976/Fractured Images

Fractured Images
Date of Scene:	15 June 2017
Location:	West Harlem - Mercy's Garage
Synopsis:	Sam, Loki and Mercy talk about the mirror that was found previously by Sam and Mercy.
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Sam Winchester, Loki

---

Mercy Thompson has posed:
It's been several days since 'the incident' and still Mercy can't quite shake a feeling of unease.

But, enough time has passed that the coyote is back on more stable footing. As such, her shop has re-opened after a day hiatus and she's once more working hard. Between replacing a battery and tearing down a transmission, Mercy received a phone call. It was from one Sam Winchester and after polite pleasantries were exchanged, the two got down to the matter at hand. The shattered mirror they encountered behind that rest stop. A time (after closing hours) and the place (Mercy's garage) were decided upon and then the two went back about their typical day-time activities.

Now that time rolls around and the place, Mercy's Garage, is still open to invited guests only. The front door to her place of business is locked up tight, but the actual side door to the garage is open, the bright yellow light spilling outward into the parking lot. Movement might be seen if one looks for it, as Mercy moves from one side to the garage and then to the other, as she cleans up work benches, packs away tools and makes her workspace quite tidy.

The only thing out of place is a large cardboard box that sits upon a wooden work bench. Around the box is a circle of salt and if it can be sensed by others, blessed water was also liberally doused upon the box. It seems Mercy wasn't taking any chances with that thing.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam Winchester actually had been working the case. Trying to figure out who the holder of that mirror was. Checking in various occult shops up and down the Eastern seaboard, along with antique shops, to figure out if he could find out who sold the mirror in the first place. Of course, it's equally possible the thing was just something that had been sitting in someone's attic for years, in which case he would be SOL. But due diligience on a case is what it is, and Sam excels at it.

When he arrives he knocks thrice on the side door and comes in. He's looking pretty banged up. He's got his right arm in a cast, and he's moving pretty slowly. His neck is a mess of bruises and he's got some scrapes all over his face. But...given his line of work...this may not be really that huge of a surprise. He'll have to shoot left handed, which isn't ideal, anymore than doing his job with a broken rib is ideal. Or a mess of bruises everywhere else. But it's also kind of not the first time.

"Sorry it took me so long to check in," he says. He nods to the heavily warded box and asks softly, "Have you found anything out about that thing?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The sound of footsteps and the knock easily alert Mercy to the fact that she's no longer alone.

Automatically her gaze lifts from staring at that box to move towards the open side door. Her expression had turned more towards something polite, intending to greet Sam Winchester, but before any words of greeting can leave her mouth the coyote sees the young man's state. While her expression isn't quite horrified at the sight of him, it's definitely concerned, as she says, "Holy -" She might have been about to say shit, but her tongue is bitten before the word can be said. "- What happened to you?" Is what she'll say instead, as she automatically moves towards the man. "Should you be standing up?" His question about the mirror stays unanswered for the moment.

Her gaze strays towards one of the various folding chairs that lean against a wall. Should she offer him one? Would he be annoyed by that offer? Some people don't like to look weak, after all.

As for Sam's due diligence, he might have found a few mentions of the mirror on the down-low. Mostly concerning unsanctioned Auction Houses. The list of attendees to the pop-up Auction Houses is harder to find. Perhaps snippets of names would have been found, but nothing that directly correlated who purchased the mirror. But with that investigation Sam would definitely have figured out these pop-up Auction House's are dealing with both magical and non-magical items; now the question remains, do they realize what they're selling?

That's harder to answer.

Sam Winchester has posed:
She asks what happened to him, and he gives her a boyish grin tempered with hints of exhaustion and lingerng pain. "The job," is all he says to that. "But...I really wouldn't say no to a chair."

She gazes at the chairs, he gets one with his left hand, not wanting to put her out by asking her to move them around. A folding chair is pretty light, anyway. He sets it down nearer the box and eases into it. Sam is pretty comfortable in his own skin, and he has little to prove to anyone. He doesn't care about looking weak, though he might care about //being// weak. They're too different things. But he also has a good grasp on what weakness is, and what it isn't.

In a moment, he'll share the information he's got, but his eyes are still crinkling at the box in concern. "Have you had to keep that thing //here// all this time?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"The job?" She says, even as she moves to get the chair about the same time he does. Seeing he'll get to the chairs first causes Mercy to simply stop her forward momentum. Then she's retracing her steps backwards, towards the work bench and that box.

