13388/The Artifact

The Artifact
Date of Scene:	27 May 2021
Location:	The Magic Box, Sunnydale
Synopsis:	An artifact is bought. Then lunch is had.
Cast of Characters:	Rupert Giles, Mercy Thompson

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Rupert Giles has posed:
The time is now mid morning. The previous hour had passed in companionable chit chat. And now that it's almost time for the person selling the artifact to arrive, Giles has descended to the main floor of the Magic Box. But he hasn't gone to the counter, nope, but instead has sat himself in one of the relatively comfortable chairs around the little table near the ladder leading up. The seat he'd chosen faces the shop's main door.

At some point, he made, and poured, tea for two, and is sipping out of one cup while the other sits on the table at the next spot over. He glances to Mercy, and continues the conversation they'd been having. "I'm still of the firm belief that using hierarchy to subjugate other people is bollocks," he says, tone somewhat droll and unimpressed. That had been one of the topics of conversation.

Giles is interupted as the bell over the door chimes, signaling the door has opened. He looks up from the table to the main door, and sees a customer he's never met. He murmurs something lightly under his breath, "That's him, I think." Then rises to his feet. Cup of tea still in hand, he moves toward the counter. "Good morning," he says, somewhat louder, so the customer can hear.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
When Giles descended from the upper level that they'd been sitting at, Mercy had followed him. She didn't seem to mind his choice in where to sit once they were in the shop proper. She took the seat to his right, tucking one of her legs beneath her as she settles there. Even though she can't see the entry to the shop directly, she can still hear when someone comes in, and she'll still be able to smell it, as well.

She reaches out to pick up her mug of tea, and then she settles back in her seat again. She tilts her head a bit to one side at his comment, and then she gives a small nod. "I know," Mercy says softly, studying him for a long moment. She picks up her mug, taking a sip of it. "And I can't blame you for seeing it that way. It's... more complicated. I'll explain it another time," she says softly, giving a small nod to him. It's not a topic that she really wants to get into in the here and now other tha having skirted the edge of it.

When the bell at the door chimes, Mercy tilts her head a little to one side and shifts her position, sitting up a bit. She keeps her tea in hand, and her nose wiggles a little bit before she gives a small nod to affirm what Giles had murmured for her benefit. She takes a sip of her tea, and she follows him over towards the counter.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles glances over at her and shakes his head. It realy isn't more complicated than that and he has a suspicion it isn't, but for now, he leaves it be. There's a customer, and potential seller, to deal with first. And so that's what he's going to do. More can be said... later. His attention turns fully to the man who'd entered. Tall, taller than Giles, which puts the man at well over six feet, closer to that and a few inches at least. He has dark hair and olive toned skin, deep brown eyes. His shoulder length hair has been pulled back into a tail. He is dressed in dark colors and overall, the impression is not an overly good one. He looks skeezy.

Then again, when dealing with the type of people who sell potential artifacts... "You would be McGreaty, yes?"

The man nods. "Yup. That's me!" He has an accent reminiscent of Spike's, but somehow... more. As though from a really bad part of the area that accent comes from. "I have it. Let's do this."

Giles raises a brow and nods, and gestures to the counter. He steps up to it, and leans against it, waving for the man to show what he has. "Let's see it."

And McGreaty shows it. It's an artifact, alright, the magic leaking off the thing is proof of that. It's stone, it looks like tigers' eye, but is in shades of black and grey, and carved to look like a panther slinking along. The panther's mouth is open, as though about to take a bite of something. And its eyes glow white.

Giles looks it over and then nods. "What we agreed upon?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There isn't more that Mercy is going to offer about the subject of hierarchy, right now. The time for telling more will be one that comes later, and certainly not when there's a customer present to overhear any of it. She's choosy about some details, and she has reasons for that. She lifts her cup of tea, taking a sip of it, and for the moment, she's quiet. Her brown gaze turns towards the fellow who has come in, watching him. Once she's near to the counter, she shifts a bit to lean her hip against it, a comfortable and casual sort of air to her as she does.

