For which you cannot atone

Saga stopped abruptly mid movement when he suddenly threw a presumably innocent question her way. What was that one this she desired to get her hands on the most… From just how the reacted and afterwards remain silent, she didn’t even look up at him, it wouldn’t be hard to figure out that whatever answer she held on to was immensely personal to her. And possibly not something that she talked to people about. Be it because she didn’t wish to or because a conversation had never really taken such a turn. After all, she hadn’t grown up with a group of friends who sat around to casually talk about philosophical question. She started to move again. Continued to focus on the needle work and every sign pointed towards her ignoring the question all together. But in the act of refilling the needle her rose coloured lips did separate. “It’s not so much a physical object than knowledge about one perhaps. A way to sever ties of a witch’s destiny. Something that would erase the mark from my collarbone. And any other witch for that matter,” she replied, her voice and delivery of the words was still as calm as a winter morning but it was somehow… lower. Like she, in a way, held back on the passion that originally carried the topic.
She lifted her head again, shaking loose hair away from her face and finally laid her eyes upon Michael now that she had powered through to tell him. At the same time, she searched his eyes to catch a reaction.

But shortly thereafter her eyes glided back down over him to the tattoo and the pointed needled returned to spearing through his soft, yet astonishing robust skin. She could feel his heart through her hands, as they rested on top of him. It’s rhythm almost gave way for the quick rhythm of how she poked the needled, unconsciously. Just like how she periodically pressed her lips together in concentration, letting the tip of the tongue out between them every now and then.
“Hm?” His following attempt to spark of conversation had her automatically look up at him this time. This question didn’t send her directly into a dilemma of should or should not. She did stop poking him for the moment, she didn’t look at the work she was doing – she might be an experienced witch but she wasn’t about to do anything recklessly without proper attention. She pulled her hand from his chest and even lean further back in her seat. “None that are permanent like your, no. But I do keep spells such as this one on me.” She gently put down the needle before she reached up to lift her black mane of hair away from her neck – the ferret politely giving room - so when she turned her head as much to the side as it was possible, he would be able to see the small single symbol behind her ear, about half way down her outstretched neck. It looked just like a tattoo. And trying to smudge it would be like doing to on a perfectly healed over tattoo. She let her hair fall back down again. “This one is a healing spell. Like the spell I gave you, the one for your missing kin, all I need is to activate the hibernating magic with a simple cut. But it disappears once the magic is gone. And no needles are necessary.”
She took the opportunity of the little break to roll out her wrist. It was like embroidery; a such precise and finnicky procedure which she wasn’t used to, she must admit. She then leaned forward again, picking up the needle and getting the right grip of it. This would take all night if she didn’t multitask. “This type of marking is something my Oraculi taught me. I remember people came to her for magic bounding much like this one. This set was even gifted to me by her. However, I hasn’t have many times where I had gotten to use it." She began the quick and rhythmic stabbing again as she spoke, finding it surprisingly easy. And relaxing. It was... nice talking to Michael, she realized. "Is this your only tattoo?" 

Her reaction alone told him that there indeed was something she desired, presumably more strongly than a specific object. This caused something in his eyes to change as he was sincerely interested to know what this was. At the same time, he understood if it would be too personal to share with him. And as she continued her movements, still with her gaze lowered from meeting his eyes, he assumed that this was the case. Until she then decided to reply to him. A sense of understanding appeared in his eyes, having heard of this desire many times in the past. It was a witch’s greatest weakness. Still, Michael liked to view the mark as a good thing, something that was willed by destiny for a reason. Although it was also a curse in some respects, and that was essentially the part he sympathized with. Even if he had no way of knowing what the mark felt like. He wondered what the initial spark of this desire was. Clearly, she seemed affected by it. More than her just fearing the future consequences of the mark. “I don’t have much knowledge to give you in that regard,” he said as it had never been of interest to him, and even if he could find any knowledge regarding it, he had no incentive to. He had many enemies that were witches, and they were already incredibly powerful as they were. Their magic and unholy nature made sure of that. Of course, he did know of risky ways to rid her of the mark, but if this was one of her major goals in life, then she’d surely already know of those. “Have you met your current mate yet?” he asked, wondering if she feared a refusal from this person or the desire to form the bond between them as she risked dying from either of those things.

His question seemed to have distracted her more than intended, making her stop working on his tattoo altogether. He furrowed his brows slightly at this. And as she then removed her hand from his chest and leaned back, he turned his head to look at her. She then replied that she kept spells on her instead of tattoos, and his gaze automatically followed her movement as she pulled her hair away from her ear, revealing a symbol behind it. A healing spell. He supposed it made sense for her to prefer those over tattoos, seeing that she could easily create the spells herself whereas he depended on someone else’s magic. “I see,” he commented before he turned his head back to look at the same point in the ceiling, having not meant to interrupt her in the first place. He had already guessed that people didn't come to her for this by the lack of a tattoo set-up downstairs. Even if he had assumed it to be a rather common request. “Oh, so you don’t invite every guy to lay on your dining table for a tattoo session?” he asked. Another teasing remark. But after a moment he followed it up with a more genuine question: “What do people usually come to you for?”

”No.” The one word that passed her lips was both very stern and immediate. A hint of unintended hostility had even escaped together with the word. “And I’d very much prefer it that I never do. At least not before I find a way to rid myself completely of the mark. It’s so easily romanticised on paper but I can’t help but see it as some kind of cage. A cage worse than that of arranged marriages. The mere first meeting of your mate makes your own body betray you in an instant. The thought of dying by refusal isn’t what frightens me. Not nearly as much as that sudden loss of control,” she explained, now with herself fully calmed down again from the small outburst which was probably a rather good thing, since she this time around didn’t stop her work on his tattoo as she talked. At least not before a short break of silence where her hand stopped and she turned her head to look up at him. Looking him straight in the eye – as good as the angle allowed. “Have you experienced what the death of a mate does to a witch? An unknown mate. One the witch hasn’t even met,” she asked, holding his gaze for quite some time before her intense blue eyes finally let him go and she looked back down to his chest the moment just after the sense of reminiscence appeared in them. “That, Michael, is something I’d wish unto noone.”

