three-if-by-air-blog

[three-if-by-air-blog]

[O’Connor Clinic] early afternoon; @arsenic-inyourveins

Damn but war really cut down on good help. Levi scratched out yet another potential candidate, peered at the rest of his list skeptically. There was a list of requirements for the new clinic position, but the main one was that it had to be an Unholy Saint. Mama weren’t standin’ for no Nightfall headjob or some prissy Churchling ‘round these parts, no siree.

The rest of it though... He squinted at the next name on the list, shuddered, and crossed it out without bothering to call for the interview. Fuckin’ Hera. She worked ‘bout as hard as a bucket of apples, and least them apples would keep the healers away. If he had to hire someone to laze ‘bout and do nothin’, he’d sooner hire himself and keep the change.

Next on the list then.

He shuffled the papers, stood up, stretched, and then hollered, “Next candidate! And nope, that ain’t you Hera, so you can trundle ‘long home!”

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severin-ealing‌:

One shoulder shrugged. “Since when has risk aversion been in your vocabulary?”

O’Connor’s strength was in taking a nugget of an idea and sculpting it, adding meat to the bare bones. Sanding down rough edges to avoid being cut. Severin was both sorry he’d floated the thought and curious to see what Levi might come up with. 

Tuning out the jukebox proved easier than downing the coffee. His mug sat on the table cooling just as Levi began to get warmed up. Sole purveyors. Tying up ingredients which might or might not be used for nefarious means. Marketed above board, but pushing under the table too. 

With a smile he joked. “Not sure anything would make you seem legit.” The grin faded away to something less playful. A classic O’Connor scheme but why mess with what works? Severin offered a very non-hypothetical answer. “Smart. Really smart. I like it. I’d like to hear how you plan on doing it and what the offer is for me.” 

Because there was one coming. As sure as O’Connor had heard about the promotion and already thought of ways to wield it. But so had Severin. “Thanks.” He had a plan of his own to include Levi in but he needed a little time. Until then, “So how is Mama?”

Levi made a face. For once, it weren’t at the rabbit-foot coffee. “Mama’s state of mind is ‘xactly the reason I’ve ah, acquired ‘risk aversion.’ I mean, it was one thing to slip things by here and there durin’ the war.” He paused. “Hypothetically. But now she’s back and pokin’ her fingers back into things...”

He trailed off, feeling sour.

“Let’s just say war footin’ ain’t gettin’ this enterprise far.”

A finger rubbed against the edge of the diner table, came away greasy. The fuck were they payin’ the staff here for anyway, ‘cause it sure weren’t the coffee or the cleanin’.

“And c’mon Sev.” He looked up, beaming his best salesman smile. “You know full well there ain’t no offer ‘til this baby is up and runnin’. But a plan, I can get you a plan.”

He picked up the salt shaker, shook out a thin white trail down the table.

“There are some goods that everyone needs. Thing is, them folks that used to bring ‘em into market? They either dead or still draggin’ themselves back.”

His finger cut into the trail, turning the line into short sections.

“It don’t take much to discourage them that wants to start up again. Life’s gotten harder after all. War’s made some trails into the valley downright dangerous. All sorts of shit can happen between here and market.”

Shaking off his finger, he reached for the toothpicks next.

“So.”

Two neat rows, toothpicks lined end to end, sandwiching the line of salt.

“We come at this from both fronts. Them’s that signs up for our shippin’ insurance, they get to market, we get a cut.” He pointed at the line of salt in between the toothpicks.

“Them’s that say they ain’t need any, well.” He smudged the salt outside the toothpicks, scattering it. “They’ll figure out the need soon enough.”

He eyed his impromptu artwork, then looked back up at his colleague. Co-conspirator.

“‘Course we can’t do this with everythin’. Pick one or two niche things. Mandrake. Nightshade. If we pick staples we’ll catch heat faster’n a haystack on fire. The point...”

He wiped his fingers off.

“The point ain’t securin’ the goods, it’s securin’ the delivery.”