"Well, I hope the other guy came out worse?" Mercy will say, trying to interject a little humor to the situation, even as she settles next to where the box rests.

With his question her gaze will turn to that box, encircled by the salt, and the water and she'll give her head a faint shake. "Not in here, no. I just brought it back out when I you called. Figured it'd be easiest to keep an eye on it while I work. It's definitely been more troublesome than I had originally anticipated, but with help from a friend and little salt, it definitely quieted down."

Which is the truth. While there's still a very real magical feeling from the mirror, whatever spells and sigils inhabited seem much more quiet. It's a small pool of negative energy that barely flickers from the box.

Turning her attention away from the box, Mercy will look back to Sam, "Were you able to trace anything on it?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam laughs. 'You should have seen the other guy' is certainly traditional face-saving fare, but he doesn't engage in that either. "The other guy looks great," he says, sheepishly. "And yeah, the job." He points to the salt circle. "That's my job. Stuff like it. It's what I do. Ridding the world of horrible things, mostly supernatural, that hurt people." The Other Guy, all the reason in the world for that 'mostly.'

"There seems to be a series of unlicensed auction houses moving magical items through the area. I'm thinking they probably know exactly what they're doing or they'd be selling these at normal auctions. Probably going to try to figure out how they get their buyers in there and pose as one to see what I can see. Possibly with some backup."

He scowls a little at the box. "I see shooting it only accomplished so much." Well, usually 'shoot the thing' isn't good magical practice anyway, so he he supposes that's to be expected.

He tilts his head at her. "I got the impression that you kind of keep an eye on this stuff on the regular too, considering..." he makes a motion with his hand, perhaps meant to indicate her changing into a coyote, or perhaps her presence there at the rest area at all, or perhaps the fact that she knows what she's doing with the remains of a cursed magic mirror. Or...All of The Above.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
It's evening, after closing hours for Mercy's Garage. While the front is locked up tight the side entrance is open and light can be seen from within.

Two people are inside the spacious garage port, Mercy Thompson and Sam Winchester. The two can be found near one of the work benches within the garage, where a familiar cardboard box sits, encircled by salt and dabbed with blessed water. Within the box sits the shattered shards of a mirror.

Sam is settled within a folding chair, looking a little worse for wear, with cast upon arm and many bruises. Mercy is standing near the work bench and the salt circled box.

With the mention of the other guy looking great, Mercy can't quite stop a sympathetic look from flashing across her features. She understands how those fights go. It's never fun.

Ever.

Still, that particular portion of the conversation is off to the wayside, as the two focus upon the box and its contents. When he reveals the business of pop-up Auction Houses, Mercy can't help the grimace that turns her mouth downward. "Really." She says, sounding unsurprised by his revelation, "An Auction House. Funny. I've had some recent run-ins with Auction Houses and magical items being sold."

Her gaze turns pensively back to the box now, as she considers it. It's only at his last words that Mercy will offer a nod as she says, "Let's just say the magical world isn't an unknown to me. I'm not the most well-versed in it, but I know some stuff. Kind of like you, I think."

"But you should know this particular piece I think was meant to find me. It wasn't just bad luck or happenstance that I stumbled upon it." A happy coincidence would have been preferred for the coyote versus fate, but that's left unsaid.

Sam Winchester has posed:
A frown furrows Sam's brow as Mercy says the mirror was meant for her. "Do you think it was the auction people, sending it because you've had those run-ins? What makes you think the mirror was meant for you? If it was, why'd they send it to a rest area? What about the murder victim?"

Despite the fact that he's firing questions at her left and right, his tone is gentle and his eyes are empathetic. It's no fun thing, to realize you've been targeted by something purely nasty, no fun thing at all. He accepts her claim of knowing some stuff without any argument or challenge; clearly she does. And he certainly owes her his life, which is something he's more than conscious of as he sits here in her garage. That panther would have had him for lunch without her timely intervention.

But once he's fired off all his questions he does at least pipe down, giving her time and space to render some answers.

