curse-on-aisle-7

[curse-on-aisle-7]

⛥she takes a deep breath and stands up straight, "i think... i'd only need about a week to pack my things and get some stuff in order...". she starts to feel a sense of excitement thinking about seeing some place new, even if it was for work.

"w-wait did you oregon...? how... how close would i be to the city of bend?" a sparkle appears in her tired eyes, her tone of voice much more enthusiastic than usual. "i mean... whatever's more convenient for you i'll do it but... well i was just wondering" she lets out a nervous chuckle.

it did not need to be said. something had latched its claws into this poor girl. some day, they might just pull her away from him. for now, he seemed to feel as if he could rely on her. despite the oddities surrounding, she didn't ask questions she shouldn't. guess that made her valuable to the other supernatural forces walking earth. amnorans the THE GILDED MOON were not the only abhorrent, freakish walks of life upon this floating rock. his gaze unwavering as ever, simply awaiting her answer.

' this won't be a simple clerk job, wesley. ' he exhales, loosening his posture in an attempt to not dissuade her. ' our cause is important to us. anywhere from northern oregon to southern canada would be preferred in your relocation. washington is where we have the most stake and cause. how soon can you prepare? '

[curse-on-aisle-7]

⛥"r... relocate...?" for some reason it hadn't occurred to her that this job would require such a thing. she's always been so sure she'd never have the chance to leave this town.

"i.." before answering something catches her eye, a large crow sitting on a nearby telephone pole. she stares it for a moment, the bird staring at her in return. it starts moving its head up and down, almost as if it was nodding at her, a bead of sweat drips from her forehead as it makes eye contact with the poor girl. she nods back at the animal, it lets out an unnatural cry and flies away.

her eyes follow the crow as it ascends and disappears. wesley shifts her focus back to her new employer, "i'll do whatever you need me to do and go wherever you need me to go, thank you for the opportunity..."

always felt a bit odd. being called that-- boss. sashlata takes the resume and cover letter, only giving it much of a quick glance before the files are shuffled and given back to her. there was a reason that he wasn't in charge of the hiring at FANG & CLAW.

' two things. listen close. ' he mutters, placing cigarette between lips and igniting with a strike of his claws. ' you'll be working as an assistant to my wife. she's a darling thing, but loses focus and works an exhausting job. if you're good at drawing, you'll be good as her assistant. if not, then learn. ' he exhales, drawing the smoke away from her. he has manners, at least.

' secondly-- how willing are you to relocate? to the pacific northwest. oregon or washington. we're willing to front the charges for you to move. ' quite the tall order-- and clear to see that this was no regular job being offered. surely she should be used to that.

[curse-on-aisle-7]

⛥"y-yes i have..." she pulls out a clear folder from her worn out messenger bag, inside are a neatly organized resume and cover letter that she spent most of the previous evening revising. she hands him the documents, her hands trembling as per usual.

it took a lot of convincing and ass kissing to get management to let her pursue other opportunities. normally once you apply to corbeau's you stay at corbeau's and only corbeau's, but not this time it seems.

"s-so... what next...? b-boss? sir...?" her eyes look everywhere but in front of her to avoid eye contact.

' so, @curse-on-aisle-7. have you thought any deeper into my job offer? ' the wolf cocks a brow, looming over the other. FANG & CLAW needed a weekend assistant filer. the artist was usually rather keen on how she organized things, but these matters could not be more than full-time. that would lead to burn-out.

the young woman's generally. . . aggressive anxiety seemed to do well in her tidiness and punctuation, so it seemed. and he'd rather invite someone to his offices who was familiar with the occult and odd.

[curse-on-aisle-7]

⛥𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜 7:00 𝙿𝙼, 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜. 𝚃𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚍… 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚛. 𝙽𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚗𝚘 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢, 𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚜…

[curse-on-aisle-7]

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About: Wesley + she/her + 21 + cinema major + Unfortunately working in retail...

Selective, OC, and independent role play blog centered around the mysterious, but surprisingly popular, occult convenient store known as Corbeau's.

