9272/To Pick Up

To Pick Up
Date of Scene:	24 December 2021
Location:	Candle, Booke and Belle
Synopsis:	Atrun-Rai stops in for a materials pick up. Zatanna stops in for a chat. Nettie stops at nothing.
Cast of Characters:	Nettie Crowe, Atrun Rai, Zatanna Zatara

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Nettie Crowe has posed:
    From last night's work to today's. The circle inscribed in the floor has been rendered inert, filled with salt and covered with a large, round rag rug, upon which chairs and sitting cushions are posed. Rather than the frantic energy of last night, or the excited energy of when the order was placed, tonight is somber. The old radio at the end of the counter is playing, perhaps in irony, O Come O Come Emmanuel. There is a small, sparsely decorated tree, under which there are a few wrapped gifts. The wrapping paper on them is very old fashioned, the bows smooshed. There's a sense that those gifts are never going to be opened.

    Nettie herself is behind the counter, her head held in one arm, a pair of reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose as she reads some saucy boddice-ripper historical romance with a muscley guy who's forgotten how to wear a shirt on the front. Beside her there is a wooden crate.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    And, as it happens, there's a muscular guy who, in his astral form, wasn't wearing pants last night in Heaven. Well, you know. He was wearing a knee-length tunic and boots, it wasn't like he was indecent - but he /is/ muscular. As he arrives, the tree is noted, its shrinelike nature filed away. Then there's the lady.

    "Well," He gives Nettie a tight smile as he enters the shop, glancing to one side as the door closes behind him. "Good evening, Mistress Crowe. How do you fare?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Master Atrun-Rai, good evening, happy Christmas, bah humbug." Nettie replies in greeting, and marks her page with a receipt before she straightens up. Today she is wearing a gray shirt beneath a pocketed vest, and jeans. Her hair is pulled back and hidden behind a bandana, and she gives a nod of greeting to Atrun-Rai as he enters, the ringing of bells from her door accompanying him.

    "As we agreed, your list is complete. Six small ingots solidified elemental mercury -- a nice challenge, haven't done it in a while. Three ounces of moon-silver dust, infused with the full moon from the Halloween before last. Distilled oil of sunlight -- strongest I could source, created on a summer's solstice. Sanctified Tin and Copper, the tin consecrated by a priest in France whom I have a loose association with, the copper from a chap I once knew in India. The Mortar from an Unbreached Wall -- wasn't sure how much you needed, but the wall is still standing. And last but not least, the ashes from the urn of a warrior." she states, and she pulls out a wooden box.

    And she purses her lips.

    "This isn't my normal graveyard dirt that I sell. I knew this warrior. I called them my friend. They would be honored to help in the fight."

    She taps herself down a moment, "... I asked politely."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Good." He smiles, walking up the counter; could he have procured some of this? Who knows? He's good at making himself utterly mysterious. He's about to say more wen his hand rests upon the counter, and his eyes meet hers. "Tell me of them, this warrior," he says. "I would hear."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie gives a small smile, and looks to Atrun-Rai a moment in thought, before she reaches down and produces two clear glasses.

    Followed by a blue bottle, from which a clear, pine-smelling liquid is poured. A mouth full for Atrun-Rai, but a large glass for the witch. She moves her book off to the side.

    "This warrior, I knew well. She came from a minor house with a trace of nobility in my native Lincolnshire, England. She saw the ills of the world for precisely what they were, and instead of deciding to stand back or stand by, she sought to make something of it. She tried to call our homeland to action before we knew the full extent of the evil that had pervaded the country of Germany." she speaks quietly.

    "She refused to be a nurse, wasn't satisfying enough to her sense of justice to see these lads come back wounded or with their arms blown off. She dressed in men's cloths, snuck herself in. She should have been pinned with awards for her mettle..." she trails off, and gives just a small smile.