She tilts her head faintly to one side, listening as the man speaks and making note of the accent he has to his voice. And she listens to what he says, to how he says it, though her gaze is on her tea as she swirls it in her cup.

Her gaze turns towards the artifact when it's revealed, and she takes a moment to look it over. She can sense that it has magic, but she has no way of knowing just what the magic of it does. She lifts her cup to take a sip of her tea, and then she lowers the cup but doesn't set it on the counter. Her gaze lightly flickers over the seller, and then she looks over to Giles.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles seems pleased with the panther artifact. It almost seems to exude a certain power. It might be just exactly what he's looking for. Maybe. Either way, he's willing to buy it, at the very least, to get it out of McGreaty's hands. He waits, silent and still, calm on the surface of things, for the seller to decide.

And it takes him a minute, and then he shakes his head. "No. Not enough. Three. Not a penny less," he says firmly, eyes full of greed.

Giles simply nods and pulls an envelope from his pocket. He offers it over to McGreaty, who snatches it from Giles and opens it to count it. His eyes widen ever so slightly, and then he turns and hurries out of the shop. "If I find more..," he can be heard to say as he goes out the doors.

Only when McGreaty is gone does Giles relax and take a breath. He reaches out to hover a hand close to the little statue. It's not very big. Maybe four inches long and an inch tall. Half that wide. "Maybe this will do the trick," he says.

"I'll do a divining spell tonight, after I close the shop, to make sure of what this thing does." He glances from the statue to Mercy, expression thoughtful. "Would.. you like to join me?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a faint tilt of Mercy's head as her gaze lingers on the artifact, though she doesn't make any movements towards it. She has no intention of touching it. Just in case. She lifts her mug of tea, taking a sip of the brew held within, and she remains leaning against the counter. She watches the pair of them, and she holds her tongue, letting them discuss their business between them without any interference from her. Just a bystander, nothing and no one of great importance.

And as the seller leaves the shop after the deal has been struck and made and paid for, Mercy seems to relax just a smidge. She reaches out to set her mug on the counter, and she eyes the artifact for a moment before her gaze lifts to Giles. When he reaches a hand out towards the artifact, she reaches out to attempt to catch his wrist, gently. "I wouldn't touch it until it's been divined," she says softly, her brow wrinkling a bit.

"I don't know that I trust it, entirely. He smelled," Mercy says, wrinkling her nose in a distasteful manner. "Both skeezy and of brimstone," she adds, tilting her head a touch to one side. Then there's a smile that quirks her lips at his offer, her eyes reflecting a brightness to them, and she gives a nod. "I'd like that, Rupert. Thank you," she says, a warm note to her voice.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles hasn't touched it as of yet himself. He doesn't know what it'll do or whether it will activate with a touch, or if it requires a spell of some sort. So no. No touching. Hand hovering near yes, but not touching.

He glances to Mercy and nods at her assessment. "Skeezy seems to fit," he says. "Brimstone, though..? That seems a bit.... odd." His brow furrows, he looks back toward the little statue. He steps behind the counter and gets out a bit of cloth and a bag, and uses the cloth to put the statue in the bag. Once hidden, the energy, the power, it had given off, fades to nothing, no longer able to be felt. Then, he tucks it under the counter.

"Good," he says. "You're welcome." He considers her for a moment, and takes up his tea again before turning back toward the table they'd vacated. He sits down again, and looks into the depths of his cup. "Brimstone..." He seems lost in thought.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Much like Giles, Mercy has no idea what might happen if the artifact is touched. It doesn't hurt to take precautions, though. She tilts her head a touch to one side as her gaze turns to him, watching him, and she gives a nod. "I found it odd as well," she says in a thoughtful tone. She isn't sure what to make of the odour, herself, but she doubts it bodes particularly well.

There's a small smile that touches the corners of her lips, and she slips her hand away from his wrist, if she had in fact caught it when she'd reached out. She watches him tuck the artifact into the bag with the use of a cloth, and she nods to him. "It was... faint, sort of. Like he'd been somewhere that he encountered it, was... well, steeped in it while he was there, and showered between then and when he got here," she says in a thoughtful tone. She isn't sure just what that might mean.

