13401/Back to the Magic Box

Back to the Magic Box
Date of Scene:	30 May 2021
Location:	The Magic Box, Sunnydale
Synopsis:	After checking on Buffy, hijinx at the Magic Box. Sinister as Wessex is met, and kind of liked.
Cast of Characters:	Rupert Giles, Mercy Thompson, Sinister, Willow Rosenberg, Spike

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Rupert Giles has posed:
Once out of the apartment, out the back of course, there was a drive back to the Magic Box. Giles driving, of course, and his red convertible, though it's an older car. He is silent for the drive. He seems preoccupied. And he kind of is. The drive is uneventful, so there's that. But for one person that pulled out in front of them, eliciting a single, quiet, "Bloody hell," from the Englishman.

At the Magic Box, he parks, shuts off the car, and gets out. He walks over to the back door to unlock it, still silent and preoccupied. Then opens it and steps through, pausing to hold it open for anyone else going into the shop.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
It's an older car, but it's a older car that's in good shape and to Mercy's ears, it sounds good. There isn't an arguement that she offers about him driving, and she settles easily into the passenger seat. She's quiet as well, though it's not an uncomfortable sort of thing. And with him being a bit preoccupied, she doesn't seem to feel inclined to interrupt on what's caught up his thoughts during the drive.

Once to the Magic Box, she waits for the car to be parked and turned off before getting out of it, and she heads to the back door with him. Yet she pauses near to the door, to take a moment and stretch, her nose wiggling a little bit as she takes in the scents of the area. Then she steps up to follow him into the shop. And once within, she lifts a hand to lightly touch his side. "I'll make us some tea, if you like?" she offers, tilting her head a touch to one side.

Sinister has posed:
The Magic Box. This has had interesting people going in and out of it on and off, several times a day many days. And closed at times also, but for the sake of understanding a thing that is yet to be truly understood, Sinister forces are at work. An owl sits upon a streetlamp nearby, there are alleycats by nearby dumpsters, rats also. Each animal watches the human beings and the not so human beings as they enter the shop and at least one rat sneaks in behind the last heels that enter, small and inconspicuous. It makes a daring bid to go find some food behind whatever litters the back of the shop. A gym? Mops? Things that are interesting to whiskery noses? Who knows. It's just a rat to...

....well it is just a rat, but there is a smell in the air that seems to tie the vermin and felines together, other than the aroma of garbage. It is very subtle though, just a whiff, a hint that there's familial relationships, perhaps they all belong to the same nest or clouder. Surely that is all.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
And in the back sits Willow. Still working through the Ankh and Scythe. Sure there's probably nothing to them, seeing as they cleaned up the place so to speak. But something bothered her.

It made for a quiet road trip the The Magic Box.

Once inside, she begins to open the store, even though it was late. Too late.

Rupert Giles has posed:
It's a car that Giles has taken good care of since he got it, and that was taken good care of before he got it. Giles blinks as Mercy touches his side, and lifts his eyes to look at her. Immediately, his expression softens and he seems to relax a fraction from what he had been. "Yes, please. I would like that. Thank you, Mercy." He touches her hand on his side and then steps away, to walk further into the shop.

Toward the front he goes, through the door into the main part of the shop. Since Willow works on reopening he shop, Giles walks over to the counter and slips behind it to sit down there. "There's still too much I'm not understanding about the Ankh and Scythe," he says. For himself, Giles doesn't even notice the animals, let alone that there's anything odd about them.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Though she's not entirely human in nature, she does at least look the part. Mercy wiggles her nose slightly, her brow wrinkling just a touch. Perhaps she had been distracted in stretching or in paying attention to Giles on the way into the shop that she hadn't noticed the assorted animals on the outside. There's a warm smile that she offers to Giles at the touch to her hand and his words, and she gives a small nod to him. "I'll get it ready," she says, her smile easily returning. She heads for the back area then, retrieving the kettle and filling it before putting it on to heat. She gets down a trio of mugs in case Willow would like tea as well, though she doesn't put any tea into them yet. She gets distracted, her sensitive nose finding the scent of the rat which had followed them in to explore. She has a strong sense of smell and hearing both, and she tilts her head a bit to one side as she takes a moment to focus on those two things, her brown eyes narrowing a touch.

She hadn't been paying conscious attention to the scents that were outside while she was on the way to the door of the shop, but now that there seems to be a familiar something? Now Mercy steps back towards the back door, her brow remaining wrinkled as she opens it to step just outside. Her right hand lifts, fingers briefly touching the lamb charm she wears around her neck. Her tongue flicks out, lightly brushing over her lips. She's... perplexed. Her weight shifts from one foot to the other, and she snorts a breath out through her nose before shaking her head briefly and heading back into the shop and closing the door behind her.

Sinister has posed:
The head of the owl silently swivels to watch the front door of the shop as motions make way to have the shop open, despite the late hour. Side to side, the head bobbles as it tracks movement within. A sheen of red flashes over the gigantic pupils of the night bird, then it looks down at the cats, who in similar fashion, look at the lights, the motions. Ears twitch of course, some slink off, some slink closer together.

The rat in the shop trots along the skirting and hides in the lea of a bookshelf to watch the goings on. Black eyes are glassy buttons, whiskers twitch and it grooms itself briefly. It watches Mercy return from her puzzlement.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
"Rats," declares Willow. "Poor Amy. I still haven't figured out how to bring her back. But they usually come out at night."

She turned the welcome sign around, peeking through the windows. "We could stay open? Or, really there's not much of the day. And yes please! A nice cup of tea would be wonderful."

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles blinks at himself and glances over to Willow. "Thank you, Willow, for opening the shop." He had meant to say that before he sat down. He glances toward the back when Mercy doesn't come to the front. "Everything alright, Mercy?" he calls back. Now that he's sitting down, Giles leans back in the chair and glances around.

And that's when his eyes alight on that rat in the lea of the bookshelf. "What the..?" He blinks sevveral times. "Am I seeing things? Is that a rat? Someone catch it. We still need eyes of rat for that spell casting next week," he says. He nods to Willow. "We can be open for another few hours. Or longer if we're going to be here."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
A step or two within the back door, and Mercy pauses to tilt her head a bit to one side. Listening, again. "Mm... mostly, I think? I'd say that my nose is playing tricks on me except that generally doesn't happen," she comments. She takes a moment to look first to one side, and then to the other, and then she starts to approach the bookshelf from whence she'd heard the sound, which stopped. She narrows her eyes slightly a she spies the rat there, and one of her eyebrows quirks up a touch.

"You know... if you had told me that you needed rats eyes, I could have given you plenty of them," she comments, giving Giles a brief look and a quirk of a grin. She's a coyote, she catches rats practically daily. It's good exercise and generally fun, besides. "You had one in your back yard yesterday evening," she adds, off handedly. It made a good snack!

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
"Hey!" That caughts Willow's attention. "Rats are nice!"

After all, her best-ish friend was a rat. Drats.. she should be looking around for a rat-to-human potion spell. None of them worked so far

Sinister has posed:
Catch the rat? Oh, right, wait. Rat does not understand english. It pauses, looking about again, lifting its little head up and raising on its hind legs, pawing at the air to get a higher view. Now, as nobody seems to be scrabbling to stick a jar over it, it bolts along the skirting again, zigzagging to try and make sure it's harder to catch. Not that this would pose an issue to such as Mercy, but it's rapidly making a bee-line for the stacks. Or you know, behind one of the shelves of goods.

