multiversallogs | [open] you bought a star in the sky tonight/ because your life is dark and it needs some light

Entry tags:

[open] you bought a star in the sky tonight/ because your life is dark and it needs some light

Who: Open log. EVERYONE GET IN HERE.
What: Cockatrice Crafts --Baedal's brand new craft fair/market!
Where: Howl Barrow.
When: Sukkardi 12th of Ceidary.
Notes: This is an open post for everybody since we have so many new people joining. There'll be a sub sections in the post itself for general areas but other than that, feel free to mash you characters together like Barbies!
Warnings: None yet.

Baedal is a city that never sleeps, but everyone likes a long-lie in on a Sukkardi morning. At eleven o’clock, the Howl Barrow is climbing to a weekend buzz but it’s not quite there yet. But right off Carnelian Street, Cockatrice Markets is already has its doors open –and bubbles are floating down the street in welcome!

The Market is housed in what once would have been a small, high ceilinged factory building, but the inside and outside has now been painted all manner of colours and murals by local artistic residents. There are tables inside the airy structure, as well as in the outside alleyway, and a large mosaic chandelier dangles outside the entranceway.

It’s free entrance, fun, and like most places in Howl Barrow, friendly and inviting.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Philomena’s stall is opposite the entrance –a particularly good spot, if she says so herself, and she would—and most of her table is made up of white displays on a pink backdrop, so it’s fairly hard to miss it! Her usual wares can be perused and underneath the price list there’s an advertisement another sort of craft:

Charms, talismans and amulets are available upon request.
The lady herself is keeping busy by working idly on some beadwork or putting out new stock, smile in place for everyone and anyone.

Edited 2012-05-13 12:59 (UTC)

A craft market in Baedal is unlike any other; in amongst jewelry, screen printed tee-shirts and hand knitted mittens, there could be pots of ink made from moonlight, blended teas that assuredly will affect your mood, and flower hair garlands that change their blooms. Anything is possible!

Edited 2012-05-13 11:59 (UTC)

In one corner, a few food stalls have been set up selling a delicious variety of baked goods, sandwiches, sodas and warm beverages. There’s an odd assortment of tables, chairs and another more cushioned area of beanbags for people to relax, eat and be merry.

Edited 2012-05-13 12:00 (UTC)

Anything else that isn't covered!

On time and set up, Sally's expectations of today are basically-- whatever happens happens. As it stands, and the slow trickle of a crowd begins to build, the stall she's set up for herself and her sister do not seem to be doing too badly. They fit right in with the products on display, neither the most boring in the space, nor the most elaborate, but she has two deadly weapons in the form of cute children who seem rather happy to engage and hawk the products set up on the table blanketed in a cool green cloth.

On her end, the theme seems to be organic beauty and healthcare products; corked bottles of home made shampoos and conditioners, rustic slabs of soap in the expected colours of clear ambers through to milky blues and greens, lavender and rose and jasmine visibly embedded as texture, hand creams and face creams in jars of different sizes, brightly coloured bath bombs, body scrubs, shaving creams, some candles of various sizes and scents for frivolity-- almost anything that can be made by one woman over the course of however long she has been here. They seem relatively mundane and innocuous, until the ingredients menu on display (to prevent people running into stuff they're allergic to) tosses in a few unexpected components, and outlines purposes that go beyond hygiene and guiltless organic purchases. Emotionally therapeutic things, confidence enhancers, glamour touches, and all listed so pragmatically that it doesn't come across as especially new age and dippy.

Sally is a bit like this as well, herself. She handles cash with the skill of someone who does, even with the disarming change of Baedal currency. Her hair is braided back with flower-clips, and an off-shoulder sweater is cinched around her waist with a braided belt over skinny jeans. She keeps one eye on her daughters, and has a bright smile for those that come by, ask questions, take things home.

At the other end of their shared stall, Gilly has set out a selection of dyed cloth bags tied tightly with pale gold ribbon; in front of them, she's placed a placard with the key for the color code, handwritten with flair in thick black marker. Remedies, luck charms, little bags of mischief and other miniature examples of the kind of work she's willing to do on a larger scale from the comfort of the Owens' kitchen - it's sort of like sample advertising, except none of the samples are free, not even the tiny witch figurines that she found in a second-hand store for cheap and repainted, crafting tiny cauldrons that accommodate a reasonably sized incense cone.

Those, she's not selling, but with a smile and a sale she'll point interested parties a couple stalls down to where a new friend of hers is.