"It's not a scent that I come across often." She picks up her mug of tea, and then she follows him over towards the table they'd been sitting at before the seller entered. As she settles into the chair she'd been in before, she tucks one of her feet beneath her. She lifts her free hand, adjusting the lamb charm that she wears before lowering her hand to her lap

Rupert Giles has posed:
It's rare that anything to do with brimstone is every any good. Very rare. "Anything dealing with brimstone is almost never good news," says Rupert, his tone still thoughtful. "But until we have more information, the best we can do is speculate. The worst, too." Afterall, they could speculate themselves in to a blind panic and that would do no good for anybody.

He lifts his eyes to look at Mercy, and nods. "I come across it rather more than I care to," he says. "Never good." He goes quiet, now. Then shakes his head. "Well. Nothing to do for it now. Have you eaten? 'tis almost noon." Is that a lunch invitation? His eyes are drawn toward her adjustment of that lamb charm, and he looks at it curiously. "That's adorable."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"That was kind of my thought as well, is that it probably wasn't good news. Symbology and all, where brimstone is concerned," Mercy says, her brow wrinkling as she gives her head a small shake. "Speculation is imprecise at best, and no real way of narrowing it down to something more specific than that. It tends to have a way of turning molehills into mountains," she comments. Then she lifts her tea and takes a sip of it before drawing her other foot up and into the chair. Making herself more comfortable, it would seem.

"I'd think that it kind of goes with the territory of being a Watcher, given that you deal with vampires and all such manner of things," Mercy says, tilting her head a bit to one side. One of her eyebrows quirks up a little bit at his question of lunch, and she gives a small shake of her head. "I haven't. Not since breakfast, which was a few hours ago, now," she says, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Did you have something in mind?" she asks, curious. She's quiet a moment at his comment of her lamb charm, and she gives a nod. "It's... symbolic. Meaningful," she comments, a smile quirking and teasing at the corners of her lips before she adds, "The lamb of God." It's a layer of protection that doesn't appear to be the symbol of faith that it is.

Rupert Giles has posed:
"Brimstone tends to be related to demons, in all cases I have seen. The demons are not always bad, but most of them are." He Giles lifts his tea and drinks some of it, then downs the rest before rising to his feet. He makes his way under the overhead 'dangerous section' of books, and into the back to rinse and put the cup safely away.

It doesn't take him but a few minutes before he's back. "It does. Go with being a Watcher." And there, Giles stops, looking curiously at Mercy. "Do you know what that really means?" He probably doesn't think she does.

As to food, he shakes his head. "I'm not really hungry. I don't usually take the time to eat lunch. But if you're hungry, we should do something about that." His eyes go back to her lamb charm, and he nods. "I see. It's beautiful." Rupert opens his mouth as though he was going to say something else... and then doesn't. "Right. Shall we then?" This is what he says instead, tucking his hands into his pockets as he does so. His cheeks are just the faintest bit reddish.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Or other things Hell-ish, I would suspect," Mercy comments, about the brimstone. She lifts one of her hands, catching a stray bit of hair that's escaped one of her braids, and she tucks it away behind one of her ears. Lifting her mug, she finishes her tea before unfolding her legs and rising to her feet to head for the back to wash the mug and set it aside to dry as well -- following his lead with it.

"Other than what Spike had said about it the other night, no... I don't really know what it involves and what it means. I mean, the watching part is kind of obvious. The knowing things part is also kind of inferred and able to be presumed from all of the books here," she says, quirking a smile as she returns from the back after washing her mug. "I'm willing to learn what it means, though," she adds, giving a nod to him.

"You should take time for lunch. That's a lot of hours from when you open the shop until you close it up at night, sometimes," Mercy says, one of her eyebrows quirking up. Which lends the implication that she knows the shop closes late at least some nights. "I am. Hungry, that is," she says with a smile. She ducks her chin slightly, a bit of colour creeping to her cheeks. "Thank you. It's come in useful a few times," Mercy says softly. Wearing a symbol of faith in addition to having faith, are often handy against vampires. She tilts her head a bit to one side at his offer, and then she gives a nod. "I'm ready whenever you are," she says with a smile, her brown eyes bright.