Outside the magic box, a cat merges into another cat, making one larger cat. The owl disappears down in silence, swooping to the shadow of a car and glomping into the cat amalgum. One by one, the animals that were... odd... in some very strange and not-quite-rational way, become a strange cthulian monstrosity that coalesces into a human shape -- and behind the bookshelves, the escapee melts into a puddle of black, then mists and drifts away and under the door and out.

Sinister dusts himself off, glances at his reflection in the glass of the magic shop front and his appearance changes, becomes the same height, but generally street-dressed and human complected, he adjusts the cuffs of his coat and steps to the 'open' signed shop door. Maybe it'll jangle as he enters.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles glances to Mercy and gives an apologetic shrug. "I didn't think of it until just now," he says. Which is fair. He really probably didn't think of it until just now. "Nose playing tricks on you? How so?" He looks to Willow and nods. "Yes. They can be. That doesn't change the spell components." Whatever had preoccupied him, seems to have gone for the moment, with further distractions.

The door does indeed jingle as the new person enters. And he turns his head that way, and rises to his feet. As he gets stood up, he places his right hand on the counter, palm down, and leaves it there. It looks casual enough, right? "Welcome to the Magic Box," he says. "How can we help you today?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Some rats are nice, sure. But others aren't, and they can carry diseases and things," Mercy comments. Her gaze easily returns to the rat, and one of her eyebrows quirks up, and she watches the rat until such point as it disappears. "Little rat, your days might be numbered if you stick around this shop, and the numbers might not go very high," she says in a quiet voice. Maybe she'll take a more humane approach and set a trap for it. Giles might prefer that particular tack rather than rat murder via coyote.

She snorts a breath through her nose, and then she gives her head a small shake before stepping away from the bookshelf. She looks to Giles, then tilts her head a bit to one side before quirking a grin. "There are lots of other rats. I'll make sure that you have your rats eyes for whe you need them, promise," she says, giving a small nod to him, her brown eyes showing a sparkle to them. "The rat that was in here had a similar smell to things outside but it was strong enough outside to have been something that wasn't the rat that was in here. Like the scent belonged to two or more different things in multiple places at the same time," Mercy says, wrinkling her nose a little bit. It's hard to explain beyond that. "I'll get the tea," she adds, giving a small nod before heading for the kettle to check on it. She gets tea into the trio of mugs, and then pours the boiling water into them.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
"Well.." Willow frowns."At least only pick the big bad gnarly front teeth, kinda rats." There. As far as she knows, none of those kinds could be mistaken for Amy. She knew that sometimes they were necessary. Rats. Bats. Cats.. well the whiskers.

(You got the point.)

As the gentleman walks into the store she begins to smile. "You're in luck! Tonight we have two people to serve you, and one is the store's owner." She giggles. "I'm not he. But I can help you if you would like."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister's eyes settle on Giles. They're blue of the moment. Black hair, blue eyes, tall and well-turned heels. He gazes at the shop-owner for a few long seconds, before he glances at the others in the room, settling lastly on Willow. "I certainly hope you can help me," he states, in an accent that could rival Giles for the twee, smiling warmly enough. "I'm hoping you have something comprehensive on the history of magic? And the philosophy of it, if you might? I have a need to comprehend how certain things came about and such. Also, anything in a charm that might actually have some function with luck? I have been down on that lately."

He steps further in, looking over at Giles again, giving the faintest of frowns. <<Sitting might be a good idea. Let the lady help. They won't notice>> - just that vague suggestion and definitely not a foreign thought. Could so very easily be his own thought, that.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles probably doesn't care what shape the rat murder takes shape in. So long as the rat disappears? And the eyeballs make it where they need to go. He nods to Mercy. "Thank you, Mercy," he says. He considers what she says. "Well, rats usually go in groups. Packs, as it were, though I can't remember what they're called right off the top of my head."

He remains exactly where he is, with his right hand braced on the countertop. "I appreciate you making us tea, Mercy." To Willow, he nods. "Only the rats that are necessary, Willow. I promise. No more than that." A smile at her commentary at not being the store's owner. "Perhaps not, but she's nearly as knowledgeable as I am."

He listens to the request and nods. "Ah yes, we do have that. One moment, please. I'll get it for you." He lifts his hand from the counter now and steps away from it. Only to pause and tilt his head briefly. That thought could have been his, but... had it been? He shakes his head and walks from behind the counter. Rupert walks toward the back of the store, heading for the stairs there leading to a second level that is more ladder than stairs. "Willow, will you help him find a luck charm?" He reaches the stairs, ladder, okay, and starts up it. He's moving slowly, but seems steady enough on his feet. Nevermind the almost white knuckled grip he's keeping on the stair railing!

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy Thompson tilts her head a touch to one side as she looks to Willow, and she chuckles softly before she gives a nod. "I can likely manage to do that," she says. "I usually don't find many rats around the outside of the shop," she adds, a thoughtful tone to her voice. She picks up the mugs of tea from the counter in the back and then carries them over towards where Giles is behind the counter. She sets the mugs down, then nudges one of them towards him.

Her attention turns towards the fellow who had entered, and she raises an eyebrow slightly at the request that he makes. And she takes a moment to look the fellow over briefly before her gaze turns to Giles. Keeping an eye on him, and more than just that, too. Then she gives a nod. "That's an explanation that makes sense," she says, after considering it for a moment. "You're welcome, and I don't mind doing it. Even more since I wanted a mug as well," she says, quirking a smile. She tilts her head a bit to one side as she studies him a moment, her ears perked towards him, and her brow wrinkles. Rather than stay where she is, she picks up her mug of tea and follows a step or so behind him, ghosting his steps over to the table that's near that ladder. She sets her mug of tea there on the table, and that wrinkle of worry remains to her brow. Stubborn male! But who is she to tell him that he's being one and it would be better for him to sit? Something might not happen, but something might happen, and so she positions herself close just in case.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Ah! No see? She's an expert on this. But this was usual. The books could be unusual, but the magic charm? What would he be doing with a charm that probably would not work. They only sold those charms as a toy, really.

"Well," began Willow. "It all depends. Magic is actually a multitude of studies. You can read about the larger scale 'Magic' and get a really good base on the foundations of it. Or you can branch out on any number of disciplines. Even those could be bigger than one book, depending on your definition of philosophy.."

However, Giles tells her to pick out a luck charm instead, and he'll take the books. He was the expert *expert* on this!

"Suuure?"

At least she could pick out the nicest good luck charms. You never can tell. Sometimes they worked!

Sinister has posed:
Sinister trails Giles with his eyes, then focuses briefly on Mercy and then on Willow, to whom he smiles at the explanations end expounding of the request. "I suppose, in the scheme of things, you could say I want to find the relevance of magic in cultures and how it was part of the socio-mythological and cultural structure of said societies. Influence in day to day existence, and by the study of the past, how it would relate to the present and its mores and norms. I am studying the modern prevalence of mystical practices -- which I will note are not so mythical any more. It pays to be at least rudimentarily aware?"

He follows Willow though, to the direction she takes on charms. Maybe one will work, indeed. And one can never lack in luck, even if superstition is denied by science, no scientist worth his salt will deny that chance, happenstance and blind luck happens to occasionally be how things get discovered! Luck. It plays a significant part.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles keeps going slow. Slow but steady. "I think I have the exact book you're looking for," he says. He gets to the halfway point, then three quarters of the way. He pauses there to take a deeper breath, then goes the last little bit. He makes it to the top and off the ladder, bracing himself there for a moment to catch his breath. He had noticed Mercy follow him to the table at the bottom of the ladder, and gifted her with a smile. But that hadn't stopped him. Stubborn male indeed.

