Flannel

Ohhh, there's a button for author notes. Got it. Here's another link to Bliss and Beri's Magic Item Shop CYOA for your perusal, and thanks for reading!

There's also a soundtrack link in the text below, but if you want to start listening from the beginning, here it is as well.

Auntie Merry, more than scary, always tsun and never dere . . .Justin thought, amused. When did you ever watch the Red Green Show?

It was very in character for her last words to him to be a spiky ball of of criticisms wrapped around a tiny lump of grudging but sincere respect. Justin didn’t mind, though. While they were more alike than she would ever have admitted, he felt rather proud of it. She’d been an admirable woman, in almost every way, and in particular, an excellent model of integrity for him since his childhood. The only adult he could remember who had ever apologized to him for being wrong about something.

Which was the main reason he was taking her bizarre claims seriously.

He put the exquisite handwritten letter down and stared at the small leather folio lying on his desk. His eyes slid to the right, where a small freestanding picture frame held a headshot of a young woman, more cute than beautiful. Her dark hair was cut in a blunt chin-length bob, and her expression overlaid fondness with a smirk.

Then he looked down at the two black mourning bands around his upper left arm.

He picked up the folio and untied the leather strap holding it closed. Inside it was a sheaf of small, pale parchment pages, barely larger than his two hands put together. They had borders of gold foil, which in turn were covered in celtic knot designs that glittered like powdered gemstones. A dense mass of tiny characters filled the first page, written in thin lines of purple ink. Justin didn’t recognize the writing, but as he studied it, the meaning entered his mind regardless.

AS YOU COMPREHEND

SO ARE YOU WORTHY

AS YOU CHOOSE

SO ARE YOU GIVEN

AS YOU SIGN

SO ARE YOU BOUND

Huh, he thought, putting the parchment down and leaning back in his chair. He rolled his head up and stared at the ceiling. So. . .magic is real.

It was certainly far more believable than the first alternatives that came to mind, such as some kind of conspiracy theorist black-bag operation hypnotic programming in his past. Or ‘Gray’ alien telepathy, like in Close Encounters of the Third Kind – no; Occam’s Razor clearly said call it magic and move on!

He sat up and looked at the parchment again.

Hail, stranger.

he read;

I do not know the origins of The Magic Item Shop. Many decades ago, as I crawled dying through the wreckage of my city, I found its Contract. In the desperate hope of survival and with my last moments of breath, I made my unalterable choices and signed my name.

I was transported to another city, in another world, and granted skills and powers beyond my imagination.

I regret nothing. Managing The Magic Item Shop has afforded me a life of meaning, happiness, and wonder greater than I ever dared to dream. But I have also learned that with enough time, even The Magic Item Shop can become a source of boredom, frustration, and eventually resentment.

Therefore, I have chosen to exercise the unwritten termination clause before these consequences become unbearable. After copious research, I have concluded - as was claimed in my predecessor’s message to me – that my remaining life will power the next iteration of The Magic Item Shop Contract, while my soul passes benignly into the unknown.

Whether you seek escape, or adventure, or just an honest and virtuous career in supernatural crafting and retail, The Magic Item Shop can provide it. I will not recommend this to you, as I do not know your circumstances, but I will assert again that I, personally, regret nothing.

You will leave behind everyone you know and everything you possess, other than your clothes, but you will be healed of all illnesses, curses, and other malign conditions, and either returned to your peak physical condition at the end of your adolescence, or advanced to it.

I cannot tell you more than this. I can only leave you with my best wishes, and the greatest words of wisdom I have yet acquired:

To a mind of sufficient discernment, everything is negotiable, and a hint is as loud as a thunderclap.

Oh yes. . .message received, my predecessor, Justin thought. ‘Unalterable choices’, but ‘everything is negotiable’, plus ‘unwritten clauses’. And I’m sure there’s more hints in there that I haven’t sussed out yet.

He carefully extracted the top sheet from the folio. The parchment was surprisingly stiff in his hands, and he set it down on his desk, then grazed a fingertip along the glittering design on one edge. It was barely gritty to the touch, like ultra-fine sandpaper.

I think those really are powdered gems, he thought. The idea of selling it to a collector of mysterious uniquities passed briefly through his mind and was instantly discarded. He had already decided to sign. There was nothing keeping him in this world any longer.

Unconsciously, his right hand rose to the double black bands on his upper left arm.