Dip. Refill. Poke. The more she did it the more natural it laid in her hands. She had been quick to get used to the constant feeling of breaking through skin, a feeling more squeamish people wouldn’t take too kindly to, that was for sure! The same went for the tiny droplets of blood that emerged before getting blackened by the excess ink and then pushed into the skin by the very next stab. Anyone without the knowledge of the procedure who would stand as a spectator to this would most likely cringe at the large potential of blood poisoning. But this, after all, wasn’t just any kind of tattooing. They wouldn’t notice the constant stream of magic, that the little witch gave to the ink as she went on. Her other hand didn’t just lay on his chest to feel it up or to keep the skin stretched out for a cleaner application. No.

The teasing returned ones more and it seemed to instantaneously lift up the heavy atmosphere which she had placed over them with her pretty personal opinions. But as a substitute to a verbal answer he would instead feel the needle poke just a bit deeper into him. Far from enough to do any actual damage but enough for him to feel the difference. At the same time, she did sneak a glance up at him for a second, revealing that she definitely did it on purpose for his shamelessness.
Saga breathed in deep and look a moment to stretch out her back and shoulders. “The short answer would be; spells. Most come specifically to me for some much like the one I carry. But many others come for a wide range of requests. Some I can provide. Some I can’t. Or won’t. I don’t make dayrings of any kind out of principle.” She was a growing master in magic attachment but day rings weren’t simply a matter of putting magic into any kind of jewellery.
“So how are you holding up?” she then asked, referring to the needlework. Besides that, it was only as comfortable laying flat on a table.

A firm no left her lips at his question. By that telling him that she didn’t wish to meet her mate either. Shortly thereafter, she went on to explain her reasoning more. He understood it to some degree, but at the same time, it was the price she had to pay for being born a witch. There was no choice but to surrender to that fate. Just like Michael had no choice about who he was. He couldn’t just run from his obligations and decide that he wanted a different life. But he wasn’t going to pretend to understand what it was like or compare the mark to his own experiences. He looked into her eyes as she asked if he’d ever seen a witch experience the death of a mate. “No, but I’ve heard it’s quite painful,” he replied. However, not as painful as it would feel to be rejected or have a mate die after sealing the bond. He couldn’t help but wonder about what would happen when she met him, and he turned out to be everything she’d ever dreamt of, and they lived happily ever after for the rest of their lives because fate made it so. Not seeing what could possibly be so bad about that. Because even if they died, they’d at least die together. However, he refrained from saying any of it. Saga could do with her life as she pleased for all he cared. And if that meant finding a cure to this mark, then he was sure that it was exactly how his Father had intended for their history to go.

She didn’t respond verbally to his teasing remark but instead dug the needle deeper into his skin. And he knew it was purposeful. He tensed up for a moment before he relaxed his muscles again. Clearly, he should know better than to tease a woman with a sharp object in her hand. But as the moment passed and she answered his following question he moved his eyes to her again. It wasn’t that specific. Spells of all kinds. And the exception of creating daylight rings. But it made sense considering where her business resided. “Yes, I can imagine you’d hear quite the array of requests in these parts.” Gaia and Moonlight Falls were filled with supernatural beings, so it only came naturally of a shop of her kind to hear a bit of everything. Michael had only sought out a magician regarding a daylight ring once when one of his angels had been turned into a vampire. And in general, he did support them because it gave the vampires a chance to work daytime jobs and become part of the normal society, hence leading them away from the darkness. But if she’d decided against the creation of them, he was sure that she had her reasons.

“I’m good,” he replied to her question. Something that she’d probably only asked to be on the safer side of things. But his pain tolerance was exceptionally high, and a tattoo was on the lower end of that. Besides, he preferred to get it done as quickly as possible. She didn’t seem to be nearly as interested in him as he was in her, but seeing how she’d truthfully answered all his questions, he saw no reason to stop. If not just to keep the conversation going. “Have you ever met an angel before?” he asked. Changing the topic once more. Michael knew most of the created angels, as well as many of the ones living on Earth, so he was merely curious to know if she'd met someone he knew.

’Quite painful’ was putting it very lightly and it wasn’t just ‘painful’ either. She wouldn’t be able to comment on whether or not it was worse or on par with the loss of a mate after the bond had been established – obviously, since she was still alive and well. All she sat in with were those horrible weeks of feeling weak and sore and sick that followed the death of complete strangers. Maybe that was exactly what made it an ‘easier’ experience. Without the bond there was only the physicality of it. No crushed feelings you’d get from the death of a loved one. Or even that of someone you had met. She chose to put a lid on the topic. Only giving him a small nod to his theory. It was a heavy topic and she, for some reason, thought it better if he kept his illusions about it as they were now. He was already haunted by other, heavier worries. She was sure about it.
She smiled that faint smile again. “It helps that this place isn’t as well-known. That word about what I do travels by mouth...” or by mysterious appearances of small business cards in pockets of people who found themselves in need of what she could give. “…separates the window watchers from the rest. I have found that my customers and clients, like yourself, always have specifics that they’re in the need of which makes my job much easier.” She did a soft throw with the head to get hair away from her face. She should have tied it up this time as well but luckily it wasn’t long enough that it actually got on the way like falling down into the tattoo. It just tickles her cheeks.

It was understandable that the archangel would feel a disinterest from her but the truth wasn’t that she just wasn’t interested in him. Most definitely not. She was just so used to rely on the answers she found in between the lines of either other spoken sentences or crevasses in a person’s expressions that she in honesty forgot to ask the question in the first place. And besides, her shot at actually mingle beyond just the business side of things or the gathering of useful information before by asking about his own tattoos had apparently been such a poor attempt that he hadn’t even approved it for any acknowledgement. So, her odds didn’t look that great. “I have. A few. None like yourself, an archangel, and none that I’ve had this sort of pleasure of conversing with, though.”

Saga calmly put the needle down, balancing it on the edge of the little dish with ink. “Do angels such as yourself – those of you who are created by God rather than born or reborn – have a childhood?” she asked curiously and clearly wonderous. With the needle out of her grip she held the hand over his tattoo and made an elegant swirling movement with the wrist which made the excess amount of ink almost move with it until it all gathered together in a tight black pearl-like ball, making it possible for her – and him – to see the progress. Still hovering the ink-pearl she delicately placed it on the table.
“I mean, do you grow up like any other? Created as a babe rather than your current adult self,” she added before carrying on.