Giles might have a specific book that is the one he wants to get. It's hard to tell his thought process. And let's face it. Willow is good at picking out the luck charms too. Giles doesn't excell quite so much there. And now... now he's pretty silent. Which is not really so much normal for Giles. He generally has at least /something/ to say.

But, despite his naturally pale complexion, Rupert's skin pales further. He waivers, there at the top of the of the stairs, still standing in the gap at the top. Waivers again, and then his eyes close as his knees buckle. It happens in almost slow motion. His knees buckle, and the angle sends him off over the edge, back toward the floor down below.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There were many different types of magic, too. Not that Mercy actually pipes up to offer that tidbit. She lifts a hand, flicking one of her braids over her shoulder before lowering her hand back to her side. A glance is given in Willow's direction, and one of her eyebrows quirks up just a touch as she listens for a moment, and then her gaze turns towards the shop's customer. She studies him for a longer moment, given the lengthier explanation that he'd offered for what he's looking for. Yet she doesn't offer an opinion on it, if she happens to have one.

More of her focus than what seems to be is actually on Giles. She's listening, her hearing tuned on something very specific. And so, the wrinkled furrow to her brow remains. Giles being quiet is an unusual thing. Especially with there being a customer and a topic of magic at hand that could be getting discussed. He usually has more to say. Mercy outright abandons her tea, not that it had truly been holding her attention. And she starts to head for the ladder stairs before things have even truly started to go sideways. Though she might not look like anything more than a human, she can move pretty quickly when she wants or needs to. And right now? She wants and needs to, and she's light on her feet as she climbs up. The timing ends up... fateful. She gets to the top of the ladder stairs just in the nick of time to be able to catch him from going over the edge. She can handle more weight than she should be able to, given her appearance, and she gets his limp bodied self maneuvered back from the edge to lay him on the platform there. And then she starts with checking the basics, because that's what Sam had rooted in her brain to do -- airway and breathing and heartbeat.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow was debating. Between two charms. One was a beautiful feather, looking like it came from a bird, an eagle perhaps. You could almost see the sunshine in it. And the other one was a button, with a chip out if it. Plain. Ugly colours.

She wanted to give him the eagle feather.

Instead, her hands choose the button.

Right then! Giles just collapsed.. Quickly, and with no decision, Willow stops his body. Well she would have, if not for Mercy. "Giles!" Really it was that fast.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister's eyes had been on Giles that entire time. Thought has a fast response time, but apparently unnecessary. He takes the button. "Thank you." He thumbs it, looking from Giles to Willow. "Your friend..."

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles might have offered a tidbit about there being many types of magic, but for the fact that he bit the dust. So to speak. He never really got a chance. And he's caught, not just by Mercy, but also by Willow's spell. That spell helps the native woman get his limp form up and laied out on the platform at the top of the ladder. It's a good thing. Giles remains limp and is, for the moment, entirely unresponsive.

The button chosen by Willow is probably the same thing Giles would have chosen. Though it's plain, appears broken, and is, to be honest, ugly, it's the better choice than the beautiful feather. The button actually has a luck spell on it. The feather does not.

Rupert remains still as his breathing and heartbeat are checked. His airway appears to be fine, for he's breathing, albeit more rapidly than normal, as though he'd been jogging. His eyes open, then, and he looks confused. "What..?" There's a brief pause, and the thought that had been on his mind when he passed out emerges. "There's more than one type of magic..."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There was magic in the air, Mercy could sense it, but she wasn't sure what form it was meant to have or take. She's grateful for whatever assistance the magic provided to her, so that neither she nor Giles ended up making that fall. She doesn't take the time in the moment to look over to Willow -- she's a little bit distracted, right now. But she does, at least, relax and ease a little bit when she finds that he's breathing and that his heart's still beating. That, at least, lets her breathe a little easier.

Mercy exhales a breath through her nose, relieved, and she moves a hand to place it on his chest, with pressure behind the touch. Because one thing she's not going to let him do is get up right now. Her brown gaze moves to his blue one, and she leans forward where she kneels next to him. "You passed out," Mercy says quietly, one of her eyebrows quirking up a touch. Then her voice lowers to a whisper, her lips moving nearer to his ear nearest to her so she doesn't have to speak very loud at all, "Du hast mich für eine Minute erschreckt. Nur ... bleib eine Weile liegen ... bitte?"

Sinister has posed:
"So it seems," Sinister replies to those up in what passes for the gods, when the shop isn't all that large and it's only the upper level. He looks at the button once again, smiling at the simplicity of it, and the superstition both. There is a harmony to that, that he seems to admire, feeling the notch in its surface and only then looking back up. "I would follow the advice of the good lady. You scared her for a moment, it's best to remain horizontal, at least for now." Good hearing! And speaks german. He wanders around the edge of the shop floor, looking at things, whilst the two above have a 'moment'.

Rupert Giles has posed:
If Giles is aware of the magic, he doesn't say anything. He might still be out of it enough to have not noticed. Feeling Mercy's hand on his chest, he looks down at it, then back up at her. He frowns at what she says in English. The frown fades to a furrow as she speaks quiter in German. And he nods. "I'll stay down," he says. He's a bit on the pale side. More than a bit on the pale side. But there's no clamminess or chills to him. "I'm okay, Mercy. Just.. tired." Which is likely to be expected!

Willow takes the time to disappear to the back of the shop to retrieve a blanket. But Rupert? He doesn't so much as move other than to lift his right hand to rest it atop Mercy's on his chest. He turns his head to look down, past the rail, and to the customer in the shop. "Yes," he says. He looks back to Mercy. "For that, I'm terribly sorry."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The words from the fellow below in the shop are enough to give Mercy a moment's worth of pause. She hadn't expected what she said to be overheard by anyone, let alone understood. German isn't exactly common here! Though there is a flicker of curiosity about that very occurrence, her gaze is easily held on Giles. The worried wrinkle to her brow is something that lingers to her features.

When Giles agrees to stay laying down, she gives a small nod, her rump resting on her heels. "Good... thank you," Mercy says quietly, a small smile finding the corners of her lips. Her fingers turn when he moves his hand to her own, and if he's willing, she slips her fingers to entwine them with his own. "I believe you, Rupert," she says quite softly, giving a little nod to him. Then she gives a little shake of her head, ducking her chin a little bit. "It's okay, there's nothing you need to apologize for. You're okay, and that's the important part," she says softly, her gaze meeting his.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister waves a hand in the air, a trifle. He smiles up at the two up above and goes back to looking at the titles on this particular shelf, decent enough to give them their moment.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles sees that moment of pause from Mercy. Or perhaps, feels it in the hand resting against his chest. And so he squeezes her hand a bit. He sees that worried wrinkle, though. "I'm alright," he insists. "I am a bit thirsty." He shifts a little bit, and then moves to lift her hand off his chest so he can sit up. Despite having just said he'd stay laying down.

Clearly, he's had enough of laying flat on his back. Whether he succeeds in this endeavor or not is up to Mercy. Either way, he's trying, but he's not moving with any speed. He's moving carefully. Really, the last thing he wants is to wind up unconscious and falling down again. And, he keeps ahold of Mercy's hand, whatever happens. He turns his head to look to the customer again. Customer seems to be looking at books.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a little smile that tugs at the corners of her lips at the small squeeze he gifts her hand, and her fingers give his one in turn. She gives a small nod at his insistence, then tilts her head faintly to one side. Listening. "I know," she says softly, sincerely. "I'll get your tea for you, in a couple of minutes," she adds, though it's quite possible someone else could beat her to it. She lets him lift her hand, though she doesn't let his hand go or even try to -- instead, she keeps her hand steady beneath his so that he can use it as support to sit up.

