'Isaac' the Merchant was having a slow day which was pretty normal in this line of business, especially so for Merchants who just moved into a new location. Now Isaac was no newbie when it came to peddling his stock, which was evident in how robust his catalog was. He wasn't really lying when he told Jessica that he had a little bit of everything and a little lot of less.
On the off chance that he didn't have something his lovely customers wanted, he was confident in his inventory that he could procure them a more suitable alternative.
Alas, he would have to wait for a while before business really started moving — waiting was never a problem for him. He'd done this a hundred times in a hundred different places and each time was a repeat of the time before.
He was still in the phase of sourcing his goods to his honored customers which was always the slowest part when a Merchant set up a new shop.
"You're going behind a glass, buddy. Let's hope we can get you a new home this time around." He patted the wailing Necronomicon tenderly on its fleshly wrappings.
For a stereotypical book, it gets a lot of bad rep. Human faces crying blood tears stitched to the cover was as much a spoiler as anything could ever get and yet people still act shocked when they read its content, or when it reads their souls. It happens both ways and the little book was a pretty fast reader.
As he walked around his store, shelving and boxing some of his wares, Isaac couldn't help but picture the day when he would get to sell all his supplies. He chuckled, knowing how glorious such a day would be.
As Merchants, they prided themselves in procuring authentic, vintage and the highest quality of goods so they can peddle to wanting customers.
"Now how did you get out of Schrödinger's box? I put the both of you in there for a reason." He sighed tiredly and grabbed the human-sized statue of a female angel that was hiding a bunch of mannequins.
He took the statue to the backrooms, ignoring the flickering lights and the vague shapes hiding behind pillars and went straight to the inconspicuous small box lying on the floor.
He opened the box and started pushing the larger statue into it until it completely disappeared into the box.
"Stupid cat. You only have one job and that's to watch her and you can't even do that. It's not like you do anything else." He grumbled under his breath as he clasped the lock of the box into place and then left it on the ground and went back up to sort out his shelf.
As Merchants, they had a love for everything they paid for but sometimes it was extremely trying on their patience and mental health.
Like having to perform roadside therapy for a tome of parchments that singlehandedly rebranded cosmic evil, only to find out it was just a misunderstood book with autism and down syndrome and that it's skin was a little bit darker than the others. As for the constantly regenerating bursting eyeballs? Well it was a bold fashion statement it tried in order to build up confidence and have a bigger public presence. It's simply aesthetics.
The end result was always worth it but the time between it was a dice roll of relative peace or a constant loop of migraine.
But that was the curse of the trade and any Merchant worth their title would happily receive it with both hands and a smile. They could always trade it for something else.
He went to one of his storerooms and picked up a half opened unmarked package box. The box vibrated in his hands causing him to laugh.
"I'm not putting you on the top shelf, Pandora." He chuckled again as the box hummed. "Don't lower your worth for anything. You are one hell of an expensive box so you don't need to be on a display case. You're in the 'special order' category. Anyone who wants you will come for you and no one else, so just chill in the back for now. Deal?"
The box hesitated before humming a low sound.
"Don't worry, I'm not leaving until I get each and everyone of you a new home." Isaac reassured the unassuming mundane box and put it on the top shelf of the storeroom.
A Merchant, especially a well travelled one like Isaac, knew the bone deep relationship between them and their merch. The merchandise makes the Merchant and the Merchant sells the merchandise. It was a cosmic symbiotic relationship.
Unlike some rookie marketplace peddlers that called themselves Merchants and desperately batter their trinkets at every chance they get, real Merchants would instead spend an ungodly amount of time in sourcing for prime merchandise from the nook and cranny of forgotten realms.
The shortest time old-timer Merchants would spend sourcing up a decent inventory was a century.
Isaac had personally stayed in one location for two thousand years just so he could have a chance at bidding for the weapon of a particularly stubborn warrior after they died. And that wasn't the longest time he spent sourcing for a particular item either.
Naturally, in an egotistical economy like theirs, Merchants were bound to be the prideful sort, but it was in the way they expressed their pride that made it prominent.
Isaac for example could patiently hunt for the stock for his inventory for a hundred thousand years or any exorbitant amount of time as long as he got equal quality goods. And his pride was that any time he was satisfied with his haul and decided to open up shop, he won't go scavenging for supply until he empties his current inventory, regardless of how long it took.
He took his pride in the high quality goods he sold – even his junk was of higher quality compared to others, he did the comparison – and the confidence that he could empty his inventory in record time.
Some Merchants still had items from six hauls ago in the last ten thousand years in their top shelf.
He could not imagine subjecting his carefully procured goods to such a fate. They were Merchants and their one and only job description was to sell anything they could get their hands on.
They did not overly care about the exchange they got from their goods, as that was mostly used as tax for the Union, but that did not mean that they'd sell their goods at a loss. They cared more about the customer getting their hands on the items they wanted than the exchange they received. The exchange was nothing more than the token of the transaction struck, and for when the Union came to inspect their books.
"Both of you will stay here for the aesthetics. It'll make it seem like you guys are a packaged deal." He said to the pair of ebony and ivory cast guns that he kept in the same showcase that he retired Rebellion to. "I shouldn't have to tell you guys how important presentation is."
He picked up an enchanted chessboard and set it up near where his little patch of mutated green grew. He did the same to a pair of pixelated diamond pickaxes. There was order in the way he chaotically showcased his goods.
"I think I've moved them to the backroom." He murmured to himself, shrugged after a moment and simply called out loud. "Any book rocking their human skin winter coat; to the backrooms. Today's aesthetic does not feature human skin as a theme. And keep the madness within the pages, thank you."
Was it weird that books were more likely to be sentient than anything else? Well he stopped questioning things a very long time ago and learned to quickly accept them with whatever weird quirk they came in with. It made for more fun that way.
"Now where do I put you?" He looked at the weird gun in his hands, thinking of throwing it in any direction of the store when his doorbell jingled as someone entered his store.
"Oh, Jessica, it's you. Welcome." He said as he went behind his counter to receive his customer. His first repeat customer.
"Hey there Isaac. What is that?" She gave him a small wave before noticing the weird gun with the bulbous head in his hands.
"This? It's a Null Void Projector." He replied offhandedly as he laid down the gun on the counter and smiled at Jessica. "What can I help you with today?"
She smirked and placed a hand on her hip, looking all smug and proud. "Well, let's just say those little babies I bought proved their worth over. So I decided to see if there is something I could get to pair with them."
"Well, I have a few recommendations—"
"I'm on a budget." She quickly added with an embarrassed flush to which Isaac nodded in complete understanding.
The constraints of budget spending was something Merchants were intimately familiar with.
