Book Worm

[Crowley]

Crowley had made time for the book store, Written in Water. He'd heard the stories by now, each one more sensational than the last. And he'd figured as much truth from falsehood as he could without burning his valuable time digging deeper. There had been a shooting at the Written In Water; some time ago but still in the residual memory of the evolving city. In fact, he was quite impressed that the store had actually survived the experience.

That was what drew him. And the stacks heaving with books, rare and common, new and old.

He moved with an unusual quietness the maze of shelves, heading with ambling purpose to where the treasure was kept. Antique book stores had a habit of accreting occult texts of varying quality like boats acquired barnacles - he was just taking his time to reach the relevant space. He had already gathered a few titles in his arms - an eclectic mix of musical theory, memoirs and a political tractate that had caught his eye.

Actually, he was quite content. Maybe that was why he was smiling? Oh wait! He usually had some sort of manic, crazy grin anyway. This one was just less... manic.

[Ermon]

When Ermon does research he gives it his all, be it law, sports or cooking. Especially cooking. Right now the Warlock can be seen walking around the national cuisine section at Written in Water, flipping through a French recipe book.

It is an off-day at work for him and a chance to brush up on his most dear passion. Quite a relief to be reading about stuff you actually enjoy and not about what you should be reading about.

After picking up a couple more tomes, he heads to find a table to get a better look at them and this is the moment when he spots the Herald. An off-day it may be but Ermon has kept his distance from the Concillium long enough so he walks up to the other Mage taking a brief glance at the other man's books:

"Hello, I'm Ermon from that place at that time?"

[Crowley]

At first Crowley appears not to make the connection. Then a light flicks on behind his eyes.

"Oh. Right. Hey, man! Yeah... how you been?"

Crowley nods to Ermac and would have shook his hand, had he been able to better balance the small pile he was carrying. In the end he gave up and shrugged.

"Music theory and rock memoirs. Whats your interest?" He managed to gesture to Ermon's books.

[Ermon]

For Tre

This scene is a non-Private shard, so it's open to everybody. You can think of a pretext (some of our books piqued your toon's curiousity or something) and join us

Ermon smiles politely at Crowley's inquery:

"Around, reading up on the rules to help with disputes at the club".

The Warlock searches with his eyes for a place to settle down the tomes in his hands:

"Cooking - I'm thinking of adding something French to the menu of the restaurant I'm cooking in. Maybe, pork rolls with little pieces of bacon and butter inside that go with fries? I'm telling you, it's great just to chill and read about the stuff you love - last time I was here I left with a bunch of law books. Those weigh like they are made for the body builders".

He finally gives up on trying to will a table into appearing near them:

"You want to sit down? I'd love to chat".

[Crowley]

"Sure. Why not. Grab a coffee? I'll buy if you can get a table."

Grin.

"You a chef? Where? I'll to turn out one of these nights!"

[Morgan Bellanar]

Morgan knew of Written in Water, but didn't visit it often. She preferred checking Ava's store out of loyalty and camaraderie. In hindsight, it was folly searching for occult there: anything good would have been garnered by the Lady Scrivener. Morgan doubted she'd find anything on Fair Weather or much on Them here, maybe only some old fables with information she already knew. Which would make them a good gift for new arrivals or something. Still, this was a far sight safer then visiting a library among the thorns. So if she was going to waste her time, she'd take the ratio of safety to success leaning towards the former, thank you very much.

Funnily enough, she'd already found an old book written on "spirits of the natural world." A quick read left her confused, but she got enough to be relieved it wasn't on ghosts. It had still been odd to find it next to the other book she was carrying: a computers for beginners title. Apparently the former had been misplaced. She managed to get back to the old books section just fine. She was disappointed to see the local legends shelf she'd skipped in her previous visits had been thoroughly gutted. The small girl let out a sigh, "Never v-v-venture, nada gain."

So she read the spine's of what was left, and pulled out a few to read the covers when the spine's weren't legible. Morgan stacked eight books, including the two she'd found earlier, before heading over to a nearby table she though she recalled. She almost bumped into two men talking, letting out a quick: "Zzzorry-excuse-meh-zzzorry," as she hopped around them.

Arriving at the table, Morgan was surprised to find it occupied mostly by one man with a lot of books. Something about the man set her hackles on edge and gave her a small twinge of familiarity. It took the Beast a moment to realize the guy reminded her of Malory for some reason. That'd explain the latter feeling when the animal look should make her just intimidated. Was he one of them, or just misfortune in his appearance?

Were there any other tables around? She didn't know. Her question to the seated, beastial man was quite meek: "Um-um-um, uh-heh-heh, d-d-d-do you mind if I c-check these, heh-here? Or-or I can go elsewhere too, heh."

[Martha Villiers]

Once darkness had fallen tiny Martha began her first patrol in some time. Feeling old and creaky, stiff in the remaining limbs, she needed to feel the open air.

To walk in the shadows she once knew so well.

But, ever attentive to the currents of popular culture, she decided to pop into the comic shop. Probably following not far behind Morgan...

One of the last times she'd seen Morgan was at a comic shop.

Martha is neatly attired in an English style school uniform: a neat straw boater, a black blazer...a pair of scholarly...yes, she'd admit it..."Hipster" style...spectacles are perched daintily on the end of her nose, she wears a long gymslip which shows her legs to mid thigh. Her raven black hair is tied into two very long twin tails, each tied with scarlet ribbon bows.

A swift glance would reveal that most of her left leg is obviously a simple metal peg leg.

She wears a white knee sock on her flesh leg and a single carefully polished black Oxford pattern shoe, a crisp white blouse is obvious where the Edwardian style gymslip reveals it, as is her red necktie tucked neatly into her gymslip. Martha wears a useful looking school satchel and carries a simple metal walking cane. Though smelling of minty toothpaste and lemons, she's shunned more obvious cosmetics.

She emits no Beast and has invoked her Blush of Life.

Her petite presence exudes almost tangible sweetness and innocence.

Martha enters and hobbles around near the doorway, making full use of her cane. She smiles to herself, studies the interior and blinks to adjust to the new light levels.

-1 Vitae for Blush of Life

[Martha Villiers]

John Lennon. Killed by The Man?

The Man? Was he, she wondered privately, about to explain an insight into the suspected association of Lennon's assassin with fringe elements of CIA mind control experiments and MK ULTRA?

Or was there another conspiracy at work? The Process, perhaps?

Perhaps this gentleman knows something!

Wearing her most innocent smile, and an expression of wide-eyed sincere fascination, Martha grips at her cane and hobbles closer to listen. Barely concealing her efforts to eavesdrop.