Mercy could easily stop him from sitting up, but she doesn't -- he's stubborn and male, stopping him from sitting up would likely cause a fuss that would make things worse. And so, with that logic in mind, she helps him to make it an easier process. She shifts a little bit, then lifts her other hand to his back, to lend support and perhaps a bit of a nudge if he seems to need it in the process. Since the customer is quiet, he escapes any further attention from her at the moment.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
In the back there was supposed to be some old, and comfy blankets.

*Supposed.*

Really, were they? She had almost given up, when she found one ..sorta blanket? Really it was a sorta lap blanket, only smaller. Willow called it a win though, and hustled back to the front of the store. "It's all that I've got? The rest of them must be in the laundry. How's Giles.. you're awake."

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles is not smiling, but that shouldn't surprise anyone. Chances are, he's not really feeling very well at all. Which also shouldn't surprise anyone. Afterall, if he was feeling right, he probably wouldn't have fainted. He makes no response about the tea until he's sat up. And the help is both needed and appreciated. Once he's up, he braces his left hand on the floor. It's only a combination of that and Mercy's hand on his back and his other hand that keeps him sitting upright.

"Tea. Yes. Or water." Tea would probably be better. It's mostly water, and the caffiene within might help. As Willow comes from the back, with the lap blanket, he finally manages a smile. A small smile, but a smile. "Willow," he says. "Yes. I'm awake. I hope to stay that way." But there's hope, and there's reality. The reality is, he might not stay that way! He's still very much paler than he normally is. Than he should be.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister quietly and slowly raises his hand from down below on the shop floor. "I would just like to observe at this juncture, that this is probably fortuitous that you are having a fainting fit with a doctor in the room." He takes out his wallet, holds up a credential that definitely does say he's an M.D. and pockets it again. "Have you been feeling faint all day?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There isn't a lot of attention that Mercy is paying to the sounds of rummaging coming from the back room, but she is aware of it. As Willow returns back to the shop proper, the coyote-woman turns her head to look in her direction, and she gives a small nod. "Thank you, Willow," she says, sounding grateful.

Mercy's attention turns back to Giles, her hands staying where they are to offer a continued sort of support. She's not going to take away that support until he doesn't need it anymore. "Tea would likely be better, but any fluids are good. You should probably have a bit of something to eat, too. Even if it's just some of the cookies that I brought last time, if there's any of them left," she says softly. Then she tilts her head a little to one side, a small smile touching at the corners of her lips. "I rather hope that you stay awake, too," she adds, ducking her chin a little bit, a bit of colour creeping to her cheeks.

The customer's words serve to draw her attention towards him, studying him for a long moment. She's not going to voluteer Giles for anything, but will instead leave the decision to him. The credential that's held up does earn a long look from her -- even from where she is, she can read it easily. Then her attention turns back to Giles, perhaps to see if he'll answer the question or perhaps what the answer will be.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Okay, now that she'd seen it in the light, it looks more like a serape. Not that it is an authentic one. It's too small to be that! Perhaps someone had forgotten it in the winter.

"Here you go." But Willow was concerned. "He cut himself yesterday. Maybe that?" The Doctor might know.

Rupert Giles has posed:
"Oh. There aren't any of the cookies left from last time," he admits. "I.. ate them all." Hey, they were good cookies! Giles thinks for a moment. Then shakes his head. "There isn't anything else to eat in here. Unless you want me eating eye of newt." He starts to relax a little bit, but that means leaning a bit more on Mercy.

The customer's words bring his attention back there again but he doesn't say anything for a moment. "Uh.. yes. But I suspect I know what it's from. I cut myself yesterday." Indeed, his left hand still has a bandage on it that Mercy had put there after taking care of said cut. Which sort of implies that yes, he's been feeling faint all day. As he and Willow say the same thing at very nearly the same time, he smiles ever so slightly.

From here, he can't read the credentials clearly. Not even with his glasses on. He looks to Mercy, and then he looks to Willow, and then back to the Doctor. "But, if you're really a doctor, I suppose it couldn't hurt for you to look at it. But, I'm going to need help getting down from here. Or you're going to have to come up here." Stubborn male or no, at least he's wise enough to know he isn't getting down the stairs without assistance. At least, not if he wants to remain concsious on the way down. And staying conscious is preferable to fainting again. It's embarrassing.

Sinister has posed:
Definitely better than fainting again. Sinister inclines his head and with a glance to the door, pulls out his cellphone, sending a text out for something, then pocketting it as he ascends to the upper level. A glance is given to Mercy and to Willow, giving a small smile that is probably meant to reassure, then he shows Giles the credential once again. Definitely M.D. By the name of Doctor Wessex. Why mess with something that mostly works? He kneels by Rupert's side, reaching for the man's wrist with a "May I?" as he takes out a pocket fobwatch; the way he feels for the radial pulse is quite skilled -- pressure but also the extra fingers laid upon the spot measure strength of heartbeat along with the speed. "That must have been one heck of a cut, elsewise you have vasovagal syncope." He glances at Rupert's profile "Which I somehow doubt. You wouldn't be feeling like this if you hadn't lost at least a couple of pints." Count, pace, rhythm, strength of pulse. He's also measuring breaths per minute.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
When had she brought the last container of cookies over? The last kind had just been a regular sugar cookie. That was before the fibreglass cast on her wrist had... no longer been needed. She would have to make more cookies! There's a shy sort of smile that finds the corners of her lips, and then she gives a small nod. "I'll have to make more cookies, then," she says softly, sounding pleased. "I don't think eye of newt would be very filling, though they likely wouldn't hurt you," she adds in a soft tone, sounding a touch amused at that. She's eaten newts before, and even the whole critter isn't very filling. She doesn't seem to mind him leaning on her a bit more, and she stays right where she is.

Mercy had done the best she could with bandaging his hand, which had proven to not have a bad result at all. She gives a small nod to Giles when he agrees to be checked by the doctor. "It doesn't hurt to be checked out, since he's here and offering to. I can help you down," she offers, pausing a moment and glancing towards the approaching doctor before her attentions to Giles, "after you've been checked, when you're ready."

She studies him for a moment longer, then turns her gaze over to Willow. "Could you bring his mug of tea over, please? It's there on the counter," she requests, a smile touching at the corners of her lips. Her attention shifts to the doctor, then, studying him a moment and trying not to interfere. "If it's not improper at all to ask, what are you a doctor of, Doctor Wessex?" she asks, a measure of curiosity to her voice. Her brow wrinkles at a part of what he says, worry returning easily, and she gives a little shake of her head. "What's vasovagal syncope?"

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
"May I?" Willow figures, while they take care of Giles, she looks up his credentials. She holds out her hand to whoever has the card. After all, 'have internet, will travel..' Or something like that.

Besides, she was embarrassed that she didn't have any cookies on her. Mea culpa.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles watches the doctor, his expession a bit wary, but accepting of doing what is probably the better course none the less. Now that the credentials are closer, he reads them and nods. "Pleasure, Doctor Wessex. I'm Rupert Giles." If only it was better circumstances... He nods to both the reach and request, and lifts his hand, whichever is being reached for, so it's slightly easier to get to.

"Oh.. uh.. 'twas, yes. Quite a cut. There were.. circumstances. Before and after." Like, trying to satisfy a trap spell glyph, and then fighting skeletens with a still bleeding cut. That might not have been the smartest idea in the world.

As the doctor checks him, he'll find that his breathing is a little faster than it should be, which is probably understandable. His pulse is elevated and feels strong under Wessex's fingers. "And it didn't get tended to immediately."

