Mistic Pets

Welcome to Issue 6
Created by The Mistic Pets Team

Makoto
Written By Syncopated

“If it’s bargains and rarities you’re seeking, you’ve come to the right place, my friend. Please, take a moment to peruse my wares.”
When I undertook the mission to scout out Makoto’s establishment, I couldn’t have expected this. Lance (my boss, of course) had said that the Anya wasn’t quite right in the head, a madman, if you will, but here he stood, looking every type of ordinary apart from the pipe hanging carelessly between his lips.
Of course, ordinary is a relative term. There was nothing average or typical about the Anya’s physical appearance, his body littered with unusual markings, typical high-necked Anya collar replaced with a simple strap of brown leather. His face was pulled into a perpetual scowl, though he seemed pleasant enough, and his eyes, ringed in red, were drawn and pinched so that they seemed to remain closed or squinted at all times, though I could tell from the way he examined me that his vision was keen and clear.

I turned my attention to his wares, a motley assembly of sea-soaked supplies and trinkets. Why on earth this feud had been sparked in the first place I couldn’t imagine. I mean, all of this fuss over a few pairs of ugly, ripped up, salty shorts made very little sense in my mind, not that I was about to let Lance know that. I, a simple Inferno Vix, had bills to pay, and I wasn’t about to lose my only means of income over one of the Cheran’s nonsensical obsessions.
So here I stood, little more than a spy, turning over small, colorful shells and trinkets absently as I kept watch on the Anya out of the corner of my eye. Currently he was attempting to sell what looked like some sort of oblong jellyfish to a family of overzealous Hawaiian shirt-sporting tourists. And he was succeeding, as it were. Quite the businessman, this Makoto, I mused from behind a stall of “authentic beachside remedies” in small glass bottles, each stamped with a label reading “guaranteed to relieve even the most debilitating ailments.” The contents appeared to be bits of petrified fish of various pigments and sizes suspended in a bright, viscous liquid, and I had to wonder who on earth would really pay the outrageous amounts of MC pasted onto each bottle.

And that is when the epiphany of the hour struck me head on with the force of a rampaging Eledon. Who was this mysterious Anya the world had come to know only as Makoto the merchant? I couldn’t answer that question with any accuracy. I didn’t know “who” Makoto might be behind those narrowed, calculating eyes. But I knew what he was.

Makoto was, and is, a genius, plain and simple. He has done what no other merchant in Mistica has dared to try. He has made a game of his business and has dared all other shopkeepers to play along with him. Hoarding whatever items may come to him on his beach, allowing no other salesman the right to them, he has monopolized the art of tourist baiting. He has made himself into a figure of mystery and intrigue, bringing the curious running to him, trying to discover, just as I had attempted, just who Makoto is.

And bringing in these denizens of all corners of Mistica, he has garnered customers with his reputation alone who may never have come seeking him otherwise. He is making a fortune off of the curiosity and plain nosiness of others.

I’m not fully sure how exactly I plan to explain this to Lance (who is prone to overreaction at any disappointment; as suave and collected as he seems to customers, he really is a bit of a nutjob when the tie comes off). I may have to make something up for the sake of my employment status. Yet, despite this, I feel as if I have gained something from this little pseudo-adventure of mine. And one day, when I open my own shop, I’ll know just what to do if I hope to make it big quick.

So thank you, Makoto. Though we’ve only spoken little more than two sentences to one another, I feel as if I have gained some extremely helpful insight for my future prospects.

And by the way, those authentic remedies? A dab of that off color fish oil and you’ll never have another headache as long as you live. I’m serious.

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