☼ Normalising ☼ (Closed)

[Teagan (DELETED 7350)]

The shop's been open a few days. It seemed wise to go into business for myself. Not that I'm by myself. Tayden will be involved in everything I do too. Naturally. I'd say I'm optimistic but that would be a lie. Still. I have to try. Tay and I can't keep slaving away for other people. We need to start living. Recent experiences have taught me that. I like the shop. It makes me smile. Even if it does make me nervous. I was lucky to get a small business loan. The bank must have liked my idea. It's not original. In fact, in this day and age it's probably pretty risky. I mean who wants to buy an actual book in this digital age? Thankfully books aren't all we sell. This place is as much about self-defence, as it is the occult. So along with the usual paraphernalia, we also sell small blades. Nothing longer than sixteen inches and most are six or under. We'll be offering self-defence classes out of the back room too. It's not enough to just be a book shop. Knowledge with practical application, that's what I'm going for. I hope it works.
The shelving units and display cases are all up but not all of them are filled. The store looks a little sparse right now but that's okay, it will take time build a client base and I can't afford to be putting all of our money into stock right now. I have a good catalogue at my disposal, so whatever we don't have I can get in within three to five working days. Or so I've been told. Obviously, I haven't had to test that theory yet. Right now I'm spreading things out. Books mainly. When the books arrived I just threw them on the shelves. Now I'm actually creating categories. I probably should have put more thought into the layout before I started setting things out but I was eager to open the doors and knew I'd have the time and space to re-organise.
Tay and I can cover most things right now but I probably need to look for someone to work the till. Sales are not my thing. I can work a bar if I have to, or waitress, but my tips were never great. I'm not a people person. I'm better off behind the scenes. I'm not the happy, bubbly, chatty type. I'm the moody, sullen, standoffish type. I'll be fine teaching martial arts, but I know manning the store and getting customers to buy things will not be my forte. And for this business to be a success I need a talker. I need a personable being to man the till. Tay's too much like me for that role. He's better with people than I am but that really isn't saying much since my skills are so subpar.
I'm listening to music as I move things around. I should probably choose something more spooky or calming considering the whole occult theme but I'm here alone and music can make or break me. I don't like the quiet. But then I don't like noise either. I'm listening to an album by Three Days Grace at the moment. The music suits me. Which is good, because it would have no place being on my iPod if I didn't like it. The shop is wired to play from an iPod, CDs, etc. The radio would probably be a safer choice but I haven't found a station I really like yet. I'm singing quietly to Animal I Have Become. I don't sing loud. No-one would hear my voice unless they're standing right next to me, but that's okay. I don't sing for others. I sing for me.

[Clear (DELETED 7068)]

In the few months I have been in Harper Rock, I have learned one thing for certain: the night life is prominent and the supernatural is everywhere. On second thought, I suppose those are two things, but in my mind, they are connected. I have already heard the rumours and I have seen the evidence for myself. It is nothing that would stand up in the court of law, but I have faith in what I know and what I have been told. Harper Rock is teeming with paranormal entities of many kinds. While this is not necessarily something that is out of the ordinary for me to experience, I am surprised by the sheer volume of happenings and how the public seem to be – on mass – unaware of the truth. I know that a few suspect the truth and some are living the truth. I met a man recently by name of Kestrel who reported that he is a Sorcerer. He gave a detailed account of what it is to be a Sorcerer, what his people do and how they gained their power. I suspect that the gifts I hold are not unlike those of the Sorcerer, but there is no way to know for certain. Kestrel also went a long way to inform me of Vampires, and for a time, even accused me of being one. He is frightened of them, and while I do not criticise his survivor’s instincts, I do think he is too quick to judge them all as monsters. We are all capable of horrendous acts, but we are not all horrendous.