    "She was a good friend, and loyal to the bitter end to the ideal of Justice, thinking that God would be by her side. When I explained what this entailed, she stepped up first and said that it would be a quiet honor to defend the world, even if it means, by her faith, she would never be able to enter the Kingdom of Heaven and sit in His glory."

    Nettie gives a slight smile.

    "She died at the age of eighty-six after whupping a couple neo-Nazis with her cane sayin' they didn't compare to the real thing in Germany. Poor thing's heart gave out in the street. Death would have had to take her while she was distracted, else she would have fought them, too."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He was not exepecting such a dram, nor such a story. Quietly he listens, to this story of quiet, dignified heroism. The majesty of it. Of the woman who lived it. A soft smile lines his lips. And then, after a moment, he draws a deep breath.

    "I am from Atlantis," he tells her. "Lantalla, specifically. One of the Seven Kingdoms, when Atlantis was simply the primary city of our alliance, not the capital of some great empire. At the time, of course, we called Atlyenteloi Masade. The Atlantean League." His eyes crinkle at the corners. "I am...forty-four thousand years old. Or that is, I come from a time that far back. I have been dead for most of it."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Lincolnshire, England. I was born in 1854 -- or about a hundred seventy years, give or take." Nettie takes up her Gin, and she gives a soft hmn. "I admittedly don't know much about the history of Atlantis, other than its King is part of the Spandex League and commands fish." she admits, giving a small shoulder shrug. "I'd always been rather more focused on the 'here' and 'now of magic, as it is being created and altered. Traditions combined and woven together like a tapestry -- hardly a magic user alive today that pulls from only ONE source or tradition. Too few masters." she gives a soft snort.

    "What's it like, being dead? Were you concious of it, or mostly asleep like?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    A snort issues from the big man's nostrils. "I am not of /that/ Atlantis," he explains. "The continent sank nearly thirty thousand years after I died. In those days, magic was a wild thing. Something still studied, experiemented with. A science. In those days, the gods were still easily entered into discourse with." He chuckles. "Even Merlyn the Immortal was not yet born when I drew breath."

    Then she asks of death, and he shakes his head. "Alas, there was no journey. I sacrificed myself, I died, and then I woke again only a few weeks ago. A cold and dreamless sleep."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Mmm." Nettie's nose gives a wrinkle as she sips her gin, and perks up "Before Atlantis sunk even? You speak The Queen's Tongue as well as any I might have known. Some today still look at Magic as a bit of a science. Some others as stuff and poppycock." She gives a cheery grin. "Most of us lay someplace in the middle. We stuff the science with poppycock and pretend we know what we're talkin' about half the time. Even after gettin' me mem'ries back, it's a bit of a challenge to sort everything into the right place. Bit of a mess, the mind is after a dozen decades."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "In my day, we saw it as science," he replies with a shrug. "But. I feel it is important that, as we are fighting together, you are aware. No need for quite so much mystery now that we are in the same boat." He folds his hands atop the crate on the bar, rolling his shoulders just a tad as he does so. "In those days we did not have the idea of the Abrahamic God. We know the creative force of the universe simply as The Presence, which is what I sensed in the Silver City.

    "Uriel was right to say that Michael has not Fallen. Michael is the window through which its light is filtered, and creates reality. Had Michael Fallen, the world would already be a twisted thing. Indeed, after last night, however, I have more hope than ever that Creation will be saved."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
A little envelope pops into existence on Nettie's counter like a postman throwing a letter through the mailbox. It skitters across the wood.

Inside: YOU HAVE Z INCOMING. SEND THIS BACK IMMEDIATELY IF IT'S NOT A GOOD TIME. YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE TO DECIDE.

Sixty seconds elapse, hardly fair, the old crone might have been in the bathroom. But, Zee is not feeling fair after their venture to Heaven.

        Pffft.

Nothing has been right since Uriel gave them the low-down on things. The magician pops into a corner of the shop, a few snowflakes blowing in with her. She stamps her booted feet, dislodging more snow and undoes the red scarf knotted over her long black coat.

