starsmisalign (starsmisalign) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2020-08-25 10:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | celeste henry, james hutchins, npc |
Browsing
Who: James, Celeste, NPC Sam (written by Kate)
What: Gathering supplies
Where: Las Vegas, Curiosities
When: Present
Ratings/Warnings: Some NSFW content (last half of scene)
Though the staff of Curiosities shared a blood bond, the shop fell victim to extreme mood changes, depending upon who was at the register. On any given visit by a repeat customer, the drapes might be drawn closed or tied back, the air spelling of sandalwood or the charred remains of burnt herbs, the music a sludgy metal track from the 1970s or the greatest hits of the pan flute. Tonight, as the bell tinkled by the door, the customer would be greeted by the elder owner’s back as he leaned over a display of cast bronze statuary and candles on a velvet cloth.
“Hmm. You’re back.” He picked up a figurine of Artemis and held it aloft with a shake, like a condiment from the refrigerator door. “Would you mind giving me your opinion, son? Are the breasts on this statue too aggressive? Of course, she is a fertility goddess...” Sam straightened to peer at the acquisition. “But these look like a balloon pop carnival game.”
Celeste almost backed out of the shop when she saw that it wasn’t James manning the counter. His words about his father, spoken during their very first meeting, popped into her head. ‘Nice man, nothing but good intentions.’ But she had good intentions...now.
“Put a feather headpiece on her, and she’ll fit right into a Vegas revue,” the brunette commented, standing in the center of the store.
“Oh!” Sam wheeled around. “Young lady, I’m sorry.” The heavy statue trembled in his hand. He set it back on the shelf, this time facing away from the public. “I thought you were my son. Though I think you might be right about Artemis. She’s a shoo-in for Bally’s.” He turned around and rubbed his hands. If he did so with enough conviction, perhaps he could wipe away the previous moment. “What brings you in? Don’t think I’ve seen you before.” Sam came closer and studied her face with his head tipped back, as though he was wearing a pair of bifocals, only they were on the desk in his office.
She smiled nervously. “It’s okay. Hi.” At his questions, her mind went totally blank. It was complete white noise. “I came in for…” Celeste cast her gaze around the store.
“I’m looking for information on...I guess it’s called white magic?” She wasn’t sure why she was reacting this way. She knew what it was called. The brunette could have also said she was looking for James.
Sam looked impressed. “Good answer! You wouldn’t believe how often people come in and ask for hexes… Straight away! No small talk or anything.” He beckoned with his hand for the customer to follow him beyond the front displays to the stacks of books. He never said so, but Sam felt that a customer’s reaction to reading was the greatest test of their potential for the art. A witch who refused to read wouldn’t be a very good one. “A book is a witch’s best friend,” he said, turning down an aisle until they reached a dead end filled with volumes. “But you have to promise me you won’t put these on Pinterest. I didn’t write them or anything, it’s just tacky.”
She felt her cheeks heat slightly. “People do that? Wow.” Celeste followed him quietly, trying to study him in a subtle enough manner to find physical similarities to James. “I don’t use Pinterest,” the brunette assured him. “These will be for my eyes only.”
She glanced toward the restricted section briefly. “I’m also looking for some items. Holy water, consecrated soil...that kind of stuff.” She had a list in her bag on a folded piece of notepaper, she was attempting to fish it out.
He raised his eyebrows. That gave him pause. It was not the kind of magic most young customers pursued; the average Wiccan came into the shop for altar supplies, smudge sticks, and resins. A witch lacing her rituals with Christian symbolism knew something of demonology. “You can buy those things, or you can befriend a priest. It’s a hell of a lot cheaper.” There was a fellow at St. Joan of Arc, for instance.
Sam picked a book for her to flip through while they bantered. “How did you become interested in magic?”
“No priests,” she said, a little too quickly. “I’d rather, um, support local small business.” Celeste accepted the book and began paging through it.
“Well, as a matter of fact,” she began carefully, “I learned about it through your son.” Her gaze stayed on the text in her hands as she said this. “I guess you could say he’s a talented salesman.”
Sam clucked his tongue. “Oh yes. You must be one of his new delivery customers. He thinks I don’t know about that.” A weathered hand tapped at his forehead. “I’m old, not senile, but James always did like his private ventures. Maybe he’s got a good eye for talent.” Sam assessed the woman standing before him. It took no great powers of observation to notice that she was beautiful, not given to the obnoxious speech patterns of most people her age, and not carrying her cell phone like an organically-attached appendage. She had hand-written notes!