Rupert Giles has posed:
"Well, yes. But most of the things out of hell are demons of one variety or another," he says. That had gone without saying, or so he thought! He glances to Mercy and considers what to say, specifically about being a Watcher. "It means I am devoted to studying, tracking, and combating malevolent supernatural entities." That means it's probably dangerous. "I swore and oath to protect the innocent." His expression goes a little distant and he shudders a little bit before coming back to the present. "It's also my duty to make sure the Slayer is ready and trained, whoever that happens to be." It sounds like he's probably seen his fair share of death.

He waves a hand at her thoughts on lunch. "I don't generally take the time if I'm not hungry." It's a thing. Which says the only reason he's thought of it at all is for Mercy's sake. He glances to the lamb again, and nods. "I can imagine," he says. "What would you prefer for lunch?" His blue eyes lift again as he walks to the front to lock up the shop and put the 'out to lunch' sign up. Then he turns to head toward the back exit. His steps are slow enough to indicate his head is somewhere else, thinking about Things.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Demons or devils, I suppose the terms are fairly interchangeable," Mercy comments in a thoughtful tone, about hell. She tilts her head a bit to one side, her brown gaze turning to him to study him. "It sounds like a lot of time reading, researching, and practicing, in some form or another," she says, giving a small nod. "And probably more tha a little bit dangerous, too," she adds, a touch softer in tone. She lifts her hand nearest to him to lightly touch his forearm that's closest, if he allows her to, a brief touch meant to be reassuring. "The innocent deserve to be protected," she says softly, a gentle tone to her voice. "From what I can tell, it seems like Buffy is ready and trained," she adds, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"I suppose that makes a certain amount of sense," Mercy agrees, about not taking the time for lunch. "When I'm working at the shop, my lunch breaks don't always include food. Sometimes, I go for a run in the field," she says, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. And any hunting she does there isn't necessarily always successful. She watches him head for the front of the shop to lock it up, and she tilts her head a bit to one side. "There's a place not far from here that makes a really good club sandwich. They have good fries, too," she suggests. Meat is always a good start to any meal where she's concerned.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles nods. The terms really are fairly interchangeable. Either demons are types of devils, or devils are types of demons. It's all the same in the end. Rupert nods again, this time to her assessment. "It's a lot of reading," he says. "And researching. So much so that most of us are qualified as a historians, curators, librarians, teachers, and the like. Yes," he says softly. "It can be dangerous." He glances down at her hand on his arm, and a warm smile appears there. "Buffy is, yes. Most of what I'm here for these days is research. And occasional field work."

He looks thoughtful at her mention of runs. "Sometimes I'll go for a walk, if I have time during the day. I run in the mornings or evenings." Giles nods at her suggestion of a food spot. "That sounds like a good place," he says. "Walk or drive?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"That's why you know how to fight. Because you could have to, against anything that comes," Mercy says softly, a thoughtful tone to her voice. The touch of her fingers lingers on his arm for a moment before trailing down to his wrist, and then her hand slips away and back to her side. "A lot of learning. Which of those things are you qualified as?" she asks, curiosity coming to her voice and a smile tugging her lips. "It's always a good idea to keep in practice, though. Sometimes... well. Sometimes things can go sideways, and it's better to be prepared," she adds, giving a small nod.

"Walks are good, and sometimes, you never know what you'll find on one," she says with a smile. "I prefer to run in the mornings," she comments. She tilts her head a little to one side as she looks to him, a smile tugging around the corners of her lips. "If you wouldn't mind the company, maybe we could run together? I'll make it fair and stick to two feet," she says with amusement, her brown eyes showing a sparkle to them. "Mmhmm, it's a good place. They make good milkshakes, too. I think walk," she chooses, giving a small nod to him.