Michael had heard of her business through word of mouth as well. Although he hadn’t exactly disclosed the specifics of his problem to this person. But in general, witches had solutions to most problems that he couldn’t otherwise fix, and if he could, they would be able to do it much quicker. Albeit for a price.
He looked at her as she replied to his question about having met another angel. He knew that most angels would refrain from resorting to a witch for their problems, and for good reason, but whomever she’d met, it seemed that she hadn’t spent much time with them. Not even mentioning their name so he’d know who it had been. He had already assumed that she hadn’t come across another archangel, however. Such a case would be very unlikely. He flashed her a smile as she admitted that it was a pleasure conversing with him. And he could only say the same to her. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said before he moved his gaze from her to the ceiling. He knew that there was quite a dispute between species like theirs. But Michael tried his best to look past that. To only judge a person based on their moral compass and actions. But if he deemed them to be evil and beyond salvation, he would not hesitate to send them to Hell. However, sometimes the line between good and evil was hard to distinguish. And sometimes he deemed it better to keep that evil close rather than banish it.

She then asked him a question about created angels, revealing that she carried some curiosity about who he was. He took a moment to think of her first question because in theory he hadn’t had a childhood by Earthly standards, but it could still abstractly be characterized as such. Her next question specifying the question a little. “I was created as an adult with predetermined knowledge. So, no. I have never been a child. And whatever childhood I did have would be non-comparable to that of a human,” he replied. In truth, it was far from what one would connect from a human childhood. “From the very beginning of my existence I was bestowed with responsibilities and orders from my Father, and I was quickly given younger angels to mentor,” he explained before he looked down at his chest to see the progress of the tattoo, already feeling fueled by its magic. He then raised his gaze to her, still with his head lifted from the table. “But that was seven hundred thousand years ago. Now, all I want for my children is to be exactly that. Children. For as long as they possibly can,” he admitted. Even if he was far from the best father, it was still all he’d wished. For them to have a normal life. Even if his definition of that still included rather high expectations. “How about you? How was it growing up in Randersacker, Germany?” he asked before he laid his head back down on the table as she still had some ways to go with the tattoo. He pronounced her childhood town with a perfect German accent as it was one of the many languages he spoke fluently.

It amazed her. How he had never been a child, how he had possibly never swayed from the physical age he was in now. This amazement wasn’t exactly based on the fact that she was envious of him, nor that she pitied him, because she did neither. It seemed preposterous to her to dwell in puddles of what other people had and was. It amazed her how Michael had been created. As a man with skills already properly prepared to let him take responsibilities bigger than most other adults on Earth had ever had and would ever get in their lifetime. It amazed her.
As he lifted his head to take a curious peek at her work – where he would see a noticeable line where the tattoo had been freshly filled in with the deep black ink, she instinctively turned her eyes towards him. No complains, no comments actually but from what she could read from his face, she took it as a positive. “So, it’s true that you have children?” she asked unassumingly, again not really hiding the fact that she had heard of him before. And why should she? He knew already. And she intended no aggression or ill will by it. Of course, she had the slightly higher ground there, with her knowledge of him being larger than the knowledge that he had of her, but she was no threat. He had not given her any reason to be one yet. None at all.

The reversing of the question – after a personalisation of it, naturally – didn’t so much surprise her. Instead it was the accent. The one word he spoke, that carried the accent, sent a rush of homely warmth over her. The dialect may not have been precisely what she had grown up with but whatever part of Germany, which he had taken up the language from, was enough and for a short moment the same soft facial expression she had shown when he had caught her off guard down by the door when he had seemingly suddenly been standing a lot closer to her, fixing the hinge, appeared back on her face. A little bit of extra innocent which was kept hidden behind professionalism and elegant composure. And then she lowered her eyes and lifted the corners of her mouth.
“Es war ein ruhiges Leben,” she then replied, choosing to do so in her mother tongue. The possibility of him not actually understanding German was there, but she was now considerably sure that he would. Seven hundred thousand year he had been ‘alive’. More than enough to pick up the Worlds many languages. Probably also some that had died out. However, she did go back to English as it had become the more natural thing when speaking to Michael. “I grew up without a Coven like my father did which meant I wasn’t surrounded by many other witches except for my parents. You may imagine the opinions that brough upon us, especially since my mother left her Coven after completing the bond with my father.” As she was talking she vaguely noticed how few she talked to about her family. Of her life. “Unlike you who just simply didn’t have a traditional childhood I had one but I didn’t really allow myself one. I don’t have many memories of playing with the town’s children. For the most times it was only Circe and I.” Her head titled unintentionally more to one side as a thoughtful expression dance over her pale face. It had been a while since she had looked back at her early life. It was a bit… strange. As well, by the mentioning of their name, the white ferret, who had been laying comfortably and rested on her shoulder, lifted its head attentively. What Saga lacked in animated expressiveness Circe made up for.

He looked into her eyes as she revealed that she’d heard that he had children, making him wonder what else she’d heard. Because most people knew that. Just as they knew that Michael’s first mate had decided to betray him and join Lucifer’s side in the War in Heaven. Inevitably leading him to banish her alongside the rest of the angels who’d turned against God. He remembered their children begging Michael to spare her and the conflict he’d been forced to overcome, being commanded to plan a war against his first love and brother. It had been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. “Yes,” he replied. She didn’t reveal how much she knew about them - if she did at all. But he wasn’t going to give her any additional information either, knowing that it had the potential to hurt him in the long run. A memory then flashed by him. Of the corridors of the catacombs in Florence, and how he'd found Malachi chained up in the corner of one of the rooms, tortured to the point of insanity. He remembered approaching him, only to realize that his son feared him. As if he’d hallucinated about him before and that he'd taunted him those times. The following hours he kept hallucinating beings that weren’t there, but at least he'd been willing to eat something, and later he'd allowed Michael to put him to bed. At this moment he was in Heaven, and there wasn’t a day that went by where Michael didn’t pray for him. The look in his eyes changed at the haunting memory. The voices reminding him that it was his fault that he'd ended up in that place, to begin with. But with his head resting back on the table it was barely noticeable. However, what wasn’t was the silence that had followed. “What about yourself?” he asked, thereby changing his train of thought. After all, finding love and having children was a desire that most people had at least once throughout their life, so it wouldn't surprise him if she had children of her own as well.

He noticed a change in her expression as he mentioned her hometown, not thinking it was his accent rather than her memories of it that caused this. And the pull in the corners of her mouth added to his suspicion about her having fond memories of the place. A quiet life was never something that had been in the cards for Michael. But he'd many times wondered what it would be like. To wake up to a simple life. He knew that it wasn't all witches who had grown up with a coven. However, he only saw this as a good thing because covens usually turned out to be dangerous and toxic organizations. And he'd often had to shut them down because of that. But she was right about it being frowned upon amongst witches. “Are you part of a coven now?” he asked, curious to know whether she had chosen to join one now that she lived here. After all, there were quite a few in Gaia and Moonlight Falls. He looked at her as she said that she hadn't allowed herself to have a childhood, wondering why that was. Because most of the time it was the parents who influenced a child to feel that way. At the mention of Circe, he looked from her face to the ferret on her shoulder before he again turned his head to look up at the ceiling. “What did you prefer to spend your time doing then?” he asked as she'd mentioned that she hadn't spent much time playing with the other children.

