a/n: aaaaaas alwayyyys, I have penniless fun with fanbases. I don't own squat from Jim Henson. This fic comes from personal-life uncertainty and the resulting state of mind.

*Chapter 4 is dedicated to those who recently encountered someone too nosy.

(1/2) Experience that inspired this fanfic: years ago I stumbled across an herbalist shop in the nw located actually underground in the pioneer district—it still exists online and the quality of the products are incredible; wish I had $$ to spoil myself more.

ooooooo

Chapter 4: Nifty Items

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"The Devil is in the Details", Chemical Brothers, 'Hanna OST'

"One Breath Away", Billy Idol

ooooooooo

Sera scratched her arm as she stood at the register as the music tinkled behind her. The new hire, Sarah, sat in the back room at lunch. A smell of meatless curry and rice emanated down the hall. Her earring brushed her shoulder as she gaze down at her hand. Her cuticle grew over her worked finger and unpainted nails. It was only natural, but a bother to maintain. It didn't matter in the scheme of things.

Sera tentatively believed that the increase in sales over the last three quarters would allow her to keep newcomers Sarah and Raven. The steady boosted income might actually allow her to retire in security, with enough cash to sip cocktails once a week. This teeny home business spiked enough to keep her storefront for a while.

And new hires meant more time to work on her products, mailing, and receiving. It stunk, though, that she couldn't afford full time benefits or any of that.

Sera wondered how Raven would handle closing the store, since tonight his shift was the training session for that. Both hires learned from the job—contracts and 'how-to' lists were minimal at most. She remembered all those decades ago working in part time replaceable jobs where the training manuals had a weight and scare tactic of their own. Not to mention the rise, in other fields, of digital corporate cash register-printer-kiosks.

One tablet and one backup computer in the office. Thank god the tobacco-stained landlord allowed more space in the wooded building for storage. She also determined both bodies were able to help with the moving and shaking of items. Reasonably, of course, since her writing hand acted up more as of late. An overpriced brace sat on the wrist. She absentmindedly stares into the abyss that was the open foyer.

Sarah told her of the earlier customer, a retail treat. The lady simply wasted her, or rather Sarah's, time, mid-shift…asking about the ingredients in a specialized post lactation women's salve.

"It was classic," Sarah chirped. "The ingredients were listed on the back of the jar in clear sarif font," the green-eyed woman breathed, "and the mom-zilla seemed content with, uh, her phone. Grabbing and inspecting everything. To the point where I asked for help."

And help it was. Little old Sera marched into a rude customer's social chat tour with her designer baby. She asked the lady to leave since store photos of product were not authorized yet. The lady left appalled in a huff, out to likely blab to the world about how rude Sera was in her quack shop.

All was fine since then. Sera was surprised Sarah handled that with such spunk—without telling the lady off or inflating it. It must have been a good choice to hire a person with people skills. The recent graduate learned with speed. Thank god.

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Sarah blinked at her watch. Was it nearly time to skedaddle? She felt that business in the store was not truly as steady as would seem. A customer appeared only about eleven times since she began. Only seven actually bought merch.

She needn't worry yet, but she felt the location was no help to the stealthy nature of this store. She looked to the crow statue, then to the crushed velveteen pile.

A conspicuous orb sat atop the material. A glass blown "paperweight", with a sheen that looked like textured melted glass in the inner rim. Likened to an item sold in catalogues and a specialty local store in the Northwest United States, she recalled.

Sarah eyeballed that item a few times today with a sneaking suspicion it was not what it seemed. She'd never seen anyone touch it. It supposedly cost thirty dollars—as a work from a blown glass company. But it glowed. In a way that did not suggest the overhead port lights. Sarah figured it had been…placed there.

"Feeling bored, yet?" Sera's caramel voice appeared behind Sarah, who looked to her and smirked shyly.

"No, I like it here. I could always find something to do,"

"Too angelic for retail I take it." Sera nudged the emerald-eyed woman. She winked. "I'm teasing. Seriously. But the store I only hope." Sera inhaled. "That business gets better in the holiday season."