Loki has posed:
The racket outside involves a loudly dinging metal bell, the sort usually attached to brightly coloured handlebars. Its insistent squall penetrates the skull like so little else. //Bring! Bbbbbring! Br-r-r-r-r-r-ing!//

Points won for insistence, then, the scattered chiming cranking right along. A tiny piping voice harumphs, hmphs, and finally squalls in a protest that chases right up the scale.

"Put me down! Put-- put-- this is in the aiiiir!"

Furious ring-ring-rings click beats as fast as a desperate thoroughbred running away from the Headless Horseman on Hallow's Eve day.

Perhaps the salt circle proves necessary after all. It might just be essential as an irritated, imperious tween of the sort only Harlem breeds rolls off down the sidewalk after an encounter with the Trickster, slightly worse for wear.

The knock to the front garage door is entirely innocent. Really.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
His rapid fire questions earn a faint grin from the woman; hey, she knows how that goes. She's done the same thing to people at times. She might also have a bad habit of rambling when nervous too.

Though his questions don't make her nervous. No, they just cause that grimace to deepen. "It's kind of a convoluted story -" Says the coyote, as she considers just where to start, "- But I can tell you it's not the people who are managing those auction houses. They seemed mostly in it for the profit. It's someone else." She just doesn't know who, yet. Though soon she will.

"I'm not sure if the two are exclusively linked, or if it is a coincidence."

Though with the way she says coincidence she doesn't necessarily believe her own words. "And I don't have the answers to why it was at rest stop, or who that body was -" And while Mercy was just about to say more that sudden high pitched ring of a bell suddenly breaks through. It's enough to cause the coyote to squint with pain; sensitive hearing for the win. "What in the world?" Mutters the coyote, even as the sound finally dies down. Or rather runs away very fast.

The knock upon her front door is heard next and with a quick glance at Sam, Mercy says, "Someone's at the front door - let me see who that is. " And she'll point at the seated and very injured man, "Don't move, I'm sure it's fine. I'll be right back." And with those words said Mercy is hot-footing it towards the front door, to see who's there, and to determine what all that racket was about.

Sam Winchester has posed:
The racket certainly causes the eyebrows of one Sam Winchester to climb skyward. Mercy tells him not to move, and rather wryly he doesn't...but he does ease his good hand into the pocket of his windbreaker so that it may close about his Beretta, just in case. He's ready to defend her. More or less. He'll stay seated though, just to conserve his energy. At least he can stand, and use his legs in defense if he has to. His head's still good. And if he's got an obvious weak point in that arm, it is what it is. Of course, he can't grab salt, or iron, or any more obvious defenses like this, but she can turn into a coyote, so.

It might be okay.

This is the way the man's mind works. He focuses on being quiet, his face taking on a sober air as he waits to see who is at the door at this hour, and whether this is about to turn ugly.

Loki has posed:
All the excitement at the door is dissipating. A head poked around might get the gist. A ten-year-old boy rides down the street on his red Huffy, indignant as that tender age with its battered invulnerability can be. His helmet is safely on but his dignity lies askew. He's made it several yards down the pavement from a tall man loitering in the doorway of the garage. The tongue stuck out might be highly ill-advised.

Chaos has a way of following children, especially those who try to tweak its nose.

The god of said domain - admittedly broad - affects a completely unaffected presence, merely smiling and arching his eyebrows slightly. Sugar and honey would melt in his mouth. Naturally, his alliances with fire and ice are profoundly well-documented in mortal mythology and cosmic history. That said, he taps his finger dryly against his sleeve and offers the coyote the lightest of smiles.

"He thought he might into your door for some tricks. I disabused him politely of the notion." And no one is turned into a frog, newt, or horned toad ribbiting indignantly down the street. It's such an exercise in restraint. Give him a cookie. "Medea can be quietly satisfied. Bad time for you?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Well, Loki wasn't quite the person she was expecting what with the noise of that bicycle bell, still, she can't admit to being unhappy when she does see who's at her door. With a quick flip of the lock, Mercy will open the front door to allow Loki inside.

