"Mr. Prickle! Good morning to you too!" To Joan's dismay, but at the same time, unsurprisingly, Linda's attitude changed on a dime as soon as she spoke to the well-known, well-liked, and well-respected wizard of potion magics. Her tone became sweet once more and politely chipper. "My little Timmy has a cough, so I came by to pick up a bottle of strength, but your cashier here tells me it's not going to help, even though every time I come in here, you tell me strength will help him feel better." She glanced at Joan with a not-so-subtle piercing look. "I'm glad you're here because I want this issue cleared up."

"Mrs. Linda, you are absolutely correct," he assured her. The woman smirked triumphantly and looked over to Joan again. "I will have to re-educate my assistant here, and I apologize for the confusion and offense this has caused."

"Thank you, Mr. Prickle, you know I just love you and your potions." They both laughed haughtily as Joan watched the interaction in disgust. This conversation went just as well as she thought it would. The customer was always right and Joan was always wrong.

"Thank you, Mrs. Linda. I will personally make you a vial of strength right now for your son at no cost to you." The old wizard turned for the back of the shop where all of the potions were concocted and brewed.

"I appreciate you, Mr. Prickle," Linda called to him as he went to fulfill his beloved customer's order. He disappeared and her smile contorted and dropped, her head rotating to look at Joan- savagely. "I know who you are, don't you think I don't know," she started again, taking a step and ejecting her head and neck closer to Joan as an attempt at intimidation. It's like she wanted to tower over her, but not get too close and risk infecting herself with the outsider's distorted mentalities. "I know you, and I don't appreciate being lectured by a murderer." Joan's face almost imperceptibly hardened. "Euless is very grateful to Mr. Prickle, and I don't like you contradicting him and ruining his reputation. You obviously don't know what you're talking about, and I think you should just keep your mouth shut." On the inside, Joan seethed, but her face didn't change beside a slight furrow to her eyebrows.

"I am sorry that you feel that way," she calmly said to the irate woman. She humphed! and looked away, locking eyes on the beaded doorway the wizard disappeared through. Joan's anger festered inside her, but a smothering feeling of despondency grew. She just wished to be alone and away from this unideal situation.

The wizard Prickle emerged from the back of the shop with a small, red vial of thick liquid that coated the inside of the glass when it shook with each step.

"Your strength, Mrs. Linda," he said as he gave the vial over to her. Linda's large smile returned to her caked face. "I do hope Timmy's cough improves."

"With your potion, Mr. Prickle, he'll be just fine. Thank you again, I do appreciate you."

"Of course," the old wizard smiled. Linda, who had released her grip on her child while shouting at Joan, snatched Timmy's wrist again and marched out of the store. The door chimed and shut, with their figures disappearing from the shop windows. Prickle immediately snapped his head to look at Joan and stared at her with his beady pupils. "I have treated my customers for the past forty years with my potions with the utmost success. I do not take kindly to a city doctor- and a failed one at that- telling my customers that what I prescribe them will not help."

"Her son only has a cough," she began to defend her actions. "Strength only temporarily allows a person to lift heavier objects that they're currently able- it won't alleviate the symptoms of his cough."

"Don't disrespect me, child! My potions are always successful!" At least Prickle had the ego of a healthcare professional. "Remember that my goodwill is the only reason why I allow you to stay here despite your heinous reputation, and that charity will not last forever." His eyes seethed with fury. "I might as well hand you over to those greedy, repulsive Aviators! Who knows, those sky pirates might have a use for you. You and your 'Hands of Death!'"

It was one of his favorite threats: Just hand her over to the criminals that control the skies. Just hand her over to those Aviators. Who knew what those sky pirates would force her to do, or worse, do to her, but she'd no longer be of the town's concern, and that's what really mattered. The wizard took a breath to calm his anger and regain his rationality. "But neither of us want that to happen." He didn't view Joan too fondly, but throwing a mostly innocent person out to violent, international felons didn't sit well with his conscience. "You've been doing well so far, so I'll forgive this setback of yours today, but I will not tolerate another act of defiance." He walked to the back of the room, stopping before the doorway's curtain, turning back to Joan for a final time. "Shape up, Joan. Or you will no longer have a place here in this town." With those words, he disappeared through the doorway.

Overwhelmed and defeated, Joan sunk down behind the counter. She rested her head in the cleft of her right elbow, while her bent left arm draped atop her, her fingers just grazing her smooth hair, cool to the touch. Why did she do that? Why did she say that? Nothing she said was taken seriously; nothing she said mattered. She finally relinquished to just do what she was told and there have been no problems, so why did she feel the need to retaliate, to state her opinion? Just give them what they want, it's not like they'd listen. The same thing happened over and over again. Prickle's word was law to everyone in the town. Her words were trash. So why bother try?

What's wrong with me today?

Ding ding~

Just when Joan thought she could get a minute to herself, the door to the shop opened and chimed sharply. She roughly exhaled. She didn't want to get up and deal with another townie customer. Whoever it was, she could hear the hard thumping of their shoes. Before Joan could slowly get up to address the guest, Prickle quickly shuffled from the back room.

