17183/How Many Horror Movies can one Cram into a Day

How Many Horror Movies can one Cram into a Day
Date of Scene:	14 February 2024
Location:	Apartment 3A (Phoebe's Apartment)
Synopsis:	Xander visits Phoebe in the Curio. Phoebe offers to work with Xander because she's a nice person who wants to help. Xander loves Potato. Potato loves everyone.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Xander Prescott

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    THE CURIO

    Once upon a time this building was in Merseyside, outside Liverpool in the UK. It's apartment 3A, where the current 'building manager' lives, still has a bullet hole in it from an accidental discharge that has nothing to do with the single bedroom.

    Then it was moved to NYC, with some difficulty and resulting in some discussion. It was warded, artfully. All over. Phoebe helped, and the warm feeling of her own magic clung to its every wall.

    And then mysteriously it moved itself to Gotham, attached to its 'landlady'. And now the Curio stands as an apartment building, a safe haven, and home, watched over by a ghostly cat that dwells in its locked lending library and manned by the healer known as Balm.

    Who is currently upside-down on her overstuffed couch, pink-sock-clad feet in the air, wearing Care Bears leggings and a black two-sizes-too-large sweatshirt with a 'CANELO'S AUTO BODY' patch on the left breast and 'ROBBIE' underneath it (there is zero mistaking who she 'stole' a shirt from this time). Her braids were out this time, her hair in a somewhat disorganized poof, balancing a massive bowl of popcorn on her stomach, and a bowl of skittles on the floor as she watches telenovelas, and is trying to suss out the Spanish being used.

    There are two dogs in the apartment with her. The stately, very graceful and absolutely calm Idu, who is sphynxing it up sitting on the couch and watching the screen with interest, and Potato who is the exact opposite of grace and laying, croissant style, belly-up, showin' all the goods with his hind legs kicking up in the air, tongue on the floor, and snoring.

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Despite its nickname being magically appropriate, the Cauldron isn't somewhere Xander frequents. It feels a little too close to Bristol Township, to the Prescott Estate, to Brentwood Academy. Places with too many memories, and the very real threat his father poses to his continued existence. But Phoebe was gracious enough to pass over an invitation, and even though he suspects she was hoping he wouldn't take her up on it, Xander supposes it's only polite to stop by.

    Though, if he was her, that's not what he'd want.

    He steps up onto the stoop, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans - designer, but thrifted, so they're well-worn in the way that implies actual frequent usage rather than them being intentionally distressed by the manufacturer - and then he just... stands there for a bit. Only a few seconds, really, but enough time for Xander to contemplate if he's really doing this. But he already spent money on train fare to get here, so he might as well follow-through. One hand lifts to knock on the door.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The Curio's front door opens. Unlike other magical houses, it doesn't dump Xander into the apartments. Instead, it's a nice -- if shabbily appointed -- lobby. A couple of third-hand couches. Some board games. Checkerboard tile, a room marked LENDING LIBRARY with (Currently Closed), and another room marked "FIRST AID KIT - Ring Bell for Service" - the rope on the bell weirdly has a bunch of golden glitter staining it. Along with stairs, and a birdcage-style elevator.

    Phoebe pauses in her TV consumption and lowers the volume. A PRESENCE HAS BEEN ANNOUNCED!

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Doors swinging open unaided don't surprise Xander any more. His aunt's townhouse does that, always welcoming to guests so long as they're the sort of people Aunt Lucretia likes to entertain. He counts himself lucky to be among that number.

    Of course, her townhouse doesn't have an entire lobby, but it has a cozy little entrance way that always warms or cools itself to precisely the right temperature to help whoever's just arrived relax. Which, in hindsight, isn't super obvious magic, but given his aunt's propensity for the natural elements, it's suiting.

    Either way, his personal experience with magical households and buildings tells Xander that it's best to just wait. No doubt Phoebe is already well-aware of his presence, given the prodigious wards he just slipped through upon entering. So he shrugs his puffy winter coat off, as well as the leather jacket he was wearing underneath that, and folds them both over his arms as he waits, leaving him just in his jeans and a sweater, with the sleeves and collar of a button-up peeking out from beneath the later.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    There's the sound of a door opening. Slippered feet on wooden floors, and Phoebe's voice drifts down from above.

    "Hello?" her voice echoes. "Uh... if you're here to visit Bart or Emiko, I'm pretty sure they're not in." she calls down. It's not often they have visitors that the place doesn't recognize. This one doesn't feel like Robbie's icy demon coolness (or the scent of burning metal and cities that accompanies him). Nor Damian's chillness and the scent of Dragonbat (which in itself was a strangely comforting cross between 'shaggy dog that has had a bath in the last three days' and 'fresh straw').