"Afternoon! Am I interrupting anything?" she asks, looking between the two.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "That's all well and dandy, Atrun-Rai, but what if Humanity doesn't deserve to be saved? We're a rather miserable punch of fools and --" Nettie pauses as the envelope pops into existens, and skitters to her elbow. "One moment --" she opens the envelope, and she breathes out "Oh, at least she sends a note before she appears."

    "Interrupting? In THIS Shop?" Nettie asks incredulously, but she leans back to turn on one of the kettles in case Zee had no mind to join them for gin. "Your letter was missing a seal, dove, how was I supposed to know it was you?" Nettie harrangues the younger magi, and picks up another clear tumbler from beneath her bar "Gin or tea?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"A seal?" Zee give Nettie a compressed lip frown. "Noted! With the family crest, no less, as if it mattered," she grumbles like teenager.

Blowing a sigh through her nose, she eyes the mysterious bearded man with the Hammurabi beard. "Shopping?

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Shopping," Atrun-Rai affirms with a smile turned to the manifesting Zatanna. "We meet again, sister. Have you recovered from last night's affairs?" Just like that, with a smile. Affairs. Heaven's legions and archangels are 'affairs'. Then he asides to Nettie, "Reality must be preserved. Worthiness is neither our problem nor our place to judge."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Shopping." Nettie confirms with Zee, and she raises her gin. "It'd better have the fancy family seal. When else do we get to have use of those things? You can't precisely affix them to text messages, can you?" Nettie states with a small smile, one aquamarine eye half-open as she looks to Zee with a little grin, and then sets the fresh glass down. She pours out a dram of gin, and pushes it to Zatanna.

    "Happy Christmas, dove. Pity the birthday boy's big brother's a wanker."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
With a cock-eyed grin, Zee holds up her left hand that now flashes with a signet ring on her little finger. "It's ostentatious to wear them. It's let everyone know you are one of them. Pisses Americans and some Brits off these days. Not that Americans know necessarily."

"Thanks, don't mind if I do. To your good health Nettie. Monsieur," she toasts them both.

"You were talking about last night, I suppose. Hard not to. Yeah, pity that. What about his father?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "You should see mine," Atrun-Rai muses from aside them. A slight smirk upon his lips.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Psh, to yours, Zatanna, you're the only one of us properly among the living!" Nettie points out with a smile, but toasts to the health of the company around her.

    "Americans are an odd sort. They think something that's twenty years is old. OLD. HA! I had things in my refridgerator older than THAT!" she gives a laugh, and she leans back on her feet, and gives a small smile.

    "The Presence? Mm. Completely alien and probably utterly oblivious to what we want. As Uriel said, we're dust motes compared even to Michael. The trick is that dust motes can cause allergic reaction -- just gotta figure out how to trigger it." she gives a dark smile at that. She leans forward, and she stretches her arms to either side.

    "So now you get to ask yourself, Zatanna, what will be your limit for doing Anything Required. Because I've been in desperate times. Killed to stay alive. Never killed an Angel, though. Wonder how tough it is?

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Gaaah, you like your gin rough as you, you scallywag." Zatanna's expression shutters and becomes inward at the Nettie's question.

"The magical price. If I knew it would make a difference, I'd pay it. Is that being overly proud? Shouldn't I be ready to give my all just to kick him in the shins? I don't mind the dying part, so much. It's going in for the kill and bouncing off of that thing that isn't deserving of the name of angel. If I kill, I lose it all. Did I just make sense?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "I don't drink it for enjoyment." Nettie replies with a smile, enjoying the banter between her junior and the magi, and she breathes out a moment, and she looks to Zatanna.

