The Other Side Of The Mirror ---Satine---

[Birdee]

Birdee watched Satine make a drink; a drink like nothing she had ever seen before. When Satine suggested Birdee go and give someone a drink in their hand, Birdee looked over to Q-Tip. She could see where he got his name from, but there was a whole lot of not so good hanging over that guy. Birdee didn't need to have any sort of abilities to know that; everyone could probably smell it on him. And being a sensitive of sorts didn't really help her case. It was the exact opposite in this case. Great. She knew his time clock was ticking, but in this case, Birdee could almost 'feel' life leaving him every single time he moved. She could 'see' the glossy gaze in his eyes; the kind only the dead had.

A 'snack' was given to Birdee too and while she wasn't supposed to be judgemental, Birdee couldn't help but give the 'snack' a what the **** is that look? It faded as quick as it came, most definitely before her eyes found Satine, who referred to herself as Alice. Finally, she got a name to the owner of the place, but somehow Alice didn't really seem to fit Satine. Birdee imagined Alice being some perfect little housewife that wore aprons and cooked grand meals and was waiting for her S.O. at the door at five-thirty sharp with a martini in her hands. "Got it." Birdee had no problems with avoiding contact with people; it was more or less her thing. If she touched someone, it was only because Birdee was sure they were dead (and she believed (correctly or incorrectly) she couldn't get their heebie jeebies, mumbo jumbo vibes interfering with her vibes), or it was a life or death situation. And even then, it had to be a real special case.

Birdee took the offerings and headed off in Q-tip's direction, bobbing and weaving around the slow influx of patrons. As she headed over to him, Birdee kept her gaze on no one specific for too long, it was better that way for everyone. When she was waitressing, Birdee learned long ago to focus on the menu the person was holding, to avoid the whole eye contact, or really, avoiding the whole head area in general. One wrong encounter with an aura that wasn't exactly on the up and up from a person had Birdee on edge for weeks while she wasn't high or drunk. So this would be no different. Not everyone in a club was a stand up guy, or a nice girl. Probably the opposite, if she were being brutally honest.

"From Alice." Birdee spit out as soon as she was close enough to Q-Tip. The hand with the drink was thrust out in the guy's direction. A big, fat, stupid mistake she was willing to admit later. It probably wouldn't have been, had Q-Tip not got nudged by a woman in a trio, that were in their own world, noses high to the ceiling. It was no wonder they couldn't see the guy, or anyone so far beneath them. So as Q-Tip moved for the drink, a shoulder grazed him and the guy, not having any extra energy to keep himself from reeling forward, lurched forward. His hand not only grazed her hand, but swiped Birdee's tattooed arm.

The feeling she got hit Birdee like a ton of bricks before a song played came to her mind. The song wasn't completely unfamiliar to her, or anyone. All anyone needed was the chorus and you just knew the song. Some years ago, the song titled had been converted into a movie with Reese Witherspoon, which didn't do it any real justice in Birdee's mind. The movie was great, but the song was fine on its own. Dread washed over her, then panic and finally fear. Birdee hunched over at her stomach and took some deep breaths in as the song played on in her head. She closed her eyes as other people walked by her, some people even stopping to stare at her as Birdee struggled to get some fresh air in her lungs, the song growing louder and louder in her head.

The drink crashed on the ground as her palms found each ear, as if that would help Birdee get through the motions of whatever it was she was supposed to 'hear' in this sequence of events, instead of 'see.' This wasn't the first time Birdee had 'heard' things, but this wasn't typical either. It definitely took her by surprise, and that was evident as she remained off to the side of the dance floor, crouched at the knees now as her eyes clamped shut. Q-Tip, sprang backwards from Birdee, not sure what the 'crazy ***** was on,' but debated finding out who her dealer was for a new possible avenue, while a young man, a little younger than Birdee reached out and snaked his hand around her arm. "Hey, are you okay?" He asked, trying to pull her hand from her ear to make sure she heard him, before she shrieked out, during the quieter back beats of the music. "Don't ******* touch me!"

