maskormenacelogs | Wandering in A Witchy(Wizardy?) Wonderland.

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Wandering in A Witchy(Wizardy?) Wonderland.

WHO: Harry Dresden and Circe
WHERE: Maurtia Falls
WHEN: Recently
WHAT: Investigating a magic shop, meeting a new 'friend'?, wacky adventures
WARNINGS: The wonder and doom of confusion, magic, two walking trashfires colliding?

I think I need a new story

Harry's out looking into all sorts of curiosities, and he heard tell of this place, a store that advertised magical nick-knacks and the like. It was, he knew, likely fake, and just for show. Or, at most, a latent potential bleeding a little power into their objects and teas. But still, the call of magic drew him, and so here he is.

He steps into the store, looking around, and starts inward. The shop seems clean, at least. He's not sure if that is a good sign, or a bad one. The smell of incense, not as cloying, or as strong, as it might be, fills the store, and he sighs as he waves at the person manning the front counter, a pimply youngster wearing a "Witches Rule!" t-shirt. The kid is tall, but not as tall as Harry, and looking rather bored as they read an old paperback which seems to have a couple locked in either combat or kissing on the front.

Dismissing the youth from his mind, Harry steps into the shelves to look around. He can hear another set of footsteps, as someone else enters, and glances toward the front door as he nods. So at least the place gets doot traffic, good.

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By now, Circe has begun to acclimate to her surroundings. She wouldn't describe herself as quick to adapt, but she's not precisely stubborn, either, which means with time she's started to stand out less. She's dressed in a long dark skirt, soft practical boots, and an overlarge sweater. Her hair is pinned to her head in no-nonsense braids, and she has an anachronistic satchel -- clearly of hand-woven and hand-dyed cloth to anyone looking closely -- at her side.

She steps into the shop with an expressionless face. Circe is no looker by godly standards, which means she's somewhat noteworthy to mortals, a fact she has yet to adjust to. She doesn't like the attention, either as a goddess or as an imPort, and she drifts into the store without more than quick glance at the bored teenager, discouraging shopkeeper attention.

Circe heads directly to the wall display of dried herbs. A glimmer of feeling crosses onto her face: frowning in consternation as she stops in front of them, only looking, but with an uncommon concentration...

In truth, she's feeling for her sense of the plants and the minerals and rocks below them on the shelves. Each one is unique to her, with its own personality and spells it's best suited for and in what form, and to her... These are a jumble. Some are totally flat, some are a chaotic mishmash of intentions. Ugh. This is why she never uses anything she hasn't grown or harvested or picked herself.

Harry notices her for more than just her entrance. To him, she looks like the proverbial tall drink of water, all grace and beauty wrapped in something like a mortal form. He assumed. Mostly. He tends to nod, and smile, and move on with such. He knows what it is like to be stared at, and tries not to do it to others.

He, himself, is tall, over 6 and a half feet high, muscular, and lean, and wears a jet black coat of expensive but battered style that hangs heavy on his frame. Around his neck, the chain of a silver necklace shows. Much like the rest of him, his face is battered, and shows his age, but also the wizardly energy that fills him makes him seem almost younger than his years.

As he turns his look back to the shelf of crystals before him, he feels it, a concentration, almost eldritch, that reminds him of his own, and awakens his senses. His head turns as his feet do, and he turns the corner without even thinking about it.

Seeing the woman stare at those herbs, his forehead crinkles and he lets himself Look as well, seeing the feel of them, but also her own... look. Could just be anyone, really, who likes plants. Or could be... more.

Still, not his business. He moves to move past her toward the more rare herbs down a bit, which she will likely get to, sooner or later.

He tosses her a smile and a nod, and a "Nice day for herb shopping." before he looks to the other herbs and plant items down the row from her spot, his own forehead crinkling with thought as his Sight tells him what he needs to know.

Some of those herbs look too dry or brittle to him to be useful. Some look... useless. Hmm. Maybe he was overly hopeful when he came in here.