"Is it often… hm, the quiet kind?"

"Yeah mostly. I recently kept the storefront outside the farmer's market—that didn't bring in enough money to support the herbalism. It's a wonder I don't sell at a designer price."

"So employees weren't in the plan originally? Like an online catalogue maybe?"

"Uh, well," Sera nodded in mild surprise, "exactly. That's what, that's all… I did prior to thinking of a store-front." She played with her silver knot bangle. "It wasn't until I really started thinking I'd need social interaction. Delivery or packing is one thing but a store is a social location."

"I won't ask about it, I was curious." Sarah thought that maybe she'd pried. Especially with the sudden change in demeanor from the mostly hard to read boss.

"I'm really glad you asked. No… don't think…I'm offended. I think I am not so good at explaining means when it's a workplace discussion. That is all me." Sera snorted in humor with an odd look-away.

A cover, the sepia-eyed woman thought. Sera was not comfortable sharing something, Hell, Sarah Million Reasons to Worry Williams is an expert in that lifestyle. Better not ask.

"Guessing the cubicle life wasn't doing it for you?" It slipped. Bad Sarah.

Sera looked up in thought, to Sarah. "You can say that. I was sorta in a workplace like that tv show, Dead Like Me, where George experiences cubicle politics firsthand."

"Haven't seen it yet, but I'll find it online now." As she nodded Sarah almost wished she had a waged cubicle job for the moneys. But she had no idea who George was or what office politics could be like.

Sera smirked and continued, "… pretty much I was trying my best to be positive in the fluorescent lights. The snappy boss was one to remember. She was unlike anyone I knew. I think she never considered anything…but her frustration..., because she was wildly dissatisfied. With everything."

"Hmm," Sarah listened. A scattered creak sounded from the hallway over the ambient music.

"I tried to keep a low profile. For years. Like how retail workers just passive-aggressively jellyfish along. But Shauna was good at singling people out. It got to a point that I tried to talk with her. One on one. She just told me that retail formed most of her experiences with life."

Sera coughed with scratchy throat. Popped an herbal lozenge. "I gained so much weight—stress pounds. My clothes didn't fit. I gave up. Only shopped for food I wanted. I even had contacted HR about my feelings and they just shrugged metaphorically. Must have thought I wanted a promotion from whining. Not being heard maybe."

The amber eyed woman stopped in thought. Sarah assumed the tale was too painful to relive. The creak sounded louder, closer. Sera seemed to hear it, and strode away to look out from the doors. Sarah watched her check in the lobby. Her footsteps went toward the bathroom. Disappeared with a door whine, returned, went further.

She had no idea what her boss was looking for, but it must be a mission. Maybe dirty tracks or a smell.

A glimmer caught her eye.

/The orb?/She looked into it, but nothing shone differently. It lay in place with deliberate stillness. /Okay now that's cuckoo./

She looked away, crouched, and turned around. To place a receipt end into the trash. She slowly rose from behind the register to sneak a peek at the orb. Hardly breathing. Nothing. Just a glow from the port lights. Urghhh.

She blinked at herself. Either someone had an agenda, or the light was truly tricking her eyes.

Thanks to the king of glitter, as she now dubbed him, anything in her realm is fair game to mess with. As far as she was concerned a goblin could, maybe would, drop furniture on her from the heavens while she waited at the bus stop. Better yet, domestic accident in the kitchen or laundry room. Maybe Junebug is a lackey and agreed to send Sarah to her early grave too.

Sarah figured a reason that the Goblins and…he…visited to torment her in revenge from her teenage years. Not like she knew why, but thanks to his impromptu visit she was a little less leery of his immediate shadow. Asking for her help, when he could just wish her into the Bog?

She shuddered re-living the smell. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt. Even when she accidentally discovered a decomposing raccoon carcass along a road on the way back to campus near a bus stop—the Bog stench never truly leaves a person's psyche.

