multiversallogs | better come in the kitchen, it's raining outside

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better come in the kitchen, it's raining outside

Who: Ki and Mozenrath
What: Talking about who's who and what's what among the (un)dead.
Where: Bloody Sunday
When: Dusk on Veerdi
Notes: Dead people are cool.

Living on a nocturnal cycle is one of the hazards of working almost wholly with cruorvores, but Njoki has adapted to strange patterns of sleeping and has no qualms about ordering breakfast at sundown and skimming over the local paper while waiting for Mozenrath to appear. Perhaps it was a little cruel to invite him to Bloody Sunday instead of finding somewhere outside of Mafaton, but she's never been known for subtlety.

At this hour, the malt shop is quiet except for the lone cook and Vingar Tom, the shop cat. Outside in the streets, Mafaton is equally still as what remains of her population sleeps and slowly rises as the sun sets.

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Mozenrath had been careful to read up a little on the area before venturing into it, so he had some understanding that as a human, even a magical one, he was not in his own territory. Where once, in his previous abode, he had been quick to deride the undead as little more than (sometimes) extra-intelligent tools of the trade, that sort of talk had gone out of him around when it started to bore him. Rather than take this as a sign of maturation, he preferred to admit, at least to himself, that Mamluks and variations of the same were not vampires, who were just as capable of doing him harm as anyone else taken with the desire to respond to his cynical jibes.

So for once he stepped out of doors with the full intention to actually mind his manners. His familiar darted about in the air around him with surprising comfort, an animated and outward reflection of his state of mind.

Even if there was danger, new danger, it felt almost like home.

The two entered the shop, Xerxes taking a closer stance at Mozenrath's shoulder, and immediately the sorcerer sought out and recognized the person he had come to meet. He was unaccustomed to smiling at particularly anyone without good reason -- or something to hold over them -- but the corners of his mouth seemed to, for at least a split second, attempt to do so by way of recognition. He approached and bowed in greeting.

"Good evening."

"Evening. Have a seat," she says with a gesture offering the other side of the booth. While Mozenrath might not be able to place her accent, she does have a fairly strong French West African tilt to her words. "Any trouble finding the place?"

In person, Njoki comes across much the same as her videos on the network - average height, butch, and while her long sleeves hide most of her scarification, a few marks might still be visible around her neckline. From her body language, it's clear that she's comfortable and confident.

Mozenrath settles into the booth across from her with a murmured thanks. "Not very much," he says genially enough. He's a little stiff and formal, in terms of posture, and while this is intended to give off greater confidence it likely has the exact opposite effect. His dark eyes move over Njoki's features, taking in any telling characteristics and mentally filing them away for later use.

Xerxes sniffs at the air between them with curiosity but keeps to Mozenrath's side of the table, for the moment silent.

"It's good to meet you in person, finally," the boy sorcerer admits.

"Mmhmm. The kitchen isn't really running yet, but if you want to order, the menu's pretty good, but you'll want to read the fine print, eh?" What she means is that the majority of what's on the menu isn't designed for human preferences. Alongside a small selection of traditional diner fare ,there's a good sized blood menu (bagged, TrueBlood, vat grown) and a few other, strange specialties like hufu.

"You wanted to chat about what I do?"

He raises an eyebrow at the offerings on the menu. That gets a little sardonic smile out of him. "Thanks for the warning." It is only slightly different from going into port with Shego; she picks the restaurant and then horrifies him with what the locals count as food. It feels like a welcome return to form, to him. "I'd like to, yes. I am --"

Mozenrath stops, as though something passing through inspection on the statement he's begun just doesn't hold right to him.

"I was a practicing Necromancer. I suppose being in a place where so many people deal in the same craft has been something of a shock for me. Where I come from, if there were two Necromancers within one hundred leagues of one another it meant one was being apprenticed by the other. Even though I don't do it anymore, I can't help but feel a little... would 'territorial' be the right word?" He shakes it off. But that's probably, he realizes, the tone he had when he addressed the 'other' Snape. "But this isn't about me. You mentioned fleshcrafting."

Njoki chuffs thoughtfully and takes a drink of her coffee. She's heard of territorial magic before and knows that there are certain kinds of beings and practitioners that physically can't be in close proximity to each other.

