9236/A Matter of Custom

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A Matter of Custom
Date of Scene: 22 December 2021
Location: Candle, Booke and Belle
Synopsis: Ancient, newly-resurrected wizard meets deathless witch and gives her a shopping list to make her gawk. Good times had all around.
Cast of Characters: Nettie Crowe, Atrun Rai




Nettie Crowe has posed:
    The Candle, Booke and Belle Shoppe was still technically closed. The Specials board was pulled in, and the sign with its black candle and purple of flame flapped in the breeze outside.

    Inside, it was still warm and comfortable. The silver-white haired witch was wearing a long-sleeved black tee today, with a corset atop it laced properly, and a pair of swishy black skirts.

    Her hair was pulled back in a short ponytail, Nettie's voice ringing out to a cover of The Carol of the Bells with punk guitars and a faster beat.

    The place has been cleaned. The insence rack has been righted. The door marked PRIVATE is closed, and the tea bar has a variety of tea cups and mugs, upside-down on matched saucers. There's a platter of baked goods and some local deli sandwiches set up.

    The whole of the place is comfortable feeling, homey.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    It's such a nice thing, really, a magical store - even in these days, where such establishments have such mundane facades, one cannot escape the sense of the mystical. The warm. The comfortable. It's the connection that man has with the godhead, one supposes. When the door opens and the swarthy man in his mid-thirties with the vaugely ethnic costume and the very Assyrian beard and hairstyle enters this haven of the mystical, yes. He knows he's home.

    Dark radio signals from beyond the barriers of this reality, guiding him to where he needs to be. Better than Yelp, for sure.

    He sees her there, the lady singing along with the dischordant punk cover of traditional holiday tunes; amused, he smiles, showing a mouth full of white teeth and his bearlike frame swelling with warmth. His people, after all. "Mistress Crowe," he proclaims in a baritone voice as rich as his smile, an accent there that sounds...let's go with Mediterrenean. "I give you greetings."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    It is a nice thing, a magical store in an area thick with magicians. It makes the market for rarer reagents a little odd, but she doesn't mind it.

    The white-haired lady pauses as the doors open. The warding shouldn't have let anyone in who wasn't welcome, which meant that something poked a hole in the wards, and he was Meant to be here. Some unknown hand moved.

    So the woman gives a handwave to the ancient, 1930's radio at the end of the counter, and she gives a return smile of teeth. Her voice has a silver quality to it as she comes down off the narrow ladder, and the short lady stands across the counter from the man. She looks him up and down a moment, and though on guard, she's friendly.

    "And I give greetings and salutations in return, stranger in a strange land." she ticks the corner of her mouth up a moment, and she spreads her hands a moment. "Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I am Atrun-Rai." Just that, no surname. The big man walks further into the place, lifting a broad hand in an odd gesture - not specifically magical, pe se, but it has the weight of ritual meaning, like a mudra, perhaps, and very much official. Meant, indeed. "I have come to speak with you on a matter of alchemy, and I am told that you may be able to help me with my requirements."

    A look to the radio himself as well, and he returns his attention to her. "I assume that trade will suffice for what I require. In knowledge, of course."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Not a name she recognizes, by a long shot, but his presence has weight.

    "That all depends," Nettie begins, and she taps herself down, and removes a cloth packet from her skirt. "I'm terribly knowledgeable at the moment." Nettie states, her head tilting a moment. Her lips purse and she takes a deep breath, rubbing her hands a moment as she goes for a pair of gloves kept beneath the bar.

    "What sort of alchemy are you looking to have performed?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He laughs faintly at that, walking up to the counter now; he lays his hands there, making sure they're shown at all times. Perhaps the account of making sure your guns are checked at the door - a gesture of respect, albeit a terribly old-fashioned one if it is. "Not the work," he replies, "No, Mistress. I require materials." He lifts one hand, and produces from betwixt his fingers a folded-up piece of paper - lays it down upon the counter. Unfolded, it will entail the following:

* Six small ingots, solidified elemental mercury
* Three ounces, moon-silver dust
* Distilled oil of sunlight
* Two ingots sanctified tin
* Two ingots sanctified copper
* Ashes from the urn of a warrior
* Mortar from an unbreached wall

    The metals are odd enough, the elemental mercury requiring sorcery to 'freeze' into ingots and the moon-silver being simply silver suffused with the light of the moon, and the oil of sunlight being similar with that of sunlight. Unusual combinations of things. The value is, of course, rather expensive. "There you are," says the man, indicating the list produced. "Can you provide this?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "... Critias on a pogostick." Nettie whispers, and she brings her eyes up, and looks at Atrun-Rai. She purses her lips. She brings a hand up, and presses a gloved finger to the paper and pulls it closer, drawing a pair of reading glasses from her pocket and she takes out a hand-rolled cigarette from her cloth packet, and places it between her lips as she looks over the list again, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

    "Second to last is probably the easiest and least ethical to get, everything else..." she traces a couple of symbols on the tea bar's top a moment, and she narrows her eyes.

    "... you're here to help us, yeah?" she asks, drawing her eyes up to Atrin-Rai. "Gimmie two days, I can have it together for you to pick up. And don't Mistress me." she gives a smile. "Just Nettie will do, after all, any friend of Jon's is by requirement, at the moment, a friend of mine."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Reality must be preserved," he says simply. "Ethics are not a question - so long as an innocent is not harmed." Those dark eyes narrow slightly as he tracks the movement of her finger upon the tea bar. "And you are Mistress Nettie, for you deserve the honorific. I know who you are. What you have sacrificed."

    At this, he taps a finger upon the bar. "I have to offer you two spells which you have never seen before: one light, one dark. To fit your nature. And..." A slight smile. "When my work is done, an ounce-weight of orichalcum. Will this suffice?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "I do like reality, it's where all the bodies are buried." Nettie replies to Atrun-Rai, and she pauses her finger's movements. She was writing figures. Mental notes. Codified, just moving to help her remember. She looks at Atrun-Rai quietly when he mentions knowing what she has sacrificed. Her expression softens a moment, and she breathes out a moment. Two new spells and orichalcum.

    "You have yourself your reagents. I shall gather them and having them for you here within two days. It'll take me that long for the Mercury to set."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Do not worry, sister," says the man, bowing his head slightly to her assertion. "I am only recently returned from death, mmm? I wish to keep it so. You have my help." A beat. "And my silence."

    And then the man who calls himself by an ancient name leans forward, his lips much closer to that very pierced ear than most would probably consider safe, and - assuming she does not draw away - he whispers something in her ear in a tongue that died long before Atlantis sank beneath the waves.

    "Mestalestayi es metakala val."

    He leans back then, expression still bright. "I give you that mystery. As thanks for your time. Good day, Mistress Crowe. I am glad that we have met."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    The witch allows Atrun-Rai to come closer, and she stiffens a moment, her fingers curling against the tea bar as he whispers in her ear. She tries to place the tongue, tries to think back on her earliest days of learning magic at her parents' feet -- but cannot. She takes a breath, and then her eyes narrow to Atrun-Rai, but she gives an equally cheery smile.

    "As you were then, Master Atrun-Rai. I'm very glad that we have met; be safe in your travels. I shall see you two days from now."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "May it be so." With a final nod, he steps back from the bar - and, with a final look about the shop, makes his exit. The people you meet in New York...