Chapter Text
A dead phone, a snowstorm and an unfamiliar part of town.
Etho could handle one of those problems at a time, not all three. A four car pile up left him getting out of his cab a couple blocks early and somehow he had gotten turned around in the negative visibility storm and ended up somewhere he couldn't recognize. Or at least he thinks he doesn't recognize because, again, he can barely see three feet in front of him right now. And as if he wasn’t having a bad enough day the cold had completely fried his battery too, fingers too frigid to even punch in his address.
Etho didn’t want to ask if the day could get worse because he was convinced that if he did, a bus would come barreling straight towards him and kill him where he stood.
The snow soaks through his shoes, the uncomfortable feeling of damp socks at the forefront of his mind right behind the feeling of his scarf acting a lot more like a washcloth rag used to waterboard him rather than an article of clothing. He rubs the snowflakes collecting in his eyelashes with his stiff fingers, letting out a frustrated groan as he trudges forward through the collecting slush. This wasn’t working. He was better off finding a random spot to ride out of the storm even if it was just some random alleyway and a roof made from cardboard from the trash like some homeless man.
Then a miracle happens.
Etho sees a bright, flickering open sign in the snow, he could probably cry right about now. Its the first good thing to happen to him today–but that could still change if that truck could hit him right about now–and he’s too busy thanking the gods to think before makes the spur of the moment decision to duck into the building without so much as glancing at the shop name. Anywhere would be better than outside right now, even a strip club. Luckily when he walks in he's greeted not by a shelf of sex toys but instead a small entrance bell ringing and a blast of warm air.
Etho blinks the water out of his eyes, slicking back his wet hair–fingers tugging uncomfortably at the knots–to get it out of his face. The room is dim; crystals and twinkling lights hang from the ceiling, mahogany shelves stacked high with trinkets, candles precariously scattered around filling the room with a musty, unfamiliar scent. Somewhere a grandfather clock ticked.
“Hello?” Etho calls out, getting no response.
He takes a step further in, cringing as he treks water onto the hardwood floors. He walks carefully to what he believes is the checkout desk, stepping around large barrels filled with non-country specific and cheap looking souvenirs. There's no one hiding behind the desk, which should not surprise Etho as much as it does, but he takes the chance to look down at the clear display case featuring vintage jewelry.
A second hand store.
Etho strolls past the cashier desk and starts walking down the nearest aisle, not wanting to be a random loiterer just standing around to get out of the storm: as much as he actually is that. The shelves are all disorganized, many items with labels torn off or half broken; mended with tape, dabs of paint or jagged lines of glue. A thin coat of dust collects on some of them, rust hidden in crooks and crannies too tight to fit restoration tools through. The entire store feels ancient, a tableau stuck in time like some spell casted over it is the only thing keeping the building standing.
“You're looking for something.”
Etho turns around so fast he nearly falls backwards into the shelf. There's a person standing behind him where–he could swear up and down–wasn't there a second ago and more surprising than that is that they look as though they've come out of three separate time periods. Big curly ginger hair with flowers and leaves poking out, cropped tank top and shorts–a small tattoo peeking out from their hip–and mismatched leg warmers paired with heavy combat boots.
Etho clears his throat, hoping the shelf doesn't collapse as he rests his weight on it. “Uh no, I'm just brows–”
“Then you need something.” She interrupts, eyes so focused they're almost piercing through him. “Something you don't know you need.”
Etho holds back a scoff, he knew a sales tactic the second he heard one. He takes a deep breath for confidence, back straightening out to appear firm on his stance of leaving without some useless knick-knack in hand when he's interrupted again; this time with a hand held inches away from his face.
“Oh please, I don't need the sleazy door to door salesman's method to get you to buy something.” They state, reading Etho's mind with scary accuracy. “Nobody finds this place if they don't need or want anything, the store finds you.”
“Listen, uh–”
“Cleo.”
“Cleo, I appreciate the–”
“At least pretend to look around if you're going to loiter in the store.” They sigh, the same way you'd sigh and tell off a stubborn and misbehaving child while pinching the bridge of their nose.
“But–”
“No taxis will drive all the way here in this weather, honestly I don't think they could even if they wanted to.” Tone increasingly frustrated at Etho's non-compliance. “And your phone will need a charge if you expect to find your way home when the storm clears.”
Etho clutches at his phone in his pocket, heart picking up slightly. “How did you know my phone is dead?”
Cleo doesn’t respond, pulling a charger out of a comically large pocket sewn into their pants while holding out her other hand expectantly, fingers curling in a “gimme” fashion. Like she was offering salvation.