It wasn’t only true that he had children, but it was true that they were a weakness of his as well. She didn’t so much see it in his eyes but more she sensed it in his silence and in his vague reluctancy to his answer. He hadn’t shown to be much of the type to talk extremely openly - or talk with no signs of stopping, ever – in the first place, however, one would think a proud father would have trouble not speaking of his children at every given moment when someone showed interest. But of course, it was a very different situation for someone like Michael, confirmed by the talk about him that she had laid ears to in the past.
What did surprise her, more than the fact that he had spoken with such a perfect German accent, was how he more or less asked her the same thing. “Huh? Oh no. I don’t have any children of my own.” In her mind it was such common knowledge that it hadn’t occurred to her, that he would even think that she did. To her it was obvious. But apparently not to him, which probably made a lot more sense than anything else. She had revealed that she wasn’t exactly the nineteen-year-old girl that she appeared as so she would’ve had enough time and enough maturity to birth a child or twenty. “But I do find that I often times am curious as to how it is. To be a parent. Especially for someone like yourself,” she admitted, because no matter if a wicked mind could find horrible use of more information about his blood-family, the over-all background for her asking was purely personal wonderings.
At the same time, she was an only child, so even siblings were a bit of a foreign phenomenon.

Then he asked further into her current coven-status and Saga gently shook her head as an initial reply as she straightened herself back up from having sat hunched over. “Being part of one has never really appealed to me. It could be because I’ve grown up without one and experienced and seen first-hand the seclusion,” she said while curving her back inwards, pushing her chest forward, so stretch out a cramping muscle. The one hand not still holding on to the needle had automatically found its way to her neck to help out by also stretching out her neck, relieving a bit of tensing up there as well. And it worked, told by the soft sigh of comfort before she added: “I don’t mind it; being without a Coven. I’m content being on being free-flying.”

The little witch adjusted her sitting position, moving the bended leg to stand up right and pressed up against her chest rather than having her sit on top of her food as the leg was in a half tailor position. Lucky for her, that her flexibility didn’t restrain her from leaning forward and therefor continue on the last half of the tattoo with no problems. “I focused on my magic. I read. I practiced. I had to be able to control it.” Control. She needed the control. Relaxing, she rested her head on top of her knee. One arm on either side of the pulled-up leg. She went silence for a moment as she thought back to her childhood. There really wasn’t much to it, as far as she remembered. Although: “And music. I used to always enjoy the sound of the piano playing. I’ve never learned to play myself. Do you play anything?” The harp, perhaps.

Her reaction made it seem like she hadn’t expected him to return the question. But with her appearance and age, he could only assume that she’d had many suitors throughout her life. “Being a parent is holding your baby for the first time and thinking that there’s nothing you could love more in the entire world. It’s hoping that you can do right by that child, and always be there to catch them when they fall,” he started explaining, although it probably was what most of her friends or family would tell her. He couldn’t really blame her for being curious about what it was to be a parent for someone like him, but it was most likely what she imagined it to be. More difficult. “But for someone like me. I'm afraid it's meant that most of my children have lost their mother to an unnatural death or died before me. And before that, it meant the exact same orders and expectations that I was given.” Being the child of an archangel came with expectations and responsibilities unlike most. So, even if he wanted them to have a better childhood than he’d had. Truth was, that it wasn’t much different from the one he’d been given. The exception being the ones who’d grown up on Earth, mostly due to their mother not being a heavenly angel.

Michael did see the appeal in the sense that covens held great power and knowledge. But most covens exploited that in wrong ways, and that was why he'd yet to meet a coven that he approved of. “I wish more witches shared that philosophy,” he admitted as he looked at her. From what he could tell, it seemed that she was raised by good parents and that her being without a coven probably helped steer her away from the unrighteous path that was dark magic. Ultimately that was what he wanted all witches to avoid performing.

It wasn’t many kids who preferred to read and practice rather than play. He should know because he’d many times heard complaints from his own children when he’d forced them to train and read rather than allow them to spend time with the other children. And the part about it being to gain control had especially been true for those with powerful abilities. For example Zachary's biokinesis. It could be used to do incredible things, but also the exact opposite. And magic was much the same way. Capable of doing both good and bad. However, he could hardly blame his children for being like him in that way. Preferring physical activities over academics. And that was why quite a few of them had ended up as soldiers in his army. “I get that. You know, I met a young witch in Northern Germany back in ‘08. The kid ran away from his orphanage on a winter’s night because the adults got mad at him for destroying things. Of course, he’d done so because he didn’t know how to control his magic, and he didn’t even know about magic until I talked to him. So, I found every children's book on magic I could find to give him, just to make sure that it wasn’t going to happen again,” he said, remembering how terrified and sad Valentin had been when he first met him. And seeing the bruises on him, he wished nothing more than to prevent that from happening again.
He smiled faintly as she mentioned music as something she enjoyed spending time with, not knowing many who disliked music. And he wondered why she hadn't gotten around to learning the piano if she wished to do so. Especially since he'd found the time to so himself in the 1800s. “I know how to play the piano, but I’ve always preferred dancing to music rather than play it,” he replied. It had always been his favorite part about attending balls beside the occasional interesting conversation between the dances.

”I see. That is… unfortunate,” she said, not being entirely sure as to what to say further. Death wasn’t anything foreign to her, even if she didn’t exactly look the part and she did have more blood on her hands that one would think. She had ended the life of her fair share of animals. But she had yet to experience true loss. Loss of someone she cared for. Where their death actually mattered on a deeper level. “You have my condolences for your loss.” However, her comment didn’t just graze how he had opened up about the deaths of many of his children’s mothers but it did also caress over so gently how the same responsibilities had been placed on those heavenly born. Saga had never grown up with any expectations. She had been free to do whatever she wanted with her parents just wishing for her to be happy. But at the same time, looking back, she had been rather sheltered as well. Coddled even. Protected from an evil that if she had not explored it herself, she would’ve risked living in ignorance. How when other witches visited, she had been prompted to go outside ad play in the valley or get something from the marked or simply staying out of the living room. Cursed child. It was almost ironic..

