Fresh bread and cheese on one corner. Fresh fish on another. On the third, chocolates and desserts. On the fourth corner, a multiple storied bookstore.
     Pani freschi da Acerbus - Seller of fine fresh breads! Acerbus makes his bread throughout the day, following a recipe some ten generations in the making.
     Pompey's Frutta Fresca del Mare - There are few more renowned fish markets than Pompey's. Nestled in the Grimani courtyard, this market boasts the best quality monkfish in the Mediterranean. Its secret? Pompey isn't about to give that away...
     Cioccolato - Tybald is a pi chocolatier of great reputation. Tybald's has been refining chocolate and creating fine desserts since Chocolate's first appearance in Venice. Chocolate to Tybald's in Grimani is like glass to Murano.
     Albizzina's Libri di Magia e di Mistero - Albizzina's bookstore is quite popular with both Venetians and tourists alike. Part magic shop, part curio shop, part library, the Libri di Magia has been in existence since 1920. Formerly it was the palazzi di Grimani itself.
     It does not matter the time of day, for once you enter it is always just past the middle of the afternoon, on a sunny and clear day, with a light eastern breeze hinting at the start of summer...
     Rows and rows of books are set and stacked upon rows and rows of shelves. Every space of the surrounding walls is covered in books. Rolling ladders and one set of spiraling stairs allows one to reach the books in the highest spots.
     The marble floor checkered red and white is likewise covered in orderly standing shelves, containing spheres and pots, bundles of silk, knick-knacks from all corners of the world, old and new, treasure and toy, magic supplies to carnival masks.
     Yet, even though it is truly crammed with various assortments, the room seems spacious. It seems to go on and on until you reach the back counter with a cash register from 1925. There is a doorway behind the counter, and on the counter (always) there is a silver cat. The double doorway leads back to Grimani Court.

     Evening set in well over the Venice sky, shoppers still move through the square easily as they purchase any manner of thing available for trade from one vendor to the next. In the bookstore, it's no different, except perhaps for the languid nature of the shopping that goes on in such establishments. One can spend hours in timeless bliss roaming from shelf to shelf and browsing the wares. Or, at least, some people can. Which apparently is the pace that one young woman has set for herself, black wool coat left open over her striped dress as she holds an old leather bound volume gently in her hands, gently turning a yellowed page while her eyes roam the text held within.

     An idle, jeweled hand strokes the silver-lavender fur of a small cat lounging on the countertop. The hand is a pale olive hue, very slender. The cat is likewise slender and even for the opening bells of the door doesn't budge an inch.
     The hand belongs to the slender arm that is attached to the slender figure of Albizzina Contato. The proprietress of Libri di Magia e di Mistero is reputed to be a true witch. There are many legends about the bookstore, some more fantastical than others. Some even say that she is hunting for the Doge's lost treasure of gold.
     Silly, isn't it...
     She is a woman of small stature, with straight black hair layered closest to her face. Any of the large tomes in her collection appear, therefore, all the more huge as she handles them. One such tome lies upon the counter (beside Nimue the cat) and she reads it, as much a customer as owner, sitting upon an old stool and sipping espresso.

     "No, no," the young man near her says, in a most animated fashion. The energy behind his words surprises even him -- he stops, turns, and stares at Albizzina a moment -- causing him to lower his hands and try to return to some restrained posture.
     "It's different now," Cesare says, suddenly at Albizzina's side. "All of it. It's different. I'm different," he says plaintively. Brown eyes glance to the young woman in the wool coat. Indeed, he should lower his voice.
     Hands run through Cesare's brown hair, settling it into place once again.
     "I should get...some tea," he says, turning in circles to find the teapot.

     Victoria, being well versed in the not hearing of things, continues to read her book happily in the corner without even a glance to the discussion going on at the counter even with its animation. Another page is turned with delicate fingers, barely holding the page almost as though she's afraid it might tear simply by her presence. The segment of shelves she's chosen to grace are predominantly history related. Though, frequently one can find all kinds of things shuffled in with eclectic stores such as these, so it doesn't guarantee anything.

