13490/Another Day at the Magic Box

Another Day at the Magic Box
Date of Scene:	12 June 2021
Location:	The Magic Box, Sunnydale
Synopsis:	Just another day at the Magic Box with pastries, tea, and customers.
Cast of Characters:	Rupert Giles, Willow Rosenberg, Hannibal King, Sinister

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Rupert Giles has posed:
During business hours, the Magic Box is a business like many others. Except it has things like eye of newt.. only, the eyes of newt that are here are actually eyes of salamander, but that's okay! Little odds and ends, bits and bobs, herbs and spell components, and books. All the books.

Outside, the weather is quite warm. It's the warmest part of a midafternoon that has clear blue skies with not a cloud in sight. Inside, however, the fans in the ceiling are going, circulating the air from the air conditioner in the back of the shop to the front. This makes it nice and cool inside.

Giles is here. He often is. He's sitting on a chair behind the counter, reading a book. This should surprise exactly nobody. Giles likes books, afterall. This one has a black cover and appears to be a somewhat more modern tome. With it open on his lap, much more than that is impossible to tell.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow had been all over today. The market; Chinatown (for sage and something else); the cafe; the park; the hot dog vendor; the bakery; and finally, the Magic box. Phew.

"Hey Giles? I brought some pastries!" Almost every time she comes, (almost), she brings something to share. "I figured I would take over the afternoon shift? If you don't mind."

Hannibal King has posed:
    Hannibal King was a man of subtitles. He liked to blend in. Like the way his 1970 black Dodge Charger RT roared as it drove through the city streets of Bludhaven, New Jersey. It was quiet as a mouse on steroids with a megaphone. Inside, Hannibal King sat, dressed in a brown leather jacket, because dressing in layers was important during the summer months.
    Over the stereo, classical music played, or wait, it was modern with a classical twist. He was listening to Born to Be Wild by Steppenwolf, except it was being performed by a symphony orchestra. Making a U-turn on Maple Court in the Sunnydale neighborhood of Bludhaven, the black beast came to a rest outside the Magic Box.
    Reaching for the drink in his cup holder, King slurped the last bit of the sugary goodness, and opened the door, stepping out into the sunlight. He looked up, enjoying the warmth on his skin, before he leisurely sauntered towards a nearby trash receptacle, depositing the paper into one bin, and plastic cup lid and straw into another.
    He then made the short walk to the Magic Box, opening the door, ringing the bell, and took in the scents of the goods for sale. "Ah, I love that musty goodness. Like a library, only with more chicken's feet."
    Besides the jacket, the man had a white dress shirt, black tie, brown pants, and black shoes. He should have been sweating in that, but his car had air conditioning, so while a bit unusual, it wasn't that bad.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Giles looks up from the book as the bell over the door chimes. "Pastries, you say?" He sits up and closes the book. He tucks it on a shelf behind the counter as he rises to his feet. "I don't mind, Willow, if it's what you want to do." He never, ever minds having help in here. That frees him up for more research. And pastries. And tea. "Would you like a cup of tea?" His own cup, sitting atop the counter, is quite empty.

Over the speakers at the Magic Box, instrumental music plays. Sometimes classical, sometimes something more modern, always comprised of a combination of things like piano, flute, and violin. And the bell rings again. Two people in quick succession? Giles looks over at the door, a smile coming to his face as he starts to greet the customer. "Hello! Welcome to.." There he falters as he realizes it's a familir face. "King," he says. Now the smile is genuine. "How can I help you today?"

Sinister has posed:
Sinister has been gone from the magic box for at least almost twenty four hours. Apparently, the sharpie moustache incident left him with a distinct desire to create some zen and recalibration of his impeccable cleanliness and neatness. He looks fresh of face, devoid of sharpie-attack a'la Deadpool and the irony of all that is, he had a goatee and moustache to begin with. That did not remotely stop the little... guttersnipe bag of bones though. The door chimes a -third- time after a black jaguar pulls up infront of the shop. Sharp slacks, pristine white open collar shirt, black silk waistcoat, polished wingtip boots, raebans and his hair tied back. The only odd thing about any of that is he wears little silver rings on every single finger and both thumbs at the moment, they look plain, but the smartwatch at his wrist does not.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
"Of course!" Whether Willow means she would like a cup of tea, or the pastries is up for grabs. "I bought the expensive kind, out of my first pay cheque." She seems proud of herself. That or she really wanted to have the really good pastries.

She turns as the bell jingles, not once, but /twice/. "Can I help you.. Ah! Dr. Wessex." She beams at him. The other man, she holds her smile. "..you. I mean, would you like some help?"

