If Mircea had known it was so easy to get his hands on some birds nests, he would have tried it a lot sooner.Of course, he’d only really come across them since he’d obtained cable television, and then only after he’d watched the Bizarre Foods episode on it. It was fascinating what humans would make food out of. Of course, his own family had stretched every animal they slaughtered beyond what the modern appetite might enjoy, so it was nice to know there were still corners of the world that hadn’t become so sensitive and still ate things that picky Westernized palettes couldn’t even conceive to be food.
And what luck that he’d stumbled into this town (thirty years ago) where someone actually had the knowledge and willingness to prepare such a thing. As he understood it, it took a very patient and determined person to prepare it, so it was not a favor he was taking lightly. And with any luck, he’d be able to figure out how to make it himself through watching her do it.
Mircea had dropped the nests off a couple days before hand--apparently they needed to soak before they could be meticulously picked apart--arriving early in the evening on the agreed upon day, so that he could have breakfast at a reasonable hour, which would hopefully coincide with what Jayati might consider dinner. Though, honestly, he wasn’t sure if she had what some might call regular hours. Honestly hadn’t thought to ask. For the most part, people tended to be strictly day or night people, but there were always exceptions to the rule. “Don’t forget I’m here to learn,” he said when he’d been invited in, “I don’t expect you to do all the work, alright?”
Where there was a will, there was a way. Or, where there was a stubborn vampire and a town full of people who didn’t realize they were supposed to (sort of) take human laws seriously, there was a way. Jayati hadn’t been surprised in the least that he was able to acquire them so quickly. If anything she was a little surprised that he found the motivation, from what she had seen that could be an issue once immortals hit a certain age. What was the rush anyway, or even, how do you dredge up the motivation?
Dinnertime for her was...Irregular if one were being kind, erratic if one were being honest. One of the reasons she hadn’t hesitated to invite a Vampire over for a meal. Whether he was a ‘late sleeper’ or wanted to come over for his version of lunch, it wouldn’t be an issue. “Are you sure? These are some pricey ingredients to learn and take chances on.” It was partially a joke, but also not. Her voice echoed down the hall as she shut the door behind him, leading him towards the kitchen.
Jayati’s house was possibly not what one would expect, knowing her. Open and airy, sure, dragons liked open spaces, but it was decorated with art pieces from around the world, maps preserved in museum glass on the wall, all carefully out of reach of small hands. It was known in town that Jayati took in newcomers sometimes, people who came from families being torn apart or homes lost, or even a resident who didn’t feel safe being at their house. So hers was on the larger side — and two floors, to reflect that, and that was also why it was decorated the way it was. It was still her yet in a way that kept part of her locked away.
In the Kitchen, a room far and above organized and well stocked, with a kitchen island complete with barstools for guests, there was a large pot that she had used to soak the nests, and which she was now going to be using to very gently boil them. “I’m going simple with the recipe, I hope you don’t mind. Take a seat, tea?”
“I’m sure,” he said, and he definitely was. First, he liked learning things. Second, he had gotten his hands on several nests without much fuss. If the mood struck him, he could probably get some more without hassle again sometime. So if he messed one up here or there, so what? It’s not like he wasn’t sitting on money like a… Well. Dragon might. After five hundred or so years, you accumulated a lot, especially if you didn’t really overspend. “How do you learn if you don’t make mistakes, you know? We have more than enough to practice on.” And for him to mess up. Though honestly, he was good with the details. Books & Bins was pretty meticulously organized.
Mircea followed her to the kitchen, admiring her home--larger than his, and more open, also definitely more organized, since the TLC he put into his business didn’t always translate into how he kept his home--which was surprisingly inviting, though he supposed that was by design for anyone who needed a safe place to land, but perhaps just a part of who she was generally. It was hard to tell.
But he wasn’t really here to pick her brain or her house. He was definitely here for the food. “Simple is fine, I don’t think I’d know the difference if you didn’t tell me,” he said, sliding onto one of the stools at the counter. “Tea would be great, thank you. Earl grey if you have it.”
“I happen to agree.” Taking chances in order to learn new things was the only way to grow, though admittedly she had hit a few ruts in her relatively young (all things considered) lifespan. Jayati had never had the hunger for knowledge for knowledge’s sake that her wife had, it only seemed to manifest in her when it came to skills. Show her how something was useful and she’d give it all the time, energy and even money it required, but only if it had a practical purpose.
Maybe she should have offered him a tour, but she had never really understood that practice. Anything he needed she would show him as it came up, what was the point in showing someone the layout of your whole home when they really only needed one room? That was usually left to people who would be staying at least one night.
“Good to know. Though I guess it’s kind of silly to be picky when you’ve never even had a particular dish before.” Two mugs were grabbed as well as a glass mason jar labeled with clear, bold sharpie Earl Grey</i> from the pantry, ”I love to cook, but I think people make it too complicated sometimes.” This bit of routine was easy for her, all muscle memory and comfortable, even if cooking with someone in the kitchen with her was a little more unusual. The kettle, a thing nearly as old as the house but reliable still even with a few dents, was put in to start boiling even as she went about filling two tea strainers for them, “I soaked the nests you brought over night, and I just put them on to boil — but very low heat.”