     "Yes, you should not have any coffee..." Albizzina murmurs as if idly. She looks up at last, setting the tiny cup of espresso down animatedly, but yet careful of the old tome outstretched before her. In fact, the cup of espresso doesn't really land on anything solid. The air has to earn its keep somehow.
     "So, everything is changed, nothing is the same. Still, I do not know why it must be that you leave the city. I thought we had an arrangement, Perilli. Is a man's word to mean nothing?" She softens her features and sighs again. "So... you have changed... everything is different. Are you going to tell me why? Should a friend have to dig?" her words, unlike his, are measured and even. As if talking about the weather for the thousandth time.
     "Yes, you should get tea, amici, there is fresh cream, there is cinnamon too..."

     "No, no," the young man says, biting his thumbnail as he paces, "...none of that. Just tea," he says, moving to the small corner table where the teapot sits. "I can come back whenever," he explains, "...just...it's better if I stay...in Poitiers...right now. You know my word is good. It always has been. It always will be."
     "I...can explain it later," Cesare says, looking up again as he makes his tea. But some things have happened, and I need to do my work elsewhere for a while. I will come when called or needed.

     Tucking a loose lock of hair back from her cheek to stay up past her ear, the young lady with the book closes it, setting it aside with what would appear to be the intent to purchase it.
     At the surfacing of her attention from the volume, she glances towards the door curiously, as though checking something briefly before she looks to the shelf once more. Those at the other part of the store given a polite smile before she clasps her hands behind her back to scan the titles on the shelf.

     "If you are in trouble," she peers at him as if over a pair of glasses. Even the silver cat lifts her head, "... I will find out and then you will be in trouble with me. You promise me you are not in trouble, amici, and then I will be content." You are so agitated. "Poitiers. Not much magic in Poitiers." A pause, a slight shrug. "It is an old city, not as old." And therefore lacking true character and livability.
     Albizzina takes up her espresso and sips. "I do not ask about your Work," the other things you do. "You know that we will always have open arms waiting here for you. Even Paolo, stubborn as he is, was remarking upon it last night as he worked the masque. The city is not the same," she smiles a little, sighs a little. "Your word is good," she murmurs, "...and it always has been. I will be happy to watch your apartment for you, hold it for you..."

     At the history books, one of the books on the top shelf falls harmlessly to the floor.

     "I'm not in trouble," Cesare says. Dressed simply in brown slacks and a tan shirt, Cesare returns to stand near the owner with his cup of tea. "Not like that. It'll be fine."
     When the book drops, Cesare looks over to where Victoria stands.

     Albizzina looks over to the direction of the falling book. A plucked and shaped eyebrow, raven black, lifts slightly. "Some of the tomes are surprisingly heavy. Are you okay, signora?" she calls out to the last patron she saw wandering nearby.

     Blinking at the suicidal volume, Victoria leans down easily to pick it up off the ground. Checking the spine for any obviously new damage, she examines the title. Sometimes in old bookstores things aren't level, perhaps.
     "Oh, fine, thanks." the American says easily with an apologetic smile, "I must have knocked it loose when I too the other off. It seems to be unharmed."

     Albizzina looks back to Cesare and exhales again, making a little wave. "Do not worry about us. If we find the gold, we will be sure to call you," her Italianate mouth holds a delightful little smile. "And I will look forward to hearing the secret sometime, of the magical pull of Poitiers.
     "Ah, do not worry. Sometimes they get excited when they see people..."

     That causes Cesare to smirk. It does happen though.
     "There are few tourists in tonight," Cesare observes. "The Carnivale is in high row. I wonder why not? Were there many here earlier in the day?"

