undergrounds | Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky [Open]

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Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky [Open]

1. Bulding glass houses
Mab had finally staked out her home, something that had before been more of a manor she now was pouring will into, icing the facade. She'd been working intermittently for days now, spilling enough magic into the structure each time to build a new layer of ice without completely draining her resources. It simply wouldn't do to be caught out without some of her strength to use. By now the building reflected the sun back in glacial colors, and almost seemed to have it's own inner glow, a pulsing of variable colors that matched her eyes and would leave those without strong magic entranced if they gazed too long. The ice was thick enough that you could no longer see the stone that had originally created the structure and you could also no longer see the door. Icicles hung like deadly spears from the eaves and the windows glittered with facets.

She pulled her hands away from the side of the building and stepped back, breathing in deeply before looking up at her work. It was nearly done, a few more days and it would be a solid defense, beautiful, remote and deadly, standing at the top of a hill bare of trees though they gathered around about a half a kilometer from the base of the hill. She shook a hand as though weary before straightening completely and giving it all a proud look. Yes, this would do nicely. Snow started falling just in the general area, carpeting the top of the hill and scattering down into the grass and heather. The snow muffled all the other noises in the area making everything feel even more remote.

2. Air and Darkness

A pale figure seemed to shimmer into space between two trees in a wooded area of the Southeastern Greenbelt. As if she'd taken off a black cloak and let it fall to her feet she stepped out of the darkness and onto the grass overlooking Crystal Palace Park. Following her as though congealing at her feet is a creeping fog, a result of her own natural coolness hitting the warm summer air. In the darkness she puts a hand out to touch the worn stone pillar on a set of stairs leading down from the Italian terrace she is standing atop and ice forms along it, spreading along the surface and making soft cracking noises as the cool expands inside the stonework. Lambent eyes take in the area, assessing who is nearby. Even as she begins to walk down the steps, the fog starts spilling down them in her wake like a living thing, silent and sinuous.

Her gown trails down behind her and it is difficult to see where fabric stops and fog starts, it all blends together.

3. Newfangled technology

Mab stood unnaturally still, looking up at the sign above the store. The sign did not sound like it should sell cellular telephones but the window displayed them. The sign should be changed. She had the strong urge to fix it for them because it annoyed her. Finally she took a noticeable breath and her head moved, dropping to look at the door which hand a metal handle. Humans loved metal far too much. It was why she found gloves necessary but she still did not like to touch the bane. Even through her gloves it burned a little. Instead she waited a moment more for someone to open the door and she followed them in, letting the door close behind her without ever touching it.

She stopped again inside the store and looked askance at the rows of different phones many of which also seemed to have metal housing. The air in the store was cool enough it didn't noticeably cool when she entered but the window on the glass door behind her fogged a little until she began to walk farther in, eyes scanning across displays that seemed to be written in English but for the life of her none of them made any sense at all. Abbreviations, numbers, features. She stared down at one of the little cards and then looked up at the displayed phone. The screen glowed with pictures splattered across the screen. Tiny tiny pictures.

4. Anything else!
Hit me up, I know there are a few people I mentioned wanting to meet, if these don't fit for you let's work something out, baby.

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Although Balem was barefoot and bare-chested - as he often was in the Other Realm - he didn't seem to be cold in the slightest. Small wisps of steam trailed off of him where snowflakes touched his skin, although he wasn't warm enough for his presence to melt ice, thankfully. It would have been rather rude to melt her house when she had put so much effort into building it.

"Lady Mab," he said with a slight nod, "I see you've been hard at work already. It looks quite lovely, I must say."

It would take great continuous fire to destroy ice of the thickness of her home were it not directly linked to her powers while she was there. In her presence he could likely burn at any temperature he liked. But it was polite of him not to try. Perhaps some day they could test it. Mab turned after he spoke, nodding back.

"Lord Balem, I had not yet expected visitors." If she was upset by such it did not appear on her face or in her voice. Instead she turned back to her new fortress and smiled a little at it, pleased that someone with a taste for beauty acknowledged her work. It had been built for security but there was definitely a cold beauty to it. No minor fae scurried about outside currently though she did have a few inside, seeing to the final touches. "It is almost completed. I am satisfied to hear my skills have not lapsed."

She moved forward and touched the door with her palm, and where there was ice previously now there was only empty space. Glancing over her shoulder she tilted her head at the doorway, "Perhaps you would like to see inside as well?" he was here, after all. And she did not get the impression he often went out of his way to visit others.

"What can I say, I like to be first," he said, although the fact that he was the first visitor was complete coincidence, he simply saw a nearly-completed icy mansion during one of his astral projections and decided to pay a visit.