Hannibal King has posed:
    Taking a few steps further into the shop, King greeted Giles with a humorous response, "I can't think of anything right now, Mr. Giles, but could you check back with me in a few days? I've found it really boosts my shopping habits to hear from salesmen during the week. Preferably a call during dinner time."
    Smelling the pastries that Willow had brought, he asked, "what is that intoxicating aroma?" He moved towards the pastries, making a point of everyone hearing the sniff, "good, but no," and then smelled Willow, but not so close as to make her uncomfortable, "Yes, that's it. Strawberry and Sage. My name's Hannibal King. Congratulations on the first pay cheque. Let me guess, international shipping magnet, or professional ballerina?"
    Turning around to see Dr. Wessex, and overhearing Ms. Rosenberg mention his name, he asked, "Dr. Wessex, of the Essex Wessexes?" Which was not him knowing Mister Sinister's real name, just an attempt at rhyming humor. Taking a step towards the man, "Hannibal King, is that Caron Poivre? I've been meaning to try, but I'm poor," he was not, "and I don't think I could handle that much spice." Noticing all the bling, he looked Dr. Wessex up and down, "ooh, bling, do you have toe rings to complete the set, or does the carpet not match the drapes?"

Rupert Giles has posed:
Giles is on his way to the back when the bell chimes again. He glances over his shoulder and nods once, to himself. Four teas it is. He gets the kettle ready and water boiling. Then four cups. Four tea bags, Earl Grey, probably, it's what he prefers. One into each cup. While the water continues boiling, he places the cups on a small platter and gets the sugar cubes in their box onto the platter. He gets out the milk and pours some into a smaller, metal cup. That gets placed on the platter and the rest back in the fridge.

About then, the water is ready and he pours it into the four cups. Once done, he returns to the front area of the shop, with the tray in hand. This he carries behind the counter, and then sets it atop. He reaches for one of the cups, and a single sugar cube gets dropped into it. "Help yourselves," he says. He raises a brow at Hannibal. "A call. At dinnertime?" That's really odd!

Giles looks to Wessex and notes the rings. "New gadget?" he asks, curiously. He doesn't pay any more attention to Hannibal than he ever does. He's rather used to how much the man talks. It amuses him.

Sinister has posed:
"Hello Miss Rosenberg, congratulations on your exploits in the realm of the gainfully employed..." Wessex smiles, only to be addressed so purposefully by HK. There is a moment where lines crease between his eyebrows and the smile remains, but looks more and more bewildered by the moment. The sunglasses are slowly removed and the clear blue gaze is levelled at King's face, but his attention is soon to roam down in a general 'going down the plughole' speed from the top of Hannibal down to the footwear. He drags his gaze up again with a glance left and right at his hands.
    "I think your metaphors fell off the bandwagon and got all cock-eyed there. It's actually Imperial Majesty. I know, a little dated..." like the limited run of the hyper expensive cologne ended a decade ago "...but something of the name spoke to me." He looks down the man and up again. "No, I don't know you, do I? No. No, I think I would have remembered..." he looks at Giles now, with the kind of expression that behooves 'halp!' as he slides his raebans into his jacket pocket. "...Actually of the Berkshire Wessexes, but we are international and cosmopolitan at this point. Ahhh.....?" name?

Thankfully, it seems there is a rescue of sorts arriving. Right hand lifted. "Actually, employing tesla's principles to the electrodes and working remotely. I figured moving around wirelessly was probably more helpful to measurements."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Taking a step back, and *blinking* (and blushing it may be said), Willow tells Hannibal, "Uhm, I just got a job in X-Corps. Metaphysical Co-ordinator.. it's.. It's nothing." How does explain to most people exactly what 'metaphysical' means without spooking them? But she thanks him about her hair. "The sage, I add. I think it smells nice."

As well, it gives her some extra 'oomph' against certain monsters!

"I just got it, about three..no, four weeks ago." She nods at Dr. Wessex. "I had to finish up my cafe job first. But this is closer to my dream job." Even if it caused certain problems in the interim.

Hannibal King has posed:
    Hannibal King helped himself to a cup of tea in a The Magic Box branded cup. They were likely for sale somewhere else in the store, as well as t-shirts, baseball caps, pens, and anything else that Giles could think of. He took his with sugar and milk, dropping the cube in, and then pouring a bit of milk in. He let it for a while before taking his first sip.
    King was a student of human nature. Before becoming a detective, he had earned a masters in psychology. So he watched Dr. Wessex, studying the body language, the pauses, the creases, and every other little movement. It all had meaning. He had genuinely been making a rhyming joke, but something had seemed to strike a nerve. His mind was reeling as it tried to uncover what he had inadvertently stumbled upon.
    "Oh, a stranger's just a friend you haven't met yet, isn't that right, Wessie?" Yeah, referring to oneself as Imperial Majesty was going to win exactly zero points from King. But Ms. Rosenberg got all the points with her backing up and blushing. That was natural. That was adorable. It was precious. "So, just whose minds and bodies will you be co-ordinating, Ms. Rosenberg? Oh, no, no, no," he tsked, "it's work, it's not nothing. It gave you a paycheck, and you used it, hopefully not all of it, I know metaphysical co-ordinators are criminally unpaid, on pastries. That's not nothing."
    "And see, you went from a cafe to studying the fundamental nature of existence. I think I saw that movie. "Just how much closer are you to your dream job? Are we talking an inch, or a mile?"

