The yellow camper vehicle was parked by the main square in Pine Springs, in sights of both the church and the expansive waterfront by the town. The sun shone, the heat was strong and the streets were busy.
For Petra, this was a great business day.
She had set up her jeweller working station and a few tables displaying creams, salves and stones from across the globe, for the most diverse uses one can think of.
Clients had come and gone all that morning, and the young blonde has been able to close some deals, earning her the nightly fare, her usual threshold for how successful her day has been.
As she works on an Amethyst gem for a new necklace, she spots Imogen with her stuck-up mother, dallying next to the religious congregation. The woman must be trying to 'casually' bump into someone, the bohemian concluded, and soon enough would approach her stand.
Sure enough, not a few minutes passed before the blonde realtor struts haughtily towards the yellow camper, her daughter following miserably in tow.
"Good day, Mrs Wescott, Imogen." Petra greeted them with a gentle, tranquil smile. "How can I be of assistance this afternoon? Can I interest you in any of my wares?"
Astrid could barely contain a sneer. "No, young miss. I came to ask you whether you have a permit to set up shop in the square."
"I have a business licence to operate pop-up shops in the state of Oregon, Mrs Wescott." The girl responded with the same placid tone. "I have been through the town hall, and I've been told there was no special requirements for having booths and stalls installed within county limits."
"I am sure the state would in good mind not grant a license for some Woodstock orphan to sully our squares trying to sell junk to the people of nice, upstanding towns like ours." The realtor's tone was hard and clipped.
Petra's eyes turn steely, but her posture does not change. "I could show you my documents, Mrs Wescott, but I do not care for what you think. If you see my doing business here as a problem, I suggest you to take it to Salem, where, I am sure you will find out that I within my rights to earn my living around here.
"With that in mind," She continues, now the smile more wide and open. "Can I interest you in any of my wares?"
Astrid picks up a golden key, encrusted on the tip with blood-red gemstones. "I reiterate, junk. Why would one buy a key that opens no doors?"
"If you are looking for a purpose, ma'am, allow me to enquire first why do you wear diamond earpieces." She questions, calmly. "They, too, serve to no use, and yet you find in good taste to parade them across town.
"My clients find value in my merchandise, which is why, I am to understand, they find reasonable to pay for them. For if my wares are junk, then many of your friends and acquaintances are downright idiots."
Astrid huffs and throw the key back on the table. "This will not stand, young miss! You'll remove this monstrosity from here, willingly or not!"
"I suggest you try the police station, then." Petra responds, impassively.
The older blonde huffs and leaves, marching on the direction of the appointed building, while Imogen hangs around, glad her mother's altercation served for her to forget about her daughter.
"Sandalwood." Petra says, suddenly.
Imogen seemed rather spooked with the subtlety. "Excuse me?"
"Sandalwood incenses are good for releasing tension and calming the nerves. It is the second last to the right." She points to a small, dried leaves bundle. "You seem like you need it."
The brown-haired girl sighs. "I'm job-shadowing my mother today, and she can be… a lot. But I'm fine, thanks for the concern."
"Do you desire to become a realtor?" A nick of disdain rang on the bohemian's voice.
Imogen grimaces. "Not at all! It's super boring. But my mom wants me to, and it's nice to get out of the house for a while…"
"My livelihood may be about foreseeing the future, but it is usually subjected to one's choices and decisions. Decisions that are all of your own, Imogen." The blonde says, ominously. "If you do not desire to follow in your mother's footsteps, and it is a choice I very much commend, all you have to do is not to."
"I suppose…" She responded, demure, and then admired the key her mother had hastily dismissed. "Now, for real, though, what is the deal with this, Petra?"
The shopkeeper smirked. "It is only a souvenir I got in Leicester some few years back. There was this locksmith who liked to carve weird symbols on the edges of his work, and I found this particular one interesting."
"Interesting?" Imogen prompts for more details.
"Yes, what calls to me, what jumps to my attention." She comments. "I have been to many a different places, and I often find myself with more than I can carry, so if I can place those items on the market, be the vessel through other people can make great discoveries, then I suppose my wandering made sense."
She totted. "Wouldn't you like to keep them, if they remind you of your voyages?"
The blonde smiles, emotionlessly. "Those are just things, Imogen. Physical shells. I am not parting with the memories, those are my own."
"It is certainly odd." The girl comments. "It rather looks like a skull, and the hoops like bones."
"Macabre as it is, it has a magnificent carving work, no? Very detailed." She dismissed the concerns.
"You have a point there." Imogen concedes. "How much is it?"
"How much do you have?" Was the response.
The black girl opens the small purse resting on her shoulders and counts all the money she had on her.
She unravels some bills and counts to her last penny, coming to the grand total of, "Eleven dollars and fifty-seven cents."
"Then you're in luck. This is exactly how much this particular item costs." Petra took the money and pocketed it. "Thank you very much for your patronage."
"You are very welcome." Imogen smiles in return. "You know, while it is very strange, it is also very alluring, as if it calls to me."
"Well, perhaps this will play an important part on your life in the future." The blonde comments, off-handedly. "I always found it an interesting piece of décor. Your soul mate might see it one day on your room and comment on your good, and striking, taste for interior designing."
Imogen laughs. "As if! My mother would tear my walls down if she sees it rung anywhere near my bedroom. I think I'll keep it close to me for now."
The blonde joins in the chuckle. "Perhaps this is for the best. I would not like for a bear, or whatever it is on the woods that have the police officers so scared, to wander into your bed at night."
"I think I should go now." Imogen declares, rather regretful. "My mother will come looking for me any minute now. It was great talking to you, Petra, I'd like for us to hang out more sometime."
"It'd be my pleasure." She smiled, pleasantly. "See you later?"
"See ya!"