Birdee Other None Luck Q-Tip Avoid getting any 'sign' about his life Failed

[Satine]

Satine sank the garnish of lime into the cloudy concoction that was called a Great Gatsby. Most never thought of adding the extra touch until they took the time to appreciate it once the drink was finished. Crimson nails dropped pomegranate arils on the surface of the drink. A napkin floated across the surface of the bar and the palmed glass was placed in front of the customer that ordered it. Somehow the ones that came in ordering citrus based drinks stayed alert longer than those that went straight for the lights out mood killers. Her petite hand covered the money offered up on the bar and pulled back towards her until it slid off the surface and out of view.

“The bar needs restocking.” Her announcement was on the heels of Furious George passing by with a box in his hands. The sixties throw back wasn’t in a hurry and that gave the necromancer all the time she needed to spot the shipping label on the outside. “I thought we cancelled that order?”

The telling sounds of clicking heels on the move did little to deter FG’s chosen path towards the storage room. The small space safely hidden behind a security numerical code entry was generally to the right or left of the bar depending on which direction the observer happened to be facing. Why the erroneously delivered shipment that had been stopped by none other than herself was heading where it was had her more than curious. There was shelves that were full and floor space that was piled eyeball high with mixes, back up glassware and the promotional flyers that Percy was supposed to distribute months back. Her lip twitched as the door finally opened and the bulk of Furious George, the resident head shop manager, disappeared within.

“Or maybe not?” Her sharp nails caught the door before it closed when the pads of her fingertips pinned it firmly stopping it from moving any farther. “You didn’t…”
“Oh you bet I did.” Furious George chirped from the inside of the makeshift closet. “I need this stuff and it is going in here until I can make some sense and order out of the shitpile that the flaming twit left in the head shop office.”
“Percy isn’t stepping foot in there because I told him to stay the **** out of there. And as for this delivery…” She asserted her presence in the packed space by wiggling her way in. “If I cancelled it there was a damn good reason, FG.” She growled stepping tightly with him. Her irritation was increasing as was her reach to the top of the box and pulling at the tranparent xstrip lining the top of it. A quick tug had the shipping tape hissing in it’s release and a dull thud echoed the landing of the bulky box on top of the one beneath it. “I thought this was settled when you ordered those coconut glasses we never used.”
“Correction!” His eyes seemed to brighten at the rare chance to prove her wrong. “The senior center has been using them for their monthly community luau. They couldn’t be more happy with the donation.”

Satine blinked once focusing on the silver bearded septuagenarian. Sometimes she wondered if FG was missing the point of her being in business to make money. He was infamous for being generous to a fault and he had no issue with tagging her name and Wonderland as the source of whatever he was handing out. He was a problem she needed to correct sooner than later.

“Do I look like I want to go out of business because you keep giving **** away?”

The light above them in the closet started blinking as if there was a short in the wiring finally making itself known or the bulb was finally calling its purpose as served and complete. Furious George knew that it was hardly either of those possibilities. The necromancer was getting fired up and before she went from mild irritation to sending the walls shaking he raised up a hand to signal a need for one second. His hand disappeared inside the box and pulled out a ball of bubble wrap. Before he could reveal what would he banked on appeasing her the sound of a shrieking warning not to touch was heard loud and clear. With that the light bulb above their heads shattered into the miniscule pieces of glass that sprinkled down like fine confetti. Predictably in a blur of black and red the boss lady was gone from Furious George’s view. A loud sigh of relief escaped his lips.

“At least I am not dying over these gems until they get a chance to sell.” He tossed one up and barely caught it as Percy squeaked into the closet.
“Get the **** in there and do something before she kills the guy.” Percy didn’t care what FG had been up to as he took hold of the old fart’s shirt collar and tugged as hard as he could. “I wondered how long it was going to be before she finally snapped. I tell you that new bird chick is going to start trouble.”