“Wait here,” Sam held up a finger and rounded the corner. It was a moment or two of shuffling sounds before he returned, somewhat disheveled, salt and pepper hair hanging over his forehead and left eye. He held an orb the size of a small orange, which was translucent, milky white and heavy. “Hold this for me, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Celeste found a safe-looking surface to set the book down, and carefully took the orb from Sam. She held it with both hands cradling the bottom so she could look at it carefully. The brunette didn’t say anything, but for some reason, she felt like she didn’t have to. It wasn’t an awkward silence. She did, however, glance curiously up at him as she stood there holding the object.
“Keep your eyes on the object,” he instructed her in a kind tone. “I’d like for you to think of the type of magic you’d like to do.” The orb was quiet for a moment, then began to display a sequence of curious properties. Its appearance shifted, the dull white giving way to luminous streaks and swirls, as if it glowed from within. If her hearing was excellent, the customer’s ears might pick up on a pleasant hum. A smile softened Sam’s features.
Celeste was lucky; she had a very vivid idea of what she would like to accomplish, magically. She focused completely on the orb, the glow reflected in her blue eyes. A series of images floated through her head, a mixture of memories and what she suspected were wishes, of a sort. The brunette then thought, oddly, of her family. What it would mean for them to be ‘healed’ of their current way of thinking and moving through the world.
“You might have some skill for this,” he mused, watching the amount of light that illuminated the space between them. For some, the effect was subtle. For others he’d wish he’d worn a pair of sunglasses. “It’s hard to say if it comes naturally or if it’s a function of mind over matter. In the end, it makes little difference where you come by it, as long as you put it to good use.” The witch was content to let the moment stretch because he knew it could be transformative to see a reflection of one’s inner desires.
“Would you like to look at the collection upstairs?” he asked, gesturing at the staircase. “It’s where you’ll find the rare objects. We don’t show them to just anyone.” Sam elbowed her like a friendly conspirator.
Celeste couldn’t help but grin, from both the encouraging sentiment and the offer. She looked up at the stairs, then nodded. “Sure, I’d like to.” She held out the orb to return it, figuring that portion was over.
She was glad that she lived rather cheaply. That meant she had some extra spending money tucked away for the items she was looking for. It felt more like an investment, anyway. Still, Celeste knew she would have to find another source of income soon. “Do you know if James will be in today?” the brunette asked innocently.
“Yes!” Sam looked around for someplace to stash it, settling on the corner of a high shelf. It could be properly sorted later. “He ran out for an errand. I forgot to fill my prescription and the pharmacy’s no longer twenty-four hours.” As he prattled on, he started moving towards the stairs, one hand raised in the air. “Now you’re probably wondering why a magic user would need conventional medicine, but some things do require it, like hypertension!” He paused with one foot on the bottom step and looked back at her. “On the subject of my son, humor me. What color do you suppose that orb turns when James holds it? First thing that comes to mind.”
She frowned, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the question. Celeste turned to look behind her, as if expecting to see the man in question standing behind her. “Um…” She drew out the syllable in a futile effort of avoidance. She tucked an errant strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Dark...maybe?”
Celeste wasn’t sure what that actually meant. What she knew about the magic James performed was this: it had helped her, several times. How could something like that be bad? She knew it was more complicated than that, and that for now, it was all beyond the reach of her knowledge. “But I don’t know if that’s bad,” she piped up. “He’s actually helped me.”
Sam shook his head. “Dark is not a color, but your answer is helpful, all the same. Come on, let’s see what we have.” He climbed up the wooden staircase, his hip not causing too much of a fuss until he reached the top. The loft was open, which kept it from feeling too cramped. Shelves lined the walls to the ceiling and a large table was kept open in the middle. The shelves held glass jars, jugs, and canisters filled with ingredients, each hand-labeled. There were rolls of paper, books, wooden boxes, open bins, strange figurines, organic materials, and water bottles. Bundles of dried herbs and plants hung from the ceiling.
“You can set your things on the table, if you’d like. Have a look around. The only rule is, if something seems like you shouldn’t rattle it, don’t.” Sam bent down and tugged a box from an alcove. He blew away a silverfish and began to scoop dirt into a bag, as if it were no different than penny candy.
