Realistic or Modern Behind the Veil - IC

[CryoLilly]

The fog had been heavy that morning, a heavy rolling cloud which had enveloped Canter in the depths of night. Those who fell asleep to the drab, though clearer weather of evening, awoke to streets so clogged in white that it was a struggle for most to get to work. The visibility was so poor that traffic slowed to a crawl of anxious drivers peering over the tops of their steering wheels, straining their eyes for the hint of tail lights that rarely appeared. Even pedestrians found themselves taking longer to get anywhere, though not for a slower pace. No, instead they found themselves wandering in streets feeling so vacant and empty that even familiar landmarks became alien and disconcerting. Or maybe that was just Ciara. She certainly had felt utterly lost on her late-morning excursion to a nearby Oldtown coffee shop. No matter that it was a path she could, and honestly probably had, walk in her sleep, she had kept getting turned around. So when she got there, brushing a thin coating of slick water off of her jacket and pushing her long shock of currently bright pink hair out of her face, her typical to-go order had turned into chaining coffee in a cozy armchair off to the side of the shop, a heavy book open on the rickety table before her. She tapped the pen against the wooden surface rhythmically, stopping with an apologetic smile whenever one of the few other patrons shot her a dirty look only to resume absentmindedly a few minutes later.

The coffee shop itself was always a pleasant haunt for her, the benefits of living in old town to Ciara was the slightly higher concentration of Faebound who lived and operated in the area, attracted by the winding streets and the strange comfort of creaky old buildings. When you're familiar with all the floorboards, it's easy to tell when a stranger tries to move through your space. She'd begun frequenting the coffee shop for much the same reason. The owners themselves were Faebound, and while not all the employees or patrons were it was still a pleasant space for her kind, as mismatched as they were. It was one of those comfortable places where time seemed to stretch, where you'd almost expect to find a fireplace to sit around. They served excellent coffee in mugs that Ciara wasn't totally sure they hadn't bought stylistically pre-chipped and all the furniture was just rickety enough without feeling actually unsteady. The place felt like it had been in the community for decades and there were probably 3 new shops in Riverside trying to be just like it, ones that were far more prosperous. Ciara had spent far too much time and money here in the last few years, and was comfortably among the three places anybody who knew her might look for her, her bookstore, the coffee shop, and a local pub. She found she... didn't get out all too much.

She turned from the tome before her, having read the same three lines again and again for the last few minutes now, the fog had mercifully let up some, and while it was hardly clear she could at least make out the buildings on the other side of the street now, and make out the light drizzle dampening the pocked asphalt of the street as pedestrians tromped past, huddled in coats or under futile umbrellas. She found it almost melancholy to lose the intensity of the fog from that morning, it had been oddly fun to be that isolated in a pocket of the city, the visibility almost nothing, and entirely white windows had made the coffee shop even more cozy. But of course it was probably better for everyone that the city be allowed to breathe. Besides she had received an order for some odd tomes that had come into her collection. She thought they might be worth a look and had turned out to pique the interest of some folks over at the Alchemists' guild in their ever eager pursuit of gold. The pompous ass she had been dealing with refused to come down to the store so she supposed they might sent someone to collect, or she might just have to hire someone to run them over. She didn't particularly relish the thought of heading to their office downtown. She wrinkled her nose at the thought and shoved it from her mind, turning to reach for the handle of her coffee, already knowing it'd be lukewarm and finishing it anyway. For a moment, for a moment she could imagine the tower of cups she could have made with all that she'd drank that day, a rickety stack of ceramic that might well reach above her head at this point. With an amused smile directed inward, she stood with her emptied cup and brought it back to the counter to order another drink, a London Fog this time. The barista rolled her eyes at the order and it made Ciara wonder just how many terrible jokes about the name she often endured in a town as foggy as Cantrel.

She headed back to her corner and her tome, finally moving on to the next paragraph, her eyes scanning the strange cryptic letters that to any passer by would look like nothing more than a popular novel, or perhaps to the discerning, complete gibberish. Just a little while longer, she told herself as the barista set her drink on the table with the click of the cup against the saucer. She got most of her business in the evening anyway, it wasn't like missing a bit longer would be too much of a hit. She told herself the weather would drive away business too, but she was fooling herself to think that it'd deter most members of their strange community.

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

The black cat with green eyes and half a tail was back on the fire escape when Finley rolled out of bed slightly before noon, and it meowed ungratefully at him as he climbed out the window to leave it a can of tuna.