Skills and knowledge both had a place, and often went hand in hand. Mircea was mostly a knowledge guy himself, but tonight skills were more the focus. It would be nice to know how to make such an odd and complicated--yet somehow simple--dish himself, even if it was nice to have someone else cook for him now and again. When you didn’t really need food, it wasn’t a thing that happened often.
Foregoing a tour was alright with him, he wasn’t here to pry, though it was still always a little fascinating to discover how people settled into their spaces. It said a lot about who they were, generally. Whether his shop or his home said more about him was up for debate, but it was difficult for a being to inhabit a space and not imbue it with a little bit of themselves.
“That and I’m not really picky to begin with.” After a century or two, anything could grow on you. And anything that didn’t was garbage, obviously. “Sometimes the most interesting dishes are the simplest ones.” It wasn’t flattery, he’d eaten a lot of things, and had found that to be true. Pancakes were like that, for instance. Not a lot to them, but they were fantastic all the same.
“So they soak, and then boil and then… That’s when the weird bits get sorted out?” Feathers, he remembered, were something that had to be picked out of the dish before it was edible.
Mircea had picked the right person to bring up cooking to, oddly specific meals and missed experiences. Jayati really loved cooking for people, though putting it like that instead of saying I love cooking wasn’t something she would normally say out loud. It was a way of caring about people and looking after them that didn’t require words, or even vulnerability from the giver or receiver. That, and it was practical, at the end of the day.
Everyone had to eat. Something.
The mugsthat Jayati had gotten out of the cabinet did not, in fact, match. It was amazing how many dishes she had found interesting on her travels, how many had gotten broken, how many people sent them to her as gifts. As cohesive as the rest of her home was, these had no particular theme other than both being sturdier and more unique than something you would find at Walmart.
She snorted at his phrasing, “I took out some of the ‘weird bits’ last night,” In a bout of insomnia, but that really wasn’t the point, “We’re about to gently rinse them out, pick out any dirt and pebbles, well you will and I’ll rinse out the pot.” There were a few small bowls of other ingredients on the counter as well, but for now she was getting out the honey and trying to decide what music to put on.
He could appreciate dishes accumulated over time from varying origins. It was one of things that just sort of happened over time, though he probably didn’t have anything quite as nice and sturdy looking as the mismatched mugs she set on the counter, though he did still have some tea cups that had been raided from the palace at Versailles. Those were kind of precious. He didn’t pull them out often or for just anyone.
Weird bits was a very technical term.
“Oh good,” he said rubbing his hands together excitedly, “I’m ready.” It couldn’t be any stranger to remove dirt and pebbles from ones food than it was to say… De-vein a shrimp. Though the latter was certainly less of a process--could be done in one swift motion if you knew what you were doing--but the concept was still the same: remove the part that was less than delicious so that the part that was could shine through and be tasty. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” Hopefully not badly.
The water in the kettle started to steam, a very faint noise accompanying it. The volume of the thing was one of the reasons she had kept it, disliking anything high pitched and sharp in either shape. It wasn't quite loud enough to hide her quiet, hardly there laugh at his enthusiasm. It was endearing, actually.
She took a moment before answering him though, pouring water in the mugs so it could start steeping as they worked. Finally she turned the burner off and set the kettle back down so it would stay warm, and grabbed a large, heavy mixing bowl and set it on the kitchen island, “Alright, the trashcan is there, I'm going to put the nests in this bowl and you're going to wash your hands and then pick any detritus out and just drop it in the can while I rinse this pot out so we can reuse it.” As she spoke she moved carefully pulling the four nests out with a strainer and setting them in the bowl, sharp eyes scanning the counter for any spilled drops before carrying the pot back to the large sink so she could dump the water and scrub it.
“I've never met a vampire so excited about mortal food.” Jayati told him in a voice that said she was pleasantly surprised rather than disapproving.
Mircea hopped off the stool as she went about putting together their tea and straining the birds nests, walking around the counter to the sink so he could wash his hands as instructed. “Sounds easy enough,” he said in reference to her instructions as he lathered his hands up with surgeon level thoroughness. It was a good thing he had sharp eyes, probably. This seemed like the sort of thing that would require such an asset.
He got that a lot honestly, and it definitely warranted an explanation. “When I was still mortal, food was about survival, not taste or enjoyment. It was only after I got the bite that I found out there were people out there who actually got to enjoy what they ate. It was kind of eye opening.” He shrugged. “Some Vamps have their drugs and their silk pajamas and their sex parties, I’ve got food and books. This is my blood fueled orgy, okay?” He added with a wry sort of grin.
Jayati tried not to watch him like she did a few of the teenagers she had hosted — including Gabriel once when he was younger and his grandmother was busy — who had insisted they have a hand in the baking. Mircea was older than her by a good bit, but it was still hard to shake the habit of assuming everyone in her kitchen was going to accidentally hurt themselves or someone else.
Well. When he put it that way, she supposed it made sense didn’t it? She still kept half an eye on him as she started a radio on her phone that was connected to her bluetooth speaker based on Tom Waits before dumping the water in the pot into the sink with a splash. The faucet was turned on so could run fresh, steaming water in it, turning her head around behind her to watch him, “Well, I’m quite honored to be invited to your blood fueled orgy.” She commented wryly, just loud enough to be heard over the water hitting metal and Tom Wait’s raspy voice.
