Naomi Mason - General - Hit me with your best shot!
Most of Milo’s clientele were the type you’d expect to see in a place called Moonshadow Mercantile. An abundance of crystals and linen and patchouli; the type to ask your star sign before your name. He loved them - those were his people - but his favorite thing was when people like this came in.
He could sense that this woman wanted desperately for everyone to think she had her shit together. Which she did, really, but he could tell that perfection wasn’t as effortless as she made it seem. So coming here asking the advice of a psychic was a bit of an admission that she didn’t have all the answers. He wouldn’t say any of this to her, but he was quietly proud.
Suddenly, a phone was ringing - he looked toward the old rotary phone he still inexplicably used for the shop, but it was silent. The woman made no indication that she heard anything at all, but it was getting louder for Milo. He shook his head.
“You are going to get a very interesting phone call this week,” he said, once the ringing died down. “It’s something big. Could change some things for you.”