Satine was in the room staring down Qtip with a silver gaze that sent the bodies dangling about scurrying. The young patron that had made contact with Birdee unbeknownst to Satine tripped over one of the dancers feet coming down from the pole in the center of the room. A swift kick of a clear platform stripper shoe gave the customer all the incentive to get back on his feet and clear the doorway.

“What the hell is going on?” The vibration of the music was no competition for the walls beginning to shiver outside the rhythm of the current beat saturating through the building wide sound system. “Who touched you?”

As soon as Serg heard the question he went paler than a bleached white sheet and landed on the floor like a useless flesh rug. A light squeak was followed by the appearance of a shiny red hand. In a small show of heroic effort Percy was taking hold of Q Tip's wrist like a first responder and attempting to pull him from the room about to go up in flames. The sharp as broken glass spike beneath his boss’ petite body sank slowly into his own arm just above the wrist and ceased his efforts.

“Don’t you dare move.” She hissed looking down to find just who she expected to be there.

[Birdee]

There were feet scraping against the surface of the dance floor all around her as people jumped back from her protest against help. Most steps went backwards, but one was fast approaching, with strides of determination. While the steps were unfamiliar, the voice wasn't. Birdee barely heard what was said through the closed hands of her palms over her ears, but she heard enough to put the missing words together. With hands over her ears still, Birdee looked up to see a silver gaze looking at her, while a foot seemed to already have found the culprit.

"H-he did." Her eyes looked at the guy beneath Satine's foot with an accusatory glare. "Him first." Birdee looked at Q-Tip, but the gaze didn't seem as venomous as the one to the guy that was at the mercy of Satine's boot. "It w-was a-a-n acc-cc-ident." She sputtered out, because Birdee knew it wasn't his fault he bumped into her, but the fault of someone else. "I-I-I'm s-s-s-sorry. I can-can't...too many people." Birdee said as she stood up, inching away from the guy who had grabbed her arm in some fruitless attempt to be some hero, but fell short on the stick.

"T-too crowded." Birdee wiped her wet palms on her skirt; probably wet from the drink that smashed at her feet. While she wiped them dry, Birdee pressed in tiny pieces of shard glass beneath her palm, not seeing them before her hands went to the ground to push herself up off it from her crouched position. "I-I-I'll pay f-f-for the gl-glass." Birdee said as she untied the apron from around her waist and held it for Satine to take. This obviously wasn't the job for her. Who needed someone on the verge of some sort of mental breakdown over being touched, working for them?

[Satine]

Satine could feel that itch sliding around the back of her neck. The one that had her gums tingling and her jaws pulsing. All of it with the promise of coming unhitched at the joints and ready to go full on explosive with an instant upgrade of size and power that would have the general area cleared in record time. Percy would gnaw off his own wrist to get free if he witnessed it. The appearance of her lion’s jaws was her creepiest trick as far as he was concerned. He could handle the spider walk up the walls as well as the others but those teeth were not right on any level. Up close and personal or from across a crowded room. He was about to move when the pressure increased over his wrist.

Silver orbs followed Birdee as she moved to stand. Her voice had that pitch that was tempting to the likes of Satine. Fear was an aphrodisiac of sorts, arousing but not fully in the ways that it was to others. Stimulating her curiosity as to what was responsible she glanced between Qtip who had looked like he was ready to check out of the scene altogether and then back down to Percy who had the eyes that said he was no more responsible than Furious George who happened to take up leaning on the ceiling dancer pole behind him. Soon as he found his boss eyeing him he cleared his throat and adjusted the permanent bandana wrapped on his thick head and straightened up.

“I get where she is coming from boss.” His thick wrinkled up fingers folded around his bearded chin and rubbed thoughtfully. “I was like that when I came back from the war. Couldn't stand the sound or smell of society. All the ungrateful fucks made me feel like settling a few scores I didn't get a chance to before they pulled us back home.”

