Asher gripped Gareth's new can opener, the metal biting into his palm as the door’s chime faded into silence. His gaze locked onto figures framed by the crown case just inside the threshold. A soft weary sigh escaping his lips against the rich-spicy cologne hovering through the shop.

A lanky young man with close-cropped brown hair sauntered in, his angular face set in a sneer twisting his thin lips. The emblem on his sleeveless shirt—a snarling crimson beast encircled by flames—seemed to glisten in the light with each confident stride.

Beside him, a stocky swaggering youth, his bouncing blonde curls rounding his perpetual smirk; his tank top tugged, stretching against his muscular torso skimming dismissively over Asher’s well-worn attire. “Well, look who it is—the errand boy.” Sneering, eyes settling on Gareth; casting his gaze toward the two boys, as the stocky youth added. “I’d watch where you shop, old man. This place has been letting freaks handle their merchandise.”

The brown-haired youth slid up next to his friend, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. “That’s right. You never know what kind of inhuman filth has been pawing at their stock.” His eyes narrowed, his gaze raking over Asher. “So which one are you, half-pint? You got some kinda disgusting extra limb hidden under that ratty shirt?”

“We...we only associate with Inhumans contractually to gain what’s needed to maintain Dust Creek’s infrastructure and security.” Asher’s gaze skittering away from the boy, stare fixed on a minor scratch in the counter’s surface. Voice wavering slightly.

Gareth shifted, boots scraping against the floor, facing the two youths. Impassive, but a hardness creeping into his eyes. “The exotic resources needed to keep this town running often come from treacherous places. Dimensional gates being among the most common. Unless you two are volunteering to go gate delving yourselves, I’d suggest you keep your prejudiced opinions to yourselves.”

“Oh, is that what you call it?” the blond scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “I’d say you lot are a little too friendly with those freak shows, if you ask me.”

The lanky boy snickering again, crossing his arms leaning back with a cocky grin. “Maybe you are one of them, just fantastic at hiding it. Wouldn’t surprise me if your whole family was a pack of disgusting muties.”

Asher’s skittishness evaporating, replaced by a cool, unruffled expression. “I can assure you, we are all perfectly human here.” Speaking Calmly. “Now, if you’re here, make a purchase. I’d be happy to assist. Otherwise, I’ll have to ask you to leave. We have work to do.”

Trent opened his mouth, a sneer forming on his lips, “You—”

A low rumble cut him off, reverberating through the building. Shelves rattled, tools and components clattering. A booming echo sounded from the back room, and black smoke and the scent of burnt hair billowed through the doorway.

Asher’s father stumbled out, face and hands blackened with soot, orange red embers eating away the straps of his blue jean overalls. He coughed violently, waving a trembling, soot-stained hand in front of his smoke-streaked features as he squinted through the lingering haze. “Damn that Kavanagh!” he rasped, raw, hoarse. “I’ll have to give that old coot a lesson on proper conduit insulation!”

“Mother is going to be furious. You blew up the workshop again while experimenting with a customer’s order,” Asher noted, a faint quirk at the corner of his lips. “You even failed.”

Thomas shot a glare at Asher. “Failed?” He huffed indignantly, plucking a singed lock from his forehead. “I’ll have you know that plasma rifle modification was a brilliant idea! If that miserly old--“ He caught himself, his gaze finally landing on the slack-jawed spectators. Mouths agape, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and amusement.

Trent’s contemptuous laughter sliced through the tension-filled air, his words like salt on an open wound. “Look at this place - you two really are a couple of lunatics!”

A grin spreading across Axton’s face, as he jabbed a finger at Thomas. “So much for the ‘famed’ skill engineer! Can’t even handle your own toys without blowing yourselves up.”

Asher winced, teeth digging into his lip, watching Gareth move, covering the two sneering youths from his view. Pressing his hand against his heart, thumping against his chest as he watched. “Gareth, please don’t destroy the shop.”

Gareth's expression darkened as the boys continued their taunts. He stepped forward, towering over the pair. "You two need to learn some manners." His voice rumbled like distant thunder.

In a swift swing, Gareth hand struck out delivering a firm slap across each of their faces, the sound cracking through the shop. Trent and Axton yelped in surprise and pain. Red handprints blossomed on their cheeks.

Asher eyes went wide, a subtle smile pulling at his cheeks. "WHOOO, Fuck yess! Do it again!"

Gareth used their momentary disorientation to grasp the back of their collars, lifting them effortlessly off the ground. "If I don't teach you a lesson now, your attitude is going to get you killed on the frontier."

"Hey, put us down!" Trent squirmed, trying in vain to break Gareth's iron grip.