     And in walks Trouble.
     The door opens, and in steps a young woman who's only too happy to get away from Britain and all the problems which it represents. Long cornsilk blonde hair is caught back in a single ponytail that doesn't quite hide the elfknots tied in wandering strands, blue eyes currently irritated by lack of sleep and too much exposure to direct sunlight earlier in the day. Adjusting the crisp white linen shirt she wears paired with tailored jeans and your basic black boots, she pushes into the bookstore, oblivious to everything but that here there are no direct lights (or cameras going off) and here there are books.
     A good combination, wouldn't you agree?
     Under her breath, she hums. "Piove sull'oceano, piove sull'oceano... Piove sulla mia identita... Lampi sull'oceano, lampi sull'oceano... Squarci di luminosita..."

     Nodding to the shop keeper, the book apparently intrigues the woman enough that she glances at the title pages. She glances back at the mention of tourists, not at all offended since that's what she is. And perhaps now somewhat curious about the answer.
     When the door opens, she glances over, almost as though she's checking for someone perhaps. Not recognizing whoever walks in, she offers a brief polite smile at the glance, eyes moving up to the shelves again. Perhaps making sure nothing else is going to drop on her for the moment.

     Albizzina glances to the new arrival and then back to Cesare and the book and cat at hand. "It was really busy in the morning, lunch. But you know how it is, everyone wants to dance and sing, not sit quietly and study. But the usuals were here. Patricio is still trying to teach himself the fine art of being a Fate Witch, god bless him. He forgets he has to be a woman for this, but what can you do when someone has a dream, amici." She smiles past the rim of her little espresso cup. Italian porcelain that, hand painted in swirls.

     The difficulty with Fiona isn't that she's even all that hard to get along with (these days). The difficulty is that around her, Things Happen. However, at the moment, the only happenstance seems to be her desire to find a specific book, if at all possible.
     "Fiction, fiction, fiction," the British young woman's mumbling, half under her breath. "Paul Gallico. Damn, what is the name of that book..." Fiona spots a ladder, and begins dragging it off, letting her fancy be her guide. "Well, why not. If I'm high up, right..."

     The books age anywhere from the 1500s to current pressings. The older the book, the higher its place upon the shelves -- so the highest shelves are full of large and dusty tomes (the dust gives them an air of importance, you see, and no matter how often Albizzina dusts, she can't seem to get rid of it!).
     There are also pull drawers set into the cabinets, which are full of old scrolls and parts of books salvaged from the San Polo fire of 1628.

     A thud lifts soundly from another section of the store.

     "We do not carry much fiction, signora," Albizzina offers. "But, if you ...pardonne..." Eyebrows knitting together she sets down her coffee cup. "I do not know what has gotten in to them today. I said this morning that they should fly off the shelves, but I was hoping for an exchange of euros for the effort..."

     "That's good," Cesare says to the patrons in earlier, seemingly comforted by his cup of tea. He looks at the latest arrival, then stares at her a longer moment or two. Albizzina's current joke is lost on him as he drinks deeply from his cup.

     The American puts the book in her hands back up on the shelf carefully. Making sure it's happy where it is or at least well balanced for the moment. This, it seems, brings her hand up next to a carnival mask tucked into the case, held in both once it's down close enough to see.
     A silver moon.
     At the thud, she glances up curiously, leaning back to peek around a shelf towards the sound with some interest. She grins at the explanation from the lady behind the counter, though it isn't clear whether or not she believes she's joking.
     Glancing at the mask in her hands, she looks back up and asks, "Are the masks also for sale, signora?"

     The silver on the mask gleams, as if actively sparkling.

     "Oh yes," Albizzina calls from behind a stack of books from the last fallen casualty. She lifts the book and puts it back in its place. "Now, only when you are asked, Maestro," she says to the book and turns back toward the counter, wiping the dust from the book onto her apron, leaving handprints upon the black cotton. Her entire outfit is black -- turtleneck sweater, capri pants, two-inch slingbacks, pointed toe.

     "The masks are special this week," the young man with Albizzina comments. "For the Carnivale. A slight discount, I am sure," Cesare smirks at the proprietress.

