The autumn air was moist and chill, making him entirely too aware that his jacket, though thick, was not enough. His mittened hands were shoved under his arms and a heavy scarf was wrapped at least twice over the lower half of his face, a tasseled skicap taking care of the top of his head and ears.
It was a small shop close to the highway in a small city he'd never even noticed the name of, hidden from the street under a dingy overhang from the first of a few floors of even dingier apartments. The door was hard to find, being dark with age and as heavily weathered as the front of the shop. There were other shops beside this one, but, though their fronts were just as dark, they somehow managed to stand out much more brightly. Brian figured it was probably all the colorful pennants, flowers, fruits, streamers, and who knew what else livening up the facades.
Even though he was normally drawn to the happy and cheerful displays like a dog to a fire hydrant, he was ostensibly trailing a much taller Sean O'Haire, who was forced to duck under the lintel of the short door, into the dark little hole. Brian practically bounced with enthusiasm, glad to have a chance to stretch his legs. It had been a good many miles since their last stop and he wasn't sure how much longer they would be stuck driving after this – there was likely hours yet left to their journey northward.
Brian tugged the mittens off his hands and the tasseled ski cap off his head, stuffing them into his coat pockets. He yanked down the scarf that covered the lower half of his face and took a deep breath of the warm air inside the shop. A whiff of scented smoke hit his nose causing him to make a face. It was a mixture of scents and he wasn't sure if he could name any of them. Above them, the lights were dim, little more than was necessary to see.
"So, why are we stopping here again?" he asked of Sean, ducking under a crazy contraption of twisted reeds and peacock feathers. He was beginning to wonder why he'd agreed to ride this loop with Sean. The man was turning out to be a little stranger than he'd bargained for...not that he wasn't plenty strange himself.
"I'm looking for something," came the deep voiced reply, "and this is the perfect place to find it." Sean's ponytailed head was buried in a shelf of what looked like nothing more than knickknacks Brian would find occupying every available space in his grandmother's home. The rest of Sean was hidden under a thick, woolen trenchcoat of black; he was a shadow. A shadow with his rear end taking up most of the narrow aisle.
Squeezing past him, Brian knocked over a series of small figurines, counting himself lucky that none of them were glass. A durable, red resin, they survived the initial fall and a couple of them further slips from his fidgety fingers. "You can't tell me you've been here before," Brian said with a laugh. "That'd just be weird."
"No weirder than you," Sean was quick to shoot back. He had not even paused as he moved on to a lower shelf in his search, though, thankfully, he crouched down and removed his rump from the air.
"...yeah, so?" Brian waited, but got no teasing response. Obviously, he decided, the moment had run its course. "Okay, then, I'm just gonna go check out the rest of the place."
"Whatever."
His ragamuffin mop of blond-streaked brown flopped around his face, frizzy from having been trapped under his skicap. Dragging it back with a hand, Brian poked and prodded at the unusual merchandise. Most of it looked Chinese, the bric-a-brac littered with rearing dragons and tigers and kanji in shades of gold, red, and black. Here and there he found a detail of a lotus or a sprig of cherry blossoms. Still, all of them were overridden by the dark atmosphere and the piles of used junk that had seen its better days years ago, not that he held that against any of it.
There were bins and baskets of ribbons, strings, and coils of copper in one corner. Odds and ends that would make a packrat's life complete were stashed anywhere and everywhere around larger items, tiny tags cut from manila folders hanging off each of them, a price scratched in either red or black ink. Several pieces caught his attention enough to deserve a short investigation, but he found nothing worth buying.
He followed along the wall, moving around the back and then slinking up the far aisle toward an old man that looked like he'd been pulled straight out of some ancient Chinese apothecary – kind of like the villain in that old Kurt Russell movie set in Chinatown, Brian mused. Or maybe like the old man in that other movie, the one with all the creepy little beasties that multiplied with water. His hair was white and hung limp around his too thin shoulders. A red and black skull cap was on his head and his clothing right out of old world China, held closed by toggles and embroidered with symbols and animals Brian couldn't begin to figure out.
