Chương 13: Chapter 11: Shopping for Another World

A quick call to the photography store revealed they offered a three-day workshop in film development and photo printing, covering both black-and-white and color techniques. Excited, I signed up for the earliest available session and continued my preparations. An online search yielded five pawnshops, two gaming stores, and a flea market. Over the next five days, I made it my mission to visit each one, starting with a pawnshop that finally matched the picture in my head. It was small, dimly lit, and cluttered.

The air carried a musty blend of dust, aged leather, a trace of mildew, and something less tangible—the scent of time. Yes, time has a smell; it smells old. Narrow aisles wound between shelves packed with a miscellany, from battered attaché cases and old amplifiers to small appliances like blenders and food processors, plus scuffed musical instruments that had seen better days. Behind the counter, an older man with a thick white beard smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Hello, treasure seeker. Are you here for something special?"

"Gold jewelry." He nodded, ducked behind the counter, and reappeared with a tray full of small items: earrings, pendants, and, oddly enough, dozens of wedding rings. The sight of all those rings gave me pause. Each one probably had a story, but now they lay there, offered for cash.

"I'll take the lot," I said, gesturing to the tray. The shopkeeper's bushy eyebrows shot up, his expression shifting between amusement and suspicion.

"That's a lot of wedding rings."

"I melt them down," I lied. He didn't push it. As I scooped the rings into a bag, one caught my eye. A simple gold band, slightly dented, with tiny engraved initials: M+K, 1978. A pang of sadness washed over me, and without thinking, my fingers found my wedding ring, turning it absently. Noticing the motion, I stopped. Minutes later, I left with a bag of mismatched gold earrings, pendants, and an unreasonable number of wedding rings. And this was just the first stop. The next few days were going to be interesting.

The next stop on my list was the gaming store, packed with glass cases showcasing characters of all shapes and sizes. Some were instantly recognizable—Star Wars, Pixar—but most were a mystery. A young red-haired guy with glasses sat behind the counter, reading a comic book.

"Excuse me," I said.

"Do you have copper coins in stock?" His eyes lit up with interest, and he smiled.

"Why do you need copper coins?" I smiled, trying to come up with a plausible explanation.

"It's a present for a kid who collects coins." His shoulders slumped, and his smile vanished. What the hell? Why would a kid's present disappoint him? He showed me a pouch with copper coins. Judging from its appearance, I suspected it was the same kind of pouch the Traveler wrote about. I bought out the store's entire stock and did the same at the other gaming store. There, at least, the salesperson didn't ask questions and didn't get disappointed.

My next stop was the flea market, an all-out assault on my senses and worldview. Shops and stalls overflowed with things I couldn't imagine anyone buying, or why anyone would bother selling. Old, battered furniture sat in disarray: chairs with missing seats or legs, torn mattresses, and wardrobes with half their shelves gone. A taxidermied squirrel in a top hat stood next to a pile of porcelain dolls.

A VHS copy of Titanic sat on top of a stack of '90s sitcom box sets, and beside it, a bowl of marbles reflected the light like tiny Christmas lights. And then there were the used shoes—row after row of them, laces knotted together in pairs. I did a double-take. Who buys used shoes? But there were also many more interesting items. Stalls with glassware and metalware, some used and some new. The glassware included beautiful pieces that must have come from heirlooms. The craftsmanship was exquisite.

Around me, other vendors shouted over one another, selling cutlery sets and chipped plates. I stopped by a stand piled high with linens.

"These new?" I asked, lifting a folded sheet and rubbing the fabric between my fingers. It was smooth, still smelling faintly of starch. The seller wiped his hands on his trousers and nodded.

"They are new, yes. Only the packaging is missing. Factory cannot sell them like this, so I buy the leftovers. Better here than in the trash, right?" He grinned as if daring me to disagree, and I had to admit the man had a point. The linens were flawless, even without their fancy wrapping. Stalls overflowed with used and new toys, figurines, second-hand books, vinyl records, and everything in between. Food stalls filled the market, most of which sold beer and German sausages, filling the air with delicious aromas.

Vendors blasted loud music, each trying to outdo the other. It was chaotic, noisy, and overwhelming. By the end of my shopping spree, my haul included cookware, a variety of glassware, linens and blankets, carpets, toys, baskets and chests, giant rolls of fabric, figurines, and a multitude of other items I could buy cheaply and sell where they weren't available. Each purchase made a slight improvement in my mood. At first, it wasn't quite excitement, more like surfacing from a deep gloom.

I still grieved and missed Sophie like crazy, but getting ready for my journey pushed back the clouds of pain, letting hope in like sunlight. Maybe it didn't shine directly on me, but at least its warmth reached me. I was doing it. Actually doing it. And that gave me a much-needed boost. When I returned to the hotel and checked my Storage after all the shopping, it was a chaotic mess. Looking inside was a strange experience.

I didn't move my head, but my vision shifted, like staring past everything to a distant horizon with an unfocused gaze. I saw the entire space as a general mass, the individual items blurring together. Not with my physical eyes, but with my mind's eye. Despite the disorientation and inability to distinguish individual items, I knew exactly what was inside and where each item was located. The duality of seeing and knowing was unsettling at first, but gradually, I adjusted. It wasn't natural, but it was manageable.

