[Closed] Now And Then, Here And There

[Yazad]

The Stacks

9th of Vortas, 2719; Morning

T he bookshop certainly had a certain atmosphere to it.

There was peaceful refinement lingering in the air that smelled of Vortas snow and aged paper, and that brought about a sense of familiarity to the straight-backed passive. Yazad took in a deep breath. This was the smell of Sophronios’ study at home, more or less. Not the most alluring of scents--not to Yazad who would rather be smelling perfumes of flowers or bread baking in the oven, but it added a certain type of charm to the place.

The second breath Yazad drew hitched in his throat as he heard Quintrell’s price for the tome that Niccolette wanted. Three concords--for a book of spells. It is no wonder that only galdori could afford the advanced use of magic, with spellbooks this outrageously priced. Three concords--that would allow him a year’s supply of perfumes and Hurte only knows how many flowers. Perhaps even an elegant new outfit. If Niccolette herself thought the price of three concords to be overstated, she certainly did not look like it. Her financial state is not something that he knew anything of nor thought important to ask about, and so the passive continued to silently watch, his thoughts wandering towards the pocketbook sitting in his pocket. He could only hope that the book he chose is not included in the price range of ‘age and rarity’.

He was not ‘poor’ by his own standards. No, not at all. Yazad had more than a few concords to his name, saved up after years of monetary ‘gifts’ that his master regularly bestows upon him. ‘Gifts’ that he knows are not that at all. Still, if he was to be spending all of his funds on a single item, it will most certainly not be a book.

Ah, bargaining--another skill that he was not blessed with. And one that he, amusingly, did not expect to see a galdor of means practice. With a subtle frown, Yazad chided himself for his line of thought. Galdor she might be, but Niccolette was a widowed young woman far from the kingdom they both previously called home. What knowledge would he have of the difficulties she could be facing? Numbers continued to be exchanged, with both parties maintaining their adamance. In the end, it seemed that Niccolette came out the victor.

"Ah, yes, of course." The passive smiled politely, returning the other’s bow before reaching for his pocketbook. Slender fingers briefly dipped into the leather purse, extracting two shills that Yazad stepped forward to gingerly place on the counter, leaving him with a few tallies to spare. Two shills was an acceptable enough price to pay for a few new joys to be had.

"May I?" Yazad’s indicated towards the bundle wrapped in wax paper, his free hand reaching for it in an attempt to carry it for the lady.

Now And Then, Here And There

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Morning, Vortas 9, 2719
Various Streets, The Stacks

Once the coins were on the counter, Quintrell took the book that Yazad had selected and wrapped it up as well, folding the paper over itself and securing it with a of string, neatly tied. He took the coins off the counter with a sweep of his hand; they clinked together quietly, and vanished.

Niccolette glanced at Yazad as he reached for her parcel. After a brief moment, she inclined her head, though she did not answer him aloud.

Quintrell stepped around them, and opened the door, holding it out into the cold with the suggestion of a bow. “Thank you for your custom, madam,” he said, smiling the same thin smile.

Niccolette inclined her head once more. “If you come across any more of He’foula,” she said, evenly.

“I shall add it to the list,” Quintrell did bow this time.

He was not the only bookseller who kept a list of Niccolette’s more obscure interests; some, though not Quintrell, would send her notes regarding rare volumes of interest, typically to the Rose; she had corresponded by letter to buy more than one such. As interested as she was in He’foula, she did not empower Quintrell for the same.

It was, Niccolette thought, perhaps time to consider her Hessean contacts. She had not written anyone there any time this year. Her jaw tightened, for a moment, and then relaxed. She would think on it, she decided.

The clouds had parted somewhat overhead; there was a bright sharpness to the sunlight, the light cold and pale through the scattering of clouds above. What little snow was left in piles at the edges of the streets was melting, gray and watery against the cobblestones; icicles dripped from nearby buildings, sending little trickles of water to the stones below.