Although Ilde had come here with the thought in mind of picking out something custom, as she picks through what's already out for ideas she's immediately derailed by something that doesn't require any tweaking to be absolutely to her tastes. --it must be said that diverting her with something a little sparkly is not, typically, very difficult to do.

Pointing at the choker in question, she looks inquisitively at Philomena. “I'd like that. Could you do bracelets in the same vein?” She will give you money, Philomena. Give her pretty things for money.

Putting aside what she was doing as soon as she hears the sound of a prospective sale (although she's always watching to see what receives the most attention), Philomena nods. "Definitely. I have enough of the square pendants back home, all I'd need is your wrist measurement."

Examining the choker itself, she ponders, "Would you like it with a ribbon tie like the choker? It wouldn't untie on a bracelet, the rest of it would stretch to fit when you put it over your wrist. Or do you want something that doesn't dangle so much?" Important Things To Consider.

“I'd like the ribbon,” because she always wants a ribbon, and it's entirely possible that if everything in her jewellery box was taken away then she'd only find one and tie that around her throat, with a neat bow at the side, and be perfectly satisfied. More thoughtfully, “Um, shorter, I think, maybe this long--?”

Tracing the length of her palm, and just that far; it should hang from the inside of her wrist to where her fingers begin, but not her fingers.

"Oh yeah, let me just--" Find that measuring tape, a notepad and paper, all of which are within relative grabbing distance.

"Is it okay if I...?" She flexes the yellow tape between her fingers from loose to tight with a smile. "Oh, and your name."

“Ilde Decima,” she provides, presenting her wrist for measurement and resting her other hand on the edge of the stall so she can lean forward slightly, comfortably, her shoulderbag colliding with it. That Philomena is a witch - and a familiar kind - hasn't actually escaped her notice, but she's more immediately interested in purchasing that choker and ordering a bracelet and having a nice, quiet day.

After visiting Philomena's stall and acquiring some new bracelets - to match the significant amount she is already wearing - Clio heads off to investigate the rest of the stalls. Whenever she comes across stalls that specialize in published items, she stops to talk about production processes and whether there's room for another zine maker in the city. At some point during the day, she acquires an ever changing flower that gets pinned to the lapel of her leather jacket.

She's in a good mood, because she loves craft fairs and talking to people and it's the first time in a long time that she feels truly relaxed. The disposable camera she'd bought before coming is getting a lot of use as she takes photos of anything and anyone that catches her attention. Luckily she has a second one in her pocket; she'll be staying and taking photos well into the afternoon.

Gaaaasp! Shampoo!

It's the little things in life, the sort everyone just takes for granted, that you miss when they're suddenly absent. Toiletries are one of those things for Emma, and though she's certainly had access to them since her arrival in Baedal, she hasn't actually gone shopping for them. Oh my gosh, they have different scents. This is the best morning.

Emma picks up one of the bottles, popping out the cork to inhale its aroma. Then she promptly hugs it to her chest, closing her eyes and enjoying the rapture of the moment. "Oh, conditioner. How I've missed you." She could learn to love this city.

It's amazing how much just having the option to indulge in frivolous things can entice Emma. She finds herself drawn to Philomena's booth almost immediately; partly because of the fantastic location and partly because of the bright colours. She isn't sure what she'd even wear some of the items on display with, but she knows that she wants them. Look, it's a sparkly seahorse hanging from an iridescent cobalt bow. It cannot get much more perfect than this, can it?

No. No, it cannot. Emma looks through the collection with entirely unveiled appreciation. "Ugh, I wish I was filthy rich. I would buy the lot."

"Philomena, hi!" Is how Clio announces herself, her tone suggesting familiarity with the other woman despite the fact they've only had one brief network conversation - her social skills are sometimes not quite right, because there were different standards at the Estate.

She's not going to dive straight in to buying something, but her attention is definitely drawn to the purple skull bracelet. She needs it.

Lea in a crowd tends to induce two reactions:

People step aside to let her through, which has to do with her expression, and the fact that she is perfectly willing to shoulder someone who thinks that because she's small and in a dress and a young woman she'll defer. It isn't something she thinks about actively; she just tends to assume right away because she's accustomed to taking it.

...in a sundress that short and that low-cut, people look. It doesn't bother her--they're meant to--but looking is as far as it ever goes. She meanders down the path of the market, seemingly idle, but she knows where she's going. She rolls a lollipop through her fingers, the big cherry-red round-headed blow-pop kind a lot of Earth-born Westerners in her era remember from their childhood, and pops it into her mouth, pressing the side against her cheek while she examines some wares as she passes by. There is a lot to consider here, for a new market.

