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

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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.

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Raylan is still trying to decide what to do about a job. The fact is, as much as he still thinks of himself as a prisoner, he's going to need a way to earn rent money soon. There's always the employment office, but he'd like to at least have some idea of what he wants before he goes there. He's married to his job back home, but things are complicated here.

In the meantime, he's wandering through neighborhoods, trying to keep an ear to the ground and see what rumors are circulating. His manner and his hat don't exactly make him inconspicuous, but he mainly looks too well-contained to mess with.

He's a browser, clearly out of place (but respectful) most everywhere her goes.

Coming out of one of the stores and looking a little less than pleased, Njoki stops off to scribble a few remarks in a small notebook. As she's writing one of the staff steps outside and 'politely' reminds her that if she's new, which she clearly is, that it's a good idea to check the glass around the doorway for sigils. You see? That one right there? What they sell is not for her.

"Mmhmm, got it."

Raylan catches the end of the exchange and pushes his hat back a little, considering. "Guess the customer ain't always right in this neighborhood." He's disinclined to go into a store that ejects patrons that way, on principle.

"Apparently not," she says putting away her notebook and looking as if she's halfway considering giving the owner the finger or not. "It was all going so well until I asked if they deliver."

"That doesn't seem so odd. You mind if I ask what they would have been deliverin'?"

"Mostly candles, some jars. It wasn't the merchandise, but the location." Njoki settles on sneering at the store before turning to Raylan with a less toothy smile and offering a handshake.

"Ki Rainmaker, out in Mafaton."

Raylan takes the offered hand. "Raylan Givens. I'm in Mog's Hill, for now." All of Baedal is "for now" if he has any say. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Njoki cocks her head and takes a moment to size him up. It's not aggressive, just instinctual. "I think I saw you at the Apache, for the party, yeah?"

"Yeah, likely. I was just mostly at the bar." He doesn't see a good reason to deny it. "Figured if I was drinking anyway, might as well drink in company."

When Njoki decides to stop by Hellsing, she'll find Boromir at the Guild Hall, going between places and generally busying about (after all, he has a fair share of new duties to attend to since his promotion).

Still, he's nothing if not polite, and when he recognises an unfamiliar face he stops to change that. "Hello."

"Allô," she says, closing up the book she had been reading and putting it aside. Surely there's bound some little sitting area for new arrivals populated by a few chairs and a collection of National Geographic magazines from the 1960s. Even in Baedal, there are still a few universal constants.

There is such a thing, and decorated to suit the interior of the building, no less. He is also going to gather that Ki has an appointment, since it's doubtful she would have gotten through the front door otherwise.

"I hope you're not being kept long? I'm Boromir, one of the senior field agents."

"Works for me." Pleased with whatever she's managed to discover about him, Njoki smiles and settles back into her usual sort of relaxed confidence.

"You've got a great accent, where're you from?"

"Pleasure, Boromir, I'm Njoki and no, not long." And if she was, she's in no real hurry to go anywhere else today.

When she stands to offer a hand to shake, Boromir might be able to notice that she moves easily and seems confident. He's also welcome to notice the edges of some extensive scarification peeking out from her shirt sleeves.

He's lived long enough in Baedel to realise that there is a vast array of customs and appearances, many of which are different from Middle Earth. If they had met when he first came here, he probably would have stared a little too-long at Njoki's scarification and masculine appearance. Fortunately he's learnt to get over that.

"In that case, I was going to get a cup of coffee from the kitchen, if you'd like something while you wait?"

"I'd love a cup, thanks." If he had stared a bit, she wouldn't have been offended. Njoki knows that her appearance is not the norm for most woman and she's comfortable with that.

"But, if we've got to to wandering, to wherever the kitchen is, I oughta leave word with the desk here."

"Don't worry, I can fetch it. I need to pick something up from another room as I go. How do you take it?" She is, after all, the guest, and he comes from a culture where hospitality is imperative.

"Kentucky," he says, a bit unsure about her reaction, but thinking it could be worse. "Harlan county, if you know it. You?"

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.

"Sorry, I've never been that far south, but I've heard Kentucky's beautiful." Her own accent places her from somewhere francophone and Northern Africa, but that's not always easy to guess unless one is already familiar with the sounds. "Montreal, me."

"With a bit of sugar, if it's no trouble." Njoki generally drinks her coffee black, but knows that if there's a risk of truly terrible coffee it's wise to doctor it just a little.

A wise choice. He pops off for about ten minutes or so, and very luckily someone already has a pot going, so it won't taste completely terrible. Not gourmet either, but drinkable.

When he comes back, it's with two mugs and a folder tucked under one arm. "Here we are," and one is placed on the table (you know, that table, the one where the magazines are).

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?"

"Never been to Canada, myself," he says, in turn. "Kentucky's got her charms, though not everyone's first vacation pick." Raylan smiles a little. "Was in Miami for a bit."

"Thanks," she says, nodding as she picks up the cup and takes a sip. Not bad, not bad. "So, mind if I ask what a 'senior field agent' does?"

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

Option C is for Cookie

That's good enough for me! :9

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Option B for Broromir.

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C is also for Cantankerous

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