Now for the so called responsibilities of her job as Informant. The encounter seemed to change her perception of days. It was as if since the visit from the king her nights were dreamless and unrested. She hadn't remembered a dream of hers in a while. She figured it was the existential weight of things that impacted her brain. Remembering dreams took energy.

Speaking of forgotten things—where did the boss go?

Sarah walked briskly around the knickknacks and peered left, right, into the foyer. Her heart raced and her breathing changed. Something felt wrong. The place was silent, no footsteps. "Sera, are you still looking'," she swallowed her dread, "for the sound? It's gone-"

Rapid heartbeat. Dry throat. Anxiety beginnings. Did Sera leave for food? She sure gave no warning.

Sarah turned back into the shop and breathed. The port lights blurred in her rushed vision. She looked to the orb. It sat as any knickknack would. The crow statue that watched over the antiqued tawny shelf also seemed inanimate. She moved back behind the register and nervously leaned into it, staring at the digital wall clock down the short hall. An oddly modern aspect of the shop. She admired how Sera placed fake English ivy and an empty metal frame to offset its technology. It sat between framed images.

Her sepia eyes closed and she reprimanded herself…for assuming everything had a conscience. Yet, whatever the king needs to find was spooky enough to require her help. As if it meant certainty to an answer.

"I'm a sitting duck now," Sarah blurted. She was certain of her present inability to face pain or true danger.

"The customers might get you,"

Sarah's body pivoted in sheer shock, almost tipping her into the register booth. She locked eyes with an elderly man outside the shop. He peeked in, with a harmless smirk beneath his greyed mustache. He had a potbelly and stood under five-five.

Sarah tried to smile and held her cheek in mild embarrassment. "Yeah, retail, amirite?"

He nodded, with an odd scrunch in mouth, behind rectangle glasses. "Used to before my teaching career. Almost missed the entitled buyer. Then moved to the entitled student."

Sarah hadn't expected that turn. "You aren't…gonna look around?"

"Nah, later. I wanted the letter and print shop. But the owner's been sick for the last month. It's closed. Scares me." He thumbed toward the longer end of the foyer. Sarah looked away, back to him and the still doorway. Unable to respond. Nodded.

"Your name?" He frowned and looked to her.

"Sarah."

"Well, tell other Sera, the owner, I said hi and I love what she did with the place. I'm Josh from teaching." He nodded, made a tiny salute, and clopped away in his work safe hard shoes. Sarah scrunched part of her mouth. Her foot ached from leaning on it. And she needed to use the bathroom. Her trusty bladder strained in response.

Just as she worked up courage to hold it in, footsteps signaled another. Sarah inhaled. Any more bladder stoppage and a UTI called her name.

Sera strolled in with a perturbed face. Sarah opened her mouth, but Sera held up her finger in wait. She exhaled in frustration. "Sarah dear, you're not gonna believe this."

/I'm a damn believer alright./

"I fainted outside." She looked aside and wiped sweat from her brow as she made her way to the register. "I awoke sitting on the bench. I don't think I had a stroke…" she shook her head then rubbed her partial buzzed style. "I need to go home. But the problem is Raven'll be here in a second."

"Would we still close the store?" Sarah opened.

"Uhm…" Sera scrunched her eyes and opened them to look into sepia. "Well I suppose. The show must go on. Raven needs to close too."

Sarah nodded. Swallowed. As if on cue Raven strode into the store, leathery jacket and wide, yet cautious, lumbering stature. He'd mentioned in their first days working that he loved all things gothic and occult. And she knew anime was in his repertoire…he held a lengthy conversation about his filmography after she complimented him on an Evangelion messenger bag.

His angel bites glittered in the port lights. "Hello everyone, and spirits," he remarked to the women and…whoever…as he lifted his earbuds out.

Sera flinched. Sarah pretended not to se. She's perturbed for sure, saw something.

"Well, I trust both you will handle closing just fine. Raven, I don't feel well so I will go home."

She made ready, disappeared, returned with keys, coat, and bag and such. Placed another lanyard on the counter. "Just do what you normally do. Instructions are laminated in the other room if need be," she looked to Raven. "You'll learn, it's easy lemon squeezy. Bye now, have a safe night!" She walked her way out, down the foyer and up elevator.

