Miss Molly
Messages came in all shapes and forms. They were metaphorical things, intangible riddles to be unlocked and then followed. Those were many a Nosferatu's favorite-- though some just liked to collect as many easy secrets as possible to trade like shiny currency coin underground. Miss Molly herself savored the reward of a good bit of old occult being dredged up from a mine, polished, and kept like a treasure all to herself.
Other times they were literal, though, and came in the form of paper notes with chickenscratch handwriting being handed over by the rough hands of a bruiser Ghoul gone baker.
Meet me, or I will find you.
Or something to that effect. Maybe it was more elegant and less threatening, but he was a Brujah. Maybe blunt was still his style.
Ultimately, one way or another, one Friday night after the midnight hour had already clanged heavy on a grandfather clock in some antique shop not far away, Molly appeared all at once at the front door of the bookshop. Only after she'd judged it to be deserted through the windows, and when she'd watched to ensure foot traffic was non-existant as well. Whatever bell or chime he may have set up to alert employees of customers would sing its little song, and the shrouded figure of Molly the Nosferatu came inside.
Tam
Brujah aren't exactly known for their public speaking or their writing ability. They are however known for being intimidating, and even if he hadn't meant to intimidate the childe into coming to find him, he hadn't had to put forth much effort. His handwriting is sharp chicken scratch. Born of an age when the educated were expected to use cursive and the uneducated didn't know their alphabet let alone how to write.
Unlike last time he is not aware of her presence before she chooses for him to be. The little metal bell trussed up over the entryway jingles. The bookstore holds its breath.
In the time it takes him to rise and begin his thumping way out of the back room Molly can appreciate the effort gone into cleaning up the place after their tussle with the shovelheads. The rug that had been lain down to serve as a runner has been rolled up and taken away, and the books that had caught the blood spray are gone. Empty spaces left behind.
She hears him before she sees him. When he appears he does so calm. That fire she had seen in his eyes as he bid her leave that night is banked. A Brujah is never truly calm but he is old enough to act as if he is at least dispassionate.
Tonight he wears jeans and a flannel shirt. His blond hair is combed and his beard groomed. He tucks his hands into his hip pockets as if he is holstering a set of weapons.
"You read my note," he says.
Miss Molly
To some, hands going to pockets was a sign to be cautious. It meant that something was being hidden, or maybe even reached for. Molly recognized the action for what it was, though-- the holstering of weapons. She'd witnessed what those hands could do.
But still, she came. He'd find her hovering around the spot where a particularly nasty pool of blood had accumulated-- she remembered it in detail because she needed to maneuver in a rather pain-in-the-assed way to avoid stepping in it and tracking and ruining her Unseen Presence trick. She was dressed in a violet skirt of many layers and much length(her style of choice), a black sweater, and a dark violet knitted cowl with great depth, so that she was able to wear it over her head and face as a hood.
Today, the vast hoodie was ditched so her figure was less of a mystery. Overall, her torso seemed to belong to a human woman-- ample of breast and soft of stomach, well-curved of hip up to the point that shape vanished beneath her skirt once more. Simple black gloves over long-fingered hands. When Tam arrived she lifted her head to look at him, and he'd find that her face was carefully wrapped with bandages within the shadow of her hood.
"Of course," she answered. Her tone was far less skiddish than how he'd remember her when those shovelheads attacked. He could rest assured this Nosferatu girl had nothing up her sleeve in the way of combat tricks. Harmless, in that particular regard at least.
"Plus I understand it's bad luck to invite a vampire to come hunting you down."
Tam
"Mm."
Assent. He had seen enough of what she has to offer in a combat situation to know she cannot offer much. And she knows that she knows. That night he had not worried he had backed the wrong horse, that she had been the one to lead them to him, because they had turned on her. Because she turned to run because she did not have the means to hide.
This particular vampire has been dead a long time. Stillness and he are of a kind. He keeps his back to the door. If anything comes through it she knows he will not be caught unawares.