"Good morning to you too," Finley said, and settled on the fire escape stairs with his tea and lit a cigarette. The fog still hadn't burned off, and it gave the city the look of a toy city stuffed with cotton batting. Finley squinted into the alley below, where the fog had washed the colors out of his sigils and made them look ancient. The curves of his illegally parked Mitsubishi struggled to be seen through the fog, its white paint swallowed up in the gloom. Finley grimaced and leaned over to squint at the street. Or at least, where the street had been yesterday. He presumed it had not fled in the night, though it might as well have, with how much of it he could see.

“Spooky weather,” he said, flicking ash from his cigarette. The fog enveloped it instantly. The cat did not answer.

Finley crawled back in through the window, setting his mug on a table just to the side that he’d rescued off the road for the purpose. He’d spray painted it black and gold, to match the rest of his second hand furniture. His studio was small and cluttered more than cozy, but nobody was here to snap at him to do the dishes except himself.

He did need to do the dishes though, he allowed, nudging his empty mug into line with the small battalion already on the counter. But that was a job for another time. Instead, he grabbed his bag off the floor by his bedside table and slipped the strap over his shoulder, the bag resting on his opposite hip over his black hoodie. He wore black jeans and worn dark Converse to match, and he went to collect the abandoned tuna can before closing the window, the black stray vanished back into the fog. He checked the smaller pockets of his bag—phone, wallet, lighter—and added his keys once he’d locked his apartment behind him.

He stuck to the sidewalk today, wary of the poor visibility. None of today’s jobs were time sensitive, so it wouldn’t be much of an issue at least. Up to Downtown to ferry documents from a law firm to their vampire clients. The thrall who took them from him had pin-prick pupils and tried to sweet talk him inside, and Finley had to very firmly shut the door himself to make his escape. Next he went down to the docks to pick up an insulated red cooler from a tidy speedboat and bring it back to the necromancers’ guild house. He was dying to open it, and firmly did not. And then back into Oldtown, to pick up books for the alchemists’ guild.

The Bark and Bramble Bookstore was decidedly closed, which was not unusual for a store run by the Faebound, but it was annoying. Finley cupped his hands around the warped antique glass window in an attempt to peer inside, but failed to make anything out other than dark shapes that were probably shelves.

Well. He guessed it was as good a time as any for a break.

One of Finley’s favorite Oldtown haunts was a coffee shop with no name (or else a name that he never remembered, which worked out to be the same thing). It seemed to be the final evolution of whatever was going on in his apartment, only aesthetically shabby by choice instead of need. He ordered an iced matcha latte and an oversized chocolate muffin, ma's e bhur toil e, and found an empty table. He set his mug and muffin and bag on the scared wooden table top to remove his hoodie, dampened from the fog, and draped it over the chair back to dry. Sitting with one foot curled up on the chair under him, he fished in his bag for his journal, with its water-damaged pages and stained paper cover, and his pen, and his deck of tarot cards in their cloth case. Finley pulled them out and shuffled the cards for a moment before setting out three cards in a row. The Magician. Two of Coins. Page of Swords.

He tucked the rest of his deck into a tidy pile, and then picked up his muffin as he considered the spread.

 

[Jigajig]

Zeek gazed at the books before him spread over his work desk. Sighing he rubbed his eyes wearily and took a sip of the wine next to him from his glass. He smiled to himself enjoying it. A bottle of Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon bottled from 1990. An extremely rare and expensive wine to be sure. Only ten bottles were rumoured to exist and he held five of them in his own private vault. It was exceptionally impressive. He swirled the glass in his hand before downing the rest and stood up from his chair. Glancing at himself in a wall length mirror he closed the books and put them away neatly back into a bookshelf. Glancing outside he walked over to the large open window, overlooking the city in his apartment. His eyes glanced over view taking it in, the fog looming over the city like a giant ghostly blanket. It was slowly clearing up. Nodding to himself he turned around, grabbing his coat and gloves. As he slid them on his gaze focussed on his hand for a few moments before he tore it away. Stepping into the elevator he took it down to the building's lobby, before making his way outside and onto the streets. Breathing in the crisp cool air Zeek walked on. He had business to take care of and a certain book to look into..

