Once Upon Another Time

[Sovay]

It was a funny thing, snow. Northern Virginia apparently didn't see much of it in recent years thanks to global warming and the various giant earthquakes in recent decades tilting and re-tilting the alignment of the earth just slightly enough to shift its natural weather patterns. It was so slight most would say it never happened, except for things like winters with no snow. It was cold for sure, and the grass outside was frosted and dead, but the sparkling ice had melted soon after dawn. The day was shaping up to be a chilly one, the skies clear and bright and beautiful, and with any luck the night would be just as nice. It was too bad D.C. wasn't more like Triangle where the stars were so clearly overhead. Not today, but maybe next weekend she could hop a ride down to Fredericksburg to do some trading with the other antique shops that ran up and down the streets of the small town.

Sovay had come to rather like the antique shop and all its little things. Everything told a story and held silent memories that Sovay could never know; only living souls could share their secrets, and she'd lost the ability to hear the whispers of souls. Now Sovay was left with only the human ability to guess as she moved from room to dusty room of As Time Goes By Antiques & Curiosities. Mr. Lane said he wouldn't be in today, and that he was out at flea markets to find new goodies; he wouldn't be back to check on her until next week. She'd be fine, though. Nothing she'd tried to microwave had burnt or exploded or begun to spark this week, so she was improving, surely!

Barefoot, the lithe woman padded gently across the ancient wooden floors of the equally-ancient building, sleeves of her giant sweater folded up and tied around her upper arms. It was early, and cold, and Sovay really wasn't expecting many people in the shop today. At most, someone might come in to pawn off some antique from their inheritance, but very few buyers. But that was okay. Sure, there was plenty in the old colonial house to clean, its two floors full of goods for sale, the cellar crammed with things not yet sorted, and the attic where Sovay made her nest. There was never any shortage of things that needed cleaning or organizing or just doing; Sovay could easily be in a strange version of Limbo and trapped in this shop to sort things for all eternity.

No, today she could devote to something else for a little while. The cleaning could wait- the dust wasn't going anywhere, and Mr. Lane did say he'd be gone a few days. Sovay smiled faintly, stepping into the drawing room of the old brick building, wooden shutters pushed wide open to let in as much light as possible. The front door was just in the next room, right where she could see it, so this was fine. Books lined shelves of the walls, faded wallpaper hinting at something grand over a century ago. The plaster on the ceiling medallions were crumbling, barely held together by spackle and cobwebs. The drawing room was filled with ancient furniture too uncomfortable to actually sit in, old secretary desks, dried out bottles in their cubbies, and most importantly right now: Sovay's easel. It was such a nice morning, and it'd be a shame to spend it hiding in the dark of the cellar. She missed home. She missed Cassadriel, and hated that she couldn't see or hear him here. All that was left were Sovay's memories and her dreams, and such a strange sensation it was to actually dream on her own.

Hazel eyes closed- Sovay saw the painting in her mind's eye. Cassadriel was there in the center, bursting between the clouds, beautiful and radiant as the morning sun. The fallen angel opened her eyes, paints finding their way onto her palette, her brush instinctively knowing where it was needed. Golden and white mingled and spread across the stretched canvas, each stroke pulling in the sun's purest light with it. White became mottled with yellow and gray, clouds forming under the round head of Sovay's brush. Cassadriel would be there in the center once the background was painted, free and light, hands extended and reaching out but unable to touch the one who missed holding them the most.


(Saturday, Feb 10th, 2012
9:31 AM
As Time Goes By Antiques)

[Murazar Dauthi]

He was in this part of the United States this time of year to coordinate a few things in the Templar order, also to enjoy the weather. At least for business meetings, wearing a full suit outside in the southern states and countries during winter still made you sweat and sometimes ruin a perfectly good undershirt. This time he smiled outside as the chilly wind ran across his skin like a caress from a gentle lover. The breeze blew dead leaves across the ground and made a sweet crinkling sound that made him smirk just a hair. It was one of those moments where you just took in the atmosphere.