"The way I see it, it's less to do with luck and more with choice. I'm glad you came, even if it was to avoid worse luck. We hadn't much chance to talk, last you did."
Miss Molly
"No," she admitted, "we didn't."
The hood fell back to hide bandages, as she looked to the floor again. Turned her head to eye the vacant spaces on shelves nearby as well. Glanced curiously to the wall where she remembered one being staked up to it. "That must have been quite the mess to clean up. I would apologize for not sticking around to help clean, but..." A shoulder rolled in a shrug up against the frumpy edge of the cowl she wore like some religious piece of privacy.
"You'd be surprised. Luck has a lot more of a hand in things than a lot of people tend to think." Said the Childe to the Very Old Vampire as though she knew more than him on the subject of
anything. But he was old enough to know-- young though she may be, the Nosferatu were immersed in a world of secret trade and insider knowledge from the very beginning. Chances were she might have already picked up a thing or two that he's overlooked himself in his years.
At last finished with her curious scope of the damage and how well it had been covered and cleaned, Molly looked back to the tall blonde Brujah once again. "Did you ever find why they came here? Was luck simply not on their side that night and they were seeking mayhem in the wrong shop?"
Tam
For what it's worth, he lets her speak her piece. Neither accepts nor denies her apology and he does not take the opportunity to argue with her on the nature of luck. It's enough to permit her her youth. All he knows is battles and in knowing battle his entire existence he knows which ones to pick. Words are not his weapon.
He hasn't moved when she looks back at him. Curiosity in his eyes as tends to be but he is not making an attempt to see beneath her cowl. She is not the first Prior he has ever met in his life and she will not be the last.
As for why they came here:
"Were I younger, I might waste time questioning the motives of shovelheads. They were young, which leads me to think mayhem was their only motive."
Miss Molly
What Tam reckoned about the motivations of the gang that descended upon them seemed to sit well enough with Molly. She nodded her head in acceptance and agreement. He hadn't moved, and all that Molly had moved herself was in place, turning about to survey her surroundings but not entering into them any deeper or retreating toward the door either. It was a dance that she was still learning, the constant pseudo-stand off that came between two creatures, two Beasts, that weren't quite familiar with one another yet.
This was more like a Lion and a Field Mouse, but all the same.
"...I need to confess, I didn't expect to find a Brujah as a bookstore shopkeep." She didn't sound mocking of the idea, but rather impressed by it. He couldn't see it very well for all that she hid herself, but she was constantly skimming what she could make out of book spines. Hunting for something in particular, no doubt.
"Do you...," she started a question, paused, then finished because fuck it she already started anyways. "Do you only keep regular books, like these? Biographies and history and fiction? Or do you have more... specialized tomes in store rooms, maybe? Those are the books worth reading."
Tam
"I've a few."
He considers her in silence a moment hard to quantify what with their hearts lain dead in their chests but the moment last no longer than a few seconds before he steps back and moves towards the register. Boots sounding heavy on the wooden floors. From the timbre of it Molly can tell this space has a basement.
"When you say 'specialized,' you mean related to the occult, I take it."
He's checking his inventory. A large bound notebook in a locked drawer. His eyes flick between the two throughout her answer.
Miss Molly
Molly didn't follow Tam when he went back to his register to check his inventory. Instead she stood still, turned about to keep her front toward him, and watched. The most she moved otherwise was to fold her arms under her chest and tap spindly-long fingers lightly on the backs of her upper arms.
"Yeah. It's something of a... hobby of mine, I suppose."
Verna Gardner
There comes another chime at the door. Just when Tam and Molly start talking about the secret stash of occult books, because the store is deserted at this ungodly hour of night -- it becomes a little less deserted.
It's not a Sabbat pack this time. No, a small, rather mousy girl walks in, all prim and proper, with a thin string of pinkish pearls around her neck, just showing under her grey peacoat. But what timing, eh?
She gives Tam a smile when she sees him behind the desk, but her eyes just glaze over Molly, but such is the intent of her outfit, isn't it? She's thinking this other woman is kine, perhaps. Looks to the shelves to browse.