 

[Gravitational Force]

The day before:
The limo was unnecessary, but the extra legroom and complimentary refreshments were nice. After all, you couldn't have one of The Leviathan Cult's Leviathans riding in anything less than total luxury. Having to play pretend with the rest of the cult over video chat definitely spoiled the experience, along with the knowledge that this ride would be Nathaniel's last taste of the higher level benefits his rank for quite a while. Not that he felt entitled or had anything against lower-profile living, but going from having a nearly-unlimited expense account to just the earning from his books and investments WAS a step down.

Nathaniel resolved that once this was over he was finally going to get serious about moving up in the Cult. In a decade he might even be able to challenge the current leader, who was blabbering on about their 'Great Destiny' and all that nonsense while the rest of the congregation was either enraptured in her words or pretending to be. Still, at least the service helped quiet the Leviathan larva's thoughts in his head. Nathaniel idly considered if Helen Ronald knew that and was using it to keep the other Leviathan hosts in line. He decided he wouldn't put it past her.

Finally, thankfully, the service ended and it was just Nathaniel and Helen on the line. She hadn't changed anything about her appearance or wardrobe since the 1980s, but she did try to come across as motherly and regal when dealing with Cult members. More often the person she talked to got the sense she was reminding herself and her Leviathan that she didn't want to eat you. Yet.

"-and of course you were the obvious choice for this-"
Nathaniel smiled and nodded, keeping an ear out for anything important but otherwise not interested in going over this again. Helen claimed something was going down in Canter and he had to be there to do something during that. She dressed it up in fancy language, but it seemed even she didn't know why she was sending him here. Still, Nathaniel would have a chance to relax outside the Cult's immediate influence. Maybe he could even build up his own power base out here as a starting point. It'd be nice to have his name attached to something he could actually be proud of as opposed to his main claim to fame being a garbage cliche fantasy novel series ("Behemoth's Trail") he'd churned out under a pseudonym ("Carry Driven") that the Cult had published. Anyone who was a fan of that series of emotionally stunted power fantasies was someone Nathaniel did not want to be around.

Having finally arrived at the home he'd be living in for the foreseeable future, Nathaniel exited the limo and took a deep breath in through his nose. His eyes narrowed. There was power to this place and he didn't recognize it.

Now:
Nathaniel entered the coffee shop in a way that might remind people of a shark swimming up to a school of fish. Unconsciously he was even grinning in a way that his teeth showed hunger more than friendliness. He really liked Canter, the cold and wet was extremely agreeable to both him and the Larval Leviathan he was a host to. And with both in such a good mood Nathaniel had a much easier time slipping into the mindset necessary to use his powers. As if sensing the movements of the ocean he'd followed the first trail of magic he was unfamiliar with to this place. he could feel something as if there was movement just outside his field of vision. Someone in here was hiding something. Nathaniel blinked as the realization hit him and snapped him out of his focus. Many of the employees and customers smelled of that magic.

Realizing he might be attracting attention Nathaniel decided to act as if things were normal. Giving as genuine a friendly smile as he could fake Nathaniel ordered a hot chocolate and some pastries. He'd scope out this place while he ate, he might be able to make a report to the Cult sooner than anyone had expected.

 

[CryoLilly]

Ciara flinched as mildly as she could when the thorns wrapped under her skin tightened their grip on her. She knew that feeling, they wanted her to pay attention to something, they wanted to draw her eyes up from her book, from her tea and focus on the world around her that they might show her something. They wanted her to see and know, but she ignored them, ignored the creeping tug of discomfort and faint pain and instead turned the page of her book. She didn't want the knowledge. She always had days like this, days when the thought of looking where she ought, when unraveling the illusions of the world was too much for her and she'd rather keep her head down, and given the oddities of the day so far she had no interest, none at all, in what it wanted to show her. Well... That wasn't true. In fact she was burning with curiosity, but her curiosity was a jealous, biting thing and she had no wish to indulge it on a day such at this. Not with the fog still hanging in the air, she genuinely didn't want to know what hid behind it, that was an abyss she knew not to peer too deeply into lest she find something that didn't like being seen. The crisp snap of her book shutting started Ciara out of her reverie, and she rushed to settle the faint clatter of her saucer and cup as her knee struck the underside of the table. She rolled her eyes at herself quirking an amused but embarrassed smile as she hastened to draw together her things, sliding the heavy book into a large canvas purse and finally began to pack up her table over a minute or two. She stood with a languid stretch, unfolding her angular form from the armchair and carrying her dishes up to the counter to make the baristas' tasks easier. She offered a faint smile to them and dropped a bill in the tip jar before turning to make her way out of the building, letting the too-light wood and glass door close with a clatter and the chime of a bell.