The outside world vanished while I looked into my Storage. I could focus on one or the other, but never both at the same time. The space was a massive cube about thirteen feet on each side, which I guessed was 4x4x4 meters based on the ability description, with everything piled at the bottom. I figured things would stack up as I added more. The whole setup clashed with my earthly sensibilities. The messy piles felt off, and the high ceiling seemed unnatural.

Despite the ability description not mentioning space reshaping, I tried it anyway. First, I tried to will or order it to change shape, but it didn't work. For the next attempt, I reached out with my mind, tracing the edges of the space until I fully grasped it as a space or object. Then I "pulled" one end while "pressing" on the top. The shift happened entirely through mental intent, not physical force. Slowly, the space stretched and lengthened as its height shrank. It took an incredible amount of concentration.

My mental faculties trembled from the strain, and my head pounded, but I didn't give up until I had a long hall with an 8–to 10-foot high ceiling. Much better and worth the headache. I headed to IKEA to buy some cheap shelving units. When I entered the store, there were so many families and couples it was hard to navigate, and the noise was overwhelming. After a brief conversation with a helpful, smiling sales clerk, I found the shelves in the storage area, all flat-packed and ready to assemble.

I also found a barrel. The idea of a barrel full of coins was too cool to pass up. The barrel was massive, made of wood held together by metal bands, and had a rustic vibe that would fit perfectly in a fantasy world. I organized all my purchases on the shelves and placed the jewelry in a nice pirate chest I found at the flea market. The barrel was perfect for storing the copper coins, and looking at it made me smile.

Some unexpected finds made their way into the collection, including a manual coffee grinder and an old-fashioned ice cream churn. If I hadn't seen them at the flea market, they would have never even crossed my mind, but now I was glad I got them. You never know when you might feel an urgent desire for some cold vanilla ice cream, and life without coffee is no life at all. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. The first day of the workshop arrived.

As soon as I walked into the store, the smell of photographic chemicals hit me. I saw a few shelves with vintage cameras and couldn't help but admire them. A blond clerk with big blue eyes said something in German.

"I don't speak German," I said.

"I'm here for the workshop." She waved me toward the back, where the workshop was underway. I joined a small group gathered around a long table covered with equipment whose purpose I couldn't guess. Not yet, at least. Ansel, a stocky man in his sixties with a neatly trimmed gray beard, led the workshop. Despite his age, he radiated energy, his passion for photography clear in every gesture and exclamation when he talked.

Before even touching on film development, he launched into an enthusiastic discussion about the art, his thick German accent making some words tricky to follow, but the topic was captivating enough that it hardly mattered.

"Ah, ja, now ve talk about somesing fundamental: ze Law of Thirds," he said, raising both hands and drawing an invisible rectangle in the air.

"Never place ze subject in ze middle, nein! Too boring." He spread his fingers and mimed a rectangle in front of him.

"Imagine a grid—dree parts vertically und horizontally." His fingers moved up and down, sectioning the air.

"Your subject should fall along zese lines or intersections. See?" He pointed at an imaginary spot just off-center.

"If ze horizon is at ze top dird, it creates balance und draws ze eye to ze most important part." He explained how composition shaped the photo, including the use of the Golden Ratio, Leading Lines, and other techniques.

"Each type of shot," he said, "tell a different story, ja? You must choose vat fits ze mood und ze message you vant to convey." Next, he gave us a general explanation of film development, emphasizing the importance of patience and precision. The theory was fascinating, but then we moved on to the practical stage. He showed us how to load film into the camera in total darkness. It's much more complicated than it sounds! At first, I couldn't do it, but Ansel was patient and guided me until I got it right.

In another section stood a table with a plate of fruit, along with some pitchers and vases. Around it were other props. He gestured toward it.

"Zis table, you see? You vill photograph zis exactly as I haf explained. Follow ze rules, ja? Precision is everything!" When I finished the roll, my red light blinked. I turned my back to the group and checked it. You have learned the skill Photography Next, he took us to the darkroom to develop our images. The process was nerve-wracking but fascinating. Watching the images appear on the negatives was its own kind of magic.

We moved on to printing, where Ansel explained how the enlarger projected the image onto photographic paper. He had us experiment with exposure times, contrast, and techniques like dodging and burning to add depth. My first prints were rough, but I got the hang of it with practice and even came to enjoy it. Color film was trickier, requiring precise temperature control, but the results were well worth it. By day three, I wasn't a pro, but I wasn't intimidated anymore.

We tested various papers and toning techniques, and Ansel encouraged us to think beyond simply capturing images and to use photography to tell stories. By the end of the workshop, I had gained a great deal of knowledge about the technical aspects of photography and developed a deeper appreciation for the art form. And the best part?

You have learned the skill Develop Negative You have learned the skill Print Photograph After the workshop, I went on a shopping spree and cleared out their entire stock of chemicals, photography paper, film, and everything needed for wet printing. The staff tried to talk me out of it, warning me about expiration dates, but I wasn't worried. My Storage would keep everything fresh for years to come.

