multiversallogs | Feelin' strange 'bout my rider, babe, I'm booked and I got to go

Who: Njoki + YOU + ??? = PROFIT
What: Slice of life stuff, mostly business about town.
Where: Mafaton, Sobek Croix, or in herbal/magic supply shops about town.
When:
Notes:Pick your poison and label your thread:
Option A: Call or come by her apartment. Does your character need some conjure done?
Option B: Njoki has set up an appointment to chat with Hellsing. Does she meet your character while waiting?
Option C: Ki doesn't have her own garden, so she's out and about to restock her supplies.

As much as fixing up Pickman's rotting feet was for her peace of mind (and sense of smell), the repair job also served as a brilliant bit of self-promotion. Word is slowly getting out that there's a rootworker who specializes in the dead, undead, and not entirely living living in Mafaton, up above a consignment store. The door up to the apartment she shares with Pickman has been marked out by a sign in the same style as her business card and a small, metal and glass tube nailed into the lintel.

Should anyone come to visit, phoning first is recommended, but the door is almost always unlocked. The staircase is a narrow, twisting affair leading up into a modestly sized livingroom with walls lined in shelves made from cinderblocks and wooden planks holding little glass bottles of different colours filled with herbs, roots, beads and bones, wooden boxes with paper envelopes and sachets of powers and washes, a whole collection of candles of different weights and sizes, and other objects of her trade. During the day, that the room is sparse, not yet fully lived in is highlighted by the airy open windows framed by blackout curtains, and during the evening the open windows manage to bring in a pleasant breeze.

Upon arriving in Baedal, Njoki was fortunate enough to have brought along her well-stocked hoodoo kit and after the sale of a portion of some of those items and her letter back home, she's now able to afford to go explore the local botanicas, herbalist, and certain dealers of (not quite) ill-repute. In between visits to various shops, she's made an appointment to stop by Hellsing and hear a little bit more about who they are, what they do, and what she can do for them. While their people seemed plenty pleasant at The Apache, she still doesn't trust them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There are pros and cons to going into business via a third party; Severus hates not taking credit for his work, and hates not being recognized where he should be, but it's much safer and more effective, like this. At least two Death Eaters are in this city, one of which (by the pain in his arm) sounds very powerful and very angry, and he's fairly certain he knows who it is. Having no desire to mingle with his peers, Severus is, for now, remaining a silent partner in someone else's enterprise.

Beyond his pride, however, there are other annoyances. Case in point, no one taking him seriously when he's trying to sort out supplies. This is the third merchant trying to rip him off, and the black-haired man is already seething silently, staring into a tray of poorly filtered onyx powder, listening not to the people around him but his own internal mantra against murder.

Most of the suppliers Njoki has gone to talk to are at least somewhat reasonable, if not always all that helpful. She's learned to state outright that she's working from Mafaton, which usually clears out about a third of the suppliers who are unwilling to deal with any sort of magic user from 'that sort of area' who likely caters to 'that sort of customer'.

"I appreciate that you're one of the few suppliers for Van Van oil, but I want to see it before I buy. I want to smell it. I want, and I don't think it's unreasonable, to see, and smell, and touch what you're selling for black cat bones." Njoki doesn't sound exasperated, but she is firm and serious. "I need to know if I have to adjust ratios. If your five-finger grass is what it is and not five-finger root. That's fair, isn't it?"

Fortunately for everyone involved, Severus is either not quite equipped to spot shape-shifters not of his world, or he's dulled his immediate subconscious reaction to them (that reaction being terror and loathing to the extreme, thanks Marauders!), and so when his attention drifts over to the woman haggling nearby, it's purely because he's interested in if anyone else is getting less of a run around.

Apparently not.

With one pale finger extended towards the feline-appearing bones, he announces dully: "Those aren't real."

This goes over about as well as expected.

The shop clerk sputters a bit before launching into what sounds like a well-rehearsed patter about the quality of the merchandise they provide and that they stand behind what they sell and its effectiveness.

"I don't care if it's effective for people rattling bones around and using them for dice. I need cat. Not chicken, not rat, not whatever those are," she replies nodding after Snape has spoken and moving aside to make room for him to stand a little closer to whatever she's being shown. The man seems to know what he's talking about and he's not afraid to speak up.

"That sounds fascinatingly similar to what I was told about some low quality powder," he says, and while his voice is soft-spoken, there's a shadow of acidity to it, like he's had to work to keep himself from sounding aggressively angry all the time.

"It's stained with an enchanted ink." More pointing, even though the clerk jerks the items away. Severus gives him a look. "A careful counterfeit, I imagine it works in hex bags but little more."

"Mmhmm." Njoki clucks her tongue and looks from the tray and then back up to the clerk. "See, if I was just doing hexes and hands with them, it'd be fine, but I do a lot of healing. For some very old, very undead gentlemen and, well, if something were to go wrong with that because of 'faulty equipment' I'd get it taken out of my own hide."

A pause.

"And, well, I am a good woman and I believe in accepting, but also sharing the blame and burden."

Another pause.

"Do you have any actual black cat bones?"

"If he said he did, would you even want it?" Ah, there's some of that open acidity. Severus' own personal irritation concerning people lying about their work is even enough to overshadow what might have been a slightly twitchy reaction to very undead gentlemen. He adjusts the collar of his cloak and lifts the hood back up - it's common enough to go about in this city covered in all sorts of ways, and doesn't really stand out as odd - and turns to leave, ignoring the offended protests of both shop keepers, now.

Njoki nods in deference to Snape's point and with a curt nod to the salesmen turns to leave as well.

"Thank you. I've never seen bones done up like that before." She's adjusting to the city and all the strange, new ways it turns and tries to make a fast mark, but it will take her time to really get used to it and fine the reputable dealers.

Severus doesn't startle, but the way he turns his head just so to react to Njoki addressing him says he didn't expect her to add anything to him. (Or maybe he just didn't expect something like a thank-you?) He doesn't scorn it, though he seems a bit wary. It's probably not personal, this guy isn't screaming 'conversationalist of the year'.

"Neither have I," he admits. "But that kind of enchantment, on anything, has a particular resonance."

Njoki snorts, pointlessly annoyed at all the various ways things can be enchanted in ways she won't be able to detect.

"You probably already know this, but from what I've seen Antaboga in Badside is good but heavily specialized in East Asian supplies and Thundermark in Aspic is as bad or worse than that place." It's not much to offer in exchange for his assistance, but Njoki doesn't like owing people for favours or (not quite) kindness.

He nods, not quite in thanks, but acknowledgment. It's a pattern he understands, and doesn't begrudge it. He's a fan of as few strings as possible, himself. Severus hasn't been over to Badside, and isn't likely to, just from having heard of the reputation of the sort of people that congregate there, but it's an all right mental note if he sends someone fetch.

If that's it, he'll be on his way.

"Could I hire you to occasionally give my supplies a once-over? I don't have the talent to catch that sort of work they did." As she speaks, Njoki offers him one of her cards; from her body language it's clear that she didn't offer solely out of politeness, and if he says no, she won't be offended.

That is... an odd request, but a curiously thorough one. He supposes he can't actually fault the desire. After a noticeable pause, Severus takes her card. Instead of responding verbally, he produces a card of his own - it's for a shop that's been in Baedal for ages, but the CiD number that's hand-printed on it in slanted writing clearly corresponds with the current cohort. (Aside from the store, there is no name.)

Njoki accepts the card, looks it over before tucking it away in a small notebook.

"Good day then."

Feelin' strange 'bout my rider, babe, I'm booked and I got to go

C is also for Cantankerous

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