"Hello, sir!" he called. Prickle stopped abruptly when he saw Joan sitting behind the counter. He turned his head with a glare and sharply whispered, "Shape. Up. Berwin." He spat each word through almost clenched teeth. "Get off the floor!" His demeanor flipped as he turned back to his customer, a smile lighting up his graying face. "Welcome to Prickle's Potions! I am the wizard Prickle. We'll heal anything that ails you with the power of magic!"

"That's bullshit," the deep, male voice retorted. Joan couldn't hold back a snort at the blunt and unexpected response. She peered from the side of the counter, excitedly watching the exchange. Prickle's face dropped, aghast at the statement.

"Excuse me, sir?" he asked. Prickle was not accustomed to customers that did not initially fawn over his magical prowess.

"Everyone knows that magic can't heal," he stated matter-of-factly. "While finding this place, I was expecting some kind of savior of mankind, not a sleazy old con artist." Prickle's face turned a fiery red mixture of fury and embarrassment.

"How-! How dare you!"

"You know I'm right." Joan couldn't see the other man talking to Prickle, but she absolutely loved him. No one in this town spoke to Prickle this way and it was beyond refreshing.

"I do not appreciate a stranger marching into my store and insulting me!"

"I just don't want you sued for false advertising." Joan heard the thump of his steps walking away from Prickle. "I'm actually looking for something. I assume you can help me? You and your... unfathomable knowledge." Joan couldn't help herself any longer, she needed to meet this customer. Prickle grumbled with his response.

"You mock me, and now you ask for my help? Such arrogance! Such disrespect!" Joan stood up from behind the counter, expecting to see Prickle erupt in flames at any moment.

"Well, I wouldn't be here if I--" the man stopped talking when he noticed Joan. "Actually, no, I don't need your help. You can go." In a huff, Prickle stormed to the back of the shop.

"Deal with him!" he hissed to Joan just as he passed the beaded curtains. Joan turned to the guest. Something seemed familiar about him, but nothing came to mind.

"You're not from around here, aren't you?" she asked.

"No," he answered. "And I hope it's that obvious." He strode up to the counter, taking his time, glancing at the overgrown plants and potions on the walls. He had caramel skin and his hair slicked back into an undercut with dark hair and amber tones. He was also tall, emphasized by his long, crimson coat. Underneath it he wore a ruffled white shirt, black pants, and a belt. With each step he took, there was an accompanying thump from the thick boots on his feet, and his eyes shone a mixture of dull gold and hazel. Gold hoop earrings faintly glimmered from his ears.

"No one here would question Prickle, so yes, it is that obvious."

"Then they're beyond help if they think magic can do everything- heal everyone." He picked up a round bottomed flask and swirled the thick, pink contents before his eye. "That wizard is a useless fraud. A doctor would be infinitely more helpful." Joan hesitated, feeling a twinge of uneasiness.

"So why are you here? At this... worthless potionary."

"I didn't say worthless. I said useless. Big difference." He kept on browsing, poking and prodding at the plants and flowers. "I need help. I need someone with a shred of common sense."

"You've come to the wrong place. There is no common sense here, especially when no one will listen when you tell them cough medicine is more effective in alleviating a cough than a strength potion." The man turned to look at Joan.

"They should listen to their doctor." Joan paused, visibly taken aback.

"I'm not a doctor." She turned herself away from him.

"Were a doctor. Surgeon, right?" Joan froze in place. No... no... please not now. Wait- Who is this guy? Why does he know this? What else does he know?

"Who are you?" She asked in a strained tone. The man blinked, surprised at the question, but then he smiled.

"Oh, I guess you don't remember." He started walking back to the counter.

"Remember what?" What does he mean? There's nothing to remember. Joan's never met him before!

"It makes sense, you were pretty far gone anyway." Far gone?

"Remember... what?" The man's eyebrows perked up.

"I'm surprised though." He leaned in closer to her. "You don't look as ghastly as I thought you would." Joan took a step back, mind swirling with possibilities. Something must've happened last night. Something after the bar, but she couldn't remember. What happened last night?

"What did I do?" She muttered worriedly.

"You?" He smiled. "You removed a bullet and shoved a needle into the chest of my first mate. While unbelievably drunk, I might add." Joan's face became horrified.

"No... That can't be true. I wouldn't do that- I don't remember any of this..."

"Oh, but it is," he grew excited. "I found you at that hick bar. I took you to my ship. You operated on my right-hand man as he bled out on the floor. My crewmates were there watching you work, completely wasted. And then you left, just like that." He leaned in further, his voice a domineering whisper. "I've been looking for you all morning." Joan's hands clasped around her mouth as she listened. She backed up away from the man, far enough to hit the shelves behind her, clearly freaking out.

"Oh my god..."

"And now I finally found you."

"What have I done...?"

"In the most insulting potionary I could ever set foot in."

"What did I do?!"

"And now you have to take responsibility for what you've done." Joan couldn't help but gasp anxiously.

"Fuck."

"Hey, calm down."

"Take me to him! Now!" She desperately shouted at the man. "Please..." His eyebrows rose at the demand, then he smiled.

"Of course."