Of course there was many advantages for a witch to become and to be a part of a coven. It was not only a powerhouse but for many also a family bound not by blood but by magic and intentions. The little witch might very well be arrogant but she felt plenty strong and competent on her own.
That was why, as he began telling her about his encounter with this young, inexperienced witch, she stopped working on the tattoo. For just a moment as she calmly lifted her head and turned her blue eyes up towards him as she spoke. She couldn’t help categorize the story – or at least part of the story – into yet another reason for her deep-rooted despise of the witch’s curse. The mark. A child of a bonded pair would rarely be left with anyone to take care of them. It was all or nothing. Saga held her gaze at him, admiring him softly, before she spoke: “You’re quite the generous man yourself. Although gifting a child witch a few spell books won’t guaranty them a great enough understanding. Magic is finicky. Much more than you’d think.” Saga hadn’t been alone in her teachings of magic. She might not have had a community of witches ready to lector her but she had had a mentor outside of her parent’s guidance. It wouldn’t surprise her to discover that this witch hadn’t required a familiar. Many witches left to their own never got around to such a ritual since it often demanded a communal audience.
“Have you kept up with him? He must be taking his first few steps into the early stages of adulthood about now.” That being if ’08 was referring to the last decade and not any earlier centuries. You’d never know with the supernatural. She resumes back to the needle work, feeling much more confident in her movements now that her body really had remembered the old technique. “What was his name? Do you remember?”

Even without taking her eyes from the tattoo – not wanting to poke outside of the lines and compromise the design and thereby the effect – she could feel his smile, faint as it was. Like her own, his stoic nature didn’t dampen the feel of the vague physical expressions. A curl in the corner of the mouth or a glimmer in the eye could easily say as much as a toothy smile and a loud belly laugh. “Ah, there’s one thing I wouldn’t have guessed,” she commented honestly to his confession. Dancing, huh. He had dressed the part of a formal-ball goer. But at the same time, he had seemed to stiff for one to hit the dancefloor in her eyes. Her observations weren’t always correct. “I haven’t done much in the sense of dancing. Less and less as things like balls have become less for the common folk as time has passed.” That not meaning she hadn’t had the opportunities to attend. Being part of the business scene that she was, she had gotten invitations so the high-class socialite parties which took inspirations from balls. Only thing was that she had tendencies to decline.

It was unfortunate and incredibly unfair. Because why them? Why the good mother or the innocent angel that had brought nothing but goodness into the world? No, he deserved it much more than they did. He had many times prayed to his Father, begging him to take him in their stead. That it was his fault and not theirs. And that he needed to make things right by bringing them back. But with time, he’d realized that his father wasn’t much for granting such things. That he believed what was dead should stay dead. So, once he’d gone to extremes because of the immense guilt. Making a deal with a demon to bring back one of his loved ones. The price being him going to Hell. He exhaled silently as she said her condolences, trying to push aside the sad thoughts. “Thank you.” What was even sadder was that he by now had gotten accustomed to it. The many losses. Realizing that it was a natural consequence of the life he lived. And he always tried to tell himself that they were in a better place. In heaven where nothing evil could harm them. Just like he told anyone else going through a loss. But to say that he truly believed that. Knowing that they could have accomplished great things had they still been alive, and that his children would have had at least one parent that wasn’t absent. He’d lie if he said that he wasn’t aware of the massive difference that would’ve made.  

Michael knew that what he’d given the boy that night wasn’t nearly enough. But all he could hope was that he’d made a positive difference in his life, and that he, at the very least, had given him a better understanding of the things that had happened around him. Being able to answer all his questions. After all, he could only imagine that it wasn’t many at the orphanage who had the time and patience talk to a mute child. And since all of them were humans, they’d far from understand what it was like to be a witch. “Of course. He needed much more than those books. But I was only passing through, and I didn’t exactly know any witches who could take him in.” He didn’t really know what she’d expected him to do. He’d done his best to show the child compassion and understanding in the time that he had. And perhaps, those books hadn’t eliminated the occasional loss of control, but it had most likely helped reduce them. And hence the punishments he’d receive from the staff.
She was right. He had to be 18 or 19 by now. “I haven’t. But I did visit the orphanage a year later. Turns out he got adopted by a family in England,” he replied. He didn’t seek him out after that, but he’d never forgotten their meeting. Finding him hiding in a cardboard box that night, and how grateful he’d seemed as they walked to the nearby diner for some food, watching how his coat brushed against the snow on the ground as he’d placed it around his shoulders for some warmth. However, it was but that. A night. He returned him to the orphanage the next morning, however reluctantly, knowing that the staff hadn’t done much to search for him that night. But he could hardly bring him along for his journeys, so he didn’t see much else of a choice. “His name was Valentin.”

His smile widened slightly as she said she wouldn’t have guessed him liking dancing. Naturally, he didn’t allow himself that kind of fun too often, and he never attended a party with the sole purpose of dancing with women, but it was nonetheless something he’d enjoyed doing between the business conversations. “That’s true. But for old time’s sake, you should consider going to the winter’s ball in Aston. People come from all over the world for that one,” he said, although he wasn’t entirely sure if she knew many who’d accompany her to such an event. Nevertheless, he'd always found it interesting to meet people from all over the world, and she seemed to be the type of person curious enough to see the appeal in that as well.

Valentin. A name neither common nor rare. Especially not in the witching circles or communities around Europe. “I know about a few by that name – witches, that is - but none who would be as young as the one you came by. I am, however, relieved to hear that someone chose to bring him in.” Not that she was one to be spacious enough with her caring that her heart was open to strangers many miles away but eve without an upbringing in a Coven, she did still carry a certain amount of pride in her blood line. She was proud to be a witch herself, so of course! Yet she wouldn’t cry over someone she never knew, had they suffered further, witch or not. Was she perhaps simply cold-hearted? “You did what you could. That’s more than most people would do,” she then said doing a slight flick with her head in an attempt to remove a fallen lock of black hair out of her face before deciding to adjust her sitting position just in time for her eyes wandering to his face by chance and catch the widened smile.

