Fiona hated Moondays. It was like Monday, but not as ominous sounding. It was, also, the least fun day of the week as she and the rest of the crew breezed through the doors of the shop. She wished that Lucy had just left them out of this debacle involving Barry and that blonde viper in the palace. She already had enough on her plate.

Come to think of it, why exactly was she talking about the Bar'dathi elves? That’s the second time that’s come up recently. Fiona nearly dipped her head into a mug of coffee offered by Darla, who waved gently to get her attention at the counter.

“Heeey, who’s supposed to be awake and chipper by now?” Darla teased with a glint of gold eyes. “You look like you could use this. Just be glad I prefer you ingest it to wake up, rather than dump it on your lap.” Fiona wasted no time to take it in hand, took a deep inhale of the freshly brewed coffee, and let out a contented sigh.

“Another late night. I was talking to Greg about numbers. Ugh. I want to shut down when faced with numbers. The good news is, we are indeed, in the green. But my carefree spending days are over, until I sell this dragon loot.” She paused and went over a list in front of her that showed the following. “I mean, honestly, I ponder who would buy some of these items. Or how they have any intrinsic value.”

“Mind if I take a look?” Darla asked, and tapped the arcane pad gently with an orange painted nail. She squinted, and peered closer. “Are these for real? You have these in storage, or in the shop?”

“Yep. No joke.” Fiona thumbed through the list. “Here are the highlights of the super weird ones, or the ones I know will be difficult to sell.” She peered at her list with skepticism. This was just a handful of items she had to move, and some of them were…bizarre.

Item Description QTY Price (CSG) Comments Super Evil Dragon Scepter 1 1.00E+99 Don’t ever actually sell this. Stuffed Rodent of Peculiar Volume 2 300* One sample slightly charred, 50% off. Big-assed sword 1 1000 Amnesiac blonde sold separately. Armor of invincibility 1 4000 Not stain proof. Golden sphere with eyes and a mouth 1 5000 It’s either a face, or a bowling ball. Dunno why it's smiling. Demonic Paintbrush Set 1 666 Buyer must be a redhead. Crimson Greatsword (‘Palach’ stenciled in) 1 9999 Do not sell to murderous divas.

Darla wrinkled her brow and rubbed one horn absentmindedly. “I have one question. Why does a dragon need any of these things? This hoard seems more like a worthless loot dumping ground, with some of these items. I think this dragon lied about where he stored the good stuff.”

“Nah, there were a lot of good items in there,” Fiona shrugged. “Cita took inventory when she had the chance. Now, to be honest, I agree. But I can make a pitch for just about anything.”

“Oh? Care to put that to the test? Who wants an invisibility cloak that you can’t bloody find?” Darla asked as she tapped one line in particular.

“Uh…well…” she sighed and shook her head. “I’m sure it has a great use!”

“I am sincerely doubtful of that. Also, what is this?” before tapping one other line on the list. Fiona grabbed the paper, and examined it.

“Oh, that? Some golden egg. You know the funny bit? I put it in the bedroom because I thought it would be a cool ornament…but Tucker keeps sneaking it into the bed and he curls up around it when I come home for the day,” Fiona said with a hand wave. Darla raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a real egg. I mean, I’m pretty sure it isn’t. Tucker just likes shiny things.”

“Phase cats are pretty clever, Fiona. I think he’s trying to hatch it,” Darla said with a laugh. “Make sure to take an image with the crystal lens on your relay when it does?”

“It’s not a real egg!” she fumed. “Oh, are you trying to egg me on? Geddit?”

“Groan. I think you need more coffee before you attempt jokes,” Darla added with a flash of a smile. Greg walked by and grabbed an extra cup she’d been holding with her tail. “A thank you will suffice,” she said in a silky tone and a gentle bow toward him.

“You have my eternal gratitude, Darla. Oh, Fiona, we also have that customer again.” he threw his thumb behind him, and she let out a sound of anguish. Or, she would have if she hadn’t clapped her hand over her mouth.

It was this woman again. She’d been in the store five of the last five days, window shopping, trying to find one particular item, but never settling on one. Fiona had given up trying to get her to buy something expensive, and just get her to buy one thing and leave. The woman in question was a Nekotame with more than a few gray furs, and was trying to pick out something for her grandson, for his efforts to join the adventurers guild. Fiona did applaud the woman for having great care, but she monopolized her time when she could be servicing other customers at the same time.

“Greg, I’ll make a bet with you. I can get that lady to buy something that costs at least five hundred gold in the next ten minutes.” She pushed her chair back and smoothed her hair–yep, perfectly wavy, perfectly bouncy, and she practiced her shopkeeper smile. “I’ll wager lunch.”

“Nah. She's been here several times. Hasn’t spent a copper,” he pointed out. “I think she’s just paralyzed by too much choice.”