     Looking down at the silver again for a moment in her hands, she smiles when she sees the woman coming by, holding it out a bit for her to see specifically which she discusses, "How much for this one?"
     Victoria catches the odd look on Cesare's face when he spies the other tourist. She was pretty, of course, perhaps he's smitten with blondes. Glancing over towards her again, the brunette at least isn't aware of any oddities growing from her shoulders or head. But then again she's a pretty straight laced girl, herself. Who knows what passes for odd in Venice.

     Unicorns and theater faces. Dragons and grotesques. Gargoyles and cats and Harlequin, Commedia dell'Arte, and every sort of living thing real or imagined may be found here. Masks of glass, masks of cloth, masks of painted wood. They are in good supply until the day after Christmas. When Carnivale starts, all the mask shelves are emptied!

     "You want to run the store or return to Poitiers," she murmurs to him. "Yes, signora, I will discount it for you. It is a little unusual that I have any at all this time of year, but a shipment was late from my artisan to replace a batch ruined by the water. That mask, La Luna? For you, Carnival already started, I will say twenty-five euro. The glass I cannot sell below seventy-five. The Guild would kill me." Maybe that's not an exaggeration.
     Albizzina takes her spot on the stool again, her hand returning to the silver fur of her shop cat. "Ah, miss," she says to the blonde, "... as I was saying, we do not sell much fiction. We specialize in books on the magical arts, herbology, alchemy..." and so on.

     Cesare's eyes widen in shock and then normalize as he chuckles slightly. Whatever's in the tea certainly has improved his disposition. He does not answer the question posed by Albizzina, but his silence is perhaps enough.

     Albizzina waves her hand at him, smiling a little. You are silly, Giancarlo, as are all men. "How long can you stay?" she asks him as she turns the page of the large tome.

     Amused at the exchange, Victoria nods, setting the mask down with her book for purchase, "Thank you, that's very kind."
     At the mention of classifications of books her interests perks a bit, not apparently having made it to that section of the store, "You mentioned herbology, could you tell me where that section is, please?"
     She's disrupting her orderly progress around the store. But, apparently, that's okay when you're acting the tourist.

     "Until it is time to go," Cesare responds cryptically, though it is true. "When...he is ready to go. He lives in Poitiers." Whoever 'he' is.
      "I have a few books for you," Cesare suddenly pipes. He looks to a curtain, then back to the woman near him. "I...forgot them at home. I will..." he coughs, "...get them for you. I am done with them. One is on Trismagestus. The other is a book I found in the old library of St. Elbe."
     Oh, but a patron needs help. Cesare quiet and steps out of the way, anticipating Albizzina's move to assist.

      "Oh, is that so?" Fiona blinks absently from her position at the top of the ladder, peering down from a great height. "Well, even so, you might have something I'm looking for. Somebody's bound to, right?" She grins a little despite herself, half-sitting on the top steps, holding on with one hand as she looks down at the crowd below. "Peter Whimsy was right," she adds to herself, tone absent.
     She lifts her head to look to either side of her again, then back down. Ah, Fiona's in a fey mood, evidently - she's gotten away from the faerie man to try to clear her head, and this is the result : Unclear Thinking. She can be logical for somebody else, but who here - at Carnivale - needs a voice of reason? "Well, if you don't mind my browsing, I'll browse. Otherwise, I'll ... let you pick something for me. It's always nice when other people make the decisions, or so I'm told." She props her chin on her fist, eyes darting to the doorway for just a moment, expecting it to open.

     Albizzina sets her cup aside again -- at least she had the chance to finish it. She holds up two jeweled fingers to Cesare -- one moment, amici -- and then clicks her way toward the brunette. "I put the herbology and alchemy books together. You will find that I have components together, theory and mathematics together, and then philosophy and history. So, herbology is here," she shows her to the first stack against the left hand wall as one enters. "All the way up to the ceiling. If you wish one of the 16th century texts, let me know, I will fetch it."
     She glances to the other customer. "No no, signora...enjoy yourself... look as you like. Far be it from me to determine another's path...."
     With that, Albizzina returns to her station behind the counter, with Cesare and cat.

