Flowers

Adam
The stage is a bookstore and the bookstore's name is Night Owl Books or An Arch Key Books. Both  names are on signs outside the shop. The shop's façade is unprepossessing, low windows because the shop itself is low and in the windows some less expensive stock. Photographs. Postcards. A box with a painting of dancing bears, an old tin, a tapestried pillow, more books. There is some clothing line above the books on display in the window and pinned to the line is a big felt board full of button s and a poster or two for art shows that have come and gone or are coming and getting ready to go as well as a couple of fascimile pages dredged from some musical folio.  Through the door, down three stairs or zig-zag down and around a narrow and clearly added on ramp for wheel chair access, and the store proper divides itself into the main body of the shop. Look  there are two tables, one with a pyramid of books a book piece of art, the other with spines out. Next to the tables there are a couple of glass cases with some of the more highend books. To the right, following the street window, the art books and books relating to culture and subculture, then a  couple of aisles for - well who knows what. You go down the aisles and find out. To the left, another step downward, a marginal shelf of children's books (but antique, for the most part; behind glass, though not locked), some postcards and racks of local zines, a bench or two, and then stairs to  the downstairs room. Stairs to the upstairs half-room loft, too, though the railing is old and somewhat wobbly, Entropy at work, at its finest, balanced precariously between this and that. There are plenty of nooks and crannies to get lost in at Night Owl Books. That must be part of why Night Owl Books keeps such odd hours. Maybe the odd hours are also why nobody else really seems  to be inside right now except for a dark tousle-haired (maybe) young man (or middle aged- or very young- well, one or the other, or maybe neither) who's sitting at the desk beside the register (behind the desk are two doors, one locked, the other open, illuminating an office), reading a book. Or maybe  he's writing on a piece of paper. He's not very noteworthy.  There's a computer, too. He could be working on the computer.  But he isn't. He is reading, and making notes by hand in a spiralbound notebook that looks like it might've been a bonus from somebody's drop-off donation, and though it doesn't seem like it, his utter absorption in what he's reading is about to end.

Sid
There was a time when the woman known as Sid Rhodes would have given anything to be as unnoteworthy as the young man behind the counter.  Perhaps if she had allowed herself a different fate she might have learned that very useful skill of blending into the background, but she didn't, and  so she didn't.  A year ago and farther back she did well enough to escape notice, though.  That red hair which is so noticeable was lank and unkempt.  Her glasses were large, hipster chic without the price tag (or intention).  Her clothes were always large and oversized and old long before she picked  them out of a Goodwill bin.  She was no one, nobody, don't look over here. The woman who steps into Night Owl books on this particular day at this particular time is not that person, not anymore.  She stopped trying to hide herself away months ago (what was the point, with  so many Awakened tripping over her everywhere she went?).  Her hair falls in soft waves of red over the shoulders of a nice dark brown suede coat with a faux sherpa lining.  The glasses that rest on her nose are smallish, squarish, niceish.  There is a messenger bag slung diagonally across her body; she keeps one hand resting on the pouch, the other tucked into a pocket of her coat. She saw the storefront of the bookstore when she was across the street still, and something about it grabbed her attention.  Pulled her over.  Told her that she totally wanted to go inside, and you know  what, she totally did want to go inside.  It's a bookstore and she likes books and it's a bookstore that  looks like it would have interesting books and a few other things besides.  So she went across the street and she went inside, and it was only when she was inside that she felt it.  Her awareness of her  surroundings is almost always acute, and this is a city in dangerous times.  There are certain resonances that she's on the alert for, and new ones always get her attention. Like now.  She feels it tingly faintly somewhere in her skull, poking at her senses.  Wariness creeps up her spine.  Surely the owner of that sensation knows she's here, perhaps her entrance was announced by a jingling of bells or a low electric tone.  Maybe they feel her, too, feel her empowered, desperate euphoria. Anyway, Sid goes into that shop and she feels like someone Other like her is there, so rather than meandering through the aisles she walks slowly around, but with a vague purpose, using her peripheral, eyeing books while also looking around.  Find the other person in this building, and see just who they are. niko @ 8:30PM [percept (paranoid) + aware, -3 because reasons] Roll: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 4, 6, 10) ( success x 2 ) Re-rolls: 1 VALID CourtCat @ 8:36PM Witnessed! [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