"Okay, let's hear it."
"What are you looking for? Protection, counter-surveillance, disguise, or perhaps something more damaging?"
She actually took a second when Isaac listed a few avenues she could procure from which meant that she didn't think too much about what she wanted and instead wanted the shop to give her good options. A good customer trait.
"I can take care of myself pretty well so I'm not naked on that front. What I got last time can be counted for counter-surveillance. So that leaves disguise, don't it?"
"One second." Isaac disappeared from the counter to the storeroom behind him and came back in a handful of seconds with a small package in his hands. He slid it over the counter at Jessica.
"A Silicon 'Quick Change' Mask." He said as Jessica picked it up. "Fits perfectly to your face and allows you to alter your appearance. Limited to 3 set profiles that can't be changed after they are set. For the limited-budget option."
Her eyes widened as a wicked smile crept up her face. Three different identities for plausible deniability. Sure three was limiting but that was three more than every other person, with the shaky exception of shape shifters of course.
She was taking it without any question. "How much?"
"One thousand." Isaac replied with a service smile while Jessica winced as that was a little too close to the limit of her budget.
"No discount?" She asked weakly.
"That's the budget-friendly price." He replied and she winced softly.
"Well, no use crying about it now." She shook off the depression in record time, probably taking comfort in how it would make her PI work easier. "So how does this work?"
"There's a plate inside. You'll connect it to your device and send over the image, then you just have to leave the mask on it for a few minutes and that's basically it. You can connect your device to the mask afterwards and change it remotely."
She nodded. "That's easy enough. Thanks a lot, Isaac." He might be some sort of weird dealer/mutant/plug but he was cool in her eyes. Who else sold high-tech spy stuff in a junk shop?
"Not at all. Your patronage here at Junk 'N Stuff is more than enough. Thank you." He said with a soft rebuttal and a smile.
"Damn, even your customer service is top tier. Catch you later, Isaac."
"You as well. You can also refer us to your friends. We got a lot of stuff they might need."
"Sure." She waved him off and left the shop with a soft jingle.
He smiled as she left before leaving the counter and going back to make sure that some things were chaotically arranged to bring out the ambience of his quaint little shop.
Well the day was still young so all he had to do was wait around for the next customer to walk in through the door and let him take another step into emptying his inventory. He had no problem waiting for a long time, he was very patient.
––––––
.
Cautious steps took her towards the mundane doors and the sign atop told her that this really was the place, not that she needed the sign's confirmation. There were a number of places in the world that were warded from her prying eyes, but not ever one that was in this part of the city.
The reason why her current actions were prompted was because a new variable appeared, one that was entirely foreign to the weave she's viewed a million times.
She did not get to grow as old as she did if she couldn't ascertain the factors of new variables and estimating the dangers they carried.
She looked down to the relic around her neck and the frown on her face tightened. As the guardian of the ancient relic for the last few centuries, the bond between the two of them could be called intimate, in a way of speaking, and it should have notified her the moment the tapestry fluctuated, except that it didn't.
She had to personally be there to witness a moment never seen before in the grand tapestry for her to know that something was incredibly wrong.
In the great tapestry, unrelated events were hardly unrelated as everything was connected in one way or the other, weaving a grand web to the Greater Will. And hours ago she was reminded of this lesson, having a front row seat as it played out.
Dr. Stephen Strange, honored as a memorable persona in the weave, was someone she had been keeping an eye on for a long time – since the day he was born – that she knew every single thing about his life; like the exact number of patients he would save in his practice.
So familiar that she could only stare transfixed as a completely new event played out in front of her and it involved someone that was never supposed to be here — not this soon, and not in that outfit.
She watched as young Peter Parker, in his iconic Spiderman outfit – an outfit that should not exist for at least a few months, with quality that should take him at least a decade to acquire – disengaged from a high speed chase and swooped down to carry a man that the car had hit to the nearest hospital — the same hospital that Stephen Strange worked in.
This was a meeting that never happened. None of the branches she'd peered into ever recorded an event like this, and there were two reasons for that:
First, young Peter Parker was never supposed to be as dressed as he was by this time. He should have been in a mask, a patched up hoodie and heavy pants, for the next few months before having the avenue to acquire a suit – of vastly lowered quality – like the one he was wearing.
Secondly, and most importantly, Spiderman was only ever supposed to meet Dr. Strange… not Dr. Stephen Strange. This was an absolute point because Spiderman, as acknowledged as he was, was never supposed to exist this soon.
She could excuse herself for being unaware of the stark changes to young Peter's future because she didn't peer that much into the lives of the heroes and other notable persons as there was literally no reason for her to do so.
What she couldn't excuse was the relic around her neck failing to warn her of the new weave she had been living in, for quite some time too from the looks of it.
She had teleported back to the Sanctum and immediately went to check on the wards of the three Sanctums and only after doing that did she isolate herself and peered into the Eye to view the new changes made to the weave… only for her to see nothing.
She could see the impossible events that happened a few minutes ago, something that should have lit a bonfire in the weave, but there was nothing strange about it. She could see that what was supposed to be a new weave was instead seamlessly blended into the others.
She instantly knew something was wrong when she peered further into today's weave and saw that its future was no different than the others close to it. That should not be possible.
She understood.
The changes being made were hidden. They were already made part of the weave but until those changes happened, nothing new could be seen — it'll simply blend into the others.
Being the Keeper of the Eye for as long as she had, she quickly identified the source of the branching path by following events around Peter Parker's life, until she couldn't.
She could see everything that had happened around him, and even the possibilities if she wanted, but there was one single moment where Peter Parker completely disappeared from her sights, which was also when the changes started happening — when he entered the store in front of her.
It was not a magical ward or a powerful artifact that hid him from her. No, that wasn't it.
Peter Parker effectively disappeared from the purview of Time itself for the few minutes he was in the store.
So now here she was, paying a… 'courtesy visit' while she had the other Masters watching the wards around the Sanctums.
She stood in front of the door and yet she couldn't feel anything that indicated that some great magic was cast here. The door and the store as a whole were as mundane as any other shop along this street could be.
Her heart and soul were the picture lake of tranquility as she pushed open the doors, pausing just a moment to look up at the bell that was rung on her entrance.
She felt something pull up behind her as she stepped past the threshold and yet she couldn't understand what it was.
She saw a man at the counter but her steps remained unhurried as she glanced both left and right, eyes drawn to a number of items hung up in different parts of the store.
She finally arrived at the counter, the man behind it smiling patiently at her and not offended that she took her time. She couldn't sense anything from him.
"Welcome to Junk 'N Stuff. Interested in anything you see?" He appeared jovial enough but she'd dealt with demons for far more times than anyone ever should.
