8529/The Librarian: Tea and Biscuits, Cockney Style

The Librarian: Tea and Biscuits, Cockney Style
Date of Scene:	27 July 2019
Location:	A Church
Synopsis:	John tracks down the Keeper of the Crypt and learns more about how to track down the Librarian... or does he?
Cast of Characters:	Constantine, Castiel
Tinyplot:	The Librarian

---

Constantine has posed:
"You sure you want to get out here, mack?" the cabbie asked through the screen from the front of the cab. "I mean, you hear things about this part of town."

John smiled, and passed him a fifty and held out another. "This one is for you too if you come back in an hour, right?"

The cabbie looked at the bill and then John then the old church. "Make it a hundred."

John laughed, "I'd walk for a hundred," and then slipped out of the cab pocketing the fifty. Lighting up a cigarette as the cab pulled away, John mutters to himself, "Really got to get Chaz over here," he says of his friend the cab driver, currently with his family back in England. "No sense of priorities that one."

Making his way to the old church, John comes up to the doors and gives them a try, while knocking, "'Allo," he says leaning into his accent. "Anyone home?"

Castiel has posed:
The church was very much like Buffy and Sam had found it last fall: looking deserted, but otherwise tended to. That is to say that the lawn had been mowed - but not terribly recently. And the graves hadn't been run over with weeds - there were no flowers on any of them, the place was a private graveyard after all.

The church itself had been abandoned years ago. The lot hadn't been sold only by virtue of the fact that it wasn't big enough, or zoned for, any reasonable development, and the Church was rather notorious at times for tightfisting for the best deal. Windows were boarded up, and not all were intact. The front steps were cracked and crumbling. The same with out back.

Only the tool shed really looked to be in any sort of repair. It's door was closed with an unlocked chain hanging through its handles.

*Crickets*

Constantine has posed:
John waits, then waits a little longer. When no one appears, he shrugs and tugs the chain letting it slip through the door handles and onto the ground.

"Oops," he declares and gives the door another try.

If this were cop show this would be where John asked his non-existant partner if they heard someone yelling for help, but then John wasn't a cop and trespassing was the least of his crimes.

Assuming the door opens, John pulls out his lighter for a bit of illumination, keeping the flame steady with a trickle of his pyromancy as he takes a look around.

Castiel has posed:
The door opens, and reveals inside the insides of the shed, which are neat, and fairly clean but for a dirt floor. The dirt is muc looser than it had been at one time, but there are no signs that it is anything other than a dirt floor. All the tools in the shed are neatly placed around the outsides of the shed. Even the lawn mowing equipment - a push mower, and several rakes and clippers - were oriented in such a way that the shed was roomy. Clippers and rakes and shovels all hung neatly from hooks and handles on the walls.

Given the state of things outside, it was a puzzling anomally to be certain.

John's illumination does show dust motes dancing in the air from the light that the open door lets in. There are no windows.

Constantine has posed:
John peers inside at the gardening supplies and frowns a moment before he opens up his senses.

Standing quietly, John tries to feel the magical essence of the place. He'd asked for some of the details of what happened here of Willow but now that he was here he wanted to get his own sense of things, and see what he can see.

Castiel has posed:
Willow had never been here. Sam and Buffy had - so she'd heard about it. The shed, if she recalled, was where the undead priest had been buried in his crypt. If John uses arcane means, he'll find the residue of the wards that were in place on the lock. And some lingering bits and pieces in the dirt flooring, but nothing else. It's almost as if the place were meant to be as entirely mundane as possible should any seeking eyes come this way.

In fact, the only place that might seem slightly out of place, should he turn, and should he remember her telling him that they'd gone into the basement of the church, is a slight wavering around the door at the basement entrance of the church. And even that is very faint, seemingly in the cracks of the door meets doorjam.

Then again, he really might not have time to ponder such things as seemingly out of nowhere is an elderly woman, in a faded dress, an apron about her waist, sighing at him. "You are rather noisy."