The young man isn't invisible. He's just arcane (mystery). He's not faceless. He's just nondescript. He 's not even nondescript. The mind just does not think to describe him with clarity. But the Orphan (Ecstatic apprentice? Verbena apprentice?) who heads into Night Owl Books has senses more acute and aware of otherness in the world than most; and his Otherness brings Adam to Sid's notice or Sid's  notice to Adam. Where? There. Where? There!  The other magus in the bookstore is behind stacks of books sitting behind the desk on which more stacks of books are. This is a fairly stereotypical image of a young Bonisagus: surrounded bypaper, by flammable knowledge, a forest of words. The shift of his attention is presaged by a scrunch of his  forehead then a small rise of his eyebrows. They're straight eyebrows and thick and they rise like they're bemused and not-quite-sure what they're about. He wouldn't've looked up if it had just been a door opening and bells. But she's more than bells. Bells and the dynamic fission of desperate euphoria, empowered; a charged charge of desperate giddiness, of joy-grasping, that he can feel in his teeth, behind his third eye. Some kind of hippy or cultist? Adam stops writing but his pen remains poised and still over his notebook while bemused eyebrows and searchful eyes find Sid. Enter, Sid. Sid, the door opening, and then her reflection in the silvery circle thieves-think-again just over the door. His hand doesn't leave a shadow on the page. His  shadow's locked in somebody's dresser, chewed off maybe by their guardian nanny dog.After a beat,  he stands, tapping one of the bookstacks on the desk with the knuckle of his right hand. He knows that he's sometimes Waldo blends in. The pen is forgotten in his hand, heavy-thing, silver-nibbed, the better for scratching even on cheap cheap recycling bin notebook paper, but it'll serve for a (Symbol) wand.  "May I help you find anything, miss?" --- Tithe @ 10:19PM [Percept + Awareness.] Roll: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 6, 8, 9) ( success x 4 ) VALID [Quoted text hidden]

Sid
It's paranoia, and fear, and worry and concern.  It's knowledge that there is danger everywhere and in everyone, even those one might not expect.  That's what sharpens her senses and makes her more attuned to the resonance of the unknown one.  Not a shadow, not a spectre, but a person her brain does not want to focus on, doesn't want to let her remember.  When she comes around a corner, peering from the corner of her eye, she notices that there is a person, or probably a person, with hair or maybe not.  Tall or short or somewhere in between.  And she frowns, but she shifts her eye back to the books she's walking past.  She looks like she's searching for something, and that's because she is.  Searching for a book or a person or a something. Adam is not the only one with magic at the ready.  Sid's body serves as her focus.  The blood beneath her skin, the breath in her lungs, even the fear that coils round her stomach, forever lodged in its pit no matter how strong or bold or defiant she may become.  They all have their uses.  She's not thinking about their uses now, though.  She's thinking about <i>May I help you find anything, miss?</i> Ah, there he is.  There are details to the source of resonance, similar to hers but a step to the side.  Relentless, forward motion with determination, valiance, courage, bravery.  Like a young knight, or a squire on his way to knighthood.  Or a boy, with dreams of chivalrous notions. Sid turns her head, her look sharp, direct.  There is the faintest shadow between her brows, the barest hint of a worry that wouldn't be there if she hadn't noticed him, and would be worse if she hadn't noticed him before he noticed her. Her gaze drifts away, and she looks at the shelving in front of her before looking back again.  "Maybe.  Is there a section for, um.  For gardening?" [Quoted text hidden]

Adam	Sun, Jan 19, 2014 at 5:03 PM
His expression shifts as hours in a Book of Days shift: inexorable, nuanced, light-shot, and this is how time passes. He looks closely at Sid, marking that hint of worry without reading anything further, anything deeper. The young man's own forehead creases and he frowns gently, lopsided. Then he glances off to one side as if his gaze were bid go in that direction. Gardening, huh? This is his store; his aunt's store, actually, and she's gone, left him in charge. But he doesn't know it by heart yet, hasn't dusted all of the corners because he prefers the desk and the back room. "Hmm." He hmms because his 'ums' are deliberate and thoughtful and absent-minded and he comes out from around the desk. "Yes. This," he starts toward the side of the shop with the culture books, and then checks himself, "No, this way - er it depends, I'm afraid. Are you looking for books with tips on how to garden locally or grow tomatoes in a pot or for books on the proper phases of the moon to plant St. John's Wort? Some woman who I believe worked at the Botanical Gardens dropped a box off, haven't gone through it yet." There is the ghost of accents which might've been when he speaks. Souvenir of a life lived abroad, on the road, a foreigner in every land. ((Insert those rolls here! I accidentally discarded my first draft where-in I'd C&Ped them. Grumble.)) [Quoted text hidden]

