13800/Ghosts in the Candle

Ghosts in the Candle
Date of Scene:	10 January 2023
Location:	Candle, Booke and Belle
Synopsis:	Robbie Reyes decides to make a visit to the Candle, Booke and Belle to introduce himself to the oldest member of the JLD leadership. Nettie is very pleased to meet him. Corvax? Eeeeh....
Cast of Characters:	Nettie Crowe, Robbie Reyes

---

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    The Candle, Booke and Belle shop was quiet tonight; the last of the customers who had normal business in the shop have made their exits. The shop was quiet, the tea kettles giving soft hisses as they release steam from the heated water within.

    The crow with the tricorne hat gives a soft caw, bobbing his head as he sits on a perch above the tea counter where, near the ancient brass cash register, the unassuming head of the Justice League Dark is sitting on a stool.

    She's wearing a gray cardigan over an ancient Joan Jett tee that's faded from black to dark gray. Gray jeans with patches over the knees and blow-outs on the back pockets in a variety of occult symbols, and her silver-white hair pulled back into a braid. Gray glasses are perched on her nose, threatening to abandon her face as she reads a book. A special book.

    ... with a very attractive couple among a Victorian rose garden on the front, looking at each other with longing in their faces and her dress partially drawn down.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He's been putting it off for god knows how long, but tonight seems to be the night. Time to introduce himself to the new proprietress of the Justice League Dark, before she decides he does not in fact exist, and strikes his name from the register. Does she even *have* a register? Robbie stands there in the rain, just outside the door to the bookstore, before shaking it off and heading inside.

If this place is the type to announce when people arrive, then she'll have no trouble spotting the six foot, lean young man darkening her doorway. He's dressed in a leather jacket and a black hoodie, and jeans with shredded knees.

The hood's tugged off once he's fully inside, and it's clear he's been out in the rain for a while. His gaze roves to the counter, and the small, white-haired woman seated there with what appears to be a romance novel. Does he go introduce himself?

Well. No. Not yet.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie has a register, right there, it's big and brass and has that big handle on the side that creates the receipt. It also weighs like, three hundred pounds.

    She also does take note of who belongs to the Justice League Dark, and she can feel the way her wards shudder against RObbie's arrival.

    To those who sense magic, Nettie feels... cold. Like touching the frost on a windowpane, frosty and textured against the skin, with that Wrongness that goes along with the Undead.

    The door also has a bell, with cheerily alerts Nettie to the arrival.

    "Hello, hello, good evening -- come inside, let's take a look at who we have here, hmm?" she questions with her warm British accent, pushing her glasses up and looks at the tall gentleman.

    She herself is... short. A good head and a half shorter than Robbie.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie wouldn't call what he has, magic; nor the ability to pick up on others'. Not *directly* anyway. But being for all practical purposes half demonic, the Rider does confer a few advantages. And one of them is being able to sniff out corruption like blood in the proverbial water.

He watches her a long moment like he's measuring something about her; eyes ever so slightly slitted, and the steady *drip, drip, drip* of rainwater pooling on the floor.

Then he blows a breath out, does a quick scan of the shop in case she's got ninjas hiding behind display cases, and prowls on over real slow-like. Hands jammed into his hoodie's pockets, and an upnod of his chin once he reaches the counter she's seated behind.

"Gimme a cup'a tea. What kinds you got?" His odd, mismatched eyes meet her bespectacled ones, though he does have to look down in order to do so.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie tilts her head back a moment, her right hand curled beneath her sleeve where her wand is hidden, but the moment passes. She regards Robbie with curiosity, and then draws herself up, looking at him curiously.

    He'd notice the walkway behind the counter is raised to make up for her shortness.

    "All manner of teas and blends, herbal and true, white, green, reds, smoked --" she pauses, giving a soft sniff.

    "For you? Perhaps..." she turns, and begins drawing out bits and pieces from the apothecary drawers behind the tea bar.

    "Rooibus. Cinnamon..." followed by the 'crack' of a cinnamon stick being broken. "... something to help keep the cool out of your chest. Rainy nights are always the worst for wandering in the dark -- you never know who you may run into, do you?" she questions in a cheerful manner.

    "So, I am assuming this is a proper introduction of sorts." the woman states, acting so much older than her visual look. She looks like she's in her twenties. Minus the old lady hair and glasses, and as she turns back to Robbie he may notice her eyes are too light, to the point of being artificial in their turquoise blueness. "Or perhaps were you looking for guidance?"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The young man's gaze drops to Nettie's hand, remains there pointedly a moment or two, then flicks back up again. Amusement steals across his lips, almost too quick for the eye to see.