    "Who are you teaching at the moment?" she questions, pulling out a cigarette from her vest. She double checks that it's one of her hand-rolled, and grabs up her little bic lighter.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I have no such compunctions, or limitations." Atrun-Rai gives the two of them an apologetic smile. "The Legions are nothing but an obstacle, something that must be fought and contained whilst we work out how to settle Michael - and settle he must be, because we /cannot/ kill him, at least not while he keeps the power of creation on his shoulders. Slaying him in this way will doom us as surely as a loss in this struggle."

    That said, he looks between the two women. "As for The Presence, it is not unintelligent, nor is it unaware of the situation. /It/ sent Uriel to us, who does not share his brother's surety of the cause. Uriel himself said that faith in success was on our side, not our opposition. The Presence may be testing us, but it clearly believes that we will prevail."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Frowning at the Nettie's gear switch, "Phoebe and Charlie Gage. I don't want them on the front line but Phoebe won't listen to reason and Charlie is a wild card. I could lose them both." After a pause, "Why?"

The frown still darkening her eyes, she regards Atrun-Rai, "I think you're right. But, the child inside me is wailing at the injustice of being put to trial." She looks down, ashamed of what she just admitted, "If it believes so, are we here to put Michael in his place, then?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Because if you're caring for pups, Zatanna Zatara, you have to think of them as well. I had to get my old memories to protect mine. Didn't think about the time it would take, and now Mairin's gone and Ty... Ty got into a spot of trouble." she replies quietly, and then gives a soft puff of air out, and grabs her glass, downing the rest of her gin.

    "So I take responsibility for it, recognize my failure, and choose where I go from there." she gives a bit of a grin.

    "No, we can't kill him, but we know we've been able to bind him and burn him."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "My mission is to preserve reality." Always said like the tolling of a gong. Atrun-Rai drinks his gin in a gulp, putting the glass aside. "I will kill any number of angels to make that happen. I do not have the same religious compunctions to stay my hand or guilt me." He crosses his arms over his broad chest now, in an expression that looks like it was lifted from a million ancient amphorae. "It is unjust to us, as humans. But we are, too, looking upward through the mechanism. The Presence is the engineer. It is unfair, certainly. But it is an unfortunate aspect of hierarchy."

    That said, he looks between the two. "I," he says, "Owe you two spells, Mistress Crowe. Will you bring me pen and paper?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I will talk to them both," she replies contritely. "Charlie is wildly talented and so is Phoebe. I Don't know Charlie well, yet. Phoebe..." her mouth curves into a gentle smile, "...I'm so proud of her. She needs me to be there for her."

"Look how well that binding worked, Nettie. He wasn't bound, he wasn't ready to leave yet. Now that he is injured, he likely thinks he has a JUST grievance."

She sets her glass down in front of Nettie then gazes at Atrun-Rai fixedly, shaking her head, "If I kill, I lose my magic. Period. There is nothing religious about it. Would I do it if I killed Michael?" She takes a long deep breath, then challenges him, "Would you?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "As you will, Master Atrun-Rai. But if it's in Old Atlantean I'll need a pronunciation guide and possibly a translation. Intent, and all." Nettie states, and she goes to get out some good ink and paper.

    "She's fighting for her home an' her dad. Can't be easy on her. Charlie... I've *met* Miss Gage. Wild child, pure chaos." Nettie gives a slight smile, and a soft snort. "How are you going to balance their training? Aaaand, as their instructor, you could always withdraw your support and resources should they disobey. After all... kids will be kids." Nettie gives another toothy grin. "Wouldn't want them to end up like this ol' crow, would you?"

    "So, you're limited to weakening them and leaving the killing to someone else. My magic doesn't rely on me following any particular rules at the moment." she gives a sniff. "We can't kill him. Off the table, not going to happen. He's one of the things that 'holds the shite together'. Like self-righteous, David Bowie-lookin' duct tape."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Zatanna gets a different sort of smile - polite, pleasant, but there's a tinge of something else there. Loss, perhaps. "I've already lost everything in the course of practicing magic, sister," Atrun-Rai offers to his fellow magus. "I have died in the course of saving reality before, as well. Only it was the powers of the Void, not of Heaven. So. Yes. If it would save Creation, I would kill Michael with my bare hands and feel nothing for it."