Rupert smiles faintly to Mercy. "Eye of newt doesn't taste very good, either," he says. He goes quiet again, while the doctor finishes doing doctor things. He is curious about vasovagal syncope too, and looks to Doctor Wessex. "Nicholas Wessex, M.D," says Giles, glancing to Willow. "NYU Langone Hospitals." Info supplied, even if he can't supply the card itself.

Sinister has posed:
The internet search will pull up nothing untoward. He's there, on the roster of that hospital, under general medicine with a specialization in congenital diseases. He's never been sued for malpractice that's on the record and his insurance is in good standing.

The doorbell chimes again about then, with a delivery driver in a ballcap and baseball jacket, likely doing uber driving to make some extra money. "Order for a Mister Wessex?" "Just put it on the counter," calls Sinister down, without turning around. "Vasovagal syncope is fainting at the sight of and sometimes at the memory of blood. Causes sudden drops in bloodpressure and fainting spells." Wyndam-price had that, but apparently got over it after a while. "You lost more than you should've. I'd say you really ought to be on bedrest, but I know we can all be stubborn. At the least, you need to be with your feet up, higher than your heart and eating plenty of eggs and steak and kidney pie, if you can." He nods down toward the counter. "That's for you. Kale smoothie and a ham and spinach omlette from IHop, with a side of pancakes."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The introduction that Giles offers ends up being a bit of a reminder for Mercy. Her tongue flicks out to lightly damp her lips, and her brown gaze turns to the doctor, watching him. "I'm Mercy Thompson," she offers, giving a small nod. Then she goes quiet to let the doctor do his doctoring. She doesn't seem surprised by what he shares about the cut, but then she's already seen it herself.

At the mention of the taste of eye of newt, she quirks a smile and gives a nod. "I know it doesn't. The rest of the newt doesn't taste a whole lot better, either," she says, sounding amused. "I don't think deep frying them would make them taste better," she adds. Because that seems to be a fad that's still going around -- deep fry something, and it'll taste better.

Her attentions to the doctor, and she tilts her head a little bit to one side, considering the information that he's provided. Her nose -- and thus her attention -- gets mildly hijacked when the food is delivered, but her gaze turns back to the doctor after a moment. "Rest more and eat extra protein. That shouldn't be terribly hard to accomplish," she says softly, looking to Giles to study him for a moment. It's a thing that makes good sense to her, even though she has only a bit of first aid knowledge -- there's something to be said for experience.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
"Thank you!" Always with the polite.

Now that Willow has the names and places to check out, she settles down with her laptop and research. As mentioned there is nothing newsworthy about the guy.. "He seems alright."

Spike has posed:
The door chime rang, and Spike walked in, through the front door, which was unusual for him, but as it was late enough in the evening, he was able to do it. He wouldn't for much longer, as summer was soon upon them. The longer the days got the more of an inconvenience the sun became.

He looked to be in a foul mood. There wasn't anything specific, just slightly in the face, the body language, even the way he walked. It was as if he wanted to walk with purpose, but had nowhere to go, which was only feeding into the vicious cycle of antagonizing him.

Walking in, he would head towards a table, which was meant for books and other things, except to Spike, it was a high seat. He sat there, looking around, "what happened to you?" It was a broad you, referring to everyone. Ah Spike, acting as if he was welcome here. So naive.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles looks to the door as the bell chimes, and blinks. He doesn't seem to understand why there's a delivery here. His attention is drawn back to the doctor as he explains. "Ah. Yes. No fear of that," he says. Of course, that was probably obvious. At his age, if he suffered from vasovagal syncope, chances are he'd have known what it meant.

"I can't do bedrest. I need to be here, in my shop, and there are things I need to research.." And spells he needs to perform... Sitting he can do. Kidney pie, though? He shudders and it's obvious even the thought of kidney anything is unappealing. The things ordered, however, he nods. He can probably stomach that. Maybe.

The thought of deep fried newt isn't any better than the thought of kidney anything. Mercy's attention brings his eyes to her, and he just looks at her. Rest might happen, but if he's here? The eating ... is likely to be enforced by both Mercy and Willow and he knows it. And then there's a Spike entering. "You saw what happened. Yesterday." That's a vague answer at best. But it's better than a crossbow pointed at the vampire's chest, isn't it?

Sinister has posed:
"NIcolas Wessex," The 'customer' Sinister replies, to Mercy. "If he's going to have tea, make it strong. A little bit of vasoconstriction and blood pressure will help right now," he eyes Giles, arching a brow up a little but doesn't argue. "I would also suggest a nice piece of fried liver, but I suspect that's going to get just as bad of a facial expression." He releases Giles' wrist, stands and clicks the fobwatch shut, looking down from the book loft to Spike. His head tilts left, as if to try and view the man askew. "You look strangely familiar, and I have no idea what happened, I just came in here for a book." He looks back at Giles. "Can you not research from a horizontal position?" Again with the lofted eyebrow.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
When the door chime sounds, Mercy turns her head to look towards it, and one of her eyebrows quirks up as she watches Spike enter. The way he enters, at least to her, speaks clearly of the mood he's in, and she studies him for a moment. She tilts her head a bit to one side at his question. "Which you are you referring to?" she asks, a flicker of curiosity to her voice.

Her attention returns readily to Giles, whom she's still kneeling quite near to, and still holding a hand of. "Maybe just steak pie or shepherd's pie will serve as well," Mercy says softly, a smile touching at the corners of her lips. She hadn't missed that distasteful shudder of his. She softly clears her throat and ducks her chin a little bit. Apologetic about the newt, even though she doesn't say it aloud.

Her gaze shifts to Sinister, listening, and she gives a nod. "It's likely strong by now. It's been steeping a fair while," she says in a thoughtful tone. She glances towards Giles at the mention of liver, then looks back to the doctor before she lifts one of her shoulders in a bit of a shrug. She isn't sure about that one, and she'll leave the question about researching for Giles to answer as well.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
"Spike?!" Willow almost asked why wasn't he.. and then she shut up. "Would you like a tea?" Probably not. But unless Giles was offering whisky or similar, tea would have to do.

Spike has posed:
Spike shot right back at Giles, "Yeah, I saw you try to play the hero, going ahead and bleeding yourself when you know as well as I that these rituals need a champion's blood, not yours, not mine, not hers, or hers, or his," he didn't actually know 'Nicolas Wessex', nor Mister Sinister, but he assumed the man wasn't a champion. "It'd take Buffy's, or Faith's. Say, where is the Dark Slayer these days anyway? I feel naked without my babysitter." Someone had sent her to watch over him as he recovered from the chest injury.

Looking at Mr. Wessex, Spike said, "I get that a lot," since he assumed he meant he looked like Billy Idol, who incidentally, stole the look from Spike. Then at the line about research from the horizontal position, "oh no, he's allergic to technology. Like that fellow in that lawyer show, but not as bad."

To Mercy, he waved his hand, "take yer pick. It's a target rich environment." And Willow offered him tea. Getting up from his seat on the table, he would smile at her, "you know what, I'd love a cupa."

Rupert Giles has posed:
"I like my tea strong anyway," says Giles. He lowers his hand to rest on his leg one his wrist is released. The mention of fried liver gets just as bad a facial expression, yes. And another shudder. He might be convinced, under the right circumstances. But he's not going to tell those circumstances, oh no! He shakes his head. "Not very easily. You see, research requires finding the right books. And that requires walking around. I hate to impose on anyone. I have to impose often enough when I get called back to England." Yeah. He doesn't like doing that so much.

He looks to Mercy and nods. "That sounds good." Steak pie or shepherd's pie. The newt requires no apology. Nor does the liver, really. Personal tastes not liking something require no apology. Giles would offer something stronger than tea to Spike, but there's no booze here. That's all at home. There's only soda and tea here. Or water.