In one hand, the old man held a long-stemmed pipe. A short puff had the tobacco glowing bright in the tiny bowl. The hand that held the pipe was wrinkled and traced with veins, fingers thin with the depletion common to aging. Smoke rose from the bowl and was breathed out by the old man, joining a slightly larger though more translucent billow from several sticks of incense burning to one end of the counter. It was very much a scene out of some movie and Brian was mesmerized.
As he stood eyeballing the man, Brian was surprised when he was suddenly confronted. "Can I help you, young man?"
Not surprised to find he spoke with a creaky, scratchy voice, one roughened from many years of smoking, Brian stood where he was, mouth working soundlessly. He had no clue what to say, so he stood there gaping like a fish.
"Young man?"
"Um," he started, "you've never been in a movie before, have you?" It was said and he felt stupid, but it wasn't as if he hadn't been stupid previous to this instance.
The old man gave a low and grumbly chuckle, a sound from deep in his throat. He punctuated his answer with several puffs of his pipe. "No, I have never been in a movie, but I have watched many."
"Oh," Brian said, feeling oddly disappointed. He looked around where he stood and suddenly noticed a cage covered by a large scrap of red and gold silk sitting on a short shelving unit just beside he counter. It was strongly reminiscent of something from one of those movies in which he'd just been mentally casting the old man. "Whoa! What's in there? It's not like a mogwi or something, is it?"
He gave the man his biggest and dopiest grin when a disapproving frown was turned on him. "Oh. Guess not." Then, throwing in an embarrassed little wave and jerk of his thumb over his shoulder, he said, "I'll just go look around the shop some more..."
Spinning on his heels, Brian exhaled heavily in response to the narrow miss. He hadn't gotten himself tossed out of a store in ages and he didn't really want to start back up again. Brian instead wandered down an aisle at random, though there was only four to choose from, and found himself bent down and looking at Sean through the shelving units. Shoving aside a stack of old plates and a few glasses that could have been vases, he smiled and blew a stray lock of hair out of his face.
"Hey, fancy seeing you here!" he quipped. Sean was apparently not amused, if the downward turn of his mouth and the little line between his eyebrows meant anything. "Uh, did you know the guy up at the desk has a mogwi?"
"...a what?" Sean definitely looked like he was on the verge of annoyed, but that didn't stop Brian from explaining.
"A mogwi! You know, Gizmo?" He put a fist to either side of his head, thumbs pointed out and wiggling. In a voice that sounded lost somewhere between him trying to talk with a mouth full of marbles and a monster muppet, he tried to nudge Sean's memory further. "Mooogwii. Mooogwii is Gizmo! Fuzzy little creature and cute, but don't feed me after midnight or I get real grouchy!"
Sean stood up and Brian followed, thumbs still wriggling and craning his neck up to meet Sean's eyes. "Brian, you're the biggest geek I've ever met."
"Thank you! I'll be in town all week!" He grinned and wiggled his thumbs a little more. "Say, did you ever think about how much Gizmo looks like Yoda? I mean, seriously, Yoda is like an old and bald Gizmo."
"Yoda has hair."
"Okay, an old and mostly bald Gizmo." Brian tossed his hands up, sighing mournfully. "But the guy has a mogwi and doesn't want me to see it, I swear. It's in that cage up there by the counter, the one under the cover. Seriously, dude."
"Brian," Sean was sighing and rolling his eyes by now, "there's no such thing as a mogwi. It's just a movie."
"That's what you think! I saw one while I was in Japan," Brian countered, though it was hardly his most truthful statement. Still, it wasn't the first time he'd gotten creative in the name of fun. "Mmm...mogwi look like do I, yes."