"I still have an eye for beauty, after all these years," he said, although of course his definition of beauty consisted mostly of himself, but he did have room to praise others once in a while, "And of course, I'd love to see inside."

Mab was determined to get a coffee shop right. But she did not want another experience like her chocolate caramel latte or whatever it had been. Instead she ordered tea. Human could not possibly mess up tea, could they? So she took her cup as the server handed it over with a cheers she turned and moved to one side to sit at a table from which she might observe interactions in such places. Unlike every other person in the building she did not have a cellular telephone out and she did not have a wallet or purse of any type but no one seemed to find it odd.

She nudged a chair out with her foot and settled down on it her steaming tea sitting in front of her. They'd given it to her in a proper cup, with a saucer instead of the styrofoam many of the other customers were holding. Apparently you could request it. Someone nearby had a computer out and they were busily typing away at it, and across the way a group of girls were chatting animatedly about politics.

Mab lifted her cup to her lips and sipped, the hot liquid was steeped just right. Mab paused to look at it, pleased before setting it back down.

Balem did seem the sort to like to be at the front of the line. "One does not generally lose such a thing as an eye for beauty." She agreed, stepping inside and allowing him to follow her. When he did, the ice would reappear behind them. "And you certainly do surround yourself with it in your own home."

The front entrance opened up to soaring ceilings held up by frosted pillars, the glow from the walls sending shades of glacial colors across the walls and floors, from the ceilings jagged chandeliers of icicles hung glowing and filling the room with a diffused light that made the ice around them glitter. For all the ice it wasn't too cold in the large open room though. And the floors were strewn with rugs and furs. In the center of the foyer was a waterfall between two arching stairwells but no water moved in the waterfall, instead it was frozen in heavy drips as though stopped in time.

It was at that moment absentmindedly Clara phased through a wall, right through the table where the girls having their friendly debate were at without her knowing.

Until, at least, the girls raised a loud commotion at the sudden chill sweeping over them and their assortment of coffees and teas becoming cool and, thus, useless to them. The ghost pulls away and looks embarrassed, wincing at how the girls quieted down but continued to look confused and disappointed at what just happened to them.

"Sorry!" It's not like they, or anyone else, could hear her. Not that it won't stop her from feeling bad as a waiter now has to scramble to the table and see what they could do to help out. "I didn't see you all there. Honest! Oh my."

Well now, wasn't that interesting. Mab watched the woman drift through the table and the girls hands and cups. The complaints were dismayed and the ghostly woman tried to apologize as though she thought they might be able to hear her. Mab's eyes focused on the ghost and she took another sip of her tea. Letting the steam warm her face she watched through it as the waiter scrambled to get the girls new warm drinks.

Using the hubbub to cover her voice she tilted her head a little and spoke to Clara. "It will do no good to apologize. They cannot hear you." Sometimes it was hard to tell how aware a ghost was of it's own place in the world.

He would take that as a compliment on his own beauty, as he had to many pictures and statues of himself. Perhaps she meant the stars or the palace itself, but he chose to take it to mean himself anyways.

"It reminds me of the aurora," he said, running his fingers down one of the walls as the colors danced over them. He was rather fond of all phenomena in the night sky, not just the stars, so this appealed to him greatly.

Here's your ticket into the O2, Vodaphone, or whatever store of cellphone hell Mab's found herself. In fact, he opens the door for her like a proper gentleman, even doffing his hat lazily.

"Miss."

Following in after her, Jackson makes a beeline for the nearest salesperson and hands him a banged-up cellphone with a shattered screen. In and out, quick as possible, that's the game. Replace the piece of junk with the exact same, albeit new, piece of junk. The not-so-perky salesperson tells him that he'll be right back, he just needs to go into the storeroom and locate the phone.

"Don't dawdle," he shouts after him, "I'm on a lunch break here!"

Meanwhile, he takes to idly scanning the glass cabinets and display shelves. Whatever megapixel cameras. Facetime. Group chat. Apps. Who the hell cares. But as he observes, Jackson spots the lady from before, noticing the detached, if not confused look on her countenance. The look of discerning a foreign language. A look that Homer Jackson knows well. Add in the strange, fancy-ish accoutrements, and well, Jackson thinks he's got an idea--

"Miss. You need a hand?"

Balem could take it however he liked. It was certainly no skin off her back and if it made him more agreeable that was icing. The lights in the wall seemed to react to him as he touched the wall, curling around the spot and darting away, like a living thing. "Yes, my power often manifests in such a manner." Wards specifically and sometimes her gates between worlds had the same effect. For someone who's domain was darkness it was an interesting contrast.