Sinister has posed:
THere are tells, indeed. But then there's also a complete stranger making all kinds of comments to you, uninvited when you're english and sometimes easily flustered by familiarity. Case in point: Subject #1, Doc Wessex. Off-handedly "Wessex. It's Wessex," he corrects, shakes his head a little bit as if to clear it and goes to make himself a cup of tea, black but with one sugar. Mildly adulterated Earl grey, rather than the fully adulterated kind. He also makes Giles a fresh cup, whilst he's at it, bringing that over before finding a spot to lean and examine one of the rings, sliding it one handed off of his index finger on the left, whilst sipping. He looks on the inside layer, under the light.
    "It does sound like an interesting career, even if only just burgeoning, miss Rosenberg." ANd because he can't help it "Does it come with dental?"

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
"Actually, mutants." Well, Hannibal did ask! "But really, I play around with my.. Uhm.. you see, I have a thing about the internet. I can usually find anything I need to know." If fact, as Willow thought it, this really *was* a dream job. But she didn't tell him that, really, what she did was magic. Real magic.

Opening the box from the bakery,she offers them around. "This is from 'la boite '. This little hole in the wall, real French bakery. They even sell Croque Monsieur there! Not that I eat them." Vegetarian, d'uh. "Eat!" She takes one, and passes it on around.

Hannibal King has posed:
    Hannibal King was well acquainted with the English. He made the brilliant decision to immigrate to the United Kingdom around the time that Hitler annexed the Sudetenland, and stayed for the Second World War. "Oh, all right, Doc Wessex it is," the Doc part probably bothering Doctor Wessex too, but he didn't stipulate that it was Doctor, not Doc. He should be more mindful with his word choice.
    "Mutants," King repeated, his mind going through a series of jokes that he could say, but none of them seemed appropriate. Making a joke about a person was absolutely fine, making a joke about an entire species was a line he didn't like to cross. And then freshly baked pasteries were put in front of his face, and King would readily take one of them, biting into it. "Oh, I can feel that going to my hips already."

Sinister has posed:
"I appreciate it," Wessex replies, with the line between his brows deepening a moment as he reviews the last five minutes of his life in minute detail. It leads to him sipping, looking lost in the inside of the ring and eventually in the smoothing of the crease to flat. But then there's other things and Willow gets a glance with interest.

"Interesting. I wasn't aware that mutants were generally being considered metaphysical. Is that new?" Wessex asks, offering a soft 'Thank you' when the pastries are offered. Proper petite four, which seems to please him immensely. He takes a tiny strawberry sponge tower with dark chocolate flower on the top, setting it on a napkin.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
"Not exactly. I help them to find the perfect jobs?" Something like that. Really, she was given an office, and allowed to do.. anything. Most often she'd looked up regular things on the net. Sometimes she used her maths. Her boss, Mr. de Costa, was happy to leave it to her. "So, not really the Mutants."

Hannibal King has posed:
    Hannibal made short work of his pastry. He took a napkin, but no crumbs hit the floor, or missed the inside of his mouth. He at least had the presence of mind to eat it slowly, and chew it thoroughly, before taking his next bite. He had great teeth when he did bite into it. "Thank you, Ms. Rosenberg," he had introduced himself to Dr. Wessex, overheard her surname, but hadn't heard a given name yet. "That really hit the spot." He took another sip of his tea, finishing the last of it off. His apetite was ravenous, despite the slim and athletic build.
    Listening to Ms. Rosenberg's description of her job had King perplexed. She was a Metaphysical Coordinator, who worked with mutants, helping them to find jobs, but not really mutants, whatever that meant. He thought about prying, but he didn't want to upset someone who had given him a pastry, and seemed to be a friend of Rupert Giles. "Mutants, Not Mutants, gotcha," and he winked.

Sinister has posed:
"Oooooooooooh, you mean -you- are the metaphysical in the metaphysical coordinator. You just coordinate the mutants, metaphysically. I'm with you now," Wessex seems to have worked his head around it at least, taking his pastry very delicately between finger and thumb -- yes he's the sort that sticks his pinky out when holding delicate things -- and eats it neatly and tidily, though there is chantilly about the corners of his mouth when done, requiring a gracious dabbing of the napkin there.