This blog is multi-muse but primarily focuses on Wesley, an anxious film school graduate who accepts a less than desirable retail job. Her dream is to make it big in the film industry, but due to a lack of funds and no demand for her field where she currently lives, that dream is out of reach for now. She'll make it some day, but for now she'll have to focus on surviving the day to day perils of dealing with demons, customer service, and trying her best to create meaningful relationships.

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Muses + Mun + Rules + Inspos

[curse-on-aisle-7]

"I frew up"

' hm. anyone awake? '

[curse-on-aisle-7]

Wesley is out of it, her tired eyes tearing up while staring at nothing while the two converse. She suddenly feels something touching her upper lip and flinches, it's not until the excess blood has already been wiped from her upper lip that she realizes that this customer she was so scared of was doing her a small kindness. Grateful but still weary of this man and his intentions, she uses her trembling, boney hands to hold the small rag up to her nose. With that taken care of she gives him a small nod as a thank you before looking down to see how stained her uniform was. This happens every call, and yet she's never prepared for it.

"Oh ho ho" it chuckled, "Mr. Volya, do you hail from Amnora? How curious... perhaps I need to brush up on my history but I was under the assumption that your home went through a little... let's call it an accident I suppose." There's the sound of shuffling for a moment, the faint voice of a young girl can be heard in the background, though her words are not discernable. "I do know of the relic you speak of. I must assume my dear employee, Ms. Craven, has informed you it was from my own collection. Unfortunately for you Mr. Volya, I tend to keep information on privately acquired relics, well, private."

The static from the phone's speaker intensifies before it speaks again, "Although, I most certainly can be negotiated with." Knowing what this means, Wesley's eyes go wide, staring at him and shaking her head vigorously to try and communicate that it was a bad idea.

he waits patiently. in this moment, the wolf steps into the unknown. rynhilde would likely have told him to stick his snout out of this mess and simply return back to HQ with the sliver. but he was curious-- and unprofessional. if this rabbit hole went any deeper, he could tell that he'd be getting an earful later. no matter. he looked into the maw, and its teeth began to unravel.

' volya, sashlata. a relic-- a sliver of cursed gold in the shape of a moon has wound up in what i presume is your store. ' he squints, looking to the life essence that runs from her nostril. an effect of this phone call, or her own neurotic manners? both? he'd have to wait and see. ' this item is heavily tied to my people and our personal background, and i'd request word-of-mouth from who delivered it to you. i'll even pay. ' which he still hasn't done. in the meanwhile, the wolf pulls a handkerchief from his back pocket. . . and dabs it against the running blood of her nose. the phone is pulled away so he may speak. ' here, take it. '

[curse-on-aisle-7]

Once the ringing stops all that can be heard on the other end is the faint sound of some sort of lounge music, distorted by the now decades old phone speaker. Whoever is on the other end does not introduce themselves, even after being greeted by the customer there is a period of silence that feels like an eternity. Wesley can't help but tremble as she waits for the owner to respond. Finally, after what felt like hours to her, it speaks.

"With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" it asks, its voice comparable to that of a withered old man who's throat has been ravaged by carcinogens after smoking his entire life. Meanwhile, Wesley's nose has started to bleed, the dark droplets falling onto her work attire, but she's too worked up to notice.

a flowery smell of blood and lilies wafts off of the wolf, having been so close to her. at this distance. . . yes, he could notice how poorly applied and caked on her makeup was. having been no stranger to cosmetics himself, he feels a piercing need to comment and suggest ways she could help herself, but the moment didn't quite call for it. overall, she is. . . a mess, to say the least. he wonders if simply staying silent would be more beneficial for her than attempting to communicate and thus force her to communicate as well.

silence as he looks to the phone. if it weren't for the lack of any lunar pressure within these objects, he'd assume the entire existence of this store was an anomaly brought upon by the moon. that said, it fulfills even more of his suspicion that this world carries more than he and his own.

