[Fakir]

So. This was damnation. Endless days of the same banal occurences, the mundanity of negotiating yet another sale, putting on as pleasant a mask as he could for the inevitable throng of customers all clamoring to give away their pathetic tokens. It was enough to drive a god mad.

And here he was, attending yet another sunrise sale, bearing the agonized ennui of the swelling stream of patrons as best he could. It didn't help that the morning was blisteringly hot.

"Why yes, we do have those in stock, just a second." A sharp glance at one of his slavish assistants had her dashing into the shop to rummage through the shelves and racks for whatever useless bauble had been requested. He had already forgotten.

The former Sentinel supposed he should be thankful for the existence of his new competitors – out here celebrating the opening of their stores with all the zeal of cult leaders handing holy dispensation to their mindless thralls. After all, they were taking a good portion of Fakir's business with their incessant advertising, leaving him with only the reliable torment of his devoted regulars.

Doing his best to ignore the droning chatter of his fellow shopkeepers, Fakir gazed off into the rising sun, thankful at least for the breeze making this accursed heat bearable.