This a post where I'll RP anything with you! Got a scenario in mind? I'LL DO IT. If you wanna chat IDEAS.GIF, contact me at sweethymns or my AIM (rainsweets). I also have LINE as maiscribbles. Have at it!
I said before, it's a good thing you landed in my house. I'm a witch. I'm used to the abnormal because I AM one. No one else in town has ever been aware of it, nor do I let them know.
So even if you don't belong anywhere, you at least found a place with me that matches your shade well.
[He follows, picking up his pace to catch up with her. He still has too many questions left unanswered.]
So you're an actual witch. As in, you're using magic? Real magic, not science that everyone likes to think is magic?
[He doesn't comment on the fact that it's a good thing he landed in her lap; because, honestly, it's so true that he feels like it doesn't need to be commented upon. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, if he can figure out what exactly being a witch entails.]
There's a difference between science, where there are laws, and mostly clear causes and effects in play, and magic, where in general one has the potential to make something out of nothing.
And remember when I said I was old enough to mind myself?
[Her smile is a little wry. She never really minds revealing or talking about her age, save for when she does have to cover up on documents and normal company...]
Although, I do pass for my late twenties pretty well, don't I?
I know what you're thinking, and no, I'm not technically anything. Just 'cause I was born in 1874 don't mean that I've lived every year up until 2014. Do I look like a 140 to you?
I'm not sure if that's supposed to be a compliment or not. But I'm 38, if we're keeping score. So I guess it's a compliment.
[He's vaguely amused enough by her reaction that he almost forgets what they were initially talking about. Booker keeps walking, letting her pride heal a little for a moment or two before he says anything else.]
So why did those crows need your hair? You said it was payment?
[She gets too caught up in these kinds of things and it makes her curse herself for not being more of an adult. Ah, well what can you do. She replies promptly enough.]
I mentioned that they're my eyes for the parts of town I'm not usually in or when I need to gather information about anything out of the ordinary that's cropped up.
[A shrug.]
I'm like an unofficial overseer in a sense. I like where I live. I prefer that nothing bad happens to the people I live alongside with.
And they use my hair for their nests. One, a witch's hair is imbued with years of magic that has a variety of uses including protection.
Yeah, they do. [He knows that much about crows, at least, given his... associations with them in the past. He decides to leave that part out for now, however.]
Do "bad things" ever happen in this town? [You wouldn't be able to tell from looking at it, Booker thinks.]
[Good to... know? He's about to remark that still doesn't tell him a lot, but her comment prompts him to focus on that instead. It might give him a clearer picture of what she can do, anyway.]
Oh, you'd get pushed back multiple times by an invisible force. You mistreat a door, it'll reject you. That's just how I decided it would be designed though.
[She unlocks the door and one of the wind chimes, one made of emerald green glass stones jingles a greeting. A second one, a more obscure chime with black tubes tingles curiously at Booker.]
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[She starts walking back to her house.]
I said before, it's a good thing you landed in my house. I'm a witch. I'm used to the abnormal because I AM one. No one else in town has ever been aware of it, nor do I let them know.
So even if you don't belong anywhere, you at least found a place with me that matches your shade well.
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So you're an actual witch. As in, you're using magic? Real magic, not science that everyone likes to think is magic?
[He doesn't comment on the fact that it's a good thing he landed in her lap; because, honestly, it's so true that he feels like it doesn't need to be commented upon. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, if he can figure out what exactly being a witch entails.]
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And remember when I said I was old enough to mind myself?
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Yeah...?
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[Because there's no way she means that's her age, right? RIGHT?]
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[Her smile is a little wry. She never really minds revealing or talking about her age, save for when she does have to cover up on documents and normal company...]
Although, I do pass for my late twenties pretty well, don't I?
1/2
[w h a t]
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[okay she lied she minds, but honestly, what did she expect?!]
You're technically older than I am!
[YEAH TAKE TAHT]
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I know what you're thinking, and no, I'm not technically anything. Just 'cause I was born in 1874 don't mean that I've lived every year up until 2014. Do I look like a 140 to you?
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[GRUMBLING AGAIN. 66 years old and yet...]
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[HIs tone might be deadpan, but the words are obviously indicative of a tease, despite everything.]
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You look like you're about, what, 5 or 7 years older than me? I'll give you that much.
[REAL MATURE]
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[He's vaguely amused enough by her reaction that he almost forgets what they were initially talking about. Booker keeps walking, letting her pride heal a little for a moment or two before he says anything else.]
So why did those crows need your hair? You said it was payment?
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I mentioned that they're my eyes for the parts of town I'm not usually in or when I need to gather information about anything out of the ordinary that's cropped up.
[A shrug.]
I'm like an unofficial overseer in a sense. I like where I live. I prefer that nothing bad happens to the people I live alongside with.
And they use my hair for their nests. One, a witch's hair is imbued with years of magic that has a variety of uses including protection.
Two, they like shiny things.
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Do "bad things" ever happen in this town? [You wouldn't be able to tell from looking at it, Booker thinks.]
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But I don't let it get too out of hand though.
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[They get to the door of her house and the atmosphere around it seems welcoming, as if greeting its owner once again.]
You know, if you had entered my house from the front by forcing it, you would have had a nasty surprise.
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How nasty are we talking?
[He's seen too many of those, lately.]
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[She unlocks the door and one of the wind chimes, one made of emerald green glass stones jingles a greeting. A second one, a more obscure chime with black tubes tingles curiously at Booker.]
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[When he enters this time, he takes note of the jingling wind chimes. They seem to have personalities all their own. He raises a brow.]
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I do collect these like a normal collector. But I put my magic into them. They basically tell me who's in my house at any given time.
It's usually just me. Usually.
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