She continued walking, bare feet silent when exposed ice of the floor wasn't covered with a rug. She stepped into what was clearly a recieveing room and there were steaming cups of coffee, tea and cocoa set out on a short glass table along with small finger foods. The couches were plush and a fire burned in a fireplace on one wall. Not the traditional kind at foot level but one set at head height that stretched nearly the length of the wall. More ice crystal chandeliers hung here glittering like diamonds and again there were furs and carpets and heavy drapes that contrasted the starkness of the the icy walls and lights. She waved a hand at the refreshments in invitation before turning to look at him again.

He was fae beautiful, but it was his power she liked and even here in the heart of what was becoming her home she could feel it and it made her smile to herself. "Perhaps it is not the eternal beauty of your star palace but I find it will do."

Mab lifts her head as he can only mean her and she slowly turns so green green eyes focus on Jackson's. Mab stares for a moment like she's trying to see into his soul. He carries magic about him like a hastily thrown on bathrobe which is... interesting. Finally she touches the glass case careful not to frost it with her finger, pointing to the specs. "What does it mean?" She asks him with a frown. Her accent is some odd amalgamation of European and American with something else mixed in. He sounded American. Maybe East Coast? It was so difficult to keep up with changing languages some days.

She turns and looks down at the phone. "I need a cellular telephone with which to take messages." Mab doesn't know about any of the other things it can do. The important part is the messages. "It must stand up to cold, preferably in plastic." And suddenly he's been assigned as her salesman. Don't try to get out of it now buddy.

Oh!

... In hindsight she needs to stop being so surprised that there are people who can see her in her haunting spot. It's going to happen given how long she's been around and how more and more of the others are coming out to the city. Maybe she's surprised by how often it's happening compared to before. Nevertheless she looks at the person, a woman, talking to her and gives a sheepish smile.

"I know but it feels rather rude to not give one at least," she explains, her tone warm and her reasoning sensible in her opinion. Just because they can't hear her doesn't mean she shouldn't at least try to. Who knows? Maybe one of them can hear her but only a whisper, a mutter.

"You're not worried about people overhearing us?"

The lady's looking at him with such intensity that any normal person would find it creepy and unnerving, but Jackson knows better. Mab's not looking at him, rather through him, looking past his skin to see whatever secrets are tucked inside. His posture stiffens on instinct, as though he's suddenly being cornered.

In a way, he is-- she seems old, powerful, and fae, and Jackson's learned to treat them like land mines. Helpful relations, should you find yourself a friend; more of a nightmare than any witch or vampire should you get on their bad side. That isn't too difficult, considering who he is, and how fickle and touchy they can be.

So he grins, and pretends to be obliging, walking over to her with his hands tucked into his pockets. He directs his eyes toward the display case in front of her, not really looking.

"All of these would serve you well. Though I'd suggest something less... complex." He pauses, looking back at her with a knowing look. "What's a lady like you lookin' for a device like this?"

The idea of being rude when no one knows you've done it in the first place seems baffling to Mab. She considers it for a moment with a thoughtful expression. "Habit?" She finally suggests. Even if someone hears a mutter, they would not understand what the apology is for after all.

Sipping her tea again she sets it down on the saucer and taps the handle with a finger. She's veiled for observation. People know she's there but they're not paying her much attention. Sort of like a 'don't look here' field that makes her wholly uninteresting to those she does not wish to notice her, which might seem like a feat itself considering her odd pale skin and white white hair and clearly expensive clothes. This coupled with the mantle of privileged she wears as though a queen at her throne make her normally more difficult to ignore. Instead of mentioning that she smiles a little, "People speak to the air regularly now, it would seem." She cants her head in the direction of a man with a cellphone in hand and a wire leading up to his ear having an argument with someone miles away.

Her eyes narrow a little at the suggestion that complexity would be a problem for her. When in reality it would, it can take older creatures a much longer time to grasp all the quickly changing technology of the current day. It's very different to be told so.

One pale brow lifts in response to his question. "I wish to take messages." That much should have been clear, in her opinion, based on her earlier description of what she was looking for. "And contact others." And not scare away witches because she had no way to call the numbers on the little cards they gave out.

"And which one is less... complicated?" She asked him her expression challenging.

"My mother made that palace in her eighty-fifth millennium, and even then it took her quite some time," he said. Back in those days the House of Abrasax practically qualified a a court in their own right, before Seraphi's death caused the family to become fragmented.

He took a cup of coffee and drank while it was still steaming hot, a small glow visible on his exposed chest as he drank. Even in this disguised form, starfire still burned within him; that part of his essence he could not hide. He always wore such thick, long-sleeved dark clothing around humans for that reason.