' . . . hello. ' he speaks, figuring that if he was here causing a ruckus, he could at least initiate the conversation.

[curse-on-aisle-7]

I knew I should have fucking called out, she thinks to herself.

She was in such a panic she hadn't noticed that he'd gotten on her level, his face suddenly much closer to hers. Not only was she horrified at the idea of having to call the owner but she was also worried that this total stranger could now see how mediocre her make up was today, especially now that the sweat and tears had smeared some of it. Though intimidating, something about his intense stare and his tone doesn't quite scream "entitled asshole" like so many other customers do, it feels like his beef isn't with her personally but she can't help but worry about the possibility she'd be going to the emergency room instead of going home after work.

In an attempt to say "one moment please" as calmly as possible she lets out a random set of syllables that sounds vaguely English. Wesley crouches down behind the counter for a brief moment and comes back up with a black, retro landline phone. Despite there being no numbers on the dial, she knows what buttons to press, and does so accordingly as slowly as humanly possible. As it begins to ring she puts it on speaker and turns it around to face him.

fundamentally, a gild sliver could only form if someone from his world of origin properly punctuated an anomaly. and as far as he knew, the only amnorans that could well punctuate them were of his allies and allegiance-- meaning he had someone running loose. while this wasn't of any importance in retrospect, it was a helping hand he was missing. . . and for all he knew, they could be associated with this store. likely not, but it was worth a reckon.

oh dear, she looked rather afraid.

' is that so. ' mm, what did the internet call them? carols? his employees would have a far better grasp of online lingo than he did-- either way, he was trying his utmost to not come across as a carol at the moment. but, this was not a verbal spat over indulgent couponing. this was a personal matter. a vendetta, even. against who, exactly? not worth it to ask, he'd never give a straight answer. leaning in, sashlata is half-way across the counter, attempting to meet his gaze with hers-- all the way up top from that foot and a half distance he had in height. somehow even more formidable than if he had stood tall to speak.

' may i speak to the owner, then. ' oh, wesley. perhaps of all days, today was the day to call out.

[curse-on-aisle-7]

"..."

Whatever specter she'd just seen left her speechless and frozen right in the backroom's doorframe. All she could let out in response to his statement was a small incomprehensible noise, similar to that of a mouse falling into a trap, before finally entering the room and leaving the stranger alone for a minute. She'd been here long enough to have seen a variety of supernatural phenomena, but no matter how often something bizarre happened she could never get used to it. If she had it her way she'd run out of the store now, but she knew she couldn't or else upper management would surely come for her.

After a few moments she comes back out, shaking and gripping onto one of many record books as if her life depended on it. She makes her way back to the counter and opens up the thick, leather bound book. Her hand visibly trembles as she goes through the list dates and shipment details with her finger. Finally she reaches today's date.

"S-so, um, uh...", she stammers, "Th... That item ah... c-came from the store owner directly." This was not an uncommon occurrence, many one of a kind items came from the owner's own collection that it wanted to get rid of, despite this she could feel her innards tie up in knots worrying she'd now have to get in contact with it.

suffice to say, the protocol she follows is unlike anything he enforces at fang & claw. to a certain extent, things can be so unpredictable that there really was not safety measure aside from not dying. silently, patiently, he watches. of course, this little relic couldn't hurt anyone. what bothered him more was how it ended up in the hands of some. . . shop like this. someone outside of his resources managed to obtain it and pawn it off.

little too late. clawed fingers reached and grab it, inspecting the golden sheen as it's lifted into the air against the soft humming light. he mutters something beneath his breath, and a hot wind gusts gently through the aisles, fluttering and shaking various mementos. a flickering, golden silhouette of a jawless woman appears from behind him, locking arms around his shoulders like a surprise lover. swiftly, her hand reaches out and swipes the little relic, disappearing with another blow of wind.

' if you can manage to find your records, i'll gladly leave you my card. ' said as if he hadn't just shoplifted in full view of her.