And then Spike says what he says and Giles reaches up to rub his forehead. "Yes, Spike. I bloody well figured that out, didn't I?" As to Faith, he shrugs ever so slightly. "Keeping busy, at a guess. The last time I saw her was here, with you." Technology? Giles shudders again. "It's the smell. Or rather, the lack thereof. Willow is the one who researches with technology." He, uses books.

Sinister has posed:
"One of those faces," Sinister murmurs, then, smoothing his coat, he tugs gently at the bottom hem and gestures around the book stacks with a finger. "The book you were searching for, sir? It's up here? Perhaps you can direct me by gesturing emphatically." He glances down at Spike once again as the man gets chatty, lifts both his eyebrows up and looks singularly at Mercy, as if she might have the answer.

Then though, he starts moving along the racks of books, some of them not helpfully labelled like modern tombs, as if he has some inclination where the aforementioned text might be. "Luck be a lady, show me the way..." murmured.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a glance towards Willow at her reaction to Spike's entry, and her attention turns back to the vampire. There's a slight twitch of her nose at his tirade, of sorts, and she tilts her head a touch to one side. She doesn't know much, if anything really, about the rituals that he's referring to, and so she's quiet. Quiet, and listening, not just to what people are saying and such, but also to Giles' heartbeat. It's something that she's been a bit more tuned into, of late, for reasons.

"Researching while being horizontal doesn't have to be using technology. I've read books while laying down," Mercy says, her gaze settling on Spike again. Then her gaze turns to Giles, and she tilts her head a bit to one side. "You can impose on me. I can hunt out books if you point me in the right direction, y'know," she says, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Then she gives a little bit of a nod. "Books have a good smell. The paper and the binding and everything. I like them, and they're often each a little different," she comments. Her gaze turns to the doctor, and she raises an eyebrow slightly, studying him and sitting still. "Why are you looking at me that way?" she asks softly, more curious than anything else.

Spike has posed:
Accepting the cup of tea from Willow, Spike would look her in the eye and say, "thank you," before she disappeared into the stacks up top, no doubt looking for some special spell, or something else that might help their current predicament.

Spike sipped his tea, enjoying a brew, even if it wasn't Irish, or have blood in it. "Yes, yes you did," Spike replied to Rupert, before adding that he figured it out "the hard way." To Mr. Wessex, he said, "must be," which he really wasn't. With his hair, he stood out like a sore thumb. But if it helped Mr. Wessex to accept it, Spike was fine with it. He then focused his gaze on Mercy and Giles, reading a great deal from the body language on display, but saying nothing. He had already given them the nudge.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles does point, but not necessarily emphatically. "There," he says. "Third shelf down, on the left side. Dark green cover. Title is Magick. With a k." And as the doctor gets close to the right book.... absolutely nothing happens. Except for Giles saying, "That one. There." His eyes turn to Mercy at her words, and he looks a little.. surprised. He hadn't been expecting that. But he nods. "Alright," he says. "Then I'll impose upon you. Thank you, Mercy."

And another nod. Because books smell good. A dusty, dry musty scent. For the moment, Giles is behaving himelf and staying put. He does shift a little bit, and folds his legs in front of him. Cross-legged. It's a little more comfortable, and a little easier to stay sitting upright. Spike had indeed nudged them. Ever so slightly. Not that it had really changed anything overly much.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister glances back at Mercy again, then nods toward Giles. "THat. He consented for you to be extra hands, because horizontal isn't an option. I was hoping you'd be the hands of common sense," and then... then he gestures at the book so indicated and it slides out of the book shelf, floating on over and hovering, with the spine facing. "That one?" - he also gestures to the take-out bag from ihop and jumba juicery, which floats up from the counter below and lands quietly infront of Giles and Mercy. Floating take-out! "ALternatively, I find that helps immensely, when you know where they are, you can bring them to you. It's a helpful talent," that last murmured as he brings that book so identified, back to his waiting hands.

Not a twinge of magic sense, anywhere.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a slight twitch of her nose and Mercy looks towards Spike. "Sometimes that's the best way of learning things. The hard way. And when you're trying to prevent someone you care about from being hurt or dying, well... you try things," she says, her brow wrinkling a little bit. She, at least, doesn't find fault in how the wound on his hand happened. She's probably done some questionable things with the intent of helping people before.

Her gaze turns over to Giles, and she tilts her head a bit to one side, and she gives his hand a bit of a squeeze as she gives a nod to him. And a smile. "You're welcome, Rupert," she says softly, a warm note to her voice. "I'll help where I can, promise," she adds, a smile easily returning to her lips. Then she looks to Sinister at his comment. "Fetching books isn't hard. The worst that happens is I bring back the wrong book and have to make another trip to fetch the right one," she comments, sounding a bit amused at that.

Spike has posed:
"Then I imagine he's learned a lot of things well," Spike said to Mercy of Giles learning things the hard way, though as that hurt and dying part registers, Spike looks down at the floor, then forces his eyes back up. He would move about the Magic Box, touching an expensive vase, picking it up, rolling it between his hands. He set it back down, then picked up a delicate set of some string and bone thing that was worth an absolute fortune, before he decided to stop tormenting Giles. Well, maybe he would touch a few more expensive things.

But eventually, he would move out of eyesight of the former librarian, and when he returned, it was with a pillow, for Giles. "Here, you might need this," another act of kindness. How strange for a vampire without a soul. It was compassion, genuine compassion. Or, was this in some way self-serving? Perhaps, but it did seem altruistic.

Rupert Giles has posed:
And all Giles can do as he sees the obvious display of power, that isn't magic because he'd know it if it was, is stare. And look suitably impressed. "That is impressive," he agrees. And then there's food and a drink being floated to him. Giles knows this has to be telekinesis of some sort, but he has no way to really measure that. "Telekinesis. That is absolutely brilliant," he says. Okay. Maybe he's going delirious, if he thinks that's brilliant!

As Mercy supports what he'd done to try to prevent Buffy from being further harmed than she already had been, Rupert's expression softens. "Thank you, Mercy," he says.

And there goes Spike. Touching expensive things. Each thing, Giles gets a little tenser. And his muscles tense. And his blood pressure goes up. Which is the intended result, and actually makes Giles feel loads better and much less dizzy. Only, he doesn't realize it's kindness, rather than being an arse, until the vampire returns with a pillow. He blows out a breath. "I suppose I'm going to be stuck up here for awhile," he says softly. He sounds resigned to his fate.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister smiles. "A lot of practice and squinting at things at one point, but yes. It's helpful when you do surgery, to be able to focus on the vein and stop it bleeding. It was a strange side-effect," he comments this, then watches Spike be strangely... helpful. The vampire is given a nod that speaks a good deal about 'I see what you did' without actually saying a word.. maybe even 'I see you'. He folds his arms over his chest, loosely and looks at the fellow with his pillow and his Mercy.

"I feel," he says "...that my stay in the hotel in Sunnydale may be more productive if I help you out here. I've come for this learning to understand what I'm seeing here and there and everywhere /better/.... but I think if I give you a spot of help for the next couple of days, I'll come away with a better understanding. If you'll let me help out a little with..." he gestures and moves another book out and back into the book shelf "...with your research, you can help me by pointing me in the right direction to get a basic understanding of my patients that I see... injured. In strange ways."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a moment in which Mercy holds her tongue. She learns things the hard way all of the time. For more often than not. She exhales a breath, and then she gives a small shake of her head. "Learning things the hard way isn't wrong, it's just harder than the easy way," she points out. It's still learning. It's sometimes more painful, but it's still learning.

