the garden within the wasteland

Act 2, Part 8

It was overwhelming at first; so many objects, boxes, and shelves looked down and up at me as if calling to me, "Make us proud!" "Do not let us down!" and "Save the shop society brush!" were some of the things I've imagined them calling out, though I did enjoy it after a while, the overwhelming notion of the responsibility that I have to be responsible for all of this.

I stared back at the counter. A naiser was rummaging through a few boxes before retrieving a mirror, which he hung on the wall. He looked downwards and then stared at himself in the eye.

"I've done this a thousand times. and I will do it a thousand more," he muttered to himself before delivering a slap to himself, lighting a fire in his eyes. He returned his sights on me.

"Gotten familiar yet?" He asked, his voice, while still energetic, sounded a lot more focused.

"Barely. How do you keep track of everything here?" I asked still, my eyes pondering and wavering between all the items. There were clothes, armor, and weapons; books in varying conditions from barely hanging on a lifeline to pristine; and more random-looking relics and small statues. There was a statue of a green hand, each finger stretched outwards to the heavens. a ring forged onto each finger. I would've kept listing items if he didn't let out that single breath of a chuckle, just enough to showcase my foolishness.

"I barely know what's in my own shop, paint man," he declared to me with absolutely undeniable confidence.

"Then how do you even sell these items?" I barely gave myself time to think before blurting it out. How can he trust me as a salesman if he barely knows how to sell? Is he setting me up to fail?

"Because I don't sell items, my naive novice student," he chuckled as he simulated the sound of an old wise hermit. He began to wander and ponder each item as he moved towards me, his steps now taken in long strides as he softly examined each item with his eye, a sense of pride looming over him.

"I sell experience, I sell memories, and I sell solutions to problems you don't have. I will sell one man a potion to guarantee his muscles grow twice as big! Then sell the next person books, telling him that no one likes a muscle jockey. When I look at the eye of whoever enters my shop, I can hear a little voice. the voice of the product I'm going to sell them."

"and... You expect me to just do the same?"

"if it works for you. But I'm expecting you to find your own flavor of shop-man-ship."

He took a deep sigh after saying, before raising his foot and slamming it downwards, pointing at the door and calling out to me.

"FLIP THE SIGN AND OPEN THE DOOR. OUR SHOP IS OPEN FOR BUSINESS."

Through simple actions, I couldn't help but bring an extra fuel and jump into my step as I grabbed the handle with the might of a thousand men, it taking all my strength to bring it downward and slamming it inwards before shooting my arm like an arrow towards the sign, flipping it within seconds before dashing away from the door, a puff of imaginary smoke filling around me as I posed before the door.

"NOW THAT'S THE SPIRIT, LAD!" he called out like a commander leading his men to death.

Then...silence....

An emptiness filled around us, my feet still planted into the floor, feeling as if about to break the stone planks under me from how much weight I've pressed downwards. It took me a few moments before I returned to my regular stance, a disappointment washing over me.

"No one's here?" I called out, searching for A naiser, for his guidance before spotting him before the counter, appearing to have teleported there. He was seated on a chair, his legs crossed, with a small ball in his hands, which he fidgeted with.