"Rooibos sounds good. I like cinnamon." His accent is a funny mingling of deep South and East LA, like he can't decide which one he is. Could go either way, based on his looks: unmistakeably Mexican-American.

He leans his back against the counter, and turns his head to watch the small woman putter, over his shoulder. "Guidance?" He makes a face. "Naw." Her gaze is caught for a second, then released. "Don't know 'bout proper. But I figured I should break the ice or something, so.." He trails off, awkwardly.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    A few more items are added to a teaball, and then the teaball to a plain brown teapot, which is then filled with water from the large steam kettle before it's slowly let back down.

    "Proper in the sense of 'we're not in the middle of a crisis'. Not that I mind introductions, but it was horribly embarrassing to be launched straight into the air by an errant oak." Nettie replies with amusement, and she reaches beneath her counter and pulls up a cup and saucer.

    THe teacup is red. It's covered with little silver swirls, matching the saucer beneath. Both are edged with shining black, like polished onyx. She sets that on the counter in front of Robbie, and then follows it with a scone with some kind of berry in it.

    "I shall also add that, while I may not look it, I try to be very good at offering advice in a number of fields, Mr. Reyes. Or do you prefer your first name?" she questions, her pale eyebrows rising up as she purses her lips.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
While the tea's made, Robbie avails himself of another scan of the shop. Broad shoulders slouched, lean frame coiled with deceptive tension; Nettie could be forgiven for wondering if he's casing the joint.

"Dealt with worse, bein' in the JLD," he confides quietly, eyeing a box of incense sticks. "Betting you have, too."

He shifts slightly once the tea's set down, and collects the teacup in a hand too large for the delicate porcelain. Sniffs at the contents. To be perfectly fair, if she *was* trying to poison him: a) he'd have no blessed clue and b) it probably wouldn't kill him. Probably. He opts to down some of it in a noisy slurp.

"Okay. Fields like what?" No answer, for now, on how he prefers to be addressed.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    If Nettie were going to try to poison him, she'd contend with Eli first. Faustian deals weren't beyond her in the past and she knows a thing or two about binding spirits to bodies that aren't theirs.

    The tea is sweet on its own, malty. Cinnamon and anise with a hint of clove to it; mulling spice to warm the body and relax the mind on a cold winter day. And if he were casing the joint, it wouldn't be Nettie who was suspicious. Above, there's a harsh cry of a crow, the carrion bird looking down on Robbie with what is either mild disdain or utter distrust.

    "Aye. I have, but unless it calls for it, try to keep the mood light when meeting with you young duckies." she states, and then pulls a flask from her sweater pocket, and pours that right into her own purple teacup. Hold the tea.

    "All manner of fields. Magic, research, educational pursuits, tea blending, travel advice... romantic pursuits on the odd occasion, though I'm somewhat rubbish on that front these days. You kids and your 'facebooks' and 'discords' and 'see-dee-players'."

    And Nettie's eyebrows draw up, watching Robbie with curiosity.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Crows, curiously (or not, as the case may be) are one of the few critters that don't tend to take much issue with the demon. Robbie, on the other hand, may be another thing entirely; at least insofar as this bird's concerned. The young man studies it a while with some mingling of caution and wary interest, before turning back to Nettie.

He makes a bit of a face at being called a 'young duckie', though technically she's not wrong. "Maybe you could start by helpin' me figure out this lady runs the creepy ass bookstore in East Village." Sluuuurp. His odd gaze remains fixed on the older woman throughout. "You know. What's her story? Since you.." He makes a little moue with his mouth. "Know so much."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Not this one.

    Corvax hops down from his perch, and motions with one wing towards Robbie and states, clear as day:

    "What gives Nettie? We're still trafficking with demons after the last one? Didn't we agree that it was a *bad idea* to--"

    "Corvax, be polite. Mr. Reyes is a guest, as is his accompaniment who is being on his best behavior, considering you're the soul of a pirate lifted from Hell, lad." she states cooly, and she sips gin from her teacup as she levels a look to Corvax.

    "Mr. Reyes, my familiar, Corvax. Please take no offense; he's quite opinionated, then again -- he's a seventeenth century pirate. He's also mildly protective of me and, given time, he'll probably mother hen you."

    "I... do NOT mother hen!" the crow protests, feathers in a ruffle.