I want to learn more about these Vampires, however. A large part of me wants Kestrel to be wrong, but I do not know why exactly. Perhaps it is because our communications stopped so very suddenly and I fear he has found the danger he was looking for. That man saw himself as a light against the darkness, a paladin and prophet against the sick, poisoning malice of the world. He had a Master that sought out Vampires with the intent to destroy them. I find it all very worrying. I am worried about a man who holds himself to such high esteems; what it does to the man who will most certainly find there is a long drop from his pedestal, and what it does to those he sees as lesser and evil. It is strange to care about the safety of a stranger, but he seemed like a nice man at the thick of it and I think I should have been able to do more to save him from himself. Though, of course I could be wrong. Kestrel mentioned a sister who was struggling with an illness and maybe he is simply focusing his attention on her. I hope for the best reasons of course, but a miserable thought crawls into my heart regardless. I am not normally this cynical or pessimistic and it troubles me that I am this full of fear too. This is why I am heading off to explore as many shops on the occult as possible.

The first I find on my travels is a small bookstore. It is recently opened, or so I assume. Everything has a neat quality to it, a clean and fresh look that time and experience has not yet gnawed away at. I like the brightness I feel inside this store, an effervescence reminding me of champagne lunches. When I enter I notice, though not right away, that I am alone in the store. At first I fret at the thought that I might have unintentionally broken in. I move to leave in a hurried manner, but then I hear movement. Someone is here aside from me and it occurs to me then that I must quickly announce myself. The last thing I want is to dash outside in a guilty manner. Not that I look like a thief – or at least not the traditional kind. Today I am sporting Versace and while it might be black, it is not cat burglar attire. My shoes are hardly stealthy either; every footstep is a small applause.

“Hello?” I call as I step further into the room, revealing myself to whomever might be behind the bookcases.

[Teagan (DELETED 7350)]

The voice doesn't catch me off guard, but I'm not sure why the woman is announcing herself; not until I move away from my task to see if I can be of service. This personable thing isn't for me but I don't have much choice right now. I may have started a business with potential but it may not be what I'm best suited to. No. That's not right. I'm cut out for business, just not this side of things.
The corner of my mouth twitches as I take in the sight before me. This woman doesn't belong in here. When I envisioned what my clientele would look like, I didn't envision anything like her. She's styled. Her dress is probably something designer but I'm not certain of that fact because fashion and I are not friends. She looks like she belongs in a boutique, not in a place dealing in blades and occult literature. I try not to look her over, or to judge her though. I can't afford to be scaring away customers already. The woman doesn't put me at ease though. She's too polished. I feel like a vagabond standing before her and yet I'm dressed in my best. I suppose you can take the girl off of the streets but you can't take the streets off of the girl. I dust my hands off, even though they're clean and then run push back the leather hood that's covering my head. I've got on a pair of plain black leggings, a muted pink, loose fitting wife-beater style top that could pass as a dress and my leather cut, with attached hoodie over the top. Thankfully my arms are unmarked. At least I have no visible markings. The short bracers on my wrists hide most of my sins.
"Can I help you?"
It's the dumbest statement ever but I can't think of anything else to say and dumb as it may seem, it's appropriate and polite. Speaking of polite, I have to forcibly stop myself from crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at the woman. She's likely only stopped in for directions to somewhere else. It's not her fault she's lost and if I can help a fellow human being, then I'm happy to do so. Jaded as I am with humanity, I'm not completely heartless.
I should probably ask her if she's here for something specific, try and get her to look at what I stock, but I'm not a natural saleswoman. I'm sure she doesn't appreciate the music I'm listening to and likely couldn't name the band but then that's not a requirement to shop her. I push that thought from my mind and wait to see what the fashionista wants.
Note to self: I need to put a help wanted sign in the window or advertise on the local forum boards perhaps. People make me nervous.