Edited (silly scopy pasta) 2019-02-05 00:20 (UTC)

"It would be, if herbs were a thing one could shop for with any success," she replies with habitual dryness. Circe is a practical, to-the-point sort of person after all of her centuries on Aiaia, any shyness or solicitousness worn out of her with the years.

She looks over at Harry, but nothing about his appearance means much to her, still too new to this time and culture to read anything from it. Mortal, not young, someone who goes into a 'magic' shop and then looks with puzzlement at the same herbs that are so disappointing her.

"But I think perhaps you are finding the same problem as I."

Harry nods, a lopsided grin on his face. Smart, and knowledgeable, a part of his mind notes, even as he speaks. "If that problem is finding this shop's selection lacking, and annoying in its lack, yes."

he raises a hand over the herbs and waves at them, thinking. "I am pretty sure my old collection was better than this. I was hoping to not have to raise my own garden again." His frown shows he is now rethinking that, some.

He smiles over at her again as he shakes his head. "I'm not the best gardener, myself."

Well, he's friendly, at least. Circe has had such limited contact with mortals prior to arriving -- and what contact she has had was almost uniformly negative, excepting Daedalus and her niece Ariadne -- that a couple months here has not been enough time to fully adjust. Somehow her expectations haven't fully shifted yet from expecting scorn, disinterest, awe, fear.

It means she's consistently pleasantly surprised, despite her ingrained wariness. Still, gardening has been her solace since arriving, a safe topic that has not changed, only expanded in scope.

"Should I take that to mean you seek them for spell ingredients?" Circe sounds factual still. It's perfectly known to her that men, and mortal men, may be witches, though it is unusual. "I have never used plant matter I did not harvest or grow myself. Something it seems will not be changing here."

He raises an eyebrow, but nods. He has no reason to hide who he is, here. "Yes, and, well, for cooking, too. I tend to use herbs equally in food and potions." He shrugs, a little lopsided in his grin again.

"I prefer well taken care of herbs, ones that are the right condition. This place, in particular, seems... not really suitable in that area." Harry chuckles.

"I may have to go back to that myself. I'm not a great gardener, but I can usually keep monksroot from wilting if I apply myself." Usually. He cocked his head to the side.

"Have you raised plants a lot?"

It has never even occurred to Circe to hide who and what she is except in the context of luring awful men trying to assault her into a trap. That she feels no guilt over. The rest of the time, it's too much of a nuisance to bother.

Circe considers this response, turning more fully to face him rather than the store display. Making a livelihood for herself is not something she has ever had to consider before, but it's starting to happen, slowly, as she pieces her options together. Perhaps...

"Suffice to say, yes, for many years." Make that millennia. Not hiding is not the same as announcing herself everywhere she goes. Only egotistical twats do that, god or man. She sounds tentative, almost cautious, as she goes on, "I have begun several gardens already. If you are in need, I would not be opposed to selling some of my harvest. They are mostly not very seasonable yet, but of course that is only time." Coercing them to grow faster than is natural does not make them very good spell ingredients for her type of work, so she largely doesn't, if they're meant for spells.

Harry is of that like. He never, unlike many of his brethren, felt keeping a secret was smart. He is not necessarily telling every living soul he was a wizard, but he also isn't keeping it a secret. He did advertise in the phonebook, after all.

Harry cocks his head to the side as she faces him, absentmindedly noting somewhere in his mind that she has truly amazing eyes. He nods to her words as she speaks. Then she knows what she is doing. Maybe he can cultivate her as a contact. Especially if she knows better than he about herbs. he needed those regularly.

"I would appreciate that, thanks." His smile is open, warm, and appreciative. "It's rare I meet someone with Talent who is willing to share, even selling wise."

At least her eyes she is used to thinking of as distinctive; she was named for her eyes, Circe referring to hawk. But Circe is not used to attention, or small talk, or people warmly smiling at her, or honestly even having amiable conversations in stores. This is all new enough that she tries to conceal her discomfort with a natural sort of confidence that is only half-true.

