"Hey Zap, catch!"

Zap turned just in time to see a large package of toilet paper flying toward him. He brought his arms up quickly, painfully clipping his elbow against the sharp edge of the weapon at his hip.

"Ow!" He yelped as he caught the toilet paper.

"Kuta. That hurt you? It's TP, not Plasteel." Zap's coworker Steve said a bit incredulously. She was carrying another bundle of toilet paper toward the shelf and her auburn curls swayed a little.

Zap swiveled, trying to bring his aching elbow into view around the large package in his hands. "No, it's this damn Forcebolt," he complained. "My elbow hit it. I'm not used to wearing a weapon."

"You'll get used to it," Steve said. "You can't work here without having something to show you can defend the place." Standing on her tiptoes to shove the package into place on the high shelf. Her own weapon, an ominous-looking custom pistol, glinted in the light and Zap glared at it.

"I don't like guns," Zap said curtly as he stood on his tiptoes to place his package on the shelf as well. "They're ugly."

Steve turned to him, her expression somewhat hurt. Zap instantly regretted his words. "I mean, they don't suit me." He corrected.

"Whatever," she responded, hiding her wounded pride behind trademark indifference.

"Your master's stuff is different--"

"Whatever! Zap!" Steve said, tensing for a moment. "I don't care. You want to do your job or what?" She snatched another package of toilet paper and turned on her heel back to the shelf. Zap followed suit.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"I'm not an apprentice gunsmith because you think it's cool," she said, savagely shoving the package onto the shelf. "You're not working on your degree because wizards make me moist. Because they don't."

Zap shifted uncomfortably and set the package back down where he'd picked it up. "I'm going to go stock the sodas," he said, and walked away before Steve could answer.


At the front of the store, a physically fit man in his fifties pushed his shopping cart up to the checkout line, his bald pate gleaming in the CoolSun full-spectrum lamps of the store. He began unloading his items and placed them in the scanning area one by one. All went through normally until one particular item refused to be recognized by the scanner. The man looked puzzled and moved it out of the sensors, then placed it back in them. The computer still seemed confused.

Abruptly, a young man appeared by the customer. He was coffee-skinned and dreadlocked and very handsome. He also had a few shimmering holo-tats on his face as well-- a common sign of a yuzie or street punk-- but he was also wearing an apron that indicated he was an employee. He raised a hand and punched a few points on the scanner's console.

"Tamarind," he murmured conspiratorially to the bald man. "The scanner doesn't like tamarind. Never recognizes it." Then, in a normal tone of voice, "Also, your wife's cheating on you. Check her peacoat when you get home."

The scanner beeped as it suddenly decided to acknowledge the tamarind's presence. With that, the dreadlocked employee turned and sauntered away, leaving the bald man standing baffled in front of the scanner.

It had been about ten minutes since Zap had begun the task of restocking the sodas when he had a visitor. Zap's shift manager Alan came by the aisle with a tabletshell, tapping it absently with his finger as he took inventory around the store. "Hey little guy," he said to Zap as he approached. "What's on?"

"Uh, not much," Zap said, keeping himself busy stocking the sodas.

"Cool, cool," Alan said. "Cool." He tapped his tablet a few more times. "Hey, candy aisle's been lossy. Think you guys could keep an eye on it like after school hours? I think we've got some yuzies hanging around."

"Okay," Zap responded blandly. Alan seemed satisfied and continued his patrol, jabbing at the tabletshell as he went. Before he reached the end of the aisle, though, he stopped and turned back to Zap.

"Oh hey, uh," he said. "Steve pissed about something?"

"We had a discussion about guns," Zap said slowly.

"Huh," Alan said. There was a pause as he unsuccessfully tried to think of something appropriate to say. He eventually just made a somewhat helpless gesture and moved to the next aisle.

Zap spent a few seconds staring at the space where his manager had just been standing, then he stood up and shoved the soda case forward with his foot. "That's it," he said flatly. "Smoke break."


Moments later, he was outside, leaning on the side of the building and watching cars hum by. A pink-tinted roll of paper dangled from his fingers with a glowing ember on the end. Zap let it sit for a little while, checking his watch periodically to make sure he was not out of break minutes.

It was a cool day. Spring had just recently begun and now the weather was nice; Zap had been taking advantage of the nice weather by visiting his parents frequently. His parents lived in the Agricultural District of Home and actually had a yard, a commodity that Zap imagined they must have paid a great deal of money for. He would walk there whenever he could, and used it as a place to study when he had the time to take the Rail there. Someday, Zap promised himself, I'll have a condominium with a rooftop garden and I'll walk there every day.

The outside of the Securemarket. was not so picturesque, but the weather was still nice and it provided a pleasant respite from a stressful day. Zap brought the cigarette to his mouth and drew a breath from it.

Zap then heard a clack from the door and looked over to see it open. Steve walked out casually, then stopped when she saw Zap.

Both of them looked at each other awkwardly for a moment. "Taking your break early," Steve observed dryly.