[Clear (DELETED 7068)]

When the woman pulls forth, I must admit I am taken-aback by her appearance. The shock of pink hair and the leather-fabric ensemble suggests to me that she might not be happy with my being here at all. It is a judgemental thought because I understand the irony. I have no doubts that every one of us has some insecurity and longing to be part of a network, a society, and fear we will not make the grade. She might look at me and suspect that I do not belong here because the natural stereotype in the Western world is for the occult to be something for the minority to dabble in. I suppose from my appearance I do not look as if I dabble in anything but make-up, hair, clothing and accessories, but you cannot define a person on what they look like. She might be right about me not belonging here as this is her home and I am just a guest, still I am not wholly lost and did come with purpose. That purpose escapes me suddenly or at least fails to make itself known for the meantime, leaving me to murmur quietly and take a lock of hair between my fingers. I have come to her store and sought her out – not personally of course, but I was looking to announce myself and caught her attention. I realise that I must say something since she has asked me a direct question, but I am also worried about saying the wrong thing and being cast aside. I do not want her first impression of me to be that of some delusional woman, or somebody who has come here to insult her ways, even if this is to be the first and last time we are ever to meet.

“Hello,” I say again.

Of course, I am speaking more softly and demure than before. I bow my head a little in respect since she is that much shorter than me, especially in these high-heels. It is not my intent to be intimidating and while my friends try to tell me my physique is like that of a model, I still feel as though I am gargantuan, towering over the natural beauties. I do worry sometimes that I might not make the grade in many ways…

“I am sorry to bother you,” I confess. “I hope I have not come at a bad time, but, I was looking for a book and maybe some advice.”

Gone from playing with my hair, my hands fall at my sides where they belong. I must project some form of confidence if I am to avoid any undue suspicion and cause any irritation. I fear the idea that she might think the worst of me, as if I have more to lose in this than just a place of convenience for finding knowledge. I suppose the ordeal with Kestrel has me spooked and I am not sure who to trust any longer. I have always been quite guarded because there has always been a lot to lose, a lot of people who would do their worst to take from me, but in time that feeling lessens even if it never goes away. I am hoping that this experience will be similar. I do not want to have to worry over my identities.

[Teagan (DELETED 7350)]

I lose the war with my body and cross my arms over my chest. I know I should drop the posture the moment I adopt it, but honestly I'd look ridiculous and indecisive if I did. Besides. She's a customer. She's here for something. She's not going to walk out because I adopt a posture that's defensive. At least i don't think she will. If she does, that's her issue. Not mine.
"No bother. What are you looking for?"
I should talk more. Say more. Extend my sentences, but I don't. It's not who I am. I'm not a talker. I'm just me. This is who I am. For better or worse. There's no changing that. At least not overnight. Not now. And, honestly, I'm not sure I want to change this about me. I want to be me. Not who others want me to be. I need to be me. Whoever that is.
I'm a stranger to myself these days. My powers are still growing and I'm not sure what to do about that. I'm not sure if I should do anything about that. I know my potential and I fear it. I don't want to hunt vampires. I don't want to share their identities. I have to hope I have some control over this supernatural side of me. I have to hope I can hold certain aspects at bay. I have to believe that my rights, my will, haven't been stripped from me completely.
I soften my expression. At least I try to. I have nothing else to say. I still don't know why she's here or how I can help her. I don't know if I even can help her, but I'll try. It's the right thing to do. Unless she's one of them. Someone like me. Then I'll have to work out her intentions. I won't help her harm my friends. I've chosen a side and it's not the one those freaks were hoping for. They thought they turned me, but they thought wrong. I'm no-ones puppet. There's only one person in this world I'll follow into hell and I'd question him first before I did it just to make sure that, that was the right thing to do.

[Clear (DELETED 7068)]

Her arms close across her chest and I feel more self-conscious than before. I do not realise that I have started to toy with the fringe of my belt as I suspect my intentions to avoid irritating her have failed entirely. I know people only cross their arms about them when they are angry, impatient, or defensive. It occurs to me that I have only given her reasons to feel antagonistic toward me and while I feel like I should just get in and get out with whatever it is that I am looking for, I also feel a little irritated myself. It was not my intention to disturb anyone or upset them in anyway, and neither do I feel as though anger is warranted by my very presence, so I am urged to resolve the fault. If I am wrong about her feelings toward me, then still I must work harder to dispel this negativity in the air. My grandmother, who taught me these gifts of clairvoyance, healing and protection, would say that our abilities were reserved for helping people. She was not without the ability to ward off evil spirits, negativity, and ill intentions, and although I am not my grandmother, I still want to walk in her footsteps. She gave me so much and I never had the opportunity to tell her just how much of an inspiration she was. The best that I can do now is to continue her work and I hope beyond hope that I am doing a good job.