Constantine has posed:
John's old hat at people coming out of nowhere so he doesn't jump when he's greeted though the lady did sneak up on him.

"Tryin' to be," he says as he turns and gives the woman a once over. "Guessing you're the woman the Big Man and Blondie talked to, yeah?" he asks with his cigarette dangling from his lips and lighter held aloft in one hand.

"If so, got some questions for you."

Castiel has posed:
There's a soft chuckle from the old woman. "Oh, you must be one of their Keepers. Which do you belong to? You don't stink of the Celestial, so I'm thinking you belong to the pretty blonde one."

She makes no immediate move to invite him anywhere.

"Those things will kill you," she says without any particular inflection of judgement. "I'd think the damned might want to linger a little longer. Your funeral. So, you have my attention. Ask."

Constantine has posed:
"Don't really belong to anyone," John says with a crooked grin. "But yeah, the blonde works for me."

Which was somewhat true, at least at the time Buffy'd paid her a visit.

John 'hehs' softly about her remark, "Everyone from ourside of things opens with the damned thing," he remarks. "Anyhow, seem to recall Big Man and Blondie got tea with their answers, could do with a cuppa, I'll even lose the cigarette."

Castiel has posed:
"I wouldn't want you to pine away for lack of sustenance. I expect I could throw a pot on. Perhaps find a packet of proper biscuits." She chuckles, and turns back towards the church. "Mind you put things back as you found them. We have appearances to keep here. Hurry up. I won't hold the entryway for long."

And without much further ado or fanfare, she heads off, leaving him to see to closing up the shed. All the while muttering under her breath about she'd do better if she were underneath a freeway what with all the traffic this place was seeing...

Constantine has posed:
John laughs at that muttered remark as he vanishes his cigarette and steps from the shed. He closes the door behind him and with a word, wraps the chain tightly around the handles.

That done his lighter goes away and he follows the woman towards the church. "Could murder some biscuits," John admits before asking: "Hold the entryway? Guessin' you don't really live under a church then." Sounded like a portal to him.

Castiel has posed:
"Would you live under a church?" She laughs at that as she makes her slow way down the decrepit looking concrete steps to the basement door at the back of the church. "Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with churches. I once believed in God enough to call one home, and while appearances must be kept, I find it simpler to lodge elsewhere."

She casts a look over her shoulder and gives him a wicked little smile, "Basements are draughty after all. And it's been some time since the Women's Auxillary has held a Sunday social."

Quite some time. It had been since at least the 1950's when the last of the original priests in the parish had died. There were records - Willow had found them, after all - but they weren't complete, and they'd been, well, hidden wasn't the word, they just weren't all that easy to find. It was almost as though the church itself had fallen through an administrative crack.

"Ah, there we have it," she mutters, her fingers entirely too nimble over the door, tracing a pattern that glows briefly, surging and then fading completely.

There's an audible click, and were you to have magic (you do) you'd also know that several other things happened at the same time. Suffice to say, once the door is opened, it opens into a room that does not seem suited at all to a church basement. A series of rooms, as it happens.

They're old. Mutely lit. The smells aren't just old about the place, but of spices and herbs, and old books. A small, ornate clock sits upon a small mantlepiece over a fireplace, where a low fire still burns.

She wanders into what must be a kitchen, and there are sounds of what must be a kettle being put on, and cups and saucers being gathered.

"Make yourself comfortable, but be careful what you touch. No, on second thought, don't touch anything."

Constantine has posed:
"Can't blame you there," John says though if he means not living in the church or her loss of faith in god he doesn't say.

He watches her open the door, and he takes it all in like a craftsman admiring another's work. "Neatly done," he says with genuine admiration.

Once inside the rooms, he gives it a once over, breathing in the scent, taking in the feel of the place and what it told him about its owner.