Rupert Giles has posed:
"Yes," replies Rupert, the answer an easy one to give. Because it's true. He could have to fight at any moment, because there's never any guarantee that the bad things won't try to attack him. At her question of qualifications, he smiles. "Yes." That seems to be a theme! "I keep in practice. Daily. It's just a good idea. My Slayer is trained, but I'm still a Watcher and not immune to evil being evil."

There's a smile and Rupert's blue eyes sparkle with it. "Sometimes, 'tis fun finding new things." He turns his head to study her as they walk, now toward the place she'd mentioned. "I wouldn't mind," he says. "Having someone to run with makes it seem less onerous." His eyes light up as she mentions milkshakes. "Maybe I'll have one," he says.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a grin that quirks at the corners of her lips, and the sparkle of amusement easily returns to her eyes. "I'm going to take that as meaning 'all of the above'," she comments, giving a nod to him. "You're well read enough to be all of them, and you strike me as certainly smart enough -- and then some -- for all of them, too," Mercy says, giving a nod to him, her lips quirking in a smile. "Keeping in practice is good. The more you practice, the more the actions become instinct rather than needing conscious thought. And, well... evil will be what evil is. All we can really hope is that we're prepared enough when it gets here, that we have enough skills and allies to come out on top," she says, giving a small nod.

"I like finding new things. Even something small and simple like a family of ducks with little fluffy ducklings," she says with a grin. There are a lighter few steps that heppen from her then when he says he wouldn't mind her company for running, and her brown eyes show a pleased sparkle. "Then I can meet you at your house in the morning for a run, or you could come to the shop if we'd rather run through the field and the woods near there," she offers. She quirks a grin and gives a light laugh. "They have a lot of flavours of them, too, not just the usual chocolate or strawberry or vanilla," she says.

Rupert Giles has posed:
"Yes," he says again. Half a breath later, a big smile blooms on his face, setting his blue eyes to sparkling. He chuckles. "Well. I don't know about smart enough, but I'm qualified for all of them, and have been all of them at one point or another," he says. Giles watches where he is going as they walk, curious if he's thinking the same place she is.

"Evil will always be here. It's always been here and I'm sure it always will be. But, flawed as humanity is, it's worth it. Because there's good there too." Giles smiles and nods. "I like watching nature sometimes too. And I'm happy with a book in my hands." This should surprise exactly nobody.

"But I'm happiest when I'm out doing something that makes a difference to at least one person. I don't need to make a difference to the entire world, or even the entire city, so long as I make a difference to a single person." He considers her offer and then shrugs a little bit. "Why not both? We can alternate locations. Sometimes we'll run in Sunnydale, and sometimes in the woods near your house."

Rupert considers the flavors she lists, and the flavors he prefers. "I like raspberry the most, when I can find it. And a good rootbeer float."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a light laugh that comes from Mercy, her warm brown eyes showing a sparkle to them. Then she leans in closer to him to lightly nudge her arm nearest to him against him. "You're definitely smart enough. If you're not only qualified to be all of those things and have been all of them at some point or other, then you're smart," she says with a grin. She walks along with him, and there are occassions when her hip nearest to him lightly brushes against his.

"Evil has always existed, and good has always existed. As long as there is one, there will be the other," Mercy says, lifting one of her shoulders in a bit of a shrug. It's kind of one of those given things. "Humanity might be flawed, but... as you said, they're worth it," she agrees, giving a nod to him. "I can imagine you being happy with a good book on a day with beautiful weather and just sitting by a river to enjoy it. Or something like that," she says, tilting her head a bit to one side as she watches him.

"I'd rather not be known to the entire world, to make a difference that's that large or significant. I don't want to be in the spotlight. I just... want to be able to be me, to be able to protect the people that I care about. My friends," she says softly, ducking her chin slightly and looking briefly to him through her lashes. "You," she adds in a softer tone, a bit of colour creeping to her cheeks. Then she softly clears her throat before giving a nod. "Mmhmm, we can definitely do both. It'll be good," she says with a nod.

