2021.05.18 - Gimme Shelter
This log follows the story from: 2021.05.03 - Nice Night for a Fire
The weather has at last become more seasonable and temperate, though at Rowanwood, the weather is always nice. Or, more accurately, the weather is whatever certain persons of influence prefer, with minimal surprises. A front of clouds looms on the horizon, threatening poorer weather, but who knows -- perhaps someone wanted rain.
The drawing room remains full of hospitable warmth, helped by Quentin rolling in a cart with tea and tarts, unquestionably handmade. "So you say it was a zombie? That's concerning." He begins pouring up the tea into dainty cups, with delightfully charming tones of color and hand-painted flowers on them. "Do you take milk? And one spoon or two of sugar? Or do you prefer honey?" Naturally, Rowanwood has an apiary.
"It had all the earmarks of one," Skitch says from his perch on the edge of one of those elegant armchairs, his fingers dancing around each other as he watches Quentin pour. "Sam seemed pretty sure that's what it was. But it was crazy strong. Isaac -- " he motions to the golem standing in the corner of the room. To all outward appearance, he seems human enough, if a bit over-sized. Only his absolute stillness gives him away as anything different. "Isaac had a hell of a time with it. And I've seen him tear sheet metal like it was paper."
He shrugs a bit at the question about his tea. "However it comes," he says with a half-grin. "I haven't had much experience with fancy tea." He leans forward, and taps his feet a bit. "Dean's pretty concerned they're targeting me, which seems pretty likely, given my uncle's book and..." he waves a hand at Isaac, who does not respond. "Which is concerning on a whole different level."
"Proper zombies are pretty nasty," Quentin replies. "If you get a proper necromancer of any skill level, it's going to be really hard and usually regrettable if they decide to raise someone into an abomination of the living dead."
With a smile coming to his features, though his eyes always seem to look so tired, there's a glimmer of brightness in them. And distant thunder, though that may not be related. "Milk will make it milder, and sugar and honey will make it less bitter, though this is a tender tea with florals. You could always try it without and add some later, if you'd like."
So he busies himself with preparing that and setting the plates of tarts on the table amid the seating. "Incidentally...I don't know if you know this, but..." Quentin gives an almost apologetic expression, "golems are something I do especially well. As in, statues brought to life."
"This one was pretty tough," Skitch says, relaxing a wee bit and looking over his shoulder at the golem. "Isaac was pulling things off it and it was still going until he stomped its head." The teenager wrinkles his nose in memory and shudders a tiny bit. He nods gratefully when Quentin offers a solution to the tea question, and leans forward to neatly snag a tart.
When Quentin admits to his prowess with automatons, his eyebrows lift appreciatively. "Really? I know a little bit about them from the stories, and Ma told me what to do to bind Isaac to me." He looks over his shoulder. "I don't know who built him, though. He's been around since the Second World War." He looks at Isaac thoughtfully, then back to Quentin. "Are there special requirements for them? After they're built, I mean."
Quentin sets out the various tea, unless Mother Skitch asks for any additions with the tea. He puts a splash of milk in his own, but no sugar or honey, sitting down in one of the chairs. All the furniture in Rowanwood is just the perfect type to curl up in for an afternoon, a morning, or an evening, and while away the hours reading, or sewing, or any number of leisurely pursuits. It's such a comforting place, and it does feel safe. This was a good choice.
"Golems are given life and usually fulfill a singular purpose, but I think yours is more specialized than that, or else he would be noticeably unbalanced." Quentin waits for his guests to sip before he does, though he does enjoy the aroma. "The magic that gives a golem life isn't exactly the same as what I do, but it has some similarities. If your golem here had been one of those more single-use golems, he likely wouldn't have persisted through time. But golems do tend to be very purpose-built, so to speak. It's most likely that he was created to oppose the Thule cult, so that's what he tends to find focus doing."
Oh, yeah! Ma Skitch -is- here! Elizabeth Maxwell is a bit in awe of the school, and has been easy to forget, sitting in an armchair and trying not to gape at her surroundings. She seems more familiar with fancy tea, though, and deftly amends her own cup with two lumps of sugar and a tiny splash of milk. Stirring her tea, she nods at the assessment of the difference in Isaac. "That seems consistent with the stories my father told me," she says, speaking up finally. "Isaac isn't like the Golem of Prague, who was only built to defend the Jewish ghettos. He seems a bit more..." she waves a hand at the big galoot. "Free range."
"When he moves at all," Skitch says. "But you're not wrong. He doesn't move much, but he could sense that zombie before we knew what it was." He shrugs, and takes his tea cup, handling it by the saucer a bit awkwardly. "And it definitely agitated him."
He takes a deep breath and lifts his cup to sip at the heated liquid. He makes a surprised noise at the taste, and nods approvingly as he takes another sip. "Dean thinks they're an immediate threat, at least to me and Ma. And Sam agrees, which is...not that common, so I was wondering if maybe Ma might stay here at Rowanwood until things blow over."
"Samuel," his mother says in that Mother Tone. "The Thule do not 'blow over.' They've been around for a hundred years."
"Probably a more nuanced design, like a specialized weapon." Quentin comments, glancing over at Isaac, before he returns his full attention to the mother and son here for tea. When his guests sip, at last Quentin takes his own first drink, and it is truly wonderful: tender, flavorful, and not too bitter, even without any sweetener or milk. "Though even some of mine can adopt individual personalities, even consistent ones between animations."
He rests his cup on the saucer, listening and letting them discuss the topic at hand. Quentin seems thoughtful, like he's putting together things in his mind, or his memory. "I think Dean and Sam are very correct, and I'm sure Aunt Nessa will have no objection. But you're right, um...Mrs. Skitch...?" It's been a little hurried and things are frantic. He's going off of mostly memory. "The Thule, unfortunately, don't blow over. They're going to be a threat until or unless they're wiped out. Somehow, that hasn't been possible yet." And this, they can tell, strikes a personal chord with him.