“… I’m not entirely sure if it’s my scene,” she admitted with a light-hearted tone dancing on her tongue. But it was, in a sense, a lie. Not a conscious lie, since it was only after the words had left her mouth that she realised how wrong the statement actually was. It was exactly her scene. Maybe not the glamour and the dancing. But the superficial socialising pulled on her curiosity. As she ones again moved her up-pulled leg from her chest and instead let it hang over the edge of the chair and support her better and more comfortable with a toed foot on the floor, she quickly tucked the lock of hair properly behind her ear and then leaned back in. But not before looking to Michaels valley green eyes as she spoke. “But I believe you’re right. I should. Not experiencing it would probably be seen as a crime to some. Maybe we will run into each other there. That is if you’re part of the ‘people from all around the world’ who will attend.”
She gracefully lowered her eyes from his and went back to focusing on the tattoo. The mentioning of the Winter Ball reminded her of the times she had found an invitation between her other paper mail. And how she never really had given it much though before throwing it to the side and eventually thrown out with the rest of the waste. …Would the deam demon accompany her if she asked? A ever so faint smile crept unto her lips.

It wouldn’t be must longer before she was finished. The whole process wasn’t as long and tedious since he already had the ground work of the tattoo and the spell down, all she had to do was the blackening and the re-spelling. The spell-work was the toughest part, having to constantly have a consistent flow of magic running through the ink, although she did feel the repetitive movements of the needle in her own hand and wrist by now. “From what I can tell,” she began seemingly abrupt from the former few moments of calm silence. “You’ve travelled around more than most. Never settled like someone like me who has found home only twice in life. Have you ever come across a man, a witch, with a monkey as his familiar? A mangabey. Dark haired and looks to be in his 40’s.” She spoke with none of the feelings of hope that might have hidden inside of her by asking the angel of this. She didn’t even look up from her work this time.

He was relieved when he’d heard that a good family had adopted him as well. Because as much as he’d like to think that good things happened to those who deserved it, that was far from the truth. He glanced at her when she acknowledged that he had done more than most people would, and he did that in most situations. He’d always been willing to sacrifice a great deal to fulfill his missions and commands. Going to extremes to help others. Ultimately making the world a better place. In the way that God had envisioned it to be.
It seemed that he’d been wrong to assume that she’d find the appeal in such a scene, but perhaps it was due to the formal nature of it. He looked at her for a moment, imagining her in a ballgown, until her eyes met his. Saying that perhaps she should go. He pulled up in a faint smile as she then seemed interested to know whether he’d be there. “I am sure you won’t regret it. And I think I will attend. It’s been a long time since I have attended an event of that scale.” It was still too soon to say for certain whether he would go. However, he did like to attend gatherings like that, if not for the party, then for the prospect of conversation with all the influential people there. Being the first archangel and commander of God’s army, he often conducted business with the Earthly realms, creating alliances or important relationships on behalf of Heaven. So, it wasn't so strange that he wanted to keep up the good relations and be updated on the things that had happened.

He looked down at his tattoo to check the state of it, not spotting any distortion in the lines. And for a moment he just watched her as she worked. Admiring her meticulous movements with the needle. He turned his eyes back to her as she asked him about a dark-haired witch with a mangabey as his familiar. Taking a moment to search his mind for any such men. He had met many people throughout his life, and it wasn’t all that he remembered that well. But then he was reminded of an encounter he had with a witch in Paris who had a monkey by his side. Although he couldn’t exactly remember if the monkey had been a capuchin or a mangabey. “I have met a man like that shortly after the second world war. In Paris,” he replied. Of course, there was a chance that it was whoever she thought of, but equally so, it could easily have been another man entirely. They had met in an inn that was hidden from the human world whilst he’d worked on a case to find a Nazi demon. Due to this, he didn’t remember much from their conversation besides that he'd convinced the witch to create a tracking spell for him. “Why do you ask?”

Saga’s movements with the needled seemed to stop for a short moment where she had to look back up at Michael in what could probably be described as awe. Or surprise. Maybe even a slight bit of relief? She hadn’t asked for nothing, not really expecting nothing but the little witch did feel a pulse in her chest. After the second world war. Paris. It was quite a long time ago, not many years after the man hadn’t returned home, so it wasn’t much this information told her. Yet somehow it was… enough. Just for now.
Of course, Michael then became curious as to why she would ask about the man, and she once again lowered her gaze, having pulled herself back to professionalism. Although she had tensed up in her cheeks, biting down and locking her jaw. “You could say that I’m looking for this man. He went missing just a few years before the war you’re talking about ended, leaving a wife and child to wonder where he had gone. And if he’d come back,” she started explaining, beginning back on the needle work. On her shoulders the white ferret stretched its long furry body and had for the past handful of minutes been fighting off from taking a nap. The warmth and perfect shape around Saga’s neck were apparently great conditions. But it also wished to stay awake to watch.

“So far there hasn’t really been much about his whereabouts. Actually, you possibly having met him, even if it’s rather far back compared, is one of the very sightings I’ve been informed of.” She hesitated a little to continue, although her calm way of speaking had the ability to make brief breaks in the speech feel more natural then if she had spoken more energetic. This wasn’t Michael’s business. But… he seemed to enjoy stories. Or maybe he simply like listening. She wetted her lips, refilling the needle. “He’s a master of divination magic but has largely been known for tracking spells. He has most likely found a way to cut off all tracking of himself, making it close to impossible to find any tracks of him. Anywhere.”

Saga had purposely talked about the man as if he wasn’t her dearest father but had the man Michael had met been Reuben Rhyss after all then with a strong mind for faces, it wouldn’t be too difficult to string the two together. The little witch looked why much like her father. Same ebony hair. Same blue eyes. Even with Reuben’s slightly more expressive mimic they shared the stoic resting face too. All other more feminine features, however, she had gotten from her mother like her elegance and humble figure. “I’m almost done here,” she said, almost in a try to divert Michael’s thoughts so something else.

He had assumed that the man was family, but as she said the sentence about him leaving behind a wife and a child, he knew that she talked of her father. And the resemblance was certainly there. His brief meeting with him, if it even was him, was a long time ago. So, if he still hadn’t returned, assuming that he was still alive, he probably didn’t want to be found. Michael believed that he’d had his reasons for leaving them. Himself having been in situations where he’d had to leave his family without much of an explanation. But why to never return? His expression got more thoughtful as she mentioned that he was a master divination magic and tracking spells - this being the exact thing he’d helped Michael with. So it seemed that it very likely had been him. “What’s his name?” he asked. He didn’t want to pry further into why she thought that he’d left or ask personal questions regarding him - not unless it was information that would aid in the search of him. And he figured that she’d brought up the topic because of this exact reason. Because she thought Michael would be able to help find him. And even if she hadn’t asked for this reason, but more with the simple hope of him being alive, she’d still said that she was looking for him. “If you want, I can put a word out there for him.” It wasn’t something he usually did without a personal incentive, but the circumstances gave him a reason to believe that he might still be alive. Besides, it felt like the least he could do in return for everything she’d helped him with. And he often sent out APB’s when looking for a missing person or a suspect. “I have spies deployed across Earth. It would be no bother to tell them to report to me if they see someone who might fit his description.” Seeing that he excelled in cutting himself off from tracking, he wasn’t going to try to tell them to actively search for him, but they could still ask around for a man who looked like him and be alert of any such witch. He figured it would be better than nothing.