“Well, then. I just need to narrow it down a bit!” she asserted while clapping her hands together. She sprang into motion. She caught the woman’s attention…Missus Pagolin, she recalled? She had just set down a small bauble that could identify gems in the field, and looked at Fiona with surprisingly bright ochre-colored eyes.

“Uh…can I have some help? I’m trying to get something for my grandson,” she asked, after spending a few seconds trying to formulate the words. This was new information to Fiona, and she affirmed it with a nod.

“Sure thing, missus–”

“Pagolin,” she finished, and shook Fiona’s hand with a crushing grip, but Fiona was no stranger to the grip of iron, and did not wince in pain. “So, tell me about your grandson. You said he wanted to be an adventurer?”

“Ever since he was a little kid! He first put on a pair of play goggles at age six! Anyway, he’s just got his class–he ended up picking a warrior, even though he’s never swung a sword in his life!” She added with a chuckle.

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Great career choice there, future dead adventurer, Fiona thought caustically. But she knew better than that–she needed to focus on the notion that this young adventurer would likely die before she could even do anything meaningful for him. So he needed something small, effective, and affordable. “Tell me about your grandson. Why did he want to become an adventurer?”

“He wanted to be like his dad. He gave his life in the defense of Fiefdala about fifteen years ago, trying to deal with a necromancer. Ah, my daughter tried to talk him out of it, but he didn’t listen. She refused to buy anything for him, thinking that would solve the problem. He was gonna go to the loan sharks or pawn what few things he had, and I wasn’t going to sit there and let him do that. So, I stepped in, and told my daughter, ‘He needs to be able to choose his path in this life’," Pagolin answered after pondering it for a few seconds.

“So, he’s motivated,” Fiona concluded. “She shouldn’t get in the way of that.”

“Oh, she did. She didn’t want him becoming some skeleton wandering a mad mage's dungeon, and it got tense. She doesn’t know I'm here, doing this for him.” She frowned and glanced at the display cases. “Do you have kids, Miss Swiftheart? I would guess not, you're pretty sharp in the ears still, as they say,” she added with an exaggerated ‘ho-ho’ sound. Fiona couldn’t help but smirk proudly.

“I’ve still got youth. And kids…well…they’re not something I’ve given thought to, yet.” Because I do tend to like people who can’t…really make that happen for me, she thought to herself.

Pagolin made a circle over her heart and whispered a prayer. “I’m sorry, being barren is not something people are proud or willing to talk about freely, not without a lot of bravery. It’s alright, dear.”

“No, I…uh…” Fiona trailed off. “I…like certain people.”

Pagolin blinked, and nodded with a soft smile. “Ah, I see. You love who you love, I understand. You’ve also got the life of an adventurer in you. Not a lot of room for settling down, is there?”

“No. Not really. It’s very busy. Very intense. Anyway, tell me, what does your grandson gravitate to? Does he have any special skills?”

“Hmm. He’s good with a bow. I know that he's split arrows at a hundred meters, shooting one arrow into the half of the other. Deadly aim,” she stated proudly. “But, those are items that require a lot of money, and effort.”

“How long has he trained?”

“Five years. He won many archery contests as a kid, and I want what’s best for him.” Fiona frowned and motioned the woman to follow her to a case near the back of the main room. She unlocked it with a key, and showed the woman a rather simple bow, made of yew, but intricately carved with blackened runes. The string was virtually invisible, and there was even a detailed sighting to help predict arrow drop.

“This is a marksman bow. It’s light, very strong for its size, and enchanted to fire true to where you aim, minus gravity. The little sight helps figure out where the arrow lands at longer distances.” She pulled the bow, and recalled her lessons with Jake. She didn’t always have the hammer with her, and it was nice to have a ranged option. “You pull the string, and it auto-coats the arrows with a magic-piercing enchantment. Very good against most magical targets. And out there in the wilds, you need every edge you can get,” Fiona explained.

She pulled the bow taut, working on her form and sighting down the scope, picturing the arrow between her fingers, ready to be loosed. Her arm held dead-steady, even fully drawn, and Pagolin looked on in amazement. “Hmm. It would help if you tucked it a little tighter. Your form’s a bit off.”

“Ranged wasn’t my style. It was a backup,” she answered softly as she slowly relaxed the bow. “But, when you’re up against monsters and all sorts of dangers, you need to have an answer to any problem and be adaptive. My mentor taught me that.”

“Still, you look like you’ve handled yourself well. How much for this one?” Pagolin asked, and Fiona read the price tag.

“This is low-grade, but versatile. Seven-fifty.” What had started for her, as a bet with Greg, had turned into something that had some meaning personally. “What’s your budget?”