She flushed slightly, setting down her bag and giving it a quick pat before beginning her perusal. Her first point of interest was the plants. Celeste tried to see if she could identify any by sight or smell. Some seemed familiar, others more exotic. “These all have different properties, don’t they? Like they would correspond to certain needs.”
The brunette ran her finger along one surface, lifting up a small amount of dust. She hadn’t gotten a chance to really look around, the last time, and it felt a little exciting.
“They do,” he agreed, reaching up to touch a set of leaves. “Laurus nobilis, sweet bay, has been used for dream guidance, though... you’ll want to burn this one in a ventilated area,” he said, holding up a cautionary hand. “The smoke causes hallucinations. I was once convinced I was horseback riding, but I had only mounted the back of my sofa.” Downstairs, the front door opened with a friendly ring, and then there was the sound of metal keys sliding down a counter and the crumpling of a paper prescription bag.
The pan flute abruptly ended on the first notes of the grinding guitar riffs of Iron Maiden’s ‘The Trooper’.
Sam rubbed his forehead.
A pair of boots started to jog up the wooden steps. James’s head breached the landing. “They only filled half. The rest should be ready tomorrow.” It took him a second to notice his father wasn’t alone and as he recognized the brown-haired woman standing under the dried plants, the open look on his face shifted to mild alarm. “Oh god.” He finished the staircase with lead in the soles of his shoes and went to stand behind Celeste, clamping hands over her ears.
Celeste had turned toward the staircase at the sound of footsteps, a smile flitting over her features as she spotted James. That look quickly turned to confusion as his hands covered her ears. She didn’t move or make an effort to remove them. “Hi?” It came out as a question.
James shifted one of his hands. “Whatever he said, disregard,” he mumbled at her ear, assuming his father had figured out that he was seeing Celeste and grabbed the rare opportunity to peek into his son’s life to regale her with embarrassing stories or worse.
Sam’s shoulders dropped. “I’d ask why you’re manhandling a customer, but I think I may have made the connection. This,” he wagged a finger at her, “Is the owner of the wine bottle, isn’t it? Celeste. ‘Talented salesman’.” He waved her off, more disgruntled at not knowing what was happening than genuinely upset. He turned, first in one direction, then the other, remembering what he’d been doing with the bag of consecrated earth. He stooped down to tie off the bag and close the box, placing the bag alongside a bottle of holy water at the brunette’s bag. “You were right. She’s got potential.” He headed for the staircase and left his son to it.
Celeste watched him leave, making sure she heard him descend the last stair before turning to James. “Is he mad?” she asked quietly. She picked up the pouch of earth, examining it briefly before setting it down.
“Maybe I should have texted you beforehand,” she continued. “Yeah, I’m now realizing that was probably the better option.”
“He’s not mad, he’s embarrassed. He likes to be the smartest person in the room and he wasn’t.” James came around to face her. “You don’t have to text first.” He picked her up and set her on the table next to her bag and the book. James curled his hands around the edge of the table and looked at her sitting there, in a place that not only smelled like magic, but kept a charge on the air from all the spells that had been worked on the table. Celeste’s eyes were so blue. The pouch might as well have been a pomegranate. “Do me a favor and indulge me for a minute.” He leaned in and kissed her. His right hand combed through a lock of her hair. It hooked into her necklace and pulled only hard enough to find resistance. Then it went behind her lower back.
Celeste closed her eyes, leaning into the kiss, lips parting. Her own hand came to rest on the back of his head, fingers parting short, soft hair. The other pressed palm down on the table, bracing herself. The kiss quickly turned hungry, even as she tried to remember where they were, but she couldn’t help herself. Or maybe she could, but she didn’t want to.
The hand on her back tugged her body closer to the edge of the table. James was there to meet her. When their mouths opened and he tasted her, he wished he could get a line into her head so he could flood it with mental pictures, which was the next best thing to what he’d do if it was closing time and they found themselves completely alone. Why couldn’t he have found them digging through the supply closet? It had a locking door. He kissed the soft skin under her ear and took a second to breathe.
It was not working.
“You look too damn good.” James put his hands on her thighs.
“So do you,” she breathed, the fingers of one hand curling and bunching around the material at the bottom of his shirt. “And feel good, and smell good…” Celeste added, with a grin. She placed her free hand over one of his, pressing it deeper against her skin.
“I wish I could bottle this feeling up and save it,” the brunette told him.