This completed, he chases the richness with more bitterness of the tea, to clean the palate and sets cup aside, considering King. "I am afraid we may have gotten off to a confusing foot. My name is Doctor Nicholas Wessex, recently befriended of Rupert and miss Rosenberg. They have been helping me to educate myself so as not to be an ignorant buffoon in the multi-supraexistential climes we live in. I am dabbling in attempts to understand magic. Coming from a very non-magical career, that is a challenge, to say the least. But I do enjoy a challenge. The rings you observed are a hybrid of electrode and teslan technology, paired with my smartwatch, to allow baseline readings of energy. I feel rather like one of those ham actors on television though, I admit, trying to chase meta, with machine."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow laughs at Dr. Wessex. "It's probably easier to think of me as the metaphysical. Would you like to see?" To both of them. "It's probably simplest to show you."

Hannibal King has posed:
    "My name is Hannibal King, Masters of Psychology," since he wanted to claim a fancy title too, before he let it be known that he was the "co-owner of BorderLine Investigate Services. If there are secrets to be found, we're your dicks," as in private detectives. "So, Doc, you want to become a sorcerer, wizard, or warlock. Have you picked out the cape, gotta get a cane, and oh yes, the magical prowess. But it's mostly about the cape. Forget what the Incredibles taught us, when it comes to magic, it's all about the cape." Turning to Willow, "sure, I'd love a demonstration Ms. Rosenberg." He didn't mean to be formal, but he still didn't know her given name.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister holds up a finger and taps his smart watch, using the end of a fingernail to set a few swift things in motion, then nods and spreads a hand toward Willow. "Please do, I would be fascinated to watch," Private detectives, eh? He looks back to Hannibal as Willow prepared mentally or however that works. "That might be a venture for a future date. I'm still trying to grasp the very basics. It's humbling, to be able to slice into a sick brain and make it healthy again, yet feel like you're just learning to speak the alphabet in other areas." He nods toward WIllow at this juncture, "...and thus I am being schooled." Pause "But capes do have a certain panache."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
While she waits for an answer, Willow pulls out her laptop and boots it up.

"We don't have work to use.. by the way, I'm Willow." After all, she's showing them one of her secrets. Giles had better know Hannibal, that for certain!

She pulls up one of her scrying windows (for which it is not apparent if it is, or is not, connected to the web)."Let's see.." As she begins she looks for the recent report, the police reports, the not for the public reports.. on someone who once lived in her building.

Hannibal King has posed:
    Hannibal and the Nightstalkers had been buying from the Magic Box since before Giles took over the business. They went through a lot of holy water, a few other ingredients, some that Giles stocked for customers, others were special orders in large amounts. He stood back, watching Willow use her computer, although he wasn't too sure what magic and computers had to do with one another, but hey, he was a guy with an electronic pistol that could dust a vampire with ultraviolet radiation. So, he was no one to judge. For the first time since he came into the Magic Box, he was blissfully quiet.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister's fingertips rub together as Willow starts to work, and he glances down at them on either side with a slow smile forming, one of pleased wonderment. He then looks up at her, spreading the fingers lightly and just holding hands palm slightly toward her, all akimbo, with the occasional wiggle and brighter grin. What the heck is going on there, well, he knows of course, but it looks funky. He steps slightly to the side of Willow so that he can actually see what she's doing on the screen at the same time.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
"Wow, he's got a lot of juvenile records. They're supposed to be forgiven.. Oh I see. He was less than a week away on being an adult. It looks like someone decided to leave open the records, instead of keeping them closed like they're supposed to."

Now Willow was sad for looking at his records. "Bummer."

Hannibal King has posed:
    "It's a legal grey area. The court can decide to treat someone as an adult, even if they are chronologically a minor, and if they treat them that way, the records remain. Police stations also routinely delete or throw out records that they shouldn't, which is not a grey area, but it happens." As a detective, King had a great deal of experience in dealing with the good and the bad of the local police.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister frowns faintly, lifting a hand to hover it close to the computer without touching it. He then rubs his fingertips once again and taps his smart watch, sighing afterwards. "It is quite sad that a future can be so tainted. Unfortunately, it's not anything new..." he contemplates "...Fascinating though."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
"I can do other things too." Poor Willow. She doesn't like all that she can do. There really was a reason she found monsters easier to deal with. She didn't have to have her heart on her sleeve this way.