"Shut it, boy." Gareth gave them another rough shake. "In my day, disrespecting your betters got you a good thrashing on a good day." He carried them towards the waiting area, their feet dangling helplessly. "But to do it in their own place? You'd not sit down for weeks because the moment you sat down you'd get it again until you learned."

He marched them over to the waiting area chairs and unceremoniously plopped them down, towering over the two young men. "Now, you're going to stay put and keep your traps shut until you're ready to behave like grown-ups. Understand?"

Trent and Axton stared up at him, momentarily cowed by Gareth's imposing presence and no-nonsense attitude.

Gareth turned to Asher, his expression softening slightly. "Sorry you had to see that, boy. Just can't abide disrespectful brats, no matter who they think they are."

Asher eyes wide. A flicker of amazement passed across his features before he quickly schooled his expression. "I...I appreciate you stepping in, Gareth."

"Asher, you're not the one who should be thanking anyone," Thomas interjected, his expression fell, shame and embarrassment etched across his features. "As the owner of this establishment, I should have handled that situation better."

Gareth gave a gruff nod. "Ain't your fault, friend. Just makin' sure these young'uns learn a little humility." He glanced back at the sulking Blackwells. "I reckon that's a lesson best delivered by someone they can't bully. They should be quite for a spell now."

Thomas sighed heavily, running a hand over his soot-streaked face. "Still, I can't help but feel responsible. This is my shop, my home...my family."

Gareth gave a gruff nod. "I understand. But sometimes, a father has to bend so that they don't break. Ain't no shame in that."

Just then, a voice boomed from the top of the stairs, laced with icy fury. "Thomas! What was that?! Why. Do. I. Smell. Smoke."

Gareth glanced up towards the stairs. "Sounds like the missus is callin'. I best let you handle that, friend." He turned back to Asher. "I'll be seein' you in a few weeks for that plasma rifle. Don't let your old man blow the place to bits before then, yeah?"

Asher gaze fell on the shoulders of the man. "Gareth, let's finish with your order." He gestured towards the shimmering containment field without lifting his eyes.

A gasp escaped Trent and Axton's lips, eyes bulging. Blood drained from their cheeks as they stepped back, transfixed by the weapon's arching energy against the force field. Without a sound, the two youths hastened towards the waiting area.

Gareth's brow knotted, shaking his head. "Nah, I've been through this with you folks more times than I can count. Just wish your parents weren't so damn serious all the time." He let out a gruff sigh, already resigning himself to the arduous paperwork.

Nodding, Asher produced a second, shorter document. "This addendum waives the explanation. If you'll just sign here..." His fingers trailed across the parchment, indicating the dotted line.

Gareth let out a resigned sigh, raising his hand. Azure wisps of energy danced along his pointed fingertip as he affixed a bold, angular signature.

“Thank you.” Asher’s eyes sharpened, analyzing the containment field. Air rippled with a prismatic shimmer, indigo-tinged patterns of light weaving through the weapon’s intricate engineering. “The inscriptions are fine, which is good, otherwise we’d have to send it off to get those fixed. The power surge disrupted the runes and matrices. It’ll take about three weeks for us to fully realign the circuitry and stabilize skill engineering.”

Skill ******** ******** mastery increased by 0.01.

A small huff escaped his lips. “Tch.”

Gareth’s calloused hand came to rest on Asher’s shoulder, the older man’s expression one of encouragement. “You’ll get there, kid. Keep at it.”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Asher jolted away. “Half the payment upfront, the other half when you pick up the plasma gun,” His tone was level and measured. “That’ll be four hundred crystals now, plus another three-fifty later. I’ll knock off 200.”

Gareth reached into his strap holster pouch, withdrawing four glimmering violet shards. As he placed them in Asher’s palm, a faint shudder passing through him. “Appreciate that.”

Asher’s fingers tightened around the can opener, the cool metal a reassuring weight in his palm. “Thank you, Gareth,” he said, sincerity ringing in his voice. “For everything...oh, but this belongs to you, doesn’t it?”

Gareth’s weathered features softened slightly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Aye, I’ll be needin’ that back, boy.” He reached out, calloused hand gently clapping Asher’s forearm, skin rasping against skin. “I’ll return in a few weeks for that plasma gun. You take care of yourself ‘til then, hear?”

Asher nodded, a wry smile quirking his lips. “I’ll do my best, though with my father’s incessant tinkering, a fire extinguisher may be prudent.”

A gruff chuckle rumbled from Gareth’s chest as he shook his head. “Let the old man dream a bit.” With one last nod of acknowledgment, he turned and strode towards the exit, the door swinging shut with a dull clunk in his wake.

Asher’s gaze lingered on the door for a moment before turning. Willing his status window open.