Sid
He spots the shadow, but for all he knows there is always a shadow in that spot and is simply the way her face has been made, or has become over time.  It is actually the latter, but they are strangers who have only just met, who know each other only by that touch of Otherness that warps the air around them. The young man hmms and Sid's eyes lift upward, as if to look for signage, something posted that will guide her where she'd like to go.  It's a look that keeps the young man in her peripheral, and will keep him there.  Now that she's aware of him she can't be made unaware, so she'll be keeping him where she can see him as best she can.  But she can also tell the look of someone new.  Maybe not new to what they are, but new to this place, or perhaps something's changed and he doesn't remember where things go or are or could be.  He starts in one direction but stops, and Sid takes a cautious few steps closer, breaking free of the stacks of books, standing more in the open. He asks her questions meant to direct him to an answer, but unfortunately she has no help for him on that account.  In fact, she's about to suggest to him that she keep browsing, awkwardly and trying to keep him somewhere in sight, when he mentions the box. "Can I see it?" she asks. [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
He considers her request for a bare second; a slender moment of time, something numinous, something light; and would he have considered it if she weren't Awake? What is there to consider? Price-tags, ladders, curses, strangers; the young man nods, sweeping his long-fingered raw-boned hands through his hair again, because it will flop over his forehead, it will curl around his ears, holding it back and away from his mobile eyebrows and his questing gaze.  "Sure," he says, and there is the presentiment of a smile that quivers like bead-of-light on the end of a flower-stalk (or something manlier - a cactus spine? No, that won't do) there at the corners of his mouth. Adam, smiling, is often more a suggestion of a smile, a lightening of expression that fixes all of him present for a moment, instead of - well. Wool-gathering, dreaming. The pen in his other hand he taps against his corduroys, because he is wearing corduroys, all unknapped and old, "I should be glad of the excuse to get unpacking it out of the way."  With that, he strides over to the door behind his desk, door which leads to one of the backrooms, stock rooms, and reaches up to pull a light into being, flick! it makes a sound intoxicating to moths, and he leaves the door open - does not invite Sid to follow him, per se, but does not shut the door and disappear, leaving her entirely on her own in the storefront proper - and she can see him looking at the label of this box, then the label of that box, and then crouching with a creak knee-pop snap, resting one elbow on his thigh in order to twist his head like an owl to look at the label on the box at the bottom of a stack. Shoulder to the boxes on top, sliiiiide the box on the bottom out. Shoulder to the boxes on top, sliiiide the box on the bottom out, jenga with heavy books. Thump. Once the box has been acquired, he kicks it out of the storage room and it hushes across the floor. -- Serafíne @ 8:22PMPrivate Message to SerafíneJess wants me to witness this whatever this is!Roll: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 8-) ( success x 1 ) VALID Dex + Ath. BE AFRAID OF HIS PROWESS. Or I guess Strength + Ath. LUCKILY HE IS A WUSS EITHER WAY. ooc: Errin! I'm sorry it took me so long to reply; I haven't been at the computer v. often over the last few days. I'm being a good e-mail scene-buddy! I swear! [Quoted text hidden]

Sid
She asks to see the box because sometimes places will let her do that (usually from the selfish reason of avoiding stocking a few books).  Adam may use it to get some unpacking underway, earning a curious look from Sid.  She even manages to bring herself a few steps closer to him, to the desk, to the back of the store and away from the light of the windows.  Quiet, wary creature drawn to the flamebright knowledge of books and learning. He disappears (almost!) into a stock room and Sid's frown deepens.  This, perhaps, is the moment of truth?  Will he disappear and come back wielding fire and fury, or will he do as he said he would?  Fear coils in her stomach, ready to be harnessed, held, wielded in turn in her defense.  She moves quietly to the side, to give herself a better view of where he's gone and sees Adam trying to get at a box on the bottom of a host of other boxes, all no doubt heavy with books.  The corner of Sid's lower lip disappears between her teeth a moment. "Would you like some help?" she asks, voice strong enough to carry into the stock room and to his ears.  He does not seem to be a(n immediate) threat, at least. Then it's over, the box is freed and whooshing across the floor.  Sid, standing a little closer than she had been when Adam went into the stock room, says, "Thanks."  Because it looked like an effort, and unless or until the shopkeep does something truly suspicious it doesn't hurt to be polite.  Right?  Maybe. [no worries!  i figured life-things got in the way for a bit ] ] [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