She found it much easier to get home than it had been to find the coffee shop in the first place, well... back to the bookshop and the cramped little apartment she'd claimed above it. The damp of the streets was giving way to the early afternoon sun, and a few beams of light were now tracing through the fog she grinned as turning a corner threw her smack in the middle of one and she had to pause to tilt her head upwards and enjoy the brief moment of warmth it provided she ran a hand through her hair, a faint static charge tingling at the pads of her fingers. A few strands tangled around her fingers as she pulled them away and continued down the street. She didn't notice for a few moments before, with mild surprise, she realized the hair was now a pleasant strawberry blonde instead of the vibrant pink it had been in the coffee shop this morning. She glanced over her shoulder quickly to make sure nobody had seen the shift, though given the fog she knew it wasn't likely. She mused on the shift as she allowed the hairs to tumble out of her fingers and turned another corner to find the old building she now called home. It would have looked vaguely out of place anywhere but Old Town, the older wooden structure sandwiched between two looming buildings which seemed to pile atop themselves, and while they were technically just as large as the other buildings nearby, zoning laws prohibiting anything much larger, they felt far too big next to her little shop. All the same, the sight brought a lightness to Ciara's steps, and she let out a quiet breath as she approached, rummaging in her purse and pockets to find the heavy keyring she carried with her.

She couldn't help but cup one of her hands and peer through the old glass of the doorway into the darkened stacks within. She'd done it the very first time she came, and there was still such a delightful allure to the way the warping of the glass framed the interior of the shop. She shook her head at the antic and took a small step back, wrapping a hand around the heavy wrought iron handle of the door to unlock it, letting a faint grimace cross her features as the cold, clammy iron touched her skin, and at the writhing discomfort as her magic recoiled from the contact. It was a childish, if worthwhile deterrent. Anyone, anything too touched by magic, especially fae magic, wouldn't be too pleased at the door and it was worth the chance it might slow someone if they came for her. Pushing through the discomfort and the doorway, she stepped into the shop and all thoughts of that fearful prospect vanished in the pleasant scent of musty pages and yesterday's tea. She plucked up a small handful from a bowl of treats she kept near the door and fed, well, tried to feed them to the cat dozing on her chair. Instead she settled for placing them before his nose for when he was a little more amenable to the prospect of food.

"Alright Rutherford," She ran a hand over his coat, rumpling the sleek tabby fur, "Be that way. But don't come whining to me later, that's all you're getting." Ciara let out a drawn out, and pleased sigh as she shrugged out of the baggy hoodie she had thrown on that morning and draped it over the back of the desk chair before nodding to herself decisively. "Alright that's enough lazing around for the day," She mumbled to herself, plucking up a clipboard, "Let's see what's in inventory..."

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Finley did not consider himself a particularly perceptive man, at least not when it came to magic, but the bell over the door chimed and a chill scrambled down his spine, as if desperate to get away from whatever had walked in. Finley glanced up from his muffin and his cards at the stranger who had just entered. Nobody quite fled from him, but there was a tension in the air like they were thinking about it. The stranger was tall and pale and dark haired, and made Finley think of some great apex predator. Not a shark. A shark, for all its teeth and speed, was not a particularly clever animal. It was just a creature of needs and biological impulses. The stranger was more of an orca--a hunter that knew exactly what it was capable of, and delighted in it. Finley had first seen orcas lift a buoy up to slide the harbor seals resting on it into the rest of their pod's mouths when he was nine. Such a thing would never occur to a shark.

It might to the stranger.

Finley looked back down and returned his cards to the rest of the deck and slid them back into his bag. It was, he thought, time to get while the getting was good.

Canter looked more like itself now, the fog burned away and the never-far sea breeze winding through the streets. Finley swirled the ice and matcha still in the bottom of his cup and inhaled, feeling better now that he wasn't in the cafe.

The bookstore's big door opened for him this time (not easily, true: it was very heavy), and Finley stepped in with his bag and his latte into a room that smelled of old book binding glue and tea. The cat asleep by the door didn't stir even as the bell tinkled overhead.

"Hello?" Finley called, though he didn't raise his voice much. Bookstores, like libraries, or churches, were too sacred to be shouted in.