Lucky for Jayati, for all intents and purposes, Mircea was already dead, and any injury he sustained would just heal over pretty much instantaneously--if he wasn’t hungry, that is, and he wasn’t--so she really needn’t worry. Anyway, he knew his way around a kitchen pretty well, despite not actually needing to eat real food.
Sharp ears caught the words over the cacophony of kitchen noises and Tom Waits, and Mircea snorted. “You’re very welcome,” he said, flashing a toothy grin that crept into his eyes. “So long as you’re sure you’re not disappointed it’s not an actual blood orgy.” Somehow she didn’t seem the type. But then again, that clearly wasn’t his bag either.
Another snort of dry amusement, “You’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all you know?” Truth actually, believe it or not, even if it wasn’t a vampire one. The years after the war were over were a little...Hazy, and not something she was particularly proud of, nor ashamed, even now. Though she was a bit relieved that Mircea seemed to have few Anne Rice-esque tendencies, and not just because breaking up a bloody orgy in the back of a bookshop didn’t sound like the best, or most hygienic way to spend her time.
Ugh. Maybe she was older than she thought.
The music was quiet enough that every once in awhile she had trouble catching the words, or maybe that was just the singer’s voice. It was background noise that gave her something to focus on when she was chopping though, not the kind she played to drown out her thoughts. She filled the pot back up with water after she finished wiping it down and moved it back to the stop before stepping back over to the island, letting him continue to work as she pointed out the other small bowls. They were small glass bowls and she pointed to each as she spoke, “We have jujube, or dried red dates, rock sugar, and just a little fresh ginger I sliced this morning.” And because her self-control seemed to come in waves, she reached out for a thin slice and popped it in her mouth.
Was that so? Her comment earned an impressed eyebrow raise from Mircea. Respect. Alright then. “Some things are like that,” he agreed with a nod and another snort of laughter. But indeed, the books deserved better than some Anne Rice vampire orgy. And the Bins too, he supposed, but less so.
Hands now squeaky clean—sparkling, even (but not in a Stephanie Meyer way, clearly)—he returned to the other side of the counter nearer to the trash bin and pulled the bowl of birds nests to him, setting to work on plucking out the weird bits. “Is this a situation where I should only choose one, or can I have a little of each?”
Ah, good. Someone who appreciated her humor. “Have you read any of those books?” It was a terrible question and one he had probably heard before, but she couldn’t help but ask. There really wasn’t an equivalent for her, at least not in the mainstream. She had heard some speculation from a few other vamps she had known in her life about if she had really does an ‘interview with a vampire’ who had a grand ol’ time fucking with her.
Jayati gave a quiet hum of approval as she felt the comforting, slight burn from the fresh ginger settle her stomach and clear out her sinuses, “Up to you, personally I would do all three. You’re the guest though. I was told I was supposed to be polite to guests.” An eyebrow raised with the dry comment even though the corner of her lips twitched in amusement. Oh, her tea. Lovely. People rushed tea too often, when it should be allowed to sit like it had, “Do you need honey for yours?” She nodded towards his mug as she picked u her own, inhaling the scent before taking a tentative sip, careful of the delicate chain from the metal tea ball that floated inside it.
“Oh God,”Mircea said, stopping mid birds nest picking to look up and roll his eyes at her. “Please. Listen, I hated Dracula. It’s all downhill from there.” He’d met Vlad Tepes, aka Vlad the Impaler, aka Dracula once before. Vasille tried to make a snack of him. It was an all around bad evening.
Long story short, the man was never a Vampire.
“No, that’s good. I’ll take your recommendation. That’s what I’m here for.” If he didn’t want her expertise, he would have just looked it up on the internet (oh what a beautiful invention that had been) and done it himself. No, he was definitely here because he needed a practiced hand for it, and he valued her opinion.
Oh tea! He’d forgotten about tea. Sill really, when he could smell it just fine, but there were also a lot of things going on here. “Maybe just a little.” He’d take it however, really. Usually with a dab of cream when he made it for himself, but he was rather fond of honey, and the sweetness tended to really bring out the bergamot.
Alright, he got an outright, slightly raspy laugh out of her at that. Mircea may not be the classic — or even the modern really — example of a Vampire, but he was an excellent example of a grumpy bookseller. “You’re a curmudgeon aren’t you, once the topic drifts from your favorites?” Jayati grabbed the farmers market mason jar of local honey from her tea and coffee cabinet, “More Diogenes than Dracula then?” Two of the deeper spoons were plucked out of the tall mug on the kitchen island, scooping out a spoonful to drop it in her steaming mug before doing the same for him.
Another sip of her tea as she watched the honey dissolve, “Good choice, and I think you just about got it all.” Jayati stepped back and turned the pot on low before moving a bit closer to him so she could look at the bowl to see if he missed anything, “The ginger is uncommon I think, but my mother was one of those Asian moms who would recommend it for anything. Just a bit of it in the soup balances out the sweetness of the dates I think.” Her voice was a bit wistful, but not sad when she talked about why she had picked what she had.
“Is this your normal wake up time, or did you get up early for this?” It had been something she had been curious about, a bookshop for someone who was forcibly nocturnal. Then again, in this town it was really hard to say which schedule was more common.