Before she closes the door behind the man and once more locks the door, the coyote will spare a glance down the sidewalk, towards the retreating form of the kid. Shaking her head good-naturedly, Mercy's expression turns to a grin as she says to Loki. "Our hero." Then there's another shake of her head, this time in answer to that question of his. "Not a bad time, no. Sam Winchester is here with some news on the mirror we found. Seems like it went the route of an Auction House too -"

And with that said, Mercy will tilt her head for Loki to follow and then she's moving to the door that leads back inside the garage port. Once through the door, Mercy offers Sam a quick smile, to let him know it's okay - just in case. Then it's onward to introduction, "Sam Winchester meet Liam Serrure, Liam, Sam Winchester. Sam here helped take the mirror down."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam slides his gun back into his pocket the moment he hears the change in Mercy's tone, and is already politely standing to offer his hand to Liam. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Serrure," he says earnestly. "I apologize for offering my left hand."

But the cast on his right makes the reason for that is fairly obvious, so he doesn't spend any more time explaining it. "Do you two work together often?"

He looks from one to the other, taking in the newcomer, taking his measure in a way that is neither threatening nor insulting. Sam is just a young man who observes, takes in details, and mostly accepts, unless the person in front of him is doing something actively horrible. Since that is not the case, his demeanor is open, friendly, maybe a little routinely bashful.

Loki has posed:
Our hero. Loki. How many times that will surprise him, he refuses to say, but his dark brows do creep up when Mercy so kindly announces him so. The indentation of a proper half-smirk allows the lady her moment. He inclines his head and steps in after her, a shadow that imposes when need be. The moment does not seem to entirely call for it, but his height is what it is.

"Ah, yes. The man enduring the ravages of that miserable glass," he comments, the dry edges of a proper English accent cultivating a certain stereotype. Smart, educated, posh. Old Etonian, Cambridge or Oxford, probably has notions a Jaguar is a halfway decent car outside commercials earning him a boatload of quid.

His nod is met with extending his right hand to Sam. "Think nothing of it. You look to have had an eventful evening. Preferably not a dust-up at the Tavern on the Green?" Perish the notion of all those tourists going flying as they struggled to find a mirror. He'll accept the survey for what it is, then grin a bit broader. Say what one will but the stiff upper lip thing fades with good moods on this particular one.

His eyes slide to Mercy again. "I lead her into /fun/. Mustn't let her work consume her."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
With the responsibility of introductions completed, Mercy will keep the majority of her attention between the two men. She'll make her way back to that box, the shards within and the salt circle that holds that malicious energy in check.

While she doesn't necessarily touch the box Mercy will hover a hand near it for a second, before her attention is back upon Sam and Loki. Mostly Loki for a minute, as the coyote offers a quirk of a grin to him. "That would be a yes."

She considers her next words for a second, before nodding towards the injured man, "Sam was able to trace the mirror to an auction house, an illegal one." Much like the other, which is left unsaid. "I was just giving him the run down on how this particular piece seemed to feel the need to find me specifically." Her head will tilt to the side slightly, as she adds, "I'm not sure how much you can sense Sam, but there were two actual spells set upon the mirror. The second spell was something more corrupt and placed in blood and a more recent addition to the antique."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam gives Liam a quick smile when he says he helps Mercy have fun. Innocent enough.

But he's soon right back on business, hazel eyes studying the mirror. "I don't really have any refined magical senses," he says, leaving unsaid any information about how //else// he might have found his way to the mirror. "I can do a little hedge stuff, protection spells mostly, but they don't rely on that. To be honest, simply shooting the thing is pretty par for the course. What did each spell do?"

It must be the recent one, the blood one, which made her think the mess was targeted at her.

Loki has posed:
Loki doesn't need to mince words or offer lengthy examples, then. Something to be said for that. He nods in agreement with Mercy's explanation and trails over to a wall, where leaning is comfortable enough. "The mirror has a foul intention that wasn't originally there, as far as we could tell. That extra addition wanted to maim and harm, and its malevolence would leave me hesitant to see anything like that on the open market. Or open ground, for that matter."

He forfeits the right for the coyote to explain, more than comfortable enough with her perfectly technical explanation.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
He doesn't sense magic - that does cause Mercy to give the young man a quizzical look. It definitely begs the question of how he figured out where the mirror was that particular night, but her question is left unvoiced as Sam continues to speak. The advice about shooting things is enough to pull an amused sound from the coyote.

She'll have to remember that for future reference.