He glanced at the tattoo as she said she was almost done. Appreciating her taking the time to do this with such short notice. It hadn't felt like much time had passed at all, making him realize just how much he enjoyed her company. He moved his gaze to the window to try to get a sense of the time, seeing that he couldn’t lift his left arm where his wristwatch was. Thinking of what he should do tonight - other than getting some dinner. The night was usually when most crimes happened and where humans were least safe, so he spent most of them roaming the streets or helping law enforcement. He only really spent nights at the bunker when he needed to research or sleep. And he still wondered what the strange occurrence downstairs had been about, and whether it was going to follow him after this.

Time started to pass as Saga contemplated whether or not she should tell him the name or if she should leave it at her fathers first name, leaving her connection to him up to speculations rather than certainty. Her rose coloured lips parted ever so slightly, just waiting for the tongue to guide her voice but shortly thereafter, she closed her moth again. “Reuben Rhyss,” she replied in the end with more confidence than what her hesitation might have given the expression off her having. And hidden under the calm exterior of her tone was hints of pride. She didn’t have any children of her own but the little close family she had, she cared very much about. Something she had an inkling that Michael would empathize with. At the time the angel made his offer to her, Saga quickly made a glance up towards him, practically without stopping her hand from continuing with the last few tweaks on the tattoo. Her eyes luckily didn’t rest there for very long as she looked back with a vague shake on her head while a humble little smile found its way into her face. “I wouldn’t say no to that. I haven’t had much luck as you can guess, although I probably haven’t done much in the seek expect ask around from time to time.”
She knew her father was still alive, that being the only reason she had for not despising the existence of the witch’s mark. Her mother was alive and well and the two had bonded. But the appreciation ended very abruptly there. She suspected her mother to know more than she told… “He doesn’t want to be found. But...” She wetted her lips but she never finished her sentence. Not being able to find the right word. A word that would be a less personal and emotional description.

Like she had done before, she raised the needle from his skin and circled her hand over the tattoo, collecting the overflowing ink into the small black sphere that hovered over to lay next to the previous one. This revealed the tattoo much better. The symbol was now a solid deep black design instead of the faded dusty nuance from before. The skin around it was maybe a tiny bit red from the constant irritation she had caused, constantly breaking though the skin, but it was far, far from as red that someone less fortunate and without healing like Michael’s would have been left with. Michael would probably be without in a matter of moments. The flow of magic and the continues attachments spell had succeeded as well. As he had asked and as she had promised the spell was stronger than the one before.

Saga took some time herself to admire the symbol again. She had been impressed with it when she had first seen it but now it stood out much more. Though before she let Michael off the table, she dipped the needle one last time in the now much smaller pool of ink in the little dish, and leaned in for the last time. Just to finish up completely, having found minor spots. And then she sat the needle down, resting on the side of the dish and breathed out deeply and sat back in the chair. “I believe that should do it. Are you feeling any different?” Only now noticing how the bandages on her hand had soaked up some of the ink as well as tinting her finger tips. It wasn’t an entirely mess-free process, apparently. Not even for still working hands.

Michael waited for her to reveal the name. And sure enough. Reuben had been the name of the witch he’d met. The world felt so big at times, but other times it felt incredibly small. At least to him. Which wasn't so strange considering the number of immortals he'd met throughout his life. “That’s him. The witch I met in the late '40s.” He was certain of this. She then confirmed that she wouldn’t mind Michael putting out a word for him, making it more likely for her to finally find him. However, he stayed quiet as she said her next sentence, anticipating her to say something more. But what? However, she didn’t say anything else. And she didn't need to either because he understood why she wanted to look for him despite his own wish. “I understand. I’d do the same if I was in your situation.” Family had always been very important to him. Despite his family being very torn at the moment, and him not really considering Lucifer’s side his family at all. But he didn’t blame her for wanting to find him regardless because he believed her and her mother, at the very least, deserved an explanation. “I’ll send out an all-points bulletin for him tonight,” he assured her. She could see this as payment if she wanted, but he'd do it regardless. It being something he'd easily do for his friends. And he very much saw the prospect of a friendship between them.

He watched her as she finished up the tattoo, admiring how the black lines looked much more prevalent than before and the magic felt the same. Much stronger. “Yes, I do,” he said. He felt exactly like he had when the witch in Greece had finished the symbol. Refreshed with magic and comforted by the fact that no demon or ghost would be able to possess him. “Thank you, Saga,” he said as he looked into her eyes before he got off the table, sending a last quick glance at his tattoo to make sure it had dried before he grabbed his white shirt. “Would you mind giving me your phone number? It’d make it a lot easier for me to tell you if any of my angels have seen your father.” He looked at her as he put the shirt around him and buttoned it. He figured she’d probably want the information as quickly as possible, and nowadays, phones seemed to be the quickest way to get in touch with others. He then grabbed his vest and buttoned it before he lastly put on his suit jacket. Lastly, he raised his hand to the back of his head, smoothing down his hair to match the rest of his formal hairstyle. He then reached inside the jacket for his pocket, grabbing his wallet to pull out a hundred-pound bill that he placed on her dining table. “For the tracking spell.” He put the wallet back and adjusted his collar and sleeve slightly, expecting her to claim any other payment besides this if required.