"Yeah," Zap said.

After a moment, Steve apparently decided that was all right. "Okay," she said, coming out of the store all the way and letting the door close behind her. "Alan'll do floor patrol." She leaned against the wall herself and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket.

Zap looked at Steve as she tapped the pack against her opposite hand, then brought it up and drew a cigarette from the pack with her mouth. He began to speak. "Hey, listen--"

Steve's left hand flew up very quickly. "Don't--" she said, fixing him with a steely gaze. "Don't."

Zap faltered and let his voice drop off. Steve's eyes remained on him for a moment, then her expression changed, one eyebrow raising. "Is that cig pink?"

"It's a rose cigarette," Zap said, but Steve seemed to expect further explanation. "Mages smoke them."

"Gay mages?" Steve asked, the edges of her lips turning up in a little smile as the unlit cigarette dangled between them. "Mages who wear dresses?"

"No! Iyesu. Regular mages." Zap retorted, annoyed but relieved that Steve was no longer staring him down.

Steve snorted derisively and raised her hand to the edge of her cigarette. Zap sensed a faint surge of magic as his coworker summoned a small flame to her hand, lighting her cigarette.

Eager to change the subject, Zap pointed to the newly-lit cigarette. "I didn't know you knew Color Magic, Steve."

"Took it on the side during high school," she said. "Knew I needed mag-cert to get a decent job, and CCDM looked boring."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Zap," Steve said, suddenly very serious.

"Yeah?"

"Does your wand have a glittery star on it?"

The lamp came on very suddenly, its full-spectrum glory flaring into brilliance before Zap had the chance to close his eyes. He cursed and flailed in place for a moment, then grabbed the top of the ladder and waited for his vision to clear. While he was still dazzled, he heard a female voice call from below.

"You okay up there?" Steve called.

"Yeah," Zap replied.

"You got the dead crystals ok?"

"Yeah," Zap said, squinting as his sight slowly returned. "I'm coming down now."

One careful, slow trip down the ladder later found Zap once again on the floor. He looked to Steve, who had already turned her attention to something else. "Check this out," she murmured conspiratorially to Zap and pointed down the aisle. On the other end of the store, an elven toddler was throwing a tantrum while its father stood nearby. The child was giving an expert performance; rolling on the floor, shrieking its rage, tears rolling down its face. The father had an air of baffled helplessness, seeing his child in a state he could not bring himself to appropriately control or even address.

Steve had her eyes still fixed on the child, but she leaned toward Zap, a small smirk on her face. "Can you believe how impossible it's got to be?" she asked him. "By the time elven kids are done with their 'Terrible Twos' they're over five years old."

"Probably why most of them are so patient," Zap murmured in agreement. "Elven puberty is what, like five to eight years long? I think that'd beat patience into anybody."

The employees paused for a moment, silenced by the unpleasant thought. The toddler's tantrum continued, and the father moved in slightly but seemed unwilling to do anything.

"He should smack the kid," Steve said.

"I don't think that's necessary, he could just take the kid out of the store," Zap replied. "It'd teach action and consequence without having to resort to--"

"Is that how you were brought up, seriously?" Steve interrupted incredulously. "No wonder you suffer urges to wear a pointy hat and speak in tongues."

"You're an asshole," Zap said, managing to only mean it a little.

The two went back to regarding the altercation on the other end of the aisle. A few seconds later, the child reached up to a shelf and swiped his hand forcefully across it, knocking twelve boxes of cookies to the floor.

The employees sprang into action without so much as a snarky comment. In a moment, the toddler found himself confronting all five imposing feet of Steve Anderson, while Zap launched a rapid-fire lecture at the father for failing to properly control his child. Moments later, both parent and child were being ushered out of the Securemarket., followed by a pair of employees making shooing motions with their hands.

Zap and Steve walked back into the store, relieved. "Sweet jumpin' zombies," Zap commented, looking behind him at the retreating figures.

"Friggin' larvae," Steve grumped.

"I'm just glad we got there when we did," Zap said. "Kid could've unshelved a whole aisle."

"Yeah," Steve said with a smirk. "Good thing we're such good employees."

On the other side of the store, Alan sighed as he heard raucous laughter coming from the entrance. "I need to separate those two or something," he muttered.
Zap hurled the jar high into the air, then broke into a run toward the other side of the loading dock.

Before Zap had gone four paces, Steve's hand sped to her hip and wrapped around the grip of her custom pistol. A fluid motion brought it from its holster in an unnecessary but stylish spin, coming to bear in at the jar as it reached the top of its parabolic flight. Steve squeezed the trigger and the pistol barked, spitting fire.

The sound of a bullet hitting an IHDP wall echoed through the dock. The jar fell to the ground and bounced once, unscathed.

"So apparently the third time is not the charm," Zap said dryly.

Steve waved off the disparaging remark, then jumped down from the ledge near the loading shutter. "I'm not warmed up," she offered in explanation. "And anyway I'm better at making guns than shooting them."

