14. The Origin of the Wheel Shoes
While he waited for the train, Isaac took the opportunity to do some quick googling with his phone, just in case someone had already come up with a way to measure charisma that he could rip off. He frowned as scrolled through countless articles describing things like “emotional intelligence” and “social ease and comfort.” It sounded nice and all, but none of it could be measured numerically, or at least not easily. And as much as he wished he could, he knew there was no way Lilith would accept “vibe check” as the answer.
The red line train pulled up with a loud screeching sound, but Isaac ignored it as he stepped forward without looking up from his phone. He blocked out the murmuring of passengers around him; there was no signal in the Underside, so he’d better get his research done quick.
Some more scrolling (mixed between pauses as he waited for the signal to return, curse underground traveling) later, Isaac had dove deep enough into the rabbit hole that he was reading an article about how dogs have amazing intuition about character. Well, Isaac wasn’t a dog, but he liked the idea of placing the pressure of assessment on something else. It couldn’t be an actual dog, of course, for obvious reasons. He didn’t own one, didn’t plan on dognapping one, and even if he did, there was no way he was going to force some poor defenseless dog into facing the horrors of the purple line. He paused, brow furrowing. Speaking of which, how the fuck was he supposed to deal with those guys?
Isaac shook his head as the train pulled up to the last stop, reminding himself to focus. Well, maybe there was some kind of magical creature or whatever in the Underside that had great intuition. A dog equivalent, if you will. He could ask around about it.
Was he actually considering walking into the Underside and searching around for a goddamn dog? He already knew he’d fallen low, but he wasn’t going to fall that low. There was only so much debasement the soul could take before it imploded.
Isaac firmly pushed any remaining dog vibe check thoughts aside and continued scrolling.
Another option, of course, was to simply walk around surveying people on a number of different topics, like how often people listened to them, that sort of thing. But that sounded insanely tedious, and the process of coming up with questions that actually mattered would take a very long time.
He paused. Well, it would be tedious by himself, at least. But if he could rope someone into helping him, that would at least ease some of the burden.
Isaac slipped his phone back into his pocket as the train began moving again, this time in the opposite direction.
Well, if he was going to get someone to help him, there was only one person he could think of who might actually agree.
—
“In other words, you’re so socially isolated and lacking in charisma that you have no idea where to begin with this questionnaire, and so you’ve come to elicit my help as the only friend you have in the Underside?”
“You know what, fuck you.”
Mortimer blinked very slowly. His mannerisms had always reminded Isaac of an owl, not that there were owls in the Underside. “I wasn’t trying to be malicious, I’m just telling the truth,” he said in that perfectly deadpan way of his.
Isaac released a long sigh. “Yeah, I know.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
The two were currently standing inside Mortimer’s shop, which was very cleverly titled “Mortimer’s Store” on the plain wooden sign that hung outside the building. Located at the edge of Solonell City, it was only a few blocks (though Isaac really didn’t think any of the weird abstract shapes could be called “blocks”) away from the subway station, making it very easy to access from the Silver Line. The shop itself was relatively unassuming, which unintentionally made it stand out given the questionable architectural choices of its neighbors. Isaac himself had first stepped inside during his first week of work, so overwhelmed with the sheer amount of “what the fuck” going on that he’d eagerly stepped into the first place in his line of vision that looked kind of normal.
That initial assessment turned out to not be completely incorrect. The place had been a simple clock shop, though over the years Mortimer had progressed to selling other random inventions and gadgets so that clocks now only made up half of his revenue.
Mortimer himself was a human, an Underside human to be exact, though according to him he was apparently half undead. Isaac had frowned at him when he’d first heard it, asking how that was even possible, and Mortimer had looked him dead in the eye and said, “Do you really want to know?”
Isaac had wisely shut up, and ever since then he’d simply ignored that fact about the man most of the time. It wasn’t too difficult, considering that he looked perfectly alive, save for his apparent inability to outwardly express stronger expressions than a mild frown.
Currently, the shop was empty save for the two of them, the lighting dim as Mortimer didn’t seem to see the point in using candles. Long tables with various gadgets were laid out, and the walls were covered in ticking clocks. The store itself was a bit dusty, and it bore an earthen scent that was distinctly different from the rest of Solonell City. Isaac was standing by one of the tables while Mortimer stood fixing what appeared to be a pocket watch behind the counter situated in the back of the room.
Mortimer frowned, the most emotive expression he was capable of. “I don’t have very much charisma either. To be honest, I don’t think I’d be very good help unless you only want someone to rant to.”
“Never said you did. Look, you’ve got a 19 intelligence stat. You probably have better ideas than me. And yes I do also like being able to rant.” Plus, Mortimer was apparently old as shit. No one in the Underside aged like regular humans did, which was another reason why the “humans” of Solonell City would forever be referred to with quotation marks. Even among them, Mortimer’s aging was particularly odd on account of his half undead status. He had to have at least some wisdom to show for all those years of existence.
Mortimer hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose business has been slow today.”
In all the times Isaac had visited, he’d never seen more than one person in the man’s store at once; usually there were no others at all. He said as much to Mortimer, who seemed to be taking the words very seriously.
“I’ve had more business lately,” he said. Isaac raised an eyebrow.
“Really now.”
The man nodded. Isaac opened his mouth to respond, but paused midway as a memory rose in his mind. He’d nearly forgotten. His jaw snapped shut and he squinted over the counter at the man, who looked utterly unperturbed.
“Is this about the wheel shoes.”
Mortimer blinked owlishly.
“Wheel shoes? Oh, you mean the Heelys.”
A moment of silence passed.
“…you know what they are.”
“Of course I do. Fable brought some when they stopped by and I thought they were interesting, so I made some copies to sell.”
It was a good thing copyright laws on Earth didn’t apply to the Underside. Not that that was the most important thing right then. Isaac rubbed his forehead. “Right. Fable brought them. Right.”
“Did you want to buy some? I’m almost out of stock; they’re quite popular, but I’m making more.”
“Popular. Right.” Isaac didn’t want to imagine running into even more random people in the Underside wearing Heelys. The longer this conversation went on the more he regretted starting it. “You know what, let’s just get going.”
Mortimer raised an eyebrow using the most minute amount of movement possible. “Right now?”
Isaac tapped his finger against the table. “Yes, right now.”
The man just hummed in response, but he set the pocket watch and tools down and turned to grab a coat. Despite his expression barely shifting, Isaac got the distinct impression that the man was laughing at him.