Tam
Predator-still with that singing of the door-chime and Molly has seen the way he goes so still before. No fury in his bones this time. A flash of it sure but he has a brain between his ears and he's capable of rational thought from time to time.
The Ventrue childe smiles. His eyes tick to the Nosferatu and then he braces both hands on the edge of the antique desk supporting the register.
"Rachel," he calls out as she goes straight from smiling in entrance to browsing like their paths have never crossed before. "Welcome back."
Miss Molly
The door chimed and both Molly and Tam went still, the way that people do who are mid conversation about things best not overheard when somebody else comes into the picture. The woman who walked in smiled to Tam, who in return welcomed her back and greeted her by the name of Rachel.
Molly appeared heavily draped in skirts and a cowl, what small glimpses of her face visible wrapped in bandages (burn victim? [cursed kine]). Unrecognizable, certainly, but the same could not be said for Verna.
Tam called her Rachel. Molly knew better.
But Molly said nothing. Just stood and watched quietly, head turning to follow Verna as she walked and browsed. Though her face wasn't visible to give her away with expression, and though her words couldn't give her away if they didn't come either, her posture was stiff and watchful. Recognition was there to be found.
Verna Gardner
"Ahh, good evening. Peter, was it?" she says, the both of them using each other's fake names. "I thought I'd stop in. I finished that first book, and..."
What is wrong with that poor woman's face, she thinks, stifling communication for a split second.
"And it was very good. You have excellent taste."
Though, apparently, not very upscale clientele. Whatever, it's in the middle of the night, right?
Some considerations have to be made.
Tam
"I know."
And he's humble, too. Humble and aware of the fact that they may be immortal but they do not find themselves with an overabundance of spare time in their possession and besides no one has ever accused the rabble of being subtle.
"Rachel, have you met Molly?"
Miss Molly
The really nice thing about being completey covered up, from crown to toe to face, was that you became difficult to read. She was staring, certainly, but neither of them knew that. Apprehensive, pitying even, thoughtful and curious all alike.
Rachel, have you met Molly?
Molly dipped her head under the cowl to offer greeting, and spoke in a cool and intelligent voice that didn't quite match her appearance (but was the same as it had ever been, unchanged though her face and body may be).
"Nice to meet you, Rachel."
Verna Gardner
"Um, no, I..." and there, Verna goes to a stuttering halt. Her latest conversation with a certain Ventrue power-player has her just
done with meeting new people. If she's being introduced to this woman, it's likely she isn't just some wretched kine either -- more like a wretched Somebody...
"I don't think so," she says, finally. She'd remember meeting someone who went around looking like The Invisible Man.
"Good evening, Molly. It's nice to meet you."
Tam
Kids...
A flick of his eyebrows is the only sign the ancilla finds this all very amusing. He had been in the middle of doing something when 'Rachel' walked in and though he called her 'Rachel' he did so with all the conviction of someone who cannot lie worth a damn but made the effort anyway.
He and David have something in common. May we hope that's one of the few things.
A flick of a page, next, then another.
"I've a confession of my own," he says to pick up what he and Molly had left off. "Your shelves may be better stocked than ours."
The 'shopkeep' hums as he reads down his ledger.
Miss Molly
Though the introduction and pleasantry were-- well, pleasant enough, Molly made no move to extend her hand for a shake. Verna could see those hands, shrouded in dark gloves as they were-- those gloves had to be modified, the fabric didn't quite match at the tips, because room needed to be made for fingers that were at least twice as long as usual. They tapped spindly like spiders upon her upper arms, and her head turned when Tam hummed thoughtfully and commented on his own inventory of occult books.
"That's a shame. Perhaps I could help point you in the right direction for tracking down some pieces worth adding to your collection, some time."
An offer to scratch his back one day, a line cast and lure left to bob in the water. Favors performed were favors owed, and this was a game that Molly figured out was important to play quickly.