She smiled at him. Conversation was a good start. Once again her eyes roamed some of the things on his countertop. "Quite the assortment you have here."
The smile on his face widened, easily pleased by her compliment and her good eye for quality.
"Many thanks." He folded his hands across his chest, a ray of pride wafting off of him. "Every piece of trinket you see, I can assure you, is of the utmost quality, of authentic make, or is a vintage piece."
"Now you're bragging." She pointed out, still smiling.
His smile turned challenging. "If you can prove me wrong then I'll let you have any one item for free."
Deals. She laughed and shook her. "I'll humor you for now but I'll be keeping an eye out." She had made enough deals in her life to know when to not make one.
"So what exactly is this store about? I've seen enough to get the idea but tell me."
"But of course. My name is Isaac, and I'm a Merchant, and this," he gestured openly at the store, "is my little domain where simple and honest trade can be carried out. Goods from lands you've never seen, never heard of, and can never go to are readily made available for your purchase. Whatever you want, as long as you have the means, is open for trade."
Her eyes narrowed and her fingers flexed. She saw the flash of pride when he called himself a 'Merchant', in a way that insinuated that it was more of a title than a job occupation.
"A trade you say." Now why did that word tickle her? Maybe because she could remember some 'fond' memories of beings offering her trades. "And pray tell, what do you receive in compensation?"
He gave a casual half shrug at the question. "Any country's currency will do. You can also pay in gold, diamond, precious stones or through other esoteric means."
"Souls?" She stared at him, her fingers flexing spastically behind her back.
"Those too," he readily agreed. "It's a bit difficult to price and most people tend to not accept the price of their soul."
"You presume to know the price of a soul?" Her eyes hardened and her voice dipped into a threatening edge. Whoever he was, she was not underestimating him but whether he offered her the same courtesy was unknown seeing as he remained unperturbed in front of her clearly hostile posture.
"Like I said, it's a bit hard to equate and due to the hundreds of factors involved in its constitution, it's a very unstable form of currency." He ended with a bit of distaste and sighed helplessly. "However as a Merchant whose policy is to trade with anyone willing, souls are one of the rare currencies people use and I have to accept."
"That's a lot of loopholes for a 'simple and honest' trade. I take it you don't concern yourself with how these souls are procured, do you?"
"No." He said easily. "Just the same way I don't ask my customers how they got their money, gold or any priced item they come to barter with."
He looked at her, a smaller smile on his face now, and spoke with an extremely professional tone, devoid of any inflections.
"I'm just a Merchant, dear customer. I'm not a moral or ethics adjudicator. My only concerns are in plying my trade fairly. Anything that happens after that, outside those doors, is of no interest to me."
Her fingers paused as she listened to what he said. She didn't trust his words, but she also had no grounds to call him a liar.
She had come here prepared because of the unforeseen changes to the weave. Whatever she was expecting — a big fight basically — meeting a man who posed himself as a Merchant was not one of them.
She could see clearly that he took being a Merchant as his personality and reasoning, which wasn't exactly helpful. Leaving the conversation where it was, she pivoted in another direction to see his reaction and willingness to comply with answers.
"I'll admit that my reason for coming here is not to trade but instead because of the residency you've taken up in this dimension."
"I have the permit for this store if that's what you're asking." He said, which she ignored.
"How did you get through the barrier?" Her voice came out extremely serious because she was. This could be the prelude to a crisis the likes of which she's literally never seen.
He looked confused for a moment. "If you mean how I got into this country and city, well public transportation like everyone else. If you're talking about the dimensional barriers warding off infernal beings," he looked down at himself, "Well I'm not some demonic creature as you can see. If you're asking about my other modes of transportation then I'm sorry I can't tell you. Trade secrets, I'm afraid."
The only thing she could verify in all he said was about him not being a demonic entity and even at that she remained highly doubtful because she couldn't sense anything from him. Not his presence, not his body heat or his intent. She could only read his body's expression and given that it was the only thing she could read from it made her trust it less.
On the other hand, he was easily forthcoming with information, being knowledgeable about the dimensional barriers and who knows what else.
"Why did you come here? Why this close to the Sanctum? Why this city?" She shed the veil of ignorance around them with those questions.
He smiled at her, looking pleased with her question.
"I'm a Merchant," he started and she wondered how that was related to answering her question, "knowing the best place to set up my shop is basic marketing."
His shoulders slacked and he seemed to give up on something. He plastered on an easygoing smile as he opened his mouth to speak.
"Ma'am, I'll apologize for any misunderstanding my arrival must have cost you. It's not much but I'll assure you that I'm only here to sell my wares, nothing else."
She snorted. "And you don't care about the outcome your action of trading these objects of yours might cause."
He nodded, still smiling. "No, I don't. I sell things. Whatever my customers do with their purchase, good or bad, is entirely up to them. I don't know what else I can say other than that."
"Leave." She said, "Take your shop and your goods and settle somewhere else on another planet."
"That I can't do. Not only will it reflect badly on me in the Union reports, but I can't exactly leave such a prime location and my potential customers without having barely made any sales."
And therein lay the problem. She could attempt to fight him off this dimension but the problem was she wasn't even on earth anymore. Yes, she could see the outside world from the windows, but she couldn't sense anything from the outside world.
Her connection to the Sanctum's wards had disappeared, nor could she feel the ley lines of magic that ran through the city under her feet. Her connection and influence to any and all dimensions of magic were cut off. They were practically nonexistent.
So not only was her magic hampered, but she could sense some truly strong magical artifacts lying around in different corners of the store.
Her mind zeroed in on the fact that she was dimensionally nonexistent and unfettered to the weaves of time, same as young Peter had been when he entered the store.
"You say all that and yet you've cut me off from my dimension and sealed my magic. How else am I to take that if not a threat?" It wasn't all her magic but it wasn't a small thing either.
Surprisingly, he gave her a little bow of apology and explained.
"Sorry if that might have startled you or painted me in a jaded light. By the rules of the store, any and all outside influences on customers are not permitted entry. If it's something that hampers the customer in any way then the store will compensate for however long the customer stays. You'll regain all your external connections the moment you step outside, so have no fear."
"So hypothetically, I'm not connected to any outside influence like say… time, space, divination, or maybe something like… cosmic soul contracts with infernal extra-dimensional beings?"
"It's not hypothetical. For the entire duration you stay here, you're effectively separated from every influence you were connected to. The connection is still there but there'll be no feedback between you and it… same for the, uh, 'cosmic soul contracts with infernal extra-dimensional beings'."
They stared at each other for some time, the man, Isaac, patiently waiting for her, while she debated with herself whether or not she actually wanted to do this.