    Phoebe also begins to wonder about here when everything started to have olfactory senses (since she herself smells like black pepper and roses with that twist of Citrus thanks to her own magic).

    Magic is strange, further news at six.

    "Wait -- Xander? Is that you?"

Xander Prescott has posed:
    It is indeed Xander. "The door let me in!" he calls out in reply, vaguely in the direction of upwards to wherever Phoebe might be. His feet shuffle against the floor as his weight shifts from one to the other, then back again.

    "If I'm interrupting I can come back later!" Except he knows he won't. Putting himself out there is not a particular skill Xander has in any measurable quantity; most of the situations he's found himself in over the years have more to do with the actions of others than anything to do with his own intentions. And even now, doing this? Feels like too much.

    Already he's talking himself out of being here.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "That's because the building knows you're friendly. Welcome to the Curio!" Phoebe's voice echoes. "C'mon up to 3A. That's my place. There's some empties around the floors if you're looking for a place to crash some night." she calls back to Xander. "You're not interrupting anything. Day off from classes and I was just doing some Spanish lessons. But uh... I have like my dogs here? You're not allergic to dogs are you? ... or ghosts?"

    Something might brush by Xander's pants leg, with the jingling of a tiny bell. And then it is gone.

    "I've got popcorn and skittles, can make some coffee up."

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Invite given, the sound of footsteps begin to echo against the walls of stairwell. They only pause briefly at that ghostly touch, but in a city like Gotham, such a thing isn't all that unusual. Too much tragedy around every corner for ghosts not to be commonplace.

    Xander eventually appears on the third floor landing, coat and jacket now migrated to one arm. "Mango makes my face itchy," is apparently all he has to offer in the allergies department. He sweeps his hair back with his free hand, tucking the longer of the pale strands behind his ear on one side. "Don't do anything extra on my account. Just thought I'd drop by."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Good to know -- do cashews do the same?" Phoebe asks. She's there, wearing super casual clothing, about as far away from how she appeared in the alleyway a few days ago, very casual and hang-out.

    And she gives a 'psh' sound.

    "Xander I do pretty much what I want to when it comes to hosting someone. I meant it when I said, y'know, if you wanted to hang out." she rubs the back of her neck.

    "... I don't really have a lot of magical friends my own age. One's thousands of years old and another one is in her thirties. A couple are in their thirties."

Xander Prescott has posed:
    "Nope," Xander answers, popping the P with precision. He comes to a stop in front of apartment 3A's door, looking down his nose at Phoebe in what is, frankly, just old habits. And you know what they say: they die hard. But his expression softens, and his head tilts, making the expression suddenly much less severe and much more playful.

    He gives a shake of his head. "Neither do I. I just have my aunt, really." The fingers of his free hand tap against the outside of his leg. "Not much of a magical community in Gotham, it seems like. Unless I'm just hanging out with the wrong circles."

    Admittedly he's not really hanging out in any circles, unless you count the ones he infiltrates to take down. The ones filled with criminals.

    "And my aunt is a homebody, too, so aside for her coven's weekly meetups, I haven't seen much in the way of actual magic use in the city. Until you."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Gotham's got some community, but uh... they don't tend to rear their head much. Batman and all." Phoebe points out, rubbing the back of her neck because she is part of the reason they don't. Balm and all.

    "New York has a better one, but you've got a couple people who are the children of Death Gods, one lady who's a daughter of Gaia, and there was one who literally called himself Messiah. Definitely the humblest of the lot." she jokes.

    Inside the apartment, it is comfortable. There's working magic in here -- a cursery look into the bathroom reveals a very Zen cat in space on the shower curtain with a huge claw footed tub that is just MEANT for bubble baths and soaking in. The window also looks out to a garden with spring flowers, instead of a view from a third floor flat.

    The two dogs look up as he crosses the threshold. The white-and-red one sets his longboi head on the couch's arm to watch, but the meatball-on-legs rolls over and gives a "BOOF! <3" sound, and immediately hops to his pillar-like legs and charges, tail low and wagging, to meet his new friend.

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Maybe that's why Aunt Lucretia's coven is so... lowkey, Xander supposes. "Huh," he says, and his tone slants into something distant, but thoughtful. "I mean, they're a bunch of queer cottagecore kitchen witches, so I've always just assumed that their vibe is chill because of that. The wildest they get is when they're tipsy on their tub-made moonshine and even then they just use a few spicy words in Scrabble."

    He sniffs. Pointedly, he doesn't mention how many of them have kicked his ass at Words With Friends.