"They had raspberry, the last time that I was there. They might still have it. Hopefully they do," Mercy says, looking over to him. "I haven't had a good root beer float in a while," she adds.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles grins at that nudge and nudges back. "Oh, I don't know," he says, a smile held in his tone, a sparkle in his eyes. "The fact that I left them to fight supernatural boogeymen says I lack a certain something in the intelligence department." He nods to her words. "Yes. Good and evil. Two sides of the same coin. The one cannot exist without the other," he says, tone soft. He smiles and nods. "I can be. Happy with a good book sitting somewhere quiet and undisturbed." He shakes his head. "But I don't do fishing. Can't stand it, unless I'm reading at the same time. Then it's passable."

He glances up at a tree as they pass under it, at a squirrel chattering at them from a branch above, scolding them. A smile is on his face. He really does seem to enjoy nature. "Yes, I agree," he says. "Seems to me being known to the whole world could be hazardous for my health." He sounds amused and as he looks to Mercy again, his eyes are sparkling once again. "I want to be able to protect the people that I care about too. And maybe random strangers on occasion."

He blinks as she blushes, and says him. "You too," he says softly. He.. doesn't blush. This time. He nods about jogging in both locations. "And maybe other places as the fancy takes us."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Well...," Mercy begins, quirking a grin as she looks to him, winking at him, "Maybe it does. But they're -real- supernatural boogeymen, and they make really loud bumps in the night," she comments, giving a light laugh. "And if you hadn't come here from there, then we wouldn't be having this conversation. Or the walk together," she points out, her brown eyes showing a sparkle to them. One of her eyebrows quirks up, and there's a grin that teases at the corners of her lips. "Mmm... what about being maybe a little bit disturbed by a coyote?" she suggests. "Fishing and reading can go together, sometimes. Bobber fishing, at least. Lure fishing doesn't work with reading." It sounds like she's tried.

She follows his gaze to the squirrel, and were she coyote in the moment, her ears would be perked up -- but she isn't, so they aren't, but it does hold her attention for a moment. Then she looks back to him before giving a nod. "Being known to the whole world would be hazardous to my health, too. There are things out there that would rather I didn't exist. I'm good with having a low profile and... well... sort of keeping out of trouble. Sort of," she says, quirking a bit of a grin. Then she tilts her head a bit to one side before giving a nod to him. "Protecting random innocent strangers is good on occassion, too," she agrees.

Then she blinks, ducking her chin a little bit and peeking to him through her lashes, all shy and sheepish. "You... would want to protect me?" she asks quietly, a little uncertainly, almost... disbelievingly. She doesn't doubt the truth of what he says -- she -knows- he's being honest with her. She just wasn't expecting it.

Rupert Giles has posed:
"They are, and they do." Real, and bumps. They really are and they really do. "No. We wouldn't. I have no regrets having left those positions to come here. None." He chuckles. "When it's good company, that doesn't count as being disturbed," he points out. He chuckles. "Lure fishing doesn't work well unless you're up and actively fishing." He might have tried too. That her ears aren't perked up doesn't seem to make a difference. That sense of body language is to her anyway. Giles smiles. It's adorable. He nods agreement about things out there being hazardous to health. Yes there are.

He tilts his head and looks to her. "You would want to protect me, so is it so surprising that the feeling is mutual?" His voice is soft, and the smile is gone, but the sincerity is true.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The coyote has come up against more than one supernatural sort of thing in her lifetime so far. She tilts her head a little bit to one side at his comment, and then she gives a nod. "That's good, about having no regrets. Being in the moment instead of looking back," Mercy says, smiling warmly at him. She lifts a hand to flick one of her braids back over her shoulder, and then she quirks a grin. "Lure fishing is more active. If you don't pay attention then you catch everything other than fish. Rocks, 'salad', underwater logs, those sorts of things," she comments. There's something in the tone of her voice that indicates she's caught all of those things -- all of them, multiple times.

