1995-03-01: Scrolls And Roles


Whitmore_icon.gif Septima_icon.gif

Scene Title Scrolls and Roles
Synopsis Two people meet in Borgin and Burkes
Location Borgin and Burkes
Date Mar 01, 1995
Watch For Dark humor
Logger Whitmore

It's a quiet, dreary day and most people are staying inside unless they have to work. And most people then either take Floo or Apparate wherever they're going. Today, Septima is out and about. She's never been one to be stuck inside for too many days in a row because of weather. She's meant to drop by Borgin and Burkes, where she's at at the moment. "Borgin, my dear." She greets the familiar man. "It has been a long while. Might you help me find something? I need…candle. A cursed candle that causes a person become unconscious. And, preferably, something for myself to counteract those effects. Borgin nods and starts showing Septima about.

Whitmore is not most people. In fact, he rather prefers the cold. So, he strides into Borgin's, wearing a simple robe, but not wearing his own face. His eyes are similar, but the rest of his face has been … altered. Reddish-brown hair, a beard and a moustache are parts of his cover today. He points his wand at himself quickly, taking care of one thing that he had forgotten, and then crosses his arms and watches the man show Septima around.

Septima smiles sweetly at Borgin as he finds exactly what she needs. "Ah, very good. Very good. You are always such a useful man." She nods. "I hope you don't mind if I look around a little longer to make sure there isn't anything else I might need." Borgin grunts and goes back to the back room…or he would if he hadn't seen Whitmore and he approaches the man, asking what he can do for the man.

"Today, I am merely perusing your shelves." Whitmore replies easily to the older man, his voice deeper than his normal tone. He affects a slow manner of speaking that covers his use of big words, or in certain cases, draws attention to it. As he needs. The similarity in his eyes is a sign to the shopkeeper of his identity. "I was in the area, and needed to step out of the cold." He spots Septima. "Ah. Mrs. Falton." He clearly recognizes her, and doesn't elaborate how that might be.

Septima seems mildly surprised by someone else calls her name. She peers over to the unfamiliar looking man. "You'll excuse me, sir, if I do not remember your name. You seem unfamiliar to me." She looks him over. "I must admit, I have known many a person in my many endeavours, so if we have in fact met, it cannot remember."

Whitmore waves his hand airily. "Oh, I am really no one of consequence. After all, I am one who merely spends his time in the darker portions of the world. Those encased in …" He pauses here for dramatic effect, apparently. "Shadow." He turns to give her a knowing smile with his borrowed face.

Septima tilts her head ever so slightly. "Shadow…" She repeats slowly. "Shadow…" The way he said that word, it seems so familiar. She knew it somehow. A name…a person. Yes. That's it. It was a person. From a long time ago. But she could not exactly pinpoint the name from where, in what exact context she would have used it. She gazes intently at the man. "Quite." She finally states as one word.

When his name doesn't have the same effect it usually does, Whitmore changes tacks. "How are you doing? I myself have gotten considerably more busy lately." He gives a smile that doesn't quite reach his dark eyes. "But that's of little consequence." There is a mild shrug, and he takes the time to look around at some of the artifacts on the shelves around him, affecting a distant, unconcerned air. Doesn't take much effort.

Septima shakes her head. "I am doing fine. I have been busy of late as well." She gazes at the man curiously and nods. She smiles at the man. "But of course, many have been of late, I am sure." She says quietly.

"Indeed. The world is quite chaotic right now." Whitmore loves it. More. More. He moves toward a shelf, tilting his head sideways at a small scroll with strange writing on it. He purses his lips and investigates it closely without touching it, even to the point of blowing a light layer of dust from the top of it.

Septima bows his head slightly. "Mmm. Quite Very chaotic. But it's all for the best, I'm sure." She says slightly, having herself a look at a necklace. "Very pretty. Though I doubt I'd want to wear it…let alone touch it." She says softly.

"Exactly. Things around here are often quite beautiful, but once you get close…" Whitmore shrugs, trying to decipher the writing while still maintaining the conversation. "There are things you see that you wish you never had." He reaches out to turn the stand the scroll sits on still keeping his skin away from the scroll proper.

Septima moves over to the man, gazing over his shoulder at the strange scroll. "Mmm. How unusual. I sure hope that isn't a spell. I would not want to be on the other end of it if it is. It's bound to be gruesome." She doesn't sound all too phased by that, however. "This shop can be ever so useful, however. So much you can use in your day to day life."

Whitmore decides to show off a bit, and live a little dangerously. "It looks to be rather ancient. On skins, rather than parchment, even. Well preserved. The spell seems…" He pauses, tilting his head to catch a character or two that are lighter than the others. "It seems to deal with inferi-type creatures." In other words, necromantic in nature. "As far as I can tell." He's intrigued by the paper and the spell on it.

"Mmm. Inferi and all such creatures. Such useful things. I'm sure we'll be needing them again soon. I wonder how powerful these inferi-type creatures are. We might want this just in case." She says softly.

Whitmore has already considered adding the spell to his arsenal. "Indeed. I would have to … find out the appropriateness of the spell for certain endeavors." He gives a nearly-feral smile. He has to check with the boss. "Perhaps I will have Mister Borgin hold on to it for me." He has that kind of pull, apparently.

Septima looks up at Whitmore from the item. "I am sure that Borgin shall be most amenable to holding it for you. I see no reason why he would not." A shining, shimmering smile is offered. "Well, how does a mysterious shadow, such as yourself, maintain yourself in these times, anyway?"

Whitmore nods once, quickly, and then steps away from the shelf, turning toward the woman. "Oh, I do a little of this and a little of that." He smiles. "I'm sure you understand that." He doesn't clarify much at all. "I have my place, and keep it." Partially the reason the man wears a different face every time he steps out beyond his work and normal boring life routine.

Septima chuckles softly. "Yes, I do quite understand. We must always do what we do and keep doing it. We always have our place. Yours is more…secretive than even most of ours. But you have your place. I am sure you do it well, as well." She says softly.

Whitmore sketches a mock bow. "Why thank you, Mrs. Falton. I am certain you are as attentive to your own duties…" Whatever they may be. Whitmore turns toward the counter, ringing the little magical device that tells Borgin he has a customer waiting. The old, oily man hurries back out, and Whitmore begins discussing the details of the scroll and purchasing it with him. On the whole, he doesn't hide his words, knowing that Septima feels much the same as he does about things. "Thank you, Mister Borgin. I shall return soon to take it with me." He gives a small smile. "Well, milady, may I escort you somewhere?" He offers the woman an arm.

Septima courtesies Whitmore once he's finished his business. "I merely need to go to the main streets of London, if you'd please." She says with the smallest smile, taking the man's arm.

Whitmore graciously escorts the lady out the door and to the spot she needs to go, making comments about things along the way. The comments are overtly polite, but with their view, should anyone understand them, they would be gravely insulted. It's amusing to the man, and he assumes it amuses her as well.

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