A Rambling Cart Rolls Into Town

Bright greens and subtle browns play across the painted wooden sides of the cart as it rolls steadily on down the thoroughfare. Ahead of it, an empty harness and horse collar floats at the right height for it to be filled, bouncing along steadily as what appears to be an invisible steed trots along and drags this anachronistic wagon by houses and shops, headed for a good, public open area where its owner can set up. The letters on the side, picked out in faded gold leaf, say Mr. Fezziro's Traveling Emporium.

No driver or teamster sits on the coach box (and what would they drive if they were there?) but the wagon seems to know its business and where it goes. And so after a time and approaching sunset the portable stall arrives at a small, cheery park complete with a fountain.

And then all on its own it begins to unfold. The walls turn on oiled hinges, splitting at well-hidden seams in the middle to shelter the wares from any oncoming sleet or snow. Counters flip down on each side, and a small set of stairs comes to a crashing halt at the back. Fezziro himself (presumably) leaps down past these steps, clearing them without touching any to land with a tight spin. The flourish takes his hand past a coat rack, modified so the base ends in a long spike instead of the trio of curly legs. This he whips up and jabs firmly into the frosty earth, four heavy coats and a pair of hats dragged along for the ride and spinning out before settling around their pole. Several more display stands and larger, heavier items he'd been riding along with are plucked and rammed into place around his stall with the same economy of movement and practiced speed as this before he finally heaves a breath, looks around for any onlookers, and with uncharacteristic drama and flare flips the closed sign hanging from the counter to open.

And now that he's standing still enough to get a good look at, a brief description of this thoroughly odd showman and his cart are merited. Fezziro stands quite tall, though the battered but polished top-hat he wears jauntily adds several inches to an already lanky figure. Similarly well-worn trousers and shirt, heavy road fabrics lasting well and keeping him warm this winter, are accessorized by a hip-length heavy coat and a sharp vest. His most eccentric addition to this aesthetic is the mask, a leather plague doctor's beak covering his face and making his voice resonate deeply. He looks every inch the silly, overblown showman he's acting at the moment, and seems to revel in catching anyone's eye as he gestures for them to look on.

The cart itself, now that it's unfolded, is absolutely littered with items. Every available surface has been used, including a multitude of hooks from the roof to hang ropes, coats, dresses and other fabric goods from. There hardly seems like he had room to breathe in there when he was riding through town. On the counters folded out to each side, small loops of elastic hold down trinkets and baubles securely while still allowing them to be displayed and retrieved at a moment's notice.

Cupping his hands to the end of the beak, Fezziro bellows out to the late afternoon park-goers and anyone curious enough to have followed his cart here from the outskirts, "Hello the park! Step in, step lively, and step away glad! Something for everyone and every item has its tale to tell! Sights to delight and lore galore, all here at Fezziro's magnificent store!"