Beneath the topmost parchment in the folio were more of the same. These sheets, however, had obvious checklists, and signature lines at their bottoms. Justin removed them all and spread them out on the desk.

If there was ever a time to RTFM, he thought, this is absolutely, positively, categorically it.

# # #

The choices were easier than he’d anticipated.

He was. . .not transmigrating; trans-emigrating? Close enough - to Ribe. Hot springs? Tourism? Serenity? Encouraging business environment?

There were supposed to be other options?

Not for him. An asian-themed para-Venice swimsuited him right down to the water.

(He paused to add an entry to his new Purchases spreadsheet: Complete Down To The Bone discography)

Supplies obviously had to wait on his crafting picks. Alchemy was a no-brainer – it explicitly listed cures in its description. Straight to the top of the list. Even in a potentially competitive market, healing was still too personally useful to let past.

Of the remaining options, only Spellcraft and Baking stood out to him. The rest either seemed like excessively repetitive drudgery, or simply didn’t appeal. Spellcraft. . .yes, it was definitely second in line. Scribing scrolls and tomes, storing up magic for later use, plus customizing and innovating spells? Word magic? Irresistible! Baking, though. . .unexpectedly, he liked the idea, but did he really need the Shop’s magical enhancement to do it?

Well, what about these Upgrades and Artifacts, then? Was an extra one worth the trade? He turned to the last pages.

These. . .some of them didn’t make sense. Assistance and Automation stepped all over each other, with Automation the clear superior. Once he had enough of an income stream, he could hire a cute, helpful, highly skilled worker. Or two, or more. Could he buy and/or create the skilled enchantments for Automation? Unknown! And private personal life or not, employees meant entanglements. Responsibilities. Obligations. No, Automation was the way to go.

Similarly, Bigger Shop and Warped Space were in direct competition, with Warped Space likewise the preferable choice. So many possibilities with the latter! How much extra space did it afford? He was reading a language he didn’t actually know, which likely meant superstore was closer to his own understanding of the term than not.

Wait. How well did he understand the term? Just how big was a superstore?

A few moments online later, he was sarcastically thinking to himself, Oh very well; I suppose a quarter of a million square feet might suffice.

Sure, that was way out on the high end of the range, but on the other hand. . .Warped Space’s entry hadn’t changed.

So. At least three out of nine Upgrades to choose. Library was a must-have, even without the potential synergy with Spellcraft; Mobile a must-not. And he could purchase the effects of both Deluxe Shop and Improved Housing through mundane remodeling. If anything, he would prefer it. Better for the local economy, better for his reputation, better all around. Eliminated, then.

That left Automation, Library, and Warped Space, and. . .possibly Transform? How did choosing that even work? Oh, now there was space for it! A title box and a few lines for a simple description.

Maaagic, he thought. Put it aside for later.

Artifacts. Miracle Garden, pass; gardening, magic or not, held no interest for him. Magic Fountain, starred; the synergy with Alchemy went without saying. Amorous. . .Heart. . . .

Chloe.

Bean.

He. . .hadn’t thought about them. Hadn’t remembered, hadn’t missed them. Not for hours.

Justin sat back in his chair and scrubbed at his face. For the first time in months, his eyes stayed dry. Oh, it still hurt; the emptiness was still worse and more painful than anything else he’d ever felt, but. . .maybe he finally had a way forward. A way out. The money was just an occasional cold drip of satisfaction into the void within him, a mere token gesture, but this. . .a new- no, a second life. Not – a new one.

Never that. Never again. Gone, forever.

He swallowed convulsively.

A second life. Away from everything, from all the little reminders - the places they’d gone together, the moments they’d shared in them. . . .

He looked around the room with fresh eyes. Bare walls; all her art missing. Donated or given away. Half-empty book-shelves, the same.

He thought of the room down the hall. The door he never opened anymore. The air would be stale in there. The impressions in the carpet from the – furniture – would be long gone.

I hate this place, he suddenly realized.

Then. . .don’t stay here any longer, something deep inside him said.

Right. He’d be selling the house, too. That meant moving out. Packing up – no. He wasn’t taking much with him, was he? There were companies that handled that. Estate sellers. Yes. He’d need a rental. Something private. Cozy. With a good kitchen? He could start learning to bake? Yes. Why not. A crash course, a deep dive, a good distraction.