Niccolette stepped out on to the street. It was still crisply cold, though the sun made a pleasant difference; she felt it in her hands immediately, all the same. Her breath still clouded the air, though only faintly, the suggestion of a mist rather than one in its entirety, and gone before it could be much seen. Niccolette found her gloves in her pocket, this time, and pulled them on, one after the other, covering the small, delicate gold ring on the fourth finger of her left hand.

“This way,” Niccolette said, making her way towards the larger intersections; she did not go back down the alley, or try to find the shortcut they had unwittingly taken.

Niccolette had thought to go to Brunnhold, but if the library had anything of He’foula, it was not under her name, nor in any of their combined grimoires from her century. Now, she thought, she would read first; she did not glance side ways at the book in Yazad’s hands, but she found herself stifling the impulse, and with it a faint smile at her own enthusiasm.

“Do you know how to get home?” Niccolette asked, glancing over at Yazad with a lightly raised eyebrow.

[Yazad]

The Stacks

9th of Vortas, 2719; Morning

Y azad mused at the speed in which Quintrell made the passive’s shills disappear into the depths of his register. A professional coin sweeper, if there was ever such a thing. Pushing the silly thought aside, Yazad collected their books and turned to follow Niccolette.

With his newly purchased book now neatly wrapped in paper and string, the man found himself eager to explore what it has nestled between its pages in more depth. Perhaps he can make some time later this evening after his chores are done and he is allowed the chance to sit on his bed with a cup of tea in hand.

The shopkeeper’s thanks were extended to Niccolette, who expressed interest in more of He’foula’s material. Clearly, Quintrell understood her enough, or was familiar with her enough, to understand exactly what she wanted.

Cold greeted him to the face when the older male proceeded to open the bookshop’s door for them, and Yazad had to make an effort not to whimper. In a perfect world designed solely for his convenience, there would be neither snow nor winters, only spring and a slightly cooler version of summer.

"Good day, sir." The passive uttered politely as he stepped out, with both his book and Niccolette’s parcel cradled in his arms. A bit of crisp sunlight peeked from the gaps between clouds, but only barely. In days such as this one, it almost looked like the thick clouds had the ability to soak and swallow the sun’s radiance. Carefully, he made certain to not step on one of the several puddles of water or piles of slush on their path.

"I most certainly do not, but I shall make a sincere effort to." Yazad replied in casual ease, smiling at the woman in the way of a man who was far too used to not knowing his way around. In a place like The Stacks, there was no shortage of people to ask for directions from. "But allow me to escort you to your place of residence first, madam." He could not be out gallivanting all day, or for much longer, but he can at least do the gentlemanly thing and see the lady home before going his own way.

Now And Then, Here And There

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Late Morning, Vortas 9, 2719
Various Streets, The Stacks

Niccolette’s gaze held on Yazad for a few moments as he answered her question. Her face was still for a moment, and then twitched at a smile, faint and bordering on fond. She glanced away, looking forward once more, and inclined her head in acceptance of his offer of escort.

Niccolette did not, of course, need an escort. In Brunnhold, of course, these days, it was common enough for unmarried women to go around alone, full of students and academics as the place was. As a widow, she was generally beyond societal reproach on the subject for all but the worst sticklers, and she had never much cared what any of them had to say on the subject.

Nor was she in need of protection. Niccolette did not glance over at Yazad - of a height with her, and neatly as slender. She doubted very much that he would be of use in the case of a mugging or attack; more likely, Niccolette suspected that she would need to defend him along with herself.

Her boot heels clicked lightly against the cobblestones of the smaller streets. Niccolette turned once, Yazad following behind with both of their parcels, and then again at a larger thoroughfare.

By this hour, the streets were busy; it was not quite the lunch hour, but it was a nine. Groups of students, some in weekend clothing and others in neat uniforms, were busy in clusters of cafes up and down the street, drinking the syrup and milk flavored coffee which was popular in Brunnhold. Steam wafted out from more than one cafe, tinged with the smell of eggs, bacon, toast and more.

