◆Itsy◆
“Hello? I’m coming in,” Tusmon poked his head into Itsy’s garage that was currently parked in the underground tunnels. For whatever reason, there was a long line of cars stretching down the tunnels and out of sight. Either the mechanic was entirely neglecting her work or she’d taken on far too much.
“Great, the first one and they’re already avoiding me,” the detective turned back to the door and groaned, immediately irritated.
“I’m down here, prissy pants!” Itsy’s booming voice called from underneath a car. “Had a wrench in my mouth so I couldn’t answer right that second, daggum. Parents never teach you patience?”
“Sorry,” the detective had to admit his fault and would try to be kinder. “Would you mind coming up here so that we can begin the registration and I can get out of your hair.”
“Not happening,” the giantess flat out refused. “You see all them cars out there? They come first. Mighta noticed the lovely town as you came in too. Wasn’t so lovely for a while, but we just finished sprucin up the place t’other day. Lotta people came back, not everyone, but most. Settlin in, getting cozy, so the last thing I want them tuh worry ‘bout is their cars.”
“Most of ‘em ain’t been worked on in quite a while. Buncha others were left here, broken into, or just sittin’ round in disrepair. So fixin’ all these cars up and makin’ sure these people can relax takes priority over your paperwork. Now I don’t mind talking while I work, but I’d be a lot more open tuh chattin if you were working too. Unless you’re too good for this kinda stuff, don’t wan’ get oil on yer dainty fingers.”
“Hmph,” Tusmon sneared, not that she could see it, but he took that as almost an insult. The man disrobed his duster. He folded it up neatly and then set it down on a counter. “I’ve never shied away from getting my hands dirty. Where do you need me?”
Itsy didn’t reply again for a minute, likely astonished that he’d actually complied with her whims. But then her large arm came flailing out from under the car, waving at the second pit. “Hop down there and push the button, it’ll bring a car in.”
The detective did as asked, and there was a very obvious shining button as she’d said. Once pressed, there was whirring nearby as parts moved and chains cranked. A moment later, and the next car in line was parked above the man’s head. And then a grid flashed above him, over the car’s underbelly. A few different lines and parts lit up, coded into different colors.
“Grid’ll tell you what’s wrong with it,” the mechanic explained to him. “Blue means it needs service like your fluids and cleanouts. Green means a part is fine but old, should swap it out if you can. And orange means it’s broke. Should be parts for everythang. Just pull out the old part and the garage will bring you a new one. Fix everything down below first then go up top if something needs doin’.”
Tusmon got to work. It wasn’t the first time he’d done service on a car, but it also never remotely reached such a high level. But with how their system was laid out, it was fairly simple. If he couldn’t immediately figure out how to remove something, the grid would highlight any screws or other restraints he needed to deal with. And as soon as the first car was done, he hit the button. The vehicle zoomed away, another replacing it just a minute later.
After he’d gotten used to the workload, The Investigator began his round of routine questions. Since he had started to pull his weight, Itsy was immediately more amenable, answering everything he asked without resistance. There was only a problem when he got to one of the last questions on his list. “In your own words, how would you describe your Curse.”
“I’unno,” was the only response he got back.
“You don’t know your Curse…?” Tusmon wasn’t really sure how to follow up on that. Was she seriously going to hamper his job at this point? Granted, asking everyone else’s powers was essentially redundant, as they were common knowledge, or at the very least, common speculation. But that was a main point of the register, so it would become known fact. Itsy, however—no one had ever seen her use hers.
“Nah. I really don’t,” the giantess assured him. “‘Cordin tuh Phon, it’s come close to unlocking a few times, but never fully activated. Seems to be somewhat related to taking damage. An I guess it’s already sorta workin. Cus whenever my skin gets injured from bullets and knives and stuff, it always heals back stronger. In fact they barely do anything tuh me now, hardly more than a ‘squiter bite. Can shoot me in the head and it’ll just kinda get stuck there.”
“I see,” the detective pondered, trying to deduce what it meant, but he didn’t think that she was lying to him. “Well, I think it would only cause a bigger issue if that slot was left blank. So if it’s alright with you, according to your current understanding, I will mark it down as ‘Damage Reduction’.”
“Yep, sounds fine to me!” Itsy hollered from the next pit over. “Probably not too far off from what it actually is anyways.”
After that bump in the road, it wasn’t long until Tusmon had finished his interview. He was satisfied with the woman’s career. Though he’d prefer seeing the Fiends out on actual missions to witness how they acted. Regardless, there at the garage, she was putting in good, honest work.
The woman also gave him permission to poke his head into her room without her, so really he had no reason to stick around further, and yet… he found himself not wanting to leave. Working on the cars was surprisingly satisfying, feeling a genuine sense of accomplishment with each vehicle completed. So he may have lingered a bit longer than he needed to.
Only when a genuine luxury car loomed above him did the detective decide to call it quits—admitting it was probably better for someone else to work on such a fine machine than his amateur hands.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
◆Rishaki◆
“Hey, you, no! Back, back away from my shop!” Rishaki sprung from her counter the moment Chiulu tried to cross the threshold. “Stay back, demon! You aren’t allowed inside!”
“Umm, excuse me, I’m here for the inspection,” Chiulu tried to push through regardless of the affront. “You should have been informed that I was coming. I only need to step inside for a few minutes to check on things and ask a few questions.”