Name: Asher Alymmeris Level: 5 Awakened Art: None

Attributes: Body: 15 Mind: 20 Energy: 12 Free Attributes: 0

Traits:

Transcendent Methuselah Physique

Skills:

Formless Shifting (Lvl 3) Blur (Lvl 3) Enthrallment (Lvl 1)

Psiomancy (Lvl 3) Manipulation (Lvl 1) Hemomancy (Lvl 2)

******** ******** (Lvl .95)

He let out a soft sigh dismissing the window. His eyes falling upon Axton and Trent slouched in the worn waiting area chairs. The warmth from his interaction with Gareth faded as his expression hardened into an inscrutable mask. Without a word, he moved towards the chaos of the workshop through the foyer.

Pausing at the threshold, Asher’s eyes swept over the scene - tools and components scattered amidst smears of soot, the air still carrying a faint tang of smoke. His father stood at the center of the wreckage, rushing to clean up any evidence of his failure.

He shook his head as he turned, making his way towards the back of the workshop. Reaching underneath, he retrieved a sturdy metal case, its surface etched with faintly glowing symbols.

Back at the sales counter, he set the case down with a muted thud. Carefully, he traced a series of shimmering glyphs across its surface. The translucent energy field surrounding Gareth’s plasma weapon shimmered before dissipating.

With a subtle gesture, a shimmering prismatic shield formed, levitating the arcing weapon into the air. Unstable energy crackled and danced against the prismatic barrier as he struggled to contain it, his brow cockling as he guided it into the open case.

Once safely secured, he sealed the case with a flick of his finger, drawing symbols etched into the metal glowing briefly before fading. His attention flickered toward Axton and Trent as they set the case aside. “Either of you can come up first.”

Axton and Trent ambled toward the counter, their footsteps echoing in the shop's quietude.

Trent unfolding his arms with a languid air, propping himself against the counter with an air of casual disregard. Eyes discerningly sharp, sweeping over Asher with a dismissive flicker of recognition. “Ah, the prodigal clerk returns,” Trent intoned, a playful lilt to his voice. “For a moment there, I thought perhaps a trapdoor had finally swallowed you up.”

Axton threw his head back with a hearty laugh, the sound reverberating around the shop. His broad chest puffed out as he clapped Trent on the shoulder. “Trent, my friend, let’s not be too harsh on our young host.” Voice rich with amusement. “After all, it’s not every day he gets to serve customers of our... distinguished caliber. Perhaps today he’ll surprise us and speak without fumbling for words.”

His fingers wound around the brass register, taking solace in the metal’s chill against his skin. Drawing steady breaths, mask meeting their taunting leers. Guiding hand beneath the counter over the familiar texture of aged parchment; blue-green letters subtly shimmering, casting their hues. The corners of his mouth inched upward—a carefully calibrated smile not reaching his eyes.

“Since this is your first contract with us...” Asher’s fingers traced the edge of the parchment, a nervous tic betraying his carefully composed mask. “... we will carefully review each line. It’s crucial that you fully comprehend the terms before we move on to the formalities of signing.”

Trent leaned forward, a sneer curling his lips. “Yeah, yeah, we know how this works. Just get on with it.”

“Contracts written by skill scribes contain effects according to their written word. The higher the skill level of the scribe, the higher the grade of the contract.” With a slight gesture towards the documents, “Our contracts are grade five, which is fairly standard for our business.”

Asher shifted briefly towards Trent, a crease forming between his forehead before his expression smoothed once more. Clearing his throat, he returned his attention to the parchment, fingers trailing along the text as he read.

“Circuits & Sorcery Inc. and their represented employees per the Circuits & Sorcery Inc. founding contract agree to the following terms. All information collected in order to service your request will be confidential. Any breach of this clause will result in the enforcement penalty of...” He paused, his brow creasing as he scanned the document.

Axton snorted, folding his arms across his chest. “Well? Spit it out, freak. What’s the penalty?”

Asher’s gaze flickered towards Axton. “The penalty for Circuits & Sorcery breaching confidentiality is the permanent binding of our Awakened skills. In addition, Circuits & Sorcery Inc. shall provide a time frame for the services requested, and shall, in the event of a breach of this time period, incur a fee of one yellow crystal per day until completing requested services.”

Trent subtly shifted his look towards Axton. “One yellow per day? That’s it?”

Asher’s lips quirked slightly upward. “The penalty exponentially increases with each subsequent breach.” He gestured towards the contract. “Shall we continue?”

Axton's expression shifted, finger tapping against the counter. “That’s not too bad, a bit more than my daily stipend from the family. It’s fine, continue.”