    As he steps inside, he makes note of the two canines in residence with a distracted awareness, the way a feline who feels unapproachable might. He's very much the black cat friend, though he must have had a golden retriever friend-counterpoint at some point in his life, because he distractedly leans over to offer his hand for sniffings and, if accepted, a brief head-pat to the spudsy one.

    "I hate New York," he adds, after, typical old haughtiness in his voice. But his expression is more of a grimace than snooty derision. "It's just... too much. It makes my skin crawl, sometimes."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Queer cottagecore kitchen witches sound like a folk-punk jam band." Phoebe replies with a small grin, and she steps into the tiny kitchen, with its pass-through window to the breakfast bar in the living room. There is a stack of tuppies there with multicolor cookies inside of them, one marked 'MI AMOR' with a heart over the I, and the other marked 'GABE'. And a big one marked 'OUTSIDERS' with a heart over the I.

    And another one just marked 'BART' that is equal in size to the Outsiders one.

    "How do you take your coffee?" she asks as she starts puttering, pulling her hair back with a scarf.

    "New York is an epicenter. A lot of leylines, a lot of Bad Shit happens there. I spent six months in intense training in the city before it was attacked."

Xander Prescott has posed:
    "Yeah some of them play in a band," Xander replies, glibly. Is he serious? His face is incredibly difficult to read, perfectly placid, so there's no telling. He follows Phoebe over to the kitchen but remains on the other side of the breakfast bar, a respectable amount of distance kept between them.

    And then his mouth opens to say "Black," but he barely gets the first sound of the word out before he stops, purses his lips together, and then sighs a little, as if to himself. "With cream and sugar, please, if you have it."

    He eyes up the cookies with mild interest, though excepting for his apparent coffee preferences, he's not a big sweets eater. Instead he focuses in on what Phoebe says about New York. "That... explains a lot about why I don't like it."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Really?" Phoebe asks, "Wonder if I've heard of them." she considers a moment as she purses her lips.

    She comes back with the coffee in a happy looking mug with a sunshine that says "JUST ANOTHER FUCKING SUNNY DAY" - GOTHAM CITY NJ USA.

    "I don't have any sugar at the moment, so it's sweetened with honey. I hope that's all right." she explains as she sets his coffee down, and she gives a small smile, letting Xander have the chair so she takes the couch, where Potato hops up and sits, tail wagging, and Idu has curled himself up with his head on his rump, eyeballing Xander.

    "Oh right -- Xander, this is Potato. He has the IQ of the same. And this is Idu. He is very bright and knows exactly what a handsome boy he is."

Xander Prescott has posed:
    "They're folk-punk, though I couldn't tell you what their name is. I think it changes every week or so. I can send you the link to their soundcloud, though, if you're into that sort of thing." Is Xander into that sort of thing? Again, hard to read.

    He sits rather primly in the chair offered to him, holding his mug in both hands. "That's fine," he says of the honey, giving a little head-shake to confirm he's not bothered. He blows lightly on the still-steaming coffee and hazards a sip as he's introduced to the pups, hoping for the cream to have done an acceptable job of cooling it down.

    And success. He clears his throat and actually nods at both dogs, like they're people. "Potato. Idu. A pleasure."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "BOOF!" Potato states, his tail wagging.

    "Likewise." Idu replies, and then yawns, stretches, and appears to go to sleep.

    Phoebe has her own cup of coffee. It is very strong, and very black.

    "So, your aunt's coven -- is what wehere you're getting lessons from? I did things on my own for a while, before I ended up falling into intense field training." Phoebe explains, "Though ah... healing and exorcism and direction of energy, I guess, would be my specialities?"

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Nothing at all about this seems unusual to Xander, who crosses one leg over the other and visibly puts effort into settling in and getting comfortable, rather than sitting rigidly like his spine is an iron rod.

    "Not exactly," he hedges, to begin his response, and then he takes another -- fortifying -- drink of coffee. "I'll admit that some of them aren't precisely keen about me. For a combination of reasons. But for the most part, my particular style of magic and theirs just doesn't seem to get along. They're very... Wiccan about it. Alignment with nature, that whole thing. What I do and how I do it tends to fly in the face of that."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "That can be an issue. There's a lot of different types of magic." Phoebs explains, and she brings her hands up. Her fingertips glow a rose gold, and she pulls out strings of magic from around her hands.

    "I was told my own comes in different types. Healing. Purification. Light. Combined? They can make a really bad day for anything on the Dark Magic spectrum, but it also means I have to be very careful working with anyone who uses certain kinds of magic. Too much Light with Healing, and if I'm healing a friend who's fiendish, I could burn them from the inside-out. Too much Healing? I can accidentally reset an enemy like a videogame glitch. It's all about control." she states, and then she brings her hands together, and with a whispered 'Ignis!' -- Fire!

    It burns between her hands.

