[Setting: A Forgotten Stretch of City]

The thrift store sat stubbornly on a corner, looking as if the entire block had tried to abandon it. Its once-bright sign—“Second-Hand Treasures: Everything’s Half-Off!”—was now just half a promise in peeling paint. The windows were coated in a grime so thick you’d think the mannequins were hiding from the world.

Elliot, backpack firmly in place like a shield, frowned at the building. “You’re sure this is the place?”

Felicity, God of Happy Accidents, in her emerald scarf and earrings that were defiantly unmatching, clasped her hands behind her back. Her grin, however, was far too pleased. “Oh, absolutely. A thrift store is a gold mine. Haunted snow globes, broken teapots, and vinyl records nobody’s ever heard of? Treasures, Elliot. And they’re cheaper than therapy.”

Elliot groaned, already regretting his life choices. “Fine. I’ll stand by the door. To be the lookout.”

“For what? A parade of existential dread? Relax, Elliot. Nothing bad ever happens when I’m around.” She winked, twirling through the dusty entrance like chaos wearing a scarf.

[Inside: A World of Regret and Forgotten Sweaters]

The air smelled faintly of old wood and sweaters worn decades past. Felicity immediately made a beeline for a stack of vintage postcards, humming to herself as if she were browsing priceless artifacts. Elliot lingered awkwardly by a rack of jackets that looked like they’d been borrowed from failed magicians.

Felicity emerged twenty minutes later, triumphant, with oversized 80s sunglasses and a snow globe that rattled ominously. “Behold! A snowstorm—and possibly a ghost. A two-for-one deal.”

Elliot blinked at her. “Why do I let you drag me places?”

“Because you love me.”

“I’m reconsidering.”

[Outside: The Streets of Neon Vice]

They stepped back onto the sidewalk, where the neighboring storefronts hummed with the quiet desperation of flickering neon signs. Promises of “Private Showings!” and “Special Massages!” buzzed faintly, as if embarrassed by their own brazenness. Elliot pulled his jacket tighter, fixing his gaze on the gum-streaked pavement like it contained the secrets of the universe.

Felicity, of course, was having the time of her life.

“My, my, Elliot,” she purred, grin as sharp as a knife. “You’ve got that ‘Victorian librarian finds a saloon’ look down pat. Should I fetch you smelling salts or just let you faint dramatically?”

“I’m ignoring it,” Elliot muttered, cheeks burning.

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“Coward,” Felicity teased, twirling ahead of him like a breeze carrying laughter.

But then Elliot’s steps faltered. He froze mid-stride, his eyes snagged by something—or someone—in one of the tinted windows. Amid the gaudy posters and silhouettes, there was a figure he could’ve sworn he recognized.

A man—or, no, not quite a man—stood framed in a golden glow, his body moving in slow, exaggerated waves. The dance was suggestive, almost hypnotic, made all the more bizarre by the performer’s choice of attire: a mismatched suit jacket and flowing silk trousers that shimmered like twilight. His arms moved fluidly, hands tracing shapes in the air that didn’t quite make sense—a spiral that looped back on itself, a question mark that never seemed to close.

His face—part grin, part riddle—turned toward Elliot with unsettling precision. The sharp glint of knowing in his eyes was unmistakable.

It was him. The God of Conundrums.

Elliot blinked. “Is that…?”

And then, like smoke sucked out of a room, the figure was gone. The golden glow vanished, leaving behind nothing but a poster of a disinterested woman in shredded fishnets.

Elliot staggered back a step, pointing at the window with a finger that wobbled as much as his voice. “D-Did you see that?”

Felicity turned with practiced elegance, eyebrows raised. “See what, darling?”

“There was—he was—dancing.” Elliot gestured helplessly at the window, the words tumbling out of him like bricks in freefall. “I swear, the God of Conundrum was dancing in there! Like—like a lounge singer at a surreal cabaret!”

Felicity blinked, her expression carefully blank for about two seconds before collapsing into delighted laughter. “Oh, Elliot, you poor, sheltered soul.”

“I’m serious!” he hissed, glancing back at the window as if Conundrum might reappear and confirm his sanity. But the window remained stubbornly mundane—gaudy, dusty, and utterly disappointing. “He was there. And he was dancing!”

Felicity sidled up next to him, peering into the window with mock interest. “So, you’re telling me the God of Conundrum—he of infinite enigmas and paradoxes—was shaking his hips in the front window of Debbie’s Adult Emporium?”

“Yes!” Elliot cried. “Well, no—not exactly. It wasn’t like—look, I know how it sounds.”

“Oh, it sounds wonderful,” Felicity said, clapping her hands together as if he’d just delivered a riveting performance. “I’m picturing him now: the swirling jacket, the suggestive spirals—tell me, did he wink at you? Did he promise to answer a question if you paid the cover charge?”

“Stop it!” Elliot snapped, his face now a shade of crimson usually reserved for boiled lobsters. He turned back to the window one last time, hoping to prove himself right—or at least less mad—but found only his own reflection staring back at him, just as bewildered as he felt.

Felicity hooked her arm through his, practically glowing with amusement as she dragged him down the street. “Elliot, darling, I think you’ve been spending too much time with me. You’re starting to see things. Next, you’ll be telling me the Goat’s working part-time as a bouncer.”

Elliot groaned. “It was real. I know what I saw.”

Felicity’s smirk softened just a touch, as if the absurdity itself carried a little truth. “Maybe you did. Conundrum never does anything for no reason... even if the reason’s to mess with you.”

Elliot groaned louder, but let himself be pulled along. Somewhere in the distance, a neon sign flickered ominously, as though in agreement.

“Come on,” she added, tugging him along. “Let’s get you some ice cream. You’ve clearly had a day. And I’ll tell you all about the time I saw the God of Conundrum juggling flaming pineapples outside a laundromat.”

Elliot let out a long, defeated breath, but a smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Flaming pineapples?”

“Oh, it was magnificent,” Felicity replied, eyes glittering with mischief. “Chaos in its purest form.”

The universe itself seemed to hum in agreement as they disappeared around the corner. Behind them, the faint buzz of the neon signs grew louder, like laughter trying not to be heard.

[End Scene]

[retcon:1]