The little witch simply chose to respond to his answer and thanks with a graceful nod, humbly being happy that it had worked as intended. She had mastered the arts of attachment magic but it had still been many years since she had had a needle like the one she had used in her hands. She had been confident on the outside but before getting started, there hadn’t been a guarantee that her muscle-memory would kick in as it luckily had. She did watch him get off the table and reach for his clothing for a fleeting moment before she got up from her chair herself at the same time the ferret jumped off from her shoulder and unto the table. “My number?” She had at first felt somewhat surprised by this but the following add-ons made it make sense. And the fact that he referred to her father as such - her father - didn’t pass her completely. So, he had already figured it out. “Of course. Let me just clean up.”
She could feel the familiar drained feeling of larger use of magic immediately as a kind of dizziness and although she didn’t sway in her walk it would still be visible on her face. How she had to blink a few more times to clear her vision. Saga walked straight to the kitchen sink just a few steps away from the table where she carefully unwrapped her bandaged hand and just let the ink-soaked binding-fabric fall down into the sink so it wouldn’t end up staining the countertops. The cut underneath wasn’t bleeding anymore but had developed dark red scabs. A wound like this should have healed by now but cuts made as a payment took a little longer. She then looked to her side and with a small hand gesture towards the shelves that made out the room divider a yellow sticky-note-pad came flying to her together with a pen. But instead of grabbing them she let them hover in the air near her while she quickly washed her hands, attempting to scrub the black off her fingers.

“If there were to come complications with the tattoo and the magic I hope you won’t hesitate to come see me about it. I’ll take a look at it for no extra fees or need of appointments,” Saga said as she grabbed the nearest kitchen towel and while drying her hands off she turned back around to face the angel, finding him fully dressed and primed once again. A bit of a contrast to the half-naked man she had had lying on her dinner table not long before. Her eyes automatically fell to the bank note he put on the table and then back up at him. Her familiar seemed more interested in it and had been quick to move to it, sniff it. Guard it from other hands than its witch’s hands to take.
Then with her hands dry, the hovering notepad and pen moved in in front of her and though her hands were both free and dry and ink-free she opted to guide the pen over the paper with telekinetic powers. Scribbling down her number as promised at the same time she walked back those few steps to Michael. And after having thrown the kitchen towel on the back of one of the chairs she finally took the notepad and pen in her hands and ripped the sticky note off and handed it to him with a friendly softness in her eyes.
The pen got stuck behind her ear before she turned her attention back to the payment. A payment of something she had yet to demand payment from. “It’ll be 300 pounds total for the marking. The tracking spell was a gift.” It wasn’t advanced magic after all. She gently slid the hundred pound note of the table and turned her eyes back to Michael. Circe following suit. “I can write you up a receipt downstairs in case you’ll be needing one.”

He watched her as she walked to the kitchen before he took a moment to look around the apartment. In the meantime, he placed his tie around his neck and tied it before he put his shoes back on. He noticed how the ferret seemed interested in the banknote and with that got even closer to him. He slowly reached his hand down to Circe, patiently seeing if it’d greet him by smell, and if it did and allowed him to, he’d move his hand to stroke its white fur while Saga was occupied in the kitchen. As she then spoke again, he moved his hand from the table to rest down by his side. “I will.” That much was certain. But hopefully, it wouldn’t need to come to that. However, he was happy to see that she cared about doing her job well and was willing to correct any complications if they occurred. He knew that some witches cared little for this. And he'd been cheated many times by them for not telling him about the side effects or consequences of a given spell or ritual, having them not care when he returned to them for help regarding this.

He took the sticky note with her phone number on it, looking at it for a moment before he folded it in half and put it inside his suit jacket. “Please do,” he replied to her notion about the receipt. He then walked towards the stairs to descend to the main floor. It was dark in the shop, making him turn on the lights with his electricity manipulation. But the moment he did this, the lights started to flicker again. He stopped for a moment to look up at the lights. The ghostly entity proving that it hadn’t left. At least, that was what he guessed the occurrence to be caused by. “Are you sure this hasn’t happened prior to my arrival?” he asked with a quick glance to Saga. It was strange, nonetheless. He walked to the counter and reached for his wallet again, this time taking out a credit card as he didn’t have 300 pounds in cash. He waited for her to type the amount into the cash register before he could pay and receive his receipt. And when it was done, he put the card and receipt into his wallet. “Again, thank you so much for your help and I’ll let you know if I hear anything about Mr. Rhyss,” he assured her, placing his hand above the pocket where her note with her phone number was inside. He'd try not to call her for anything else, although he might if there turned out to be complications with her tracking spell as well. He then walked a few steps backward. “Have a good night, Saga.” And with those words, he turned around. With a single snap of his fingers stopping the rain that had drizzled down for the past hours before he continued towards the door and entered the night outside.

Circe had been curious - interested even - in the archangel since he had set his first step inside the quant magic shop so of course, was the hand he presented them intriguing and the stroke over their fur was almost immediately accepted. It wasn’t an uncommon story about how familiars of witches kept distance to other beings, to only trust in their witch but with most rumors these were put on thick. And while it was partly true for Circe, that they would never sway from Saga’s side of things, they did have their only thoughts - at least thoughts in the sense of what these celestial beings had. They weren’t like the intelligent humanoids yet they weren’t entirely primitive. Circe simply didn’t sense a threat with Michael and by that extent they approved of him. Making Saga do the same. It was a shame her back had been turned to the scene…

Letting him lead this time around, Saga followed him down the spiraling metal stairs down to the shop floor. His concern might have only peaked with the flickering lights but the little witch frown already by the lights having been turned off. She had not turned them off. And neither had she blown out the candles that she usually kept lit. She didn’t say anything to it. Kept her suspicion to herself. Until he spoke and asked back to earlier wonderings as she took the last few steps down the stairs with a bit more carefulness. Her eyes, which had been searching the corners, turned to him at the same time that she moved passed him and behind the beautiful wooden counter. “I am. However I’m beginning to wonder if it really is following you,” she stated with a thoughtful twist to her yet still calm voice. She felt a weird pressing against her chest. She lowered her eyes and pulled out the scanner for the credit card - a gadget that looked out of place in Little Lamb with the surrounding feel of antique - and put in the numbers before putting it down in front of Michael to complete the transaction. Not long after the sound of paper being printed came from around the same place where she’d pulled out the scanner and with a quick rip Saga handed him his receipt. Something a bigger part of her customers didn’t bother with. The same with paying on credit.
His last thanks brought a small smile to her lips as she walked with him a few steps to the door. “It has been a pleasure on my part as well, Michael. Both meeting you on person. And doing business with you.” The snap caught her attention and she got to feel the grazing of confusion for half a second before her eyes caught the effect. The weather manipulation of the rain. And she remembered how he had walked in, complete dry. So, this was how he did it. Fascinating.

She tilted her head and wetted her lips as she watched him walk out and just as the door closed and the sound of the bell rang she looked back into those empty corners. She couldn’t quite shake the uneasy feeling..