[curse-on-aisle-7]

[curse-on-aisle-7]

terrifying deleted scene from skinamarink

[curse-on-aisle-7]

"Um... s-sure, I'll see what I can do sir", her soft voice trembling as she sees his eye focus intently on her. She sets down the gun and doll on the counter and wipes her hands on her apron to get rid of the sweat on her palms. With every single item in this store being wildly unpredictable she follows store protocol, to prevent being accidentally cursed she puts on a thick, black pair of leather gloves kept behind the counter before grabbing the silver piece. Despite her hands shaking more than usual she's able to carefully take the trinket from out of the case and carefully set it down on the counter.

"I'll be right back", she walks out from around the counter and towards a door with a sign reading "employees only" at the back of the store. As she makes her way to the door she stops for just a moment, Wait... I'm not supposed to leave customers alone with the merchandise. She looks back at the large man, Not worth it. She decides he's not the type of guy she'd want to make angry by accusing him of being a potential thief.

like any stop-and-rob, the clerk is a prattling ball of nerves on the older end of youth. difference being that instead of frito bags and chewing dip, she was selling a piece of the thing responsible for just about all plight of his life. an archaic man, he at least understands enough of the world wide web to have seen countless videos of churlish men twice his senior harassing and barking at people that paid more to live than what they made. so, he withholds his tongue, but does not cast away the dog-like eye that slits downwards at her.

' . . . that would be nice, yes. ' a withdraw of tone, squinting downwards at the bauble. he couldn't get any information from just looking at it. it needed to be felt. the third person in the room needed to feel it, at least. it'd be able to decipher something, not him. ' with no intent to harass you, i'd appreciate some form of written record as to why it's within this establishment, and where it came from. '

[curse-on-aisle-7]

[curse-on-aisle-7]

Still looking down at the tagging gun and doll in her hand, she notices the customer coming towards the counter in her peripheral vision. Oh no..., she thinks to herself. As the footsteps get closer and louder on the black tile floor, she musters up the courage to look up and at least try to offer some customer service. The moment she looks up the mysterious patron has already reached the counter, in that moment she realizes how tall he is, making her lean her head back a little more than she expected to get a proper look at his face. The clicking of his sharpened nails against the glass and his rather intimidating aura makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up on end.

She snaps out of her anxiety induced trance as he asks his question and sees him staring intently at the crescent shaped item in the glass case. The sickly looking girl feels a pit in her stomach as she tries not to stumble over her words, gripping the doll and tagging gun tightly.

"Oh um... I'm n-not really sure where that item came from exactly s-sir, it was in today's shipment. It's the only one, d-did you want to take a look at it...?"

NOT the kind of person that lights up a room when he steps in. towering figure that hovers at the entrance, scanning the shop and all of its little itty-bitty intricacies. place is dimly lit-- fits for the motif. initially, he assumed this little shops existence to be apart of some scheme or worse yet-- anomaly.

yes, oh yes. he sees her. slow-paced steps toward the front counter, sheer height revealing itself as he encroaches. left hand creeps atop the counter, calloused and scarred from years of endurance. metallic claws embedded into his cuticles tap at the glass, where lottery tickets would be in any other normal stop-and-shop. instead, a little golden sliver that he's glaring at. it's shaped like a crescent moon.

' this. where did you get this. '

[curse-on-aisle-7]

The electronic door chime goes off, notifying the frail girl behind the counter that a customer has come in. She nervously looks up at the stranger in the store entrance, momentarily pausing her current task.

"Hello, welcome in..." she greets the customer quietly, not making direct eye contact.

She goes back to what she was working on, sticking new price tags on a set of discounted voodoo dolls, hoping the customer already knows what they're looking for so they don't ask her for help. Many of the customers who frequent Corbaeu's range from terrifying to curious to completely lost and looking for a real convenience store, she wasn't quite sure where this customer fell on the spectrum quite yet.

[curse-on-aisle-7]

incredibly nervous to get back into rp lol but also wildly excited at the same time, need to work up the courage to write a starter or something