Your cousin slides the ring onto his finger, then hoists his phone out of his shorts pocket theatrically. "In 22 minutes," he begins, "I'm going to be young again. And then I'm going to beat the ever-loving shit out of you, [name]. Do you think this is funny? Huh? I'll smack that look right off your face!!!" Your cousin tries to look menacing, and to his credit, the masculine pelt and caveman brow do a little to help the illusion. His hunched frame and one hand gripping his knee in pain don't communicate the threat quite as well, though.
Then, your cousin does something you aren't expecting. He reaches for the statue with one hand -- the hand wearing the magic ring. Something the kind old shopkeeper said to you blares in your mind like an air horn. You had forgotten till now, how could you overlook something so important? "Oh, and one thing, m'boy," he had said firmly, "don't get the ring and the statue too close to one another. Magics like these can be finnicky, hm? And although I can't certainly say what will happen in this particular case, it will not be anything good." You barrel over to him. "Walker, no! Don't touch it!" But he's not listening. He grabs the statue, and a loud crackling noise fills the room.
Bolts of black and blue and purple energy course through the room, lighting everything up like a fireworks display. "Augh!," screams your cousin, suddenly dropping the piece of the statue in his hand, letting it fall to the floor with the other fragments. His finger is dripping dark blood, blood that flashes purple in the erratic light. Pieces of the ring cascade to the floor, tinkling gently as they hit the hardwood.
When the chaos subsides, Walker is left standing there, his right hand closed tightly around his injured finger. His teeth are gritted, barely visible behind his silvery beard. Your mouth hangs agape. "You broke it...," you mumble quietly. "You really broke the ring." Your aged relative snarls. "You motherfucker! It better still work! I'm not leaving myself like this, I'm not!" You shake your head. You walk over to the pile of cracked wood and plastic, a wisp of smoke rising from the scattered pieces. You pick up the empty setting and see several glittering chunks of the magic stone strewn across the floor. "Not even 24 hours and its destroyed. That's... that's it. We're both stuck like this." Walker shakes his head frantically, calming his animated motions when his neck muscles seems to seize up. He winces and grabs at the back of his hairy collar, massaging it. "Just go to the shop again! I'll give you more money, I'll--" You interrupt. "It's finished, Walker. We can't get anything else there. It's one item per person, that's what the guy said."
You look down at yourself piteously. You can shave the hair, but you have a feeling that a coat this thick won't take long to grow back... and there's nothing to do about your 3-incher, of course. Well, not unless the advertisements in your spam folder, laced with broken english, are real.
Your cousin slumps back into the recliner, letting out a grunt of discomfort. His body really seems to be bothering him -- you guess you'll have to take him to the doctor since magic isn't an option now. At least people will probably believe he's your dad or uncle, you think with a long sigh, you've got the hairiness resemblance going for you. Walker seems to finally accept what's happened to the two of you.
"What are we supposed to do now, [name]?"