 

[Jigajig]

Zeek walked down the sidewalk his eyes flitting about at speed as he took in his surroundings. The shop he was going to was at least a good twenty minute walk away. As he walked on, Zeek tugged on his gloves, his gaze drifting slightly to the ever so slight golden hue that had jutted forth from under the glove. "Tch.." Covering it up he kept on walking, digging his hands into his pockets. The fog that blanketed the area was thick, Zeek only able to pick up faint outlines of people in the distance before they walked on by. He ignored them all however, his focus solely on reaching that little book shop. There he maybe able to find answers... answers to questions that could rock the very foundations of this city to the core.


After some time walking he finally arrived. Glancing about he approached the door and opened it up a little bell dinging overhead. Zeek then realised there was someone else in front of him, who must of just come inside a few moments prior.

 

[Graystone713]

Fellryxtus frowned. They should’ve had a Debtor doing this. But few they had on hand were capable of subtlety, and their debts ran deeper than this small matter. In truth, Fel would’ve readily used one to their full potential to deal with this matter quickly were it not for the clients’ conditions. Fel would’ve refused, were circumstances different. However, the courier’s message made things crystal clear: This was not an offer the devil could refuse without another turf war. Fel couldn’t afford that, not now. Yet, for all that, Fel still wished they could do this more directly. As it was, Fel had to wear a disguise. So did their guards. Their outfits and glamours made them seem a family on vacation, a young man being dragged around by his older, touristy parents. Fel merely hoped that he’d be on time.

Fel’s hopes were dashed almost immediately; His target was ahead of him. Hard to miss the guy, if you had the sight. Fel didn’t, but Enchantments and Cheats went hand in hand as their glasses, an element of their disguise, granted that sight. Thankfully, the shop was getting crowded. Slipping in with minimal notice would be easy. The door had only just begun to close behind the goldeneyed man when Fel rushed ahead of his guardians, taking hold of the handle. They immediately cursed their hastiness. The sharp cold of iron bit through their glove and tried to repel the demon in disguise, but Fel pushed through, teeth grit and glamour firm as they power walked towards the miniature maze of shelves, eager to avoid the gaze of the owner. Fel knew they were taken, and Fel knew they had the sight, but that was all they needed to know. From here, the mission was supposed to be simple: find the alchemy shelf. Set the tome on the shelf. Let the shop guide it to the golden hand. The tome would do the rest. Or, so went the plan. Fel was smart enough to know those rarely survived contact. If they just made it to the back…

 

[CryoLilly]

She had finally gotten down to the days work, cataloguing and organizing the books in the store, at least as far as she comfortably could. It wasn't as if a days work properly putting the store into sensible categories, alphabetical, or even something more ambitious, the work would doubtlessly be undone within days. Between her own poor habits, her magical propensity for disorder, and customers with their typical disregard for such things. No, it wasn't worth the effort to go quite that far, but she did like to keep tabs on things. It was always worth keeping an eye out for new additions which might have slipped into an order unnoticed, or simply found themselves on her shelves without any excuse to be there, and even more worth ensuring she at least looked over everything and got a general sense for where members of her catalogue could be found. And so she went, a somewhat scattered and easily distractible process, wandering through the shelves of the Bark and Bramble, occasionally tugging down a book she didn't recognize or wistfully acknowledging one more familiar to her.

At least, that is how she typically went about her day. Instead, she had only begun to peruse down one of the alleys of the store when she heard the bell hanging over the door signal the arrival of someone, with a quiet sigh, the witch replaced one of the tomes she had plucked from her shelves, unwittingly placing it back somewhere other than where she had picked it up as her mind wandered towards who it would be. Ah, probably someone from the alchemists guild of course. And then the bell tinkled again and the door thudded shut only to open once more.

"What in hells," she mumbled to herself, furrowing her brow just as she turned the corner in time to see.. was that a child? Darting off into the shelves as his gormless... parents? Gawked into the store. She sighed and offered faint protest, calling out after the kid, "Please do be carefu-- Watch him?" She cut herself off half way before turning to weakly implore the people she presumed to be the child's guardians, though something about them was... off. She shook her head and instead focused on the other two in the store. She scanned over them, immediately placing the one who'd entered first, she'd seen him before, their circles seemed to overlap at least somewhat even if she had never met the man. He never seemed to stick around long enough, and whether Ciara was inclined or not to speak to a near total stranger was... contingent on whether she was in the shop. The other... He practically dripped magic, enough to make her thorns shift in discomfort and she couldn't tell if they wanted her to look closer, or to look away. He almost seemed to trail the faint odor of burnished copper, though moments later it was gone, replaced by the same scent of old books. A trick of the mind, to any other. Already she ached for the freedom to shift her appearance once more, something more vivid, sharper and altogether less plain and pleasant. Her eyes vaguely out of focus as she gathered her thoughts, she offered the two a pleasant enough smile.