    He clucks his tongue, then, as Nettie gets out the pen and ink. "Nothing of the sort. I take it you know Ancient Greek, at least? It's close enough for the concepts to be communicated. Sister Zatanna, you're welcome to join us if you'd like to know a bit about the magic of the ancient days."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The spells, of course, get her attention but it would be unprofessional to ask. Zatanna pretends to ignore the transaction until asked to participate. "Thank you," says with a nod of her head. "It would be an honor."

While Nettie gets paper and pen, "Of course, it isn't easy on her. I hope I hear what you're saying."

Zee purses her lips at withdrawing something from them, "Fat chance that would work with Phoebe, maybe Gage. Phoebe would think she was being abandoned, yet again. I love that child," she mumbles, almost afraid to say the words aloud.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna Zatara says, "Don't think for a moment I won't risk it all in this fight. Give me some more gin, old woman.""

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Bah, wee lamb like you couldn't keep up with me." the old woman replies, and she brings the paper -- good vellum, lambskin. You don't find it easily anymore. And ink is of very good quality, dark and black India ink.

    "Careful what you say, you never know who's listening." she gives a rueful smile to Zee, and she pours the requested gin.

    "Every time I have taken on students, they have either gone to very... dark paths, or have expired. Occasionally, because there was nothing more I could do for them, it was by my hand. There was a war about it -- doubt it's in any of your books. We made an agreement to not discuss it, me an' eight others. Nasty business, Witch Wars."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Can, too," she laughs then sobers quickly.

"Your experience is one reason, I've never wanted to be the teacher. I'm so sorry that that tragedy came to pass." She sighs, "Witch Wars, the worst. Well, almost the worst.'

"But my life has been relatively easy and magic is in my blood like it is in theirs. It would be criminal for me to overlook them. Barbara Gordon asked me to take Gage on. We go way back so I said, I would meet her and see if we fit. I don't take it lightly."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
A ping alerts Zatanna and she excuses herself to look at her phone. Looking disappointed, "I'm so sorry to miss the opportunity of seeing your magic spell. I hope that I have the chance to see your work again, sir. Nettie, thank you for the gin and the advice."

Without further explanation, she takes a step back, turns and portals out of the room.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Yes, good, good." He goes and sits at a counter, then, and begins to pen neat lines of text in Ancient Greek - unlike blocks of text found in Hermetic sorcery and other means of written magic, the first spell's text is written in a weirdly slanting, spiralling way, forming an actual spiral pattern on the page, constantly coiling round and round into a black dot dead center on the page.

    "There," he says, handing it to Nettie. "The first. Read, perceive, follow to the center. Circumambulate the center in your mind until you are at your goal." A flicker of a smile. "The recitation will explain its function. The majority of magic in my day, at least where I learned it, has everything to do with constructing the greater model in your mind - you may recite a chant about a castle, for example, but you must construct the castle in your mind, brick by brick, hall by hall, until the castle is real within your mind. Then, and only then, will the effect take place. It is cumbersome, I expect, to many - but we had no 'homo magi' in our day. /Everyone/ used magic. It was these techniques that opened the truly epic works of sorcery, where the everyday man or woman acted simply by tricks of will."

    A gesture to the page. "It is called The Black Lighthouse. Properly recited, you may know your place in existence compared to a coterminous place in the Void - Nullspace - as all planes drain into it like a sea."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie Crowe draws the first spell to herself. And she looks over the spell, and there is already her mind at work. She was a a prodigy in her time, a fourteen-year-old who almost got lost to existence because of her hubris.

    She got better. "That is an excellent spell for someone who uses teleportation and borrows from... well. Doesn't matter where I borrow it from." she whispers, her mouth forming the words but adding no air to them, disjointed and unconnected to the spell.

