A Curse Upon Thee 4

Chapter 4: Fool’s Gold

The bell on the door chimed out high and neat, just like the one on Granny’s door, except it just didn’t fit the same here. Huh.

Finn raised his head and frowned as he looked around the dimly lit shop, nose twitching as he was suddenly hit with a bunch of smells at once. Dust, old paper, lemon polish, and something… something else metallic and sharp. 

Old pennies or dried blood, he really couldn't tell which. One of those is way worse than the other, though.

"Honestly," Mr. Gold’s purr of a voice curled out through the dusty air as he took a spot behind the counter. "You spent so much time standing out there, I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever give me a chance to make my offer."

Finn's eyes, still adjusting to the dim lighting, flicked right over to the man.

The smile. The suit. The cane. The vibe.

"…uh-huh." Yeah, this guy's the Devil, isn't he?

The young man just stood there with a bit of a frown on his face as he let the door click shut behind him. His senses were flaring, the Cursed Energy in this shop bleeding off enough residue from each item that it felt like a thousand different songs at once. Fingers tapped at his sides, the young man trying to ignore the feeling of all the energy begging for a target, for attention, for anything.

And this guy… this Gold… was standing in the middle of it like a conductor.

Don't like this. He clenched his hands into fists. Don't like this at all.

"A young man like yourself struggling to find himself…” Creepy as it was, Gold’s voice sounded so goddamn reasonable it made Finn's skin crawl even more. 

Finn blinked slowly as he walked up. Do I have something against authority? 

"So obviously… out of place,” Gold continued, snapping him out of his head. “One can't help but notice."

"Yeah, well…" You got that right, pops. 

“Y’know how it is when you’re a man on his own. Ain’t that easy being chee… I mean, no matter who you are.” His own voice sounded too rough and loud in the dead air; the aah-sound softening the hard 'r'. "Kinda new in town. Just… checkin' out the local… scenery." He gestured vaguely at a shelf full of creepy-ass porcelain dolls.

Gold's smile didn't move but the amusement in his eyes (those cold reptilian eyes) deepened. "The scenery." He savored the word, rolling it around in his mouth like it was a joke only he understood. "Yes, I suppose it is. Most people find my little shop… quaint. A bit dusty, perhaps, but quaint."

"Quaint's one word for it," Finn muttered. His eyes were scanning, cataloging, feeling.

Yeah, it was outright crazy that every single object in the cluttered space seemed to be leaking its own quiet private misery into the room; it was enough to make the Cursed Energy thick enough to swim in. 

This shop wasn't just a business.

It was a goddamn prison for Cursed Tools.

And in the center of it all (leaning on his ridiculous silver-handled cane in front of the cluttered counter) was the warden.

"Don't mind the… clutter," Gold purred, as if sensing the direction of his thoughts.

"Clutter's one word for it," Finn’s voice was barely a murmur as his eyes scanned the room, really looking now. A shrunken head on a high shelf (Jesus, man). Two ugly wooden dolls whose eyes seemed like they were looking at you. A…

Wait.

A spinning wheel?

The thing was just tucked in a corner, but something about it tugged at his attention, pulling his eyes right to it. Covered in dust, the antique was even more of a relic compared to everything else, sitting there just like it was pulled straight out of a…

Huh.

His mind went back to that kid. Henry. 

Emma's kid with the book, who'd cornered him at the diner yesterday when he went down for a late lunch; downright bugging him for almost an hour. Fairy tales. The kid kept going on and on about fairy tales. Curses. Magic. Everyone in this town is a fairy tale character.

Blue eyes narrowed as Finn stared off at nothing again.

Double huh.

"Something catch your eye, Mr. McHale?" 

Jesu- The sound that left his mouth was closer to a chihuahua than he liked, the man’s voice right over his shoulder. Sloppy. Finn took in a breath, low and slow, as he turned around to see the snake-like old man standing barely a few feet away, leaning on his cane with a thin unmoving smile on his face.

"Just… admiring the antiques," Finn said, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his ratty red windbreaker. "You got a lot of… old shit in here."

"Certainly a way to describe it. Others might say storied," Gold capped off the sentence with a hmmm sound as the man began to move, limping slowly around the shop as he thump-thump-thumped that goddamn cane on the floorboards. 

He didn’t look behind him, making it clear that he expected Finn to follow or be left behind. Great. We're doing this.

Both of them moved deeper into the shop, the aisles barely wide enough for one person. The shelves loomed over Finn, pressing in from both sides. He ran a hand over a dusty leather-bound book and a jolt of something cold and miserable shot up his arm.

He snatched his hand back like he'd been burned, fingers already tingling with energy. Ooookay, that’s… that’s definitely a Tool.

"This place has a lot of… history," he said, flexing his fingers again as he looked back at the book.

The thin line on Gold’s face said plenty as the man turned around, eyes drifting from the book back to Finn, but it didn’t stop the man from talking anyway. "Oh, everything in here has a story, dear boy. Some are just a bit… louder than others." His eyes crinkled up as his smile widened, almost seeming to twinkle in the dim light. "You can feel it, can't you? The weight of it all. Not many people can."