"You called yourself a Merchant, correct?" He nodded. "Would you perhaps have anything capable of breaking conceptually-bound soul contacts?"
'Isaac' 'the Merchant' smiled happily at that. "I have just the thing."
She wasn't sold on anything he was selling, and even if she was temporarily disconnected from it, nothing in the weave was ever truly a coincidence.
The man left the counter and walked into the wider part of the store and she silently followed him as he seemingly went around to gather items that could hypothetically break a soul bind.
She paid half attention to him as he walked around while the other part of her mind was curiously studying some of the magical items that caught her attention. The old scholar inside of her that had been silent for a very long time found a couple of items that were playfully prodding her curiosity, but she knew better than to entertain such thoughts.
Demons loved to stoke the curiosity of the heart in a way that would make a lesser man seek them out eagerly, equally eager to pay obnoxiously. That was how they created a shield of innocence around them, after all the poor man sought them out on his own and paid out an inflated price by his own will. Demon or whatever thing Isaac was, she would give him no quarter in whatever deal he sought.
They passed by a shelf of books and an out of place golden chalice when she finally saw something that made her stop and do a double take.
There, peeping out its head from behind the chair was a beautifully decorated carpet of red, purple and gold.
"See something you li– oh. Hey there, bud." Isaac saw her staring at the clearly sentient carpet that was doing a poor job at hiding and shrugged. "Just ignore his antics."
She had her own experience with sentient artifacts, from prideful living swords to whimsical cloaks, and one thing that was common knowledge in regards to these kinds of artifacts was that they chose their own master, and not the other way around.
She wasn't naïve enough to be sentimental towards a magic carpet in the store of a suspicious Merchant just because it wanted to bond with her.
There was an uncanniness to how human it expressed itself, but then again she'd seen weirder.
She almost chuckled on seeing it discard its shyness when it saw her turning around to ignore it and slowly pushed itself out from behind the shelf and followed a few steps behind her by walking on its fringes.
Isaac turned towards the carpet, who comically froze in place, with a fed up expression. "Stop bothering the customer."
"Don't worry about it. It's personality is quite entertaining, so it's not a bother." She said offhandedly, ignoring the carpet's newly gained smugness, and stole a glance at the growing collection of items in Isaac's arms.
She followed after him, carpet following behind her, noting down some particular items that, while not magical in nature, were clearly of some powerful nature.
She saw him open a drawer to take out a rune-marked knife and once again found her attention being grabbed by something she never expected. Interestingly, she couldn't sense anything coming from the table until the drawers were pulled out.
"… What is that?" She couldn't quite hide the shock from her face or voice.
He looked at her and followed her line of sight to a transparent pouch that held three red glowing stones. One looked like red-tinted flames were trapped inside it, another looked like swirling liquids and stars were trapped in a stone, and the last one just glowed softly.
From the appearance, she had an inkling of what it was but clearly that couldn't be, except the pure magic wafting off of them forced her to stay her doubts.
"Oh right, those are Philosopher's Stones. For some reason every magic and alchemy community I've been to only have cautionary tales about them. Personally, I think they were overreacting."
She looked at him with a rigid stare, feeling both incredulous and flabbergasted at his airy attitude.
"You have three Philosopher's Stones?" She asked in utter disbelief, the carpet nodding behind her with shared sentiments.
He frowned and looked at the stones with a very open look of disappointment. "With all the hype around it you'll think that everyone would want to buy it, right? For some reason that's not the case. In fact it's the exact opposite"
He picked the pouch and poured the stones into his palms, clicking his tongue as they glowed in his face.
"At first every wizard and alchemist are all frantic to get their hands on it, which is good and all, but soon enough they start treating it like it killed their family or something." He brought one of them to his eyes as if to inspect it for a flaw he couldn't see. "And they change hands so fast. Everyone is eager to play hot potato with it, but give it a decade or two and suddenly they want nothing to do with it like it's some taboo or something. And then you start hearing all these bloated nightmarish tales about what the stones supposedly did."
She listened as he droned on about the quirky stones being stereotyped and exploited and then blamed and shunned by people, including their own creators, who never bothered to read their backstory summary or the disclaimer that followed their purchase.
"The last time I sold this guy," he picked up the one that had red liquids(which was definitely blood) swirling inside it, "the man told me, quite proudly at that, that he had robbed his entire magical community; heirlooms, artifacts, precious stones and a library worth of books that was as old as the magic community of his world."
He carelessly dropped the stone into the pouch, looking very unimpressed at the three stones. She strongly suspected that the pouch must've been filled with Philosopher's Stones at one point, which was a genuinely ludicrous thought.
He returned the pouch and closed the drawers, cutting off her senses to one of the conceptual relics of magic.
He finished his story in a very disinterested tone. "It took only 15 years before one of his grandsons came into my store to sell it back to me for a sizable collection of what his grandfather paid for it. I would have given him a gracious discount, since his grandfather apparently made me a household name, but he kept looking at me like I ended his entire bloodline so I didn't."
She didn't even know what she was supposed to say to that. She could hardly believe what she just heard so she turned to the carpet who was in a similar state of shock but opened its hands(hand-assigned fringes) as if to say 'can you believe this guy?'
She was still reeling from the horrifying tale when she heard him ask her something ridiculous.
"You seem to have a better head than the collective of those idiots, so how about it? Interested in buying these fancy stones?"
She drew in a deep breath, calmed herself, and gave him a stony reply. "No. I have absolutely zero interest in purchasing those stones."
She wasn't afraid of the stones, no, nor was she worried about the sea of painful curses those stones had swallowed. She wasn't about to bring one of the physical concepts of magic inside the Sanctum, not only because of the fate-thread surrounding those stones, but because of the things that would happen in the near future. She would not risk arming traitors with the Philosopher's Stone.
Isaac shrugged. "Well, I had to at least try." He picked up a bundle of thread from somewhere and turned to her. "Let's head back and look through the options we have."
He spread out the magical objects he'd collected and she could only blink as some of them. Now that they were directly in front of her, the things she could feel from some of them would have them be locked in the most warded room back in the Sanctum.
"These are some of the best options around with clear cut use and descriptions. Peruse to your content, dear customer."
She ignored the part where he called her a customer and instead raised her brows at him. "'Some' of the best options?"
He made a 'so-so' gesture with his hands. "If you are interested in becoming a Flayed Men or singing delights to the Under-Void for small graces then I can go into the backrooms and bring out the extensive list." His nonchalance was slightly unnerving.
"No need." She replied while the carpet emoted behind her.
… and then did a double take she couldn't because she was rooted in place.
—The Shard of the Un-Sworn Oath (Forgotten Realms) – A sliver of crystal from the plane of pure chaos. When pressed against a contract, it unravels the orderly magic of the agreement into meaningless noise.