     Albizzina looks to Cesare, turning upon the stool, one leg crossed over her other. "Him? When he is ready to go? Okay, now you must tell me... what is this about and who is he?" An eyebrow lifts and dark eyes peer at him. Inclining her head, Albizzina looks to him a moment longer. "So many secrets, amici. I think you have been reading too much...but...thank you for the books. Whenever it is good for you..."

     "He...is called Alire," Cesare smiles. "Someone I knew...earlier. I had not seen in a long time. We ran into each other again," he explains. "Over a year ago now, I think. So, that is where I've been."
     "Oh," Cesare swallows the last of his tea, setting the cup down. "Here are those books," he says suddenly, bending down below the height of the counter. When he comes up again, there are three books in his hand. Like his cup, he genially stacks the books on the counter as well."

     Picking up the book she's already selected along with her mask, Victoria follows the shop's keeper along to the section of herbology and alchemy. Both apparently seeming to interest her as she gazes generally at the sections mentioned as she offers a grateful smile, "Thank you very much."
     Looking up the ladder at Fiona, she does seem to think the perch a little... unusual perhaps. But, not entirely out of bounds. One of the books is taken off the shelf for browsing, opened in the middle.

     "Is that a derivative of the French 'to fly'?" she wonders idly. Even as you are doing from Venice for his sake! Oh Cesare! She sighs then and smiles, her chin resting upon the heels of her palms, elbows on the book. "You are in love? That is what this is about," she notes. Another sigh and she sits up. "Thank you for the books, amici. I will read them, charge exorbitant prices for them and hope they stay in the shop as a memento to our friendship," she seems to be joking, but she is so even and perhaps dry that it may be hard to tell...

     "I should hope you have more than sold books as memories," Cesare says. Such tones from a young man. He laughs at the humor, then looks to the two patrons again. Cesare lifts his voice to Victoria, asking, "Do you wish to put your selections on the counter so you do not have to carry them?" A grin at Albizzina, and Cesare walks around the counter towards Victoria. "I can take those," he explains.

     "My thanks," Fiona calls downwards, straightening up on the ladder. "I imagine you get the usual tourist crowd in here asking for love spells. Tell me, do you have any spells for getting rid of love?" Both blonde eyebrows arch upwards, and she flows down the ladder, sliding down and slowing her slide at about three quarters of the way down in order to leap safely. When did safety become a consideration, anyway? She looks curious as to the answer, but not as if she expects one, already half-turning to peruse titles. "Funny, that more people ask about love than turning lead into gold, in my experience," she mutters to herself.

     Looking up as Cesare addresses her, Victoria smiles, "Oh, thanks, that'd be great." She picks them up with her other hand to offer over helpfully when he arrives at her position.
     She is distracted a moment by the bounding down the ladder nearby, grinning a little more at the second comment from the blonde, "I think it's because the other is just molecular. It's easier to theorize." Love, apparently, isn't something that she entirely understands either.

     Cesare laughs, taking the mask and the book. "You've never tried then, signorina." Clearly, if she can be so flip about it. "Love," Cesare says with lifted voice to Fiona, "...is easier to change." He smiles, the young man, and takes the two items back to the main counter.

     "It is always the forbidden fruit that wins out over greed. At the end of the day, most wish to be loved. But, certainly, there are effective banishments. Is this a love you wish to be rid of? That you do not love in the same way, or is it someone who is obsessed and stalking? You will want to be very specific when it comes to banishment, but certainly we have plenty to choose from. There is a compendium of love spells, Italian. I find them the most effective -- we have curses down to a fine art, si?" Albizzina smiles. "I think you would find Ambrosi the Red's The Red Book of Heartes Joyes to be the most definitive collection of such. It is..." she wanders to the row of theory and actual spell craft, her eyes then traveling up the full span of the shelf. "Aha, here... on the seventh row." Were she here alone, she would merely call the book down to her and not climb and get dusty. But it is not something one does in mixed company. Generally. "I will get it for you... it was compiled in 1788..."

