Huh. A lot of the treats involved SG flavors. Interesting.
Sure, why not? The explanation for why Joe was in Colorado. Although if this is part of the Antiquities / Signal, that means so is Essentials. Hmm.
Time and Tactics
(HL/SG-1, for
feonixrift's treat bag)
Late on a grey, snow-spitting winter afternoon, the shop door opened to the ringing harmony of good wind chimes. The shop owner looked up in time to see a tall, dark, solidly built man move smoothly inside. For a moment Connor thought it was Kastagir showing up unexpectedly out of the years and moves since the Gathering and a grin escaped onto his face. It wasn't, however, and he reminded himself to get more whisky tonight since there'd be no boom-boom today.
The man had paused by the table of loose crystals and stones that Connor kept out for the novices to dig through and for the nervous to soothe themselves among before settling to their real business. The stranger's hands dug lightly through the stones, testing the feel of the naturally faceted quartz and pyrite crystals, the tumbled smooth apache tears and hematite. Then he looked up at Connor, an even, intelligent gaze across the store. "Have I come too late?"
"Sorry," Connor said, certain he'd missed a first question. "Didn't see you. What can I do for you?"
"You did not see me?" The stranger had caught the emphasis on object not verb; good ears on him, then. He tilted his head and asked, "Who did you see, then?"
Connor smiled at that. "An old friend with something like your build, although a little less height." He grinned at the stranger. "And a tendency to show up either in trouble or bringing some."
"Were you expecting him, then?" He'd moved forward while talking and was examining the jars of dried herbs, single and mixes both, clearly labeled with machine-generated signs. A few of his customers had tried to tell Connor the signs should be hand-labeled. He'd pointed out that by that logic, his products should be labeled in the original name of the herb and the Latin taxonomic nomenclature; the complaints usually stopped there.
"He had a knack for showing up when least expected. And for opening doors quietly." When the stranger raised an eyebrow at him, almost into the band of the wool cap he had yet to take off, Connor just laughed. "For that door, man, you opened it quietly. I'm Connor MacLeod. Welcome to my shop. What can I do for you?"
"And I am Murray. If this is a new age shop, may I ask what an old age shop would be?" Murray considered the knives under the glass case and inclined his head approvingly; not quite a nod, but close.
Connor considered that and chuckled. "Antiques, maybe, or a good antiquarian book shop. A new age shop sells supplies for the coming 'new age' -- none too far off, to hear some of them tell it, although I don't agree the universe is going to end in 2012 just because one calendar does. Along the way I sell supplies to pagans, including those knives, and herbalists and people who only think they're herbalists -- take the warnings on the bottles seriously -- and people who love good wood and minerals. And I've got the best Indian tea supply in town, the best Asian tea supply for a good two hundred miles, and where I stock books and coffee, it's a fine selection. Limited, but what I carry is the best of its type I can find."
Coffee finished triggering the correct memory, however, and Connor cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowing as he studied the man again. "Chicago. You were working behind the counter of a coffee shop."
"Indeed. And you were in the corner watching over a lady with red hair while pretending to be more interested in your newspaper." The stranger looked at him more thoughtfully. "You have a very good memory."
"I have a very good visual memory," Connor said calmly. "And you're memorable. So? What can I do for you?"
That got a slight curve of lips, almost a smile, and a gleam in Murray's eyes that told Connor it was the equivalent of a chuckle. "In part I wished to know what a new age shop was. For the rest, I have been told that you play a fine game of go. If you would prefer I leave, however, I shall."
Connor laughed and went to flip the store sign to closed. "Not enough go players around here for that. Come in, I'll put coffee on."
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Time and Tactics
(HL/SG-1, for
feonixrift's treat bag)
Late on a grey, snow-spitting winter afternoon, the shop door opened to the ringing harmony of good wind chimes. The shop owner looked up in time to see a tall, dark, solidly built man move smoothly inside. For a moment Connor thought it was Kastagir showing up unexpectedly out of the years and moves since the Gathering and a grin escaped onto his face. It wasn't, however, and he reminded himself to get more whisky tonight since there'd be no boom-boom today.
The man had paused by the table of loose crystals and stones that Connor kept out for the novices to dig through and for the nervous to soothe themselves among before settling to their real business. The stranger's hands dug lightly through the stones, testing the feel of the naturally faceted quartz and pyrite crystals, the tumbled smooth apache tears and hematite. Then he looked up at Connor, an even, intelligent gaze across the store. "Have I come too late?"
"Sorry," Connor said, certain he'd missed a first question. "Didn't see you. What can I do for you?"
"You did not see me?" The stranger had caught the emphasis on object not verb; good ears on him, then. He tilted his head and asked, "Who did you see, then?"
Connor smiled at that. "An old friend with something like your build, although a little less height." He grinned at the stranger. "And a tendency to show up either in trouble or bringing some."
"Were you expecting him, then?" He'd moved forward while talking and was examining the jars of dried herbs, single and mixes both, clearly labeled with machine-generated signs. A few of his customers had tried to tell Connor the signs should be hand-labeled. He'd pointed out that by that logic, his products should be labeled in the original name of the herb and the Latin taxonomic nomenclature; the complaints usually stopped there.
"He had a knack for showing up when least expected. And for opening doors quietly." When the stranger raised an eyebrow at him, almost into the band of the wool cap he had yet to take off, Connor just laughed. "For that door, man, you opened it quietly. I'm Connor MacLeod. Welcome to my shop. What can I do for you?"
"And I am Murray. If this is a new age shop, may I ask what an old age shop would be?" Murray considered the knives under the glass case and inclined his head approvingly; not quite a nod, but close.
Connor considered that and chuckled. "Antiques, maybe, or a good antiquarian book shop. A new age shop sells supplies for the coming 'new age' -- none too far off, to hear some of them tell it, although I don't agree the universe is going to end in 2012 just because one calendar does. Along the way I sell supplies to pagans, including those knives, and herbalists and people who only think they're herbalists -- take the warnings on the bottles seriously -- and people who love good wood and minerals. And I've got the best Indian tea supply in town, the best Asian tea supply for a good two hundred miles, and where I stock books and coffee, it's a fine selection. Limited, but what I carry is the best of its type I can find."
Coffee finished triggering the correct memory, however, and Connor cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowing as he studied the man again. "Chicago. You were working behind the counter of a coffee shop."
"Indeed. And you were in the corner watching over a lady with red hair while pretending to be more interested in your newspaper." The stranger looked at him more thoughtfully. "You have a very good memory."
"I have a very good visual memory," Connor said calmly. "And you're memorable. So? What can I do for you?"
That got a slight curve of lips, almost a smile, and a gleam in Murray's eyes that told Connor it was the equivalent of a chuckle. "In part I wished to know what a new age shop was. For the rest, I have been told that you play a fine game of go. If you would prefer I leave, however, I shall."
Connor laughed and went to flip the store sign to closed. "Not enough go players around here for that. Come in, I'll put coffee on."
Original post on Dreamwidth | Leave a comment on DW | Read
comments on DW