    "Unlike Zatanna, I'm only part. My family was mixed, humans and homo magi. All of my siblings could cast, but I was the best at it. Young as I was."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He chuckles, nodding along with that. "It's more to ensure you don't lose yourself in such travels in general," the Atlantean replies, nodding at the spell. "But, of course, it is easy to get lost in the spell itself, if you are not careful - it is very possible for one's mind to be caught between the realms, as the Lighthouse's "rays" are of the Void. So." He grunts softly. "Be wary."

    Then he takes out another page, and proceeds to inscribe - lattices of letters, carefully laid out to flow into one another, forming chains that seem to be different every time one looks. "This," he says, "Is a spell that I learned when I was still a student at the Red Palace. It is called the River of Tangles, and once applied over a document, will make it incredibly difficult, if not impossible, for anyone not of a sufficient strength of will to read. The letters, you see. They flow together, very simple - and it is one of many different forms of encoding, but. One must be very careful when attempting to work out the text, for like any river, one might disturb the wrong currents, and then..." He slides the page over to her, flicking a few spatters of ink across the countertop. "...the flow is irrevocably lost."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie gives a slight grin. "Now that's handy. Get lost often, me." Nettie does not often get lost, but when she does -- hooo boy.

    The second page has her attention next, and she watches with a childlike sense of glee on her face, watching the lattice of letters take form on the spell, watching the chains. She accepts this page as well with wonder on her face --and it's clear that she's completely fascinated with his skill.

    "The Red Palace -- is that where they tought, when you are from?" she questions, examining the spell with split attention to the spellwork and to Atrun-Rai himself.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Yes," he replies, smiling faintly at the wonder with which she takes he next page. "It is - was - where the most talented magical minds were taken to in my nation. Most of Seven Kingdoms had their own schools for thousands of years; remember that in this time, Atlantis was only three thousand years old, and the kingdoms that radiated from it over time had only recently united. Everything was very much separate cultures, separate ways of thinking. We remained our own peoples then."

    He looks across the way to Nettie. Considering a moment. "The spells," Atrun-Rai questions. "Are they sufficient? Beyond their provenance, that is."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "To tell the truth, Atrun-Rai --" Nettie pours more gin.

    "I'm tired of the world. I sealed up part of my memories in a blood doll built with necromancy. I danced with demons and dead men, had my fun and broke my faith." Nettie looks down into the gin.

    "I was a nurse in both of the wars to end all wars, and saw Man harness the power to split the atom, and saw a city that I used to live in reduced to the ashes of humanity and shadows without people. I have seen men kill other men for the sake of an accent. Or a pair of shoes. Over a woman... and I think to myself 'what if he was right, and the experiment failed'..."

    And then she tilts the glass back, and she drains the gin from it before setting it down and looking to pour another, with a shakey hand.

    "And then I think 'bugger it all, I owe it to those I sacrificed to keep this bullshite running'. I would have done it for free just for the chance to see an Angel piss 'imself, yeah?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "We are," he says, folding his arms over his breast, "Only animals, Mistress Crowe. Enlightened animals, yes, but animals all the same. Part of the problem of human suffering is that we ascribe to ourselves a kind of self-centered nobility that nothing else in this univese recognizes. Not really." A pause. "It is good to regret mistakes. It is good to want better. But it is also foolish to think that reality is an 'experiment' that has 'failed'. Whatever it was supposed to be, it has become...this. This in which we live. Because of free will. Humans aren't the only beings with that, after all."

    He pauses, then. Looks down at the pages. Then back to her. "I wish you to trust me, Misress Crowe, when I tell you that while you have seen terrible things, I have experienced worse. I have experience the /lack/ of existence. You do not want that. And you do not want that for anyone ele. I promise."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "I'm not tryin' to start a contest, lad. I'm sure you'd win." Nettie dryly retorts, sucsessfully pouring half a glass.

