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Who: Hermione Granger, OPEN
What: Hermione goes book-hunting, and runs into ~fellow citizens of Baedal~.
Where: The Library of the Blessed St Brian.
When: A few days after her arrival, before this.
Notes: If you want your character to interact with Hermione but doubt they'd be in the library, feel free to have them somewhere else and she can stumble across them; she's likely going to do some exploring elsewhere.
Warnings: none.

Libraries are sanctuaries, and that, right now, is just what Hermione wants, along with as many cold hard facts as she can find. Rumours are hardly trustworthy, anecdotes are just rumours in seed form, and the only thing the propaganda has done is made her wary and worried. She doesn’t trust herself to go into any bookshops just yet, not on limited funds, and she’s always preferred libraries anyway- from the architecture and the smell, to the fact that these are books passed from person to person, books with history, to the (admittedly mundane and worldly, but still relevant) lack of cost involved in frequenting them.

This, therefore, would be why she’s prowling through the shelves with her eyes wide, seeking out facts and figures and records. There’s an expression of intense, slightly hungry concentration on her face.

There are also three books floating beside her, which she feels a little nervous about. They’re too heavy to carry, and from what she’s seen magic isn’t taboo in Baedal- but she’s so used to keeping it hidden when not in explicitly wizarding society that it feels as if she’s doing something illicit. She keeps glancing at them, and then around, the furrow between her brows getting progressively deeper every minute.

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Hermione has her wand in her hand, of course- while she has been practising Hover Charms without it they require so much concentration that it's not at all practical to try it while she's concentrating on other things, such as locating promising-looking books.

She's surprised enough to be addressed that the volumes floating beside her take a sharp dip downwards, but a quick flick of her wand ensures that they bob right back up again and stay afloat- and then she gives the woman talking to her a polite but baffled look. "I'm sorry?" At which point her brain catches up with her mouth, and she glances towards the books. "Oh. You mean- well, every report I've heard describes the city as full of magic of some description." It sounds rather like an excuse.

"That's true." Upon closer examination, most familiar with any sort of magic can tell Ilde isn't what she doesn't quite appear to be, in that way; the human-like illusion that she wears is like an artist's idealization of a woman, too real, in the world and not of it. "I meant of your description, specifically. Odd sort of witchcraft."

It isn't a criticism; she's just curious, by nature, and has a feline inability not to bat at things that interest her.

"Are you new? We're probably in the same cohort."

There is something off about her, and Hermione's not quite sure she likes it- it's distinctly other in a way that's hard to place and categorise- but Ilde's been nothing but polite nonetheless, and Hermione is not the sort of person to just based on things that don't feel right when there's more concrete evidence to be taken into account.

"I'm part of CeidaryBlue523, but I've only been here a few days." And they have been more than sufficient to make her wary, especially about the people from her world who inhabit Baedal. She doesn't want to talk about herself; Ilde's comment about her specific sort of magic has piqued her interest. "You know other witches and wizards? I've heard there are a few."

The name of the cohort gets a thoughtful nod - Hermione sounds new, and there's only one cohort currently open to newcomers, it's a comforting bit of solid logic confirmed - and she switches the books she's carrying to the other arm (two studies on Germanic fae in Russian, an Italian study of water spirits generally, and some records related to the university staff).

"A few of your kind in our cohort," she says; she doesn't know to which cohort the alchemist belongs, though, and feels no need to ask him. He doesn't seem like the sort of person who likes to be asked too many questions (he didn't even give her a name), and as a woman of similar inclination in that way, she's more than willing to respect that so far as she's able. The pains he takes with his identity and lack thereof are why she doesn't mention him now as someone outside of theirs. "The prissy blond one is with Hellsing, I think."

(She means Lucius the younger.)

Edited 2011-12-03 18:22 (UTC)

Hermione takes a lingering look at the titles, and then, not wanting to seem rude, looks quickly back to Ilde's not-quite-right face. Her own books are large and look like heavy going, which is exactly what she likes; one is on a system of magic totally alien to her (and there were many other unfamiliar books of magic on the shelves- she chose at random, with the intention of reading plenty more), another is on mythology and pantheon-based religions, while the third is about the Twelve-Point Divinity specifically. The section they're currently in is the one that houses the records; she doesn't really know which questions she wants answered first.

'The prissy blonde one.' Well, she doesn't have to be a genius to work that one out. "A Malfoy, perhaps?" she asks tentatively- though there's a part of her that's rather amused at the description. It's fitting.