    "So, the lady who runs a bookstore in the East Village, aside from this one. There's more than one, you know, but I sense this may be a field trip." she gives a bright smile. "Hopefully one that does not include someone being buried alive, this time."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Well, Corvax's observation gains him a rare, dimpled grin from Robbie. Who by all appearances, seems to find this turn of events rather amusing.

"That explains why he don't like you much," the young man confides. Referring, one presumes, to the demon he's ever so graciously hosting in his body. The mirth's gone a moment later, replaced with that earlier wariness even as the bird's ruffling up his feathers in indignation. "Encantado de conocerte," he adds with a wink and a straight face.

Back to Nettie, whom he gestures to with his teacup. "Think you know who I'm talkin' about. Don't fuckin' play coy with me."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Vete al infierno bastardo -- you apologize to her right now you dog, you are in the home of *ANNETTE CROWE* who opened her doors to all manner of--"

    "Corvax--"

    "--SUPERNATURAL CREATURES who couldn't escape the stupid host invasion because some JACKASS decided to summon a demon to his pet dead body and--"

    "/Corvax/--"

    "RUIN ALL THE BUILD UP SHE DID TRYING TO GET THIS SANCTUM AND --" the bird pauses, "... Nettie?"

    "He's asking about me, poppet."

    "... IT'S NONE OF HIS FU--" and Nettie's fingers rise up and squeeze the bird's beak, giving an apologetic look to Robbie.

    "That being said, you *are* a guest in my home, I'd rather you be direct with the questions and not fucking swear. That shite begins to hurt my damned virgin ears and delicate fucking Victorian sensibilities." she states with a smile, and releases the crow

    Who goes up to sulk in the rafters.

    "What is it that you wish to know?"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Would Robbie kiss his mama with that mouth? Well, probably not. Which is why he actually looks a little chastised when he's told off by the possessed bird.

A brief frown is stitched between his eyebrows, then smoothes away again as he rifles tattooed fingers through his slightly unkempt curls. "Yeah. I'm sorry. Wasn't no call for that." His eyes flick to Corvax, then back to Nettie, amused at something. Possibly the completely bullshit claims she's making about her ears and her sensibilities.

"Anything you feel like tellin' me. Where you're from, what you can do. Why you want the thankless job of leading the JLD. I don't know, ain't there a welcome package or something you should be giving me?" He slurps his tea, maybe to hide the smirk.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "You'd have to tell me. Last time I was involved with this, I had to tell one of the past leaders of this organization that he had to die. Rather puts a damper on things." Nettie gives a small smile, and she goes to sip out of her cup, and then looks at the empty cup, then to her flask, and just sips straight from the flask.

    "Well. It all started about a hundred and seventy years ago, when my parents saw some table legs without tablecloths and my father was overcome with carnal desire." she gives a brief smile.

    "We don't precisely get funding or merchandising rights like the proper Justice League, but we make do." she pulls a stool out on her side and she sits down, and she taps one hand against her thigh as she purses her lips.

    "I'm a Witch. Hereditary type of magic user, makes use of plenty of inborn and learned magical abilities. I also teach. I've also made many many mistakes in my long life." she gives a wry smile.

    "As for leading you duckies... one day Miss Kinney showed up, apologized for bothering me, and asked if I would help her. She didn't seem to be under the influence of anyone except her own excitement, so I said 'certainly, why not?'"

    She purses her lips.

    "'Cor, those former lot were supposed to be friends of mine, but the memory's a bit jumbled up. Could be outside interferance, could be too much gin. Either way. Lost what I thought was my best friend, ended up taking over the group, and now I have charming company like Cambrian demons and the occasional very lost kappa who stops in looking for a place to wet their beak."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Look, Nettie's clearly old enough to be making her own decisions about imbibing liquor. She certainly doesn't need some punk kid with a bad temper telling her what to do. So, Robbie does not comment at all as the flask comes out.

"Probably get sued by whoever does licensing for the Avengers," he mumbles, fiddling with the handle of his cup. He's joking, of course. They only license out the likes of Iron Man and Captain America; Ghost Rider's a little too dark for the image they're trying to sell.

"So you're like my ex, then. With the.." He wiggles his fingers to indicate the word he can't pronounce, *hereditary*. "You know, homo magi or whatever." The tea's finished off, and he offers somewhat awkwardly, "Don't know who you lost. But I'm sorry."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "UGH. I don't want to steal with Stark Lawyers..." Nettie raises her flask, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses.

    "Not again."