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imogenhayes‌:

“Lost and found?” Imogen repeated, a shallow chuckle leaving her lips and then she was over the counter, fingers missing his shirt by an inch as Charlie was there dragging her back. “Your mama will be finding your godsdamned body parts at the lost and found, boy.” She snarled at him, her lip curling up. Her hand slammed down on the counter, the wedding band on her finger hitting the surface adding to the sharp smacking noise.

She was desperate. She needed his ring back. It was her fault that he had landed in the enemies hands in the first place, and Immy would be damned to hell before she gave up finding that wedding ring. She owed it to him.

“You will find it for me, or I swear to all the gods that I will burn you and everything you love.” Immy could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the adrenaline racing through the blood in her veins. Her toes curled in the boots she was wearing, her entire body posed ready for a fight.

There was a time to sass and a time to retreat. The slamming on the counter? Yeah, that signaled a retreat-the-fuck-outta-here. Or at least three steps back right by the back office with its equally convenient back door, leading straight back to the O’Connor home wards.

Y’know. Just in case.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He held his hands up, placating. “Cher, why don’t we start with findin’ you a nice place to sit yourself and we can talk this out? Like ci-vi-lized folks.”

No way in hell he was walking to the other side of that counter (bless that counter). His fingers flew in the messiest summon he’d managed, the Latin a mangled assortment not even Cicero would recognize, and a nice lyre-back chair scooted right over, stopping right in front of the witch.

“Now.” His foot had begun tapping. He couldn’t help it. Too much adrenaline in the air, riding the edge. “‘Fore you start disassemblin’ me for soup, let’s start talkin’ this ring of yours. What did it even look like?”

He paused, chanced a glance at the witch. “’Cause cher, rippin’ me apart ain’t gettin’ you that ring back. I can gua-ran-tee it.”

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severin-ealing‌:

So. Levi had never been one to make a person wait. The same so heard on the battlefield kickstarting petty endeavors. As much as Severin wanted to think his new recognition in the Circle meant setting aside black market adventures, he felt the pull. Scavenging for a nice profit and digging up connections for O’Connor were the only things that kept him sane then.

And it was fun. Perhaps a personal limitation. His feet were already dancing on the ledge, kicking up gravel made of ideas. Knowing full well he could fall off the cliff with such things.

An arm stretched lazily to drape over the top of the booth. “You’re looking the same.”Severin grinned broadly, jokingly. He’d known Levi since the academy. Sev didn’t want to like him but couldn’t help appreciating the used car salesman charm. The guy was always on the hustle.

 War had been good for business. 

“Wouldn’t surprise me if they used the rabbit’s feet as coffee stirrers. So. Hypothetically, huh?” Severin looked over to watch the waitress walk to the table. After a thank you for his own suspicious tasting coffee and giving her time to leave, he returned to the conversation in a quieter tone. 

“Heard a few things which are on people’s minds.” With the uptick at the mortuary he’d overheard grief-stricken conversations. Anger, wrath, vengeful wishes. If he could focus his own feelings in terms of his brother’s death, on a single person… he’d probably be out for the same. “Revenge potions and spells. Those require very specific, rare items. I’d say that’s the demand right now.” And Severin was in the right spot to facilitate. 

There was a lot to like ‘bout Sev. Tall, dark, full of smarm and know-how on when to use it. Thing is, the smarm worked for him, just like it was workin’ on the damn waitress. Levi knew full well most of his own personal charms stemmed more from the O’Connor part of his name, and most of that was, well, fear of Mama.

A tad emasculatin’, but there you go. Most days Levi was hunky-dory ‘bout that. Some days he wanted to break that smarmy face in a bit, maybe take an inch or two off the top.

“Revenge, hmm?” Levi sat back, fingers laced over his stomach, gears already turning in his head. “That’s risky. Things have a habit of gettin’ traced back, and them that sells those things, well. Strong emotions gotta way of ah, imprintin’ on items, and how.”

But if there were folks out there who would rather pretend the war ain’t over, Levi weren’t goin’ to convince them otherwise either.

“Say,” he said slowly, “Say we ah, transitioned our old business model. ‘Stead of acquiring the items - ” here, he gestured at Sev with an acknowledging nod, “we switch over to bein’... purveyors of the associated ingredients to either use said items, or y’know, make ‘em.”