Verna Gardner
Verna tries not to stare at those spidery fingers, but gives them this brief look of fear, because that is just completely unnatural. What does she have under those gloves? Claws?
Politeness is a virtue Verna tries very hard to pretend she has, though. She won't gawp at Molly like a child might at the less fortunate until given a stern talking to.
"Mmm. What are you here to find, Molly?"
It's not like Verna could help. She doesn't even know what happened to all of her old books. Probably thrown into a dumpster along with the rest of her life.
Miss Molly
Verna could imagine that somebody like this woman was accustomed to being stared at. You don't look so vastly different from an actual human being for all of eternity without getting a thick skin to it. Otherwise you end up an old wretched hag secluded from all of society, a monster in the hills that's lonely and miserable. Molly didn't need help or encouragement to be lonely or miserable. She didn't have much of eternity under her belt, but she was becoming less worried about lengthy lingering of eyes month by month.
The attempt to start conversation was noted, and Molly's tone was at least open and trying to be friendly when she answered. "The occult-- magic, other dimensions and realms, monsters, what exists within and beyond life and death..." Vaguely, under the hood, the bandages about the mouth shifted and flexed. Was she smiling?
And was that a touch of pity in her voice when she spoke next? The 'smile' had dropped, the bandages returning to a smooth mask and nothing else, and Molly regarded Verna while she added:
"If you find yourself in need of an expert in such areas, I may be the person for you to see."
Verna Gardner
The first subject out of Molly's mouth has Verna instinctually going into that smug skeptic frame of mind, like an Atheist when confronted with someone who believes -- truly believes -- that the bones of dinosaurs were put there by God to test our faith.
Magic? Other dimensions? Monsters? Well, it's not until that last one that Verna actually stops to consider.
She is a monster.
She is beyond death, in a way.
"What about..." she says, lowers her voice to a whisper, just in case someone might think her daft for bringing the subject up. "Ghosts?"
She'd never have said it, if not for David's insistence that she try to find a way to study them. Science does her no good here. And what David wants, he gets.
Miss Molly
Surprisingly enough, laughter bubbled up from behind those bandages. More surprising than the laughter itself was how it sounded-- it wasn't cruel or cold or mocking or twisted. It was still pretty genuine, one may daresay it's almost
human.
"Oh, ghosts are
everywhere. They're the ones that like to get the most attention, too-- not quite so good at hiding themselves, not like we are. They're the ones that are easiest to find information on.
"What, do you have a haunting? Need an exorcism?"
Tam
"Hauntings, you'll find along the back wall, there."
He claps the inventory log shut and locks it up again. Scribbles quick on an index card and folds it up before coming around the desk. He passes it to Molly. Date and time for another meeting. If they get the impression he's hustling them out, it may not be a false one. It's just a slow hustle.
"Miss Molly, I'm expecting a small shipment next week, with a few titles what might be of use to you. I'd be more than happy to bring them by the diner, if that's the case." A beat. He glances between them. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to step out for a few moments. You're welcome to stay. We're always open."
Dun dun dun.
Verna Gardner
Not like
we are, Molly says, and confirms a suspicion. Still, those
fingers. That
face. David told her about a clan of vampires who are ghastly to look at, whose Embrace changes them. It's a little... disturbing that she has to go so far as to bandage her head. Morbid curiosity makes her want to know what's going on under there, but no. She probably doesn't
really want to know, does she?
"I... uh... I need to find out how to study them. I suppose, to start with, it would be nice to know how to find one? I mean, I have never even considered that they might
exist, personally."
So, you know, she's
not the one to see about matters of the occult, is Verna.
Tam gets a nod of the head, and another smile. "Oh, certainly. Thank you for letting us stay."
Miss Molly
Tam had offered up the location of his books on ghosts, and also offered up a card that had a date and time scribbled upon it. Another shipment, and perhaps she'd find some of the things he's getting in useful. They could talk. She nodded her head and tucked the card away into a well-hidden and deep pocket somewhere in the violet folds of her skirt.
"That would be great. I look forward to it."