Niccolette did not look much, nor linger. On the busier streets she had joined the sidewalks again, brushing past other groups; carriages and carts occupied the roads here, splashing through puddles and rattling over the stones.

It was not such a long walk, but little in the Stacks was direct; even the largest streets began and ended strangely, curved abruptly into intersections, split uncertainly into smaller, darker, stranger places.

Nicccolette went steadily. Humans and wicks tended to give her a wide berth; a handful of students glanced up wide-eyed as she passed. Evenly politely, competently suppressed, even in Brunnhold, her field drew attention. She did not mind it, though neither did she bask in it, not here; it simply was.

Before long, they were at the elegant, ornate entrance to the Palazzo di Rhodon, very Bastian in its style, all elegant polished wood with no hint of icicles. Niccolette turned to Yazad, and extended her gloved hands for her package, waiting with a faint, fond little smile on her face as she surveyed him.

[Yazad]

The Stacks

9th of Vortas, 2719; Morning

T he amount of people surrounding them alerted Yazad to what time of day it is. Previously bare streets were filling up with people going about their daily business, in groups or alone. It was mostly the students, in their distinctive uniforms, that he noticed would be out in bands. The same sort also made up the majority of cafe clientele.

Several times now, Yazad had passed such cafes during his semi-daily wanderings of the Stacks. Some advertised curious combinations of coffee and other ingredients, others boasted sets of tea served with all sorts of refreshments. In a town such as this one, there seems to be something for everyone. While Yazad himself was not much of a coffee drinker, the concept of mixing a bitter drink with milk and syrup intrigued him. Something to consider trying at home with a few adjustments, perhaps.

Why is it that he is getting such a strong urge to cook right now, the man wondered? Ah--the delectable scent of breakfast and sugar could have something to do with that.

There was not much time for the passive to muse about novel concoctions and what goes well with which flavor. Most of Yazad’s attention was focused on following Niccolette through the roads that she navigated with such enviable ease. A few odd turns later and they were far enough from the rowdiness of packed cafes to barely hear anything of the noise at all.

Even in the smaller paths of the Stacks, there were still people coming and going most of the time. Yazad would have not found anything odd about that if not for the looks some of these people aimed at Niccolette as she walked past them. Some even took a pace or two away, as if to make way or to avoid something. Strange. The cause of such behavior was lost to the passive, but he was aware enough of the reaction to it. Politely, he simply smiled and nodded his head to the wide-eyed pedestrians.

Palazzo di Rhodon came into view soon after--an oasis of elegance in a sea of muck. The Bastian in him was elated to have something beautiful to look at, while his Hessean side considered where the exterior can use a bit of additional embellishment or a touch of gold.

"Few of my days are ever this whimsical," Yazad started after a moment’s pause, "and two of them involve you." the passive added smilingly, offering the woman her parcel. This meeting was as unexpected as it had been amusing--for the most part. "Do remember to eat well and sleep properly. I know your kind--oh, I do. A book in your hands and the world around you means nothing anymore." The black-crowned head shook slowly in playful disapproval, not unlike a mother who has to repeat the same request for the hundredth time.

"Until we meet again, madam. Keep yourself well." Yazad’s departure was preceded with a graceful deep bow and a small wave of his free hand. Their encounter might have appeared to be nothing other than a chance meeting, but he believed it to be the work of fate--a fate that had been woven intricately by forces beyond his understanding, for reasons that are yet to be revealed. Even this firm conviction, however, did not stop him from musing all the way back to the main street about how the day started with the intention of shopping for flowers took a detour to meet a woman from the past, him embracing her in a dark alley, and ending with him going back home with a Hessean dancing book in hand.

Life, Yazad concluded with a hearty chuckle, was just droll like that.

Now And Then, Here And There