Trope Shop

The bell over the door jingles when you push it open. The shop might be vast or tiny; you can't tell, as all the walls are hidden by the racks of outfits and props towering around you. You squeeze between robes and staves and bodysuits towards the light up ahead, where a lamp dangles over a small counter. The proprietor is there, ignoring you. She appears to be reading a magazine of stories; the cover shows a distressed spaceman being carried away from his ship by a bug-eyed alien. "Excuse me," you say. "I'm here for a protagonist trope." "Standard hero package on aisle seventeen," she says, without looking up. "Unless you wanted something different." You say, [["Aisle seventeen? Thanks." | Hero package ]] [["I wanted something more...sparkly." | Princess package ]]

After a few minutes of following the cryptic instructions written on the floor, you find aisle seventeen. The outfits here tend towards browns, blues, and whites, and there are racks of weapons prominently displayed. You dress yourself in a snazzy tunic and leggings; the outfits for displaced royalty seem more like what you want today than the ones suitable for farmers and wide-eyed innocents. The sword you take from the rack doesn't look innocent at all, and hums pleasingly in the air when you pick it up. It fits exactly into the scabbard that comes with the outfit you've chosen, and has a bright blue gem on the pommel. You tie your hair back, and wait for a moment. The instructions on the floor shift beneath your feet. They now say, "Onward to [[adventure|horses2]]."

The proprietor sighs gustily. "Always a few," she says. "Two aisles behind me, and for god's sake, don't spill anything." You squeeze between racks of clothing for the length of two aisles, and then the world opens up around you. The carpet here is printed with a bright grassy pattern, and the outfits are displayed face-out, set far enough apart that you can consider each one separately. Most of them are dresses, though there's a sort of catsuit made entirely of ribbons which you contemplate for a long moment. Each one has a barrel next to it marked SPARKLE in Papyrus font. After some careful deliberation, you pick out a blue tunic trimmed in glittering gold. Plus sturdy leggings. If there's much riding ahead of you, you'll want something other than a skirt. When you open the SPARKLE barrel, you find a sword and scabbard inside. Buried in glitter. It is impossible to remove them without coating your arm with glitter right up to the elbow, and so that is exactly what you do. It's a very pretty sword, covered in elaborate etching, with a blue jewel set in the pommel. When you belt on the scabbard, the whole affair is so lightweight you can barely tell it's there. "Well," you say, to no one in particular, "I suppose now it's on to [[adventure|horses2]]."

You are in a stable full of horses. (The shop is vast; the shop contains multitudes; the shop must have an amazingly large staff.) They stare at you over the doors of their stalls with enormous brown eyes, and each one has a name emblazoned in a post overhead. Or maybe a description? They are all called things like Trusty and Placid and Fiery. A brown horse with a white stripe on its forehead is named Standard, and another in the facing stall, perfectly identical, is called Disposable. You say, [["A fiery steed for royalty and adventure." | fiery ]] [["A reliable horse for getting to the adventure." | reliable ]]

Fiery snorts and rears when you open his stall. He is quite visibly a stallion, and snaps at you once. All of his tack has already been set in place: glossy black leather with gold plating on the metal, which sets itself off marvelously against his red coat. "You'll have to behave around me," you tell him, and swing up onto his back. "But you can be as nasty as you like to anyone else. We're heading to [[adventure|companions]]."

Reliable watches you calmly as you haul his tack into place. He's a sturdy gelding, a solid dun color, and his tack is just as practical: brown leather, undyed saddle pad, plain metal fastenings. He nuzzles you once as you set his saddlebags in place, and you discover a box of sugar cubes has been packed within. "There's only time for one," you say, offering it to him on your palm. He crunches it up, and twitches an ear at you. "We're off to [[adventure|companions]]."