"Would you stop that?" Sean was really looking annoyed now. His hands were spread out like massive paws in front of his, looking ready to reach out and grab him over the top of the shelving. All he needed was his hair loose and scraggily-wild around his face and Brian would have actually considered being scared. "Mogwis don't exist, you never saw one in Japan, and Gizmo is not a baby Yoda. Got it?"
"Uh...yessir?"
Sean narrowed his eyes and favored him with a crooked frown. "You can do better than that."
"Um, you make me all hot and horny, you sexy beast?" The look on Sean's face made him rather happy to have the shelving unit between the two of them. He tossed up his hands in a warding gesture, mouth stretched in a smile of supplication. "Sorry! Just joking, okay? You don't really make hot and horny!"
Sean snarled at him and feinted a lunge over the top of the shelving unit; Brian meeped, ducking out of his way. Not that he expected Sean to act on the threat, of course, but there was always the odd chance. It was that odd chance for which he wanted to be prepared.
"I'll just go look around the store," Brian excused himself from the situation. "Again, that is."
He escaped into another aisle, avoiding both the old man at the counter and Sean, hands stuffed into his overflowing pockets. Shrinking in on himself to avoid further notice, Brian poked and prodded the merchandise. This aisle, he quickly found, was a little different than the other ones. There were bottles full of herbs, both whole and crushed, marked in Chinese. Strange, carved boxes of soapstone that looked like they were made to hold mysterious arcane objects. And, amongst a jumble of assorted clay jars holding who knew what, Brian finally found something that caught his eye.
It was a wooden cube.
Decorated with what looked like fragile, lacy cutouts from a paper thin sheet of gold, it reminded him of something he'd seen elsewhere. In another movie. A really creepy one that had kept him up until well past dawn the first time he'd watched it, waiting for Pinhead and the other Cenobites to come and get him. He'd put his blankets to good use that night – they were the perfect hiding place. But they really didn't have much to do with the cube he was now reaching out to pick up for closer inspection.
As he'd suspected upon spotting it, it was in fact a puzzlebox. He turned it over in his hands, his eyes searching for a mechanism that would allow him to move a piece. Before he could find one, though, the old man had appeared at his side and snatched the box from his hand.
"You do not want this, young man," the old man told him, hiding the box behind his back. "It is very dangerous and not for idle hands."
"What's it gonna do? Open a gate to Hell and leave me in the hands of sadistic demons?" Brian asked with a cheesy grin. He yelped when the old man cuffed him on the back of the head. "What was that for?!"
"I told you. It is not for idle hands." The old man frowned at him, puffing almost feverishly on his pipe. "You are not prepared for such as this puzzlebox would unleash upon you."
"How about if I tell you I am not going to have idle hands? I actually plan on using my hands a lot." Brian wondered if the old man would buy that. If it was someone saying it to him, he was doubtful that he'd believe it. It wasn't exactly the best dismissal of someone else's naysaying that he'd come up with in his life. "Really."
"You are intent on having this puzzlebox?"
Brian didn't stop to think. "Yes. Yes, I am."
"I warn you now, this puzzlebox is cursed!" The old man certainly had a flair for the dramatic, Brian decided. "Why don't you go find a nice purse for your mother? Or a tea-strainer for your old and ailing grandmother?"
"Sir, I don't care if it's cursed. As a matter of fact, I think I'd like it even better if it was cursed!" And he meant it. At least, he thought he did. After all, what if it was really cursed and the old man wasn't baiting him? He was eyeing Brian narrowly now, breathing great billowing plumes of cherry-scented smoke in Brian's face. Brian very nearly closed his eyes to avoid those creepy eyes burrowing deep into his insides.
"I can see you are only interested in the exceptionally rare," the old man finally said, holding the puzzlebox up between them. Brian was quick to nod and reach out for the cube. He was stopped when the old man continued, slipping the item into a pocket Brian would not have guess resided in the long silk of his shirt. "However, this puzzlebox is not one of those things."