He was on a walk today in of course a full suit, minus the dress shoes. He was wearing tennis shoes for comfort and because dress shoes rarely kept your feet warm. He saw an antique shop amongst the structures and skyline. He gave a small smile to the title As Time Goes By Antiques & Curiosities, it was a cute name. He thought why not? After all he was in the supernatural business and tidbits did fall in old shops for old things. Maybe he’d find a book on summoning cthulu from Inferis or something. He patted his side to feel thing weight of the knives hidden in his many pockets. That was his safety.

As soon as he walked into the shop he stopped as soon as the door shut it rang a small bell above the door frame. He looked around the cluttered shop and almost expected to find dust and an old man in the shop. Instead at the moment he saw no one around, although some dust around. He walked around a little bit, waiting for the store owner to show up. It’d be a lot easier to just ask about some unusual items or books. He was generally bored with the day and didn’t feel like sleeping at his hotel until later. He picked up an old book in a germanic dialect he only partially understood. He set the text back down, it was an ancient schoolbook of mathematics. Something that he wasn’t particularly interested in.

His strange eyes scanned the rest of the room looking for the person that would be manning the store today. He looked calm and relaxed, it fit his older exterior rather than his youth days. He still felt young on most days. On some days though his bones snapped, crackled and popped as much as the cereal. He spoke out-loud in his slightly southern accented voice,” Anyone home, or is my only company dust, old textbooks and my wizened hair.” He sparked a small smile to himself. He did like to make jokes about his age, most people younger than him thought him ancient. Those older than himself thought him getting close to them in age. He cared little for either sides opinions because the majority of those who lived experienced no where close to anything he had. Then some still had done more than he ever will or would have. The important thing was, that he only wanted to know more.

[Sovay]

The light in the parlour room really was perfect with its wide windows. From what she'd come to understand, the parlour room at one time had been where guests would be invited to sit for tea and socialization, which accounted for the fancier wallpaper and little decorative touches that had cracked and faded with age. Sovay loved that room of the old store, but then again, she loved the light. The fact that it was perfect for painting and so close to the front door was just frosting.

Her painting was coming along quite nicely- the clouds rolled across the stretched canvas playfully, white and gold with hints of gray and pale blue. Cassadriel was starting to emerge, his body blocked off in indistinct shapes, flesh-color here, azure and white there. For now only clearly shown were his impressive and beautiful wings, feathers rich and distinct. They were not the perfect snowy white as some angels, but held a marbled pied effect, tones of taupe and soft brown ribboning in between the white. They were beautiful, and something Sovay had always admired in her companion. Cassadriel's face was merely shapes of color for now, blank spaces left to mark where his eyes would be. They always gave Sovay trouble, though; how did one paint the depths of eternity as she had always known them and hope to show them accurately with simple paint?

Sovay had taken a break from her painting only for a moment- only to let the layers of paint dry a little and set, and to get a fresh cup of tea. It was funny how quickly her teacup tended to empty. But Sovay was only away from the parlour for a few minutes, waiting for the electric kettle to heat up and shut itself off- one of the few electronics she'd become friendly with and wasn't worried would explode. Fill with water, push button, wait for light to go off. THAT she could do!

The smell of mint and chamomile lifted upward from Sovay's mug, the fallen angel smiling as she padded silently through the shop from the antiquated kitchen. She hadn't heard the bell above the door chiming at all. "Anyone home, or is my only company dust, old textbooks and my wizened hair?" A customer? Bugger, she really hadn't heard anyone. Sovay quickened her steps back toward the foyer where a man was casually standing amidst the stacks of things. He didn't seem to be carrying anything, so not there to sell to her. Perhaps to buy? That'd be a nice thing to tell Mr. Lane when he came back.