"I wouldn't call myself a necromancer - no ghosts, no seeing the future or getting answers from the dead, or any of that. I'm a rootworker with a good feel for fleshcrafting, which is pretty much what it sounds like." It's entirely possible that Mozenrath might slowly start to pick up on the fact that along with possessing some magical talent, Njoki isn't entirely human. There's something off about the size and shape of her teeth, the way her joints move, and her body language.

"And how did you come across this trade?" Granted, he's learned in the last few years that certain magical disciplines, no matter how similar to his own, simply did not come about the same way. Having made a career of studying and collecting magic, the ones that differed were the most interesting to him. Just by listening to Njoki and looking at her, he knew that their practices must have differed greatly -- both in training and management.

"I didn't pay enough attention in math class," she says with a bright, sharp grin. "But, to tell the truth, same way anyone ends up in a job. A bit of skill and being in the right place at the right time to find a way into the field. There are plenty of rootworkers and we all have a slightly different set of talents. Most work in more traditional things like hot foots and good luck hands."

Mozenrath tried not to show that every now and again she had terms that he had never heard before. He never liked to look as though he were not well studied, even if there were legitimate reasons (like differing worlds) to explain his ignorance. "You mentioned 'fleshcraft' before. Are there many in need of that in this city?"

"Enough to make a living. I don't work on the living, so I'm a bit limited there, but I get by." There are enough vampires and other undead xenians that she's comfortably off. "If you don't know the field, it's a cross between medical doctoring and sculpting tissue. New eyes, new limbs, removing scarring and the like."

"What about new flesh?"

It came out before he even really thought about it, and he looked a little embarrassed. Not that minding what he said was something Mozenrath had ever really kept in check. He rubbed the back of his head.

"That's one of the things I was hoping to discuss with that other magician. I've looked for alchemical routes before but hadn't looked much into what you describe."

"Growing it, you mean? I don't do that," she says plainly. Grafting tissues, be they living, dead or otherwise is one thing, but the creation of new body parts is not within her abilities. "There might be someone in town that can grow a leg in a vat -- they do have hufu here -- but, I dunno, it's not a common thing."

It's just too complex to replicate all the nerves, muscles, and tissue function from scratch.

"I see." Mozenrath's brow knits in thought. "It's not really as simple as that, I'm afraid." In fact, with how great a variety of magics there are in this place, it's surprising him at every turn how many dead ends he's running into. "But it doesn't hurt to ask around. What I'm looking to do is experimental at best, and will be challenging for whomever I approach, in the end."

"Don't beat around the bush, eh? What're you looking to grow?" Njoki might not be able to grow a new limb for someone, but she can replace dead or missing tissue. Her former roommate Pickman had been going through the change from human to ghoul and she'd done a fair job with what remained of his feet.

It should be noted that while she can work on the living, it's not something she advertises.

Mozenrath sits back in his seat, and he and Xerxes share glances. The sorcerer shakes his head. "You'll have to forgive me; I've never really come out and shown anyone before just for the sake of showing them." He removed the gauntlet from his right hand, revealing the skeletal remains underneath. The bones moved as though the muscle and skin were not missing at all. "As you can see, growing a whole new limb won't really benefit me."

Njoki would disagree. If he was willing to remove the 'afflicted' limb, she (or someone who'd rather work with the living) could fit him with something entirely new.

"D'you know if the bones are living? Blood runs through them or you can heal a break?" A living skeleton, even one attached to a comparatively normal human body, is certainly unusual, but it's far and away from the worst she's seen. "D'you know if it's a curse or just an injury? Sometimes when a body's cursed no flesh'll stick until the crossing is removed."

"The bones are alive," he confirms, quickly pulling the glove back over it. "A spell keeps them functioning normally and protected." With the gauntlet replaced his right hand seems to still have the appearance of a whole and complete hand. "And it's an injury. The bones were simply all I could preserve."

"If it's all living tissue, then you definitely don't need a necromancer for anything other than a referral -- which I can give you, if you want treatment." It might take her some time to ask around at her guild and find a practitioner with the ability to work on such an injury, but it's not unrealistic. Prohibitively expensive, perhaps, but not beyond the realm of possibility.

"In all honesty," he admits, "I'm not certain what I wish to do. I've been living with it for some years, now, but new life?" A shrug. "A change might be in order. It's normally the sort of thing I'd like to do myself, but there's all sorts of new magic here. It would be a waste not to explore, see what other people can do, what limitations they do not have that I do. You know."

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better come in the kitchen, it's raining outside

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Tense fail :| Sorry

Re: Tense fail :| Sorry

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