"Hello, welcome to the Bark and Bramble, feel free to take a look around if you'd like." She shifted, her attention flickering towards the shelves even as she moved to stand by the counter, "If you're looking for anything in particular or want any help, let me know." She had to interrupt herself with a wry laugh, "It's always a bit of a mess in here, I hope you find what you're looking for."

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

With the amount of folks who had followed him in, Finley was glad he'd managed to be faster, though a part of him, looking at the comfortable chaos of the Bark and Bramble's interior, did wish he'd had an excuse to poke around. It looked like exactly the kind of place meant for getting lost.

He started slightly as someone rushed past into the labyrinth of shelves and books, but wasn't fast enough to properly see who it was.

"I'm actually here to pick something up," he told the proprietor. She seemed vaguely familiar, though he couldn't place her in context. Probably he'd seen her around in his deliveries. Possibly she just had one of those faces. He offered the letter from the Alchemist's Guild. "Or several somethings, if I'm reading this correctly."

 

[Nimbus]

9 Days

Spoiler

Since last feeding

Damián patted the heads of the stray dogs that nosed around him as he departed the Oldtown bus stop.

"Oh no, I don't have enough hands," he chuckled, softly nudging them away from his bag, "Alright, alright, I'll bring snacks for everyone next time."

With the blended aroma of roasting coffee, baking rolls, and frying bacon in the air, Damián couldn't help but think about having breakfast at the cozy café. Even though this morning he already had eggs and avocado toast, chlebíčky* style.

The little mom voice inside his head reminded him he couldn't eat the heaping plateful of bacon he daydreamed about because all that salt would make his blood pressure spike. No one knew what would happen to him if that persisted. Maybe he'd get a coffee to sip on while waiting for the bus back to Gastown.

Bark and Bramble wasn't far, but Damián would have missed it if he drove by, sandwiched between slope-roofed buildings it dwarfed. He could see well enough to admire most of it through the fog - a little better, actually, than he could on the odd sunny day in Canter. An interesting little nook, Damián would have loved to sketch it today if he had more time and space in his composition book.

Well, he mused, I could at least fix one of those problems here.

Damián wrapped his hand around the handle of the plain-looking door. The moment his palm touched metal, a shiver crawled up his arm.

Iron? Is this place old enough to have this as an original fixture? It only gave me a little chill because I wasn't expecting it. But what if-?

Damián turned over his hand to glance at his palm. No mark or scar across it. He puffed out the little bit of breath he didn't realize he was holding. Good. The Director would not be pleased if he ruined his hands while off the clock. Still, he would have to be careful. Who knew what other traps would be hidden in such an old place?

Damián unfurled half the length of his voluminous scarf and wrapped one hand with it as he tried the door again. Much better. He wedged a foot in the new formed gap between the door and the threshold, then pushed on through with the measured purpose of a man at business.

Damián ducked his head on instinct as he entered the bookstore. As the blend of must and the sweet-almond-vanilla aroma of slowly decaying pages hit him, he noticed the shop proper looked bigger on the inside than it's facade led one to believe. Was it magic or just trompe d'oleil? Maybe a bit of both, considering its location in the city.

He had fully intended to stroll up to the counter - wherever it was in this maze - and request the book he had phoned in about last week. But the sight of a familiar silhouette made him pause.

No, that's too coincidental...it can't be…

Damián pulled in more air, tuning out the ambient scent. Sure enough, the bizarre cocktail of aromas that could only signify a master Alchemist wafted from the local north, where a figure dwarfed and all but obscured two blonds conversing nearby.

Balsam, spice, pinewood, red wine, traces of varnish, lye, lanolin and smoke...that has to be the controversial former branch manager Chu. Why is he here, of all places?

Damián ducked behind one of the pillars that bookended the nearest aisle. So much for making this a quick visit. He looked around the shelves, trying to find an interesting novel to hide his face behind. One of the ones towards the top of the shelf had an intriguing title, lettered in blocky bold red font.