"My apologies," Sovay offered up with a light smile. [color=pink]"I couldn't hear the bell from the kitchen. Welcome to As Time Goes By. What can I help you find today?" Sovay stepped closer, bare feet silent on the weathered floor. The human's body was older than hers, and seemed very relaxed. Perhaps he was just there to browse, or looking for something specific. She stole a quick sip of her tea. "Would you care for a cup as well?"She was always friendly with customers; Mr. Lane assumed it was just how the girl was raised. She just liked the company. Sovay glanced quickly to the opening that connected the large foyer to the drawing room. The painting could wait for now. Besides, the layers probably needed a bit more time to set.

[Murazar Dauthi]

He stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled carefully, it was one of a practiced movement used by many people who had to fake them for their own reasons. He was just establishing a baseline, one which he could manipulate. Because how could you read someone who always lied with body language to you? His eyes looked into hers, hazel was nice on most people. Hers were extraordinary, not out of beauty. It was from the intelligence and soul-full look she had, like she was one of those few young people with “old souls”. He appreciated that, it was also a decent indication of one with a brilliant mind. Maybe this day would be more interesting after all.

"My apologies,""I couldn't hear the bell from the kitchen. Welcome to As Time Goes By. What can I help you find today?" He nodded and pulled his hand out of his pocket and motioned to the tea. ” Its quite alright, i’m Murazar. I would absolutely love some tea. What do you have broiled up? Jasmine? Green? Chai?” He spoke with both courtesy and interest. Those were of course his three favorites, jasmine was divine, green better than coffee, and chai wonderful when freezing in snow. A young person that drank tea, more indicators. Some of them nice others providing more interest for himself. He hated boring after all.

He sniffed and smelled some sort of daisy and mint, definitely mint. His strange eyes meeting hers never left and barely blink. Not from a sort of staring contest look, more of one that studied people after looking them once over and then keeping an eye on their eyes. He glanced to his side and picked out a book in latin that was bound in some sort of refined leather. It was at least a few hundred years old and seemed very...churchy to say the least. He set it back down and asked politely with a charming smile,” Whats your name, milady?” He gave the dorky sense of humor that came with ye-olde titles and courtesy.

[Sovay]

The aroma of chamomile and mint were refreshing against the smell of the ancient building, and yet seemed to compliment the vanillan smell of all the yellowed and browned pages of the many books. Sovay wasn't quite sure what to make of the man who'd come into the shop; his interest in the books around him seemed only casual, but then again, there weren't many antique enthusiasts, and people only got so excited about Latin. She glanced lightly to her cup of tea on the counter before looking back to Murazar. "It's chamomile with mint. Some of the rooms in here get chilly, so it helps a lot." Another quick sip was stolen from the warm cup. "If you'll wait just a moment, I'll go get you a cup." Soundlessly Sovay turned, vanishing back the way she came to go fill a second up with the warming brew. Even with a cup of tea in one hand and a sugar pot in the other, Sovay's steps were still light enough that she could have tread on flowers without denting the leaves.

Murazar had been watching her with the same kind of attentiveness that an animal studies another, she'd noted; it was similar to the way she herself watched the humans that came into the shop. She studied them in order to learn. Perhaps Murazar wasn't human himself? It was none of her business, but it was an interesting notion. She held the cup out to him in gentle offering. "I am Sovay," she answered at last, her mind nearly skipping from one thing to another. She was here talking, but at the same time her mind was still painting, telling her where to lay the colors and just where to place the golden shadows in Cassadriel's hair. Slowly she picked her own cup back up. "It's nice to meet you, Murazar. Is there anything you were looking for specifically?"

Sovay looked down by Mura's hand at the book he'd picked up and thumbed through. That was one of the newer ones Mr. Lane had brought in from auction that Sovay hadn't yet priced, catalogued, and shelved properly. There were quite a few books like that from his last auction and estate sale trips. "That prayer book is part of a new shipment that has quite a lot of other older foreign books if those interest you."