Well she just hit the nail right on the head didn’t she? Not in a bad way though. Or at least, Mircea knew who he was and made peace with it. Were he less self aware, it might have been insulting. But instead, it earned her another grin, and a nod. “Pretty much,” he agreed. “But I have no desire to live in a barrel. If I start doing that, you have my permission to kill me.” Because that was crazy. And he might be cynical, but he wasn’t crazy.
He stirred his tea as she spoke, followed by a long sip from the mug. Perfect. Exactly what he needed. “Everyone’s mother is like that, I think. Or at least, the good mothers are. Mine was all about garlic. It’s a cure for everything you know,” he said, raising both eyebrows pointedly. Lord was he glad when he realized he could still eat garlic. It was the most home-y thing he could think of. “And when we were sick, it was boiled onions with lemon, which doesn’t sound that appetizing, but actually kind of hits the spot when you think you’re dying.” Which was funny to think about now. He stepped back from the birds nest bowl, having picked them thoroughly and feeling pretty good about it. “Alright so now what?”
“Right on time, actually. But it depends on the time of year too. Right now I get up this early, but not so much when the sun hangs out longer, you know?” He liked having the extra time. Maybe he should move closer to one of the poles, but he didn’t mind the change in the seasons even if it regulated how much sleeping vs waking hours he got.
The image made her eyes crinkle with amusement even as she carried the bowls over to the counter beside the stove, “I don’t know, it sounds like a funny image. Maybe I’ll sell tickets.” Jayati set the bowls down and held her hand over the pot to test how hot it was, nodding in satisfaction before turning her attention back to him, “Bet you’d stink though.” Her lips curled briefly in distaste at that bit of it, glad for once that she hadn’t lived in that era, it definitely wasn’t all some historians hyped it up to be.
The jar was resealed and shelved again, Jayati was a big proponent of cleaning up as you go. The new home remedy he mentioned made pause again mug midway towards her mouth as she tried to decide how that would taste and if it would actually help cure what ails you. It kind of made sense, both of those things were insanely healthy, but boiled onions in general just didn’t really sound appealing. Hm. Still, she knew she would try it, “She sounds like a clever lady. The only recipe that only requires one clove of garlic is how to cook one clove of garlic and even then, you should toss in a few extra.”
Another long pull on her tea as she examined his work, “So next time I’m sick are you making me onion lemon soup?” It was definitely a joke, although she wouldn’t turn it down either. Not that she got sick often or anything. “Now we move them into the pot, keep it low and slow, and add in the rest of our ingredients.” Jayati decided to let him bring the nests over, adding in the sugar, dates and ginger herself, stirring them with a soft rubber spatula so it was ready for him to dump the nests in the pot.
Oh, that made sense. Without thinking about it her eyes turned towards the window over her kitchen sink, though she couldn’t see much through the tree branches. On her back porche she had a good view of the moon from her swinging bench, and that was worth the initial cost of the house in and of itself. “Do you alter the shop hours or just your other employees schedules when the seasons change?”
It probably would be until he burned to a crisp because a barrel didn’t provide a lot of SPF if you catch his drift. So if she didn’t respect his wishes to straight up murder him if he went off his rocker, then the elements would do the job just as swiftly, though far more painfully. “Oh definitely, until I got barbequed with UV rays, and then I’d probably smell like a suckling pig, so.” That might be an enticement for some people. He probably shouldn’t advertise that.
“She was,” he agreed with a fond smile. Clever and tough, which was sort of just a requirement for living in those days. He’d had a good family. A bunch of survivors and fighters, the lot of them. He missed them sometimes, but wouldn’t have wished his own curse on them. It was probably a peaceful reward to get to sleep eternally after laboring for a lifetime, short as those lifetimes were back in those days. Still, it wasn’t as if he was trying to trade in for that. Not when there were still foods to try and books to read, and music evolving. “It’s the most perfect food,” he said nodding, “Medicine is great and all, but there’s nothing like a home cure involving ten cloves of crushed garlic.” Was there a dish it didn’t improve? He’d yet to find one.
“Do dragons get sick?” He asked, sort of surprised by that, mostly because it was hard to imagine something so big and powerful coming down with the sniffles, but then again, dragons were living breathing beings, so it stood to reason they could get sick just like anything else. “If you want. It really kicks the snot out of you, literally and figuratively, so I’d be happy to if it’ll help you get you back on your feet next time you’re knocked out.” It was a rare privilege to get to cook for anyone else, really. He brought the nests to the pan and slid them out of the strainer carefully so as not to upset the contents of the pan.
“Just my own hours and the employee schedules. It sort of needs to run 24/7 to make it accessible to the unusual population we have here. I have enough day side people to make it work, I just stagger their hours differently.” It was pretty easy to do. And where there were holes to fill, sometimes they’d take on a few seasonal employees. Nothing too difficult about it.
For a moment, Jayati thought back to their conversation on the beach where he saw her eating a shark. It was odd having two different appetites that resonated with two different shapes, and sometimes both at once if she caught a certain scent or was in a particular mood. “You know, I’ve never eaten a vampire. I wonder what a crispy one would taste like.” She was genuinely contemplating it, head tilting side to side as she considered it, “Let me know if one pisses you off, yeah? I too, like to expand my palate.”