     "...but, while easy to change," Cesare thinks better, turning about to see the bookstore at large, "...it's harder to -control- what result you achieve..."
     Well, what Albizzina said.

     "Lead to gold?" Cesare mumbles, "Damned near impossible."

     "Yes, well... if it were easy, we would all be rich, si?" Albizzina says, rolling over a ladder to the said stack of books.

     "You misunderstand me," Fiona protests mildly, holding both hands up, one hand going further up to absently rub at her elf-knots. "I don't want to get rid of someone else. I'm more curious about affecting my self." And that is different, isn't it? Promptly, as if this weren't the middle of a bookstore in Venice, she sinks down to the floor, sitting crosslegged with her elbows on her thighs, chin propped on her hands, ponytail slowly unraveling to loose cornsilk-gold.
     "No," she continues, shaking her head, "mastery of the self's a lot harder, in my observation, than controlling other people. And really, I don't want to control other people. What would be the point of that?"

      Victoria asides to Cesare, "It's only molecularly off by one electron." She shrugs with a smile, not seeming to ever have actually tried anything mind. Though her shoes don't indicate that she's lacking in money at all.
     The discussion of love magics, however, she does not contribute to. That being an area she knows less than nothing about. But, listening in situations like this is the way to learn, so that's what she does, still holding her herbology book in hand at the same time.

     Albizzina looks down to her from on high. "Oh, there are spells to make yourself repulsive, if that is what you wish. Though, signorina, that would be a shame, I must say. What is it you wish to accomplish? To make yourself unlovable by this one person? Or to all people?" She pulls down the book. It is old. It is heavy. It is dusty. And it is very, very red. Red leather, embossed with hearts, broken and whole.

     "Also true," the young man says to Fiona, beginning to wrap the mask in tissue paper for transporting. He stands behind the counter, content to help his shopkeeping friend.
     "Electron, schmelectron," Cesare says softly, smirking. A non-believer who's missed the point. He won't even delve to correct the lady's observation.

     "While I'm not entirely sold on my appearance, by and large I do find it preferable to, say, having blue scaly skin and being covered with leprous sores, yes," Fiona answers drolly, shaking her hair out and leaning back against the ladder again. "I'm not trying to alter my looks. It's more about controlling one's emotions - love, hate, indifference. Who decides what you - or anyone - gets to feel about anyone else?"
     There's a momentary pause as Fiona frowns, trying to figure out a better way of explanation. "Think of it," she says finally, "as emotional alchemy. You're not going to break into someone else's house and turn all their lead into gold. Though I can see circumstances in which you might turn someone else's gold into lead. At that, it isn't that hard to simulate gold. Some people do it all the time."

     Should the psychiatrist say something about controlling your own emotions? Can she not say something about it? More importantly, would Ian find out if she did?
     Victoria manages to go one more round without mentioning anything scientific. Instead looking back at her herbology again, and trying to behave. Really.

     "No one chooses Love, you are chosen," Albizzina counters, but she offers forth the heavy and quite old book. "Some of Casanova's spells are inside. I think you should look over this. It is the most extensive collection of love spellcraft in Europe. The book is expensive, but... if you have questions on what to do for yourself or others, you shall find it within. There is a reading room, you are welcome to take the book there and study it."
     She turns, looking to Cesare, then back to Fiona. "If you wish to be ignored by love, I do not know what to tell you to do, but perhaps open a magical bookstore in the heart of an old city and get a silver cat. It has worked for me." Such a wit!

     Cesare does laugh as he tapes the tissue paper into place with delicate motions. But the question is interesting, "Emotional alchemy is difficult," as he'd already suggested. "There do not appear," a particular point, "...to be tried and tested chemical or mathematical equations. As a result, when things do happen, it becomes hard to...find the pathology, in order to achieve the same, desired goal again. This is what I mean...that you can change things of Love, or other emotion, as you generalize, but it is difficult to control and determine the results."