"Hmn?" Belated response to her offer of help has him pausing, head up, eyebrows rising, bemused again or befuddled or just disconnected from cause and response. "Oh." That presentiment of a smile again that touches his features shyly, though Adam is not, truly, a shy man; it is only expression that seems shy of revelation sometimes. Adam is too too much himself. He shrugs in what can be read as a sorry-for-ignoring-that way or a no-problem-it-is-my-job way, but he is stripping the tape that was holding the box closed off. It was tape on its last legs, barely hanging onto its stickiness, so it isn't difficult to pull off, gold-brown strips of cardboardpaper hanging to it. The box was for transportation, not for mailing; someone came in to bring it by. If Sid doesn't come nearer while he opens the box, he does a little mini double-take, surprised; or maybe he does the little mini double-take because he wasn't prepared to look up and see the Desperate Euphoria creeping so near, like the gladsome beast belonging to the Queen of Tears, oh no. "So, ah. Here it is. Nothing's priced, but if there's anything interesting, we can negotiate. I'm not even certain she left us anything on gardening, just that she worked at the Botanic." He seems to be willing to let Sid take the first dive into the box, although perhaps he's just making conversation before he begins unpacking things, stacking them on the floor between the desk the box is resting near now and Sid. And because he is valiant, it is time to beard the beast, address the elephant: "You're a will-worker. Local chapter? If you've been here before, you must be surprised to run into me." [Quoted text hidden]

Sid	Tue, Jan 28, 2014 at 8:27 AM
Sid offers her assistance too late for it to be of any use to the young man, who shrugs at her before getting to work opening up the box full of what he thinks are books that have any relation to gardening.  Hooking her hand around the patch to strap join of her bag, Sid stays where she is, closer to the desk but not close enough to come close to bursting Adam's bubble of personal space, unless his personal bubble has a several foot radius.  Among their kind who knows, perhaps he does need that much space, but that's not why Sid keeps a distance still.  Now it's part wariness, part politeness.  Let the man open a box before coming any closer again. She is aware of the double-take, cast her way when he notices she'd taken those few steps closer, bringing with her that empowered twist of resonance, frantically clawing its way toward bliss.  That's what she feels like.  Quiet as she is, still as she is, she feels like a struggle, a race, the desperation of life and a pursuit of happiness, rooted in place and bolstered. The box is open and unless Sid wants to make things truly awkward she has to come the rest of the way.  Once she would have.  Once she would have stared at him, openly suspicious of his demeanor which has been simply pleasant, openly wary of his suspicions.  Now she's stronger, and not so different than most others like themselves.  Been through some things, she has, has a healthy wariness that will keep her alive and keep her striving forward as she reaches for ascension.  She steps forward, reaching up with one hand to tuck an errant strand of red behind her ear.  Dark eyes flick to Adam's face, take in his features in a glance before lowering to the box. It's as she reaches for the current top of the stack that he addresses the elephant.  He knows what she is and she glances sideways, her look suggesting that they understand each other in this.  She knows what he is, too.  By the sound of things this store belonged to another like them before he came along. "I've never been here before," she says in her quiet way, opening the book she holds to peruse its contents and see if it holds something that might interest her.  The corner of her mouth lifting just a little, she tilts her head to look at him.  She turns a page before looking back down again.  "But I'm still surprised.  It's always weird to hear someone else was laying low here."  She turns another few pages before setting the book down and reaching for another.  Whether they're about gardening or the mysticism of herbalism or contain fairy tales of princesses befriending dragons, Sid starts looking through them all. "There's no chapter, though, not like in other cities."  Because Adam isn't the only one whose been around.  "There's a house, and a few of us work together sometimes.  Mostly we keep to ourselves unless..." she trails, lifts her chin, tries to think of how to condense Nephandi and umbrood and tormented young women and and and.  Her shoulder lifts in a slight shrug.  "Things happen." [sorry for the delay!  i was pretty afk this weekend, and then i was too wiped from insomnia yesterday to get a proper post out.  you get a screen crusher for your patience!] [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