"Been here long?" he asks as she goes off to the kitchen as he pauses to admire the clock, though he doesn't touch it.

Castiel has posed:
"Well, when you've been around as long as I have, you learn a few tricks. They do come in handy. Now, how do you take your tea? No sense wasting good milk if you're a straight up man. As for God, I doubt he misses me. It's a fair deal as far as such things go."

She disappears into the kitchen again, kettle whistling merrily, and more sounds of cups and saucers, as well as the distinctive crinkle of a Pims package.

Constantine has posed:
John grins, "It's a good trick," he says before nodding about god. "Likely doesn't miss me none either, I know I don't miss the judgemental bugger. An' straight up if you please," he says about the tea with a grin.

That crinkle however is hard to mistake. "Wait, that's not Pims is it?" he asks. "Might ask you to marry me if it is," he calls from by the fireplace before moving on to stand next to a chair. "Assumin' you didn't mean the furniture with the whole 'don't touch anything' bit, yeah?"

Castiel has posed:
"Ah, A Brit after my own heart, I see. Most of you lot prefer to water it down until it's a sopping mess of warmed milk and hardly a proper cuppa at all." It would seem she has opinions.

Not long after the crinkling sound, she returns with a tray that has a teapot under a plain cosy, two tea cups, and a saucer with several cubes of sugar upon it.

And a plate of Pims. Indeed the very ones he'd be familiar with from home. Raspberry and Orange flavours, both.

His question about not touching the furniture gets him a levelled gaze of disappointment. "My dear, let us not pretend we're mincing words here. I'm not some school girl likely to trip over your charm and fall into your lap. Let us both acknowledge we have better things to do with our time than that and move along to understanding what was meant. Of course, you could stand if you prefer."

She, herself, takes a seat in a comfortable looking, but ancient, wing backed chair, complete with oil absorbing doilies at armrests and behind the head. "Now, I do believe you mentioned questions?"

Constantine has posed:
"Right?" John says. "Don't know why they even bother adding tea at all, boil up some water if you're just going to bury it with cream and sugar."

He shakes his head at the sorry state of the tea drinking world.

"Fair 'nuff," John grins as he sinks into the chair and grabs his tea and one of the orange biscuits. He always liked those ones best.

"I did, didn't I?" John says after a bite. "Well, I'm working this business with this book and the ritual doodads. Wanted to see if I could get a bit more information, from what I've heard is we need the book and the rest to deal with Halvorsen, that right? And that Halvorsen is looking for them too, for his own reasons?" he asks before getting to the meat of things. "What's he want it for, just protecting his own ass, or does it do other things? An, what is he? Can anything slow him down some while we're working on sending him off to Hell?"

Castiel has posed:
There's a small, near disappointed sound from the woman who pauses in blowing over her tea to note, "Well, there go my hopes of enjoying a sip or three before, though as I told your little blonde underling, the damage is done now. Though that was a considerable time ago."

She doesn't seem in a hurry to answer him, blowing over her tea again, thoughtfully, before murmuring, "Perhaps it's easiest to ask what do you already know. Save an old woman a few moments of her dwindling life repeating nonsense you already are possessed of." Which also gives her time to sip her tea. Though, it could also be an excuse to not divulge bits and pieces she was unwilling for him to have if he did not already possess them.

Constantine has posed:
John sips his tea.

"I thought I just told you what I already know," he says. "Just wanted to confirm it because what I was told was second hand information, an' well, you know magic, doesn't pay to be sloppy," he says, before another sip. "So, basically what I've heard is Hakvorsen is an undead priest, he wants the five parts of the book and the ritual doodads, and we need them to send him to Hell, I know that with one of the pieces we can find the others, and the parts of the book are hidden in other objects. So, basically what we've got is a race, Halveren and us, trying to find all the bits. That's what I know. What I am hoping to hear is any other details you might have, like can Halverson be hurt, is that his real name, things like that, so I can have a chance in hell of dealing with him in case we run across him before we've got all the bits."