But not too distant. Nearby. He needed to reconnect with his friends, his colleagues, again, if only for a little while. He didn’t want anyone wasting their time looking for him, once he’d left. He didn’t want them thinking he’d gone off to die.

Heh. He could annoy them with his early attempts at baking. They wouldn’t dare refuse. Amusing.

And the mild irritation it caused would make their parting smoother, too. They’d have an easier time rationalizing his absence, his lack of communication.

He took a deep breath, blew it out, and looked back down at the last parchment sheet. Get back on the horse, kiddo, his father’s rough voice echoed in his memory. Better the world should hurt you than you hurt yourself.

Aquarium, no; Cursed Fountain, hell no; why was that even in there!?

Chandelier, no; Rare Draught, interesting, but probably no; Mana Well, starred, more Spellcraft – and perhaps Alchemy – synergy; Pink Voucher let go of the chair before you break something Justin!

He stood up and walked around the house a few times, clenching and unclenching his fists, before stopping in the kitchen. That. . .hadn’t been fun.

He opened the refrigerator. Leftovers. Second Story Thai. He dumped the rice in a bowl, poured the chicken yellow curry over it, put it in the microwave.

While it heated, he thought about going back into therapy, during the time he had left. Maybe he would. He put the idea on hold in favor of a glass of water.

When the curry was hot, he ate in the kitchen, standing up, leaning against the counter. Then returned to his office. Back on the horse.

Crystal Ball, no, and also creepy; Light Fairies, probably not, insufficient superiority to employees; War Armor – he paused to consider his overflowing rage of a few minutes ago – hard no; Bank Note, no, not least because he enjoyed doing his own books; Ancient Grimoire, starred, for even more synergy; Shadow Guard. . .no, there were probably spells for that sort of thing, and who exactly defined ‘monsters’, anyway? Not him, apparently; no extra lines appeared for it as he tried to give it fair consideration. And besides, if ‘monsters’ had the money – or goods to barter, or services - why not sell to them, instead of scaring them off?

Artificer’s Loupe, no, as again, Spellcraft could probably provide a substitute; and, finally, Golden Toolset - definitely no. He might not be a tenth the handyman his father had been, but he shared the old goat’s principles. The work’s not done until the tools are clean. Never blame them for your own mistakes.

The man’s epigrams didn’t match up exactly as counters to Golden Toolset’s benefits, but that wasn’t the point. The point was how he’d feel his father’s disapproval every time he used it. Not his disappointment – never that – but certainly disapproval. It’d make the work too easy; weaken the foundations of his new skills. No.

So. . .Ancient Grimoire, Magic Fountain, and Mana Well? Yes. Good picks. Things were shaping up nicely.

He took a look at the fourth page, Blessings, before he returned to the others. Arcane led the list at first, Time was a hopes-dashed bust, and then he read the entry for Sun. Then he made himself consciously understand every word, every sentence, of Moon’s entry afterwards, because RTFM, but while it was almost as good at Arcane, neither of them came anywhere close to the utter fullness of Yes and Win that was Sun.

Three minor wishes to sell – or gift - per month, and instinctual knowledge of his customers’ desires? Never mind how either of those alone was practically a license to print mon– right, fantasy universe; a license to mint coinage, instead - the sheer power Sun granted overwhelmed every other option available. Sold!

Now that he’d decided on Alchemy and Spellcraft for his product lines, his Supplies were obvious: Herbs, Monster Parts, and Monster Produce. Between the drug implications and the blatant warning of caution is advised in handling, Mushrooms were on the No-Fly list. Same with Relics and their deadly curses bullcrap. Not even once!

As for Monster Eggs. . .no, in the end, going mundane with baking wasn’t a hard choice, and Breeding wasn’t even in the running. Three words: baby monster poop.

And he knew what he wanted from the Artifacts, so he’d substitute an Upgrade. Transform. There was something lurking there, a vague idea, less than half-formed. . .not a bakery, not a resort, definitely not a tavern.

He took a couple of deep, calming breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth.

A cafe?

Wait.

Coffee.

Was coffee even a thing in this other world? No, it had to be. A cafe wouldn’t be an option if it wasn’t. That’s what the word literally meant. But. . .what about chocolate? And vanilla?

This bore deeper thought.

Flannel

My favorite line in this chapter -

Spoiler

Three words: baby monster poop.

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