[center][color=a980c6]𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗜𝗚𝗢 𝗕𝗥𝗔𝗬[/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/rN0hwla.png[/img]
[sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/qFDV5Yi.png[/img][/sup][/center]
[indent]Everything felt so hazy and fake around her, a sign that Indigo had passed tired and moved on to sleep deprived. Intellectually, she knew the shuffle of early risers moving around her were real people but a weary side of her eyed them like they were nothing but moving blurs of color. She should sleep; it’s been days since she’s laid in her bed and her nightly performances have been lacking. 

Despite her thoughts, Indigo strode past her apartment complex and continued onto the street that led to her little hole in the wall shop. It would have been nice to stop at her studio apartment for a quick shower to get rid of the sweat and glitter that clung to her – but then she might be tempted to lay down. Indigo didn’t want to sleep; she wanted to push her humanly limits until she dies from exhaustion or the restlessness left her jittery limbs.

The shop looked like it always did – worn down, like her. Without the neon sign buzzing, the shop’s title proudly declared that it was “BLUE HAZE” in the tired grey of the morning. Later, when it got darker and she decided to light it up, she will be irritated by the missing letters – but fixing the sign costs money, and it wasn’t like the occult store was booming business. If anything, her finances have been suffering since Nick fucking Bloodfang. The humans that used to come there avoided her store because witches worked for the devil or some shit explanation like that. The Other that used to be regulars avoided it so people didn’t find them out and lead a witch hunt to their doorstep.
 
Though, it wasn’t entirely suffering, Indigo noted as she jiggled the door open and saw a piece of paper slide across the dusty linoleum. Leaning down and picking up the purple scrap (was it scented?), Indigo glared at the chicken scratch request for crucifixes.

“Fucking loonies.” Indigo huffed, crumbling the paper in her fist. If she was a more destructive witch, she would have burned it to ashes. As it were, she very well couldn’t divine it to a crisp.

Even though crucifixes would achieve two things, jack and shit, Indigo obediently tapped out an order twenty minutes later when everything was operating, albeit with a retro rustiness that Blue Haze was characterized. It’s not her fault she couldn’t afford a high-speed laptop or a nice TV; her customers would just have to settle for the slow as shit dinosaur PC that still had a box for a backing. 

[right][B]ITEM										QUANTITY										PRICE	[/B]
[code]Crucifixes	  	  		  		150	       					£514.88[/code][/right]

It was a waste of money, to be sure. To spend five hundred and fourteen pounds on a hundred and fifty wooden crucifixes that wouldn’t achieve anything was absolutely dumb. But, if she jumped up the price for each individual one and added some nonsense about them being blessed by a priest, maybe she could get a couple of paranoid edgy teens to buy them. 

That’s what her business relies on, nowadays, anyways. Her regulars have become decidedly irregular and the Others didn’t quite like to frequent such a closet-outing location, so Indigo had to keep her business running by taking advantage on the oft clueless crazies. 

Thinking about the small amount of people that came in and out of the bell-triggered door to order some ridiculous and false countermeasure against the Other made her a bit nervous, now that she took a moment to really analyze it. Mostly what they asked for wouldn’t work – holy water, crucifixes, and someone the other day had asked for her to brew a potion against leprechauns. She closed the shop down for ten minutes, went to the back of her shop and scrubbed some of the glitter from her hairline into a bottle of tap before adding a smidgen of green food dye. Was it ethical to sell that to the clueless dope for fifty-five pounds? Certainly not, but she had little regrets.

[i]It wouldn’t do to give dumbasses scared of leprechauns, of all things, actual tools that could be used against the Other.[/i]

Nodding decisively, Indigo flicked on her cheap radio she kept on the counter – she hated the radio, but it wouldn’t do to be out of the loop if one of the stations decided to report on something important. After she fiddled with the volume a bit, Indigo retreated to the back storage of her shop.

The storage room was full of dust motes that would have caused a violent sneeze if she wasn’t so used to it already – cleaning wasn’t exactly her forte. Indigo rarely put in effort to unpack boxes unless they would be going on display, so it took her quite a bit of ruffling around and scraping boxes across the floor before she found the seven boxes tucked in the corner. Armed with industrial strength duct tape, Indigo mummified the boxes carrying iron and a few Solomon Tools and scratched “NFHS” onto the small patches of brown box left. [i]Not for Human Sale.[/i]

Satisfied, Indigo ambled back to the counter just in time to catch the tail-end of the [i]On the Edge[/i] broadcast. 

[i] “–ally condemn the call to violence against the Other from these anonymous pirates.”[/i]

 “Huh? Did I miss something already?”[/indent]