Hannibal King has posed:
    "Oh, and what little old skills might be in your repertoire, Willow?" Hannibal was taking an interest, letting her do her computer work. He knew how to order stuff online, but he was no hacker, so this was a case of him watching, observing, being impressed, but very little to contribute. Nodding with Doc Wessex, "a tale as old as time, boy meets shiny, boy likes shiny, boy takes shiny, boy gets sent down, boy meets Rocko, boy is not a boy anymore."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister wrinkles his nose a little at the words. "A colourful turn of phrase you have, mister King, but yes, essentially. Habits are hard to break and sometimes, that's all the constables need to justify failing to give a second chance." He studies the man, then Willow a moment. "You mentioned rituals and rites, various spells and disciplines, so I entirely believe you in what you say. Removing the middle man, or rather the long and drawn out encoding and decoding process from computer hacking is very useful though. By the by, it tingled. I am no longer having a bad hair day." He raises his hands and wiggles the fingers.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow wondered if there was anything new about the Librarian. (She didn't have any faith.) In fact..

She pulled up a new window, and a couple more to boot. She had forgotten she had an audience as she begin to quickly put up her last known 'addresses' and watch them ping over nothing.

Then one of them began to go crazy. It suddenly appeared, and flashed into three separate spots in the map.

Hannibal King has posed:
Hannibal King was against the occult. More often than not, in his experience, they had caused problems for the world. Problems that he and the Nightstalkers had to fix. But he had met a few occultists who were good, so he was putting away his prejudice. "Oh, that's super" that Doc Wessex was no longer having a bad hair day. Looking over Willow's shoulder, King asked, "what's with the happy triangle?"

Sinister has posed:
Sinister's eyes dart to the sudden appearance of manic 'happy triangle', his pupils swinging out wide in their blue fields, swallowing up the sky. He straightens a moment, glances from screen to Willow's face as if to guage the reaction there and reaches his hand out for his tea. He set it over on the counter when he came to view the computer screen and so it has to float over to his waiting grip, to be brought to lips.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Quickly, Willow closes the laptop. Like really closes it.

"Like I said, nothing much.. Uhm.. I think I've got to go. I suddenly remembered something." Really smooth, Willow. Real. Smooth.

And carrying the laptop underneath one arm, and parcels underneath the other arm, she's gone.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Giles had, at some point, sat down on his chair behind the counter and pulled his book close enught to the edge that he could read it comfortably without picking it up. He'd made a vague sound of thanks to the refreshed cup of tea and then proceeded to, well, ignore them all. Especially once the infernal machine is gone.

But it's not until the bell over the door chimes that Giles looks up. He blinks, and looks around the shop. "Oh. Did Willow leave?" He appears to have quite missed the conversation. "Are there any pastries left?" Because of course that's what he thinks of. The pastries.

Hannibal King has posed:
    It was interesting that Willow decided to hide whatever it was she was looking for when she closed, like really closed the lid. Not quite a slam, but just as definitive. Hannibal seemed to be amusing, or rubbing Doc Wessex the wrong way with his commentary, such as the 'happy triangle' description of the three dots. Perhaps he would have preferred a sad triangle. He really was a bit of a glass is half empty sort of fellow.
    And curious-er was that Willow made an abrupt escape. At least Giles came back from his books. "Yeah, you just missed her, Giles. She departed all smooth and casual like."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister seems to find that last comment from Hannibal amusing and chuckles softly with it, finishing off his tea and regarding the bottom of the cup, as if more will magically manifest itself. And when conjuration does not appear to simply occur, he heads to the kettle to make a fresh cup. "Anyone want another? You good Rupert? Hannibal?" -- out of sight, he lays his hand on the kettle cord as it's filled and concentrates there. A watched kettle never whistles, but an encouraged one does so rather quickly. Must have been still pretty hot. Right? Right.

Called back: "I think whatever she saw bothered her, but I'm afraid I had no context to even pretend to guess what the triangle of dots was all about. It did look excited though." SO maybe it's not that he was upset by the happy triangle dance.

Rupert Giles has posed:
"My cup's still full, thank you Nicolas," replies Giles about the tea. It's not very /warm/ anymore, kind of luke warm, but still full. He reaches for it and pulls it closer. He lifts it to drink it without seeming to be bothered by the temperature of it. He's certainly drank tea that wasn't hot before, and certainly will again. "Triangle of dots?" Rupert just sounds curious, now. He leans back in his chair. It's one of those taller ones that's designed to be sitting at a counter.

It's possible he's propped his feet on the lower shelf there. Then again, it's Giles, so maybe not. "What was she looking for?" Giles is curious despite his avoidance of computers in general. He knows /how/ to use one, he just doesn't like it. And he's not fast at all with one.