[Murazar Dauthi]

He noticed the light and careful footwork as she made her way back the way she came. It was interesting to note since few people took the time to sound anything better than a bear crashing through a wood-line or a bull in a china shop. He was more like a soundless panther as he strolled around a bookcase only perusing casually at best the works around him as he awaited on a refreshing cup of tea. He needed something to warm his chilled old bones. Despite only being roughly mid-age in terms of lifespan he considered himself old from all the military, intelligence and templar work. It felt like he was eighty years old, rather than in his forties. He sniffed the air, ever so slightly. Delighting in a careful way the scent of mint and chamomile in the air. He spoke to her from where he was as he rounded back to his prior spot from the bookcase.

”Thank you, most shop-keepers are very rush-rush with their work. I appreciate the kindness to myself, my old bones do get a chill from being out there.” He noticed that she studied him as he studied her. It was the sign of cunning and curiosity. Something that was getting more and more rare these past years. He smiled and gently took her tea cup, he kept his fingers latched around the handle and his other hand to just oh-so carefully balance it so he could smell the aroma. Then he sipped it slightly, it had a wonderful taste and he felt better for it. He also was careful to swish it around a little, to see if it was poisoned for some reason. He thanked her courteously,” Thank you Miss Sovay.” He had glanced at her ring finger to make sure he was correct as he gave her the proper title. He continued, ” Nothing in particular, I just tend to keep up to date with shops of antiquity. I’m always on the lookout for a variety of items.”

He kept it vague, he didn’t want to let her know any details yet without changing up the playing field so that it wasn’t awkward or strange if he asked about particular things dealing in the demonic. After all, he didn’t want to be remembered as that weird cultist looking guy. The nice old priest or some such fit quite a bit better in most peoples mouths and memories. He smiled as she thumbed through the book he picked out at random. ” You read Latin?” It was phrased as a question, but it sounded like he was stating a fact. He was honestly just guessing, I mean he couldn’t read it but she could and he could recognize the language at the least. He sipped his tea once more and after bringing it from his lips he continued briefly,” Wonderful tea by the way, brewed exquisitely.”

[Sovay]

On such a fine winter's day, it was nice to have the company. Sovay rather doubted that there would be a sudden rush of customers in the next few minutes, so there was definitely time to enjoy some tea with her current guest of the shop. As Murazar took a sip of his tea and swished it lightly, Sovay returned to her own, glad for the warmth in her hands. Some of the rooms in the shop were warmer than others, old insulation and metal radiators proving to be little challenge against the damp cold of northern Virginia winters. As he thanked Sovay she smiled, giving him a gentle nod. "You're very welcome," she answered, holding her cup close to her chest. "It's a cold day, and guests are very welcome here."

When she'd come to the shop, Mr. Lane had explained that all guests were to be seen like family and old friends, and welcome to stay, browse, and chat, even if they didn't buy anything. It was the relationships that made long-term visitors. Profits were important, but less important than rapport. Having never had family, she could only observe and take notes from the very old man, and did her best to emulate his generosity. And guests who stayed for tea often chatted, and when they chatted, you could help find what they were looking for most.

Mura liked to keep up to date on antique shops? Heh, sounded like a man after Mr. Lane's heart. Sovay took another sip of her tea. "Well, if you enjoy browsing often, our inventory is always changing. Right now Grandfather has been in and out of town for estate sales and auctions, so he's always bringing back something different." Gently, Sovay turned the prayer book over to give it a quick glance before laying it back down. "I do read Latin, actually. We don't have many books quite this old, but the rare books like this have their own special case, for their protection." Thefts were rare in the store, at least for books and goods. But occasionally rare books made their way there, first prints and rare editions, signed copies of books that were hard to find. "We have some display cases on this floor, and a few in the parlor room. And I'm glad you like the tea. I've come to rather like this loose-leaf tea much more than the kind in the packets myself." It was thankfully one of the few things she could safely prepare without endangering anyone, and a glass pot with an infuser built in made life much easier.

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