The veteran never elaborated on which war it was when he referred to it. Then again no one really asked him about the details. It was clear enough that there was some war he had survived whether it was one that took him overseas somewhere or the one perhaps that bloomed once upon a time in his own head. Either way it didn’t quite matter. It was hell from the sounds of it when he did mention it and that was more than enough to keep the questions at a minimum.

“You got something better suited for her?” Satine’s foot lifted and joined the other to have her standing straight.
“The headshop is quiet, no hands on risks with crowds. I think it would work.” He nodded and turned his attention on the red latex body popping up from the floor like a Jack-in-the-box released with the turn of a crank. “Have more than enough work in the stock area she can do if she is up for it. Percy can return to what he does best down here with you.”
“Get him another drink.” She dipped her head towards the direction of where the bar was despite the narrow entry of the private dance room where they were standing. The troll haired stick man was appearing to come back to life at the sound of her voice while Percy had managed to gather up all the broken glass and spill with a quick take of the bar apron Birdee was attempting to hand over only moments before. ”Make it like he likes it.”
“So, what do you think kid?” FG looked at the prospect of an new employee. “No crowds, no more issues.”
“Let me know how it works out.” Satine eyed both then stepped out to see if Percy was actually heading to the bar to make the drink. "Serg..."
“Thanks for saving my ***.” The man with an expiration date written in his gaunt and emaciated features offered up as he followed the sounds of sharp clicks that would lead him out of the room. He didn't have to be asked twice to follow along.

[Birdee]

While her arm was still outstretched, Birdee made sure that she moved away or around people that were gathering near her. Her eyes were still locked on the guy on the ground, while listening to the conversation between Satine and Percy, was it? Birdee would ask him later to make sure that was his name; there had been a few thrown out in passing conversations that it was hard for her to keep up. Suddenly, a male voice spoke up, claiming he knew what was going on with her. Birdee's eyes moved to the guy, hell bent on listening to his explanation and what he was going to say. Did he really know? What would happen if he did know? Some gifts, like her mom told her when she was a little girl, were not meant to be shared with others.

When the guy, whose name she would definitely have to snag from his own lips later spoke about a 'war,' Birdee just stood there in silence. That's not her story-not even close to it, but she wasn't going to try and explain how wrong he was. Not when they were talking about allowing to keep a job and work with her PTSD, that Birdee didn't have. When he asked her if it would work for her, Birdee just nodded her head. “Y-yeah.” She said with a determined look, her bangs sticking to her forehead and covering those determined eyes from the slick sweat that beaded on her forehead.

“I'll t-try that. Th-that sounds good. I c-can do th-that.” Birdee said between gulped breaths, nodding her head as Satine left and was followed by the guy who thanked Birdee for saving his life. If only he knew what was really in store for him. But, Birdee didn't interject and sure wasn't about to blurt out anything. People tended to look at her like she was nuts, and chances were she would be kissing the new job good bye after sharing what she heard and 'saw.' “I-I'd like to get st-started. Pl-please.” She said with the apron still crumpled in her hands, her eyes on Percy as people started moving away from the area that had a lot of commotion coming from it not more than a minute ago.

[Satine]

Furious George was more than pleased that the woman was not ready to head for the door. He had no time for those that were quick to jump ship in an effort to leave their failures behind them. That kind of energy swam like a shark. It wouldn’t stop there. It could travel over land and become the air that a person breathed. Only fools could afford to invest in the belief that they actually shook it’s hold. It was just one of the many rules of life and war the silver beard adheared to. Face the fear no matter what. Stare it in the eyes and swallow it down. Consume it like a feast and make it yours in defeat. It was that or the second option which was never promising in the end. That was to die running. Running took far more work and the pay out was nothing. He was far too old and wise for that ****.