    And she imbibes in more of the flask, until there's no gin left. Sigh.

    So she pours herself ACTUAL tea.

    "I am part of the homo magi greater family, could trace back quite a ways back in the day." she gives a small smile, and she takes a deep breath.

    "I wish I could say you get used to losing people. I've lost so many... students and teachers alike. Friends. My wife." she gives a breath out.

    "It still hurts. Even after seventy years."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie snorts softly in amusement, and nudges his empty cup away. No comment on Tony Stark's lawyers, much less the man himself. Besides, it's probably poor form to shit talk his day job.

Instead, "How'd you lose your wife?" His hands are shoved back into the pockets of his leather jacket, and he watches the older woman sidelong while making sure to keep her cantankerous bird in his peripheral vision. Why? Because he's learned to trust supernatural creatures about as much as he trusts anyone else: which is to say, not at all.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie gives a small smile, and she shrugs her shoulders. "That's a bit of a story, Mr. Reyes, and you've hardly volunteered any information about yourself in exchange. So, let's talk about *you*. Unless your friend wants to introduce himself and be polite, but that seems to be a stretch." she remarks quietly. "So, is it Mr. Reyes? Roberto? Bert? Oh please tell me it's *not* Bert. I shan't ever be able to take you seriously, which is probably far more dangerous for me."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
At that, Robbie chuckles and looks away. "Puede llamarme como quiera, senora." He too shrugs a broad shoulder, amusement notching one corner of his mouth. "Simplemente no prometo que voy a responder a ella."

As for the Rider behaving himself, "He ain't said much about you, matter of fact. Probably means you scare him, or he hasn't figured you out yet."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Deberias contestar si llamo; no llamo a alguien por nada, muchacho." the witch gives a small smile, her lips curling tightly.

    "I'm probably the least complicated person in this room," she waves off ELi not figuring her out, "but then again, do I even count as a person? How many lives do we all get to live?" she asks rhetorically, and rocks back and forth a moment on her stool.

    "But I can't blame him, I'm really quite frightening depending on which side of the No Man's Land one stood."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The reply garners a watchful, considering look from the 'boy'. Who, he'd argue, is twenty-two and of legal drinking age, thank you very much. But from Nettie's perspective? Maybe he's little more than a child.

"Bullshit," he counters, low-voiced. He meets her eyes directly, boldly; his left looks bloodshot to the extreme, an inhuman orange curdled with motes of gold and black. "You an' me both know there ain't nobody uncomplicated in this room. Senora." He tacks that on in a cheeky attempt at smoothing over his language, complete with a dimpled grin.

"I wouldn't worry about it. He's probably just tryin' to think of where he's heard of you from. He'll let me know once he figures it out." He does a moue with his lips. "Or he won't."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "They're a terribly capricious lot, aren't they?" Nettie gives a small smile.

    And Robbie is a kid to Nettie. Most of them are. And they don't deserve the horrors of this life.

    "So. You're a young lad with an impolite hitchhiker. How'd you find yourself in that situation?" she questions, tapping herself down lightly before she exposes a silk pouch, from which she withdraws a handrolled cigarette. She lights it with a faded blue bic.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Now that's just not fair. The cigarette comes out, and Nettie can practically *taste* his unvoiced desire for it, palpable as another entity in the cloistered little shop.

"Uh." It takes him a moment to catch up to what she's said to him. "Well, you know." He tries to keep his eyes off of Nettie as she lights up. "I was dying, he was lookin' for a body, and made me a deal I couldn't refuse. Then we rode off into the sunset together." The sarcasm practically drips off him; as does no small amount of regret.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie looks down at her hand-rolled, and she offers the little silk packet to Robbie. "Just don't say you got one from me. They get their knickers in a twist about smoking indoors these days." she snorts, and slides over her bic as well.

    "How tragically uncommon. I don't suppose he was in it for the sensations of having a body like a void-dweller, or for unfinished deeds like a lost soul variety. Is that how you got your --" she brings her hand up, motioning to one of her own unnaturally aqua eyes, matching Robbie's molten orange.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
"I think your secret's safe with me," Robbie confides in a low, unflinching deadpan. He withdraws a cigarette between index finger, middle and thumb, and lifts it for a quick sniff. Never know what you'll get in someone's hand-rolled, after all. Whatever's in it, it seems to pass muster though.

He lights up while she's talking, and it's remarkably unremarkable: a flicker of ignition at his fingertips like tinder catching a spark. Then it's gone in the same heartbeat, and he's bringing it to his lips for a drag.

