[Thread - OPEN] I got the product, narcotics for the customers homie.

[apatheticary]

Who: The medicine seller & OPEN
Where: Terra, a street near you.
When: Late evening.
Summary: The medicine seller sells medicine. And other stuff.
Rating: PG-13 for hustling omg;; and vulgar mentions of porn.
Other: Don't be shy, jump in. Single thread, though, and I'm capping this at three people or I'll get overwhelmed.

Comments

[noceba]

It was prowling; it was Bellatrix lazy and dark, drifting from street to street as distant as a sigh. Terra wasn't the witch's favorite haunt, not with the majesty of Elysium and the pretty filth of Abyss so available. But it wasn't for the scenery that she stalked. It was for the act of displacement itself.

There was a low stone bench and she settled down on it (bonelessly). Idly, the woman emitted tired smoke from her wand, watched it curl in front of the street in front of her. Sitting in the shadows casting curls, the thought made her smile, but the sound of soft footsteps interrupted her play.

A pale man with a painted face, playing his own fames with bottles. "Hello," Bellatrix greeted him cordially, her voice very clear in the night silence and its own strength.

[apatheticary]

It wasn't her voice but rather the soft tinkling of bells from inside the box beside him that alerted the medicine seller to the woman's presence. Only certain types of people would inspire that reaction from the scales. It made him uneasy but he was well-trained by now to not display such wariness. In fact, his face displayed very little besides that almost supernatural, doll-like beauty.

He turned his head to look at her, those violet eyes taking her in impassively as he regarded all things in this world. As though nothing were important or especially interesting, even when they concerned him... as she did.

"Hello," he replied politely, anyway.

[noceba]

No expression; just a blank white face, lines of red visible through the twilight. The witch stood and walked (an omen in regal rags) over to his little display. "What are you selling, sir?" She asked, head at a tilt, staring into his passive eyes with a smile playing on her lips.

"Anything a widowed witch would desire?"

[apatheticary]

The medicine seller smiled in return, or at least his painted lips gave that illusion. "Many ingredients that a witch might desire," he replied smoothly. "And many tonics that a widow might require. But for a widow who is also a witch, or a witch who is also a widow... a medicine seller as simple as this one may have little to offer."

He paused, then added, "Although, I suppose, even a simple medicine seller can ease a widowed witch's ennui."

[noceba]

Bellatrix performed a variety of actions in contradiction of the medicine seller's apathy. She tapped her long fingers on idly, she turned to stare at the sky, she smiled long and hard before turning back to him with dark solemnity, the smile fading quickly from her thin lips.

"My ennui. You have a cure for my ennui? It's been there a long time, an affliction with some years behind it. It's been there so long, it eats away at me for its own survival. And you say you may have a cure..."

She smiled, once again. "But I suppose such a medicine would cost more than mere money?"

[apatheticary]

Something inside the box rattled. The medicine seller glanced at it, then returned his gaze to the witch. He seemed entirely unconcerned by it. Perhaps it was only bottles shifting. "No," he said. "I have no medicine which would be... capable of curing your affliction.

"Rather..." His eyes fixed on hers. "Myself, to whom the night led you. So far from your home, as well. Tell me... what is it that you usually do to ease your symptoms?"

[noceba]

"I play at distractions." She watched the box rattle with amused lidded tapped her fingernails lazily against her white neck. It was strange: the shadowed night, the calm eyes in front of her, a little rattle rattle inside of her heart.

"Of the type witches are well known for."

[apatheticary]

There existed many types of witches in their world. Most people didn't believe they existed, but the medicine seller knew better, for he had met just about every sort of witch. Often in battle. He understood what they were capable of, sometimes suffered at their hands, and often witches viewed these encounters just as Bellatrix described: distractions. To many witches in the past, the medicine seller himself had been a plaything, a source of entertainment.

"What do you like best?" he asked vaguely.

[noceba]

"That's such a cruel question," She replied, that same smile on her lips. It was as if it was painted, had been painted for years, the red paint from the blood of something sacred and sacrificed, cracking into dull stone.

"As if I could rank my occupations into order of delight. You should know us witches don't deal well with such straight questions. You should know we paint poems, spin riddles. But..." Bellatrix turned her pale face to the dark sky and thought. "I enjoy worship. I enjoy a righteous cause." Back to him, painted as much of her, and that smile. "Don't we all?"