The image of Zadie-D in the store askin’ for fresh nightshade came to mind. Not that there weren’t perfectly innocent uses for it, but nightshade at its core was poisonous.

“Sole purveyors.” Then, with a sigh. “Y’know. Hypothetically.”

Someone had turned on the jukebox again, and that antique only played two damn songs, over and over. It was probably a murder talisman in and of itself at this point, just add an idiot.

“This would give the business,” another gesture encompassing them, the mugs, the cold pecan pie, “some whatchamallit. De-ni-a-bility. Make us look more legit.”

Sellin’ a scheme to an old colleague was harder on the throat than sellin’ to his usual clientele. Despite himself, he took another sip of the coffee. And grimaced again.

“Congrats, by the by. Heard you gone and got yourself a promotion.”

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tempest-wood‌:

Oh, she got his drift all right. Relieving a body - and there had been so many bodies - of a few personal items that they would never use again was a whole different ball game to forging paperwork that the council might review. If whatever item he was pushing got picked up, any traceable magical residue wouldn’t lead back to Levi O’Conner. How convenient.

Tempest turned away from him, and began reorganizing the books on a shelf nearby. Engraved Compendium should come before Endgame: A Study of Earth, not after. While she moved things around, she thought. Probably safest to do most of that kind of work by hand. Too much spell-work might attract attention. Then she would have to figure out what the original paperwork even looked like. She would need the right kind of paper and ink.

“I want more money,” she said. Seemed like far more work that before with some upfront costs, and that deserved more compensation. “More money overall, and a partial advance each time you ask me to… find your lost paperwork.”

“Mo’ money, don’t we all.” He glanced around the bookstore. The beams overhead were sagging, dusty. Ain’t seen lot of maintenance over the years, but who got time for books when there was war to be fought? Not like folks were looking up zingers for the battlefield. The hole might actually be making the rest of the quaint place look better.

Not that he was gonna say that, not to her face.

“Hard to give you concrete numbers when the business ain’t yet taken off,” he stalled instead, poking about the shelves. “I ain’t cuttin’ you outta anythin’, see, I already paid you what was left. That there deal’s closed. But this? This here is new.”

He turned, sighed. “Tell ya what, we’ve got a shipment comin’ in two, maybe three days. You’re handlin’ the paperwork, so you can go ahead and give yourself what cut you want on top of them receipts.”

A finger run along the spines got him only more dust. He sneezed, shook his finger off.

“Call it the Tempest Tax. Call it whatever you damn well like.” He shoved his hands back into his pockets. “Call it a cha-ri-table donation to our town’s literacy, how’s that sound?”

Wood had been his butterfingers gal; now was time to see how far she’d push on the numbers end.

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imogenhayes‌:

One hand slammed on the counter, the other thrusting forwards to grab the warlock around his throat as she began to squeeze the life out of him, watching in satisfaction at the panic in his eyes as his skin started to turn a shade of purple–

Immy blinked, snapping out of her imagination and scowled. He was untouchable. Almost. That Mama O'Connor would have her strung up by her ankles if anything happened to her boy and the entire town knew it. He knew it.

“You’re not my type.”

A pause. “The ring already belongs to someone.” Immy drawled, her hand fell on Charlie’s head. Almost for reassurance. As if he would too disappear right in front of her eyes. She looked down at the rottweiler, chewing on the inside of her lip in deliberation. “He’s gone. I need that ring back. It belongs to me now.”

Her eyes swept back up, meeting his and holding her gaze there. She wasn’t leaving this spot until she got it back.

“It’s mine.”

“Heard that one before,” he sing-songed back. “Well, ain’t that a shame.” The witch was so damn high-strung, she’d probably snap if he pushed any further. He eyed her carefully, took a measured step back. The counter was good and solid, but no need to be careless now.

“And a damn shame ‘bout this ring of yours.” He spread his hands and opened his eyes wide. “But this here’s a clinic and ‘pothecary. You’ll be wantin’ lost and found, up at the Council. Wherever them folks are meeting nowadays.”