“I have been looking for a talisman for some time,” I declare in a soft, warm voice. “There is not much knowledge in the tomes of our local library and try as I might, I cannot seem to find much at all online. I was wondering if you might have anything to share as an... expert in this matter?”

It seems necessary to explain why I have come, to warm up the lead before making the pitch. I might be in the market to buy in this instance, but the things I am looking for require a particular seller and I cannot afford to scare them off. I do not know this woman, her likes and her dislikes, but if I have learned little else from being a salesperson, I know that appealing to one’s emotions is always a key ingredient in success. Though, I realise that my softly-softly approach can back-fire, and I know that not everyone likes a foreigner in their places of business. The way I speak can sometimes cause irritation too because my accent is thick and my pace is casual, bordering on slow and nonchalance. I notice that my inflections are not intoned to these natural-born English speakers, and that I cannot always get things right with what I mean to say. Hopefully she can at least understand the bulk of what I am saying, and now that I have introduced why I am here, I can begin to explain what this talisman is and trust that she can help.

“Locally, they call the talisman Sanguivore’s Bane. Have you heard of it?”

There is the potential for conflict here, so I keep a steady gaze on her. When I mentioned the talisman to Kestrel, he grew suspicious and irritable to my intentions. I worry that my interest in the talisman, in protecting myself, will shine a light onto my vulnerabilities. I have seen it before, the con-artists who target the weak with an offering of salvation. My own grandmother was accused of the craft herself when she would speak to the spirits and provide the loved ones left behind with closure. My grandmother’s guilt was decided because even though she never asked for payment, she never refused donations. They called her a Charlatan. They said such horrible things about her. And although I am not one for violence, I felt such a devil in me to strike at them and make them take back their curses. I know how easily my gifts can be used for terrible purposes and while I will always defend my life and the lives of others, I cannot allow for pain to be caused because of myself. I will avoid conflict as best I can, so if this woman wishes me to leave, I shall without quarrel.

[Teagan (DELETED 7350)]

The woman is verbose. Her language is flowery. I don't know why people use so many words when less would suffice. That's my issue though, not hers. Most people are verbose compared to me. They used to call me Oz at school. I was named after a werewolf, a cool werewolf, but a werewolf nonetheless. Ironic then that I grow up to run a shop dealing in the occult and selling my blood to vampires. I don't think they'd of guessed I'd be a paladin, at least not this sort. Paladins are generally a warrior class though, if all the games I play are anything to go by. Honestly, I should know more of my new heritage but I'm still reeling from the fact that this was done to me against my will.
The model keeps talking and I can't hide the snort of derision I make when she names the talisman she's looking for. I really shouldn't be working on the shop floor. I need to correct that as soon as possible. You aren't supposed to be rude to customers but I can't help myself and what's worse, is I find myself eyeing her up and down once more as I try to get a better read on her. Who is she? Is she a paladin too? Surely the only reason to want that relic is to harm vampires. That doesn't sit well with me. Though I suppose everyone has a right to protect themselves. Everyone has a right to keep their bodily fluids safe. Even if it wouldn't be my choice. I never imagined myself in this position before. Do I want to help someone acquire something like that? Do I even know where to get one? The black market? That sounds about right. It's not the sort of thing you can buy over the counter.
"Heard of it. Burns vampires."
I shrug my shoulders, my arms still folded cross my chest. I need to know if this is something she wants for protection or if she's going to go out asking vampires to bite her just so she can harm them. She doesn't look like a fighter but appearances can be deceiving. She'd make perfect bait. I **** my head slightly to the right and narrow my eyes a little. I'm suspicious of her and I don't mind if it shows.
"Specialist item. Why do you want it?"
There. I asked her. I had to. I'm not going to go pointing her in the right direction if I can help it, not if she wants it for the wrong reasons and the only way to learn her reasons is to ask. I'm not a mind reader. I'd like to be. That would be a skill worth having; though the female before me is a classic beauty, so I have to suspect she hasn't got much going on upstairs in the brains department. That's usually the way. The pretty ones don't have to work on their personalities. I don't know what my excuse is for being the way I am but it certainly isn't my looks. I don't trade on what I was born with and prefer to hide it when I can. The uglier the better.