Hannibal King has posed:
    "Got anything stronger?" Hannibal asked, as tea wasn't really his thing. He liked it, but only in small doses, or with great distances between them. He was an American. He preferred coffee. It was one of the reasons he moved back home. Either that, or the fact that London had been devastated by the Second World War. But it probably had more to do with their insistence on drinking tea several times a day. "I don't know anything more about the happy triangle than the Doc does. But it sure did seem to spook Willow.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister gestures to the minifridge, which of course opens, and with a flick of his wrist, sends the whiskey merrily floating out into the main room and over toward Hannibal. Ghost delivery service, courtesy of telekinesis. He finishes making himself a fresh cup of chah then, as it is a holy sacrament to some and returns to the main room, his steps rather quiet for a man so tall and wearing wingtips. You'd think those heels would be louder.

"As Hannibal says, it was a mystery. I do not know what she was even looking for, she did not share it, just seemed to go off into her own little world and got a shock at what she saw there. It might be prudent to check up on her later, when she isn't being quite so evasive."

Rupert Giles has posed:
"Scotch, in the fridge." It's Glenlivet, one of the more spendy labels. Good quality. Giles sticks with his tea for now. Tea is what makes the world go 'round. "Hmm." He reaches for the pastries that seem to have, yes, been left sitting atop the counter. And claims one. He eats it quietly while he thinks. He intersperces bites with sips of luke warm tea.

Once he's done eating the pastry, he finally nods once. "Right. Check up on Willow later. I'll do that," he says. He rises to his feet, leaving the book on the shelf under the counter, and comes out. He walks over to the display across from the counter and straightens one of the little figures there that had gotten a little bit out of place, putting it more in line with the rest of the things for sale in that row.

Hannibal King has posed:
    "Giles, if you're going to have a poltergeist deliver whiskey, the least you could do would be to store it in a skull shaped decanter. Although, I can't really complain about Glenlivet. Just would have been nice to have the skull shaped decanter." Hannibal remarked, as he accepted it, and with nothing else available, would pour some in the cup he had just been drinking tea. Taking his first sip, the taste of tea was masked entirely, even to his taste buds, by the whiskey, which went down with just the right burn.
    "Right, so, we need to repeat our last order, but double the salvia shipment, and halve the holy water. Not been going through that as much." BorderLine Investigative Services had been ordering from the Magic Box since before Giles took ownership, and had been happy to continue. "Oh, and throw in a couple of packs of decks of illusions. Great at parties."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister watches the straightening of the items on display with the flicker of a smile teasing his lips up a little bit. There's a reason he likes Giles so much, despite himself. He also seems amused by the first portion of commentary from Hannibal, looking oblique to the shopkeeper first, then back at the customer/friend thereafter.

"So you are a hunter of a kind as well as a private investigator? I assume... unholy things, from the order credentials?" he asks.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Giles is just a likeable fellow? And he's generally polite unless someone gets on his bad side. Giles putters around still, straightening an item here, an object there, the books on the shelves, until the shop meets his satisfaction again. He nods once, firmly. He glances to Hannibal at the question posed to him, but doesn't say anything himself. Not at present, anyway.

A smile appears at the light complaint. "Sorry, King. I don't have the skull shaped decanters here. They're at home. Here, you get the bottle. You can use your tea cup to drink it out of." Curiously, he makes no comment about the poltergeist. He wanders back to the counter and gets out an old fashioned notepad. And a pen. And writes down the order. With double the salvia and half the holy water. He glances up at Hannibal, then back down, adding decks of illusions to the list.

Hannibal King has posed:
    "Drinking actually, I tried that diamond filtered stuff from a private Parisian reserve, but it just didn't have the kick of twice blessed tap water. I don't know how those monks do it, but they sure do know how to make a refreshing beverage." He denied it with such jocularity and practice, as well as all the other humorous remarks that he had made before, that it was so hard to tell when he was being serious, and when not. It was kind of the trick. Confuse and conquer. If someone doesn't trust you when you tell the truth, how will they be able to tell when you're lying?
    It was good that Giles kept written records for these things. Otherwise King and the Nightstalkers were liable to receive desks of illusions, rather than decks. Sure, they had the room, but it was very difficult to play 52-desk pickup. The Hulk could. Wonder Woman could. But Hannibal King could not. "Not to worry, Giles, I'll make do." He poured himself another double of whiskey.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister arches an eyebrow at the response from Hannibal, which is perhaps telling. Well, whatever he thinks on the reply, he keeps it well and truly to himself. Idly, he removes the rings of both hands and slides them in a mass toward Giles. "You have to try this, Rupert. It's quite astonishing." He notes, before settling to a lean against the counter, sipping the tea and giving Hannibal a good looking at.
    "Do you have a taste for the catholic stuff, that they add salt to? I can't imagine drinking twice-blessed saline has the same kick to it." Apparently he's going along with it. "What does Salvia get used for? I'm curious."