"…Is she okay? God I hope she's not really sick. I've got a crap immune system."

Sarah shrugged, "she just got spooked…a customer got under her nerves, maybe, on my lunch hour." Sarah felt as confused as she looked, framing the cover-up. Raven looked convinced and went to place his things in the back.

Sarah thought about her few hours. Closing was 9 pm, and dad earlier that day had offered to pick her up nearby.

ooooooooo

Her watch read 7:34pm. The PTA meeting was quick and painless.

Standing in the laundry room, the blonde woman stood with purse over arm and briefly looked at the impressive upkeep. Karen nodded to herself. The laundry had been washed and placed in assorted baskets of each member.

Karen learned day by day that the former teen caught up in a fairy story was no longer a foreigner. Instead she had a sense of self made by…something… in her leave.

Karen strode from the room and felt a breeze. "Sarah, I'm home!" She projected. "Your dad and Toby are out finding a new bed for the cat-"

Hm. The back door was open…behind the mesh door the moisture nearly collected on the glass. It was frigid in autumn and too dangerous to keep doors open. It shut with some effort and a bang, click of the lock. It was the case that Sarah at least tried her best for her homemaking abilities, Maybe Sarah had cleaned a floor and vented the fumes.

With a bit of walking, things seemed cleaner than she left it. Karen's eyes flitted to the kitchen. Pristine. Graciela was not due to visit soon. Considering the crisply dressed housekeeper, Graciela, used to come bi-monthly to clean the house. In the last few months it seemed less necessary to tidy up because even Toby attempted to help.

She'd never guessed that Sarah would mature and change enough in time after her return to civilian life. She hardly if ever wore shoes in the house, kept them in the entry basket in the mudroom. Karen almost scoffed. It was like she was intentionally showing off. Getting Toby to help clean—maybe she bribed him.

Her face lifted in smirk and slid her shoes from her feet, picking them up to also drop them in the mudroom bin. Stretching her toes, it had been too long since a mani-pedi. But it didn't bother her. Unlike the usual jump from an overgrown cuticle. It was all about the salt soaks and working skin creams. Sarah never trifled with bought manicures except when Karen offered the dark brunette a trip to the parlor. Once at high school graduation, once before the Bachelor's ceremony. And kept her nails natural and short.

Karen's own fingers had seen decades of artificial placements and paints. It pained her that each trip cost anywhere from $18 to $45. Only in pregnancy had Karen ended the manicures and she stopped regular appointments during nursing and swaddling. After Toby got into his kindergarten years she visited more. It seemed that having a school child dismissed the need to stare at nails.

As a secretary at a community college her days were spent sitting and doodling with endless asks, calls, typing. Some mothers had outrageous long claws with glitter and the like. . Karen felt it unnecessary with a young child or even with any child. Imagine that being ripped off or scraping the child.

Some fathers and older brothers, when visiting, actually had visibly manicured nails despite minimalist visions And. so. many. French. tips. Deep down in her mind of minds the French tip was a shade of the adult film industry, despite how many times she'd received the style.

After her second marriage Karen learned that life had a sense of some consistency. Her first ring offered a sense of security in the beginning. But as the fairy story goes, it was a ruse.

She 'hmmphed' in response to thoughts. Karen drove the past thoughts to a hum in her brain, She'd revisited the often claw habit when she and Robert experienced marital difficulties during Sarah's, erm, phases in high school and leave for college. It was back and forth to therapists, groups, and sessions and novels of help, even with young Toby a few times. Sarah was lucky…she hadn't seen the worst of it.

She went to ace the water kettle to boil. She guessed Robert would drink a small mug of peppermint tea before bedtime. She needed some hydration after the caffeine. Some calming spearmint nettle tea sounded right. Even Sarah's frequent tea habit rubbed off on everyone. Robert drank tea—and seemed to hydrate more than she'd seen in years of marriage.