“You are going to do just fine, kid.” His aged lips fluttered beneath the bristly salt and pepper frame of facial hair that needed a trim weeks ago. “I will teach you whatever you need to know to keep your head above the chaos and survive behind the scenes in this funhouse.”

His jolly old Santa shaped body began moving and leading the way out of the nearly empty room and back through the busy dance floor. This time he madesure there was a generous wake of open space behind him for Birdee to travel in as he stretched out his bushy forearms as if he was wanting to flap his wings and get higher than he appeared. He looked back and found whom he was looking out for. A smokers tinted grin formed and his less than pearly whites came to view.

“First stop will be to the head shop.” His voice raised so that he could be heard over the club music. A grinding club goer swayed into the space in front of him and he turned on his heels to face her in a well executed move. He popped his keister out with just enough force that the dance king stumbled off into a nearby group of like minded dancers. “I still got some moves and they know it. We will head upstairs.” He nodded to the elevator that was wide open and would deliver them where he said.

[Birdee]

Furious George. FG-Faded Glory-A brand name Birdee was familiar with back in the states. She would remember his name easy. Percy? Maybe not so much. Nothing really stuck out about the guy in BIrdee's mind, but maybe she wouldn't interact with him a lot. Birdee nodded her head and offered a small smile when FG said she would do just fine. They weren't eager to boot her from the club yet-but in time...maybe. Birdee knew she had a lot of baggage, but if they were fine with keeping her behind the scenes, that was not only a plus, but a good thing in her mind. Or, at least sticking to a more quieter place with less traffic flow.

Chaos. Funhouse. Not positive words in her mind, but maybe it was the only way to describe a club that didn't seem to be just a club. Or maybe it was more like the people in it seemed just a little different. Not that different was bad-unless different sent her vibes and other things Birdee just couldn't and wouldn't deal with. "Oh-kay." Birdee said with a nod of her head as she started following after FG. The way through was larger than she expected-but maybe people just moved when they saw people they knew that worked here; out of the way. Or maybe, just because FG was a little big bigger than the average person, people made sure to give the guy room. Whatever it was, Birdee didn't care. The extra room to travel was almost like fresh air after driving down the high way where a skunk had been mushed into the ground.

"H-head sh-shop?" Birdee echoed, making sure that what she heard was right. Did they actually know what that sounded like? She couldn't help but smirk, even in all her innocence. Who hadn't ever heard of a BJ being referred to as giving, or getting head? A guy jumped in their way, trying to invoke FG to dance with him, but was rejected with a swift movement that made the guy bounce away because he was only as heavy as a ping pong ball at best. When he talked about his moves, Birdee just stared at him in mild horror, because that was what she felt in that moment. Not because of what he did, but because of what she just witnessed. She thought stuff like that only happened in movies, or stories, but FG didn't seem to care about pulling out any and all stops he needed to. "Never seen anything like that before." Birdee admitted, not saying just what that meant exactly.

[Satine]

“Yeah. Head shop. Only need to wrap your mind around the head part. Not your lips. Be prepared for seeing a whole lot of what you have likely never seen before.”

Furious George stepped along with the expected random stiffness in his knee that, if asked, he attributed to an old football injury. Of course it was anything but that. He could thank Jack Daniels and a piss poor older than **** snowmobile that left him needing extraction from the public park restroom. One minor wall gave way but the second proved to be uncooperative and he found his knee the reason the piece of **** sled finally stopped moving in it’s tracks. Every other step reminded him he was wiser than he was three decades back.

“It starts at the doors and sort of snowballs from there.” He gave the immediate space beneath his rather round thick nose a firm swipe with the tip of his thumb. An audible sniff inward convinced him that his nostrils were clear and nothing was hanging out that could be mildly embarrassing to some to point out much less explain. “This is the calmest spot in the place.”