She patted his shoulder, briefly as she nodded about the garlic,”And where does medicine come from if not home cures?” Well, that was where it started at least. Jayati may not know a lot about medicine herself, or medical care in general. Anything above first aid given to soldiers on the battlefield, and even that was old information, effective still probably but there were probably more painless options now. But all the same, her mother had lead championed such cures, so she stood by them if only out of tradition.
Her mouth opened to reply before she sighed, waving her hand around in a so-so gesture, “It’s kind of weird, and sometimes one shape will get sick and the other won’t? It’s not often, either way.” Truthfully, dragons didn’t really have a middle ground, at least in her experience. They were either slightly queasy or this might be it unlike humans who could be in the middle for weeks at a time. But they weren’t exactly often afflicted with the common cold or anything like it either. It was a fickle thing. It didn’t help that since her parents died she really hadn’t spent a lot of time with other dragons, so her knowledge was limited, “Guess we’ll find out as time goes by.” A shrug then, it wasn’t a problem until it was, that was her view on most things.
“Ah, nothing too bad then.” Mircea probably had this down to a science, between running this store for 20 years and whatever else he did before. He seemed like the type to learn from his mistakes. Unless they were driven by passion, but who among them weren’t like that? “Do you want to see the library? This is going to need at least thirty minutes, but probably not more than two hours. Those were some good nests.” The bubbles were as small as they could be, rising up between the dates and the dissolving sugar, just right, “See we don’t want the bubbles to get bigger, this temperature is just right.” The pot, and then him, earned a nod of approval from her as she sipped at her tea.
As long as she didn’t want to eat him. “I’ll check my burn book and let you know.” Just kidding, he definitely did not have one of those. He was sort of hard to piss off, actually. Or gross out for that matter. Sure he didn’t like blood on his clothing, but that was more of a cleanliness thing than an ick factor thing. More about looking presentable than anything.
He hadn’t thought of it that way, but she wasn’t wrong by any means. “I suppose. I mean, look at aspirin, right?” Now there was an ancient home remedy that became medicine. Willow leaves were not nearly as tasty as garlic though. “But no medicine is ever as delicious as good old fashioned garlic or chicken soup.” Or even boiled onions, quite honestly. Synthetic bubblegum flavoring couldn’t hold a candle to a good rich broth.
That was basically his own motto: it’s not a problem until it is. Figure it out later. Everything is fine until it’s not. He was fairly organized so things didn’t usually have time to become problems, but there wasn’t a lot of room for error, but that sort of fed into that whole thing. “Well, just let me know the next time you feel like you’re dying. I’ll be right over with some onions.”
Mircea moved around to the sink to wash his hands a second time, now to get birds nest goo off of them before he started drinking his tea again. Oh, she said the magic words. “Do you have to ask?” He had one eyebrow raised questioningly as he sipped at his tea. “It’ll be alright if we leave it? It’s not one of those things that needs to be watched so the pot doesn’t boil over.” That whole ‘watched pot never boils’ thing had been true in his experience thus far.
Her eyes narrowed briefly at that, “Is that a pun?” Mircea didn’t particularly seem the type for puns (not that she minded them, herself), she enjoyed more types of humor than she had mastered herself, hence the collection of Monty Python DVDs in the living room.
Jayati was warming up to him more by the minute, or maybe it was the tea in her hand and the soup on the stove. Cooking always put her in a good mood, it centered her and gave her something to focus on. No matter how much times changed, food and cooking seemed to be consistent, even if there were a few new gadgets these days. “Agreed. Not that I’m one of those people whose suspicious of all modern things, but if it isn’t broken…” And her house was certainly not a relic from a bygone era, a decent television in the living room, an automatic (though little used) coffee maker, and there was a smartphone on the charger behind them connected to a speaker. But things that she actually connected to her childhood and family were different.
The image of Mircea playing nurse to an undoubtedly grouchy dragon made her snort with amusement as she sipped at her tea, “I’ll hold you to that.” Not that she was eager for anyone to see her in a weakened state, and the occasion probably wouldn’t even come up, but she was rather curious still.
Washing his hands again got a look of approval just before she eyeballed the pot again, “If I have it that high then it’s already a lost cause. I’ll check back on it.” It may have been a good few decades since she made this particular dish, but she had a good sense for these things. Another subdued smile at his eagerness for books, not that she really expected any less.
She gestured for him to follow as she walked through the kitchen, one hand pulling her keys out from where they were hooked into her belt loop as she wound her way through her home, around the stairs and to a solid door that had no others near it. It was an old lock and an old key, but it turned fine,, and scales flashed across her hand when she gripped the doorknob. A ripple of magic then, the visual sort and the kind that seemed to vibrate under her feet for the briefest of moments before she opened up the door.
The library was her pride and joy, and it showed. There were a few windows, but they were sealed tightly to prevent moisture, the walls even a different material to keep everything safe, and blackout curtains hung around them just to be safe. The book cases were solid oak from floor to ceiling that was higher than the rest of her home. The room itself could have eaten her living room and her master room, burped and wanted more. When she had built it onto the house she had known it was going to be the most important part of it, and so if it was expensive or a little mismatched, she didn’t care. On the shelves were books of course, but the majority were not bound in the modern way, all of them before 1955 and a great many of them as old as him if not older. Many journals, some books leather bound, some bound by cloth and stitched together by hand years after the fact. There were also oddly shaped ones, letters and maps in old parchment that had been treated so last a lifetime or ten, so many things that should be in a museum or crumbled to dust preserved with magic, mortal means, or both.