    "I know a little other magic too. Some of it seems really innate. I pick up new things very quickly, magically speaking. Wish I could do the same with my Spanish skills." she states in a dry voice, and then claps her hands together, extinguishing the fireball.

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Xander looks down at the mug in his hands, at his thumb posed against the top of the handle. In fact, he's so focused on it that when Phoebe whispers her spell, it's the bright flash of magic, of fire, that causes his head to jerk up sharply.

    "I can manage that once or twice, on a good day. But it's like... have you ever seen The Neverending Story?" he asks. "It's an old movie. A friend showed it to me once. And I always think of that scene in the swamp, when Artax is lost, when I'm trying to pull that kind of magic out of myself."

    He ends up resting the mug on one knee, a hand kept on it to keep it steady. Though after a moment he lifts it, offering Phoebe a mock sort of toast, just as the sunshine souvenir mug transforms itself into a dainty teacup, with filigree swirls of ink on its surface. Another couple of seconds pass before it becomes a chalice, gold and jewel-encrusted. "The coven thinks I work against nature instead of with it. And I suppose I do." He takes in a breath, and then leans forward to set the mug, back to its original version, down on the table.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "When did you start actually manipulating reality?" Phoebe questions, picking her coffee back up from where it was placed on the coffee table. She crosses her legs, sitting entirely on the couch as she purses her lips. She considers her words.

    "Also thank you for turning that back into its original form -- it's a trial getting things back to their original shape if it's not healing." she gives a wry smile.

    "So, swamp of sadness and pulling a horse that has given up hope."

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Having it described that way doesn't seem to surprise Xander. Actually, it seems to just make him frown, and his head dips slightly. "Not long after I started learning from my aunt," he explains. "She says it's because I'm stubborn, but that's not really true. I think..."

    His tongue presses to the roof of his mouth, and he wishes desperately that he hadn't set his mug down, as now would be a perfect time for another steadying coffee-sip. Instead his fingers drum against his jean-covered knee and he sighs. "Sometimes I just wish things were different than they are so badly that... things change," he finishes.

    Then his eyes close. "But it's never really the thing I wish would change."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe takes a deep breath, and she looks into her pool of black coffee.

    "Yeah." she replies. "I feel that in my bones. I wish I had the power to reshape reality. To go back and fix things. Stop things from happening. But... we can't. Not at our level, anyway." she explains gently. "But in time? With research and effort, we can do the unimaginable."

    Or when an Angel seals off your emotions so you don't feel bad about collapsing rooftops or fascades on people and putting your bestie in mortal danger of losing his mind forever.

    "Well. If you had no limits, what would you like to do?"

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Aside for internal reactions, Xander doesn't really let his discomfort show. He might grind his teeth or keep himself held tense, but he doesn't huff and puff, he just stews in it, silently, miserably. And he's definitely miserable now, even though his voice is level.

    "There's... something I'd fix. Something that's broken," he says, carefully picking his words. And then his mouth opens, to continue, but something stops him. He blinks once, and then shrugs a shoulder.

    "I guess I'd reclaim the family fortune, too. I do so hate having to live within my means. I'm not sure how everyone does it so regularly."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "A lot of training." Phoebe replies wryly regarding living within their means. "So you feel responsible for something and you want to fix it. I get it. I'm there sometimes too." she smiles, and she leans her head back against the couch.

    "Well. I was told that using magic is a bit like working a muscle. The more you train the finer your control gets, even if you don't get stronger in it. However..." she leans forward again.

    "All magic has its price. I get to ignore some of it, but not all of it. I gave up my adopted mother's love. I carry scars that others can't see, because I made decisions that hurt. That I felt there was no other choice to make. I've only been doing this for three and a half... fourish years. And I have suffered. If you *want*... I can maybe help you train more. But there are others. Doctor Strange, the Justice League Dark -- both of them operate out of New York City. I help some folks with my skills. I do some patrolling --" both for the Bats and for the Justice League at this point.

    "... but if you want I can help. Just remember the first two rules; The price never doesn't suck, and it's OK to throw up."

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Xander is silent in the face of the offer, at least at first. He mulls it over, hands folded over his knee, as Phoebe offers alternate options. And he doesn't quite sneer at them, but his mouth forms a little upward curl, definitely one that is about to proceed a rejection.

    "I'd prefer to keep away from New York City as much as possible, but thanks." He levels a look over at her. "I'm not sure if I want any kind of official training relationship... I'm a bit too flighty for that, really. But if you'd like to share knowledge, I wouldn't be against receiving it. Maybe we could meet for coffee again?"

    He nods towards the cup. "Though I mostly drink tea, at home, so it'll have to be that if I were to receive you instead."