"Unfinished deeds? Somethin' like that." His attention drawn to her strange eyes, he nods after a moment's brief distraction. "Yeah. Fucked it right up. What's with yours? Would've guessed blind, but.." He continues watching her, letting the question kind of hang there between them.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    High quality British loose tobacco. It's strong smelling and has a slight apple scent to it from the paper.

    It is otherwise just a filterless cigarette. Nettie doesn't have anything odd in it.

    She accepts her lighter back, stashing it away.

    "I did something fairly stupid when I was fourteen and far too clever for my own safety, and contracted for the knowledge to bring my murdered sister and nephew back from the dead for the color of my hair and eyes. I /was/ a brunette." she explains, and she takes off her glasses and waves them around. "No, no, just going a bit fuzzy after a hundred and fifty three years. Blind would have made my being a nurse in the army quite the challenge." she gives a small smile, and she shakes her head.

    "Gaining any sort of power never is without its cost. I'm sure you're familiar with it, poor lad. Those 'limited time offers' always get us." she states with a grim smile. "The things we do for love."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Not his usual fare, but more than acceptable. "Thanks." He exhales a steady stream of smoke through lips and nose, just barely mannered enough to turn *away* from Nettie when he does it. "Sounds like you sold a little more than that." A gesture with his gifted cigarette to her face, broadly. Then a rueful twist of his lips.

"Didn't know what kind of deal I was makin', either. There's something about the sound of revenge, when you're bleeding out and tryin' to figure out what's melting steel and what's your own burning flesh--"

He's suddenly aware he's been dragged into a memory, and stops abruptly. A taut silence unravels in the space between those words and his next: "Was it worth it, though?" She can spot him swallow. "Yours, I mean."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Never did care for the smell of burning flesh. After a while it begins to fade into the background, like piss and blood." she remarks quietly, and takes another long drag off her cig, holding it in for a minute and then exhaling through her nose, the smoke heavily curling againt the counter as she leans forward.

    "It's so clear, isn't it? Looking up, the fear, feeling your body begin to shut down as your soul begins to separate like it's a fucking piece of carbon paper. And you *fear*. And everything your brain tells you is an emotion is so much *stronger* than what it should be." she remarks quietly.

    "I never got the chance to use the knowledge I gained from it." she replies in a very soft voice.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
He doesn't speak further on the subject of burning flesh, whatever thoughts he might have about it rattling around in his head. Instead, he watches Nettie take that pull off her cigarette while his mind goes wherever it goes.

"Si," replies the boy quietly, watching the countertop between them. "Lo recuerdo claramente." Then he ventures, after a slow drag of his own, "Maybe your chance just ain't come up yet."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Necromancy is messy business, Mr. Reyes. The Dead like to stay Dead. If I had chosen to bring my sister and her infant back to life, I wouldn't have been able to recognize them. And sometimes they need new bodies. Fresher the better. And what kind of life is that?" she questions softly, then turns to Robbie, her unnaturally blue eyes settling on him.

    "But I will advise you on this, for free, lad: you may be in for a long ride. Find something that brings you joy. Not 'makes you happy'. Something worth living for. And you hold it, gently, in the palm of your hand, so that it cannot slip through your fingertips."

    And she takes another drag, the cherry of the cigarette lighting up in a bright glow.

    "And you hold to those motes of joy. Even when the person is gone, those still light up in the darkness."

    She pauses a moment.

    "Like when Addie an' me stole a tank."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
For free? He does not ask what sort of payment she usually takes. It might be something grisly like fingers or eyeballs, and god knows he's lost a few of those already.

"Sounds like a good time," he remarks, nearly chancing a smile. "Where'd you take it?"

Maybe she spots the way he clams up when the suggestion's given. He's purposefully avoided it, holding onto things. People, places, things; except that damn car that won't let him leave.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Naked joyride through a French village. We were terribly drunk at the time and wasn't steady enough for the besom so we stole a tank"

    Nettie pauses and gives a small shrug.

    "Seemed like a good idea at the time?" she crinkles her eyes.

    "And with that, Mr. Reyes, it is past closing time, and I've not had anything for supper. I'm going to order a pizza and finish my bottle of gin so I can be proper maudlin." she gives the young man a smile.

    "...and... considering the subject matter -- don't fret about advice. WHen you're working for me in the JLD, I'm supposed to be a point of advice for you young duckies. And I'm happy to do it. It's... nice."