    "No. All sapient people were supposedly created in the images they were supposed to, but for some reason we're the fuckin' measuring stick. Alien nations battle themselves for thousands of years, across the cosmos, but we're the ones who get judged by some David Bowie lookin' asshole." she grumps.

    It's a petulant look on her, and she sinks down into her arm a little bit.

    "I'm not allowed t' Heaven, an' Hell won't take me. All I've got is a lack of existence to look forward to, mate."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I assure you." He looks to her, his expression growing flat. "Existence is existence. You exist. I have stared into the face of the void and been destroyed by it. Celebrate your immortality, however it has been placed upon you, and embrace it."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Immortality ain't all it's cracked up to be. You begin to misplace faces. You stop bein' able to sleep soundly at night for the screamin'. They stop making your favorite soda-pop because suddenly it's /bad/ for you to have that much coccaine in your body. You begin to collect odd things because you don't know when it's going to be useful to *have* forty-one human skulls locked in a closet. Compulsion's weird. Or maybe it was just..." she trails off a moment, and she gives a look to Atrun-Rai.

    "Think it might be a case of 'the grass is always greener', yeah?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "But you aren't dead," he replies. "And you aren't obliterated." Back to the sheets. "As strange as it might be to hear me say, Mistress Crowe - and with all due respect to your often hideous experiences moving forward through your existence, as it is - you are still here. As someone who experienced a particularly traumatic and horrific death, I advise you: make the best of it."

    He drums a finger on the bar. "Now. The spells. Are they sufficient for our exchange?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Yes, yes, they are sufficient unless you feel like you need to tip the drunk witch, lad." Nettie states, and she slides the crate forward, and then, very slowly, the box with the ashes.

    "Nothing is ever given freely in Magic, and thus the business is concluded. But I do hope you come back. An'... forgive the old crowe being something of a sad drunk."

    She hics, and brings a hand to her mouth.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He snorts. "It's a way of honoring skill and sacrifice," the Atlantean says to her. "And of course I'll come back. I need to bring you the orichalcum, and stay for the company." Atrun-Rai gives her a polite smile, and then gives her a wink.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Oi now. Is that a flirty wink or a friendly wink? 'Coz I've got to give full disclosure I'm awful for someone's physical and mental health." Nettie states, putting her elbows on the bar, her hands under her chin and fluttering her eyebrows. "On account of my being denied death, on account of me being a perfect idiot when I was fourteen, can't be touched. Lonely life it is."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Friendly," he says, drumming a fingertip on the counter again. "I'm not even certain everything still works, being so recently decanted into reality once more. Well, I don't plan on dying again anytime soon." A smirk for her now. "Can't be touched? Whyever not? What happens if someone tries?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "I give them horrible visions of all possible deaths at once, they find it revolting, I've made four men throw up on their own shoes, one had a mild heart attack. Continued exposure to me actually can cause mental disorders, preoccupation with death --"

    Nettie gives a wave of her hand. "Animals hate me unless they're black cats, black dogs, rats, crows, ravens, bats -- flies." she trails off a moment, and gives a slight smirk.

    "Well. You're handsome enough, if you were looking to see if the plumbing worked there are plenty of lovely young gentlemen and ladies out there who would be willing to lend a hand."

    Nettie then brings up her hands.

    "Anyone who touches me has to be warded. One of the reasons why I'm willing to put so much into saving Chas is that he and his buddy Constantine are two who I /can/ touch."

    And she cracks a smile. "An' Chas gives excellent hugs."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Animals hate me, as well," he agrees, chuckling. "All of them, in my case. And I'm sorry about your...romantic difficulties, truly. Men in this age seem to be such terrible cowards." He says nothing about the 'plumbing'.

    He considers a moment. "I will look into it. I may, perhaps, be another."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "To get hugs from Chas? Good deal, mate. He gives the best hugs." Nettie comments, and she gives a wry smile.