—Dagger of the Broken Promise (Fable) – A blade that grows hotter the more binding the pact. Thrust into the parchment (or the entity who holds it), it burns the magical terms away, leaving only ashes and free will.
—Eraser of the Inevitable (SCP Foundation) – A mundane-looking pink eraser that can remove any written clause from reality. It doesn't tear the paper; it makes it so the clause never was. Limited uses before it vanishes.
A crystal, a dagger, and a pink eraser. She would have called it a distasteful prank if not for what her magical senses were picking up from these items, especially the eraser and the shard.
She looked up at him, her face deliberately void of emotions, and he gave her an encouraging look to continue. She continued.
—Grey Council's Medallion (The Dresden Files) – While not its primary function, its ability to negate magical energy directed at the wearer can, in theory, disrupt the active magical "pull" of a contract trying to enforce its terms.
Quite the powerful artifact, but not as outlandish in scale as the items before it. It also lacked the conceptual weight to accomplish the task in mind.
—Chrono-Loophole (Doctor Who) – A Gallifreyan legal device. If a contract has a time-based clause ("until the sun dies"), this can create a localized time bubble where, subjectively, the condition is met, freeing the signatory.
A device. Not entirely magic, but not far from it either. A casual glance at it and a read at its description clued her in on two certain possibilities. It was either from a very advanced galaxy—highly unlikely— or it was from an advanced time period far ahead of this universe's earth. But just like medallion, she felt it lacked substance.
There was also a very high chance of it being what she needed, especially if she used it in conjunction with the Eye.
—Wishbone of the Monkey's Paw (W. W. Jacobs) – The ultimate cautionary loophole tool. It can technically void a contract by granting a wish, but the resulting horror will make the original pact seem pleasant. A last, desperate resort.
She gave a satisfactory hum at the familiar warnings. Now this was a genuine magic artifact of great strength. Nothing said powerful, more believable and authentic than the crystal clear promise of maddening horrors that should obviously not make it worth it. Should.
She was also acutely aware of the fact that she was going through a list of powerful magical artefacts while a sentient carpet watched from over her shoulders and gave its expressive commentary.
—Sigil of a Dead God (Elder Scrolls) – The enforceable power of a contract often relies on cosmic principles. Bearing the sigil of a deceased deity introduces a "fault" in reality—their domain (e.g., Oaths, Commerce) is broken, so related magics fray.
A sacrificial pact. While she refrained from meddling with gods and their domains, she was not ignorant of the power their names carried, dead god or not. And dead or not, she wasn't interested in invoking a god's authority without being aware of the troubles that'll come with it.
—The Unwritten Law (The Library of Babel) – A blank page that, when placed atop a contract, absorbs its terms and declares them "unwritten." The magic and memory of the pact fade from all but the most powerful minds.
Ah, a memory spell similar to the Runes of Kof-Kol, but just like the Runes of Kof-Kol, it was incapable of manipulating the memories of cosmic beings. If only every solution was always that convenient.
—The "Get Out of Hell Free" Card (Monopoly, Occult Edition) – A one-time-use card. When played during the enforcement of an infernal contract, it compels a devil to immediately and permanently release your soul from the pact. Devils hate this card.
The card was possibly the weakest artifact on the list as what she was dealing with was no mere demon.
—Plague of Uncreation (High Fantasy) – A bottled, spreading void that unravels reality. The implied threat: "Void our contract, or I release this, and your entire plane of existence—along with your future acquisitions—ceases to be."
She looked at the bottle that supposedly could unravel reality and found herself at a rare loss where her thoughts just failed her.
Unfortunately, while outlandish, it wasn't strong enough as the party concerned sleeps in a realm of unreality.
She moved on to the last item on the list and read through it, and read through it again to be sure that those were the exact wordings.
—Orb of Annihilation (Dungeons & Dragons) – Not subtle. Threaten to drop it at your feet unless the contract is voided. If you cease to exist, the entity gets nothing, making annulment the preferable outcome. A dangerous bluff.
The list was certainly enlightening and there were three or four items that she was sure she could use, along with the Eye and one other magical artifact back at the Sanctum, to completely break the soul bind.
She looked up at him and just like always, he was smiling at her as he waited for her to make a decision.
"You're a sly one, Merchant. You showed me all these and yet haven't said a thing about the price."
His chuckle was a simple thing, one that could be heard from any man, yet it kept her on her toes as with everything else he did.
"It's nothing of the sort. You can ask for the price any time you want; if you want to compare prices or if you've decided. I've been in this trade for a long time and I've found that there are few limits a customer won't break to get what they want."
He brought out a small box and put it on the counter and prompted her to open it.
"While I want my customers to buy my goods, I never try to coerce a price from them."
—Ribbon of the Revered Ancient Six Paths and Ten Thousand Roads Venerable – With a single step he ascended the Heavens to the Heavens Above. With ten thousand steps he descended the Great Void to the unmade Sea of Nothingness.
Having walked the paths and crossed the branch roads, he preceded all and broke through the last tribulation. So revered is he that existence erased his name from the tapestry, for no one else is worthy to speak it or even hear it.
With this ribbon, the wearer has one chance to sever themselves from all Paths and all Roads. Karma, destiny, fate, time, death, life, potential, limits — the wearer has one chance to become truly unfettered as he.
––––––
She stared and stared, hoping that someone had told reality a joke and she had arrived oblivious at the punchline and they've had their laugh at her expense and would now return everything back to normal.
No matter how much or how hard she looked at the ribbon, she could not sense anything from it. Not even a lick of energy came from it.
By every strata, the ribbon was just that, a ribbon. Some of its edges were even frayed and the colors had dulled. Even among other ribbons, it was lacking in quality, but just the way a crippled man would look up at the stars and see their magnificence even without understanding, so too could she.
This ordinary ribbon was so out of her scope of understanding that she would confidently call everything in the store a blatant fake and stand by it, except for the ribbon. The Philosopher's Stones were obviously luminous rocks and the carpet was on puppet strings. An amateur con being played in the face of the Sorcerer Supreme.
Everything else could be fake, even the changes in the tapestry of time could be a mere illusion cast on her by one of her students; everything else in the store could be fake, but not that ribbon. It alone was the exception.
There is a certain level of awareness and existence where lies completely lose their meaning as they are easily seen through. It was like telling a god of death that mortals don't die. The nature of the lie and the act of lying become so redundant that all you would do is succeed in making a fool of yourself.
The ribbon was the exception.
You could lie to any deity, demon or even a Celestial, and while completely useless in doing so, it is something you can do with your free will.
The ribbon was the exception.
