?

I tried to imagine Misty in that steampunky getup, with a monocle on her eye and a pipe in her hand as she twirled magic around her fingers causally. Perhaps she'd go up to a guy smoking and click her fingers to light it, then say, 'Pssh, t’was nothing. Have a good morrow, m'lord!'

I scoffed a bit too loudly, causing them both to turn to me.

I quickly went to the laptop and typed gibberish.

Finally, they came over to the counter and brought their accessories.

"Four hundred, please."

I realized I was about to see magical currency. 

Then, I realized how Misty had managed to live the way she did, with a shop that received barely any customers. 

Those measly outfit accessories cost four hundred dollars.

But why? I wondered. Couldn’t they just get them from a normal store for a fraction of the price? They must be magically accentuated somehow.

They left, bidding Misty and me a polite good day.

"Posers," she said under her breath, barely loud enough for them to hear.

The woman turned to look but only cocked her head, then they left. 

"You sell clothing to posers," I said absentmindedly. "You're the posemaster general."

"Oh, you are so lame!" she said. "What did you bring for lunch?"

"Like postmaster general," I added, knowing it would infuriate her to explain the joke. "And I didn’t. I thought I’d go and grab something."

"I got the joke!" she said. "And I'll get it. What bagels do you like?"

"Oh, erm, cream cheese, salmon, a bit of lemon drizzled over."

"Good choice. Coffee?" 

"You read my mind. Black."

She was out of the store in a flash, locking the door behind her.

I was left to look around, glancing under the counter.

Don’t go snooping, I told myself. It would be wrong, especially after she’s buying you lunch.

On the counter, the spinner kept spinning.

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