And wouldn’t he give his front teeth to find out. Old fuckers, making decisions behind closed and warded doors. It weren’t the doors he had a problem with, just the fact that he’d no way of knowing what was being decided ‘til the rest of the town did.

Just like this witch here seemed to have some sort of problem with him. Which weren’t that strange, to be honest, but since she was here and all...

“Healer’s advice, cher? Better out than in.” He jerked his chin at her. “You got somethin’ you’re just dyin’ to spit out at me.”

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verathetwentysomethingwitch‌:

Vera raised an eyebrow, studying him for a moment before giving him a small smile as she leaned over the counter and booped him on the nose with a perfectly manicured finger. “I think you’re full of shit.” She said sweetly, giving him a small smile. “But I’ll do it. Only because I want to know with my grandmother is up to.”

She moved to grab the package off the counter, “I’ll keep you updated if you keep me updated. Deal?”

“Only the best shit,” he agreed, beaming at her. “That’s what brings everyone to the Clinic. ‘Cause they know that.”

But ain’t they adorable when they thought they knew better. He placed a hand over his heart, gave a mock bow. “You’ll be the most updated witch of my acquaintance, and that there’s a promise.”

Then, because there was nothing quite like sweetening the post, “And how wouldya feel about tea with Mama herself? That way you can update us both on both. Two birds. One witch.”

He shrugged and rocked back on his heels, looking away before meeting her gaze again.

“Just an offer for an ...enterprising young’un like you.”

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imogenhayes‌:

‘‘I’ll support the ones that don’t employ grave robbers, thanks.’‘ Immy muttered under her breath to herself, although a side of her also didn’t quite care if he had caught what she had said. Her fingers twisted the rustic looking white gold wedding ring around on her finger, her eyes on the man in front of her.

‘‘I know who you are.’‘

Blunt and to the point. Godsdamned O’Connors. Think they’re a big hooha. Imogen’s frown turned into a scowl. Her combat boots thudded against the flooring when she started tapping her foot, her eyes trailing over her surroundings. ‘’A name is considered a sacred thing.’’ A little tidbit of information he knew. Just another stalling technique. Immy didn’t want politeness, she wasn’t here to make friends. Then her eyes snapped to him. Baffled.

‘‘You want me to compliment you?’‘

Old Immy would have laughed, or at least smiled. She would have leaned on the counter opposite him, maybe even batted her eyelashes at him a bit. Old Immy would have given him her name, told him how she liked his shirt – oh, it’s not buttoned up properly, here let me help you. And then if all went well, Old Immy would have gotten what she wanted and left. 

This Immy had to resist lunging over the counter to grab him by the neck of his shirt and threaten to rip his throat out with her teeth if he didn’t tell her what she wanted to know. ‘’Imogen Hayes.’’ She finally said. ‘’But if you think I’m going to shake your hand, well–’’ 

I’d rather spit on it. 

‘’I’m not a touchy feely kind of person. I’m also not going to compliment you. I’m looking for a ring.’’

“You’re half right,” he agreed, hands shoved into pockets. “You’re definitely touchy. And the grave robber joke’s a bit old, cher. We Unholy Saints are known for more than death and necromancy, y’know? That shit’s just ste-re-oh-typical.”

It got old real fast. ‘Specially when there was a - ha, ring of truth around it. Finders keepers, and the dead probably didn’t want their shit going to waste anyway.

Then, after a pause, he added, “And aintcha movin’ awful fast? We just met. You ain’t even asked me out to dinner yet, cher.”

Yet another war-damaged witch. Damn, but they were all just troopin’ back this week. He crossed his arms and cocked his head at her. She was clearly beating ‘round the bush about something, but given how rude she was being, Levi O’Connor wasn’t about to make this easy on her.

‘Sides, it was more fun this way. Her hair was about ready to frizz up in rage.

“Looks like it’s been awhile you’ve been out datin’, so some free advice: you want a ring outta a warlock, you gotta put in a bit more effort.” He squinted at her a bit more.

“Make that a lot more effort.”

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🛌 how do they sleep?