"Deathless. I can guess who this is about," he murmured, amused, as he reached for the book.

Steps thudding behind him. A flash of red and white in the periphery of his vision.

How did-?!

Damián swerved to move out of the way, but someone or something ran into him anyway. And it just had to be right in the side that held the memory of a bruise.

"Oof!"

Damián winced, opening his eyes just in time to see the great shelf and its contents shudder.

Unlike trees in a forest, when a six-feet-and-change body is knocked over, it does in fact make a sound. A sound easily heard by anyone in the stands of bookshelves, just before dozens of books rained down upon one hapless daywalker.

"Today has been canceled until further notice," he grumbled to himself from beneath the scattered blanket of hardcovers and paperbacks.

Pressing all his frustration out in one long, low, hiss, Damián peeled himself out from under the avalanche and began to re-shelf the books to the best of his ability - all the while looking for the culprit who ruined his otherwise perfectly lovely day off.

______________________________________________
Author's Notes:
*chlebíčky is an open-faced baguette sandwich common in the Czech Republic and neighboring countries.

The novel Damián was about to pick up is called Deathless, by Catherynne M. Valente.

 

[Jigajig]

As Zeek entered into the shop his gaze instantly flitted around the area, his eyes falling upon the person before him and then to the small cat by the door. Zeek frowned ever so slightly as he glanced behind him and sidestepped quickly just as the door opened up once again, narrowly avoiding being hit by it. What looked to be a small child rushed on by into the many shelves of books that littered the store. Zeek rose an eyebrow slowly. Something about that kid seemed to be off..? He shrugged internally and his eyes focussed upon the young woman before him. Ciara the owner of this bookstore. Zeek knew they were taken. Seems they had changed their appearance once more since the last time he was here. He smiled slightly and bowed his head in greeting, his gaze shifting slightly down to the letter the man before him was passing over... but then was was over and he turned slightly as the door opened once again. However whoever had just entered darted off into the bookshelves just like the kid had.

"This is certainly getting busy..." Zeek glanced around before setting off to get what he came for. However as soon as he took a step he heard a thud.. followed on by many other thuds, the unmistakeable sounds of books falling reaching his ears. "That did not sound good.." He changed course and made a swift move towards the noise.

 

[Graystone713]

Fellryxtus was close. So close. But they were overeager, moving too fast, focused on the goal rather than the path leading there. They were somewhat practiced in the art of high speed city running, but the quarters were too cramped among the bookshelves and someone else was there. Fel didn’t know them, but they seemed off. Perhaps a human touched by magic? He’d analyze his senses later, the man was on the ground, books were everywhere, and a scene had begun. Fel could use it, though.

Fel began to pick up books and muttering weak, nervous apologies at the fellow their clumsiness knocked over, cleverly slipping their own book in with the mess. Not at all how Fel imagined the interaction, but in the end it might add some believability.

“Sorry. Sorry sir. Sorry. It was an accident.”

of course, playing the part of an awkward, ashamed child wasn’t easy for them, and they bitterly wished a less shameful ruse were available, but Mister Chu was coming. It would have to do. As the alchemist rounded the corner, Fel picked back up the obscure alchemical text, taking a moment to inspect it as though seeing it for the first time, subtly letting Chu see both front and back cover before slipping the book onto the nearest shelf, not paying enough attention to see if it was actually the alchemy section. The important part was that the book would be seen. And Fel wouldn’t be overtly suspicious… Or at least that was the hope.

 

[Nimbus]

9 Days

Spoiler

Since last feeding

Form where he crouched to shelf These Deadly Games, Damián could feel and hear footsteps coming from around the corner. It wasn't a stretch to guess they belonged to Chu.

Of course he'd go right to where the one person in the whole store actively avoiding him would be. Ugh, so much for plan "avoid being noticed." I had better find whoever nudged me soo-

Damián caught sight of a mousy, bespectacled youth who stacked books under his red-and-white clad arms until they were about to slide back onto the floor again. A tourist, judging by the too-large Canadian flag sweater whose brightness and attempts to be trendy made Damián wrinkle his nose on reflex.

"Hey kid," Damián started, pausing when he heard the all but muttered apologies. Huh. He waited to see if the kid would just flake after apologizing, but they seemed either sincere or just brave enough to not bolt in the presence of a stranger. They even put back the books on the shelf. Maybe not in order, but it was more considerate than he expected. Maybe he should go easy on them.