The floating food had managed to escape her notice, at least up until a certain point. She doesn't visibly startle, but Giles's gets a bit of a unexpected squeeze from hers. She snorts a breath through her nose, softly, and then raises an eyebrow as she looks to Giles and gives a small nod. "That... would be one word for it, yeah," Mercy says softly. "Or two words, really," she adds. The she ducks her chin a bit at his thanks to her, and she gives a little bit of a nod. "You're welcome, Rupert," she says quietly, her cheeks pinking a bit. Then she quirks a bit of a grin before lifting one of her shoulders in a small shrug. "Well, it depends... I mean... I could carry you down, if you really wanted," she says. It's hard to tell if she's being serious or not, though.

And then... then her curiosity gets teased. And her attention turns to Sinister, studying him for a long moment. "What sort of strange injuries?" she asks. A coyote's curiosity is probably never-ending.

Spike has posed:
Telekinesis was nothing special to Spike. It was something that he couldn't do, but there were many witches, wizards, demons, metahumans, and mutants that could. And they were in a magic shop. In the Bronze it would have elicited a greater response from Spike, but not here.

It wasn't all kindness. Spike, amidst all his picking ups and putting downs, had nicked some items, nothing major, just something to keep him in blood, cigs, and maybe some beer money for a little while. Though the rest was actual kindness, and calculated kindness. He was agitating Giles in the way he needed to be, and then he helped to prop him up. Still, very strange behaviour of a soulless vampire. "Well, there's one way to make you feel better, but it'd need a different... one... than me." He said one, minding the company of Mister Wessex, who might not know that he was a vampire.

The looks Wessex had been giving him made Spike wonder if he noticed what Spike had taken while doing his good deed of the day? Spike was already thinking about how to react if an accusation comes. Then to Mercy, "you're not likely to get a better offer than that, now are ya?"

Rupert Giles has posed:
If Giles were in his right mind, he'd probably be surprisingly touched at Spike's efforts. But he isn't. Feeling better, yes, but anywhere near back to how well his brain normally functions? Not so much. He looks to the doctor and nods. "I wouldn't say no to such a trade. It seems fair.

Sometimes, learning the hard way is the only way. Not that Giles had learned at all. He'd do the same thing again in a heartbeat. His eyes go to Mercy as her hand squeezes his, and he squeezes back. "'tis alright, Mercy. Telekinesis, is all." Though, the fact that it's able to stop the blood from something as small as a vein or artery tells Giles /exactly/ how good with it Wessex happens to be.

He considers the offer of being carried down, and wrinkles his nose. "Sitting behind my counter would be more comfortable than anywhere up here, but..." Being carried down would be terribly embarrassing. Being helped would be better. Giles looks at Spike, proping him up, and blinks. Then stares. "Different one?" Oh yeah. Brain is definitely not fully functioning in thei moment. The things taken aren't noticed at all. Giles would probably prefer it if the vampire would ask for help, rather than simply taking, but it is what it is.

Sinister has posed:
"Oh, I had one girl that came in cachectic," that is extremely emaciated, to the point of visible starvation, the like of which is usually only seen in the starving or the stage four cancerous "because she'd bought a special pill to lose weight from someone she'd met off of craig's list. We found this stone in her stomach which shouldn't have been there, but for the life of us on the surgical team, we could not figure out what was wrong with her. Given I can... do what I do... I figured with all that's happened in the last five years, it would be prudent to consider Other Medicine options."

'Wessex' takes his book in hand though, using the stairs to descend to the ground floor. "Thank you for the consideration mister Giles," he glances at Spike, but if he knows, he holds his tongue, looking up at the book nook once again. "I would be delighted to offer my assistance for the trade. Happy happenstance for me, usually I have a rather less civilized reaction to my particular gift. I'll be back tomorrow, when the shop opens its regular hours. Please do eat the omlette, hmm?" He slaps five hundred dollars on the counter for the book and the charm, which may or may not be way too much. "If that's not enough, I can be found in the Super 8 on first, room 710."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Vampires can be helpful, and this is a thing that Mercy has some experience with. She hasn't known Spike for long enough to know that he's not usually helpful, and so she takes what he does in stride. One of her eyebrows quirks at part of what he says, and she tilts her head a little to one side. "What do you mean? About it needing a different one?" she asks. Her curiosity sometimes really should have some kind of boundaries, sometimes, but it generally does't -- if she thinks the question then it often ends up asked.

There's a little nod to Giles when he mentions the telekinesis, though it takes a moment for her to relax back to how she had been. She's used to sensing such uses of magic, and that she didn't is a bit unexpected. "Just... umm... unexpected," she says quietly. She ducks her chin slightly, a bit sheepishly. She's quiet for a little while then before her attention turns to Spike. "I just... try to help in the ways that I can," Mercy says softly in response to what he'd said of her offer, ducking her chin slightly and looking towards Giles a bit shyly. "Or I could just help you down, whichever you prefer," she adds, a bit quietly. There's a glance towards the doctor at his words, and she raises an eyebrow slightly as she watches him take his leave. That was a bit unusual, but... unusual is kind of par for the course.

Spike has posed:
Spike was of the opinion that Giles did not like him. He got it when Giles said that he did not like him: repeatedly and in worsening tones. However, Spike did prove useful on occasion, and familiarity breeds fondness. That which is part of one's life becomes a staple, even the bad.

Spike watched Wessex, he didn't recognize the man, but the man seemed to know him. He hadn't done anything wrong, and yet, there was a vibe growing. In a former life, before his chip, he might have liked the man. But now, he had spent so much time with the Scoobies that he was prone to acts of monumental courage... or stupidity. He wasn't sure which this would be, but he did his best not to avertly take much note of Wessex, letting him leave.

"Oh, a private joke," he would intone, not wanting to further that line of dialogue when Mercy asks. After the doctor had left, barely a few scant moments, "well, it's been fun kiddies, but I must be off," and he would follow after the man, trailing him from a distance, doing his best to lurk in the shadows. It was a hell of a way to repay a doctor. But Spike did these kinds of things. Who knows, maybe he was just trying to follow the man to his motel and ensure he got there safely, as he did when he tailed Mercy Thompson. It seems he was helpful, but only to a point. He didn't offer to carry Giles back down.

Rupert Giles has posed:
"Sometimes, other medicine options are the only way to go," says Giles. "Sometimes, modern medicine is best. It depends greatly on what it is." He smiles to Wessex, though it's a somewhat faint one. "I imagine so. Anywhere but in here, at least." Giles is a good boy. He reaches for the omelette as he was bidden, and starts to eat.

He watches the cash get sat on the counter, but from this distance, he can't see exactly how much it is. "The book and charm should come up to about fifty dollars," he says. Helpfully? Maybe. He goes back to eating. He shakes his head a bit. "I'm not quite ready for that, I think. I'm afraid I'll wind up unconscious again," he says in a soft voice. In between bites, of course. See? He can behave!

And he didn't like Spike to start with. He's gotten used to the vampire, though. And he is at least a more or less known entity. And he had saved all their arses back in that cavern. He waves a hand to Spike and nods. "Do take care." That's all he says as the vampire heads out of the building. He looks to Mercy and offers a little smile. "I find I'm quite tired." There's going to be a drink, and grimace, at the taste of the kale shake, but he hadn't been kidding when he'd said he was thirsty. Clearly, from semi willingly drinking a kale shake, Giles is still thirsty.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy Thompson's eyes narrow just a touch at Spike when he essentially passes off on answering her question. She makes a soft hrmph of sound, but she doesn't press the subject further. Asking questions doesn't always mean getting answers, and that's nothing new to her. Her nose wiggles just a touch. "Be well, Spike," she offers, and she watches as Spike heads out in trail of the doctor. This is an interesting thing, but she's aware of the fact that he had followed her home one night and so suspects that he's likely doing the same with the doctor. It's a possibility, and it makes sense.