Rupert Giles has posed:
Giles could not either. Then again, he can't play 52-deck pickup with a normal deck of cards either. He nods without looking up from what he's writing. "I never had a doubt, King," he replies, about making do. He puts down the pen and glances at the rings slid toward him. "Uh. Sure," he says. He starts to slip them on in the order that seems most likely. Honestly, he hadn't paid a great deal of attention to how Wessex was wearing them in the first place!

He glances up from the rings, and then back down to them, talking as he slips them into place. "Salvia. Also known as sage. You burn it, rather like incense. It's good for cleansing of negative energy, mostly." He finishes putting the rings on and looks up at Wessex again. "Right. What am I doing with these, again?"

Hannibal King has posed:
    "Oh, yeah, but what repressed heterosexual white male doesn... oh, right, the water. Moving along," he made an awkward roll of his eyes, but the way he said that whole thing, it seemed a bit too polished, as if it were deliberate. But then again, everything Hannibal seemed to say came across as well rehearsed. Was there anything of substance in there? He plainly explained that the salvia, which was a type of plant, went into his, "Muffins. Chocolate and Salvia muffins. All the chocolately goodness, with plenty of antioxidants." When Giles had to go and elaborate, "it has many uses."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister shakes his head slowly at the reply from Hannibal, holding up a finger to the man a moment, then tapping his smart watch and presenting the little lucky button that he'd bought from the magic shop the first time he'd come in here, pushing it over toward Giles. "Just hover your hand over it," he instructs, and provided that the man does, it sends very mild tingles down the fingers, when brought close. As the magic in the object is extremely weak, it's only a teensie weensie tingle. "I solved the static discharge problem with teslan technology and the use of electrodes. No bad hair days." He grins at this, then clears his throat and looks back at Hannibal.

"I appreciate the keeping of secrets and evasive responses. However..." he puts both hands out palm up at his hip and lifts them slightly. With the motion, every single item, including all the furniture and books, all statues and even the cash register, lifts about an inch off the surface it sits upon. He lowers his hands and all of it settles back precisely where it was. "I'm a friend to Giles. I'm aware that there are bizarre things in the world and the cleansing of things via smudging is probably a rather booming business around here."

Rupert Giles has posed:
Giles does not comment. Is not going to comment. Keeps his lips pressed together. He looks mildly scandalized. But only mildly. Salvia in chocolate muffins. Ugh. The thought is clearly written on Giles' face. Yuck. He moves his fingers about, getting used to the feel of the rings there. He generally doesn't wear more than one or two at a time. He looks at the penny and then to Wessex, and does as bidden. Hovers his beringed hand over the penny.

"Now what?" And then there are tingles. Giles jerks his hand away, the feeling unexpected entirely. He gingerly reaches forward again. "Ooh. That's interesting. Is that from the spell on the coin?" He chuckles. "No bad hair days is good." He watches as Wessex lifts everything from the counters and shelves. He shakes his head. "That never gets old. And not a single tingle from these rings."

Hannibal King has posed:
    "Wow, where were you when I needed to find the spider that ran under my couch? I moved the end tables, the couch cushions, the couch, a chair, and then the little bugger ran into that nest of wires behind my entertainment center, and a little piece of me died inside. I was halfway to making my one percent realty account when the little guy, who by this point had to be trolling me, peeked out, and offered me eternal life, if I would just spare him. Of course I stepped on him. Who needs eternal life when you have to share a room with a spider?" And if there was an answer in all of that, then you're a better man than Hannibal King. "What kind of other tricks do you know?"

Sinister has posed:
"I can make a pencil or pen turn to rubber." Sinister replies, mildly. He takes one out of his inside pocket and wobbles it between his fingers, creating the optical illusion of a noodle-pen. He slides it back to its housing, sniffs with a twist of lips to the side with it and looks to Giles. "It wouldn't, with the TK. And I can only assume so, with the spell on the button... in that it was supposedly a genuine article as opposed to snake oil." He smiles one-sided, then exhales. "I figure that this is a much better approach to learning," he gestures at the rings "... given that sudden tesla-coil hair would be distracting. I hope that I am able to differentiate true magic without these devices, but they do in a pinch."

He then looks back at Hannibal, weighing things up silently for a while. "You are an extemely odd man. But, to each their own, I suppose, yes? I'll share mine, if you share yours." Dance off! Ability speaking, perhaps.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Giles can't help the laugh at King's commentary with the spider. "You know they're beneficial, right? Except for black widows and brown recluses, that is. Those die on sight. The rest get to stay. Because the eat the aforementioned widows and recluses." Giles, clearly not afraid of spiders! He smiles. "I should hope the button wasn't snake oil," he says. "I set that spell there myself." He considers what is said, and shrugs. "Some magic I can discern. Some I can't. Practice helps," he offers.