He had to step out, so Molly bade him a quiet farewell and explained: "I need to go soon myself, but..." And tapped one creepy long finger thoughtfully a few times before crooking it in the air between herself and Verna--
come hither it said. She would head back to the shelves where the books on hauntings were stashed away. Before she left, she seemed intent on helping Verna in the best way she knew how.
Soon the young Ventrue would have the pleasure of watching the disguised Nosferatu's spider-fingers walking along the spines of books as she judged them. She spoke as she did this-- passing from book to book, occasionally pulling one out to look over the cover and in some of the pages.
"Study? Like, scientifically? To keep notes and test hypothesis? Ghosts aren't lab rats, and they aren't particularly friendly. They don't hang around because they like the scenery, you know." The books that passed the test were handed to Verna. If she allowed it, she would end up with two small paperback books and one small one with a hardcover that looked battered by age and sun alike.
"Here-- everything that I've ever learned or accomplished with matters of this nature began in a book. These should be a good start, in regard to manifestations and this one," she tapped a finger on the hardcover book, "should help you understand how to go about finding them. They can sometimes be summoned, but..." She shook her head, indicating it wasn't recommended.
Verna Gardner
Molly says ghosts aren't very easy to study. If that is so, how does anyone know anything about them, much less all that she claims to? She follows the bandaged woman to a section of the bookstore that girls like Verna
never go to. Ugh, the paranormal. Perhaps David will want her to check on alien abductions next.
At least coming home with a few books might prove to him that she is at least
attempting to take it seriously.
"Hmm. I think if I want to know... anything, I'm going to want more than just a book to tell me what could be lies. I like having proof. Proof means study. But, if you think these are good, I'll start here. And thank you."
Verna Gardner
Molly says ghosts aren't very easy to study. If that is so, how does anyone know anything about them, much less all that she claims to? She follows the bandaged woman to a section of the bookstore that girls like Verna
never go to. Ugh, the paranormal. Perhaps David will want her to check on alien abductions next.
At least coming home with a few books might prove to him that she is at least
attempting to take it seriously.
"Hmm. I think if I want to know... anything, I'm going to want more than just a book to tell me what could be lies. I like having proof. Proof means study. But, if you think these are good, I'll start here. And thank you."
Miss Molly
There was a still in the air while Verna was speaking-- the kind of still and chill that came from somebody not talking because they were biting their tongue and feeling how strong the threading of their patience was. It's tricky, not being able to see the Monster Molly's face and therefore not having expresions to go along with the body language, but there were glimpses of blue eyes (human, surprisingly so) from under the bandages and they were looking rather blankly at Verna while she presented her argument about seeing things in person and not reading lies.
Her tone was precisely as blunt as her stare, but sounded at least a little placated by the
thank you when she answered.
"You're welcome. Whenever you read you should always take what you find with a grain of salt. That's why you never use only one book when trying to find what you need. Rarely will two be enough either. Find the themes that match, and then go test them. Just... be careful when you do. It's astounding, what ghosts are capable of."
She spoke with an air of experience, a grave one. It was as though she'd witnessed somebody's bones turned to powder by one or something. She tugged at her cowl to adjust it, then her hands folded out of sight into the bunched fabric of her skirt. The sway of her stance suggested she was ready to leave, preparing to go. "Your proof will be your experiences, you know. If I can offer any sage parting advice to you tonight it's this: remember that you are
always going to be on somebody else's turf. Tread respectfully of it and you'll walk out with what you learned."
Tam was already gone, off through whatever door he'd taken. Molly swept away to the front door, pushed it open, but paused to glance back. Just long enough to say:
"Goodnight, Verna."
The door closed behind her. If Verna were to rush as quick as she could to the window to try and pursue, she'd find the street empty to the naked eye. Nosferatu had a way of disappearing into the shadows and sewers like that.
[Unseen Presence dropped pretty much soon as she was away from the window. If you really want to drop rolls for her to see where she takes off and pursue, then we can do that through another scene. :)]