"Nothing's broken, so it's cool. Just don't run indoors from now on, okay?"

Canter doesn't get tourists, not really. Maybe people who make one stop for gas and coffee before going further on the road in either direction. Kind of weird to see one in a bookstore this far away from the main drag. And - wait what was that book the kid was flipping over? - Damián squinted at the cover, trying to parse the title and the bizarre symbols around it. Wasn't that the Alchemical notation for the Sun?

This doesn't seem like it belongs in the fiction section. Ah, kid at least please put it back on the shelf- oh thank goodness! Book safely couched in the shelves, Damián breathed a sigh of relief. He stepped to one side, a shield between the hapless tourist and a tome of untold - but likely dangerous - knowledge. If the kid left, then maybe he'd examine that weird book more closely...but it didn't seem like they were in a hurry.

In the way of the moderately amused and mildly interested, he asked, "You looking for something specific, kid?"

 

[Jigajig]

As Zeek rounded the corner his eyes fell upon two individuals and quite a mess. Books lay strewn across the floor. A young kid was on the floor, obviously having bumped into someone or something and had knocked a bunch of the book off the shelf. Zeek's eye flitted from the books, to the boy then to the other man before it finally fell upon the book the kid was placing back on the shelf. His eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second in a blink and you'd miss it moment. That was the book he was after, the one he had come here for. The fact the kid had knocked it off the shelf was... odd.. The store tended to always help you in someway in finding what you needed. Zeek's haze looked upwards. This wasn't the Alchemy section so why was the book here.. He frowned ever so slightly once again.

Something seemed off here.. but he would observe for now.

 

[Graystone713]

Fel had not intended to be seen. They did not know whether the Alchemist Chu could see true. See what lay beyond their glamours. But the plain eyes they wore now suited the reaction of the man. Had he seen the true eyes, he might’ve been taken aback, at the very least. The last time a mortal met their true eyes, there had been a… Very immediate reaction. Fel had completed the primary objective. It was time to leave, before anyone could trace this back to the little office from hell.

Interestingly, before they ran, they noticed sharp recognition in the man they collided with. Then their senses and their mind put together something important: This man-like-thing was in fact a man-like-thing. Artificial. Alchemical. Of many natures. Fel couldn’t gather more but they felt it. A potential for conflict. Fel ran.

“sooorrryyyy!!!”

At that point Fel wondered if their acting was still genuine. They softly collided with the wall of muscle and concern that comprised their most loyal guardian, and those mighty hands gently took his. That’s when Fel made the final mistake. As their ‘mother’ hugged them, their eyes met those of the shopkeeper. And her two met all eighteen of his, clustered into two little diamonds of nine… Shit. Fel pushed and hissed and the frosty woman got the hint, dragging him out and walking up the street as though nothing was wrong.

 

[Nimbus]

9 Days

Spoiler

Since last feeding

The tourist kid apologized again, a lot more loudly than before, and ran to his mother. After some needling and what vibed like a hushed conversation in a hard to place language - maybe Swedish or Norwegian? - the weird tourist family exited the shop.

He felt sad - and a bit slighted - that they didn't buy anything from the shop before leaving. He could make up for it by budgeting for an extra book or two. Yeah. Rent was paid. Dinner could be cheap for the rest of the week.

Damián shook a few strands of hair out of his face. Was it just him, or did the tourists stare at him for a bit too long to merely be curious?
He ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth and back of his teeth - palate tucked, fangs exactly the lengths they were when he woke up today. Even though he wasn't that kind of vampire, Damián harbored the irrational fear his fangs would suddenly lengthen in mid conversation with a random human. If it did happen- not that it could - it would be especially embarrassing to try to keep talking.

Maybe it was just the red hair. Most did not grow it out so long, especially if they were not, "trying out as an extra in the Vikings remake," as Ambrož put it. Ah, if only Damián could go to Hollywood - but not to disappear in the seeming of another being. He would prefer, he mused as he collected Deathless again, stacking that very weird book the kid picked up atop it. Looking at the cover gave him a headache, and he wanted to know why more than he cared to make it stop right now. One could chalk it up to his being built different, he supposed.

Drawing himself to his full height, Damián absent-mindedly rubbed at his temple and searched for a sketchbook to complete the trifecta.

Who's to say some inner force didn't tug his legs down the aisle directly in view of the man he was trying to avoid, the one person in the shop he could act the least casual around?