He pressed a gray hairy hand that more resembled a weathered oversized paw to the door in front of him and sent it forward without stopping. Behind the knobless door they cleared was the behind the scenes visual of what made a headshop successful. Beautiful works of art in the mediums of blown glass, carved wood and ornate metal lined the stock shelves that were all labeled in detail. It was a presentation clearly showing someone was incredibly organized. He stopped where his feet were and folded up his thick digits enough that they could hang on his plump hips.

“This here is the first of several stock areas where we hold back up merchandise. As you see some of it is rather fragile and all of it is hand made.” The bulk of his belly appeared to bounce once he went quiet and took a moment to look over what was currently in front of them. “And privately grown. Nothing mass made here.” He gave a confident nod and cleared his throat. “This will be one of the areas you will see a lot of. Follow me and the tour will continue.”

Leaving her behind he headed through some hanging beads that clinked together as he found his way through to the otherside. His left hand gave a confirming pat to the back of his bandana to make sure all was still in it’s expected placement. Once he was assured it was his hand slid it's way under the opposite armpit and gave a half needed scratch. The material that shifted back and forth with the movement of his fingertips could afford to be tossed into the wash before his *** hit his mattress after sundown. Something he would make a point to do if he remembered.

“Now here we are where boss lady refers to as the candy closet.” Again he looked at an impressive series of wall cabinets that covered ceiling to floor. Behind the locked doors were various types of containers clearly labeled with the contents within. “I should tell you right now that there are cameras that will catch you farting and smell it before you do. Don’t **** with the merchandise. Best way to see that side of Satine that none of us want to.” He lifted up the hand that had been out of view in his left pocket most of the time they were together. Two stubs were left where his pinky finger and the one next to it should be.”A couple reminders is all most of us really need.” He caught the sight of the thick stubs and chuckled. “Don’t worry. I lost those trying to parachute during a protest onto the White House lawn. Damn guard dogs.” If only the young Birdee knew he was full of ****. Those were the only two reminders Satine needed to give him that she could and would be the meanest ***** he ever came across if she was tested.

[Birdee]

The joke wasn't lost on Birdee, but it didn't really get much in the form of a reply or acknowledgement from Birdee. She just chuckled for a couple seconds, softly, and kept letting the guy go on with whatever he wanted to say and share with her. When he mentioned the word 'calm,' Birdee looked around and only saw the door. Did he mean right here, or did he mean the shop was the chillest place to be, compared to everywhere else? She waited until he led the way, to observe its 'calm' surroundings and the way things worked.

He showed off the stock areas and talked about how things more or less worked, Birdee wondering who and where their stuff was grown and made at. Nothing she would ask now, but maybe in time when she was here a while. People just didn't ask those kinds of questions on the pre-first day of work. It looked shady as frick-not that Birdee wanted to steal their ****, but why go to some guy she didn't know, when she could go to some guy or girl she kinda, sorta, did know?

Birdee waited until he passed the beads and the motion to slow down before she followed after FG. The clinking of the beads sounded familiar-reminded her of a friend she had back in high school who had this sort of thing on her bedroom door. Birdee wondered where she was now-for the first time in a decade due to that memory trigger. After she passed the hanging decor, Birdee scratched at her upper right arm, in a nervous, slightly irritated sort of scratch, vaguely recalling other things and times with her old friend.

The talk of a candy closet drew Birdee back in and she turned her focus on Glory boy and listened to his explanation. When he talked about cameras, Birdee tipped her head back and sure enough. The lady wasn't going to let anyone 'fart' or even look at stuff funny in here. Not that she had to worry about that with Birdee. She lived by the idea that you don't steal from the hand that fed you, something her grams told her when Birdee stole a cheap cocktail ring she saw and liked in middle school. She liked the look of the chunky thing back then, but lost it during P.E. that day. Her grandmother said it wasn't a big deal, but Birdee knew it was. She saw the look in her eye. Birdee never had the inkling to 'borrow' anything ever again from anyone. The disappointed look had been enough to set her straight.