It was impossible to defame it or call it something it wasn't. By existence alone, the ribbon was the same as a multiversal constant truth. The sun could be blue and the moon could be lavender pink, but the ribbon will always be the ribbon.
Because it is unfettered. Its existence is a sole truth and so no lie can be said against it.
She couldn't even begin to fathom just what sort of being wore the ribbon, just the understanding that he was so above the limits of her comprehension.
She looked up at him and briefly wondered how he even got something like that in the first place.
For example, if this ribbon was behind the Sanctum's wards, forget rogue sorcerers and demons, earth would have been razed to dust by every single pantheon of greedy gods. Celestials, Hell Lords, Cosmic Entities and Cosmic Concepts would readily slaughter themselves to get it.
There was no possible way he should have come in possession of such an item regardless of however strong he was. The beings that would be interested in getting that ribbon for themselves were beyond strength. She wouldn't even want such a relic on earth if she ever came in contact with it.
"… How?" Her voice shook as that single word forced itself out of her mouth.
How did he acquire it? How is he able to remain calm in the face of such an object? How is he able to hide it from the eyes of every entity out there?
"Hehe, trust me when I say that I went through Hell to get this. The things I had to trade to get my hands on it…" he shivered as he was drawn into an old memory before shaking his head.
"So have you made up your mind, or do you want me to dig deeper for more options?" He asked while she sighed in relief as he closed the box.
It took a huge conscious effort to draw her mind away from the memory of the ribbon and it helped when she remembered that she'd entertained the idea of a trade and now was time to talk about the price.
She, along with her order of sorcerers, were not material people and so they had very little want to possess any form of material wealth.
There was only one viable option for payment she could use but there was no way she could justify trading a chunk of Kamar-Taj's books for the selfish need to free herself from her own mistakes.
She laughed. When was the last time her curiosity and ambitions were stoked? When was the last time she fervently wanted something?
"You're a terrifying being, Isaac." He tilted his head in confusion at her words. "You so easily sell out people's heart desires. It's no wonder why you are so confident in your trade. But I guess to you all these are nothing more than trinkets for you to sell."
What had started as an interrogation had changed to a prospective trade and she was too stunned to put an end to it before it came this far. On the other hand, she now had an inkling of exactly what kind of being Isaac was.
"That's the entire reason for the store."
She nodded and looked through the list of items presented to her and debated on which one she would want if she could pay for it.
'Great, now I'm getting back into bad habits.' She always had a bit of a gambling streak, usually with cosmic stakes, and now it was rearing its head again.
"If I may, dear customer, how specific is this contract you want to break? Is it as strong as the one around your soul or less severe?"
"You can see it." She stated, unable to find the energy to even be surprised that he could see the nature of the bind around her soul. She decided to take a gamble. "The very one."
He nodded like he already suspected it was so then drew her attention back to items on the counter.
"I'll advise you not to underestimate the strength of these things. If you knew enough soul magic, you could even use that timepiece of yours to break the contract."
She frowned for a moment before shaking her head. "No one knows that much soul magic, except they read the very dark books. I can't do that."
"Understandable." He pushed the crystal towards her. "That should do it. Sometimes the descriptions fail to capture the full scope of their ability, that's why I make sure to explain to my customers about what they are buying."
"Are you certain?"
"Very." He replied. "The other party is fairly strong, I can tell that much." She snorted at that. Calling him strong was an oversimplification. "But you on the other hand are a mortal soul. Trust me, mortal souls aren't that complicated, and this," he tapped the Shard of the Un-Sworn Oath, "is more than enough to unravel the bindings on your soul."
Her first reaction was to doubt his words but she couldn't even do that as the memory of the ribbon was still clear in her mind. The box was still on the counter.
"And how much would this be?"
"In paper currency, $3.125M. You can pay in gold equivalent or in another form of payment available to you."
A daring idea came to mind as she was reminded that the Merchant accepted any form of payment, even souls.
"Am I right in assuming that you have a way of appraising the exact worth of things esoteric in nature?"
"You are." He replied, causing her to smile as she rolled another die in her gamble. "Do you have something you would like to have appraised?"
"Yes. My soul binds." She replied, smirking as she saw him let out an understanding 'Ah'. "How much would it be worth if I could isolate it?"
"May I?" He stretched out his hand to her and she took it, watching with rapt attention as a glow came to his eyes as he studied her hand. "Hmm, how fascinating. The Malicious Soul Bind of Dormammu, what an exotic piece. Ah yes, this will do well in my collection."
He released her hand and adopted a business air as a trade was put into discussion.
"I have identified the contract seal on your soul and have confirmed that it is both authentic and a vintage piece, as well as having the unmistakable malicious imprint of Hell Lord Dormammu. I'll give you a fair quotation of $4.75M. This is the write-up of your trade should you find the price acceptable."
—The Malicious Soul Bind of Dormammu – The workings of a Hell Lord is beyond the comprehension of mere mortals, and unfortunately for you, you have not only caught his attention but you also have his terrible imprint on your soul, thus you are now a servant of Dormammu both in life and death.
For his vice on your soul, your Master has deemed you worthy for some boons. Rejoice!
You have been granted an extended lifespan, a talent in the dark and infernal magics, increased magical prowess, necromantic essence, soul degradation and a very flexible moral compass. Continue to please your Master and he will see fit to bless you more.
"I'll preface that the reason for the price being this low is that you'll be selling the bind itself in its basic form, not the depth of it since that'll be something you'll be destroying should you use the Shard of the Un-Sworn Oath."
She read it over twice and found that she wasn't even surprised that he could so clearly see the details of her soul bind that he could put it in writing.
Seeing the nature of her chains written out somehow gave her a new sense of clarity. She was here and she really was doing this.
"I'm fine with it." She handed over the paper and didn't even bother to haggle the price. He had stressed the point of his business being simple and fair, and unbelievably, she was willing to trust it.
"Good. And thank you for the pleasurable trade." He said, all smiling face again. "Now, do you need anything else?"
"Yes, I do." She looked at the crystal shard of contained chaos. "I need a container that I can use to hold the curse after I sever it with the shard."
The smile grew on his face and she knew she had been right. He had given her a quotation for the price of the curse but the thing was that she was not the owner of the curse, Dormammu was. The narrative however would change the moment she used the shard to sever it, and for her to sell it she would have to capture the essence of the curse before it slithered back to Dormammu, being the connection of external influence that it was.
She had a feeling that he would have suggested it either way but the smile on his face said that he was happy with a smart customer.
She was proven right when he took out a pearl from his pocket and slid it towards her
—Cursed Pearl (Japanese Myth): A pearl formed in an oyster exposed to a drowned soul's bitterness. Can be used to absorb a new curse, growing darker and more iridescent. If cracked, releases all stored sorrows at once.