"Lucius, one of them." Because there are apparently two of each, she's heard; she's of the opinion multiple Malfoys (and Blacks, one supposes) sounds unnecessary, but Ilde has yet to be asked for her opinion on who is and is not brought to Baedal. (Presumably if she had access to whoever makes those decisions, she'd have more pressing things on her mind.) "I don't think he likes me."

Arguably, for many people, a willingness to conversationally bat Lucius Malfoy around for her amusement is a point in her favour.

It's at this point that it occurs to her she hasn't introduced herself-- "I'm Ilde." Ilde Decima Featherstonehaugh when she isn't dropping the surname altogether, which only goes to show the wizarding world hasn't got a monopoly on completely insane British names.

"He doesn't like many people," Hermione responds. Sebastian has already told her about the numerous Malfoys who inhabit Baedal, and of his affiliation with one set of them, which is the only reason she's not considerably more worried about this one being at Hellsing- she assumes it's the one he associates with. It's also the only thing which stops her from consciously considering Lucius Malfoy's dislike to be a remarkably positive recommendation- but there's a slightly wry smile on her face nonetheless. "A large majority he doesn't even tolerate."

Ah. Names. Is that what they're exchanging? She's afraid of having her identity spread around- not even for her own sake, but because she's now in the position of keeping Snape's presence here quiet, along with ensuring that Sebastian-not-Harry can keep his head down.

She pauses, and then responds, "Nice to meet you." Except that sounds overly cagey, and she knows she needs connections here, so she extends a hand and braces herself to do some story-telling. "Call me Penelope," she offers.

Which is not quite the same thing as 'I'm called Penelope'.

A little too quick and too observant - obsessively so, at times, fascinated by other people and never quite sure how they work - to have missed the difference, Ilde's frank curiosity is as evident as her immediate acceptance of not knowing. Maybe 'Penelope' is keeping secrets or maybe she's just slightly awkward (it's not as though she can throw stones there; the magnetic charm of the fae keeps her socially successful while her manner, part nature and part PTSD, makes the fact of that success slightly odd in itself), and either way the best way to find out is just to keep watching and see what unfolds.

If she doesn't find out, well. It's none of her business, anyway; most of the wizarding lot seem to have their own strange agendas and thus far few of them actually concern her. (She isn't sure whether or not her continued association with Lestrange counts as his agenda having relevance, given that she doesn't know what his agenda actually is and their conversations are mostly about poetry. This distracts her, briefly.)

"All right," she says, serene, shaking her hand. Her skin is much cooler and smoother than human, in texture a hint of the pearl-shine it has when visible. The longer they talk, the more evident it is that she's not listening so much as watching Hermione's lips move - she doesn't make much eye contact, but it seems more a side-effect of having to pay such close attention to keep up than discomfort or rudeness. "It must be useful, coming here from a world with magic formalized and institutional; I've noticed some humans struggle with the culture."

So do most of the wizards, but at least 'not everyone is human' doesn't seem to be one of their problems and that's really the one that she tends to pay any attention to.

Edited 2011-12-03 21:47 (UTC)

Hermione's not surprised to find that her hand's cold, for some reason; it seems like it fits with everything else that doesn't fit. She finds her mind ticking away, cataloging all the things that are implacably odd about Ilde, but she manages to avoid looking too much as if she's trying to analyse her.

"It's a culture shock for anyone, I imagine- it certainly is for me, all magic aside- but it certainly helps to have some familiarity with a system of magic, even if it's not the sole system used." She cast a glance her books. "Fascinating, though. I wouldn't have thought any of it possible before, honestly."

Which isn't to say that she exactly appreciates being kidnapped and flung into Baedal, just that it raises some very interesting questions.

"Different worlds, different rules," Ilde observes, thoughtfully; she's of a similarly nerdy bent, if more stealthily so, and the things she can find and see here are intriguing even if she's obliged to rank her priorities carefully. After a moment, with a little gesture of her free hand like she's looking for a word that doesn't exist (in English-- in human tongues), "I can feel the differences? If they're magic."

It's how she picks out practitioners of similar worlds; they share commonalities in their magical signature, and compare and contrast can teach her to recognize and identify the familiar. The ability to 'feel magic' is only useful if you know what you're feeling, and she's obliged to rely on investigating those feelings in order to find out what exactly it is she's recognizing. What they do. Her own world forms a baseline, then she learns about others-- wizards of Hermione's sort are useful in how many of them she's met and how quickly she was able to separate them out from other practitioners.

"It's interesting." Potentially useful, too, if she ever finds it necessary to identify who particularly cast a spell, or who didn't.

"You can feel the difference? But that's fascinating," Hermione blurts, too interested to pay any heed to the restraints of politeness before she has to ask questions. "What sort of feeling is it? Er- if you don't mind, that is. There's some documentation of that kind of sense in my world, but only certain wizards are closely attuned to it, and the rest of us only pick something up when magic is very Dark or very- well, very strong."

