RP:Shopping, Discounts, and Enchanting

Summary: Rachelle and Lanara have a chance meeting at the reagent shop in Kelay, and the two women find that they are more alike than meets the eye. Both have magic flowing through their veins, both are deeply disheartened by the witch killings in Larket, and both have a tumultuous past with their fathers. After striking a discount on some much-needed herbs, the enchantress and the witch make plans to meet up for lunch and discuss security measures for Lana and Eirik's new home.

Magical Herb Shop, Kelay

Rachelle :: Even here, in the safe and familiar reagent shop of Kelay, Rachelle hid her curls under a dark cloak. For what was ‘safe,’ really? She hadn't felt safety since that day the guards had accosted her in Larket. They'd backed her into a corner, accusing her of witchcraft, and like any frightened creature she had tried to defend herself. Not that it had done her any good. Months on, she could still see Muzo’s prison when she closed her eyes. But she would never allow herself to be taken back there, not even if it meant constant fear, constant vigilance. Not even if it meant looking up every recipe and spell that might possibly aid her, committing them all to memory. Not even if it meant becoming exactly what they’d thought she was. And where did the lines of enchantress end and witchcraft begin, anyway? They shared many of the same reagents, the same methods. Rachelle stopped midway through perusing the wares and picked up a bundle of wormwood, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. Yes, this would do nicely.

Lanara is in the next aisle of the small shop, her chocolate hues landing on a large jar filled with dried rose hips, which she plucks off the shelf. Giving the jar a shake, she nips her lower lip, and glances upwards, as though trying to recite a recipe. The shopkeeper approaches with a smile, and asks if she needs help, to which the brunette responds, after only a minute of hesitation. “Erm. Yes, actually. Would you say there are about twelve ounces of rose hips, in this jar? I left my mother’s grimoire home, and I can’t remember if the ritual calls for six ounces or if I’m supposed to –double- the six ounces. So to be safe, I would prefer to buy double the amount, just in case. I don’t get here very often. You know how our kind is treated, these days, and we aren’t all that far from Larket.” The blonde shop keep, who is familiar with the recent happenings in the realm, nods her head and taps her chin. Clearly, she knew the witch from frequency of shopping in the reagent shop, and she gives a faint smile. “Lana. It’s –eight- ounces of rose hips, and six ounces of crushed wormwood. You are doing a house clearing spell, again? I thought you did that when you first moved to Venturil…” The elf doesn’t reply, she merely nods her head, mutters a soft ‘thanks’ and places the jar of rose hips into her basket. She peruses the next aisle, for several minutes, as her fingertips absentmindedly clasp the pentacle that rests above her cleavage. “Hm…” A small package of fresh lavender is placed into her basket, and she briefly eyes Rachelle, before nearing the woman and reaching for one of the smaller bundles of wormwood. The woman may have overheard her brief discussion with the shop keep, and dubbed her as a witch, and would likely have already formed a judgment. Lana was either naïve to the extent of the danger that her kin were truly in, or she felt that she was powerful enough to defend herself, should danger arise. Whatever the reason, she lifts her eyes to the cloaked enchantress, and finds her sangria-stained lips pulling up into a smile. Her voice is lowered, as she conspiratorially looks to her left and right, making certain they were out of earshot. “Buy the smaller bundle. Yes, the leaves are crushed, but if you mean to crush them, you will receive nearly the same amount. And it saves you one gold coin. It’s a bargain!”

Rachelle :: The women didn’t have to use the ‘w’ word for Rachelle to catch what was being spoken of. Her viridian gaze was already lifted as Lanara approached, but it was out of a sense of kinship that she stared, not judgment. “O-oh, thank you. Funny, that. Pre-crushed is more expensive for most herbs I use. But I don’t work with wormwood much, so…” Rachelle set down the previous bundle and picked up a glass container of the crushed stuff. She was still taking in the witch’s outfit, wondering where she came from, if she was the same kind of witch as Valrae had been, if they’d known each other, if she’d escaped the same torture in Larket that Rachelle had suffered -- and then she was jolted out of her thoughts by the shattering of glass against the floor. “Oh, fiddlesticks.” The shopkeeper’s attention was drawn by the sound, and Rachelle scrambled, blushing, to recover as much of the herb as she could from amongst the shards. “I’m so sorry. I don't know how I... sorry. Charge me for two, and I’ll put what I can gather up in with the new one.”