Castiel has posed:
"Ah," she murmurs. "Then either you lie, or they've gotten no further than we have in the interim. No help for that. As I told your friends, the thing both does and does not want to be found. You see, it has enough power about it that it has managed to hide itself rather successfully, while directing... how shall we put it.. desirable attention towards itself."

She leans and sets her teacup down. "If you can imagine, we thought at one time to ward it ourselves. It seems the thing learned from our mistakes and bettered them. And no, I have no idea. Our best guess is that when the items were gathered in the beginning, that a symbiosis was formed that allowed for something of a gestalt of power."

"What we do know is that it is in pieces still. And that it will call to itself if any of the companion pieces are nearby. Those of weak mind have been known to be controlled more or less to do its will."

Constantine has posed:
"I lie, but not about this," John says with a hint of a smile.

"Anyhow, so what attention does it find desirable? I'm assuming those it can control?" John asks. "An' what about Halversen, I take it he's not one of the weak ones, so anything you can tell me about slowing him down would be a help."

Castiel has posed:
"We all lie, young man. It's knowing when not to that counts."

She settles back in her seat, but not before picking up her tea again.

"So, you wish to know about the Father." It's not a question. "Peitor Halvorson. He was a good man, once. A very devout man. Perhaps that was his downfall. It's hard to say. He was one of the fiercest of our Order. His corruption came as a shock."

She gives the faintest of shrugs. "Does corruption ever come as anything but? I digress, though. You want to know what it looks for. The simplest answer is we're not sure. Most of the time, from what we've been able to gather, it hitches rides. Then goes underground only to surface again years later. We believe most of the items were in one place at one time. We almost had them in our grasp. But there were some discussions about what we should do with the items once we had them. When the dust had settled between the two camps, the things were gone again."

"There are fewer of us now, not that there ever were many of us. Until your charge and her little friend let the good Father go, we thought we'd solved the problem. Him, and the last item in one place with no hope of them ever being reuinited. It was brilliant and fallible all at once."

Constantine has posed:
John snorts, sending ripples across the surface of his tea. "If I'm a young man, you must be getting on," he smiles. "Not asking how old though, that'd be rude."

There's a confirming nod to her question. "Yeah, seems like a good idea seeing as we may have to deal with him sooner than late." He listens to what she has to say of the fallen priest. "It's only a surprise if you trust people," John opines of corruption. "So what did him in? His zeal? He fall in love? What'd they use to get to him?" John knew well a lever used once could be used again. "And Peitor Halvorson, is that his real name? Might come in handy to know any middle names he might have had. Planning on binding the bloke if I get half a chance, probably won't hold him long but it gives him an edge I'll take the shot."

There's a sympathetic look at the Order's plans going awry, "Best laid plans of mice and men and all of that," John says. "I've had a more'n a few of my own plans go tits up like that," he says. "We'll put 'im down for good though, and make sure it sticks."

Castiel has posed:
"And I wouldn't tell you if you asked," she answers him calmly, sipping her tea.

There's a nod of Peitor's name. "Yes. The one true thing we know of him, though so far that has done us little good. It was enough to bind him to the crypt. As for what did they use to get him, my dear young man, we are they. The Order. He was the best and brightest of us. We all thought we were above such things. That our Faith would keep us whole and sanctified."

She's silent before urging, "Do havea bisuit. I didn't get them for myself."

"And yes, we fell victim to our own pride. Blinded by it, as it happens. We didn't fully understand the depths of what we were dealing with. Or, rather, we did, and we ignored the truth. Instead of protecting the very thing we vowed to keep from the hands of those who would use it for evil, we created the thing that Father Halvorson became."

Constantine has posed:
John doesn't need to be told twice and helps himself to two more of the orange biscuits.

"Good, that's something," John says of the man's name, his mind already going over the glyphs he'd need to use to bind such a thing as an undead fallen priest.

