FFM3: Don't Shake the Jars

"It's just $5,000 dollars, for real?"

Andrew stared into the jar. He could almost see the people, but the outline of the city was very small, vaguely Ancient Chinese, vaguely Ancient Greece. The jagged edge of the what he guessed to be the main temple wasn't quite familiar.

"Some would say it's a bargain," the salesman said. From the way his lips thinned under his pencil thin moustache, Andrew got the impression he wanted to snatch the jar out of his hands and hide it on one of the many shelves. The store had hundreds of the jars, hundreds upon hundreds. If the man couldn't part with one, there was something wrong with him.

"I'll take it," Andrew said, handing the man his card.

He'd never really thought about owning an entire civilization before. He'd gotten lost looking for the Potion shop, and ended up in Civilizations R' Us. He'd seen the ads on tv, made fun of them with Kelly. Who puts civilizations in jars and sells them to amateur wizards? It wasn't just crazy, it was stupid.

But now that he could see the actual jars, he couldn't think about anything else.

"Perhaps you should take some time to think it over," the salesman said, "You will essentially become a God to these people. It's a big committment."

Andrew rolled his eyes.

"How big can it be, dummy? They're in the world's smallest jar," he said, "How much care do they really need?"

The salesman---Andrew probably should have paid more attention when he introduced himself---tensed.

"How much work? It's an entire civilization shrunk down and carefully nestled in a magical jar," he said, "It takes incredible work to maintain their delicate ecosystem. You have to monitor them. Daily. If left to their own devices for too long, they'll wipe each other out. Resources are finite. You have to periodically replenish them or---"

"Dude, it's ok. I can handle a jar of tiny people," Andrew said, "Just give me a pamphlet or something. I had a manticore for a pet. If I can keep one of those things alive I can handle this."

Manny the manticore had been a gift from his godmother. They weren't generally given to children, but Andrew's magical talent wasn't elemental like his mother's or plant based like his father's. He had a knack for mystical animal care. He'd been talking to fairies and familiars since before he could remember. People in a jar were no different. They were just people. They were just small. Manny the manticore had lived well past the old age.

Andrew turned the bottle, trying to get a better look at the civilization. Mists swirled around the buildings, making it hard to see. The salesmen made a sharp sound.

"Please don't shake the jar," he said.

"I know, I know, they're delicate," Andrew said, "Will you go ahead and charge me already? Feed them, don't shake the bottle, make sure they don't kill each other. I've got this."

"If that's what you want," the salesman said. He reluctantly scanned the card. When it went through, Andrew felt a sharp, stabbing pain behind his eye. It was standard magical contract pain, so he wasn't alarmed. It was the rush of nausea that swept over him afterwards that made his heart skip. He was light headed, dizzy.

"What was that?" Andrew asked.

"I told you not to shake the jar," the salesman said as he handed him a pamphlet with his receipt, "This is your ancient civilization now. What happens to it, happens to you. If you shake the jar, you shake yourself. If they die, you die."

Andrew felt his body go cold. Fear gripped him.

"You never said anything! That can't be legal," he said, he tried to deposit the jar back int he salesman's unwilling hands, "Take it back then. I don't want to be linked."

The salesman smiled.

"Our return policy is on the back of the pamphlet," he said, "Have a nice day."

It was blank.