Umm. I guess check out the mystic's shop. Quacks are always fun to be around
Well, you can't actually get too close to it due to the whole "made out of burning fire" bit, so you can't really examine the smaller objects or examine the labels from here. Indeed, most Nightmares are also giving the stall wide berth. You can see that arranged at the very front of the stall boxes containing lumps of metal. Steel, bismuth, platinum and the like. Well, at least you
think that that's platinum; hard to be sure with all the light, it could be osmium for all you know.
Further towards the interior of the stall, the contents of the boxes get less organized, now just containing random rocks that don't seem to vary much between each box. Well, not any more than they do inside their own boxes. At the back of the stall, balanced precariously yet stably upon tips of flame are larger implements. The sort of knick-knacks you'd find in one of those new-age hippy stores or a cliched fantasy novel, distorted through the lens of either drunkenness or insanity. Crystal disco balls. Staves that could have conceivably belonged to Gandalf in some obscure, hypothetical early draft of
Lord of the Rings wherein he moonlights as a pimp. A circular drift net with a dream-catcher's weave made from tendrils of water whereupon flickering phantom spiders perpetually re-enact the events of
The King's Speech.
A gentle prodding interrupts your observation. Floating next to you is a bedsheet ghost with ink-printed scribbles all over its formerly white shroud, undulating like a jellyfish, it shoves a newspaper towards your hand, held and moved through intangible forces. It's a copy of
The Age, a more recent one. Come to think of it, you never did pay much heed to the one you have already, save for that single brief glance.
Afterwards, she decides to head to the music-box stall. Why not?
Well, the music box itself is unremarkable. Okay, no, it's definitely remarkable, but it's the least remarkable of everything else going on here. What's more salient is that its music becomes far clearer now that you stand next to it. The shopkeeper slash pharmacist,
Symphony of an Everyman, a capricious Romantic piece of program music that tells the life of a perfectly ordinary person in the modern world from their first breath to the final words of their eulogy, melodies expectantly at you, as if awaiting for your request.
Your can hear the rest of the stall in more detail now. It is a pharmacy. It is every pharmacy. The typical, the atypical. The familiar, the foreign. The one you visited in your childhood. The one you never visited on the other side of the world. Music lines the shelves. You have your cold medicines. Your vitamin supplements. Your bandages. There are also the ones you wouldn't find in a normal pharmacy. The high-strength low-duration analgesics. The rapid-action healing salves. The combat stimulants.
"I'm not actually sure how I did it..." Rachel says. She concentrates a moment, and her right index finger turns into a blade. "Yes!"
She then proceeds to gut the poor stuffed bear.
Surprisingly, the teddy bear is not filled with human entrails and screams of agony. It's just filled with hardcore porn. Hot, literally hot, turkey-stuffing on cotton-stuffing action. Or rather inaction. Because as it turns out no matter how exciting your footage of your spice-and-breadcrumb coated pieces of cotton are, they won't suddenly start to magically move. Tearing some of the rather confounding and boring photos and videos out, you uncover what appears to be a large, plastic-packaged brick of some sort of white powder.
You're not going to say it's cocaine. But, it definitely looks like cocaine. A brick of cocaine. With an electronic timer and circuit board that looks like they were taken out of a bomb from a Hollywood movie. The digital display is frozen at
00:01, because of course it is.
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Topic: Overhang - Sorry (Read 30397 times)