Your intuition is vindicated when you see a hint of a caravan between the tight alley-ways.
You walk into the near empty town square. The oldest part of town. Largely abandoned except for the occasional fair.
There it is. The comforting smell of dust, age, and cleaning products greets you from a store. And more importantly, you can already make out the “HELP WANTED” sign.
The shopkeeper, a woman wearing a capelet, doesn’t seem to notice you. You approach slowly. Strange pictures, customized cartridges and CDs, and all sorts of ornate cards and tiles line the makeshift store.
You step onto the carpeted area marking the storefront and the lady locks eyes with you.
“I’d like to work here.”
The lady looks a bit dumbfounded, like a child when you take away her favorite doll.
“I cannot turn you away.” The lady pauses for a long moment “Please purchase something and continue your day.”
You had a golden rule when looking for work- apply to everything that caught your eye. It’s never failed you yet.
“I’m seeking employment here.” you repeat, more strongly.
“What do you see out there?”
You look into the empty town square. There’s nothing but a hint of hanging long-gone festivities in the air- the sniff of cinnamon, the musk of strange beasts, and the abrasive chemicals of a workshop.
You narrow your brow “Stop messing with me. Let me see the manager. I want a job.”
The lady replies but seems to choke on her own words. A whimsical voice, something between what you’d hear in a theater and a drag show, rings in-
“Forgive my dear, dear apprentice. I accept your request. We cannot turn you down.”
A long spindly figure squeezes out of the caravan onto the store floor. The absurdly tall man (??) is dressed in motley, festive colors. He walks towards you, and pets the storekeeper affectionately.
You begin to introduce yourself but he interrupts once more “No no, dear friend. No names here. It’s against the rules of our fine fair.” His string-like arm pulls you forward by the hand “Simply call me the Prince of Deals. And the shy sapphic you spoke to, the Shopkeeper
He leads you towards the caravan. You feel like, perhaps, your golden rule of employment seeking has betrayed you, but you want to see this through.
Up the steps, into the caravan, you find a surprisingly spacious room. A studio, a workshop, and a living room all combined into one. One half the room was decorated in blacks and contrasting vivid colors, with pictures of girls both physical and unreal. The other half was filled with motley colors, odd knick knacks, and ancient collectables
The Prince of Deals moves you towards a blank wall. “You’ll be made useful in just one bit!” He picks up a blank set of cards, and lightly taps you on the forehead.
Vertigo. Your sense of balance is overwhelmed despite standing up straight. You catch yourself on your legs. The room distorts before you.
“You’ll be our model- starting now” The twisted room centers around the blank card he holds. It pulls you in, warping you with the room, and-
You’re on a journey. One exaggerated step after the next. Your backpack hangs heavily. Your clothes, dirty and torn, somehow silhouette you beautifully and leave nothing to the imagination.
As you step through life, you see different options open before you. There’s your old school, the school you wished you could go to, the caravan you’re in right now, an actor you would never be. Somehow all these options seemed equally real, equally attainable.
You put one foot in front of the other towards these options and-
“THE FOOL” booms the Prince’s voice
Reality cuts you off from that moment. You find yourself elsewhere.
You’re the softer, more motherly you from a world that hadn’t forgotten its ancient goddesses. Your eyes are bound, blinded, but you did not need them anyway. You feel the weight of an ornate habit for your ancient sect of priestesses, the heaviness of wisdom in your mind, and the mass of your bountiful body.
“THE HIGH PRIESTESS”
Reality violently slices off this perspective.
A feeling of triumph fills you. You’re a deal-maker, a conqueror. You stare down from your penthouse onto the masses below, who look like little more than pawns for your next venture. You bear your naked honed body- strength and muscles befitting a winner like you. The world lies prone beneath the power between your legs. Your fickle decisions will decide feast and famine for many.
“THE CHARIOT”
Another jump. You feel like you lose a bit of yourself each time.
Now, you’re staring at yourself from twin perspectives. One set of eyes sees the most handsome version of yourself. The other sees the most beautiful. A dream-like heat envelops you as you pull the other towards you. Tongue to tongue, you embrace yourself. And as you pull back, a line of liquid connects your gaping, needy mouths.
“THE LOVERS"
It's almost too much. You feel each of your previous versions live on in their one captured moment. Each micro-version of you becomes more of you as you’re further split by each scene. The Prince of Deals shouts out arcana after arcana. Then, finally, with one final declaration, the microversions win out. You live on, as exaggerated possibilities captured in thin cards.
The Shopkeeper counts out the payment for the living mahjong set. Yeah, this would be enough.
“Thank you for your patronage!” The witchy guest gives a brief smile in return.
Whew. The Fair is quite busy today. Not only is the town square packed with stalls and merchants today, some poor fool wandered into her shop demanding employment.
Master made his way out of the caravan, new product in hand.
“Heeeyyy, Master- ah, yeah, Prince of Deals, did we really have to take in that stranger?”
She suspected the answer, for Master was a bit of faefolk himself. Still, she would feel more comfortable recruiting strangers if the pair were selling dolls, or even just digital games today.
“You know the rules of the Fair, my dear Shopkeeper.” He petted her again, as if gently chiding her for her ex-human ignorance. “All products must be treated equally at the Fair. No matter what form.”