His attention seems divided (abstract [dreamy]) between the books she unpacks, her hands, and her face. He has settled back on his haunches, and any book she sets aside he'll stack near the edge of the desk. There are some heavy cloth-bound books, beginning to fall apart at the spine, about gardening in the desert, one slender volume which is full of handwritten notes. A book called the Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady with a number of delicate water-color pictures of herbs as well as some folk notes. There is a medical dictionary circa 1948. A book on Denver's skyline and a book on a Denver artist of repute and his Western art watercolors. There is a diary too, just below, embossed 1981, and. . . "I don't get out very often," he says, in a voice that is touched with mild enthusiasm and wonder when that diary comes out. It won't survive a real look at it, but that's part of the fun of boxes. He isn't quite apologetic about not getting out very often. In fact, he isn't apologetic at all, and no one yet has made him apologize, but he is a diplomat's son and recognizes where apology is sometimes expected. "Hey look, seeds," when he has reached the end of the diary. He holds up a little envelope, something made of construction paper, pencil written on the front too faded and smudged to be read. Adam knows many things, but what seeds belong to what are not one of those things. "I wonder if they're still wick." Things happen, Sid says, and his gaze focuses on her again, his expression shifting; a shadow, though he is still the shadowless thing, into contained intensity. "Is there anything I should be aware of, or worrying about?" [Quoted text hidden]

Sid
The farther into the box Sid goes the more she has to bend her body to see, until finally she lowers herself into a crouch.  Reaching up she gathers her hair in one hand, tugs it aside to drape over her shoulder so that the young Mage stays within her peripheral.  One book she picks up is bound in old worn cloth, the color of it faded.  Sid runs her fingertips, light and quick and gentle, over the cover before carefully opening the tome to examine the insides.  Her movements are careful but precise, gentle but almost clinical. Adam doesn't get out very often and Sid almost but does not smile at that.  There is a lifting in the air around her, like a light is starting to glow but has not come out from behind a shade.  Aside from the Cultists, do any of them get out on their own very often?  She does not press him nor does she demand an apology for his solitary-seeming hermitage.  She herself lived away from people for a long long time, she's hardly the type to look down on it in others. With a blink she casts her eyes toward him, her head still bent to look at the cover of the diary.  Without a word she holds it out to him, she can look at it later.  Next she picks up a book on local flora - from at least fifty years ago.  Adam declares his discovery of a sheet of seeds, old ones that may or may not still have life in them.  Sid turns her head to look at it, then lifts her gaze to the young man's face. As for things he should be aware of or worry about, "No.  Not right now."  It is not a lie nor a falsification of the truth.  For the moment the Awakened of Denver are at peace. Her eyes lower to the sheet, and her head cants slightly, chin pushing left while the top of her skull dips right.  She is still uncertain of Adam, he being so new to her and so with so many unknown factors to be, well, factored into an analysis.  But she is alone with him in a quiet bookstore and he has not yet cast fire at her or tried to grab her hair at the nape and lead her forehead into any sharp corners. Setting down her book, she shifts herself so that her body is angled more toward Adam.  She holds out her hand to him, palm flat and facing upward.  "Here, let me see it." [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
"Do let me know," says he, after No. Not right now. An implied if anything changes. He says it by rote and she can see his attention is really mostly on the book he is looking at, seed-sheet still in his hands. But perhaps she can also see that he really means it. He doesn't think to offer contact information, but after all -- he doesn't get out very much. He's not difficult to find once you know where he is, innate Mysteriousness [Arcane (Occulted)] presence aside.  Here, let me see it, says she, and Adam does let her see it, the seeds, the sheet of seeds of mysterious origin, handing it over after just another look-over, although he has no way to see whether there's still life inside. He loops one arm around his knees, sitting back on his tail-bone, chin coming to rest close to his knees so really for a moment he's a sharp and fascinated pair of eyes and a fluff of hair. The book he -was- looking at he has placed on the top of another stack, dismissive. "Do you have a garden?" The tone: a guessing sort of tone. Maybe she wants a garden and doesn't have one yet. Maybe she's more witch than hippie seer. [Quoted text hidden]

Sid