“Three hundred. Sorry, Miss Swiftheart. I can’t afford that one,” the woman said with a resigned sigh. “I mean, I can go a little higher, but–”

“I might have one more.” She went further back, unlocked another cabinet, pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle, and slowly unfurled the weapon housed within. All the while, Wingding was fluttering excitedly.

“Miss Swiftheart, your items are quite pricey–”

“Not all of them are.” She pulled out a well-carved bow, with basic runes carved in. The woodwork was elegant, if simple, and she pulled the bow taut, watching the segments flex in conjunction. “This one is a starter bow. Simple, but powerful. It has a very minor enchantment to allow you to hold the arrow nocked, and not stress your arm. It allows you to keep your aim steady for that one single patient shot.”

“Intriguing. Why this one, though?” Pagolin asked, and Fiona slowly felt that muscle memory returning, the telling motion of where an arrow would fly true, as her eyes followed the room.

“It’s mine.” Pagolin blinked, and let out a small gasp. “I think your grandson would benefit greatly from a bow that teaches patience and precision.”

“Goodness, Miss Swiftheart. You’re selling off your personal effects?”

“No. I’m forwarding them to the next round of adventurers who can use them. I’ve got a closet of items I’ve used in the past, more complicated, more powerful. But, ultimately, the power is in the hands of the one wielding it,” she stated as she slowly relaxed on the string, and the bow reverted to its original shape.

“But, doesn’t it have sentimental value?” she asked. Fiona frowned, and placed the bow back into the wrap, folding it tightly.

“We can’t hold onto the past forever. I didn't want it to just sit in my closet, collecting dust along with out-of-date boots.” She presented the bundle to the woman. “I can part with it for three hundred. It would list as five hundred, new. But I’ve also taken good care of it.”

“But, Miss Swiftheart–”

“I opened this store not just to get me out of a rather unique situation, I did it, so I could get the next generation of adventurers ready for the world we live in. It’s not all sunshine and roses, like I originally thought,” she stated firmly. “Please. Let your grandson know that the Hero of Fiefdala believes he’s got what it takes. He just needs a level head, and steely resolve.”

“You're very gracious. Thank you, you’re such a dear,” the woman said, while Greg wore a bemused look, over by the counter, as he rang her out.

“You lost the bet,” he stated contentedly. “I think you could have won that one.”

"Technically, I did. It was worth five hundred. I sold it for three. Besides, it was my bow."

Greg let out a sound of surprise. “You get clingy to items, Fiona. That was unexpected. Why, might I ask?” She leaned on the counter, a faint smile on her lips.

“I didn’t need it. It was gonna collect dust in my apartment for an eternity, when it could be used, now.”

“Huh. I know of your clingy tendencies, too.”

“I still have them. I still want the next set of fashionable winter boots that cost a fortune,” she growled, before relenting. “I…have difficulty letting things go, Greg. Things become more than…things. You know?”

He canted his head, as if in thought. “Why, though?”

“Because I grew up dirt poor. When I inherited that shop I ran, back on earth, I thought it was going to fix all my money problems, and I could live like a queen. I did–on borrowed money. I let short-sighted decisions like that compound and get worse, later. Not really worth it, in retrospect,” she sighed.

“There was a version of Miss Swiftheart that was more of a spendthrift?” he jested playfully. “Goodness, I don’t think I’d want to meet that version of you.”

“You couldn’t. She died in the ruins of a world that was burning down,” Fiona stated quietly. “My business failed, Greg. It failed, even though I put my all into it. And it wasn’t me borrowing money, that did it in.”

“Then what?”

She cleared her throat. “I lost my passion for it.”

He glanced at her, pondering his next question for a few seconds. “And how did that happen?”

“I uh…had a falling out with someone.” Greg raised an eyebrow at that.

“Business partner? Or, someone emotionally staked to it?”

She leaned on the counter, before glancing his way. “Anyone tell you you’re the kind of guy to ask hard-hitting questions?” He nodded with that calm gaze of his, before scribbling down something on his arcanist pad. “Yeah. Someone important, you could say.”

“If you don’t mind me asking–”

“I do. I’m not ready for that one, Greg. That monster that killed me, isn’t the only awful thing lurking in the past.” He folded his hands together, and nodded, almost imperceptibly.

“Fair enough. Maybe I can entice you with a story of my own, someday. As you can imagine, there’s more to me than just me leaving my father’s shadow that weighed on…some…of my decision-making.”

Fiona leaned in, curious. “Growing up in a magical mob family? Yeah, I can see how that could have been distinctly uncomfortable. That is, if my world’s film and literature are any indication. I might take you up on that offer.”

“Well now, sounds like a date, over lunch. As business partners,” he added with a wry smile. “Don’t let the wild and free-spirited Fiona crash the party, yes?”

“Haha. I make no promises, Greg.”