There was a loveseat and a recliner, along with one large table kept meticulously clean and one smaller end table as well. This was not a place where Jayati often hosted visitors, even the art was a window that she usually kept shut, all of it of Nepal, of the mountains, India in monsoon season. Close to her heart and wrapped in memories.
“Ha!” He said on a short bark of a laugh. “It wasn’t supposed to be, but that’s funny.” Unintentional puns. He wasn’t completely without a sense of humor either, it was just a strange one. Often very dry. Sometimes absurd. And though he didn’t make a lot of puns himself, he could appreciate a good one when it came his way.
“Don’t fix it,” he finished with a firm nod of agreement. Much of modern technology was good, and he enjoyed it. There were also plenty of things he saw the merit in and didn’t particularly like. Like cars. He was waiting for those to take a leap forward so they’d be self driving and could fly maybe. And maybe then he’d be interested. So on the other hand there were also things out there that could keep being fixed, and he wouldn’t be mad about it.
Mircea grinned back. “I’m very good with promises. Not that I expect or look forward to you being ill or anything, but if and when it happens, you’ve got my solemn oath I’ll be here with several onions in hand.” Delicious. But even the caretaker needed to be taken care of now and again. It was the way of things. On the rare occasion his mother fell ill, her sister would bustle in from her own hovel, leaving her older children to tend to the younger while she nursed his mother back to health. It was what families did. And strangely, after thirty years, the inhabitants of this island were starting to feel like family.
Well, she was the expert here. He wasn’t going to question it when that was why he’d come over in the first place, so tea in hand, he followed her through the house to the innocuous looking door that was clearly not scar it seemed. Realizing how much trouble she went through to protect what was inside, he adjusted his attitude to one of reverence for what he was about to see.
And he was not disappointed. He’d seen many personal libraries in his time, but none that were quite so impressive, or well kept. “Color me impressed, Sheriff. This is one beautiful library,” he said, meandering over to one shelf to examine some leather bound tones, some hw knew well, others completely foreign to him. He could see why she’d want it kept so heavily guarded, though. This wasn’t a place for just anyone, so to that end he was grateful he’d been deemed worthy to witness it.
“You set ‘em up and I’ll knock ‘em down.” Jayati replied with extra dryness, but a twitch of her lips and crinkling around the corners of her eyes showed she was actually amused by it, even if it was a bit embarrassing that she had a misunderstanding or confusion for a moment. In her defense, English was definitely not her first language? Yeah, bad excuse.
Jayati shook her head as she watched him, smile broadening a bit, “Careful about making oaths to Dragons, Mircea, or oaths at all around here.” It was altogether possible that she had more tricks than she realized, honestly, because she had heard of oaths to Dragons made in the olden (very olden) days held some sort of sway — even over mortal injuries — but she wasn’t old enough to have reached those lessons with her parents yet when they died and it was chaos after. Until Lalita. And so much of her focus had been on creatures other than themselves, the other that she had been so fascinated by.
The smile that stretched across her features was softer, a bit more open as her shoulders dropped while she watched him, leaning back against the wall and letting him have a moment. Honestly, she wasn’t sure what the expectation had been in the back of her mind, but probably not good if the extra tension she was carrying was anything to go by. This place was many things to her, but all of them were a vulnerability in their own way. “Lalita was, what the humans would refer to as a cougar I believe,” A grin then, amused at her own joke, the utterance of her Wife’s name no longer bringing the ache in her chest it once did, “She was older than me, and had been travelling and collecting these for hmm. Two hundred years? Dates when it came to her life were a little shaky for some reason. But this is what we did until the day she died. Correspondence with other scholars, leaders, priests, recovered books. Biographies of villagers time has forgotten.” All meticulously cared for, hard back in those days considering how one had to travel.
Lalita and Jayati had traded a few scales each for the charms and protective spells that went over their multiple trunks that they travelled with, it was a bit weird for her to think about actually and she tried not to. She glanced around the room consideringly before settling down into the large recliner, pulling one leg up into the seat and sipping her tea as she watched him, “It’s not very organized, honestly. I mostly put them up there in whatever way seemed least damaging.” The confession was uttered with a wince into her coffee mug.
In her defense, puns were fairly easy to make on accident.
“Should I be worried,” he asked, quirking one eyebrow. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere any time soon, yanno.” Mircea shrugged. He wasn’t particularly worried about making oaths since it wasn’t like he was going to just up and die. Someone had to really have it out for him to that happen, and anyone he’d pissed off royally was dead. Usually in some sort of grisly way. Guillotine or something.
The cougar comment made him laugh a bit. “Can one really be a cougar when you live that long?” His attention flicked back to the books as she explained further. “That’s incredible. I don’t think I’ve seen anything like this.” So much history in one room. Forgotten history. “You do an insanely good job preserving all of it. Have you read all of these?” He knew dragons tended to hoard things, though clearly this had been her wife’s collection, but he often wondered if things kept by dragons were just collected and cared for or loved and made use of. Personally he collected a lot of things over the past several hundred years or so, but he made use of all of it. What he didn’t, he gave away.