"Can I try?" Zap asked.

"Okay," Steve replied, jogging to the jar and picking it up. She stood in the position that Zap had stood, marked with a chalk "X" by the employees. "Stand on the ledge," she said to Zap, who was already climbing up.

"Ready?" Steve asked. Zap nodded, drawing his wand from the narrow pocket of his slacks where he kept it. It was elegant, for a student's wand; it had a simple burnished black design with a number of white runes etched near the bottom. Zap held it with easy expertise.

"Pull!" He yelled. Steve heaved the jar upward.

Zap began drawing his energies inward and prepared the arcane syllables that he would use to cast a magic missile at the jar. As he raised his wand, there was a sharp report from behind him and the jar shattered in midair, sending pieces of plastic scattering across the garage. Both Steve and Zap cringed in frightened surprise, Steve raising her arms to ward off the falling bits of plastic. Both turned to the source of the noise, too surprised to bring weapons to bear.

Standing in the doorway to the loading dock and grinning widely was a male half-elf wearing the trademark red apron of a Securemarket. employee. He had tousled blond hair, appeared to be in his late fifties (were he human, he'd seem to be "pushing thirty") and was holding a smoking Dai-Sho Katana .45 caliber pistol.

"Iyesukristo!" Zap shouted.

"Holy fuck!" Steve shouted enthusiastically. "To'mas!" A few quick strides took her to the edge of the loading ledge. "Where have you been?!"

"Earning my Dai-Sho B-Cert," the half-elf said with a smirk, waving the gun in the air as demonstration.

"I missed you, jackass!" Steve said, leaping forward and embracing To'mas, who hurriedly moved the pistol away and returned the hug with his free hand.

"Yeah, I know," To'mas replied. Once freed, he holstered the gun and held out his hand to Zap. "Sorry to steal your thunder, little guy. I'm To'mas Bonvent."

"It's cool," Zap said as he put the wand back in its pocket. He reached forward and shook To'mas's hand. "I guess I would have done it too. Zap Bradshaw."

"Good to meetcha," To'mas replied. "Anyway, Alan says you guys have to come back in. Loren's done waxing the floor and you need to stock some shit before we open."

"Aren't we overstaffed?" Zap asked. "We never have this many people."

"Go-go Cola just adblitzed," Steve explained. "I think Paru's worried that a manager and three people aren't going to be enough."

"Ohh," Zap said.

"Anyway, somebody's gonna have to sweep up that jar," To'mas said.

Zap clapped him on the shoulder. "Well," he said jovially. "You broke it."

Steve and Zap slipped through the entrance before To'mas could reply. He looked at the broken shards of plastic on the dock's ground and sighed. "To think I kind of missed it," he said wistfully.
It was 21:25, but the night shift manager was nowhere to be found, and neither were any of his employees.

Alan stood at the front of the store, his tabletshell tucked under an arm and fingers pressed to his temples. Steve was sitting on top of one of the shelves and bouncing her sneakers against it and Zap paced impatiently in front of the checkout lines. To'mas, whose shift extended into the night, was the only employee not on edge; he instead ran a mop up and down the aisles, cheerfully humming an Ellis Manteaux song.

Halfway through one of his paces, Zap halted and gestured violently with his pointer finger. "They're watching the ethcast, aren't they."

"They're watching the ethcast," Alan confirmed, his voice saturated with resignation and his fingers drawing little circles against the side of his head.

"That's so scrambled I can't even say!" Zap exploded. "It's not GOING anywhere!"

"Yes, but it's cooler to watch it live," Steve sneered.

"Fucking Shadowflames." Zap muttered, kicking the ground. "Fucking Ghost Blade."

"Hey, leave Ghost Blade out of this," To'mas said a little defensively from the aisle. "I like Ghost Blade."

"This is so stupid. I have places to be," Zap groused.

Steve smirked. "I bet you don't."

"I do!"

"I bet you don't. I bet you have homework."

"I always have homework," Zap retorted.

"I bet you want to watch the end of the ethcast," Steve taunted.

"I don't! I'm not even going to watch the saved version!"

"Enough!" Alan barked, his eyes squeezed shut, then spoke a little more quietly. "Not now. Please."

There was a moment of awkward silence before Steve spoke. "Do you have somewhere to be, Alan?"

"Yes," Alan said, finally taking his fingers away from his head.

"What is it?"

"A thing," Alan said. "I have a thing to get to, and I'm going to be late to the thing."

Steve snorted, then resumed kicking the shelf with the back of her feet. After a moment's pause, To'mas's head rounded the corner of the aisle. He was smiling. "Okay, so this sucks. We know that. So: who wants to play Dry Ice Hockey?"

"Do we have enough brooms for that?" Zap asked.

There was a pause.

"There are extra in the manager's closet," Alan said, actually cracking a very small smile as he held up his key.

The employees all bolted for the back.

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This vignette by Dog.