There's something about his words that she wasn't expecting. She can, quite literally, hear the truth in the words he's said. And it seems that words escape her for a moment. "Well...," she begins, pausing a moment, ducking her chin slightly as her tongue flicks out to brush her lips and she looks to him through her lashes, "it doesn't always work that way." She's coyote, her protectiveness towards those she likes and cares about tends to kick in quick. "I'm glad that it is, though. Mutual. I like you," she admits in a soft tone.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Supernaturaly bogeymen have a way of making Rupert's life miserable sometimes. Most of the time it's okay, though. And he lives a fairly peaceful life. "Not really many regrets, no. It's been worth it, moving here." Afterall, a she'd said. If he hadn't, he never would have met the people he had. He chuckles about lure fishing and nods. "Yes. Shoes. Cans. Other assorted things, some interesting and some not." He seems very amused.

He smiles at her, the expression gentle. "Me too. Mutual. I like you too." At about this point, the restaurant she'd mentioned comes into view.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Mmm, good," Mercy says, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "How long ago did you move here? If you don't mind the question," she says, one of her eyebrows quirking up slightly as she looks to him. "I've found it to be worth it, too... moving here," she adds, giving a nod. She wasn't born and raised here, it would seem, though there's no accent to her voice to lend a clue as to where she was born. She can't help but to laugh at the things he adds to the list, and she gives a nod of agreement. "Oh, definitely! All of the non-edible thing. Tires. I hooked a rotting and rusted car, once. The line broke, but the water was clear enough that I could see down to it," she comments, then gives her head a brief shake, amused.

There's a shy sort of glance to him at his admission, and she lightly nudges her hip against his, a bit of colour coming to her cheeks. As the restaurant comes into view, she lifts one of her hands to make a slight gesture towards it. "That's the one I was telling you about," she says, a smile easily coming to her features.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles thinks about that for a few moments. "At least ten years, I think. 'tis been awhile," he says. Giles, on the other hand, has plenty enough of an accent to point to where /he/ was born. He chuckles at the mention of a rusted out car. "Oops?" He speaks no further on their mutual liking of each other. That, clearly, is already a given.

Instead, he turns his eyes to the restaurant. "Oh. I was hoping this is the place you meant. They have decent fish and chips too. Well. Fries. Those aren't really chips." Not considering where he comes from, at least.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"That's a fair length of time," Mercy says in a thoughtful tone, mentally tucking the information away. She liked his voice, the way his accent touched the words he spoke. "Just a wee oops, it was. Even though I could see where the lure was and it didn't look that deep, they wouldn't let me jump in to get it back. They did have a point with part of what they'd said, though... even though it was new and being used for the first time, it wasn't worth the risk," Mercy comments. But she'd still wanted to retrieve it, just to prove she could have. She is a stubborn coyote.

She looks towards the restaurant, and then back to him before giving a nod. "Mmhmm! They do, I'm not sure where they get it from, but the fish is always good here," she says. Then she tilts her head to one side at his clarification, and there's a flicker of curiosity that comes to her eyes. "Aren't what Americans call chips called crisps in England? And cookies are biscuits, I think. I could be wrong, though," she says, quirking a smile.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles nods. "'tis," he says. "Might not have been quite that long. 'tis been long enough I can no longer recall." He doesn't ask who 'they' were when she mentions them several times. Instead, "Did you go back later and retrieve your lure?" From what he knows of her temperent, he thinks it likely she did! Stubborn coyote indeed.

To the questions of food and different words, he nods. "Yes. Chips here, like the ones that come in bags, are crisps there, and are like thin wafers. Cookies are biscuits. Fries, and chips like in fish and chips, are chips in England."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"For me, it's been around... fifteen years, I think. For being in this part of the country, anyways. I was in Oregon for a few years before I came here. And Montana before that," Mercy offers, a thoughtful tone to her voice. One of her eyebrows quirks at his question, and there's a grin that rises to tug at the corners of her lips. "I did. In the middle of the night, in the moonlight. I swam out from shore and then dove down to get it. Swam back, walked back to the campsite all dripping wet and sodden and pleased as can be," Mercy says. Then she snorts softly. "I was rather promptly draped in a towel, given a mug of tea, and told sternly to never do such a foolish thing again," she adds. "Which taught me that no matter how quiet I think I'm being, it's not quiet enough," she comments with a measure of amusement in her voice.