Loki's words earn a nod from Mercy, as she adds, "Which is what it did when it was able to touch living things. It changed the animals to something terrible, but that person -" A look is shifted over to Loki now, as she considers whether she mentioned that part to Loki, "- I'm not sure what exactly happened there. Perhaps the person's life was the catalyst to placing the newer spell on the mirror. Or the spell simply burnt through them, it's hard to say." She'll roll her shoulders in a quick shrug, before finally settling her attention back upon Sam. "When we tried to take a peek at the spell it reacted in a pretty violent manner. I wouldn't say it had protections around it, or that it was alive, but it definitely didn't like it when we tried to uncover who crafted the sigil upon it."

"It's why we encircled it with salt, and blessed water."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam frowns darkly at the mirror as the two of them explain. "Yeah," he tells Liam. "Yeah, I'm not loving this thing or anything like it on the open market either."

He opens his mouth, then closes it, changing what he was going to say. He says, "So whomever is doing this is super powerful and has nasty motives. They might be able to trace their own spellwork back and use it and alter it from afar, too. And the motivations for any of it are murky."

He steps back from it and says, "Doesn't really change my next course of action either way, except to lend it some urgency: I gotta go see about attending an auction."

He flashes them both a faint smile, and heads towards the door. "You'll both be the first ones to know if I learn anything," he promises.

Loki has posed:
"It seemed to hold a certain sentience. As absurd as that sounds. Most living things, viruses or bacteria or anglerfish, tend to respond positively poorly to anything threatening their existence." Liam, such as Loki deigns to be called in average company, frowns slightly at the memory. The analogy serves its purpose; he waves his hand slightly.

"'Super' powerful, no. Possibly possessing something nasty, likely, and nasty things like this rarely come from friendly sources. I doubt anything in the Vatican insists on self-aware face-melting." See, he can roll with the common vernacular, Mercy. He nods a bit to Sam. "It could be left with instructions, for all we've seen yet."

When the injured fellow is rising and intending to leave, he steps away from the wall. "Do be cautious. Those sorts of surprises are rarely forgiving."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Murky, yes." Agrees the coyote, her expression flattening somewhat as she gives the box a quick side-eye. It's more than murky, but she's pretty sure all three of them understand this.

Liam's analogy earns a nod from Mercy; not necessarily the way she'd describe, but it definitely fits. She'd have gone for the description of a rabid wolf, or some other rabid animal. There's another nod when he mentions these types of things not coming from friendly sources. That's definitely the case here. Of course, at that comment about the Vatican and face-melting, Mercy can't quite help the look she turns to Loki. There might even be a quirk of eyebrow from her too.

Thankfully, before a question can be voiced about what the Vatican is hiding, Sam is stepping away from the two. Swinging her gaze back around, Mercy echoes Liam's sentiments. "Uh, you might want to wait until you're healed." Begins the coyote, even as she frowns at his retreating form, "You know, in case it goes bad." And then, "Do you even have back-up?" But that question might be missed if he's already out the door, still the coyote has to say it otherwise her conscience would kick her all night.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"I'll take back-up," Sam promises, though his track record of being able to find it is bad. He's halfway out when he says it, but he smiles over his shoulder. As for healing? That'll take weeks. Nobody's got time for that!

This revelation of some sort of semi sentient or living magic casts worry across his face. //That// is one he hasn't heard before. "I'll hit the lore, too, see what I can dig up that might be a match for this behavior." Not that they probably haven't done the same, but he says it by rote, like he's said it a thousand times. There are procedures, to him, and one of those procedures are, 'hit the lore.'

And with that, he makes his slow, painful way back out to his Charger.

Loki has posed:
"You do not want me to explain the book from the Vatican that melts faces. It's a dastardly piece of work and requires the constant vigilance of four Swiss Guards, three nuns, and a man ranked as no less than archbishop to prevent its influence from spreading over parts of Italy." Loki is probably not serious. It would be nice thinking so, but his tone is appropriately, apologetically English. Let that be something Mercy chews on. Or Medea the cat for that matter.

"Good luck. Please tell us if anything troubling happens. Better, come get us."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Better for Medea to chew on that particular book. She'd likely survive any attempts at face melting. Cats are quite adept at skirting death.

With that offer of Liam's, Mercy will flash him a grateful look, before she's calling after Sam. "Yes, call us. We can help." She'll even trot to the edge of the garage to watch the young man leave, "Take care." That's Mercy, motherhen to the injured. If he stayed long enough she'd likely have offered him cookies; because cookies cure everything.