Nodding, Asher’s eyes returned to the parchment. “Any materials given to, or provided by the servicee, shall be maintained with care. In the event of an accident, Circuits & Sorcery Inc. will replace the materials with equal or greater quality.” He paused, his gaze drifting past Trent and Axton. “If Circuits & Sorcery Inc. fails this clause, an enforcement penalty will take effect until such a time that the contract’s fulfilled.”

Trent’s lips pursed, a dismissive flick of his wrist slicing through the air, scoffing. “As if you lowly ones could ever afford to replace the material we provide.” Retorting, voice dripping with disdain. “But then, I suppose one must maintain the illusion of competence, however threadbare it may be.”

Asher’s expression remained unchanged, though a glimmer of amusement flickered in his eyes. “I assure you, we take our contractual obligations very seriously.” He turned his attention back to the parchment. “If the servicee is not satisfied with the work completed, Circuits & Sorcery must rectify the servicee’s issues, requests, or complaints within 30 days of receipt of device, item or product. Any complaint after these thirty days shall not be the responsibility of Circuits & Sorcery, Inc.”

Axton’s brow furrowed, the lighthearted banter falling away as his frown deepened. “Thirty days? That’s barely enough time to—”

Asher raised a hand, cutting through Axton’s protest with an air of calm finality. “The terms,” lifting the contract casting a blue-green sheen across his features, “are non-negotiable.” Gaze locked onto Axton’s, the faint glow of the contract’s inscriptions reflected in his serious eyes. “In the event that you decide to commission our services, a down payment of four hundred blue crystals will be required, along with the necessary exotics aligning with your skills.”

Trent clenching his jaw hard enough a throbbing vein popped out at his temple. “You really think you can strong-arm us like that? Do you have any idea who we are? We’re Blackwells!” “You really think you can strong-arm us like that? Do you have any idea who we are? We’re Blackwells!” Slamming his palm against the counter, the wood creaking under the force.

Asher recoiled, his hands squeezing the counter. Before he could respond, a voice boomed from the top of the stairs, laced with icy fury.

"That's enough!"

Elara descended the stairs, her presence commanding the room. Her leer swept over the scene, settling on the smirking Blackwell twins. "I've had enough of your bullying. You can leave. Now! Or you can act like adults now that you've awakened. Make. A. Choice."

The Blackwells, momentarily stunned by Elara's sudden appearance and forceful tone, exchanged uneasy glances. Trent straightened, clearing his throat. "Of course, Mrs. Alymmeris. We apologize for any inconvenience."

Axton, though still sneering, muttered a halfhearted apology.

Elara's eyes narrowed. "See that you mean it." She turned to Asher. "Continue with their order, dear. I need to deal with your father."

Asher nodded, finger pressed hard on the contract, the tip turning nearly pure white. Gaze watching his mother leave, where the sounds of his mother’s frustrated scolding echoed screeched through the foyer. Turning back to Trent and Axton. “If you’re ready to proceed, I’ll need you both to review and sign the contract first.” Sliding a second set of parchments across the counter. “Should you have questions, I’m happy to answer any you may have.”

Trent snatched up the documents, scanning them with a critical eye. Azure wisps of energy danced along his fingertips as he affixed his bold signature to the parchment. Axton followed suit, his rounded features twisting into a cocky grin as he added his own mark.

“There, it’s done,” Trent said, tossing the contract back at Asher.

Asher collected the signed documents. “Now let’s see these skills of yours.” His fingers traced the shimmering text lining the parchment.

Trent Blackwell

Level: 1 Skill: Volatile Energization (Lvl 1) - Destabilizes energy, amplifying or reducing its effects.

Axton Blackwell

Level: 1

Skill: Sonic Amplification (Lvl 1) - Enhances sonic waves, increasing their natural properties.

Skill Mastery Increased by 0.02.

“Hmm.” Tapping a finger against his chin. “Your skills present some... unique challenges.” Gaze shifting between the two youths. “Given your skill’s conditional requirements and the nature of your abilities, I’ll need to consult with my parents before proceeding with an initial design.”

Axton let out a derisive snort, lazily waving a hand in the air as if swatting away an inconsequential fly. “Enough of this dawdling.” He leaned across the counter, his eyes—hard and demanding—forcing Asher's gaze back counters blemish. “Just get it done, freak. And make sure the work is nothing short of exemplary. We Blackwells have little patience for anything less than perfection.”

“I’ll inform my parents of your request. They’ll be in touch regarding the time frame and any additional material requirements.” He paused, his eyes flicking towards the sealed case containing Gareth’s plasma weapon. “In the meantime, you can return home until then. You’ll be hearing from us soon.”

Without another word, Asher turned making his way back towards the workshop, his mother’s frustrated scolding echoing through the doorway.