Logs:Seeking the Bones pt. 1
|Seeking the Bones pt. 1|
You keep the hide. I get the heart.
|Dramatis Personae|| |
22 May, 2017
Sebastian meets with a witch and her "consultant" for business of the otherworldly kind. Part of Seeking the Bones
D'Amour Family Funeral Home
The D'Amour Family Funeral Home is quiet in the way that places that deal with the dead can be. Eerie, or peaceful, depending on your outlook. And while it does not look to be open for business, it is the location that was given for the meeting. Which means that there's a trio of chairs set up surrounding a little table, rather than a desk. More intimate, than most businesses, the matter of dealing with the departed.
Seraphine is sipping at her cup of tea, as she stands there, waiting. She got her earlier than the meeting was scheduled, of course. There's a sketchpad on the table, along with more tea, a charcoal pencil. Dark eyes watching the door, with only a touch of healthy paranoia.
Clad in a leather jacket, t-shirt and jeans that looks like they've been worn for a few days is Keith. Smelling of incense and stranger things, the odd stain of something on his collar with a bird skull hanging around his neck by a leather cord. He's stood a bit behind Seraphine, leaning over what looks to be pictures of well, supposedly dead people with a lazy interest.
Early Monday mornings are rare times for secret meetings in halls of the dead, but Sebastian arrives punctual, apparently not victim to the traditional late nights of those in his profession. He's carrying a cup of coffee, dressed unassumingly in a pair of black slacks and a similarly charcoal colored sweater-vest. Throw a pair of glasses into the mix and he could easily be an accountant or tech support--certainly not what Seraphine might have been lead to expect when Sebastian was described to her.
"Good morning," he offers, his voice like satin-gravel, his burning amber eyes sweeping over both of the pair in a disinterested fashion. Wood scrapes too loudly over the floor as he pulls back his chair and claims a seat, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the table. Mother must have never taught him any better. "I'm here for Miss D'Amour." There's a casual glance cast toward Keith, no more or less than an acknowledgement of his presence in the room.
There are certain cliches that Seraphine does not hold to - and meetings needing to take place at the witching hour are apparently one such. Her dark eyes flick to Keith as the expected guest arrives, watching him for a moment, before she moves to the table. There is a long stretch of moments, where Sebastian is given the weight of her scrutiny. "Do caution against ruining my floors." Words given in an accent thick, hailing from New Orleans. "And that would be me." She doesn't sit, yet, but she does put her teacup down. Watching, waiting.
A light tilt of his head from Keith as Sebastian steps inside, the man suffering a brief moment of scruint. "Morning." he offers through, a lazy smile given, a thing of too much teeth which lingers just a little too long. Putting the photos away for now, straightening. An air of amusement to him, mild.
"Mm," he tells in response to the pair's greetings, shifting a bit to look down toward the floor around his chair. Satisfied with the lack of marrs and scuffs, apparently, he presses his eyes back up to match the voudon's, his expression distant and relaxed. "Apologies, meant no offense." There's a long, languid pause that punctuates that, the words delivered with some esoteric mixture of sincerity behind a dry tone. "I'm Sebastian Jäger, I'm sure you know. Just here looking for a boneseeker bag. I understand this is something you can make."
"My associate," the witch offers, with a gesture towards Keith, though Seraphine gives no name to go with it. Her gaze lingers on him for a moment, before finally pulling back to Sebastian's, looking him in the eyes. She doesn't precisely hover over, intimidate, from across the table - she's too short, and while she certainly has a drawing enough presence to do such, she's far too relaxed for such. "Potential slight forgiven. As for what you seek - I can make a lot of things, Mister Jäger. And while our mutual contacts gave me an idea, I'd like to hear what you're looking for in your own words."
"Boneseeking bag." Keith echoes, with that same mild amusement. "Going digging up bones?" an idle curiosity, although he keeps himself on the outline of the meeting as it stands. "Not heard of that one before." the way he says it suggests he thinks he ought have. A hand raised to scratch his chin.
The man reaches beneath that sweater-vest, digging into some pockets stitched into his white collared button-up. What he reveals is a set of parchments yellowed with age, ripped and torn in some places. "Boneseeker bag," he corrects Keith, beginning to explain. As he moves to press the documents across the table toward the priestess he explains, "It's a small pouch of leather. Does nothing on it's own, but when filled with ground-up bones the fragments can be tossed into the air. Unnatural winds take them, whipping them about the room, but they'll stop and shape around anything that's present in the witching realm."
His words for things like Twilight are strange, but the voudon will gather from the documents what he means. They tell the tale of a man named Lambrecht Jäger. It drones on and on about his various adventures hunting monsters in Germany throughout the 1950's, and it speaks in detail of his boneseeker bag, which could reveal ghosts to anyone in the room. "It's like seeing invisible men in a sandstorm," he finishes, shifting his attention back toward their hostess. "Think it's doable?"
Ringed fingers reach out to take the papers as they're offered across the table, Seraphine's gaze going down to them to do a bit of speed reading. But with the slight cant of her head, it's clear that she's listening as well. A quirk of her lips, for the term 'witching realm', but she does not speak on it. A pause, at the mention of monsters in the papers, before she's offering them over to Keith. Sharing is caring. Or getting a second opinion is her goal. "I've done something similar, before, though not a bag. It should not be too difficult, with the right things. Getting the components is going to be the more challenging part of it. Once you can put those in my hands...it's likely."
Sucking on his teeth in thought Keith takes the papers as they are offered, giving them a quick read through. "You hunt the ghosts?" he asks, seemingly interested. And showing no notion of pretending he does not believe they exist, not here in this company.