Elizabeth laughs at the confusion over her name, and she waves it off. "It's Mrs. Maxwell," she says helpfully. "But feel free to call me Elizabeth." She seems much more charmed by Quentin than she ever has around the Winchesters, Sam's dimples notwithstanding.
"They seem pretty hard to put down," Skitch says, knitting his brow a bit at Quentin's sudden connection to the issue at hand. "I was kind of hoping to take a look through the library and see if there's anything on them in there. Even something hand-written in the portfolios." He takes another sip of tea and considers. "I'd like to leave Scooby here, too, if that's okay. Stiles would go nuts to take care him for a little while."
"Sorry about that!" Quentin chuckles, brightening at the thankful change in topic, even slightly. "Of course, you're welcome to look through the library. And we'd welcome Scooby. You did bring him with you, didn't you?" He glances around the room, half-expecting the little dog to make an appearance. "I'll bet Ms. Sassy and Violetta will take good care of him. They like dogs." He lifts his cup for another sip, though he keeps scanning the immediate area.
"Oh, he's around," Skitch says, waving a hand towards the entrance. "One of the guys was going upstairs when we came in, and he loves everyone in the pack, so he followed him right up." Skitch grins, and looks up at the ceiling, as if pinpointing where the little black-and-tan Frenchie has landed.
"Who are Sassy and Violetta?" Elizabeth asks, leaning forward to take up a cake and nibble at it.
"Ma," Skitch says in a stage whisper, looking a bit horrified. "It's -Ms.- Sassy."
Quentin holds up his free hand. "Don't worry! I just always call them Ms. and Mr., they're some of our dodos. I think Violetta prefers being called 'darling' anyway." His smile broadens. "They have free reign over the grounds, but they mainly go between the courtyard and the farmyard in the back grounds. The back forty, you could say."
The witch chuckles, then, and takes another pleasant sip of his tea, smacking his lips softly after he swallows. "Ms. Sassy is sort of the head of staff. She's aptly-named. Very sassy. Ms. Violetta is a beautiful violet-plumed dodo, you'll have no trouble finding her. She'll probably find you as quickly."
"Dodos." Elizabeth's tone is frankly disbelieving as she looks between the witch and her son. "A creature that's been extinct since the 17th century?" She takes a deep breath, frowning deeply. "That seems unlikely."
"-That- seems unlikely?" Skitch says, his incredulity unmistakable. "That's where you draw the line?" He laughs, then, a sudden burst of laughter that ends as quickly as it starts. He hoists his teacup up for another sip, and nods. "When you see them, you'll understand," he says. "But make sure to have plenty of berries. They love berries."
"I will make a note," Elizabeth says, and it's clear from her bemused tone that she might not actually make a note.
"Impossible things before breakfast and all," Quentin comments, chuckling a bit and having another sip of his tea, before resting cup and saucer on the table for the moment. "It's something of a long story, but they've always thrived in especially magical places. Hopefully they'll be pretty easy to get used to, with their soothing song. I can't imagine life without them, at this point. They're such a robust part of my day-to-day environment."
He sits back in his chair, folding his hands on his stomach. "If you like animals, the farmyard has very friendly ones, used to visitors. And if you like to ride, we have horses in the stable. I live in the apartment above. I can set you up with whatever you'd need."
"You'll love 'em," Skitch assures his mother. "Once they get used to you, they're pretty nice." He grins at Quentin. "And they do sing beautifully." He snags his own tea cake, then, and takes a big bite of it.
"So,this is a magical school?" Elizabeth asks, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin before folding it and placing it next to her tray. "Like Hogwarts?"
"-Ma-." Skitch's whisper is pained and stretched. "Come -on-. It's only a -little- bit like Hogwarts."
Quentin sits forward, collecting cup and saucer with a spreading smile again. "Well, first and foremost, it's more of a...something of a bed and breakfast, and also where my family live. The witches and warlocks and whatnot tend to divide their time learning between here and the Hotel Oktober downtown in Port-Au-Feu."
"But after everything that happened a few months ago," his expression eases towards more serious, "we felt it prudent to make that arrangement. Between us, surely we feel we can protect the students and provide safety and security for them. But it's also an added bonus that we have a lot of experienced witches here, including the members of the Witches' Council, and a library that's just about unparalleled." The Apocalypse was a hard time for everyone, which makes sense given it was the Apocalypse.
Elizabeth doesn't look like she believes all of Quentin's explanation, but she nods, smiling brightly and sipping her tea. "The Hotel is where you spend most of your time, isn't it, Samuel?" There's a small hitch to her voice that makes Skitch wince as he nods.
"Yeah. I mean, after school and classes here. It's where Dean liv...." he trails off, watching his mother for any outward signs of danger. None seem coming, which just puts him that much more on edge. "You'll really like it here," he assures her, offering a wide grin. "It's all really fascinating, and everyone here is really nice."
Elizabeth nods, setting down her cup and offering Quentin a bright smile much like Skitch's. "I'm sure I'll love it as much as Samuel does," she says. "Thank you for letting me stay."
"Of course." Quentin dips his head, and even so, he looks a bit regal sitting there. "Please make yourself at home. I'm sure Aunt Nessa would tell you the same." He lifts his head again, then pushes up to stand. "I'll show you around. Maybe we'll run into her! I'm sure you'll be quick friends."
Outside, there's only a first few drops, and then the rain starts to fall almost casually. It taps its soothing song on the roof, on this lovely spring day.