multiversallogs | what one requires is good staff.

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what one requires is good staff.

Who: Narcissa Black and anyone who feels like it
What: A place of her own, finally
Where: Syriac Well
When: About a week after the celebration at The Apache
Notes: Um.
Warnings: None?

A slightly unusual sight, but not for one of Narcissa's world (unless one knew Narcissa), there is a line of floating, dropcloth-covered items trailing neatly behind the elegant blonde as she walks confidently through the quiet streets of Syriac Well.

Not one to spurn an opportunity when she finds it, she's well aware that there were victims of this most recent... troubles whose symptoms developed to a more permanent status. In other words, there were several stately homes standing empty in this part of Baedal, and the judicious sale of the crowpearls she'd been hoarding had been enough to secure her ownership rights to one of the smaller manses on the Rue Sainte-Catherine. There was no need for a full manor house, but she'd had more than enough of the Inn, and cared not for the smaller apartment-style homes available.

Finding an agent of sale had been a little difficult, but a few words here and there located one she felt reasonably certain was reasonably honest, and after carefully checking the contract of sale and title, she was satisfied that this home was hers for the taking. All she had to do now was get the few new items of furniture arranged inside. Tables and chairs were one thing, but she flatly refused to sleep on a mattress someone had died on - and there were linens, tableware, a chaise... rather a lot for one person, really.

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An excellent conversational decision; Narcissa would be at a complete loss for words should that have been mentioned. There are some things she simply will not discuss. With anyone. Ever. Even if it relates to interior design.

"Certainly," Narcissa smiles politely, and pours them both a glass of juice - orange and mango, freshly pressed - as she takes in the fae's appearance a little more closely. The other woman is built on fine lines, and she supposes that caffeine in one so compact is probably not the best of ideas.

"I suppose that's to do with your species," she says. It's matter-of-fact, with no slight intended - a simple observation. Offering Ilde one of the beverages, Narcissa sips at and clearly swallows a mouthful of her own drink, a silent display of hospitality. She won't ask the other woman to show her trust so early in the piece.

But as to the kitchen, "Yes. I've something of a knack for Charms." She knew precisely what was meant, and is being modest. Narcissa holds a Charms Mastery, and she's very, very good at them. "You can sense them?"

Having a habit of yet more ambiguous observations that tend to be precisely that - observations - Ilde takes no offense as she accepts her glass, sensitive to tone and not bothering to bristle when it isn't necessary.

"I can- that's also to do with my species. I can feel magic like a...muscle memory, a taste, a note of music." All of those things, all at once, and none of them; she simply doesn't have the vocabulary for the sense that she's trying to describe. If she knew her ancestor's language, she might be capable of more clarity, eloquence, but then, Narcissa probably doesn't speak that language, either. "Everything has its own."

And none of them come with labels, it's maddening. She's figured out 'vampire', and she thinks she can begin to differentiate between the types thereof - she knows that witches of Narcissa's type are different to those of Sonja's type in their world whose potent magical nature is more intrinsic like her own, descended from angels and set apart from humanity. One word means half a dozen different things and she listens for the differences in how they pluck at her like the strings on her cello.

Edited 2011-08-17 12:19 (UTC)

"It's that physical?" There's genuine interest. Having come from a very, very old magical line, Narcissa is attuned to the magic of her world, but it's not a palpable sensation so much as it is an ease of use. She lacks that sense, here, though magic is accessible and plentiful - and she recognises the spellwork of those she knows well.

So far, that's limited to Lucius, but magical theory intrigues her, and should today turn out well, Narcissa is hopeful she'll be able to pick Ilde's mind at some point. So to speak.

"Does it confuse you? I imagine there'd be quite a cacophony of magical signatures here."

With a nod (it is that physical, and sometimes fascinating - her blood left traces of her magic in Ivan, it's like a sense memory echoing back to her), she says, "Often it's like meaningless white noise in the background, but as with anything..." Her shrug is elegant and eloquent; you pick out distinct parts as you get nearer the source. "Mostly I learn what it means by watching."

Patience is a virtue, and all that. (Provided what you're doing is virtuous, presumably.)

"Some people don't like to have their illusions recognized, though, so." Tact. She doesn't ask about everything she notices.

Blood magic has a similar effect in her world, though precious few practice it.

"No, I don't imagine they would..." Narcissa would probably be happy to answer questions for purely academic reasons, should it come to that. Not publicly, though. A girl does like her secrets... though there are precious few here and now. Ilde might pick up on several heavily warded areas of the house - their significance will not be obvious. "But you could turn that into quite the lucrative sideline, were you mercenary enough."

She sips at her juice.

"I could, too." She probably isn't; the likely scenario is that the people most likely to pay well for that kind of information have a worrying amount of crossover with the kind of people Ilde would cheerfully spike in the eye with a red Zanotti heel. "It's one of those things I should learn more about first, either way, I think- I'm sort of making it all up as I go along."