     A mixture of herbs to put in a mask to keep away the plague. This is useful. Yup. Better keep reading and not do any talking. Herbs to keep away mites in rushes. Maybe some time she'll want to hold an authentic feast in her new castle. This would be very necessary information to know. Particularly as long as you don't say anything out loud in this room regarding the importance of understanding the root of your emotions within yourself before you can truly know how you relate to someone else. That is, most definitely, not applicable here. Nope. Victoria turns another page.

     Fiona folds both arms behind the nape of her neck, regarding the roomful of people with the casual air of someone who's never met any of these people before and as such sees no reason -not- to be herself, since well...
     She's never going to see any of them again, is she? Right? Right?
     "I know that things happen. That's just it. Things DO happen, and most of the time, they seem to happen to ME." Or around her. Or to people who know her. Causality, thy name is Fiona. "And I've changed things before. I'm not saying I necessarily want to do something about ... the pattern my life's lately formed. I'm not sure. But..."
     And now there's a hint of utterly fey smile on her lips, eyes slanting enigmatically. "It's nice to have options, isn't it?" The expression's gone, leaving behind the bland post-schoolgirl Brit in its place. "But I am open to suggestion, of course. It isn't as if I know anything about magic."
     Which has the virtue of being utterly True. She doesn't know a bloody THING about magic. It just happens to her, the way other people get shingles.

     Albizzina looks to the blonde girl for a moment and then heads back to her stool behind the counter. "Grazie," she murmurs to Cesare for his wrapping. She return to her book, the cat, and the cup of espresso (miraculously refilled). She apparently has no other commentary to offer. Jeweled, delicate fingers turn another page of the old tome.

     "Well, what sort of rituals do you practice?" Cesare asks. A boy with some belief in the craft. "Are you beginning your study? Maybe not, with the questions you are asking." He's suggest a few herbs and some aromas. They're all the rage, apparently.

     Apparently, at that, it's all too much for her. She tried, she really did.
     "Maybe if you tried looking at what's attracting you about this relationship and what you could do to find those elements in something you think is more healthy, you'd feel better about it?" There. She's done it. She's going straight to hell. Victoria turns to look at the other tourist, in for a penny in for a pound, "Sometimes it's a matter of recognizing something in someone else that you feel an empathy for. Or want to know more about. Or feel is lacking in yourself somehow."
     Not that she's got any experience with this at all.

     Cesare stops and looks at the tourist with the coat. Is that accent American? His eyes widen and he blinks, shaking his head as he goes back to look at his wrapping.

     "Rituals. Well ..." Fiona frowns a little, though it does make her sober up. The last ritual she did ended up summoning an -angel- into the middle of her living room. She could try telling him that - but she fully expects to then get decried as being mocking. Expelling air into a sigh, she shakes her head. "Nothing which has worked as expected," she admits. "Things seem to have their own rules, and the rules also seem to keep changing every time I think I've got anything resembling a handle on it."
     There's a very few things she's confident she can do - but those are the things she's least likely to ever need. She blinks owlishly at Albizzina, asking, "How do you take a silver cat? Cats pretty much choose who they take, at least in my experience. And half the time, they seem to want something."
     Bloody sneaky filthy stinking hunters. And Hunters...
     Turning then to Victoria, Fiona tilts her head to one side. "I'm not convinced there's such a thing as a healthy relationship. Though I agree that there's empathy involved, and wanting to know more, and a certain feeling of lacking - but at the same time, there's going to be an element of that with anyone. And this's been going on for over two years, so I at least know it's, ah, not a flash in the pan. But it's not a relationship, either, so I'm seriously debating my choices. I ended up here, so -"
     She shrugs. "Fate. Or kismet."

     Cesare remains strangely quiet, though he does offer, "Every magic has some rules, even if the rules are initially invisible and only apply to its own integrity. It may look nothing like others. Perhaps stop examining others' magical rules and seek your own." As for the relationship? He leaves that to the tourist to evaluate.