"The pearl comes at $625,000." She nodded easily at that, not really caring about the monetary aspect as her mind was on the hedged bets she'd taken to free herself.
"As for how to use them, well just hold them in both hands and use your magic to connect the shard to any part of your soul and it'll take care of the rest. As the curse unravels, it'll get sucked into the pearl— and you've already began."
He watched with practiced patience, while the carpet flew back a safe distance, as a complicated severance ritual took place in front of his counter. He ignored the sparks of energy and the faint enraged roar that shook his windows.
He ignored the rattling of smoky chains that appeared all over his customer and also remained unfazed when said chains turned red and green before being slowly absorbed into the unassuming pearl.
The light show of broken contracts and infernal rage continued for a full ten minutes before it pittered out into a light breeze and glowing reassurance.
She opened her eyes slowly, still doubtful of the reality that she couldn't feel his deadened grasp on her soul.
"… It worked?" She asked in disbelief. As a chronic gambler, none was more familiar than her about the slim chances of winning against impossible odds.
"It worked." She said again, this time more certain and confident. She looked at the modernly dressed shopkeeper. "Thank you."
He shook his head, professionalism still present in his regards. "No need. I'm just glad that your purchase was as helpful to you as advertised."
She chuckled, "Of course." He still remained adamant at appearing as a business-minded Merchant. She could respect it even. It made it easier to deal with him than probably every arcane entity out there.
"Here," she handed him the blackened pearl without even taking another glance at it. "One soul bind of a Hell Lord as promised."
"Wonderful." He easily accepted with a grin. "As promised, this trade is recorded at $4.75M of which $3.125M and $650,000 is used to offset the purchase of Shard of the Un-Sworn Oath and Cursed Pearl, which brings the total to $3.775M and your balance of $975,000. Would you like to purchase anything else?"
She didn't really care about the money, more than content with being free from Dormammu's clutches. She never would have made such a reckless decision to escape her predetermined death because of the disastrous consequences it would have on the timeline… but that was before Time decided to be more than extremely accommodating to any and all changes that were influenced by this tiny shop.
She still didn't know what type of being Isaac the Merchant was but she could content herself with not knowing.
As she casually thought of what to buy with the change from the sale — probably some magical teapot and a matching fan set — she felt a tap on her shoulders and saw the carpet giving her its equivalent of an imploring expression.
She was intending to spend every single coin that came from the trade, feeling it was only fair to Dormammu, so why not?
"I don't see why not." Her reply made the carpet do a happy spin in the air, making her chuckle, before stopping abruptly and gesturing towards the store. "Sure, my dear, go for it."
With her permission, she and Isaac watched in amusement as it rushed into the store and started frantically searching through the shelves.
"Check the clothes rack." Isaac said. The carpet paused its search and flew out of sight towards the clothes rack before returning a few seconds later with a golden ornately-designed lamp.
It dropped it on the counter and gestured something to its new hopeful master.
"A beautiful lamp," she said, only to be interrupted again as it gestured convincingly to which she nodded understandably. "I see. A multipurpose lamp that can also function as a teapot."
—A Genie's Lamp – A beautifully crafted lamp with a great sealing magic built into it. It once served as the gilded cage of a powerful, now freed, Genie.
—Magic Flying Carpet – A magic flying (beautifully decorated) carpet of frankly unimportant past. If its winning personality doesn't catch your fancy, then maybe the fact that it can fly faster than most modern craft will do. A very loyal piece of hardware too.
She drew in a breath of air as she left the shop, taking stock that, yes, Dormammu's influence was gone from her soul… and yes, Time was highly considerate towards any changes that came from the store. That was good.
She sat on her flying carpet with a golden lamp, a beautiful tea set and a jar of honey from some rare exotic bees. "Truly this has been a productive day."
She thought as she flew back to the Sanctum, planning to drink some tea and maybe check on Strange. What a filial student to help his master so greatly. Maybe she'll take it easy on him when he arrives at her doorstep.
"No. No, I don't think I will."
––––––
The customer is always right.
All over the world, across and over every dimension, every trader, merchant and Merchant had one or two things to say about that accursed phrase and the sentiments shared were pretty much the same — to hell with it.
The phrase — those infernal words that followed them across every plane of existence — was no doubt spouted by weak-boned and dubious merchants who were desperate enough to adroitly fellate the ego of a customer just so they could sell their ill-gotten goods.
Every merchant knew to sell their goods at a profit – obviously – but a good merchant would sell his at a reasonable profit, and in doing so a boundary of respect sits between both parties and preserve their dignity and reputation.
Now if this basic etiquette was followed, such a phrase would have never been birthed and some greedy customers would have never gained the audacity to somersault their way into the face of an honest merchant and demand a lower price that was no doubt below profitable margins.
However, on the flip side of this coin, it helped both parties to filter out their target audience.
In this case, Isaac was a clear example. While he was still in the midst of raising up a reputation, the sheer quality of his services made the projected price seem fair and shielded him from ever making a desperate sale. If anything, it had the mirror effect of having some of his customers always being the ones in a position to make a desperate sale.
So no, the customers are not always right. If anything they were usually in the wrong.
The bell at the door clinked excitedly to welcome in a new customer and alerted Isaac who was wiping off the dust from his shelves to stop for a moment and return to his station.
"Good day, my friend. What can I help you with?"
The customer, a man wearing a beanie and a long worn coat with patched up fingerless gloves, looked up at Isaac suspiciously before hobbling over.
"What up pal?" The man said in almost a whisper as he gave the shop around a sharp eye. "This, uh, here a pawn shop?"
Isaac smiled and gave a nod of understanding. "We buy and sell junks, amongst other stuff, so if you're looking to pawn something off, you've come to the right place."
"Really?" The man looked up in surprise and smiled conspiratorially. "Sweet."
"I got some few trinkets to lob." He pawed his hands into the pockets of his coat to bring them out but stopped and asked, "say, I don't really got 'em receipts for these, hope that's cool?"
"As long as they don't need proof of ownership to function then it's fine."
"Alright then."
He dropped off some items on the counter; a couple earrings, a pearl necklace, a thumb-sized gold nugget, an inscribed ring and a watch.
He fidgeted slightly in place, cautiously looking back at the door and around the store. "So yeah, uh, how much can I get from these?"
Isaac picked up the earrings, the necklace and the ring and inspected them one after the other before setting them to the side. He paid no attention to the man's wary and distrustful gaze, and picked up the gold and watch and inspected them a bit more than the others.
"So how much?" The man asked the moment he dropped them, quite impatient and anxious but Isaac took it in stride.
"$4,780."
