Chapter Text
A small wind chime jingles when John opens the door. It swings back and fourth on a little red ribbon, the sound clear and joyful.
The inside of the shop is unlike any of the others John has been in today. It’s in a greenhouse, light streaming in through vines of alpine clematis that grow over the copper and glass roof. Even with the afternoon sun shining bright through the window panes, the inside is cool. Soft music is playing from a record player in the corner. Light reflects in colourful specks off crystals and glass chunks hanging from the high ceiling on handmade cords.
The shop smells of freshly wet dirt after days of drying out, soft florals on a dewy morning and pine in summer heat. The floor is made up of hand carved grey stones, little green sprouts and moss growing in the cracks here and there. There is a table in the middle of the room, stacked with small bottles and trinkets on several tiers.
On the left wall are two shelves, one in the middle—taking up a fourth of the wall—and the other on the end, stretching around the corner to the back wall. On the right side are three chairs lined up against the wall, each with a plush pillow on the seat.
Everywhere, inside the shop, are plants. They fill corners, are on shelves, tucked away under desks and hang from the ceiling. Each is lush and healthy, looking brilliant in the soft light.
He can feel someone watching him, it’s like an itch between his shoulders.
No human is in the shop right now, that much is clear, but looking around, John spots a cat under one of the chairs. It’s a black and white tabby, slim and regal looking, like it’s ruling over the shop from its position.
And right now, it looks at John as if his presence alone is an insult to its very being.
John crouches down and smiles at the cat “Hello, is the owner of the shop in or is that you?”
The tabby looks at him critically for a few more moments, before it breaks eye contact and starts licking its paw, ignoring John completely.
He shakes his head, huffing in amusement and stands back up.
Behind him, from what seems to be the back room, comes a loud crash. Glass breaks and something heavy must topple, quickly followed by loud swearing as John snaps around just in time to see the door behind the counter being thrown open. It slams into a shelf, rattling the contents with the force of it.
Out of the backroom comes a man. He is about half a head taller than John, clearly built well under the white sleeved apron that covers him. Along the apron he has a white fabric mask over his mouth and nose, gloves and a cloth covering his hair.
But all of that only registers in the background for John, no, he is much more focused on the most beautiful eyes he has ever seen in his life.
They’re a deep brown, framed by light lashes, with little flecks of gold and when the man takes a step forward, stepping into the soft sunlight, they turn into molten metal, shining beautifully.
The man freezes when his eyes fall on John, one hand keeping the door pressed on against the shelf, the other holding onto the doorframe itself. He looks stunned for a moment, before his eyes flick over to somewhere right of John and his expression shutters down, becoming a blank stare.
He is still rooted to the spot when John smiles and walks over.
“Hey, name’s John MacTavish.”
The man keeps staring at John for a moment longer before he straightens up—seemingly collecting himself—and steps behind the counter. The cat that had just been under the chair jumps up on the counter, sitting next to the man and curls its tail elegantly around itself.
“Simon. Simon Riley.”
A shiver runs down John’s back at the voice that he really hopes is not obvious. It’s deep, very deep, a pleasant roughness to it that he knows would sound brilliant whispered into his ear.
“What can I do for you, Mr. MacTavish?”
John grins “Just John is fine and I think I might have something of interest for you.”
Simon raises a single eyebrow, looking dubious as all hell, his mood however is clearly not reflected in the cat next to him who looks more smug than anything.
John lifts the small burlap sack he has in his hand and carefully lays it on the counter. He tugs on the string that keeps it shut until the knot releases and he can carefully, oh so carefully, pull the sack open, making sure that that none of the contents even brush against his skin.
The second the contents are revealed, Simon’s whole body language changes. The slight disinterest gone and in it’s wake is pure fascination left. He grabs a pair of long metal tweezers from under the counter as well as a metal dish.
Carefully, Simon reaches into the sack and pulls out one of the mushrooms John had collected. He holds it up to the light, examining it in the sunlight.
“How did you harvest them?”
“Used an iron knife and before ye ask, didn’t touch any of em—even if the fae circle was already abandoned.”
“Good.” Simon hums, clearly deep in thought as he examines one mushroom after the other and placing them on the metal dish. “The sack is iron lined?”
“Aye, it is.”
Simon continues to work for a few moments longer before he turns back to John. He eyes him critically for a moment before sighing and putting the tweezers down.
“Why this shop? There are three other magic shops much closer to the rangers lodge, I’m sure they would have bought these off you easily.”
John grins at Simon again “So, ye do know who I am. And here I introduced myself.”
Simon raises an eyebrow “I prefer to keep up with what happens in the town I live in. Now, why my shop?”
“Aye, well, first one was advertising true love potions, second one called em normal mushrooms and third one wanted to pay one Groschen per mushroom.”
Simon regards him again, almost looking through John in a way, then he nods.
“I’ll give you five Thaler for each mushroom. Does that work for you?”
“Aye, more than fine with me.”
Simon turns and goes into the backroom, the door swinging shut behind him. It takes him a few moments to get whatever it is he needs before the door opens once more, giving way to Simon holding a bowl with a lid clearly made from rough hewn iron.
Setting the bowl down on the counter, he starts to transfer the mushrooms one by one until all six of them are in the new bowl and the lid is placed back on. Simon then steps over to the register, opens it and counts 30 Thaler which he pushes over to John along side the burlap sack.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Simon.” With that John takes the money and puts it in his wallet before stuffing the sack in his back pocket. “I’m sure I’ll be back with something interesting to look at.”
“Let’s see if your next find is as interesting as this one then.”
“Won’t let you down, you’ll see!” John waves as he turns, nodding to the cat once more and walking out of the shop. The chime jingles when John opens the door and again when the door closes behind him.