Logs:Esoterica

Esoterica
Dramatis Personae Alestair, Lucien	2024-05-31 "An old friend once taught me that there’s more to making a deal than monetary gain."
Location <NYC> Alestair's Esoterica and Floristry - Greenwich Village
Alestair’s Esoterica and Floristry was a clearly a gas station at one point, but has underwent some pretty drastic remodeling starting with a fresh coat of black paint and green accents splattered around. Where rows of coolers once sat are now bookshelves filled with everything from gardening advice to the proper way to read tarot cards. Bones and charms litter the floor space in glass cases, as well as divination tools and bundles of blue sage and items for an altar. The other half of the store is dedicated solely to flowers, carrying everything from roses to delphinium. Those with a keen eye and knowledge of magical runes would also know that outside of the mundane this store also carries genuine alchemical supplies and enchanted items. Alestair is sat behind the counter currently with his nose in a book that looks suspiciously like it might be bound in flesh and sipping from a silver goblet depicting the moon phases and inlaid with rubies and emeralds. He’s dressed smartly in a white button down, a crimson bow tie, and matching crimson slacks, murmuring something softly to himself. The door opens, quiet. The man who slips inside is also quiet, dressed far more casually than Alestair in slim-fit blue jeans and a soft short-sleeved green henley that brings out the striking shade of his eyes. His gaze sweeps the store curiously, hitching last and longest on the proprietor. His head inclines, small and polite. "Have you been here long?" There's a very soft francophone tinge to his quiet voice. "It's been ages since we had a --" There's an infinitesimal pause here. "-- good magic shop in the neighborhood." There is no bell above the door, but still once a hand touches the door he’s sliding the book away and sitting up straighter, a warm smile stretching his face. “Not long, about a week or so? Time is a weird soup.” His voice has a pleasant southwestern accent that’s hard to place. “Oh, no, I’m the best.” The smile stretches a bit wider, looking almost otherworldly for a moment. He waves a gloved hand outward, “Just have a look around. If there’s something I don’t have just let me know and I’ll place an order.” "Oh, goodness." Lucien's eyes have gone a touch wider at this information. He shakes his head, exhales a soft laugh as he drifts further in. "If you are the best I certainly hope you stay a while." It's the flowers that he is gravitating towards, his fingertip tracing lightly along the edge of a sprig of lavender before he turns his attention to a bright marigold. "Really I'm just looking, though if you have anything that's effective in warding off large bugs that alone might keep you in business a good moment. -- May I ask," he sounds at once curious and apologetic as he glances back at Alestair, "what it is you are reading?" “An alchemical treatise from the fifteenth century.” Alestair answers, only he isn’t behind the counter when Lucien looks back, instead rounding a corner with an empty box between his red gloves hands. “I carry several, as well as a handful of natural balms that repel all sorts of nasty biting things, made in house of course.” "Really, that does sound fascinating." This sounds perfectly earnest; Lucien has turned toward the counter but then simply continues pivoting until he's properly looking towards Alestair again. "I dabble here and there with crafting infusions from my own garden, and it was the plants that drew me in," he's admitting, "but books are more of a drug to me sometimes than, well, drugs. Have you learned much from it?" “Unfortunately the majority is proto-science, but if you’re lucky you can find some useful gems.” Alestair deposits the box beside an ominous looking green door with an ‘Employees Only’ sign hung on it. “I have a similar problem, more books than I know what to do with.” He stops now and really looks at Lucien, but doesn’t quite seem to find what he’s looking for. “There’s something about you that’s vaguely familiar, but I cannot for the life of me put my finger on it.” "Well, if you're looking to relieve yourself of any, I am always on the lookout for useful gems. My brother --" Lucien has fetched up nearer the counter, looking at the book Alestair had been reading, but here his head bows just slightly. He takes a deep breath, and when he continues it is in the same pleasantly neutral tone: "-- has a particular interest in old magical history. It's always a joy to find new -- old -- knowledge." His head tilts slightly, and he studies Alestair back with a brief and thoughtful regard. "I'm afraid I can't place your face." He's glancing to the window and then back to Alestair, venturing with a faint amusement, "-- though I hazard a guess you might be Alestair?" “Von Hohenheim, at your service.” Alestair dips into an entirely too formal bow. “If that’s the case you’ve found the right place. I have some tomes for sale among other oddities. Though I should warn you that some pieces can be quite… expensive. Though an old friend once taught me that there’s more to making a deal than monetary gain.” "Lucien." Lucien does not bow, but there's something there in his solemn voice and the dignified inclination of his head that feels somewhat like he had all the same. His brows lift, and though he doesn't smile, either, his expression does grow warmer. "What do you consider a worthwhile trade for knowledge, then?" “Secrets. Favors. It’s all about equivalent exchange.” Alestair walks over and collects his cloak from a nearby coat rack and pulls it into place, it’s a white silk affair with the alchemical symbol for gold emblazoned in red over his left collarbone. “Most people seem to forget that their words carry a certain.. weight. Nothing good comes from making empty promises in the long run. The universe has a way of evening these things out.” "Is there such a thing as equivalent exchange? We made up money in attempt to make such a thing possible, but --" Lucien turns his hand upward. "Then again, we invented money because such a thing is not. I am well used to trading in secrets, but I'm not sure one can be measured against another any more than I could swap a sibling for someone else's and call it even." His hand falls back to the counter; his eyes are sweeping the gold symbol on the cloak. "You are not wrong, though. The only magic I know more powerful than what we say is what we do." Here, too, he seems just slightly amused. "-- and far too few people seem to weight that as heavy as they ought, either."