    Which then softens. "Don't you fret about my romantic difficulties. I gave up on romance eighty years ago when my wife was killed." she explains with a shrug, and then toys with the silver ring about her finger. "Aye, had a man once or twice, but that's all in the past now too. So's all that's left is Nettie, her crow and her books and her shop, where occasionally she gets the daft idea to drag a buncha minds to speak to Angels or consort with things in the dark for a poker game or two."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "You are much more than that," he says simply. "I have decided that we shall be friends."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Oi, no input from me? What if I don't want to be friends?" Nettie asks with completely false umbrige, but she cracks a smile, and shakes her head.

    "YEah, there's more to that, but you've not reached a friendship level where you get to see it all quite yet. Speaking of friends, though -- you got a nickname or short form? Master Atrun-Rai *is* a bit of a mouth full."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Then you should not have gotten drunk and spilled your proverbial guts to me," he points out, smiling in that beatific way of his. "My people have very specific drinking traditions. And no, Atrun-Rai is my name. You can drop the Master, though."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Aww, but it's Christmas. And I have no party poppers. Or a proper dinner for it. Haven't since... forty... fifty one?" she purses her lips a moment, and she just grins.

    "I'm calling you Attie, since no one ever calls me Mistress Anette Crowe.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He wrinkles his nose. "When it is just the two of us, then," the Atlantean assents. "Otherwise it's something of an insult. The name is my history, and my family's history. But for now, you get a pass."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Aah, yeah, I'll respect it then. Atrun-Rai." She gives a smile, and shakes her head "I didn't realize. And... slightly sorry for the drunkenness. It's been a long month, finding out my student's disappeared, the other one sprouts horns when she heals and has a cursed grimore, my best friend was a demon-animated meat puppet... other best friend is currently a-door-able."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Oh, it's fine," he says, waving a hand. "Forty-four thousand years, Nettie. You are welcome to use it here. And as for the students: what might we do with that? I am pleased to assist you in finding your lost student. As for the other, what can I do there?" To say nothing of Chas, of course. Can't do much for the doorman at the moment.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Eh. I made the mistake of thinking getting my full memories back would take a day. I ended up getting stuck and having to sacrifice my familiar to get a message to Jon and Zee. I'm certain Ty will be fine. Jon bound the book and she's a tough little lass. The other one... well, I'm not going to bore you with *ALL* the details of my life, At-a-boy." Nettie gives a grin. "What else can I help you with?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Nothing else," replies the man with a shrug. "I'm simply enjoying your company. But. If you'd like to rest? I can return home." Yes, home. In Nullspace. In a giant floating black pyramid that he'd never take anyone to. Because that would be rude and corrosive to their sanity and/or material existence.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Oh but you're offering to help me with students and hugs and all manner of items for the living." Nettie reflects with a small grin, and she shakes her head.

    "I should sleep. It's late. I'm tired and more than a wee bit drunk, an' tomorrow I get to open my Christmas Present... meaning I bring back my crow's soul from Hell where I'm sure he's been having a marvelous time and won't be cross with me at all." she wrinkles her nose.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Feed him well," says the Atlantean wizard as he rises to his feet. "When I returned from the dead, I was /famished./" A nod to her then, and he goes to take his leave - waling along, unhurried, out into the night. What an odd man.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    An odd man, but when she does like men, she likes them odd. Far more interesting, NEttie considers, then the run-of-the-mill who hit her up when she hits a pub.

    She waggles her fingers at Atrun-Rai in departure. "Oh. I do. No small amount of food will satisfy that dusty crow's appetite." she comments quietly, and then looks to the two spells she's accepted as payment.

    "... maybe there is a bit of hope." she mutters, and looks to the Christmas Tree in the main room of the shop, and then with a wave of her hand, the radio turns from classical Christmas music to radio silence.

    And the Candle goes dark for the evening.