     Albizzina glances up, hand retracting from the cat and then cupping her espresso vessel in the palm of her hands. "I have not had this experience with cats, but... perhaps that is due to breed. Maybe the same can be said of men?" she wonders idly, humorously, glancing to Cesare. "What do you say, Perilli?" She smiles as she sips her espresso, but says nothing on Love Itself. It is not her question to answer.

     Cesare shrugs and nods. "I don't like cats," he says, as most boys would.
     This is about cats, right?

     "Well, it sounds like you've thought about it. Which is good." Victoria offers. She's still holding the book, really she's just browsing. She glances over curiously at Cesare's explanation of magic. It isn't so much that she doesn't believe as she's hesitant to just go along with what someone tells her perhaps, because she doesn't make any contradictions. And she is, after all, in a magic shop to begin with.

     If only the magic and the relationship were a little less involved with each other. "The problem," Fiona explains wryly to Cesare, "is that when you start experimenting without some sort of controls, bad things could happen. I'm a little worried about just - doing things, with or without rules."
     After all, she tries to do something - and it doesn't work as expected. She doesn't try to do something, just sings - and wakes up half a continent. Of course, she doesn't know about the latter - but she saw the blinding light, herself. And the result of that unintentional summons...
     To Albizzina, Fiona grins. "So - male dogs and female cats, is that right? I don't have any pets."
     Now it's Victoria's turn, and Fiona eyes the other tourist thoughtfully. "I think about things quite a lot," she agrees. "Unfortunately. I'm not very good at," she makes a motion with one elbow, sitting up and then miming swinging a bat or club, "just going with it. Ah well. I wasn't expecting magic to fix things. In my experience, using magic to fix things is like ... pouring water on someone flailing in a swimming pool."

     Cesare looks up at Fiona. "Then...stop experimenting?" Seems like a good idea.

     "To understand what to do, first you must understand what it is you really want," Albizzina offers. "Then, how you get there will be made easier." She looks to Cesare. "Now... I want to hear about him..."

     Victoria looks over at the shop keeper with some surprise, not that she's thought what the woman has said so far has been bad. Quite the opposite, really, but that was almost exactly what she was going to try and get across herself. "That's an excellent way to look at it."
     She turns to the blonde and shrugs a little sympathetically, "Not that it's necessarily easy. But at least it's an idea I guess?"

     "No, I have to go," Cesare says softly to his friend, he now done with wrapping the mask and the book for purchase. "And you have customers, si?" Cesare flips his wrist over, glancing at his watch. "And Alire may be...up and about." Perhaps it's time to go check. "I will talk to you later," he offers, leaning to kiss the woman upon the cheek.

     "Si, amici," she murmurs. As he places a kiss upon he cheek, a slender hand comes up and places an embrace upon his cheek. She holds him there for a moment. "Come to have dinner with me tomorrow, and bring him with you," she says. "And do not leave this city without telling me goodbye, or I will pull down Enrico di Rossi's Book of Hexes and Sicilian Curses." And then she smiles warmly.
     "Does anyone want espresso?"

     "Ah, well." Fiona's expression is mildly philosophical, but tinged with a ruefulness that is once again more borne of faerie than humanity as she pulls herself to her feet. "No, no espresso for me. But I'll gladly take any book which you recommend as being either thoroughly useful or thoroughly entertaining - I'm striking a balance between utilitarian and frivolity today."
     Turning, she sketches a bow to Cesare, then straightens. "A pleasure to have spoken with you. Oh, here - catch." From her pocket, she pulls a coin, tossing it to the magus. "Maybe it will bring you good luck." Or turn into an oak leaf in the morning. One or the other.
     Victoria gets a brief grin and a shake of her head. "I never take the easy way out," Fiona answers, sauntering towards the door with a glint of gold and elf locks. "But it's a pretty idea. Easy roads are traps, after all..." She slides through the doorway, into a patch of shadow, almost glowing in the dimness, and then disappears from view - melting away as quietly as any faerie gold.

Posted by rowan at February 21, 2004 06:54 PM