She doesn't quite catch the capital on Talent, but it translates well enough. "Many with power are miserly with it," she agrees. "I have always felt that witches, as we are all called in my time, should have a kinship with one another. But that appears to be an opinion shared by few."

Well, she seems to have found one way to make income that she doesn't mind, provided he isn't about to do anything awful with it. Circe has become jaded in her old age, she reflects sourly.

Harry nods, smiling. "Exact;y. Back home, I helped, or well, mostly just lent a little aid, to people organizing such a group, an underground network, so to speak, of those able to use magic or the like, so as to make sure those who needed help, or new talents, could have help and guidance. And so... well, so that it was not quite as lonely a world, really."

Harry smiles a little lopsidedly. The paranet is going strong now, and independent, and he is glad of it.

"I'm just here to help, as I can, anyway."

An entire organized group of well-meaning witches is even more difficult for Circe to picture than some of the other difficult things she's come across here. Something about it, perhaps the altruism and the camaraderie, are so far from her lived experiences, it seems by turns remarkable, incredible, and hurtful. That it exists somewhere is wonderful -- but it seems all too likely that it would exist and be beyond her reach, like so many other things.

She resolves, once again, to make use of the time she has here before she is sent back to her lonely exile. Certainly it would be churlish and even cruel to turn aside what she recognizes as a friendly gesture just for the sake of its scarcity.

"That is a noble goal, and one I would have found benefit from myself, when I learned of my abilities." But Circe would rather not spend time touching on her weak points -- so she introduces herself, something she's already learned can sometimes divert people. "I am called Circe."

Harry watches her, curious, and nods, wanting to understand this new... friend? Maybe friend. That would be rather nice, he thinks.

"We all would have, I think. I, too, would have liked it as a young man." He would have indeed. He tries not to think of those days, alone, then trained by the cruelties of his first master. He shoves it away and focuses again on her, now, and here.

He smiles and gives her a nod, almost a bow in itself, and answers in kind, for its only fair. "I am called Harry. And that is a lovely and intriguing name." One that sounds vaguely familiar. He feels like he should know it, from somewhere... but right now, it skips his mind entirely.

"Its a pleasure to meet you, Circe."

All is a generation interpretation in her estimation, given how often by now Circe has been rebuffed by her own family even when they share her abilities. As that is another personal detail that counts as a weak point, she doesn't say it, and certainly she sees no reason to dispel illusions of camaraderie where they may exist. She is not such an old hag as that.

By now she's grown so used to being recognized that she's faintly surprised that she isn't, but that is not to say that she's disappointed.

"Well met," she answers, fumbling a little, unused to so... cordial an introduction. "I am from what I think you would consider ancient Greece. To be frank, this is the first shop of its kind I have ever seen, much less been in. I was not sure what to expect."

Edited 2019-02-19 13:40 (UTC)

Harry grew up around people named after famous figures. He never assumes that people are those people. Maybe he would if he had been here longer, but not yet.

"Really? That's amazing. I've read some of that time, but probably little of it is true." He smiles at her widely and warmly.

"I've been in many back home, but not here. I was hoping, with how the world is, for better." He sighs, and glances around. "I'm possibly going to set up shop here, again, make my services as a wizard available, as I did back home."

"Seeing as no one even uses the correct word to refer to it, I believe you are right," she answers with a faint smile. If there is one thing that is true throughout her life, it's that Circe does not complain. Given the opportunity, however, she will be honest with her thoughts.

She still has no idea where the word Greece even came from.

It doesn't seem particularly surprising to her that a 'wizard' may sell his services. That is how both the legitimate soul-workers and the charlatans had operated in Hellene. "What sort of services do you provide? I have realized my own conception of such a trade is sorely out of date." It's really a two-way ignorance -- Circe having to learn everything about this time, and others having quite the wrong idea about her.