At the end of the market, there's a shabby little stall manned by one individual, a pale-faced older gent with not much expression, watery gray eyes, and an enormous handlebar moustache. She smiles at him. It's friendly. Toward the front, his shop is full of dried flowers, bits of curious Baedal-only insects trapped under glass, and an array of gleaming, curved daggers with intricately carved handles. The entire stall has a slightly ominous aura to it: Lea doesn't believe in 'dark magic', all magic is just magic to her, but for people who do, well, they'd probably say this place exudes it.

Lea presses her hip against the side of the booth, leaning forward to examine one of the athames--she doesn't need another right now, but it's something to keep in mind. Her current one is tucked into her boot. An athame is not to fight with, though she might kill with one; it's for ritual purposes, not combat. Toward the back, she catches sight of something hidden under a dusty, velvet curtain, and arches her eyebrows at the man.

"I want that," she says. (She already knows what it is.)

"Twenty-five shekels." He has an ambiguous accent, like a lot of different things all mashed together. She chuffs out a noise kind of like a laugh at a price that ambitious.

They haggle for a minute, and finally, after she leans forward with a sharp gleam to her eyes and says something sweetly in Neo-Aramaic, he surrenders her purchase to her.

It is a live scorpion in a sizable glass jar, which is filled with ambery, salt-watery liquid (apparently Baedal scorpions of this breed are somehow amphibious, a question of physiology she will investigate later); the creature is roughly as long as Lea's forearm. She looks pleased. The thing also emanates magical power with a dull, sucking sort of throb, like a heartbeat. It is not necessarily evil-feeling, it's just an animal, but it's definitely not any kind of normal animal.

Lea has an aesthetic taste that tends to combine her culture with her actual upbringing; she's a street girl, she grew up wanting to emulate b-boys and girls, and that's where a lot of her interests continue to lie. She does, however, have a soft spot for candy-kitsch, especially with an occult spin, and that's how she'd classify much of the wares in front of her. (It helps she can tell the young woman at the helm is a witch, and 'one of hers', at that.)

She gestures just a little with her blow-pop, head tilted to one side.

"I really want two pair of these," she says, indicating the dangling butterfly earrings, "black and purple; I love them. And the full moon necklace, too, that is beautiful. Do you do length adjustments? Because if necklaces hit my tits wrong they just kind of nest there and it doesn't look right, so I like them really long or really short on the chain."

Hi.

This is Angela's idea of heaven. She's been into far too many craft fairs in her lifetime, bought too many useless items because they sparkled, jingled, or just looked darling to her, spent too many hours chatting up the crafters and other customers. But she isn't stopping his habit anytime soon and definitely not in Baedal.

The majority of the items are a bit too gothic for Angela's taste, even though they are beautiful and she appreciates the time and work put into creating them. However, her eyes land on the sign and then a pair of crystal and rose earrings and wonders if the lady behind the table would do her a big favor.

"Hello, excuse me, hi. I love your stuff," she says with a wave just before hiking her purse up along her shoulder. "What kind of charms are you talking about here?"

Pepper isn't here to shop so much as to just get out and about - she's been in Baedal for several days, possibly has a job lined up, and frankly, she can't just sit around at the inn and mope.

It's time to network.

She has very little money at the moment, and what she has is being meticulously saved and budgeted (even at home, Pepper has always been like that - her tastes run to the expensive, but not extravagant, and she always practices financial responsibility), but the homemade, organic beauty products catch her eye.

This is exactly the sort of thing Pepper likes - simple, natural - magical?

Well, either way.

Aside from trinkets, Angela's apartment is filled to the bring with all types of scented toiletries and cosmetics and she knows fairs are notorious for having all these things on display just begging her to throw her hard earned shekels for them.

And this is why she stops a Sally's booth, poking and prodding at the tiny bottles, vials, and jars, until finding one that piques her interest. Angela doesn't hesitate to pick it up and check it out after nodding a hello to Sally. "Confidence booster," she chuckles, turning the jar of face cream around in her hands. "What happens if somebody who has enough confidence already uses this?"

Wolfgang thought he might be able to find something useful for the house that he needs (versus wants) here, and he believes in supporting the cohort, which is really why he came. It's just that he doesn't have any money, really.

So he brought someone who does.

His friend is about a half a head shorter than Wolfgang, a more-or-less human man who is exactly the type of gaudy eccentric Howl Barrow is full of, as this is his scene. He is extremely enthused about every stall they drift by, attracted to bright, colourful bits of impracticality. Wolfgang is much quieter, and given the way he's been hanging off his arm and is dressed largely for his benefit, one might be forgiven for thinking they're dating. (They are not -- the polite word for what Wolfgang is is opportunist.)