Lanara drops the small jar of crushed wormwood into her wicker basket, though at the clattering of glass against the floorboards, she lowers herself to her knees and rests the basket upon the floor. “Watch what you’re doing! My cleaning lady was here for the week, already! And you two come in and wreck the place in five minutes!” The blonde shopkeeper shakes her head, sighs, and wanders off to retrieve a broom, while Lana helps Rachelle to salvage as much of the herb as possible. “Just ignore her; we both know that her broom was inserted sideways up her rear!” Rolling her eyes, she half-grins, bemused at how angered the woman was over some glass shards, though her expression softens as the enchantress spills apologies and seems to be a bundle of nerves. Leaning back, Lana dusts off her hands on her tan leggings, and slowly rises to her feet, while smoothing her hunter-green sweater. The basket is again lifted into her grasp, and she rests it against her hip, as she leans against the shelf, eyeing Rachelle with curiosity. The woman hadn’t judged her based on the conversation she earlier had likely overheard, nor did she comment on the pentacle dangling from the base of her throat, and she was in a hole-in-the-wall reagent shop in a remote section of Kelay. Was she a witch? A member of the healer’s guild? A mage? The elf knows she can’t just blurt out a ‘what are you’ inquiry, especially upon having just bumped into the woman, and so she gnaws on the inside of her cheek as Rachelle rises to her feet, and the rude shopkeeper returns. Eyeing the nametag, Lana narrows her eyes on the blonde, and then points to the shelf. “Chessa. Be a dear, and have your cleaning lady learn the difference between a water-based solution, and an oil-based solution… That jar was covered in some sort of slippery substance, and I doubt that this woman was wandering around town wearing olive oil. See to it that she gets a discount on her items. You’re lucky she didn’t slice her hand open. Otherwise you’d be paying the clinic for –your- silly mistake!” A feigned smile follows the edge to her words, and Chessa sweeps up the debris, and merely nods, not wanting to further upset her customers with her harshness. Lana ignores the shopkeeper and somewhat shyly extends a hand to the enchantress, her smile now genuine, as she meets that viridian gaze. “I’m Lanara; it’s nice to meet you. I don’t believe we’ve crossed paths before… Are you new to the area? I’ve lived in various neighboring towns… For the past four years. But I hail from a faraway land that is no more… Kelvar.”

Rachelle might as well have had little cartoon currency signs pop up in her eyes at the word ‘discount’. She says not a word about Lanara’s fib, just lets her do the talking until Chessa has finished sweeping and moved out of earshot. “Genius. Why didn’t I think of that?” Lanara is gifted with a conspiratorial smile and a firm handshake. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Rachelle Fournier, daughter of Mathias F--” Abruptly, she makes a distasteful expression. Maybe, she thinks, the father who hadn’t even noticed she’d been kidnapped should be left out of her script from now on. She forces a cordial smile and continues. “Kelay born and raised, I’m afraid. It’s just that my usual shop is closed while the owners are out with a cold. It -is- that time of year…” And had she not been indisposed, they would have received tea leaves enchanted to ward it off, the same ritual she performed for all her neighbors every Yule. No doubt they had missed her more than Father. “But the world stops for no one, and neither does my work -- though I fear I -am- running dreadfully behind schedule.” Her smile becomes rather wan. “I am an enchantress. In the winter months, the orders pile up faster than I can fulfill them. And so here I am, breaking glass and making a right fool of myself in a stranger’s shop, all because I wanted to restock a day or two sooner. And what brings you here, may I ask…?” From the look in her eyes, she already knows… she just wants to hear Lanara confirm it.

Lanara laughs lightly as Rachelle refers to her as a ‘genius’ though she gives the hand a gentle shake, before lowering her own to her side. “Pleasure to meet you, Rachelle! I don’t have a fancy title, nor do I carry a last name… It’s merely, Lanara, or Lana for short.” She notes the pause the woman gives when she’s about to state the name of her father, and she quirks a brow. Perhaps Lana wasn’t the only one in the lands with daddy issues? It’s both comforting and disconcerting, at the same time. That very reason is why the witch doesn’t bare a last name, as she had grown into her late twenties without ever knowing –who- her father even was, and upon meeting the infamous Thronnel, she found it best to merely keep her singular name, well, as it was. So far, she seems eager to learn more about the enchantress, as they had a gift for magic and unspoken issues with their fraternal parent in common. Lana listens to Rachelle describe her tea leaf ritual, her preferred reagent shop, the chill in the Kelay air, and the bothersome flu that had managed to ail even the healthiest of residents in the lands. Her dark eyes widen at some points, and she smiles at others, though she hangs on the woman’s every word, and finds that she’s already feeling quite comfortable in her presence. Those that knew the elf closely, would refer to Lana as ‘aloof’ or ‘mistrusting of others’ though they wouldn’t know it now, as she has managed to strike up a friendship with a mere stranger. Chessa nears the women to retrieve their baskets, and retreats behind the counter, to add up the costs of their purchases. “Don’t forget the discount, Chessa!” Lana winks, as the shopkeeper shakes her head, clearly annoyed but knowing better than to further rile up the duo. Rachelle would receive her twenty percent off discount, and likely a free jar of wormwood. The seconds tick by, as they both agree on the winter weather, before an inquiry is tossed to the witch, and she finds that she’s not even offended by the question. She would answer, and with sheer honesty, as she found a rare kinship in this lovely stranger. “I have recently moved into a home in Venturil… Denubyrg, to be precise. I’m the –only- elf in the entire area, the neighbors are terrified of my magical abilities, and my fiancé is often away on business. I don’t really feel safe, and I can sense the negative energy all around me. So, every week, I perform a cleansing ritual on the interior of our home, so that I feel safe, and so that there aren’t any dark vibes, as play. I’m sure you understand. And… I like getting out of Venturil, as often as possible. I can’t call a place like that my home… At least not right now.” She shakes her head, wondering if there ever was a place that she would be able to feel truly welcome. The curse on Sage Forest had dwindled the elves in number, and the imprisonment and deaths of witches in Larket had made it hard for –any- magic user to live freely. It was a rarity to be able to revel in the moment, anymore, as she was constantly looking over her shoulder. Lana feigns a small smile for Rachelle, and shakes her head. “Enough about me! I’ll be alright, as long as I sage the angry citizens influence from my property on a daily basis!”