He knows.

Just like that bitch of a mayor (hot as she was), this creepy old man, with his ancient Special Grade power, was telling him straight up; I see you.

The easy sarcastic mask slid down his face as Finn leaned up against a display case like they were just two guys talking about the weather. "I don’t think it’s all that special, y’know.” His shoulders went up and down again in a lazy shrug, blue eyes flicking back up to the store owner. "Everybody feels bad vibes.” 

No lie there, you didn’t even need to be a Window to feel Cursed Energy. “A house somebody gets killed in or whatever.” Even the regular people could tell when something was ‘out of wack’, even if they couldn’t be sure. “You can just feel the… residue."

"Residue," Gold repeated, savoring the word as if it was some expensive chocolate melting in his mouth. "Yes, yes…. a great deal of residue. Events do tend to leave a certain mark on the world. And even more so… no," Mr. Gold laughed again, "especially when they're forgotten." 

One hand gestured vaguely around him with a sweep of his cane. "And this town, well… this town is full of forgotten things."

He was talking around it.

They both were.

It was like a negotiation on a street corner; feeling out the other guy, seeing what he knew, what he was carrying, without ever showing your own hand. Jujutsu Rule # whatever, don't show your Cursed Technique until you have to.

Lucky for Finn, he didn't have one. How the hell did I make it to Grade Three without one, honestly?

"So you're in the business of forgotten things," Finn said, pushing off the display case. The tarnished silver lockets inside rattled faintly. "Must be a lot of that going around."

"More than you could possibly imagine," Gold’s voice dropped down, the man almost whispering as Finn leaned in a little closer just so he wouldn't miss anything. "But I make it my business, one of them at least, to find things. I find them and I make it my business to put them in their proper place. I make… arrangements; deals, some would say. It's all about knowing the value of a thing. And knowing the price someone is willing to pay for it."

His gaze was intense, almost pinning Finn in place as the man tapped his own fingers gently on the head of his cane. "Everything has a price, Mr. McHale.” Gold nodded slowly as he took in a breath. “That is the nature of this world and any other. Every. Single. Thing."

…wow. That was certainly a way to think about life, not that Finn really thought it was wrong or nothing. It just wasn’t every day that someone came out and just… well, said it. More than that, though, if he wasn’t sure before that this Gold guy wanted something, the whole recruitment drive spiel he was giving him about it only made it even more clear. 

Finn narrowed his eyes as if that would let him see this guy’s angle any better. "...what are you trying to get at, man? I'm not exactly liquid right now."

Mr. Gold let out a little laugh, a raspy thing that scraped its way out of his throat. Finn's eyes narrowed further as the man's gaze did a slow appraising rake over him; starting from his ratty sneakers all the way up to his long red hair. "A healthy, strapping young man like yourself…" Gold hummed that sound, fingers tapping gentle on the head of his cane. "…with your particular talents…"

"Okay okay you flirting or offering me a job?" Finn cut in, the sarcasm a reflex older than memory. "Or both? 'Cause I may not remember a lot but I'm pretty sure I bat for one team."

His thoughts flicked back to a certain girl in a certain low-cut tank top, dark hair with that wild red streak. Yeaaaaahhh, pretty sure.

Gold laughed again. That dry papery chuckle that didn't reach his eyes, not even close. "And a sense of humor, too. Oh, you could be quite an asset," he said, limping out from behind a towering stack of books. That cane thump-thump-thumped on the floorboards, each step deliberate. "No, young man, you see… I find myself in need of an assistant. Someone to handle acquisitions, deliveries, lifting a few boxes here and there… the more hands-on aspects of the business."

Hands-on aspects. Finn's jaw worked for a second, processing that. Yeah, I bet.

"You want me to be your repo man," he said. The words came out flat, no joke in them this time.

"A crude description, certainly... but not entirely inaccurate, hmmm." Gold's head tilted to one side. "But yes, of a sort." A low dry chuckle. "Of course, you would be well compensated. A generous stipend, first of all… and, of course, my assistance in recovering what you've lost."

He stopped right in front of Finn. So close Finn could smell the faint musty scent of wool and old paper clinging to the man's suit. His eyes bored into him, sharp and hungry. "Your memories. Your past. Your… self. All it would require is a simple contract. An employment agreement. Just a little ink on paper, to make things official."

He pulled a rolled-up piece of paper from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, smile widening on his face as he held it out.

Contract.

Something sharp and violent flashed behind his eyes. A memory... no, the fragment of one; the feel of Cursed Energy snapping into place. A cage of power locking around two souls, binding them, choking them. Words spoken becoming law. A promise turned prison.

A Binding Vow.

Oh fuck no.

He took a step back. His whole body recoiling with pure animal instinct, feet moving before his brain caught up. "No."

Gold's smile faltered immediately. Eyes losing their amusement as they drifted just a little into… confusion? "No?"