You ride into the next part of the shop in style. Here, ranks of minions stand in lines that stretch further than you can see, each line made of its own version. A line of orcs in armor here, a line of blond-haired vikings there. They wait in silence as your horse traipses past, staring ahead. "It's not about war," you say, but none of the warriors respond. Maybe they're waiting for a different protagonist. You nudge your horse in the side, and trot onward until the ranks fall away to be replaced by pens of more individual companions. There's another staff member here, seated on a high stool behind a high counter. She's eye level to you when you ride up. "Well," she says, putting down her cell phone, "I see you're going for the trusty band of followers, rather than the horde." "Hordes are for villains," you say. "Oh, you'd be surprised. It all depends on how you market them. But if I really can't sell you on an army..." She pauses a moment, but you shake your head. "They can't say I didn't try. Do you want the standard package?" "I was hoping for something more original," you admit. She leans toward you, lowering her voice. "Here's the trick: they're all original. Or they think they are, and isn't that what's important? If you're too worried about it, I'll throw in a few extra hats and jackets. Help you swap them up a bit. It'll be fine." You say, [["I'm not sure about this."|convincing]] [["I suppose that's close enough."|setting out]]

"Rules are rules," says the employee firmly. She nods at what you're wearing. "Look at that. Is that what royalty wears when setting out alone? You wouldn't last a day without friends, and all of these people want to be your friends. It'll be fine. Trust me on this." "What if they don't--" "They all," she says, "want to be your friends. Each and every one of them. A few of them pretend otherwise, but that's just for effect. Makes it more exciting when they save your life. Do you want to die on the field? Go down to some mook along the way?" [["I suppose not."|setting out]]

A group of companions assembles around you. There's your best friend from childhood, with his clever smile and jaunty red cap. The one guard who followed you out of the castle on that dark night years ago fastens a cape at your shoulders; her expression is solemn, and you know you can count on her right to the very end. A shy girl on a white mare smiles at you through her veil; that would be the daughter of your mother's closest friend, and as much an orphan as you. And then of course there's the man with the sturdy walking stick, who refuses to ride: he has his own reasons for joining your cause. "As yet to be revealed," mutters the employee, and covers her mouth when you look at her. "Sorry! Spoilers. Don't mind me. You have one last stop before checkout, according to our system." "I could go now," you say. "Skip the last step. Off to adventure, and never have to worry about that." "You could," she admits. "But I don't know how satisfying you would find it, in the long run. Do you really want to?" You say, [["I can't afford any more than what I already have."|checkout-low]] [["You're right. It wouldn't be worth it."|villains]]

The sword at your side hums as you approach the checkout. There's a short line ahead of you: a man in a tuxedo, checking his pockets for spare change; an old woman in a crooked hat, tapping her foot impatiently. You wait your turn, staring at the exit. So close you could nearly ride out now-- But that's not the way it works. "Let me," says the checkout clerk. He leans forward to look over you and what you've brought. "Are you sure you're ready to go? You could still [[go back and pick up one more thing|villains]]." "I'm ready to go," you tell him. He tallies up the cost. It's lower than you expected. But then, you did decide to play it safe. Isn't that what your parents would've expected of you? They would want you to succeed, not go into debt. Accounts all settled, you look back at your companions. They're waiting for you to lead them through the [[exit|low-end]].

You feel that this section of the shop ought to be dark. Instead, it's all flourescent lighting, metal flooring, and walls painted a stark white. The young lady makes a sound, behind you. But when you look back, she gives you a brave smile. "It's fine," she says. "I have faith in you." You dismount, and hand the reins of your horse to the guard. "Be careful," she says. "Have fun," calls your friend. The man with the staff? He just watches. You feel...judged. He can judge all he likes, but it's not his shopping trip, and he's not the one going into debt for this. You turn your back to him and consider the options behind the bars. Here's a villain dressed in black, bloody-handed, wearing a crown exactly like the one your mother used to wear. He has a cruel smile for you when you look at him. "Come on," he says, "you know you want to. Simple. Straightforward. I'll kick a few puppies and gut a few urchins to make our battle at the end that much easier." You put a hand on the hilt of your sword, and move on. Here's a witch, her cauldron at the ready, her companions waiting in the shadows of the cell behind her. "Traditional," she says. "Don't you like tradition? Monarchy and magic and murder, oh my!" When she laughs, the hair at the back of your neck stands up. You walk away. Here's a queen. "Surprise," she says, and her expression is sad. "Me, all along. If you had known your father the way I did--well, maybe you wouldn't be so surprised now. But if I had told you everything, wouldn't that ruin the twist?" There are things you want to say to her. You turn your back, and try not to catch the gaze of that man with the staff. Your friend--no, you don't want to look at him, either. He would understand too well. The cell across from her has nothing in it but a mass of words. "Imperialism," it whispers to you. "Power. Ambition. A little abstraction for a little bit of royalty. Did you really think bloodlines mattered? Do you want to learn how much it matters when you hold the blades yourself?" You back away, and collide with the bars of another cell. A rough hand grabs at you there. "Uprising," says the man inside. His teeth are rotting away, and hollow-eyed children cling to his sides. "You deserved it. You deserved every last--" You pull away from him, and run. This aisle goes on for a long, long ways. The end of the aisle is blocked by a long counter. An employee sits there, a hand resting on top of the gate through. "So," she says, "who do you want?" You take a moment to regain your breath, and tell her, [["None of them. I'll do without, thank you very much."|checkout-low]] [["My mother. How could she?"|mother]] [["That villain. It's simplest."|villain]] [["Am I doing this all wrong? Should I be doing this at all?"|abstraction]]