Mercy shifts a bit, simply adjusting her weight a little bit and letting her rump rest on her heels whilst Giles works on eating. The fact that he's eating is a pleasing thing to her. She lifts a hand to lightly poke his shoulder nearest to her. "No ending up unconscious again," she says softly, a bit firmly. She didn't like it the first time, she's surely not going to like it if it happens again! There's a small nod, and a bit of a smile as well. "I think being tired is probably normal, given the amount of blood you lost. Extra food and drinking more liquids should help with getting your body to build it back up," she says softly. "I'll make you a fresh cup of tea after you've finished eating, if you like," she offers. Incentive, perhaps, or just something good to look forward to.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Not always getting the answers might be one of the reasons Giles is as good at reasearch and as knowledgeable as he is. He wants all the questions answered. He just has about fifteen years on Mercy's question asking and answer seeking habits. Maybe that's why he usually just answers her questions.

Though, he's not paying as close of attention to his surroundings as he could be, which is proven when Mercy pokes his shoulder and he jumps with a startled little squeak. He winds up dropping the fork in the process, even. "Mercy, you about scared the life out of me," he says, lifting his left hand to the center of his chest as he breathes a little harder than just a moment before. And the food? Completely forgotten.

Still a little breathless, he nods. "I'll try not to. I don't want to. 'tis not a very good feeling."

Reminded of the food, Giles reaches for the fork. At least it had landed in the omelette. "A fresh cup won't be necessary. The current cup will be strong as suggested, and I'd rather not waste it." He lifts another bite and stares at it for a moment before nibbling it. His appetite, such as it was, might take a few minutes to reassert itself.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
And Giles has all of the books! All of them! Mercedes could very easily spend a lot of hours curled up in various and assorted parts of the shop (or his house, for that matter, given the books there!) reading. The curiosity of the coyote is a pretty insatiable sort of thing, and she tends to want all of her questions answered too. Even when she doesn't ask all of the questions.

At his reaction to her poke of his shoulder, Mercy gives a soft eep and ducks her chin, turned nigh immediately sheepish and shy over the matter. And yet... he squeaked, and though she doesn't giggle over it, there is a spark that comes to her brown eyes, though it might be hard to see for the fact that she's looking down in the moment. "M'sorry," she says quietly.

Then she gives a little shake of her head, glancing towards him before her gaze lowers again. "Ah, no... it's not a very good feeling," Mercy agrees, giving a small nod. She's been unconscious before, though that seemed to have a stronger likelihood of meaning knocked out than passed out.

"It likely will be fairly strong. It might just need a little reheating, is all," Mercy says softly. "It'll still taste just fine, it might just want a little honey or something added to it... depending on what type of tea I'd picked, and how you prefer it to be," she says in a thoughtful tone.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles would not mind her doing that very thing, spending hours curled up with his books. He'd very happy spend those hours doing the same thing right alongside her. Giles eyes Mercy at her reaction to his squeaking. "I see those eyes sparkling," he says. Hard to see with them downturned? Sure. But at the moment, her head is higher in the air than his is, so he sees that sparkle easily enough. He's been knocked out before too, though he doesn't say it.

"A little sugar, actually. I don't really care for honey in my tea. Perhaps two lumps instead of one." Because that's what he has on hand. Lumps, or sugar cubes. Giles picks at the food, nibbling on it, for about five minutes after the startle, and then resumes eating as normal once his nerves calm down again. "I don't even like lemon in my tea," he adds, as his mind comes around to that thought again. He does that, sometimes. Has a thought, gets distracted by something, or more than one something, else, and then goes back to that thought.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Softly, Mercedes clears her throat and she half bites the inside of her lower lip. She blinks, then peeks to him through her lashes in what is an attempt at an innocent sort of fashion. "I'm trying not to, really," she says softly, a bit sheepishly. Then she leans in closer to add, in a whisper, "It was a cute squeak." And she gives a small nod, as though to reinforce that notion.

"I prefer sugar to honey, too," Mercy says, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She watches him as he picks at the food, and once he starts eating normally again, then she seems to relax a bit. "I never really picked up the habit of lemon in my tea, either. A little bit of sugar, and very rarely some milk as well. Usually with cookies along side it," she says, a smile easily coming to her features. Her tongue flicks out to brush her lips as she watches him. "I can drive you home after you close up the shop tonight... if you want, I mean," she offers, a bit quietly. Because he did pass out, and she wants to make sure that he gets home safely. That he's safe.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles is concentrating on eating. He's got the omelette about halfway down now. And then she's talking about how his squeak is cute. And the food is forgotten, once again, as a blush suffuses his cheeks, forehead, ears, and what of his neck is visible. "Yes.. I don't care for lemon in my tea either," he says softly, voice a little faint. Probably from the blood rushing to the blush when he can ill afford such things.

And that's it for his appetite. He closes up the box and sets it aside. Then adjusts the pillow and lays back on it. His eyes close once he does. He turns his head toward Mercedes, at her offer, and opens his eyes to look to her. "I would like that," he says softly.

For one thing, he'd be a fool to refuse. For another, he probably wouldn't make it home in one piece, and his car certainly wouldn't. "'tis either that, or I try to sleep on the couch in the back." And that thing is only a love seat and he's six foot one. That would not make for a very comfortable night!

Giles rolls a bit to his side, facing Mercy, and his right hand winds up stretched part of the way toward her. HIs left hand curls against his chest. "For now.." His eyes slip closed. "I need..." His words are mumbled and muzzy. And whatever he was going to say remains unsaid as he quite falls asleep.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Why did she have to say anything? He was eating! And eating is important! And then she had to go and say something and spoil it and now... now he wasn't eating anymore. She always messed things up, said the wrong thing. Mercy doesn't mention his blushing, even though the harm has already been done. She rubs one of her hands along her thigh, briefly, a she gives a small nod, about the lemon in his tea.

Mercy watches him as he closes up the box of food and sets it aside, and she bites the inside of her lower lip. She thought a hundred and one different things that wouldn't settle, and ended up not saying any of them. There's a little smile that finds the corners of her lips, and she gives a small nod at his acceptance of the offer. She'll take care of him as best as what she knows how. "The couch in the back won't fit your height. I'll drive you home, it'll be more comfortable, and you could use sleep in your bed," she says softly, giving a small nod.

When that one hand of his reaches towards her, she reaches out with one of hers to place it atop of his hand. She'll gives his hand a faint squeeze, and then... then she'll wait. While she waits, she goes down the ladder in order to close and lock up the shop as she's seen him do more than once, and she'll put the remaining food into the fridge. And once he's truly asleep, she'll take the keys to his car in order to put the top up and open the passenger door. Then she'll go back inside to very gently pick him up to carry him down the infernal ladder and get him out and into the car, then buckle him in. Then she'll head around to the driver's side, unlock the door and get in before buckling up herself. She starts the car easily, more than familiar with it, and drive to his home. She'll park the car, then get him inside and safely tucked into his bed (after taking off his shoes). After locking up the car, and locking up the house, she'll take a minute to just finally take a breath. She steps into the bathroom, closes the door most of the way, sheds her clothes and folds them before tucking them safely in a drawer, then shifts to coyote form. And on quiet paws, she slips out of the bathroom, to his bedroom, and then... up onto the bed to rest her head on his chest and fall asleep herself, listening to the beating of his heart.