The man did a double take, clearly surprised by the amount, before a mask of anger and suspicion marred his face. "You trying to scam me or something, man? That's real gold right there. I ain't taking anything less than sixty-five hundred."
Having dealt with situations like this a million times, Isaac simply picked up the gold, held it up to the man's attention, and remarked in a matter-of-fact tone.
"$120, the purity isn't all that high." He dropped it and picked up the pearl and earrings. "$460. Polished and quality make, that's all."
He held up the ring and the watch, looking amused as the man's bloated temper had quickly evaporated. "A signature piece ring, no more than $500. A vintage collector item watch, not really from a big brand or a signature piece. It's just an old valuable watch. $3,700."
Yes, quite surprising that the gold was the least valuable thing among the items he was pawning off.
The man's eyes quickly zeroed on the watch with the clear eyes of someone who had unknowingly disrespected his golden goose.
"You probably wouldn't have gotten it past five hundred if you had pawned it off anywhere else, except through a legal appraisal." The man glanced between Isaac and the watch, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. "Is that an acceptable trade or will you be taking it somewhere else?"
"What? No, no no." He vehemently shook his head. "Yeah, I'll take it. $4,700, of course I'll take it." There was a smacking of lips and rubbing of hands that followed the statement.
Isaac had no problem buying junk like these, even of subpar quality, as this was also his way of contributing to the economy of Merchants. He usually sold most of his junk to smaller Merchants whenever he started emptying his inventory, and he wasn't the only one who did this as other Merchants too sold the lower quality items remaining in their inventory to their younger peers who preferred buying in bulk. It was a symbiotic system that reflected the essence of every Merchant.
The man took the money quite eagerly and counted it right there very slowly and only when he confirmed the price did he look up with a grin on his face and stretched his hand to Isaac who shook it in good faith.
"Thanks man. I'll, uh, look around the house to see if I got any other junk lying around."
"No problem." The man turned to leave, happy as a kite when Isaac called out to him. "Might I interest you in something you might need, like say, a new coat? Or maybe something more… exclusive?"
The man stopped, looked around the store more closely and leaned in over the counter and whispered.
"Say," he covered one part of his mouth with the back of his hands, "any chance you can deal me a piece and some rounds?"
Isaac nodded in understanding and reached under his desk.
.
...…
[POV: With Peter Parker]
Peter was of the opinion that good things just happened. There was no rhyme or reason to it – it happened because it happened. Good and bad, it came in measures, equal or disproportionate, and he had learned very young to take in silence and thanks. Uncle Ben taught him that.
Life had been somewhat stable after he finally put himself into a semblance of balance between his ordinary life as Peter Parker and his unordinary activities as Spider-Man.
And while he was in staunch support of the opinion that a high school kid, no matter their circumstances, had no business in the dangerous field of heroics, Peter had found that he was really bad in listening to what other people told him to do, even if that other person was his logical subconscious.
He had grasped desperately at his identity as Spider-Man so quickly that it definitely wasn't healthy. Maybe he actually needed therapy? If not for his suicidal decisions then surely for the unbelievable things he'd seen in his growing tenure as Spider-Man.
Now as Spider-Man, he'd found himself easily coming into possession of things that had he not been brought up morally upright, he would have found himself dabbling in light criminal activities.
He would rather give up being Spider-Man than ever dishonor Aunt May by being a criminal.
Now that the fact has been established that he hasn't dabbled his webbed fingers into petty thievery, that did not change the fact that sometimes things came into his possession that he most times couldn't just handover to the police. Things like data sticks, some tiny nifty tech parts, some pint of obscure chemicals, synth materials and a dozen other things that he never knew could be found by taking late night swings around Queens.
His little mancave – An extended closet – was already filled to the brim with things that he no longer had use for since he'd solved most of the cases they came from and now they were just waiting to be used as spare parts for future webshooters or any handy gadget idea he came up with.
Unfortunately, he was currently in a bind. He'd exhausted the integrity of the excuse that they were just passion projects and school stuff to May and he needed to find a way to get rid of some of them because they were starting to clog up his small room.
He couldn't just throw away spare parts. That went against every single one of his instincts as a tinkerer, a tech nerd and a teenage boy.
"This is harder than I thought." He mused sadly as he looked at the bags of junk parts he was about to donate to the garbage truck.
"I'm glad you're finally getting rid of some of those junks. Your room was starting to smell like Ben's old attic." Aunt May stopped her work in the kitchen, looking satisfied as he hauled the bags to the curb.
He shrugged, trying to downplay the sentimental pain he was feeling. "I didn't want to put it off any longer so… junk?"
Aunt May laughed. "So you finally accepted that your 'spare parts' are junk. You're just like your Uncle Ben."
Peter however had a growing hopeful expression on his face as something tickled his brain. "Junk… junk! Junk 'N Stuff!"
"Still junk." Aunt May said with a self-satisfied shrug as she turned back to her boiling pot.
He bolted in a run, grabbed a shirt along with his bag of junk and hauled his ass out the door.
"Thanks, Aunt May. I'll be back soon."
"Boys." She shook her head with a small laugh.
Swinging would have taken him two or three minutes but seeing Spiderman swinging around in the day with garbage bags was a sight that would've instantly alerted the police, Peter thought as he cut through alleyways in his run towards that strange junk store.
"Thank goodness." He didn't know why he thought the shop wouldn't be there but he was still there and still open when he got there.
"Hopefully he'll want to buy some of these." He murmured to himself as he pushed open the door. Getting a few bucks from these was better than everything just getting recycled.
"Oh? And I was starting to think you forgot about me, kid."
He smiled sheepishly as he saw the storeowner sitting behind his counter with a book and a cup in his hands.
"Not quite, Mr. Isaac." Well he didn't really forget about it, but he'd been so busy with everything else that he never actually found a reason to come back again, until now that is.
"I'll take your word for it then." He placed the book and the cup to the side and looked at the bags Peter carried with a raised brow. "Got something for me in those bags?"
"Eh, well, not really. I mean, I thought, um maybe there might be a couple of things you might be interested in buying…" The embarrassment was too great and the little awkward laugh at the end didn't help at all.
Now that he thought about it, he could have taken his time to sift through the bags for things good enough to sell instead of running all the way here with garbage bags.
"Sorry about the bags…" he apologized sheepishly while scratching the back of his neck.
Thankfully, and also a weight off Peter's conscience, the man didn't look irritated as he simply shrugged and rolled up his sleeves.
"Eh, no worries kid. I've had worse."
What happened after that was an hour of critical appraisal of carefully selected pieces of junk that Mr. Isaac decided were 'moderate enough to still have some value'.
It wasn't much but Peter was glad that at least some of those things had a marketable value. Who would have thought?
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