“And I’m telling you that’s not going to happen!” the merchant erupted. “I’ve heard talk of you: a shopkeep’s worst nightmare! Bringing destruction and mayhem wherever you wander. I will not let that same fate befall my collection. Every item in here is worth more than your existence, and I won’t risk it for some meddling paper-pusher!”
“I apologize, but this is important!” The Bureaucrat insisted. “I’m afraid I can’t actually leave until the registration is complete. But I will be willing to abide by any rules or restrictions you deem necessary to impart, even if it means that you must bind me.”
“Hmph, so annoying,” Rishaki found it hard to push back against someone so accommodating. “Fine, wait out there. I will clean up the shop. But don’t you dare come a step closer until I tell you!”
The Peddler swept the curtain, drawing it closed so that she wouldn’t have to see the doom at her doorstep while she focused. “First, everything pointy.” Rishaki took down anything she believed Chiulu could stab herself with or send flying at the merchant, mostly ornamental weapons.
She then took down anything that could possibly fall over and collapse onto the walking lawsuit, mainly her mannequins adorned with lavishments. But as she looked around, Rishaki accepted that all of her currently displayed artifacts and rarities could harm the unwanted customer, so she took away everything and stored it in the chest behind her counter.
And then she moved on to her decorations and trinkets that made the shop feel like a mystical, foreign world. “Hmm would the incense be alright? No, even if it’s minor, she could burn herself on it or set the room ablaze.” After extinguishing everything, Rishaki then took down all of the hanging ornaments that Chiulu could possibly hit her head on, all the fabric she could possibly get tangled in. Basically everything, until her shop was as barren as the day she got it.
“Okay, you can come in now,” Rishaki called for Chiulu once she’d taken her station behind the counter, bracing herself for any possible eventuality she couldn’t have prepared for.
“My, what a quaint little shop,” the woman praised as she stepped inside.
But the praise only made Rishaki’s lips quiver in anger. No one had dared to call her shop anything similar, even remotely compared it as ordinary or mundane. It was the biggest offense the woman had received in her life, but as a professional, she maintained her composure.
“Okay, I just have a few questions,” Chiulu began the questionnaire and ran down the list. It really didn’t take long as she’d said, but ended by saying, “Great, now I just need to see you at work.”
“I’m currently working,” Rishaki was short—impatient and eager to get the registration over with. Everything had actually gone fine up until that point, but she still wanted to get Chiulu away from her shop as soon as possible. “I am a merchant, when people come to buy things. I sell them things.”
“Hmm, okay,” The Bureaucrat pondered. “I guess we’ll just have to wait for a customer then.”
“Well… you could always buy something,” Rishaki’s face finally twisted into her seller’s smile. Maybe she could turn this travesty around. “That would certainly be the fastest way. My customers tend to act on their whims and fancies, so it could be quite some time otherwise.”
“Err, alright. What should I buy?” Chiulu was clearly hesitant, but there was still a hint of curiosity.
“Hmm, well you are a tough customer,” the merchant had to admit. “Most of what I could offer would be shrapnel in your hands. But I do have something in mind.” Rishaki’s eyes lingered on the organizer that Chiulu had been using to take notes—specifically, how many cracks it had, and all the tape that was desperately trying to hold it together.
The woman hopped up to her feet and turned around. She popped the lid to her chest and began to dig. It took longer than it should have, the merchant flailing her arms about randomly to act as if she was intently searching. Her power didn’t actually work like that. Really, she had to just think of what she wanted and it would fly into her hands. But making it look like she was putting in effort, or that she might not find something, made it all the more tantalizing.
“Ah, here we are,” The Peddler pulled up the piece. “A one of a kind binder, made out of the most durable metals, embedded with precious gemstones, crafted by one of the finest artisans. It was commissioned by the head librarian of the biggest library in the world, before the building was tragically destroyed in the Drazah War—disintegrated by one of their bombs. But this binder survived, the only thing in the entire building, no, the entire city that did.”
While what Rishaki had said was mostly the truth, only ever so slightly embellished, she found the piece to be horribly tacky. The woman had bought it on impulse due to its story and uniqueness, but after examining it closely for more than a few seconds, she regretted it immediately. And she’d been trying to pawn it off for years, but to no avail, since who would want such a gaudy thing, and a boring zjik binder no less.
“Well it is pretty, I’ll give you that,” Chiulu actually took the bait, and she genuinely seemed to enjoy how it looked to Rishaki’s surprise. “But I don’t know. It’s probably well above my price range.”
“I won’t lie and say you’re my friend,” the seller spat abruptly. “I do want you to leave as soon as possible, though, so I will give you a deep discount. Wouldn’t it be nice to have something in your life you can be proud of, something pricey you can flaunt, knowing you won’t accidentally ruin it? And if it does break someday, I’ll give you a money back guarantee.”
“Hmm, okay, you convinced me!” The Bureaucrat was starting to get excited by the idea. They negotiated the price and eventually settled on something, though it was clear in Chiulu’s eyes that she was never quite comfortable with it. That didn’t stop Rishaki’s saleswoman heart from driving it home, however. And eventually, the deal was struck.
New purchase in hand, Chiulu turned around to leave the shop. And on the very first step, she stumbled on her own feet, taking a skipping step forward to catch herself. But that made the luxury binder slip right of her hands and tumble to the ground. And the moment it hit the relatively-soft floor, the ornate organizer shattered to dust. Every piece of metal, every jewel—simply disintegrated.
“So, uhhh, about that money-back guarantee,” Chilu had to mention, though refusing to look back at the merchant.
“Please get out of my shop.”