“What would you do with that?” James squeezed her legs tighter and ran them up and down. Between putting his mouth all over her throat, he was looking at the front of her shirt and down at her shorts, thinking about taking them off. No, not helping himself. He rested his forehead on Celeste’s shoulder and tapped the toe of his boot under the table. When he came up, he rubbed his face and gave her a guilty smile.
The hand gripping his shirt tugged playfully. “I’d be able to keep you with me all the time,” she answered slyly. “And then we could continue this somewhere a lot more private.” That was what was on Celeste’s mind at the moment. She had a very vivid imagination, it turned out. She wondered what color the orb would turn now, if she had been holding it then.
“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to tell him to take the night off and lock the door on the way out.” James picked up her hands and put them around his neck. It was either that or he was knocking on room 104 in a couple of hours. He didn’t see this night ending up with him putting back drinks in a bar or taking a cold shower and crashing under his ceiling fan.
Celeste considered that, her fingers tracing against the sides of his neck. She glanced down at the table as if assessing its structural integrity. “Would that work?” She grinned, letting him know that she wasn’t against that idea at all.
“It’s worth a shot. Hey,” he called over his shoulder. “Why don’t you call it a night so we can summon demons in peace?” James’s face was calm as he listened for the answer, but his eyes danced with amusement.
“Your sense of humor leaves something to be desired, son,” the voice called back.
James laughed under his breath and stared off in the general direction of the staircase and the store beyond it. The front lights dimmed and the door rang at the older man’s departure. He didn’t wait for the bell to stop chiming to turn back to Celeste and bring her in close, encouraging her to put her legs around his hips. “You’re about to wreck this table for me. How am I supposed to concentrate in here,” James said at her mouth. He took up a loose handful of her hair.
“It seems pretty sturdy to me,” she countered, wrapping her legs around him, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Celeste leaned in close, her mouth inches from his as she smiled. “What do you need to concentrate on, anyway?” She closed the gap, kissing him again with vigor.
Celeste let her hands wander, down the front of his shirt, fingers lingering over the waistline of his jeans.
He shook his head. “It’s not gonna break,” he laughed, “But I’m going to picture you on it, next time I’m up here.” The t-shirt went up over his head and he tossed it on the floor. “You sure you don’t want to finish browsing? I can come back.”
“No, I’m good,” she replied, eyes on his chest as she spoke. Celeste decided to return the favor and slipped off her own top, letting it fall haphazardly. “It doesn’t have to be on the table, then,” she pointed out. “We can pick the area of the store you spend the least amount of time in, if it’s going to distract you.”
James saw the shirt come off and stared at her, pupils dilating over a sight that never got old. “You’ve been distracting since you got to town, so I guess, what’s the difference?” James bent down to give her a licking kiss on her collarbone while he reached behind his back, where her ankles were locked, to take off her shoes and drop them under the table, one at a time. He came back up to kiss her harder, fingers going to the button of her shorts to undo it and pull the zipper down. “I think about you all the time.”
She wrapped her arms around him and used the hold to lift up from the table, enough for him to get her shorts off. Her mouth found his neck, lips brushing against the rough stubble of his jaw. “Tell me what you think about.” Celeste kissed his neck, one hand coming down to slide into the pocket of his jeans. “On second thought, show me what you think about.”
For a second he had trouble thinking or doing anything except leaning into her hand with his eyes closed, his own palms flat on the table on either side of her. When he got himself together, he unhooked her bra and slipped it down her arms. The bra joined her shirt and James took the time to look at her. Sometimes he couldn’t get his head around how this beautiful woman ended up in his life. He undid the buckle of his belt and started the slow process of removing the rest of his clothes. “We’re going to be here for a while.”
“I’m okay with that.” Impatiently, she pulled James against her, not wishing for another second of their bodies being apart. Celeste tilted her head up to nip playfully at his lower lip before kissing him roughly, her tongue exploring his. Her hand went exploring, too, palm pressed against his abdomen. She slid it down further.
James’s hands had framed either side of her face. He held her there, mouth and tongue tangling with hers in a kiss that started to feel urgent when Celeste’s fingers went wandering. He could never make up his mind whether he wanted to take it so slow that she started to squirm or so fast that she couldn’t catch her breath, or if it was okay to loosen his hold on all the impulses he kept under tight wraps. Sometimes his insides felt like they were caught in a clenched fist. An arm traveled to the middle of her back and gathered her to him, which left his free hand to roam beside Celeste’s in the tight cavern of space between their hips.
He moved to speak against her ear. “The first thing I think about is this.”