Harry smiled wider. "Really? I would love to hear about it sometime, in your words and thoughts. I had to focus elsewhere in most of my studies, but I am always up for learning more." His smile was genuine and curious and he nodded.

At her question, he rubbed his chin, remembering. "Mostly I found things and people for private clients, and helped solve crimes that had been committed using magic with the local police or the Fae Courts." He chuckled, then sighed.

"I also kept an eye out and undertook to stop the things that went bump in the night from bumping up against the people who knew no better and either caused it, or simply knew not how to defend against them." He'd seen both sides of that.

He nodded. "IN my time, most did not believe in magic, so knowledge of magical beings was far less, and this caused... a lot of friction."

It should be a benign thing, for someone to express interest in her world and time. Circe imagines for most people it is as banal as being asked about the weather. For her, there is little for her to say about her own life that she feels comfortable telling, or even seems worth the effort. She knows she has seen and experienced so little of the world that was available to her, it might as well be a nook, a tiny crevice in a cliffside that she has been pushed into and made to fit.

In general terms, it is easy to explain her origins. More personal questions... the words dry up in her mouth. Much easier, and preferable, to learn of others. Circe has always enjoyed news and stories; it is the sole thing she misses about Hermes.

"How strange," she muses. "What is there to believe in? But I do not understand the current fashion of 'religion' either. Here we are, witchcraft in our blood. There is nothing to doubt." And here she is, a goddess, one of thousands. Men have become very odd without the presence of gods, she thinks.

"In any case, there is palpable need for the services you describe. I do not think you would lack for work."

"People, in my limited experience, tend to be as strange as they can be, and sometimes go beyond that, even. Little makes sense about people, of any race." He nods as he rubs his chin for a second.

His life was built in that world, and he was still not sure how so many people were so blind. Mind you, some supernatural people worked to keep it that way, but still...

He shook his head to clear it and to respond to her words.

"I both hope you're wrong and hope you're right. I like my work, but I hate when people need my help. It means something has gone wrong."

And that was when he excelled, standing between the light and darkness, one foot in either world. He was no hero, but he did his best.

Circe cannot help but laugh, the free humor of someone grown into self-confidence, if faintly touched by bitterness. Her amusement is dry and knowing.

"Is there not always something that has gone wrong? You cannot seek to fix the world. If you can help where you may, that is all you can do. Too often, we cannot do even that."

Although forced into cynicism by circumstance, Circe has an innate stoic acceptance of her limitations that is one thing she has not had to learn. Humility is deep in her, and all of her failures have inculcated it further, created an understanding of how limited her role must be in most cases. Instead of it turning her fatalistic -- what point in trying? -- it makes her appreciative of what little she can do, what few people she can help.

Her life has always been a circumscribed thing. When she gets to leave some positive mark, she is grateful for it.

"True. Very true." Harry smiles. "You've got an awesome attitude."

He smiles warmly at her, and eyes the things, then nods. "I think I'll need to check other sources. But also, if you do set up your own herbal system, please let me know. I will be a customer, and an admirer of your Art."

Circe is even more flustered at this continuation of straightforward compliments. Her attitude is not something she has ever been told was a highlight of her personality. More often, she is scorned or cautioned to be less trusting, less naive and blind.

"Very well, I will inform you. I must make money somehow," she laments with a long-suffering dryness, nervously tucking some hair back up into her braids. It's a futile gesture, and an unconscious one. "It may as well be with something that will do some good.

"My thanks for... the meeting. We will see one another again." That's about as smooth as she can manage to be, which is not very.

"Thank you. I look forward to it." His grin is warm and calm, and he nods to her. She gets a bow, a real one, and he tips an imaginary hat as he starts toward the front, pondering his next move, and his next stop.

Huhn. Circe. Cool.

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Wandering in A Witchy(Wizardy?) Wonderland.

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I think I'll wrap this up and continue in the swear-in if that's okay!

Sounds good