[Clear (DELETED 7068)]

My relief to learn that she is aware of the talisman is cast aside by the nature and contents of her next words. Burns Vampires. I am aware of this small side-effect and I nod my head in agreement, my eyes drifting away from her gaze because I am not exactly proud of it. It is not in my nature to hurt others – whether they be man, beast or something else entirely – but I will not stand defenceless in a world at war. The talisman offers protection from those who seek to do me harm and the price is a small one to pay to my attackers. It would be no more harmful than a little stomach acid, like heart-burn, I would imagine. Though, I cannot stand entirely on that small sense of self-preservation as my Sheppard. I am aware of what it takes and for what it asks to stand for your beliefs, for your freedom, and for your rights, and it makes one as much of a saint to some as it makes one a pariah to others. I am aware that in doing what I can to protect myself from harm, I am inviting it too. What happens to the victim who tries to defend herself against a robber? What are the chances he will become violent with her attempts to ward him off, and instead of losing her valuables, she loses her life instead. This is the reality that faces me and I honestly do not know if what I am doing is correct. I believe that, at the moment, I have no choice. When I have the talisman in hand, only then might I be able to decide whether to use that defence or not and whether it will be worth it.

When she asks me why I want the item, I turn my gaze on her again. Sharp features, like iron sculpted over bone, stare back at me suspiciously – I am a scout invading her territory and I may or may not be coming armed. I imagine I have said just the right words to have me exiled, though that is always the marker of communication. Some people would say too much and be strung up for it, while those who say too little face the same fate. I aspire to be more like those in the middle, but, I know the likelihood for that is poor. My insecurities, my culture, my outlook, my nature and my heritage make me uncommon in this world. I could no better communicate with owls than I can be a perfect speaker to man. Man judges quickly, and because his intelligence and baser instincts do not always see eye-to-eye, he will find frustration just as quickly. He wants to decide whether or not you are a threat without acknowledging the very question, because he has been taught that such things are not acceptable. No man can show weakness, no man should ever second-guess himself, and no man is imperfect. Nature is not perfect herself, they say, having created all these defunct forms, but maybe we are missing the bigger picture. Maybe it is our imperfections that we are meant to find, meant to uncover and learn how to make those faults our strengths. Although I already feel like I have failed with my words, I still hope that I can make amends. I tell her the truth.

“I would seek to carry it as a single female carries pepper spray,” I say in as clear a voice as possible. “I do not want to have to carry this, but, with the world in the state that it is… I feel I have to do what I can to protect myself.”

Would she empathise with this? I can only hope she understands and that she believes me. I do not imagine the things she could be thinking about me because I do not know this woman. It is my nature to talk through problems, to highlight the issues between individuals, address them and resolve them. I cannot do that with her. She speaks too little and provides little avenue of resolve. All that I know is that I have unwittingly inspired antipathy between us. She has not liked me the minute she laid her eyes on me, but this might be the closest I have ever come to uncovering knowledge about the talisman. I do not scare easily and I will not be fended off by her scathing attitude. She will see that I mean her no harm in time, I am sure. She will see I am no threat to herself or what she holds dear, if for the opportunity. However, if she tells me to leave, I will of course have no choice but to comply. I try my best to make sure that does not happen.

“I do not hate them,” I say cautiously. “It is not my intention to force ill will upon anyone or anything. Not all men are rapists, not all women are mothers… Likewise, not all Vampires are evil. But some are, and from them, I wish to have the option to be free.”

