“You got it chief,” Misty breathed in relief, lowering her raised hands slightly as the clenching in her guts relaxed. A moment ago she had been trying to think of the nastiest death curse she could fling at the hunter, now she had at least a faint hope of living through the night. As Sun Tzu said: Always do what the psycho with the giant gun says. Shakes Dance Studio was fairly typical of this edge of the city, an area that had been under development when the financial crisis ripped the funding out from under everyone's feet. The hunter had gotten the drop on her as she arrived home and she felt vaguely ridiculous. She didn’t feel like a mighty wizard in cargo shorts, a slytherin T-shirt, and carrying an arm load of groceries. At least she hadn’t wet herself when he pointed that huge fuck off rifle at her. The power of positive thinking.
“I got to get a few things so don’t go getting all itchy about the trigger,” she cautioned as she set down her groceries. Her staff, a wooden broom handle from the home depot, lay propped in a corner. Its entire length had been carved with runes and sigils with the aid of thumb tack. The barrel of the rifle followed her as she retrieved the staff and moved from the reception area with its large front desk, through a door onto the dance floor.
The main room was impressively large, the size of a small gymnasium. While Misty had cleared the trash that had covered it when she arrived, the walls were marked with graffiti that predated her residence. Several large posters advertising a performance of the Nutcracker had been creatively defaced so they now read: ‘Deez NutSracker’, a piece of vandalism that was funnier than it was grammatically accurate. The marks of Misty’s own habitation were stranger still. Perhaps three quarters of the polished concrete floor was covered with chalk marks. Circles and arcane sigils were interconnected with scribbled notes. The lesser Sign of Solomon was overwritten with a list: Milk, Soda, Eggs, Those candies you like. In one corner a hopscotch game had been chalked out, complete with a planchet. A large chalk heart proclaimed M-4-N, complete with a stylized arrow. One wall contained a heavy duty overhead trackway designed to carry costumes, though these had long since been looted. On the back wall was an artistically rendered tunnel, of which Wiley Coyote would have been proud. Half empty paint cans stacked beside it, topped with brushes that had never been properly cleaned. In the far corner, near a large loading door, stood a palette of red bull energy drinks, the shrink wrap peeled back around the top corner. Several empty cans were scattered around, as were a suspicious pile of white feathers. Misty picked up a stick of pink chalk from the floor and sharpened it with several strokes against the concrete floor.
“I need something for the spell to work on,” she told the hunter, talking more out of nerves than a need to explain. Against the wall was a series of cubbies. Originally, these had been intended for students to exchange street shoes for dance shoes, now they were piled with a bewildering array of items. Marbles, coins, dried herbs, lengths of ribbon, jars of powder, children's calculators and a dozen more beside. Misty reached into one and retrieved a toy compass. It was still in its hard plastic packaging, with cardboard in bright primary colors and the logo of the Natural History Museum. The museum gift shop was a surprisingly good source of arcane materials. She struggled for a minute with the annoyingly sturdy plastic package before finally managing to pry it open. She tossed the plastic aside and hefted the coin sized device in her hand.
“I uhh… know we are on the honor system here, but to be clear, this will stop working if you shoot me,” she cautioned, waggling the little compass. She didn't know anything about Trader other than what Mr Dialtone had said. She didn't bear him any ill will but her own skin was infinitely more valuable than his wellbeing.
“I got to get a few things so don’t go getting all itchy about the trigger,” she cautioned as she set down her groceries. Her staff, a wooden broom handle from the home depot, lay propped in a corner. Its entire length had been carved with runes and sigils with the aid of thumb tack. The barrel of the rifle followed her as she retrieved the staff and moved from the reception area with its large front desk, through a door onto the dance floor.
The main room was impressively large, the size of a small gymnasium. While Misty had cleared the trash that had covered it when she arrived, the walls were marked with graffiti that predated her residence. Several large posters advertising a performance of the Nutcracker had been creatively defaced so they now read: ‘Deez NutSracker’, a piece of vandalism that was funnier than it was grammatically accurate. The marks of Misty’s own habitation were stranger still. Perhaps three quarters of the polished concrete floor was covered with chalk marks. Circles and arcane sigils were interconnected with scribbled notes. The lesser Sign of Solomon was overwritten with a list: Milk, Soda, Eggs, Those candies you like. In one corner a hopscotch game had been chalked out, complete with a planchet. A large chalk heart proclaimed M-4-N, complete with a stylized arrow. One wall contained a heavy duty overhead trackway designed to carry costumes, though these had long since been looted. On the back wall was an artistically rendered tunnel, of which Wiley Coyote would have been proud. Half empty paint cans stacked beside it, topped with brushes that had never been properly cleaned. In the far corner, near a large loading door, stood a palette of red bull energy drinks, the shrink wrap peeled back around the top corner. Several empty cans were scattered around, as were a suspicious pile of white feathers. Misty picked up a stick of pink chalk from the floor and sharpened it with several strokes against the concrete floor.
“I need something for the spell to work on,” she told the hunter, talking more out of nerves than a need to explain. Against the wall was a series of cubbies. Originally, these had been intended for students to exchange street shoes for dance shoes, now they were piled with a bewildering array of items. Marbles, coins, dried herbs, lengths of ribbon, jars of powder, children's calculators and a dozen more beside. Misty reached into one and retrieved a toy compass. It was still in its hard plastic packaging, with cardboard in bright primary colors and the logo of the Natural History Museum. The museum gift shop was a surprisingly good source of arcane materials. She struggled for a minute with the annoyingly sturdy plastic package before finally managing to pry it open. She tossed the plastic aside and hefted the coin sized device in her hand.
“I uhh… know we are on the honor system here, but to be clear, this will stop working if you shoot me,” she cautioned, waggling the little compass. She didn't know anything about Trader other than what Mr Dialtone had said. She didn't bear him any ill will but her own skin was infinitely more valuable than his wellbeing.