"Don't fart. Don't touch. Don't breathe funny. Got it. I'm good. It's cool. We're so fricken good. Calm down, Glory daddy." Birdee put her hands behind her back and snapped her fingers as her head rolled around while she stretched her neck muscles. Her eyes dropped to the missing fingers, which looked too 'clean' to be something done by dogs, but what the frickstick did she know? "That's pretty cool. Not that you lost some fingers, but the parachuting thing. Nothing better in life than hanging with the clouds. View is always amazing" She gave him a thumbs up with a nod, then stepped back. "What do I learn first? I'm pretty good at keeping track of money. I worked with all sorts of bills when I was a waitress. I did some stocking too. Not with this sort of stuff, but it's all the same, right Glory?"

[Satine]

“Sounds like you understand how it works, kid.” His eyeballs watched her head roll.

It was a good sign. He didn’t want to spend a lot of time training in the woman on what was relatively basic if common sense was applied. She was smart. He was fully prepared to give her that credit based on the fact she listed off the expectations in more or less words for working behind the scenes of his shop. The bosslady may own the whole kit and kaboodle they were standing in but his little slice of the pie was the head shop. It was under his name and he took pride in being able to say he ran it with Satine’s trust. She trusted very few so he had that going in his favor. The rest he could count on his remaining fingers he fully intended on keeping. She likely had been in the clouds once or twice. He could tell she was the type that had the gumption to take a leap or two if it was called for.

“Pretty much.” He sniffed in enough air that he felt confident his first steps forward would keep her attention as they moved on towards the business post where the money was handed over. “Except when stock gets low we need to catch that sooner. It isn’t like we can just run to the local office supply store and pick up a case of envelopes and call it good. The blown glass items are based on the artist availability and current production. So we keep a tight record of what we have and we make sure we call in orders early. Keeps them happy and us stocked to the level that the public expects.” He glances back at her just enough to make sure she is still with him. “No sweat on the ordering yet. We will get you worked up to that eventually. For now stocking and register will be the best place to start.

FG steps up to the sales counter and nudges the incense catalogs to the right and the daily mail which was still unopened to the left. A few quick taps at the register keys was all it took to send open the bottom drawer containing the cash. His hand reached into his pocket and a roll of bills was unfolded and neatly pressed out flat and the drawer was nudged back where it was before he opened it.

“Some customers are so regular and particular that they don’t even make it this far up into the shop. They know what they want and know what it costs ahead of time. We save them the trip and the hassle of coming through the front doors.”

His meaty hair covered hands pull the catalog towards him and roll it up in his grip as he makes his way out to the interior of the head shop where all shelves and racks are standing. Along the way he pulls a yellow apron with the Furious George monkey logo off the peg where it was dangling on a metal wrack. He tosses it to her and nods.

“Suit up, sunshine.” He flips open the incense catalog. “I am about to introduce you to the wide world of our incense inventory.” He chuckled at the variety of scents that would be unlike those typically expected. “Here is why we have a solid and loyal clientele. We carrying what no one else in this area sells. When is the last time you had a whiff of this?” His thick fingers plucked a sample stick off the shelf that had yet to be lit. He kept a reassuring distance between them as he offered it up for her to lean in and get a hint as to what it smelled like without the full effect. “I will give you a clue. It comes from Southeast Asia and grows on a tree. Spikey bastards are a pain in the *** to get.” That is when a flame burst from his opposite hand thanks to his compact lighter. It licked the tip of the stick long enough that it finally inspired the orange glow to come to life. A gray ribbon of smoke danced once he puffed in quick succession at the end. The lighter was pocketed and he grinned. His eyes started watering and the oversized tip of his nose visbily twitched in response. “Packs a punch, eh? Sends some running for the hills. Tell you what...it takes a good half week to get the scent out of the furniture. That is one of our high quality sellers right there.”