"Oh, come on!" Brian pleaded, following him back up toward the counter. "I'm sorry I made fun of whatever it is that you have in the cage. I was just playing around and know it's not really a mogwi or anything like that. Seriously."
The old man had slipped back into his spot behind the counter, drawing heavily on his pipe and his age-hazed eyes glaring. His arms were crossed over his thin chest, the stem of the pipe long enough to all for it unimpeded. "I have told you too many times, young man. You are not ready for the puzzle box. You will never be ready for it. Its power is far beyond your what your mind can comprehend."
Brian returned his glare. That comment had been the last straw. "Look, I'm not stupid! And I know that I can more than handle your dumb little puzzlebox. So, why don't you just be a good seller-person and let me buy the damn thing?"
A long silence descended over the two of them. It was broken only by the sound of Sean rooting around through the junk on the shelves on the other end of the shop. For how long, he wasn't sure, but Brian met the old man's eyes solidly, not backing down. Finally, the old man creaked, "What is the magic word, young man?"
"Please?" Brian asked, thinking that was far to easy a guess. It had to be something more tongue-twisting and mystical.
The puzzlebox was plunked down on the counter, though, leaving Brian rather surprised. "You have good manners, young man. I will let you buy the puzzlebox."
Blinking until he comprehended, Brian grinned and combed his hair back out of his face with a hand. "Thank you, sir. I'll take care of it like it was my first born child...and stuff. You won't regret selling it to me."
"I am sure," the old man said, ringing up the sale on a register that had to be as old as he was. "It comes with a free frozen yogurt, which I call frogurt!"
"Frogurt?" Brian repeated.
"Yes, frogurt."
"Oh." Drumming his fingers on the counter, Brian stood there thoughtfully for a moment, then answered. "I'll take it!"
"Good choice!" The old man was reaching over to lift the silk draped over the mogwi cage. Brian watched with wide eyes, hoping to spot Gizmo or at least Gizmo's little sister. If mogwis had little sisters. They did reproduce rather along the asexual side of things. "Dish or cone?"
"Huh?" Brian said, a master of the verbal riposte.
"Dish or cone?" the old man asked again, looking a little impatient with him. "It is an easy detail to answer, young man."
"Uh..."
"Spit it out! Dish or cone?!" It was almost disappointing when fire didn't spurt out of his mouth or smoke billow out of his nostrils. That would have been cool, Brian thought.
However, because of the ferocity of the old man, his decision was nevertheless shocked out of him. He had not expected such a creaky old man to suddenly become a fire-spewing monster. "Dish!"
"Again, good choice!" Finally, the silk was pulled out of the way to reveal – instead of a mogwi cage – a small freezer. Brian hid his disappointment as the old man dug out a small, waxed paper dish of apparently berry flavored frogurt and set it on the counter with the puzzlebox. He had to assume it was berry from the purplish-red color of the frozen yogurt. A flimsy, snap-on lid of brittle plastic topped the concoction, keeping it safe from a messy squishing. The old man swiftly rang up his purchase. "That will be five-hundred dollars."
"What?!" Brian felt his heart stop in his chest. He'd never imagined the puzzlebox would cost him that much. Although he really hadn't exactly gotten much of a chance to look at it before it had been snagged from him. "It can't possibly-"
"I am only joking, young man," the old man cackled and creaked like a rusty chain. He puffed on his pipe, eyes thoroughly amused. "I will give it to you for half price in honor of the funny you have brought me."
"So...how much will that be?" Brian asked, afraid of the answer.
"Five dollars."
"...just five dollars? No tax or anything?"
"There is no tax on cursed items in this town. Crazy old law says so." The old man sounded quite smug.
"Let me guess," Brian smirked, digging out his wallet, "every item on the shelves is 'cursed.' Right?"