Hanna (according to her name tag), a young woman with a pixie cut, looked especially concerned, her brows knitting as she rang up the total. Beside her, an older man with a ponytail and glasses watched but didn't comment.

"Are you sure you need all this? These chemicals won't last forever," she said. I just smiled.

"I'm sure." She tried a few more times to talk me out of it, but finally gave up and charged my card. I also searched for more cameras like mine, which turned out to be more challenging than expected. Most vintage cameras could work without a battery, but also had a battery option I didn't fully trust. My phone had died in the first Gate, and I didn't want the cameras to fail, too. But I found five that worked. The cameras were beautiful, each with its quirks and features.

I visited other photography stores and purchased all their chemicals, paper, and film, as well as three additional sets of equipment. At one store, I even found a portable darkroom tent—a compact, lightweight setup for developing photos outside. The tent got me thinking about camping gear. Where would I sleep? How would I cook? What kind of clothes would I need? Worrying about these details made my future journey feel more solid and real.

The first outdoor store I visited was an adventurer's dream, a massive warehouse packed with gear. They had tents in all sizes for any weather, with or without canopies. I bought several: a small, lightweight tent for quick setup, a larger one for extended stays, and a massive glamping tent. At first, I wasn't sure about that one. Why would I need this monstrosity? But then I told myself, You have the space and money. Live a little. The thought was almost foreign.

For so long, I'd been drowning in pain, from Sophie's illness to her death. The idea of living again felt inconceivable. Still, I made myself do it and bought the monstrosity. I also picked up fire-starter kits with flint and steel, waterproof matches, and a compact folding stove that used charcoal or wood. Next up were hammocks and mattresses. I found a double-size hammock made of durable, weather-resistant fabric and a couple more yoga mats, just in case—although here they were called sleeping pads.

Lightweight pots, pans, and various utensils. The store also had a wide range of gadgets for showering in the wilderness. Folding chairs and tables were another great find, making it easy to set up a comfortable campsite. Buying all those everyday necessities kept me grounded and pulled me back whenever my thoughts started drifting to places I didn't want to go. Backpacks were a must. I found a rugged one with an Indiana Jones vibe that wouldn't look out of place in a fantasy world or on Earth.

I bought five, figuring I'd still want to carry a backpack even with my Storage. Every adventurer needed one, and it would look less suspicious. I also checked out touring bikes, selected a model, and purchased five with plenty of spare parts to keep them in good condition. The bikes were sturdy, built for long-distance travel over rough terrain. I picked up spare tires, chains, and a comprehensive toolkit to make sure I could keep them running smoothly on the road.

The seller insisted I needed a bike trailer to carry all the gear. At first, I refused—Storage made it unnecessary. After some thought, I did buy one. Sometimes, a secluded spot to store things wouldn't be an option, and a trailer might solve that problem. The store carried a wide variety of clothing, including shoes, hats, vests, jackets, socks, and more. I picked up a few pairs of durable hiking boots, some moisture-wicking shirts and pants, a weather-resistant coat, and a wide-brimmed hat for sun protection.

I also stocked up on warm socks and thermal underwear for colder climates. After the insurance cleared, I had over $350K in my account. Knowing I wasn't coming back, I went all out and bought multiples of everything. My account balance took a hit, and my Storage was almost full. I need more Storage space and more Ability Points. Two days before my flight home, I checked the other Gate to see where it led. I drove there, stopping at three more pawnshops and a gaming store along the way.

The pawnshops yielded more jewelry, and the gaming store added more copper coins to the barrel. Almost all the pawnshops had musical instruments, so I bought a guitar. Well, actually three, and extra strings, just in case. The guitars were a mix of styles—two different classical acoustics and a steel-string acoustic. On the list, I saw skills for playing instruments. Again, I needed more Ability Points.

For a fleeting moment, I considered actually learning to play the guitar instead of buying the skill, but quickly dismissed that thought. One of the foster children I grew up with for a while, attended piano lessons. He was in his third or fourth year, taking three lessons a week, and still played like shit, in my opinion. I didn't have the time to invest in something that took that long. Paid skill for the win.

When I reached the Gate, I checked the destination: Travelers Gate #468217258 Destination: Shimoor Status: Integrated Mana level: 17 Threat level: Minimal That was unexpected. I'd assumed it would lead somewhere else, but even the Gate number was consecutive. Raising the binoculars, I scanned the area but saw no sign of people. No houses, smoke, or any other signs of population. Just mountains, dense trees, and a river snaking through the valley below. I walked around the mountaintop, searching for a way down.

The slope wasn't a sheer drop, but it was steep, littered with jagged boulders and loose rocks. Climbing gear might be necessary, just in case, though my plan was still to cross over near Frankfurt. Or maybe one of the other Gates I planned to visit for leveling would also lead to Shimoor. A few test shots with the camera confirmed it was working, and I hoped the pictures would come out as intended. Satisfied, I drove to the rental agency, returned the car, and headed to the airport.

It was time to go home and handle my affairs.