ᴄᴏᴠᴇɴ ᴡᴀʀs | ᵃᶰ ᵃᵈᵛᵃᶰᶜᵉᵈ ʳᵒˡᵉᵖˡᵃʸ discussion

its name is what it sells. everything from a baby grand piano from the 1890's to some cool looking rocks. uses for this store include, but at not limited to: browsing, killing time, finding a gift for an eccentric uncle, a dead drop location, a meeting place, finding that special component you've been looking for to use in a spell that isn't available anywhere else, and realizing how truly bored you must be to find yourself inside an antique store! it is owned and run by a dude completely oblivious to the world of magic all around him. (jackson silver.)

Jack woke up to the sound of cars passing by. He knew that it wasn't opening time yet, he never overslept. He sat up on his mattress, which was laid on the floor, and rubbed his eyes in the complete darkness. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he knew that everything was probably in a new spot, considering his bad organization habits. Contemplating his current living situation, he wondered what others thought about him living in the basement of an antique store. It probably wasn't too good for his image, but who cares? His grandfather had lived alone there too, and had installed a small but complete bathroom and set up a very small kitchen area up against the opposite side wall, so Jack was basically set!

Jack stood up and walked into the pitch black bathroom. He felt his way into the shower and turned on the water. Sure, it was kinda cold at first, but the tiny water heater must have been worth it's weight in gold, because it quickly warmed the water up to a comfortable temperature just like it had for decades. After washing his hair and body he turned off the water and felt around for a towel. Nothing. No surprise there, he was disorganized and he knew it. Dripping water all over the ancient wood floor, he went to his bed and finally knocked his leg into his laundry basket a few feet away. Drying off with what felt like his one and only towel, a red-stained rag that only reached around his waist if he held it there. He then walked back into the bathroom and flipped on the lights. He watched his hair dry in the mirror as he brushed his teeth and applied deodorant, it seemed to dry in a different style every day, and he'd always liked that.

Once he had come out of the bathroom and gotten dressed, he looked around one more time before climbing up the ladder and through the hatch that was right next to his bed. On his left, the bathroom, his right, the kitchen, and straight ahead of him on the opposite wall, that door. . . It was a heavy looking wood door that looked as old as time itself, and had two locks on it. Jack only had one of the keys, given to him by his dad in hopes that his son would find the other key lying around some day. Jack never had seen what was on the other side, and despite all of his efforts to pick the remaining lock, peek under the door, and find the other key, he hadn't been successful. He'd considered just breaking it down, but he couldn't find it within himself to destroy a piece of the shop, so he'd just have to find another way. He climbed up the ladder and into the shop.

Looking at an old grandfather clock, he found it to be almost ten o'clock. The shop wasn't open until ten thirty, but it was his store, so he just flipped the little "open" or "closed" sign and opened shop a bit early. He went behind the small counter in the corner and sat in his chair. Finding a random book from the stack laying next to him, he got comfortable and read the cover. A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. Jack wondered if the author was all he was cracked up to be, and while listening for the bell on the door to chime, he read.