Like she already knew what choice Etho will make.
Etho lets the air out of his lungs, something defeated building in his gut. She's right, unfortunately so. Unless he wanted to take his chances outside or in some other place less forgiving to window shoppers, Etho was stuck both metaphorically and literally. And if staying here–away from the snow and biting cold–while also getting his phone plugged into an outlet meant that he had to pretend to be interested in a beat up typewriter then so be it. Etho gives them his phone, still cold to the touch as Cleo gives him a customer service smile before turning back towards the front desk.
“Thank you.” He calls out, voice carrying in the empty shop. Cleo only gives him a dismissive wave over their shoulder.
Time to get comfortable…
If there's one thing going for the shop, it's that they have practically everything. The shop had appeared so small from the entrance but as he wandered the aisles it felt like the walls were expanding and bending against the will of physics, floor stretching in front of him like a mirage. Etho walks past aisles that seem never ending with tightly packed ceramics, light fixtures, antique stationary and worn sweaters until he hears a not so distant muttering.
Another customer?
He follows the voice, turning the corner and seeing a woman standing with her back to him. The first thing he notices is long pink hair tucked into space buns in what looks to be an outfit inspired by a school uniform complete with knee high socks and sneakers. Her arm is bent against the shelf, leaning against it with far too much confidence considering all the shelves in the store were probably older than he was, engaged in what seemed to be in an animated discussion with…herself?
“Um, excuse me–”
“I'm not slacking off Cleo!” She jumps, almost scaring Etho as she whips around so fast her hair almost hits him in the face. Etho stumbles back as she recovers, visibly relaxing as she quickly studies and digests the person standing in front of her. “Oh, hello! Welcome to the ShadowFort! Sorry about the whole–I didn't hear you come in!”
Not a customer then, another worker.
“Sorry I…was I interrupting something or…” He trails off as his search for a phone or a bluetooth earpiece comes back as negative, meaning that it's entirely possible that she actually was just talking to herself.
“Not at all.” She smiles somewhat sheepishly, taking a side step away from the shelf and putting her hands on her hips. “Some people just need to learn how to be alone and quiet while others are working.”
The anger doesn't seem to be directed at Etho, in fact she's not even looking at Etho when she says this. Rather the heat seems to be put on…the vintage coffee machine that sits on the shelf. The coffee machine is…compact, for lack of a better word, made entirely of aluminum and complete with a press, thermometer and a single boiler. It's smaller than most modern day coffee machines, probably much less efficient too and yet there's something strange about it, almost alluring that Etho feels insane for even thinking.
“This is a 1948 Smallish Beans.” She states with pride when she notices Etho staring, patting the metal lever on top like you would a dog. “Beautiful isn't he? It’s the most remarkable thing we’ve got here for multiple reasons.” She winks at Etho but continues before he can say anything. “He’s got everything you could want, years of experience, vintage design so you get the fancy engravings along the side and capable of making foam but not old enough that your expresso’s taste burnt.”
“It's uh…”
It’s a coffee machine. A coffee machine that–just based on the woman's tone–is probably going to be upsold to him in just a minute and yet…and it's hard to explain but in the dead of the sleepy store, it feels like the only object that has even an ounce of soul left in it.
“Lizzie, by the way.” She grins, Etho taking a second to realize that's her name. She’s staring even harder at Etho, the same way Cleo did, with her head tilted ever so slightly to the left and eyebrows furrowed.
Etho shrinks into himself a little, wringing his hands awkwardly as she leans in closer to Etho's face, crowding him in and forcing him to crane his neck back. He swallows hard, pushing through the growing anxiety and general awkwardness to speak but before he can even breath a syllable she’s snapping away, giving a curt nod.
“You need him.”
“Sorry what?” Etho gasps, staggering back a little at the words. “I don't–”
He stops. He didn’t have a coffee machine. His cheap coffee machine had broken earlier this week leaving him with only the crappy, watered down coffees that were offered at work or the overpriced ones at the coffee shop down the block. He didn't know about “need” but he definitely wanted a new one.
“How much is it?” He mutters, feeling a sense of loss in his wallet already.
“Not ‘it’, he.” Lizzie corrects the way that car and boat owners insist on “she” for their vehicles, Etho rolls his eyes.
“Okay, how much is he?”
“He doesn't appreciate the sarcasm. I hope you know that.” She deadpans, shaking her head. “And he is whatever you want to pay for him, so long as he picks you first.”