Hannibal King has posed:
    "I didn't exactly ask for its ethnic background. If I see a spider crawling on my floor, I want to lay a new floor, or a jetpack. How come we don't have jetpacks? The Jetsons and all the science fiction stories said that we'd have them by now." He decided against taking Dr. Wessex up on his offer. "You know, I tried being ordinary, the usual experimentation you do when you're eighteen and alone for the first time at college, but it was just a phase. I did it, I'm not proud of it, but it's a part of my past."

Sinister has posed:
"That's what I thought," Sinister says to nobody in particular, then looks to Giles at his comment. "Practice helps. Well, so far I have felt zip and zilch, so I am probably going to be working at that particular aspect for a while. As they say, Every Good Boy Deserve Favour," which is also the callsign for a specific musical cord, but that's neither here nor there. He sits down in thin air, letting his legs cross in indian position, only to lean back on absolutely nothing for a while, with a sigh. "Perhaps I'm fighting a losing battle here. I mean, can I ever manage to make a difference in these abnormal clinical cases? With the way the world works, I've got to be getting back to regular work sooner than later and this... abnormality I brought to you Giles? I don't think it's going to be the last."

Rupert Giles has posed:
Giles lifts his shoulders. "I don't know? Maybe we do have jetpacks and those of us rooted in the supernatural just don't know it?" Giles works to slip the rings off of his fingers now, and then slides them back toward Wessex. He leans against the counter and reaches for another pastry. "As far as it goes, being ordinary is boring." He takes a bite of the pastry and seems to be enjoying it.

He glances to the doctor and shrugs. "You can always bring abormalities to me. If I don't know, I'm usually decent at being able to point toward who does know."

Hannibal King has posed:
    Hannibal watched as Giles had yet another pastry, and while he hadn't been invited to do so, Willow had left, Giles was a friend, so he took a liberty and picked up a second pastry, beginning to enjoy it as much as the first. Although this time it wasn't as fresh and warm as the earlier one. "It's cheaper to bring these abnormalities to Giles than it would be to me. We charge for taking care of abnormalities at BorderLine Investigative Services. I really should," he patted his chest, his waist, and then found a business card, which he got out and handed to Doc Wessex. "We can always use extra work."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister reaches for the business card, but NOT for another pastry. That would be improprietous. It is scrutinized, then pocketed with a pat of the outside area where the card resides and he lowers his legs to the ground, exhaling. He seems at a loss for words as he looks between the two other men, then there is a nod of his head and he makes for the door, scooping up the rings as he heads out.

His jaguar makes one roar as he guns the engine, then he leaves the vicinity of the shop.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Giles doesn't charge for supernatural consultations. He looks thoughtfully at Hannibal. "Hm. Maybe I ought to start charging for my services too," he says thoughtfully. Not a word was said about the pastry being claimed. That's what they're there for, afterall. He finishes the pastry and takes another drink of his tea.

And then Wessex goes all quiet and .. apparently at a loss. He stares after the man as he leaves, and then looks to King. "Well. That was a little odd," he observes. "You would think nobody's ever offered to help him before." He shrugs and takes another drink of tea, finishing off that cup.

Hannibal King has posed:
    With Dr. Wessex leaving without another word, Hannibal would turn to Giles afterwards, a raised hand, thumb pointing towards the doorway, "so what's his story? And you should. But then you'd be stealing my business. Not that I'd mind a bit of healthy competition. "Now that's an interesting thought. Look, I'd love to shoot the breeze a bit longer, but it's getting late, and I do some of my best business at night, so I better be off as well. But we'll have to do this again, and much sooner than the last time."

Rupert Giles has posed:
Giles shrugs. "He walked in here wanting to know more about magic." Really, that's about all there is to it. "Because of a patient coming to him with oddness." He doesn't share more details than that. He grins at the other man. "Well, our circles don't cross very often. People that come to me don't often go to you and vice versa, unless it's for spell components." He nods and tucks his hands into his pockets. "Take care, King. And yes. Sooner than last time. Maybe a drink at Lux? Or there's this place that serves the best food. McAnnaly's, or something like that. Be safe out there."

Hannibal King has posed:
    "Dinner at McAnnaly's, and a drink a Lux. You're on." Hannibal said, knowing Giles likely meant them as separate excursions, but Hannibal would combine them into one longer evening. They did have a lot of overlap, but not in the professional sense, it was more of a hobby, off the books, such as Hannibal King hunting vampires at night, and Giles training people to hunt them.
    THannibal had made the updates to his orders, he had good company, and now, it was time to go to his real work. The sun was still up, but that didn't bother him. He wouldn't be in it for long enough for it to be a problem. Passing through the door, he made the short walk to his car and its necro-tempered windows, revving up the engine, which roared to life, and he headed off into the city.