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| Topic Started: Jul 27 2008, 06:51 PM (17 Views) | |
| Son | Jul 27 2008, 06:51 PM Post #1 |
Not too shabby
  ![]](http://209.85.48.16/static/1/pip_r.png)
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The plain glass door with oaken border opened, causing a bell to ring deeper in the shop. Sunset beams pierced the gloom to illuminate part of the worn wooden floor around a stocky shadow cast by the large silhouette standing just inside the door. Seth's bright green eyes cast about the inside of the shop, taking stock of today's wares. The large glass window next to the door, always cluttered and half obscured by knick-knacks and doo-dads of some kind or another, today was almost completely blocked by a number of unmarked cardboard boxes and wooden slat crates. Only a few spokes of light managed to enter the shop through the window, but they did not get far before the shadows consumed them. The rest of the shop was dimly lit with a number of oil lanterns placed on shelves just overhead. Seth could see four rows of wooden shelves, the kind you might find in an old bookstore, littered with all sorts of trinkets: expensive dinnerware, minute statuettes of old gods and goddesses and other mythical beings, pouches and gems of all shapes, sizes, and colors, talismans from numerous religions, fragile urns filled with who knows what, sampling dishes piled with herbs and spices from all over the world, and books. Lots of books. Books from every part of the world and every time, covering anything and everything from the origins of Christ himself to how to make the most of your feng shue. A small shop with a lot to offer. Taking a couple of steps inside, Seth let the door close and, with it, smothered the noise and clatter of the city. "It's about time ye closed dat door, boy. All dat holl'rin' and nonsense gives me 'ead a migraine." The old woman's distinct Jamaican accent called from the back and made him grin. Madame Jasmine was one of the few who could still honestly make the Protochild smile these days. "Sorry about that, Madame Jasmine. Old habit, ya know?" He called back, silently wondering how she always knew it was him, even when he didn't stand in the door like that. "Old habit notting. Ye should know bettah than ta leave me door open like dat." The small dark skinned old woman shuffled out of the back room and into view, her unique appearance making her almost formidable in the gloom. She had dozens of talismans and charms woven into her lengthy dreadlocks and her whole body seemed to be covered with never ending layers of colored sashes all sewn together to make an abomination of a robe. How she walked around with out tripping over the inches that trailed along the ground made everyone who entered her shop wonder. "Now, den. What can I be helpin' ye wit taday?" She asked in a motherly voice, but Seth knew she was as kind-hearted as they come. She just didn't want everyone knowing, lest they take advantage of her. Not that they'd get away with that. Seth continued to grin as he pulled his worn out notebook from his raggedy bookbag and flipped through until he found what he wanted. "Here," he said and showed her the page while pointing at a small list of names written hastily near the bottom, "Can you tell me who they are and where I could find them?" |
| Sometimes, it's not an angel you need, but a demon. | |
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