Karen moved to walk upstairs and place her purse in her room. The door handle creaked in a push and she placed her purse on the floor next to the boudoir. Closed the door once more. Went back down in slow descent.

\Toby asked for tea while Sarah was off finishing her degree…even if he hated the taste. But he still tried to drink it with added ice, at a breakfast diner, with cream and sugar aplenty. Chasing it with extra toast. It shocked Karen while she sipped her lemon water.

Sarah's periodical visits saw changes in the sable haired woman. Karen watched her step-child grown into a happier, if not, more focused person. The former step-child was…her own person. And after months of counseling Karen and Robert decided not to refer to Sarah or Karen as 'step' anything. They had a formal sit down with, then twenty, Sarah who took it like a champ even with her nervous apprehension. Robert was worried Sarah would put up word barriers like he, and Karen, had. Toby only knew wither parent by parental names—not step names.

\Karen's mind couldn't help but flow back into the danker regions of her first marriage. Living in the high wealth of the East coast in a college town, right out of college, gave her the head-start to sweep away out of casual dating life after getting a "Mrs" Degree. She went to get a journalism degree but flinched at the cost freshman year—instead settled for a straightforward communications sciences certification. She almost missed her sassy self before the fiancée.

Marshall was a WASPs dream… if she ever knew one. A caricature. He enchanted her right from the start senior year of college. Ever feigning interest in her appearance, and ever flashing his family's money. His rose-pale complexion, built and taller frame, slicked dirty blond hair and light chocolate eyes. Liked to play the power roles, pretending gender 'chivalry' existed. Karen wanted it, deep down… the glamor of being less responsible for her future. Back in her day dreaming of a straightforward home life occupied her thoughts. Lucky strike: Marshall's family owned a string of men's boutiques based in the region. And he had an international business degree to match it.\

She moved to prepare her tea.

\And her parents. They couldn't have cared less about her degree. They were more or less neutral about her college life except for her nearly full scholarship from a department. Past the dating and party scenes, of course, she never truly shared their passive need to be homebodies and gender rigid role-takers. In fact she fancied herself some nice cars and really liked baseball and rock and roll, much to her father's confusion. Twice married and she never fulfilled the dream of learning to play synthesizer or electric guitar.

In the past Karen resented Sarah's music habit of rock, alternative, opera, and other things in teen years. Yet realized in time Sarah was not a stranger as much as she chased a dream in a different direction from Karen. Sarah might have become a groupie if fooled into it. Karen, on the other hand, knew she'd become one if to have someone else make the decisions, and to travel.\

\After her decision not to have a first baby with Marshall, a secretive recovery weighed on her emotions until she cracked and told her mother-in-law. Who promptly made it a moral mission to speak of it to Karen's own family, their cousin, and Marshall. Such maturity. A strenuous fourteen months later and divorce left her with some things thanks to prenuptials, but less life, emotionally. Karen never lived it down—held that against them still.

More irreparable pain later and it was done-for. In the following years she was a silent career woman. Until meeting Robert, who was the opposite of Marshall. Even down to circumstances he was…older… and more socially reserved.

She secretly hoped Sarah never lived through that. Even in changing times, her future was not up to others. Part of Karen wanted to protect Sarah from the same decision of marriage based on puppy love and money. Part of her also needed Sarah to move on with her life and leave their odd little family where they stay, and not have to remain in earshot of their hardships. She felt Sarah was always a bit on the removed side—thanks to Linda's motherly decisions.

She removed the tea bag and stirred in some sucralose. Sipped the searing beverage. It'll wait.

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(2/2) obvious tv show reference is obvious. *Timelines in this fic will jump and are not always accurate. Name consistency poses a challenge for me in fics. And Karen is humanized in this work, imagine that. Linda will show up eventually, as will the monster/creature. Don't worry, more spooky GK will saunter by, because y'all crazies want him badddd [eyebrow raises].

*Being in a novelty shop I will be working even more blackout hours and holidays this year. Joy to the part time world [wink]. I try my best, this is all me writing. More of BFA will churn out!