“Sometimes that’s the best way,” he said nodding, “unless you’re trying to find something and then it’s terrible.”
Hmm, he had a good point on that, thirty years was a good sign that he was rather comfortable here, and nothing looked to be changing enough that would cause a disruption. Mircea seemed like the type who only liked change when it had a purpose, instead of just for shits and giggles. “You got another thirty years for this town in you?” A bit of humor in it, but also genuine curiosity. Jayati was surprised to realize that she would be genuinely disappointed if he left.
She snorted even as she shrugged, leaning back into the chair and relaxing a little more even as her eyes stayed locked on him, “I don’t know. I certainly think the definition of jailbait would be different.” It was certainly an odd thing to contemplate, and it was a distant issue at best. Humans came and went so fast, along with their social morays. It was a bit bemusing to look back and think of how these new perceptions and views would have applied to her life, especially the early chapters.
Now clear pride, though not ego, showed her her face and the way she held her head a little higher, “That is a high compliment from you. I’ve worked with some talented witches and Fae over the years, not trusting mortal techniques.” Some of them were so old, and even the materials they were made with were a little eh, up in the air, and by ‘worked with’ she meant paid a pretty penny to. In money, scales or even teeth, and even occasionally just simple cash. It was worth it though, and it was especially nice to have her work validated by someone who knew what he was talking about.
“I have not. It’s not really — it’s not that I don’t enjoy learning. But my range of topics are narrower I guess.” Which probably sounded dumb to someone like him, who probably read everything he got his hands on, but it didn’t really bother her too much anymore. “I force myself to be patient when dealing with them. It may not surprise you to learn I have a temper, but I don’t let it come out in this room.” That was what the grounds, the basement, and even the sky were for, depending on her shape.
That was a good question, and one that he really hadn’t thought on much in the recent past, though was a fair question to ask if he was to go around making oaths. “I could,” he said after a moment’s thought on the subject. “I’ve built a lot here, it would take a lot for me to just up and leave without advanced notice.” It was his home now, he had a business that kept him busy, employees who depended on him. A life. Or as much as one could have while not actually breathing.
Her snort was followed by one of his own. “I can’t even picture you as jailbait.” And he couldn’t. Jayati as some sort of Lolita figure was really too ludicrous for his mind to process.
“That’s smart,” he said with an appreciative nod. “Humans don’t know spit about preservation.” The more aged a race, the better their preservation methods were likely to be. There was a reason the Fae were still so old school in their customs. It was because all their documents were so meticulously preserved from way way back, often in languages forgotten by everyone but a precious few. Mircea wondered if there were any of those sorts of things in here. What a treat would that be. But, he didn’t feel right just pulling things from the shelves in search of old Fae documents or ancient Witches spells on his first visit. It was mostly for his own interests anyway. Research, not for use in any way. Mircea just liked to know things. One never could tell when the most obscure minute detail about something completely random could become useful.
Ah, but he could understand that concept even if it wasn’t his own style. “Having a niche is good. Sometimes it’s better to be specialized instead of simply having an approximate knowledge of many things.” It helped one fit into society better. Gave a being a purpose. He could easily respect that.
.
That was oddly comforting. It was exactly the answer she suspected but it was nice to hear it out loud all the same. What a state to be in, thank goodness I can count on the grouchy old vampire to stick around, but there were worst people to be a staple of town she supposed. “So that’s how I know things have gone to shit, when you move out of town?” There was amusement in her voice, sure, but an underlying seriousness to it as well.
She laughed quietly at that, “Well, I was literally hatched breathing fire so, that’s understandable.” The image she had cultivated by remaining controlled, professional, and just a little growly while in view of the town’s residents had paid off at least if he had trouble imagining her as some young, easily taken advantage thing.
“I have my moments.” Jayati replied with a shrug, agreeing with him all the same. Though she was fairly sure that the Fae didn’t like change because they tucked themselves away in their little magic bubbles, wrapped themselves in trees, mountains, and stubbornness. Not that there weren’t Dragons who had done that, or at least, she knew a few who had gone hard on the hermit end of the spectrum after ground to air missiles had become a thing. Like their legless brethren, Dragons could go quite a long time without eating when they wanted to, tucking themselves away with their hoardes and having a good long (long) sulk.
Jayati could practically see his fingers twitching to take a closer look at some of the tomes on the shelves, and she appreciated the hesitance, assuming it was out of respect and caution rather than indecisiveness. Though maybe a bit of that too. “You can look at them, if you want. I’m sure you’ll be careful. It would be cruel of me to bring you in here if you weren’t allowed to look with your hands” And that wasn’t her flavor of viciousness. If she wanted to torture him then it would not be so sly. “But you’re the type who knows a little about everything, aren’t you?”
“Sounds about right, yeah,” he agreed in all seriousness. Either the island had gone to shit or the rest of the world had gone to hell in a handbasket and he’d struck out to join up somewhere. Which hopefully wouldn’t be soon. Every century or so he liked to have a bit of a reprieve, and he was going to have advantage of it for as long as possible. “I’ll try and give you some notice though.”