Even if he didn't seem to mean it Sid would nod her head in the affirmative, and send word to him one way or another to let him know if something's up.  Plus, there is always Ginger, which Sid does not mention now, nor does she mention Grace who is its gatekeeper.  She'll pass the name of this place and its own keeper on, and if the Virtual Adept chooses to meet with him and discern if he should be added to the contact list, well that will be her prerogative.  Sid never works the other way, would never give out Grace or anyone else's number to someone she's just met.  In this way she protects them a little. Not that it seems anyone would need to be protected from Adam.  He seems alright so far, young but reserved and more than a little bookish.  He's more interested in the books than he is in Sid, or at least appears to be.  Sid knows that appearances can be deceiving, having altered her own as much as she could to avoid notice before she decided there was obviously no point to it.  And she knows that even quiet, kindly people can hold darkness in their hearts, but for entirely different (though not unrelated) reasons.  Still, Sid decides...she does not exactly trust him, but she will not let her wariness of him be a stumbling block between them. Which means allowing him to see a special thing that she can do.  Adam has no way of knowing himself if any of the seeds still contain a spark of life, but he finds out soon enough anyway.  He hands over the seed paper and as soon as it makes contact with Sid's skin there is a reaction.  She cups her hands beneath it and holds her hands up so that they can both watch as the paper begins to bend and buckle. "Yes," she answers.  Not all of the seeds are still viable and not even the energy that flows through Sid's limbs can revive them.  She could give them a nudge, but for now there is no rise of desperate happiness around her as those seeds that are still good finally begin to pop through cracks in the paper.  White-green shoots spring free of the paper with barely audible <i>pap pip pop</i>s.  "I had to let most of it go dormant for the winter."  The roots of those seeds which grow at her touch shoot through the bottom of the paper (or up through the top, or out at an angle, or--) and try to curl around her fingers and she smiles a little, delighted.  Buds are beginning to form already but have yet to open.  Already they can tell that they are all different colors, and share many common attributes.  Most of what breaks through the paper are various strains of Columbine, but a few others survived as well, all of them local to the area, or to the area decades ago. "Do you have a mug or something?  And maybe some coffee grounds?" [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
"It's good for plants to get some sleep, isn't it? Look at California, it . . . " He looks struck still by surprise once he notices (it takes him a split-second; no, let's not lie: a full second before) the seeds unfurling, just at a touch, so subtle the magick (not Will) that it barely plays on the strings of his senses. Hedge magick, a conjure-trick: static magick. A green fuse. So: He looks struck still by surprise, jaw un-hinging, lips parted, chin and mouth both pressed against the back of his knees before he straightens. His eyes are on the seeds, the way the tendrils poke through paper to curl around Sid's fingers. He gives her a quick glance, then seems to realize she asked him something, rubs his forehead with the palm of one hand. "Coffee grounds -- no. I've mostly tea, but a mug, yes, erm, just. . .  " He gets up, giving the seeds and the green-white beginning of life another look. He is an opaque creature is our Dominic Adam, our Bonisagus Hermetic, and the repetition of little blossoms of wonder fascinate him into solemnity. "One moment."  And so does Adam go back into that backroom, digging around in the kitchenette until he finds a mug. Hesitates, then, well: when he returns, it's with two cups, one that is plastic and filled with water, then the mug, which has some Renaissance Artist's painting on it, a mug bought from a museum at one point, and then a papertowel. He is being a bit hasty, but the water only slops in the backroom. [Quoted text hidden]

Sid	Sat, Feb 1, 2014 at 7:18 PM
It's not something she's brought up with the others, not really.  Those who visit the Chantry house out in Morrison have known Sid is good with plants.  She kept the shrubs and flowers around the house verdant and lush, and when the winter came she narrowed her efforts to the area surrounding the node.  Because it looks interesting to her, and it feels right.  A place of power should have something out of the ordinary to set it apart, even if that out-of-the-ordinary thing was caused by an outside force.  One person knows of this...anomaly?  Ability?  Gift?  He saw the yard she tended, saw it overflowing with flowers and plants outside of their natural seasons and in some cases locations.  That yard is sleeping now, the flush of her resonance dimmed but not faded completely.  Even covered in snow as it is now, it brings her roommate a sense of frantic, desperate bliss when he stands at the kitchen window. No one has seen how she does it until now.  Sid isn't going to alert Adam to this fact because for her it isn't important.  She showed him almost without thinking and now, still without much conscious thought, she holds out her hand for the mug first.  