BOO!

Azarius: For real? I didn’t even fucking know…

21 year old! Margo: My flat iron broke today, which is a serious pain in my ass.

☩ for a bedroom headcanon

✖ for a tattoo headcanon (One they have or one they want)

♖ for a childhood headcanon

♬ for a song that fits them

↹ for a best friend headcanon

☾ for a sleeping headcanon 

✻ for if they are a night or day person

✄ for a drunken headcanon

♘ for a pet headcanon

❀ for their favorite season

☮ for an embarrassing headcanon

✈ for a traveling headcanon

They walked through more rooms than seemed possible to fit in the small three-storeys building the shop occupied before finally reaching a room filled with many doohickets and doodahs and how the hell do you describe mechanic stuff. 

When Pronto spoke again, she was jolted from her thoughts and nearly tripped over a few spare parts. As she stood up straight again, she frowned in response to his comment. “What sort of...”, Minnie mumbled, beginning to complain to herself. Why did her aunt give her such complicated, and specific shopping lists? It would have made more sense to buy them online, then to waste time sifting through shelves- especially of such a disorganized shop. Every time she began to voice her complaints to her aunt Margret, she would be shot down and told that she was helping to ‘support her local bushiness’. Deep down, Minnie felt her aunt had other, ulterior motives. 

It had only been a few days since the opening of the “supplies” store, but the fantastic mess of objects inside was incredible, in a way. Books of various genres had been stacked haphazardly in piles all around, some even with jars of unidentifiable objects crammed inside teetering precariously on the top. Wooden shelves were lined with objects as strange as pickled dragon’s liver to as commonplace as nail clippers, and the row of cupboards were all labelled with letters and runes illegibly scribbled in a black sharpie. Somehow the atmosphere in the shop swayed between mildly discomforting and somehow comfortable, somewhat like coming to back to a childhood home where you still don’t know what lay behind that particular locked door.

The only sound other than the creaking of the floor under the newest customer’s feet was the tuneless humming of the white-haired boy emerging from the backroom. Seeing the unexpected visitor, his brilliant green eyes lit up with excitement (no really, they were glowing a little).