[Teagan (DELETED 7350)]

She doesn't move away and she doesn't leave, so I assume that she means business. This talisman, this relic, is important to her and when she starts to explain why I find I can't refute her argument. The entire time she's speaking I'm looking for signs of deception, the standard tells. I don't know her but micro expressions are the same the world over. I can't claim to be an expert in reading people but I'm getting better. I have to be. I couldn't get any worse.
I nod my head to indicate that I have listened to what she has to say and that I don't plan to challenge her further. I've accepted her reasoning and a nod of the head should be sufficient enough to get that fact across. I don't change my posture though. I'm not about to relax and try to engage the woman in a typically feminine bout of chit-chat.
"Don't have one. No supplier for it."
And I'm not lying. I could tell her where to look and who to go to, but aside from that I honestly don't know where I could lay my hands on one at short notice. I could ask around. I could look online. I know what I'm looking for. I just don't know how they're made or where they come from. The few I've seen have been swiped from others. Stolen from corporations that either didn't know what they had, or whom were trying to gather more intelligence on them.
"Could ask around."
I shrug my shoulders, to indicate that it wouldn't be a big deal. I know a few vampires that might have a beat on where I could get one. I know the address of the online black market site. I even know a few less savoury individuals that would help me out for a cut of the profits. Nothing in this world comes for free. Isn't that what they say?
"If you'd like."
I don't believe it would cost me anything to ask around, though I may have to borrow her analogy to get my point across. It would be infinity safer or me to be asking around, than her. This is an assumption of course, but I'm pretty confident in my thinking. She doesn't look like she'd be able to fight her way out of a wet paper bag and if she had to spend a night on the streets, she'd likely cry herself to death. I'm not sure what her streets smarts are like, but by the look of her they're non-existent. I'm oddly curious about her. She's a walking contradiction to me. She doesn't look like she belongs in here and yet she knows what she wants and it's not some hokey love spell. She's not looking for voodoo doll to torture her boss or exe with. Though now that I think about it, there's every chance that those things do in fact work and we just don't have the right mojo to make it happen. I wasn't who I am now until they inked me up and enchanted the brands on my back.

[Clear (DELETED 7068)]

My enthusiasm does not waver simply because she does not have the talisman in stock. I am grateful enough that she has not told me to leave, that she might understand why I feel I need its protection. Moreover, I am giddy at the prospect of her help, which is provided generously even in her nonchalant manner. She has given me her time, she has heard me out and in doing so, I feel a champion for having received her blessing and her guidance. I believe she is warming to me, even if it is only by a little. Of course I would not expect her to change her tune entirely and throw herself into girlish glee. Even I am too proud and too standoffish to hug a complete stranger just because we have found some level of understanding. I do not suspect that this woman would feel comfortable if I even tried to be any friendlier than I am. So I try not to show how happy I am, and keep my warm composure, even though my narrow smile is threatening to grow and the effort is making my cheeks ache.

“I would be delighted,” I sing, despite myself. “My name is Clear.” I fetch a piece of paper and a pen from my clutch bag then write down my name and contact details. “Here,” I say, offering her the note that smells like my hand cream – Shea butter and jasmine. “To contact me about the talisman.”

I hear in my voice and actions what sounds to be my retreat from this tale, and I am suddenly not sure if it is. I am no lie detector and perhaps one of my flaws is that I take everything that people say and do at face value. I trust that they do not lie to me, but there is no reason why she could not take my note, crumple it and throw it away. She might be trying to get rid of me for all that I know. People have done that in the past, agreed to take my services, take my card and then never call. They put on crocodile smiles – an expression that means differently to every different animal that faces it. I realise that I have given her all the power in this transaction, so I decide not to leave right now. First I will learn more about her: her name, why she works here, if she has always lived here, and maybe what her future goals are. It is intrusive, but it is necessary to form a bond. If she is a legitimate trader, I might even be able to offer my services in return. I might not look like I could help, but I do know my way around some of the occult.