"We're always hurt by the ones we love," says the clerk, more cheerily than you are in any mood to appreciate. By the time she's unbarred the gate in the counter to let you through, the rest of your companions have caught up with you. The checkout counter lies between you and the exit. The clerk there pecks at the keys of an old computer while you wait. "So that's one protagonist package," he says, "one horse, four companions, and murderous betrayal at the hands of the one you loved best." "Just tell me how much it will cost," you say. He checks his screen. "All of your innocence," he says, "and most of your trust. The life of one companion, and your relationship with another. You'll also pay in irregular nightmares, a disconnect from your future spouse, and a clinginess with your children that drives one of them away past any hope of reconciliation. Plus the usual taxes and fees: disordered populace, encroaching neighbors, and so forth." You say, [["It'll be worth it."|high-end]] [["That's too much. I'll put something back."|checkout-low]]

"Now that's a classic," says the clerk. By the time she's unbarred the gate in the counter to let you through, the rest of your companions have caught up with you. The checkout counter lies between you and the exit. The clerk there pecks at the keys of an old computer while you wait. "So that's one protagonist package," he says, "one horse, four companions, and one standard villain." "Just tell me how much it will cost," you say. He checks his screen. "A little innocence," he says, "and one dramatic scar. The life of one companion, immediately before the climactic battle. Plus the usual taxes and fees: disordered populace, encroaching neighbors, and so forth." You say, [["It'll be worth it."|mid-end]] [["That's too much. I'll put something back."|checkout-low]]

"Daring choice, but very popular these days," says the clerk. "I'm sure you'll figure it out." By the time she's unbarred the gate in the counter to let you through, the rest of your companions have caught up with you. The checkout counter lies between you and the exit. The clerk there pecks at the keys of an old computer while you wait. "So that's one protagonist package," he says, "one horse, four companions, and a desperate attempt to come to grips with the complexity of power and oppression." "Just tell me how much it will cost," you say. He checks his screen. "All of your innocence," he says, "and most of your trust. Half your integrity, with another quarter of it drained away through installments. We'll also take most of your confidence, and return it when it'll drive you to the worst crime of your life. The life of one companion, and your relationship with another. Plus the usual taxes and fees: surly populace, wary neighbors, and so forth." You say, [["It'll be worth it."|high-end]] [["That's too much. I'll put something back."|checkout-low]]

It's a bright day outside, and the sky is blue. Your childhood friend is telling jokes to the young lady, trying to get her to smile again. Your bodyguard waits at your side, eyes forward. The man with the staff looks up to you expectantly. "Well," you say. Your horse shifts his weight, and paws at the ground. "Adventure," you say. You blink a few times, looking across the green, green grass of this field, until you no longer see the images from the last aisle standing in front of you. "It'll be worth it," you tell your companions. "Everything that this costs, it'll be worth it in the end." The guard nods to you. "It's as you say." And the rest of them? They're right behind you, when you charge forward toward the horizon.

It's a bright day outside, and the sky is blue. Your childhood friend is telling jokes to the young lady, trying to get her to laugh. Your bodyguard waits at your side, eyes forward. The man with the staff looks up to you expectantly. "Well," you say. Your horse shifts his weight, and paws at the ground. "Adventure," you say. The word is light on your tongue, as light as the sword at your side. "It'll be worth it," you tell your companions. "Everything that this costs, to bring about justice and restore my kingdom." They watch you, waiting for your lead. Every single one of them wants to be your friend. They're right behind you, when you charge forward toward the horizon.