"No contracts," Finn's voice came out tight, harder; he could already hear Irish lilt forcing its way into his accent without asking permission. "I don't sign anything." The walls of the shop suddenly felt too close, pressing in. The air too thick to breathe, all that Cursed Energy from a thousand Tools making his skin crawl.

He turned to leave, already certain that he shouldn't have even walked in here. Impulsive, sure, but I'm not suicidal. Yeah, sign a creepy-ass document in a creepy-ass shop from a creepy-ass old man?

No effing way. Baka mitai. Stupid.

"A shame," Gold's voice called after him after barely five steps, the man recovering from his surprise before Finn’s hand could even reach the doorknob.

Fingers a foot away from the brass, Gold didn’t stop there. "A man of principle. A young man of principle, too. A rare thing in this day and age. I can respect that." The purr was back but it sounded a little strained now, like he was forcing it. "But I do want you to know, the offer of employment still stands."

Finn looked back over his shoulder, hand still out in front of hm. Gold was leaning on his cane, that smile back in place even if it looked as strained as his voice sounded. 

He didn’t expect me to turn him down, huh? That much was obvious.

"You're a young man, a very young man, still in the bright summer of adolescence. A harsh life awaits a man like that without a past, Mr. McHale. Without resources." Gold's voice was a smooth reasonable purr, each word measured. "A stranger in a rather… strange land."

Finn pulled a face, nose scrunching up. "…it's Maine."

Mr. Gold's smile twitched at one corner, almost slipping off his face for a minute before he took in a breath. "So it is." The man nodded slowly as he stepped forward again. "Yet, the facts remain what they are. You need honest work. I need… a strong hand to help around the shop these days. Let's not complicate things with something as banal as… paperwork."

He gestured with his cane to a stack of heavy-looking wooden crates in the corner; half-hidden under a tarp. "For instance, right now, I have a delivery that needs to be made. Some… delicate items… for our dear mayor."

Oh, great. Her.

"A simple task, for a simple wage. No signing. No long-term commitment." He spread his hands, a perfect picture of sweet old-man reasonableness. "Just a verbal agreement for week-to-week work. Man to man. What do you say?"

A verbal agreement.

Finn was no idiot. He might not have a lot going on upstairs right now, memory-wise, but he was certainly not a dummy.

In the world of Jujutsu, a verbal agreement, a vow, could be just as binding, just as dangerous, as anything written down. A vow made with Cursed Energy was absolute.

But this… this was just a job, right? Moving some boxes. He hadn't put any Cursed Energy into his words. Gold hadn't asked him to. No vow. Just a simple job for simple pay.

Even if it was for someone who seemed like the goddamn Devil in a suit, right down to the weird little shop full of cursed items that was straight out of a horror anthology or some shit.

The facts were what they were and they didn’t look all that good for him. He was broke. He was bored. He had no past, and this town was the only future he had for now. On top of that, all the money he had came from a lady who hit him with her car and probably wasn’t in the mood to give him charity for all that long, guilt aside.

And right in front of him… was a way forward.

Yeah, what could possibly go wrong?

Right?

Finn let his hand fall down to his side.

“Alright, Gold,” he said, the words going sharp as he turned back, a slow grin spreading across his face, the one that was half-joke, half-threat. “You’ve got yourself a gofer.”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

You Sly Devil – 200 NP

Turn around a deal so the terms favor you.

• ROLL: [Striking a Deal – Fate/Legends - Land of Shadows - Lore] – 200
  The Geas is a magical contract made between two people of whom possess magic themselves, holding each person party to the Geas bound to the contract, else they face some terrible punishment. You are well aware of how to cast such things, with the agreement of the other parties, without the need for anything but magical energy. The Geas must be made willingly and knowingly by all parties, though they need not fully understand the implications of what they are agreeing to or be aware of how you plan to take advantage of it. A Geas can even be laid on yourself, by yourself, to enhance your overall power at the cost of burdening you with various harsh restrictions. Breaking a Geas inflicts a punishment decided at the time of the deal being struck, often a terrible injury, disease, binding or even death. You cannot free yourself of your own Geas and even managing to do so will discorporate the deal entirely, for all sides of the deal. However, you do find yourself with unnatural skill in wording these deals to your advantage, leaving and finding loopholes in them and in manipulating people into being willing to take on these deals.
  

Working Man – 100 NP

Stop being a NEET.

• ROLL: [Fisticuffs – Arcane - Destruction] – 200
  You’ve learned to fight the Zaunite way; rough and tumble, vicious, practical and effective. You know how to disable an opponent, how to use improvised or low-quality weapons to their best effect, and how to use distractions and dirty tricks to get the upper hand. Moreover, your practicality makes your fighting style easily-adaptable to different kinds of equipment, or the integration of new skills or supernatural abilities. Whatever you add to it, there’s no movement or effort wasted in your fighting style. You’re here to take down the enemy before they can take you down, and you’re damn good at it.

Nexus Points: 100