"I hunt monsters," Sebastian tells flatly. "Sometimes they come in human form. Others it's not so easy." There's an air of mystery to his words there, but it's not a difficult one to solve. There's no qualms given about the documents being passed around, but of special note to the pair might be a sentence that speaks of Lambrecht's "silver sword gleaming", though there's no mention of him hunting werewolves or any shape shifter in the document. "I'm sure I can get whatever you need--that's been something of a career choice for me. Think it'll be easy to find?"
"What humanity does to itself is often worse than what any creature their minds can think of might," Seraphine murmurs, as she reaches for her cup once more, sipping her tea. "In the end, the bones do not matter as much as the bag." There's a thoughtful tugging of her lower lip between her teeth, and her nails tap against the china of the teacup for a brief moment. "Though even the bone dust, even as you'll have to replace it over time, should not be something you think of lightly. Not from the chicken you ate for dinner, no more than the blood of the same would be fitting for a vodoun ritual." She takes the papers back from Keith, thumb brushing over the surface thoughtfully. "Leather, hide, for the bag. Something… impressive. Something ‘’old’’. Something that has seen too much and yet not enough time." Thoughtful, and tilting her now empty tea cup, as if reading the leaves left behind.
"Get paid for it?" Keith asks then, that mild curiosity lingering as he tilts his head again looking to Sebastian. The document handed back to Seraphine after the brief review. "Can't imagine there's much pay in it these days." said with that same grin, too much teeth.
Sebastian rolls his head slightly back and forth, considering a response to Keith's inquiry. "Not enough. I do too much work pro bono. Folks pay what they can when you take their nightmares away. It's just not always in money, or much at all." His gaze shifts over Seraphine with a sense of patience dwelling in their depths while she speaks. There's no response offered, only silence as she scries into the dance of her leaves.
There's a few passing moments of silence from the witch, as she considers the leaves - or at least seems to. Then she turns the cup over, onto the little saucer, as she's apparently satisfied. "You won't see what you hunt, Sebastian Jäger. But I can give you a place where you'll find it. You are a monster hunter, and so that is what I'll send you after, for this boon. You keep the hide. I get the heart." An arch of brow. "Are we agreed?"
There's an idle interest from Keith, but he always seems lazy. "What're you sending him after?" he muses, a tilt of his head as he steps closer. Ending up behind Seraphine, to peer over her shoulder down at the leaves.
There's a twist forming in Sebastian's brow, knotting flesh and skin. "I have to agree with your associate. Is the mystery necessary for the ritual, or can you give me a bit more to go on?" he asks, studying the woman a like a puzzle with too much of the same color in it's pieces.
The witch freely shows the leaves to Keith, as he looks over her shoulder. The woman herself is surely a mystery wrapped in an enigma. Seraphine leans back slightly, as she looks across the table to Sebastian. "A little mystery, for I don't have a name for it. Just a ...knowing. Bring iron with you, is my suggestion, though."
"Iron." Keith muses shaking his head. "Don't even have a where for the poor man?" although he seems more amused than anything at how difficult she is being with her mysteries. Having looked he steps away again, running a hand back through his hair.
"Could be some kind of ghost, but I haven't known many to leave behind a hide and heart. I'll pack horseshoes and a knife." His runs his fingers through his beard thoughtfully for a moment, drawing his breaths slow and calm. "You did say you could give a place," he tells. "Even a starting point for me to track it would be fine." He doesn't sound too concerned--likely he's had less to go on in the past.
Seraphine looks over her shoulder, to Keith, for a moment. "I never claimed I could make things easy," she says with her own amusement, before considering Sebastian across the table. She reaches for the charcoal pencil then, her sketchbook. And as she paces the floor, she starts to work it over the paper. Biting at her lower lip, every so often. "There is no power without a touch of sacrifice, Mister Jäger. I hope you are not unfamiliar with that concept. And you have not answered my question. Do we have an agreement, Mister Jäger?"
"You never did." Keith agrees, although he says it more amused than anything, it seems a theme. As the two begin to discuss he drifts back to his corner, settling over the photographs of corpses again to inspect them. Humming lightly on a foreign tune.
The man nods his head in an easy yet resolute and decisive fashion. “We do,” Sebastian tells, finishing his coffee with a final long drought. “I’ll begin the hunt soon, armed with iron, and you’ll get your heart.” He moves to stand, extending his hand with an open palm. “My documents?”
The sketching is done quickly, the sides of her fingers used to smear the charcoal in places, a quiet artistic frenzy. When Seraphine returns to the table, she tears the page out, handing the crude map and the other papers back to Sebastian. "It's rough. I'll need to get closer, to get a more concrete location. You'll bring me." It doesn't have the sound of a request, as she looks into the man's eyes.
There's no wavering in his eye at her demand, nor even surprise. "Could be dangerous," he tells, taking the map and looking it over. "But if you want to come, come. I just hope you're not going to get yourself hurt when things get hairy. I won't mind if you run." It's not an accusation of any kind as much as an invitation.
"Could be," Seraphine muses, easily. "But I usually have the sense to avoid getting hurt." Says the woman, missing the tip of one pinky finger and a small litany of scars. "If there's nothing else?"
Sebastian twists his head in a brief shake. "There's not," he tells. "I'll contact you when it's time. Thanks for taking my call, Ms. D'Amour. Your work is spoken highly of." He collects his documents with that, stuffing them back beneath that sweater vest before slipping into the chilled gusts of Monday morning air.