“As long as he–” Etho bites back the remainder of his words, pushing down his frustration. It was a weird shop with weird owners and if he wanted the coffee machine he would have to play by their rules, even if that meant a tarot card reading, a summoning circle or…Lizzie crouching down close to the machine, ear almost pressed against it and nodding along like the metal was actually speaking to her.
“He'll agree to go, but you have to pay at least two hundred dollars for him.”
“Two hundred dollars!” Etho gasps, mouth dropping open. He stares at Lizzie waiting for the punchline only for her gaze to never falter, meaning a set price. “It's–”
“A vintage espresso machine goes for upwards of seven hundred on the market.” Lizzie states, putting her finger up like a school teacher. “And as I said before this one is a lot more special than you think.”
"Could I talk to the coffee machine myself?" Etho offers hesitantly. "Maybe barter down?"
Lizzie shakes her head. "He's shy."
"The...coffee machine is...shy?"
"Again with the sarcasm." She tuts, frowning deeply at Etho's reluctance. "Do we have a deal or not?"
“But–”
“Keep arguing and we’ll make it two-fifty.”
“Fine.” Etho grits, voice strained as the words are pushed out of his throat.
“Perfect.” She claps, the smile back on her face in an instance. She's quick to pull the machine gently off the shelf and into a tight hug, practically cradling the machine in her arms. All things considered, Etho isn't too shocked by the sentimental action.
“Alright, you have to behave Joel.” She warns, although her voice is soft. “I don't want to see you back out there okay?”
Etho quirks an eyebrow up. “Joel?”
“His name.” Lizzie smiles, before shoving the machine into Etho's hands. “Careful with him, he doesn't act like it but he's secretly really sensitive. Be good to him and he'll be good to you.”
“I'll try.” He chuckles.
“Try hard. You have no idea what he's been through.” She says sadly, running a finger up the side of the machine. There's a beat of silence when, in a burst of energy, Lizzie grabs him by the arm with a death like grip, dragging him towards what he thinks is the checkout counter. “You have to buy him fast or else I'll change my mind and I won't let you take him.”
“I–”
“He's special.” She repeats for the third time but not like she's marketing him, like it's a simple fact. Etho lets her tug him along back the way he came, not that he would've found his way out naturally. Somehow Lizzie finds her way out the maze of shelves extremely fast, Cleo greeting both of them with a more genuine smile when she spots them.
“He picked Joel?” They state, eyebrows up. “Wow…”
“Yeah.” She affirms a slight drop in tone. Cleo reaches out, touches Lizzie's arm and it's only then does Etho notice the matching wedding bands on both their fingers. “You're going to have to sell him. I can't…I can't watch him leave us!”
“I know, he's been sweet to us.” Cleo responds, voice dropping into something fond. “But if he found his way to him, if Joel let him choose him then we have to let him go. It's how things work here.”
Lizzie nods, letting Cleo trace a comforting line with her hand as both of them get lost in each other's eyes. Etho chews on his bottom lip, awkwardly shifting weight between his legs as he stands privy to a conversation he doesn't think he's supposed to. Maybe all second hand stores get really attached to items that have been around for longer? Maybe it's just something he simply doesn't understand like most things in this store and really in life as well.
“How much are you paying?” Cleo asks suddenly, eyes back on him.
“Uh–”
“We agreed to two hundred.” Lizzie interrupts, voice breaking a little at the end.
“Not enough.” Cleo tsks, looking at the coffee machine on the table. “Should've asked for something more.”
Again, spoken to the coffee machine rather than him even though it's Etho fumbling with his wallet and tapping his card and watching his hard earned paycheck drain away just like that. Cleo pushes the machine across the counter back at him, alongside his phone that's now fully charged. Ethos eyes widen as he checks the time.
He'd been here that long?
“The storms cleared out, take a left and you should find your way back to a main street.”
“Right.” Etho states, shoving his phone back into his pocket. The coffee machine is much heavier than it looks, Etho letting out a small noise when he grabs the machine. “I have to get going now…uh thank you?”
“You're welcome.” Lizzie smiles. “Don't throw him out if you don't like him, okay? Just return him to us if he's being too rowdy.”
“I…will?” Etho manages as he pushes the front door open with his back, already too distracted by the winter breeze to fully comprehend the words.
Etho is long gone before Lizzie turns back to Cleo, taking their hand into hers and rubbing a thumb along her knuckle. Cleo kisses the back of her hand watching as Lizzie tries and fails to be strong; tears already welling up in her eyes. She wasn't much of a crier but Joel seemed to be the main exception.
“Think they'll be good to each other?”
Cleo shrugs. “Maybe.”