Nothing like what she was doing, in other words.

"It's hard to describe in-- well, human languages? And I don't speak anything else yet. I told Remy to invent me a word." Italian, English and Russian are her primary go-to, and none of them have words for faerie senses. Regardless, she doesn't seem concerned by the questioning; there are ways to get her hackles up, there, but at least for now Hermione hasn't pressed any of her anxiety-buttons. (Which is for the best.) "It's like the sound a muscle memory makes when you taste it."

... that makes perfect sense if you're a faerie. Sort of.

But Hermione isn't a faerie, and nor is she very good at thinking in that way; she doesn't have much patience or talent for clairvoyance or divination or intuition or anything which could be construed as just having a feeling. She frowns, tilting her head and looking bewildered.

"Um. Right. Well, it's very interesting, nonetheless. Are you a-" 'Witch'? That's probably the wrong word. "-magic user of any kind?"

With a shrug-- "Not as you know magic use." In fairness, no one in Ilde's universe practises magic like the wizarding world; sorcerers are the closest comparison, as tending to be strictly human magic users (tending to be men, as well), but the method is still something else entirely. "But in a manner of speaking; I'm a faerie. So I am magic." It's what she's made out of-- she can use magic, but she doesn't think of it quite the same way as someone using a tool.

Which is why she recognizes it by feel, like touch-taste-smell-hear-see; how could she not?

Edited 2011-12-08 20:31 (UTC)

In Hermione's world, fairies (note the spelling) are small, insectoid pests with very pretty wings and an annoying tendency to make high-pitched buzzing sounds; faerie are legends based on the facts.

It's not really surprising that Hermione's eyebrows go right up.

All the same, she's become accustomed to the idea that in Baedal one might encounter just about anything and anyone, and so she's more surprised than disbelieving. After all, it might explain why Ilde seems a little off- but Hermione is very wary of simply blaming that on species. It doesn't quite feel fair. "I've never come across a faerie before," she says, and then realises how silly that sounds. "--good grief, listen to me. I don't mean that I plan on gawking, just that it's interesting, the...diversity of the city's population. Sort of amazing, too, when you think about the sheer scope of whoever or whatever brought us here."

Some of that oddness is admittedly nature; she doesn't think or prioritize the way a human would (never has, and that was a frightening thing when she still thought she was one), and there's an ever-present edge of otherworldliness. More of it, though, is the fact that she's stumbling through years of brutal trauma with no better coping skill than 'ignore it, sometimes with alcohol'. She was much better at pretending to fit the world around her when she didn't have to devote so much energy to not screaming.

After her particular experiences of the supposed superiority of the human race, a certain disinclination to play ball with pretense is probably to be expected, though few in Baedal have got past the initial impression to peg the hurts that drive it. It's been less than a year since she was broken out of the facility.

"There are other fae here," she says, shrugging one shoulder, "but none of my particular species. And I was raised among humans," with a flicker of black humour; Hermione's honest and more or less respectful startlement isn't the kind to raise her guard, "so it was a bit of a surprise to me, too, at first."

They're two separate thoughts, but she has a tendency to tangent and to run things together that aren't connected; linear conversation is a bonus with this one, not a guarantee.

Hermione's just reluctant to pin labels on without actually knowing the details of what a faerie is, at least in Ilde's case; she knows the folklore, but how could she judge based on that? She works- or did work (that thought gives her a pang of homesickness and worry every time it comes up)- in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, after all, trying to scrap oppressive laws and often finding herself talking to a wall as far as wizarding attitudes to magical non-humans go.

As for raised amongst humans, the first thing she thinks of is her own upbringing. "Gosh, I can imagine," she says. "I-" No. 'I was brought up amongst non-magical people?' Why not just broadcast it? She swiftly changes what she was going to say. "I suppose it's rather something to suddenly- realise? Be told? Find out? Sorry, I don't mean to ask personal questions- I'm just...curious."

"There's an organization in my world that studies the supernatural in order to better control and weaponise it, among other things," Ilde says, briefly. "I wouldn't say I was exactly 'told'." It's a very sparse thing to say, but the edge in her tight smile is telling to the observant; there are a multitude of sins beneath those words, even if she doesn't launch into a detailed accounting of her abuse. Her frankness on the subject is primarily an act of defiance against Prometheus-- their secrecy, their treatment of her kind as something lesser and shameful.

They were the ones torturing children.

"After the storm it'd have been difficult not to notice." She lets her illusion thin, illustratively, and shrugs.

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