"You are a smart cookie, young man. I have many repeat customers that spend much cash," came the response as the old man took the wrinkled five note from Brian's hand. "Paper or plastic?"
"Oh, that's okay. I'll just carry it out as is." With a smile and a floppy-haired nod, Brian extended his hand to grab the puzzlebox. He was stopped no more than half an inch from touching it by the old man, who grabbed him firmly by the wrist with more strength than Brian would have said he held.
"Paper or plastic?" the old man asked again, nearly attaining the scariness he'd had when asking him about the frozen yogurt.
"Uh, paper?"
"Good choice again, young man." The old man reached under the counter with a thin hand, then whipping the small paper bag he'd retrieved open with a flick of his wrist. Brian watched, highly impressed, as the old man used that same hand to plunk the puzzlebox then the dish of frozen yogurt into the bag, one on top of the other.
"Do you have-" A plastic spoon was dropped in before he could finish the question. "Guess you do." This time, Brian reached for the bag and the old man let him take it. Folding the top down neatly, he turned and looked for Sean, startled to find his companion standing right behind him. He held onto his bag tightly, crunching the brown paper in his fist, and holding it against his chest. "Holy crapola, Batman! Don't do that!"
Sean frowned at him and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Go wait in the car."
Brian nodded wildly, his honey blond hair bouncing around his ears. "Yessir!" he said. Then with a not-quite-skittish pause, he asked, "But, um, can I have the keys before I go? The car doors are locked...."
He watched as Sean grumbled and dug into his pocket, catching the keys when they were tossed his way. "Stay out of the driver's seat," Sean ordered him, placing down whatever it was that he'd found on the shelves. "I'm not about to let you drive."
"I'm not that bad!"
"Go."
"...fine." Grumbling to himself, Brian headed toward the door, trying to shove the keys into his still stuffed pockets. He'd forgotten they were full of his ski cap and mittens. He sighed and grappled his way past the shop door, then headed onward across the small and chilly parking lot to the car. His breath was frozen on the air, puffing thicker than the smoke off the old man's pipe. Luckily, he had a fairly simple time getting the passenger side door open and cramming himself inside than on a previous stop – this time he avoided setting off the alarm.
He jammed the key into the ignition, set his bag on the dash, and scrambled around to get the dome light on and the heater going full blast. Sean could bitch at him if he wanted when he made it into the car, but, for now, things were going his way.
His coat was soon stripped and tossed into the backseat as the interior of the car sweltered in a tropical warmth from the heater. Brian kicked his seat back a few notches for extra leg room, then nabbed the bag off the dash to pull out the dish of frozen yogurt and the accompanying spoon. It was finally at the perfect temperature to enjoy an icy treat.
As he was savoring his third bite, Sean finally appeared. The curious frown leveled at him wasn't unusual; he'd had it thrown at him enough times to make it virtually normal. Sean was panting, though, before he could relate the source of his not-annoyance. Brian was fairly certain Sean had noticed the tropical heat wave coming from the heater. Sean got back out of the car, stripped off his long coat and threw it into the back on top of Brian's, then wedged himself behind the steering wheel again.
Brian pouted a little as the heat was turned down just a bit, but said nothing aloud, simply savored another bite of his frozen yogurt. He kept his eyes down and hid behind his hair, seeking to take Sean's locked attention off of him.
"Yes?" he asked after nearly a minute, though, all innocence and purity. "Is something bothering you, Sean?"
Sean was slow to respond, breathing in and breathing out noisily before speaking. "What the hell is that you've got? Some kind of ice cream or something?"
Grinning like a loon, Brian answered with resounding cheer. "Frozen cream of mogwi soup! It's Yoda-licious!"
"...I knew I shouldn't have bothered, but I did, anyway," Sean muttered. "I suck." He heaved another sigh and Brian was grateful. It meant Sean would allow him to live another day. "Let's get out of here."
Brian laughed and took another bite. "Mmm, frogurt."