"I'll have to try to remember that, if I ever end up there," Mercy says with a smile. Not that she has any immediate or upcoming plans of ending up there. "Mushy peas are a thing too, there, aren't they? I think that's what they're called. It's either mushy or squishy, I'm not sure which," she muses.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles chuckles. "I can imagine they weren't happy, but were clearly expecting exactly what you did," he says. "And I imagine such things happened many more times growing up." He nods about the quiet part. "There's always someone with hearing or senses good enough to detect someone no matter how quiet t hey are."

"Oh, Mushy peas are quite good. Peas, butter, salt, and pepper all mashed together. They go well with fish and chips." He turns to walk down the path to the restaurant, and opens the door for Mercy to go in first. Ever the gentleman.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Stubborn is a thing that can occassionally make me a little bit predictable, sometimes," Mercy says, quirking a smile and then giving a light laugh. "It wasn't the first time I had done something headstrong. Those sorts of things did happen a few more times while I was growing up. I was young when it happened, and I'm sure that I thought something along the lines of that if -I- thought that I was being quiet then surely they wouldn't be able to hear me," she comments. Which might strike a bit odd, given how good her hearing is. "My foster family caught on pretty early that it was either teach me how to do things the right and safe way or I'd figure out doing them anyways," she says, quirking a smile.

"Ah, mushy peas. So I was sort of right even though I wasn't sure about it," she says, her brown eyes showing a sparkle to them. "I seem to vaguely remember seeing them on a British cooking show that I was watching one night when I couldn't get to sleep," she says. She ducks her chin in a nod to him when he opens the door, and then she steps forward and inside the establishment. "Thank you," she says in a warm tone. She looks back to him, moving a bit aside for him to be able to follow her in. "It always smells wonderful in here. I think it's the different meats roasting," she says.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles laughs. "Occasionally? Little bit predictable?" He laughs again and shakes his head. "Somehow I suspect that your stubborn streak makes you more than a little bit predictable. He chuckles at her comment about her foster family teaching her the right way of doing things. Then sobers as he realizes she'd been raised by a foster family. "Growing up, I rebelled quite fiercy against my predestined role in life," he says softly, giving her a bit as she'd given him a bit.

"Ah. They get soaked in water and baking soda before being cooked." He steps in beside her. "You're welcome." He nods about the smells. "It does. 'tis not just the meats roasting, but the combination of that and bread and potatos baking that does it." Amongst other things.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a quirk of a grin that tugs her lips, the warm brown of her eyes reflecting a sparkle to them. "Maybe just a smidge. Sometimes. I get a little bit... focused. Which isn't a bad thing with work but it can be less of a good thing when it involves things like jumping into potentially dangerous situations without really taking the time to check out the dangers," Mercy says. If a friend or someone she cares about is in danger then she tends to leap first and look later. It's not a very good habit, but it's hers. She raises an eyebrow slightly as she takes a moment to perhaps reassess him. "I know it's a personal question, but... why did you rebel against it? Was it just... not wanting someone else's choice to be yours?" she asks softly, a gentle tone to her voice. And curiosity.

Mercy tilts her head a bit to one side at the information he shares about the mushy peas, and then she gives a nod. "Maybe we'll have to pay a visit to somewhere that does traditional English fish and chips with mushy peas, at some point," she says, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Then she nods, to agree with him. "And the pies and everything else baking. I enjoy all of the smells. Which is probably part of why I bake, too," she admits.

The hostess comes and leads them to a table. It doesn't take long for a waitress to come in order to deliver menus and such. Lighter topics are discussed between the pair as the difficult decisions of what to eat and drink are made, and as the meal is eaten. Once lunch is finished, they return to the Magic Box. Mercy stays for a bit more of a visit before heading off to let him tend to his customers and to get her shop ready for a day of business tomorrow.