The rest of the tale is given a little nod, "Pride brings a lot of folks down," John says. "Especially when dealing with magic, but we'll do what we can to fix that, makes sure this book and the good father can't hurt anyone else." He takes a bite of his biscuit. "Anything else I should know about any of this?" he asks.

Castiel has posed:
The old woman eyes him over her tea.

"Oh, you think it's that easy, do you? We've had his name longer than you, young man. Before you go getting cocky, you should know the usual methods don't work on him. Your name might manage. But he's tougher than you think. It seems if your faith is what corrupts you, it also protects you."

She offers him some other tidbits. The items. Where they were last known to be - though she's also quick to point out that was long enough ago that her telling him really has no import.

"Though the tall one, he said you had someone who could scry using technology? Is that true?"

Constantine has posed:
"Never said it was going to be easy," John countered. "Just trying to learn what might be of use against him, which seems like next to nothing from what you say."

He takes note of the rest of the tidbits before nodding to the last, "Yeah, we've got someone like that, why do you ask?"

Castiel has posed:
"It may be nothing. It may be everything."

Tea is sipped calmly.

"I didn't believe them when they were here. It's unheard of what they proposed. Certainly not in our understanding of the arcane. It may be that it's outside the abilities of the tome to protect itself fully."

Another pointed question, "They still have the altar cloth?"

Constantine has posed:
John nods, "It's outside of the box, can see why something written with a quill and ink might not see it coming," he says of the book and its protections.

"We do, safely locked away for now, but, we've used it before to try and find the rest," he says with a look to the woman. "Why do you ask?"

Castiel has posed:
"Only that it's best I not know where it is. You'll want to use it to find the other pieces. And once you do, bring them all here. He will come for them. He has no choice. Then we will bind him and pray we do not make the same mistakes twice."

Constantine has posed:
John smiles slyly, "Don't worry, luv, wasn't planning on saying where I put it," he says. "Nothing personal but you know best way to keep a secret is not telling anyone." Actually the expression was the best way for three people to keep a secret is to kill the other two, but he felt that gave the wrong impression.

"I am confident where I'll keep the pieces will be safe, but, that still gives him a chance to hit us while they bits are in transit here, but all the same, we'll be ready."

John nods, "Sooner this bloke is locked away again the better, so," he finishes his tea and tucks the biscuits into his pocket. "I should proabably be on my way, but good to see some folks in this business still know the meaning of hospitality, maybe the lot of us can have tea and biscuits when this is all done."

Castiel has posed:
"It was lovely meeting you John." She inclines her head and gives an enigmatic smile. No, he hadn't introduced himself. That was the beauty of mysteries. "I'll be here waiting. I'm rather bound to this place myself. Part of the vows I took to guard over the crypt. As for the others, I don't know where they might be. When the items fell out of our keeping, and we bound Peitor here, we felt it best if we spread out. I'm the only one everyone knows. And now, so do you."

Adding, "Do take the biscuits with you. Too sweet for my tastes."

Constantine has posed:
"Likewise, but it occurs to me I don't know your name. What do I call you?" John asks, the wording is careful, not what is your name, which is a pricey gift to ask for but what should she be called, which is entirely different.

John nods, "We'll keep an eye out for the others, is there a way they can be identified, a word or a phrase we can use?" he asks her.

He stands then helping himself to the biscuits. "My thanks, love these things, deprived childhood."

Castiel has posed:
"Agnes," she says simply, then quirks a brow over the rim of her cup. "And before you go getting excited, no. Not that Agnes. You'd think there were only one of us the way your sort do go on. It's an old name. Respectable enough. Do let yourself out. The wards will reset themselves."

Constantine has posed:
"Not likely to," John says about getting excited. "Met that one already."

Biscuits gathers he gives Agnes a nod, "I will do then, Agnes, until next time," he says before taking his leave.