“Denubyrg.” Rachelle wraps her tongue awkwardly around the syllables. “Can’t say that I’ve heard of it. I don’t really venture out that way -- it’s such a dreadfully long journey, under the mountains or around the coast through Chartsend.” She knows of faster ways, of course, but poor Rachelle has an almost superstitious fear of heights. The Gods created them with two feet and zero wings for a reason; humans taking wyvern-back would be downright -unnatural-. But, Rachelle infers, Lanara must be in Venturil for the sake of her fiancé. Why else would she go so far to live in a place she doesn’t seem to like? He must be a dashing young man, with silver hair and delectable muscles and -- oh wait, she’s daydreaming of Krice again. Fiddlesticks. Where were they? Oh, yes. Venturil. Fiancé. Rachelle corrects her mental image to that of a beautiful elf prince, graceful and lithe, like the ones in the storybooks. She'll be in for quite the surprise if she ever meets the lycan she's foisted all her preconceptions onto.

But by now Lanara has finished speaking, and Rachelle’s mind has wandered off with the fairies for a length of time that has probably become noticeable, even if it has only been a few seconds. She reels herself back into the present with a shake of her head. “Sorry, you've just reminded me of something I need to do later.” Her hood has fallen back from her movement. She pulls it up again with haste. “I do something similar, now that you mention it. My home and land is set with a number of enchantments against any who would enter uninvited or with ill intent. Though, I've set them up so I only need to tinker with it to adjust the parameters, or verify it's working if it's been a while.” They're not so different, really. Larket considers Lanara a witch and Rachelle not-a-witch because… why? The source of their magic? The gods they follow? Some mysterious content of their innards? Subconsciously, Rachelle has raised a hand to her bodice, where the scars hide. “I could show you how, if you wanted.”

Lanara raises her pointer finger and mouths ‘one moment’ to Chessa, who has seemingly tallied up her plethora of herbs and awaits payment at the counter. The blonde merely nods, and begins to package the items, as the witch gives Rachelle her full attention. Thankfully, the enchantress doesn’t inquire about her fiancé, as that would be sure to raise a brow, or send the poor girl running in the opposite direction! It wasn’t often that a reformed witch killer would fall in love with that of which he hunted his entire existence. Either Lanara was unlike any other witch in the realm, something truly special, or it was an effect of the curse Eirik was blasted with, courtesy of Valrae, before her death. Maybe it was a combination of the two? Whatever the reason, the elf had forgiven the lycan of his past transgressions, and agreed to spend the rest of her life as his wife. Though she was careful when revealing to others the true identity of her betrothed, the love she felt for the man was undeniable, and it was obvious from the blush in her cheeks, to the shine in her eyes. The diamond solitaire sparkles brightly on her ring finger, as she toys with the tips of her chestnut locks, her dark hues taking in the woman’s words, and she smiles. “You really would show me? That would be wonderful… And I wouldn’t have to repeat the same process over and over, every week! Not that I mind the journey, I really do enjoy traveling, but… It would be wonderful to learn something new, and to get to know you better. Where would you like to meet?” Lana pauses, letting Rachelle pick the location, as she assumes the woman wouldn’t want to invite her to her home, after only having met her for a few brief moments in a reagent shop. All in all, despite their similarities, they were mere acquaintances. As they continue to talk, they slowly near the counter to pay for their wares, and continue to chitchat. “I’ll bring lunch, it’s the least I can do, as you are sharing your knowledge with me. Let me know if you have any preferences or allergies?”

Rachelle :: “Normally I meet my clients at the restaurant off of the main Kelay road, but…” While Lanara pays for her things, Rachelle gives her a covert twice-over. Is she the combative sort? But the witch doesn't seem to fit the profile of her more bloodthirsty clientele -- literally or figuratively. And she's been commissioned before by plenty of both; she likes to think she could tell if there was someone threatening under that smile. “I think it might be most efficient if I show you my setup first, and help you customize the spell for your own needs from there. And lunch would be lovely payment. I have no allergies that I’ve discovered yet, but I tend not to eat meat unless it is poultry or seafood. Bring a dish that originates from Venturil or your heritage, perhaps?” Rachelle pays, and once they’re out of earshot of the shopkeeper she gives Lanara her address. “It’s the blue house on the corner of North Sage and Painter’s Way, can’t miss it.” And Rachelle will be sure to adjust the enchantment’s foe recognition -before- the expected guest enters her yard, this time.