The paper in her hands has cracked and crumpled.  While Adam was off looking for a mug and water Sid righted the plants blooming around her fingers, made it so they all shoot gracefully upward.  He missed the blooming.  By the time he returns the flowers are in full bloom, five pale petals surrounded by five darker petals that end in points.  White and lavender, yellow and red, deep royal purple and white, pink and yellow.  Some with larger petals, some with smaller.  All lovely. Sid looks up when Adam returns (she hasn't moved, her spine is still curved in a crouch), and she offers him a slight smile as she frees one hand to reach for the paper towel first.  "Thanks," she says, and if her fingers should glance against his he may notice how warm she is.  Carefully, she places the flowers on the paper, then takes the mug and carefully places them inside, then offers the plants a little water. "There were more than I thought there'd be."  All told, there are a little more than ten flowers in the mug.  There were so many more black specks of seeds visible in the old cracked paper. [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
The slight smile gets one in return, just as slight. He runs both hands through his hair after she takes the paper towel and the mug, lacing his fingers together and bracing the back of his head. This is his hunh stance; it is as easy and as bright-struck as his own skin or a favourite coat. Does it help marshall his thoughts? No. But it is comfortable; he'd ask nothing else. Adam does not know that most of Sid's friends haven't seen summer spill out of her hands, waking seeds from their wintering; he doesn't know how dramatically she can conjure wick out've naught isn't common knowledge. He doesn't ask her, either, because who knows doesn't matter to him. The event is what matters; the truth of it, and the why of it, and the how of it, and the here-it-is of it.  "What are they?" he asks her, because unless the plant has some occult use, he doesn't know its name. "Will they wither now that they're separate from you?" He looks again from the flowers to her, realizing his arms are still up drops them, folding one arm across his chest while the other finds his chin and the stubble short-beard growing there, as near to shadow as anything, and he strokes it. Certainly a witch, not a hippy.  [Quoted text hidden]

Sid	Sat, Feb 1, 2014 at 8:48 PM
She rises, straightening finally when the flowers have been transferred.  The mug is a temporary solution, she'll have to find dirt to put the flowers in, then perhaps keep them until the spring thaw?  She'd consider leaving them here, but she looks around the bookstore before looking back to Adam.  Who said he doesn't get out much.  It's not exactly the prime environment for growing flowers, but one never knows. "They're columbine mostly.  The others," she says, trailing off into a shrug.  "I only know the one because it's the state flower, but I think they're local, too.  And...no.  They'll live out their natural span, or longer if I touch them again."  It's an interesting sight to behold, and yet perhaps appropriate?  A Verbena mage holding a cupful of flowers in one hand, a plastic cup of water in the other, standing in the middle of a used bookstore.  She blinks at him. "I'm Sid, by the way."  She holds out the mug toward him.  "Do you, ah.  Would you like to keep them?" [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
He reaches for the mug when or just as she holds it toward him. He touches one of the flowers' petals with his curled forefinger, holding the petals up or feeling their edge, and it is just as he might have touched somebody's cheek or somebody's chin during a moment of tenderness, see. "I'll just make sure Ruse won't be poisoned if he eats them, shall I?" foreigness touches his vowels again, then subsides into Americanism. "Then," and a brief smile, match-strike of a thing, wrinkles around his mouth and eye, "yeah. Erm, though I rather suppose I should give them dirt to eat or they'll be longing for seed life again. How long has that happened around you? "Adam," and here he places the mug down on the desk, and looks from them back to Sid. He does more than that, too: for his name, he pushes back the mantle of arcane, so that if some of the rest of their conversation mislays itself when she remembers it later, or blurs around the edges, it is sure that she will remember Adam. It's probably appropriate, flowers in a guy named Adam's hands. Eden being what it was, eh? [Quoted text hidden]

Sid	Sat, Feb 1, 2014 at 10:16 PM
Her expression twitches, brows shifting together, thoughtful for a second, her face a wordless question at the mention of a Ruse who might be poisoned.  Her smile returns at the mention of dirt and a longing for seed life, but dissipates at the question of how long this has happened around her. "Since," she says, and hesitates.  <i>As long as I can remember</i> is what used to fill the space after that question, which was true in relation to the origin story she would tell.  The hesitation is short, just a breath, and then, "I woke up.  And they're..." her mouth shifts as she brings up the information she knows about the columbine flower.  "A bit poisonous.  The petals are safe in small doses, but the roots and seeds.  They'll kill you."  All of this said in her quiet, steady voice, matter of fact.  These are the things that will happen if you or someone else decides to consume those flowers. [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
