Chapter 13

Back in the market square, Marion found The Steady Drip surprisingly easy to spot. The storefront looked wildly out of place in a Dwarven city. The entire building shimmered with an unfamiliar metal—smooth, dark, and seamless, almost too perfect to be forged by hand.

Street art covered several sides of the building, vibrant and chaotic, echoing the graffiti she remembered from Earth. The shop’s name, The Steady Drip, was stylized across the front in bold, angular letters that glowed faintly under the right light. At first, she couldn’t even see the windows—some had been incorporated into the art itself—but with a closer look, she noticed them. The painted illusions only gave way when viewed at just the right angle.

From outside, she could hear the deep pulse of EDM—Electronic Dance Music—thumping from within.

“I really hope it’s not this loud inside,” Marion muttered.

The door was painted a smooth, glossy blue. When she opened it, it swung inward silently on well-oiled hinges, and a delicate bell above it rang a soft, clear TWING!—a strangely elegant sound in contrast to the music.

Inside, Marion froze.

To the right was a posh sitting area that looked like it had been lifted out of a high-end hotel lobby: plush, sleek sofas in jewel tones, and a coffee table that appeared to be carved from a single block of marble-veined obsidian. To the left, she spotted several curtained-off stations—semi-private workspaces that reminded her of the welding bays from her high school shop class… if they’d been designed by an architect obsessed with clean lines and soft lighting.

The music now was different—subtle, almost subliminal. It pulsed gently in the background, just enough to set a rhythm in her bones without dominating the space.

But what truly caught her attention was the person behind the counter.

They looked human at first glance. Short brown hair, average height, sharp suit in bright pastel hues that somehow didn’t look ridiculous. But their eyes—

The sclera shimmered faintly silver. The pupils were slit-shaped, like a fox’s, and the irises glowed with a bright, uncanny violet.

“Greetings!” the shopkeeper called brightly, voice smooth as silk. “Welcome to The Steady Drip! I’m Achimodes.” His grin widened. “You must be the one who’s got my father in a tizzy. How can I help you?”

Marion blinked, recovering with a quick shake of her head. “Yeah… that’d be me,” she muttered, then quickly changed the subject. “The art on your shop—it doesn’t look like anything from around here. Who did it?”

Achimodes laughed—a full, bright sound. “I did it myself. Got the inspiration from a far-off place… though you’d never believe me if I told you where.”

Marion raised a brow. “Try me. The music you’re playing—it reminds me of EDM. Like the stuff I used to listen to back on Earth.”

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Achimodes’s eyes widened, and he stepped back slightly, almost stumbling.

“WAIT!” he gasped. “You’re from Earth too? Don’t tease me with hope—I just got over the heartbreak of thinking I was the only one with decent taste in music and mediocre coffee expectations!”

Marion narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t say also—just that I wouldn’t believe where you got the inspiration.”

He twirled in place with a sweep of his pastel jacket, spinning on one heel like a stage magician. “Darling, ambiguity is a lifestyle.”

Marion raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Name two things only someone from Earth would know.”

Achimodes leaned on the counter, fingers steepled like a gossiping librarian. “The best Pop-Tart flavor is obviously brown sugar cinnamon. And ‘What’s the deal with airline food?’ isn’t a joke, it’s a cultural cry for help.”

Marion blinked. “…Damn. That’s specific.”

Marion chuckled despite herself, his expression softening slightly behind the performative glamour.

“How long have you been here, love?” he asked. “From the look in your eyes, you’ve been fighting since the day you landed.”

She shrugged. “Since I turned nineteen. Got dropped here with nothing but a bow, a journal, and a grudge.”

“Ooooh, spicy!” Achimodes did a mock swoon, fanning himself with a receipt. “You’re practically a myth already. A deadly Earth girl with a tragic past and fashionably messy hair.” He eyed her braid. “Very post-apocalypse practical, I respect it.”

“Right,” Marion said dryly. “Well, mythical or not, I’ve been collecting supplies. Thought I’d sell off what I don’t need.”

“Say no more.” He clapped his hands, and a section of the counter mechanically folded outward into a gleaming alchemical inspection tray. “Lay your treasures upon the altar of commerce, dear stranger. Let Achimodes render judgment with glitter and glory.”

Marion dropped her pack with a soft thud and began pulling out her finds: bundles of dried herbs, bottled slimes, monster bits neatly preserved, shards of strange stones and glowing minerals. She noticed Achimodes examining each one with practiced precision—and just a hint of theatrical flair.

“Oh-ho ho—what’s this? Void thistle! And still sticky! You naughty thing, did you harvest this during a thunderstorm?”

“Close enough,” Marion said.

He produced a monocle lens attached to a delicate chain and examined the ingredients like he was judging a jewelry competition. He sniffed, he tapped, he even gently sang to one of the crystals.

After several minutes, he stepped back and gave her a solemn nod. “My darling disaster, you have brought me joy, inspiration, and enough volatile materials to blow the roof off a goblin university. I love it.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ll buy it?”

“Buy it? I’d write you a poem and pay double if I weren’t still recovering from last month’s ‘accidental’ teleportation incident. Six hundred gold and eighty silver, and I’m not haggling. Fair and fabulous.”

Marion nodded. “Deal.”

Achimodes snapped his fingers with a whip-crack pop. A hidden drawer behind him slid open, revealing a pouch of coins nestled in black velvet. He handed it over with both hands, like it was a gift rather than a transaction.

She took it, weighing the pouch. “Thanks. I’ll keep you in mind if I find anything else weird.”

“Oh, please do,” he said, twirling once more behind the counter. “And if you ever stumble upon sun-frozen marrow or blackroot ember, bring it to me first. Others will try to make potions with it. I will make art. Before you leave, I have a proposition for you. I have this map; I won it in a game.”

Marion narrowed her eyes “What does it lead to?”

Achimodes shrugged “not sure, but I’m sure it’ll lead to something good.”

Marion slung her now-lighter pack over her shoulder. “Noted. Stay weird, Achimodes.”

He blew her a kiss. “Stay deadly, Earthbound.”

As she stepped out the door, the bell chimed its crystal-clear TWING!, and the sound of deep synth beats pulsed once more behind her.

Outside, the dwarven city pressed in with its stone and soot—but for a moment, it felt like Earth wasn’t quite so far away.