It was a very well cultivated image indeed. But hearing that also made him painfully aware that he’d once been a very fragile human baby. “See, that’s the sort of thing that makes that image really difficult to picture,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “I mean, I guess being born screaming and bloody is pretty dramatic, too but also that’s sort of the norm for human babies.” Being a baby dragon was clearly infinitely more badass.
“More than a few, I’m sure.” A couple hundred years and anyone could rack up a few good moments, probably.
Oh there was the permission he was looking for. Mircea had a thing about touching other people's’ stuff without permission, particularly when it was clearly something so sentimental. Even if Jayati didn’t read the books, she’d cared for them with more precision than most people bothered to inflict on their own person. They were important to her. “Honestly, I don’t even know where to begin,” he said, though his twitchy fingers pulled something off the shelf anyway, leafing through a census book from 12th century Kievan Rus.
“That’s considerate of you. Hopefully you have time to pack before,” Jayati shrugged, thinking of that damn spot in the barrier and how it was going to unfold. At least, if it did go up the creek without a paddle it looked like it was going to be slow, so he would have time to get out before it got too ugly. A thing she didn’t blame him for, honestly. If she had been smart enough to do that then —
Anyway.
The image made her shudder, “Human babies are so gross looking, and vulnerable. No scales. Your necks don’t even work right. Bad design. You don’t even look like you’re done cooking yet.” It was a very strange criticism, maybe, and set her very much as Other even when talking to someone who could now be classified as just that and who was, in fact, older than her. Jayati had actually witnessed several human births here and there before learning to take herself out to drink/guard/smoke/do anything more appealing on the eyes, like watch grass grow.
She finished off her tea, setting it off to the side on the coaster whose usage was the most consistent of it’s kind in her house. Ah, she was right, he was waiting for direct permission. A soft smile pulled at her features, relaxing a little more in the familiar sight and sounds of an academic in their natural environment. Really, in retrospect, she shouldn’t have been so surprised they got along. “I know some of those don’t seem very practical or useful. But she thought all information was valuable, especially when it was about people — any people. Or interesting geography” And what Lalita had treasured, so did Jayati. Now it was partially out of love and respect for the work that went into it, but also guilt.
Guilt was her most loyal companion.
“You can’t take anything out, but I keep a few notebooks in here, if you want to write anything down.” Because he definitely wasn’t annotating them, though she didn’t think he would even want to.
“I hope so, I’ve got a lot of stuff I’d rather not leave behind.” It had made it this far, it stood to reason he could keep hauling it if need be. “Though I suppose I could always just come back some day.” If there was an island to come back to. But that would depend entirely on his reason for leaving in the first place, something he didn’t particularly want to dwell on at the moment.
Her complete bafflement and disgust at the sorry state of human babies made Mircea laugh. “You’re not wrong. They’re pretty useless. And they take forever to reach maturity and then they’re still pretty fallible. But they try.” They try so hard. He supposed that was the good thing about being on this side of the fence now. Not being so weak and susceptible to so much illness and injury.
Perhaps it was odd to keep tomes full of censuses or tax information and whatever else was in this impressive conglomeration of texts, but he was absolutely on the same page with Jayati’s late wife. There was a place for all of this, and to someone it was interesting. Him. It was interesting to him. Though it was certainly also probably interesting to a scholar of early Russian history as well, at least the one in his hand was. “I agree. If nothing else, it tells a story.” Maybe not a clear one, but if you knew what you were looking at, you could paint a picture of these people, how they lived and died. It was fascinating.
“Ah, smart. See? You’re full of good moments.” Annotating them directly would be criminal--unless someone hundreds of years had done so, in which case it was highly prized historical information--and while he wasn’t particularly in love with 12th century pre-Russia, he was sure there was something in here he’d want to take notes on at some point.
“Hoarder?” It was a question but that part was more of a formality because she was pretty sure she knew the answer. Maybe he wasn’t like one of those dreadful people who kept packaging and receipts obsessively, or knick knacks, but she could definitely see him being the type to keep anything that seemed interesting or useful, or could be.
Jayati gave him a skeptical look, “Do they try though? I thought they mostly just spit and you know,” She wiggled her arms vaguely, hoping he would get the idea. Not that humans had any control over that sort of thing anymore than she did but still. Well, she had some control, sort of. If she ever chose to have offspring, depending on who she had them with that is. Which was a weird thought for her to even thinking about on a couple levels, honestly.“Maybe if they are lucky they’ll evolve to get scales one day.”
She stood from the chair, grabbing her mug again and stretching, “If you say so. I’ve never had the skill for puzzles or collages,” No, maybe that wasn’t the right word necessarily, or at least, not consistently. “Scavenger hunts maybe?” At least not without certain motivation, or a certain scope. Mystery Murders and the like she had some ability at, but when it came to figuring out people her range was limited. It was why she didn’t necessarily get along with the Fae or Succubus as a general rule — she liked people to be what they seemed. Which might be hypocritical from someone with two forms.
Jayati leaned down to open one of the drawers in the coffee table to show a stack of pens and notebooks, “I’ve done research here for the town a few times.” It made her feel better that this place had more purpose than sentimentality truthfully, “I’m going to get more tea and check on the soup, feel free to poke around.”