Starfish King, or where Levi starfishes on his king mattress and hogs all the blankets. Unless he’s got company, in which case there may or may not be mood music. Sharin’ is carin’, and he ain’t got much of either.

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✋ are their hands dirty? pristine? what do their fingernails look like?

Aw cher, you ain’t gotta even ask: of course Levi’s hands are clean. All his dealin’s are above board and everything, including how he pops on over to the trainee healers to get his hands done once in a while. Y’know. As a favor to them. ‘Cause they need the trainin’.

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🗣 what’s something your character says a lot?

Words. Levi’s allergic to silences, and he thinks the more he’s talkin’, the more likely he’ll get his way. Works at home anyway, and ‘sides, if you’re sittin’ there talkin’ to him, you’re basically a captive audience.

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🎀 what is their most beloved belonging?

There’s an old pocket watch Levi keeps on him. It don’t really tell anything or work, but he suspects it used to belong to his Poppa - y’know, the one Mama don’t let no one talk about. He don’t know for sure. He don’t even know if he wants to know, but it’s fun to wonder sometimes.

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🏡 describe your character’s home. where do they live?

Nothing beats the convenience of home livin’, not when his stuff gets laundered, his food gets made just the way he likes it, and ‘course, his family’s stuff to ah, borrow. Su casa, mi casa after all. The O’Connor townhome isn’t as grand as the one Mama always describes, the one down South, but it’ll do. 

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📏 what’s their posture like?

There ain’t a surface made Levi won’t lean or slouch on. Otherwise he might strain his back muscles, and he don’t do strain. 

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🔪 which of the seven deadly sins best fits your character?

Levi'll tell anyone askin' it's Greed - more of everythin' may not help, but can't hurt either, right? But deep down inside, he suspects it's Pride. He doesn't put in the effort for much, but when he does, there's no expectation that it ain't gonna fly, or that it ain't somethin' he can't get away with.

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meet and greet meme;;

📋what do they do for a living? do they like it? do they feel respected?

🏡 describe your character’s home. where do they live?

🛌 how do they sleep?

✋ are their hands dirty? pristine? what do their fingernails look like?

🔪 which of the seven deadly sins best fits your character?

👩‍🎤how do they feel about their body?

⚡️ what do they do when they’re nervous?

📏 what’s their posture like?

🗣 what’s something your character says a lot?

🎁what do they want most? what are they willing to sacrifice to get it?

💌 how do they show affection?

🕰what are they holding onto from the past? can they let it go?

🎀 what is their most beloved belonging?

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imogenhayes‌:

She wasn’t impressed, nor did she particularly want to be here right now. But there was no other choice. Imogen had been everywhere else. Including back there. Dark hair thrown back in a plait, a few stray locks brushing over her high cheekbones that she had been blessed with and sharp bright blue eyes narrowed with an unimpressed frown on her face. Immy’s arms were crossed tightly over her chest, Charlie stood right besides her, his large body pressed protectively against her hips at her agitated mindset.

‘‘You took your time. You call this a successful business?’‘

A scoff and she sucked in her lower lip with her teeth before looking at him properly. The question burned in her throat and she clicked her tongue. Immy was stalling, she shifted her weight from one leg to the other in silence until she finally caved. ‘’I’m looking for something, and whispers are that you might have it.’’

Levi put a hand over his heart, mock-hurt. “Aw, c’mon cher, ‘least we’re still standin’. Thought this peace here meant we were s’posed to support small local businesses ‘cross the board now.”

Dark hair, blue eyes - eh, she could be any one of any coven’s brood out there. Ain’t an Unholy Saint though, with a greeting like that: a witch from his own coven would’ve gone straight to the personal.

“Lots of whispers goin’ ‘round these parts, and that ain’t no way to start a good business relationship.” He leaned against the counter, amused. “Tell ya what, let’s have a do-over. I’m Levi, and welcome to this here O’Connor Clinic and ‘Pothecary.”

He waited a beat, then prompted, “Here’s where you tell me your name and tell me it’s nice t’meet me. Extra compliments are ‘preciated, but not necessary.”