While his friend agonizes over narrowing it down to one piece when he already knows he's probably going to get both, Wolfgang is doing what he is here to do: shut up, look pretty, and carry his stuff. His gaze drifts around and when he notices it's Philomena's stall they're at, he looks up and smiles at her.

They didn't exactly have much to move in with, so it didn't take long to get everything settled into the nice little 3-bedroom flat in Howl Barrow they'd chosen.

Of course, they now have an empty bedroom, and no third roommate to help them with rent, but that's an issue they'll deal with later.

For now, Ariadne is exploring the neighborhood, and of course she can't resist a craft fair. She might not have the money to buy anything right now, but that doesn't stop her from gravitating to any stall that looks like it might be selling scarves.

She didn't bring many scarves with her to Baedal. She's going to need a good supplier.

Wolfgang arrived with someone else, a wealthy older (older, but not by much; Wolfgang sometimes forgets how old he is) man who got lost amidst a fabric stall full of swatches made from things like music notes and southern breezes. "I can make you that," Wolfgang had said, looking at the price tags; "Yes, but buying it is more fun" -- conspicuous consumption being out of his realm of experience, he had edged away and wandered off on his own eventually, bored.

After this, it's antiquing -- he has been promised furniture -- but he is already feeling fatigued, and it shows in the kind of battle-weary look on his face. Wolfgang likes clothes, that much is obvious just by anyone looking at him ever, but his energy is beginning to flag in the face of his friend's unending enthusiasm for buying stuff he doesn't need. What he would really like is to take a nap, but instead he forces himself to get something to eat and keep moving to stay awake.

When he sees someone he recognises he has to pause briefly to consider whether he wants to hide somewhere or if he's up to being social. He thinks so, certainly this is the most rested he ever is, ever, but there's some hesitation here because the last time he saw her --

Well, it was weird. He wonders if this is awkward or if that's just him. Either way, he smiles. "Lea, hi."

His eyes drift to the jar she's carrying and his eyebrows go way up. It is safe to say he's appropriately alarmed.

To say that a craft fair is not Severus' usual scene is dull - there isn't much that qualifies as a usual scene for Severus Snape. If he's going to be out and doing something unlike himself, the possibilities are endless purely by percentage - might as well be a craft fair. At least here, he can get a cornbread and bacon cupcake with a frozen butterfly on it. Which he has, regardless of the awkwardness of eating one while wandering about and whatever looks Bellatrix might give him for it.

It's not bad, seeing what's out there. Plenty of magical and mundane wares, all put together by capable, artistic people. It's not Camden and it's not Diagon, but that it's a bit of both is... strange. Surreal.

"Quite a lot about," he remarks to his companion as he surveys the milling crowd. He's glad he left the dog at the house - it would probably be flipping out.

"Mm," Bellatrix agrees rather flatly. This definitely falls under the (admittedly broad) category of not her scene, and she hasn't seen fit to hide her disdain. Her arms are folded over her midsection as she walks alongside Severus. It's something like a saunter, something like stalking, and a bit sulky all at once. Perhaps it's the prospect that she may have to make this her scene that leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

It would be different if she were thinking about going into business for herself back home. Setting up a shop in Diagon (or even Knockturn) Alley would at least have the benefit of offering her expertise - whatever she may decide that is, precisely - to others like her. The idea of serving the Have-Nots doesn't thrill her, to put it mildly. Youth and privilege do not serve her well in this place.

But still, she is thinking about where she could apply her talents. "I suppose there is some market for potions and charms," she admits grudgingly. It also better translates to poisons and curses, and the wizard should know her well enough to read between those lines.

“You look as if you're going to burn this place down with the power of your mind,” Ilde says in lieu of a more conventional greeting, in the process of cheerfully invading Bellatrix's space to link their elbows, pleased with the choker she's already acquired (tucked in her purse) and in the kind of lingering cupboard-love good mood that retail gives. “What've I got to do to be spared? Hello, alchemist.”

...just because she knows his name now doesn't mean he doesn't get a nickname.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 4

[open] you bought a star in the sky tonight/ because your life is dark and it needs some light

Philomena's stand.

Other stalls

Food stands

Misc.

Owens Stall

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

OTA

no subject

no subject

no subject

the last stall in the market; open

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

a fabric stall; open

no subject

open ( both or either )

no subject

i will take both of these psychos please and thank you