"I think I've read about a similar effect before." Of course he has. He would be a wizarding sort of man, surrounded by this forest of words, denned by leaves of paper - and given a cupfull of flowers by a witch. "Do you practice the Verbena tradition?" He asks this in almost the same tone as he asked whether or not Sid had a garden after she asked for gardening books, although perhaps he is a little more present now, less pre-occupied with what they might find in a box than with what he has found in a girl. A sudden smile, causes him to tilt his head to the side, almost ducking it, rub the edge of his brow with the edge of his hand, this dawn-warming sort've thing, present for a moment and then filtered out through the rest of his expression and then gone where ever it is smiles go. "Ruse is my ferret, named Ruse because he is as full of ruses for attention as a dragon is full of fire, so perhaps I shan't introduce him to the flowers. Just in case."  [Quoted text hidden]

Sid	Sat, Feb 1, 2014 at 11:23 PM
Reading about it's one thing.  Seeing it done before his eyes would be another.  The admission only brings up a slight wariness in Sid, he's read about it is he going to ask how it's done?  Is he going to want to study her now?  She has pages and pages of notes she's taken herself about it that she could give them, but still.  It borders onto something personal that she's not quite ready to let someone else get close to just now.  Probably won't want to ever.  But then, the wonderful thing about the Awakened community is that they all like to keep to themselves.  Few delve deep into the histories and past paths of anyone else, and those who do are rare and easy to shut down. He asks if she practices the Verbena tradition and Sid merely nods her head, but she smiles when he mentions his animal companion.  He is not the only one in the room who has a less than ordinary pet to care for.  "That's probably for the best." [Quoted text hidden]

Adam	Sun, Feb 2, 2014 at 1:30 AM
To tell the truth he is studying her now. He began studying her as soon as she entered his bookshop. He studies all other Mages (and Spirits, and Beasties, and Ghoulies, and Bump in the Night monstrosities, and Faërie sorcery, and) often with an air that is almost anthropological. He'll make notes later - perhaps - in a book that nobody else should be able to read - or open - or unriddle - without the cypher. He is something of a cypher, is Adam, but further conversation is forestalled when the door to Night Owl Books (An Arch Key Books) opens and someone from the USPS enters. Uniformed. A dolly of boxes, not near as many as a commercial bookstore might be sent, but - it is a large shipment, and two on top to be signed for. One of those digital scanners, for digital signatures; messy things, Adam does not like them, although writing with light is appealing to his sense of what is fitting, of exactitude. He does not like them because they don't respond to pressure or individuality or craft. He is old-fashioned in a number of ways, is Adam. "Ah," he says, as the fed-ex man approaches. "Feel free to keep looking through the box. If anything strikes your interest, let me know. It was nice meeting you, Sid," this, with a faint smile. A crinkle-skin smile. His smiles are all crinkle-skinned sort've smiles, aren't they? He smiles like he can't be as mysterious as all that like maybe, just maybe, he can actually laugh at things, under the right set of circumstances. Planets aligning with stars, but only certain planets, and only certain stars: ha, ha. Adam, folks. And only after a nod, perhaps some after-remark by her, does he go to deal with the store's shipment. ooc: So! I figured that this was a good scene and we should bring it to a close here-abouts and this seemed like a good place to do that! Feel free to end with your post, if you like? And yay! And thank you! And <3 !! Sid  The door opens and a delivery man wheels in a load of boxes.  Sid frowns at the pile and at its deliverer, because let's face it.  It is a lot of boxes for a store that looks like this.  She doesn't question it, though, nor does she ask Adam about this place or where it came from or how he came to be the one keeping it today.  There will be other times for talks, perhaps, and Sid has things she meant to do today. "Thanks," she says, and there is that slight smile again, warm but subdued.  "You, too."  She nods her head toward the deliveryman as though releasing the valiant hero to go off on his quest of box-signing and checking and so on.  She will look through the box, and she will find a few things that will suit her purposes.  She and Adam will discuss the price that she will pay, and then she will be off again. Parts of the meeting will be hazy later, muddled and dark-ish, but she will remember the bookstore, and Adam, and growing flowers from an old piece of paper with the power of life that flows through her hands.