Capitalism

[Solene]

She stood with her shoulder pressed against the wall of Bullwood station’s entrance, annoyance charting its way across her mouth. There was absolutely no reason why she shouldn’t remember where it was today. Yesterday, sure- she hadn’t fed, she’d been asleep for what felt like a century, she was unwashed and vexxed. Anyone could forgive a loss of memory for a day… but two?

Her tongue slid over the tip of her fang as she stood there thinking over her mental map of Harper Rock. Most things seemed to be where she left them. Everything in her apartment, at least. The Grigori home, the library, all of Honeymead and Thornside Park, and most of Bullwood... but she kept walking into musty old contraband shops and finding exactly the opposite of what she was looking for.

A quiet growl escaped her as she ventured out again, passing two soldiers and a man that looked very much like a weasel. Unless there was blood on her mouth, she didn’t tend to look suspicious or threatening, so the soldiers paid her no mind. In fact, they were so wrapped up in their conversation she contemplated asking them for directions. Though it was certain that if she did, that would surely be the moment her luck dissolved entirely… so she decided against it.

A lock of her blonde hair spiralled around her pinky finger as she headed east, almost certain that it was the right direction. There was sure to be more than one in the city, but this is the one she knew and there’s something to say about familiarity when everything else seems to have changed.
She had only travelled a couple of blocks from the station when she caught sight of something else that was familiar- the Grigori Matriarch. Habren was lovely at the best of times and today was no exception. A hint of a smile snuck through the disgruntled expression on Solene’s face as she watched Habren walk into just the place she’d spent hours searching for.

The Magic Shop.

A warm greeting, an inquiry, and a quote later, Sol stood drumming her fingertips on the counter, her gaze cutting between the faeshard and the price displayed. If her turning had come with fine print that said, As the undead, you will still be expected to work until the day you die your final death she might have just walked into the sun the day after.

“You want $2,000,000 for… a faeshard?” The girl nodded to herself as she asked, knowing the answer already, that there would be no negotiating, and that she needed it. She was paid well, but she was impatient and on a mission… and quite liked the thought of having a spare 2 million to throw at an object that could only be used once.

“It’s steep, but it’s good to be back.”