Learning to wield magic beyond what's simple instinct is complicated by not having anyone like her to teach her what she's meant to be able to do; her practise of it, when she reaches for it, is raw and childlike. She can persuade the water to obey her, in a moment of need, but she couldn't say precisely how she does it.

If this does go well, they might have some very interesting conversations.

Making it up as she-- Narcissa winces. That's a sure way to explosions, both internal and external.

"R-really? There's nothing at all to guide you?"

Do excuse the vague panic in her voice. She's still intrigued by Ilde's brand of magic, but the idea of potential disasters is not a pleasant one - though once she gets over her initial shock, she might realise she's interested in following that path where it leads.

"I've got far on instinct, I think," she says, thoughtfully; shapeshifting was mostly instinct and she'd mastered illusions by the necessity of desperation in the Prometheus facility. She grasped influence, even if she had trouble implementing it smoothly- that was, she felt, where she had to be most careful. (Frankly, she was wary of trying anything with it at all in Baedal, where she never quite knew how it would interact with the people around her. Humans were one thing.)

It isn't that she doesn't notice Narcissa's concern so much as she doesn't know precisely the best way to respond to it, and thus doesn't, directly.

"But no, I don't know anyone like me- it's all been trial and error." For years, now, though she'd been significantly limited before. Prometheus kept her weak, deliberately, because of the potential she has to be quite dangerous.

Narcissa is firmly of the opinion that instinct should be followed only when one has a thorough understanding of what one is working with, since the combination of knowledge and instinct leads to progress and innovative spellwork - but pure instinct... pure instinct is dangerous.

She smiles politely.

"I see. Have you considered documenting your progress as a way to form some sort of... oh, pattern to follow? A way to know what hasn't worked and why, to assist in building a basis for further learning?"

These are the moments Narcissa's inner Ravenclaw makes itself known.

Ilde's fleeting glance before she answers is genuinely slightly amused - that's some cute underestimating you're doing there, human. She assumes, generously, that Narcissa doesn't intend to condescend to her and it's only a personal flaw. (The alternative is a prejudice, and they're getting along so well she prefers not to think of it if she doesn't have to.)

"Of course." She wasn't able to write it down initially (she wasn't able to do a great deal, initially), but now she isn't locked up any more. Many of her notes aren't here, they're back in her world with the rest of the enclave, but she's rewritten a great deal in her spare time here and she makes new notes as she goes, especially now that she's teaching music. She can feel it. "Now that I have a name, I'll be able to find sources, but I suppose most of them will be human in origin."

And therefore potentially useless.

Edited 2011-08-22 11:36 (UTC)

Of course it is. The fae are all but a myth where she's from, and Ilde does look deceptively human with that clever glamour. But no, the intent wasn't condescending - though she tends to come across that way, snobbish thing that she is.

"Ah..." Well. That's something, at least? And of course, Narcissa is now curious about these findings, but will restrain herself for now. "It's a starting point, if nothing else."

Perhaps, perhaps not. If the source material is old enough, there may be more kernels of truth than not.

"...would you like to see the piano?"

Ilde used to be in the orbit of girls very like Narcissa; it's not unfamiliar, in the same way that good manners and pianos aren't unfamiliar. They were usually her friends, so it's easy to fall into the pattern of finding the attitude amusing, and not offensive. (It's just that now she knows there's an alternative.)

"Yes, please. I'm looking to see if I can find a harp anywhere, for myself," a harp she can afford, or at least one owned by someone who'll let her come and play it. "Do you know if the piano was made in the city or if it's an import?"

She's rather used to being the focal point of her group of friends, if not in an obvious way, and it's probably safe to say her attitude is borne of habit. Narcissa is well-bred and her society's equivalent of high born, and it shows in almost every nuance of her behaviour.

"Oh? A great harp, or a lap harp?" Over her shoulder as she leads the way out of the kitchen and towards the grand staircase. The room she'd found the piano in was well insulated with lovely acoustics, and she found it easier to simply leave it there... "it" being a grand piano in the traditional sense. "Here she is... and she's imported; her maker's mark is Pleyel."

Which might have convinced her to take this particular abandoned manse over any other; her own piano is a Pleyel.

"A great harp," she says, as she approaches the instrument with a familiar eye. "Some of the pieces my father wrote for me just don't sound exactly right on instruments other than the ones they were meant for." Her own music lessons, once upon a time, were fairly memorable. Her father, for that matter, is a fairly memorable man; a good name and old money and forgiveable eccentricities. This is where Ilde came from, but the fact she makes note of the layout of the house and exit routes is a more recently learned habit and arguably more practical.

The piano looks a little like one she remembers from her terribly impractical home, on that note. "Is it badly out of tune?"

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what one requires is good staff.

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lol tenses /jazzhands

i tensefail constantly. >_< /cool move with a bowler hat

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