"You were fortunate to arrive at a time like this. Plenty of opportunity to make a name for oneself with all these tensions coming to a boil," he said. He was observant enough, and could tell that she craved power as he did. The fae courts were usually fairly stable, but every now and then a tumultuous time came to shake things up.

"An impressive piece of work, it speaks highly of her skills." She made no attempts to hide her observation of the glow within him either as he drank. It made a lovely contrast to the darkness of his jacket and Mab had no problems admiring.

She leaned a hip on one of the couches, running pale fingers along the darker fabric and smiled to herself. It wasn't entirely luck. Mab had chosen her time for return for precisely that reason. Not that she could not have made a name for herself otherwise but a good part of advancement was creating your own luck. "Yes, quite fortunate." She agreed, amusement dancing in her eyes as she looked at him. "I believe I will enjoy building my place here." And if her own home wasn't a metaphor for her building up layers of strength she didn't know what was.

Following the direction, she spots the man and tries not to giggle at the sight of the man looking angry as he argues over the reservations of a restaurant that was supposed to be used for a luncheon with some clients. "I suppose that's one of the perks of technology these days. It can almost explain everything that we do."

Which is good. She would hate to be trouble for the lady here if someone thought she's talking to herself without one of these fancy little phones.

Now finding this a good time to enter another topic, she says, "I hope I don't sound rude but I've never seen you here before." Clara would know. This is her haunting grounds and it's only been 'recently', the last five years or so, that she's begun to really explore London. She spent a lot of time just being here, watching and observing the shop or the playgrounds. "I certainly like to think I would remember someone stunning as you, miss...?"

Being unrepentantly blunt is all a part of Jackson's sparkling personality. Though if Mab were to ask any of the staff here, they'd likely find her question embarrassingly dumb, so really, she should be grateful that he understands. But when are Fae ever grateful when it comes to mortals and their mundane ways?

He steps toward her, shoulders squared, a movement meant to assert his confidence. "Messages and contact? You can't call it a cellphone, if it don't perform either of those." He picks up one of Iphones, sliding the menu across the screen. "Now these? They can play music, tell the weather, surf the net-- even download an app that'll paste your pretty mug on a dog."

Tossing the phone at her, Jackson expects Mab to catch it. If she doesn't, well, hell, he ain't paying for it.

"Unfortunately, none of 'em will get you reception over there."

Perhaps not everything but it made things convenient when one wanted to carry on a conversation. The veils didn't have to be as complex.

Ahh compliments. She did know how to temper her questions for fae. "It is my first visit." She agreed though if it was to the coffee shop or to the general area was entirely interpretable. "You may call me Ms. Sommerset." She replied, lifting her teacup again for a sip as she observed the incorporeal woman. She was middle aged and had a kindly expression. Mab mirrored it with one of her own. She could fake humanity when it suited her. "Can you sit?" She asked curiously.

Her eyes track him as he picks up the phone and starts listing off all the things it can do that seem perfectly excessive to her. If you wish to know the weather, step outside. And she has no idea what surf the net means. Her eyes narrow a little at the idea of putting anything of hers on a dog.

And then without warning he tosses the phone at her. Mab's eyes widen a little and she steps back, the only thing that saves the phone is the little chord that keeps people from walking out of the store with it. It dangles near the ground. But she wasn't taking a chance when she didn't know what kind of metal it was. Even she couldn't veil her hand setting fire on contact.

This man. She stares at him now and there's distinct irritation in the look. "I was given to understand not having reception would not stop messages from being left and when one re-enters a service area they can be retrieved again." It seemed useless to deny what she was after avoiding a thrown device that no one should have been afraid to catch, but there was no need to broadcast anything. It is difficult to tell if he is being confrontational or is just naturally rude.

"If I concentrate hard enough," she admits, seeing no problem with answering the question. "I'm Clara. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Sommerset."

She knows better by now than to give her entire name to new people if they can see her. Fool her once, shame on you for trying to chase her out of the realm of the living. Still, the lady is affable enough that Clara's smile stays warm and sunny as she attempts to take a seat at the table. The commotion across them involving the girls and the poor worker enough to have no one notice a chair slowly pulling back on its own, seemingly, as she takes a seat.

"How have you been enjoying your time here at the shop so far?" Clara asks when she's on the seat properly, sounding more clear and loud compared to seconds before. Now that she's concentrating on being more in-tuned with the real world, it's starting to show. "I hope your drink is agreeing with you. I never got a chance to have it myself when still alive but I promise you the people here do their best to make a nice cup for their customers."

The evasive move is all the proof he needs reaffirm his assumptions, seeing as Mab just made more of an effort not to catch the phone. His grin turns a shade satisfied, as he continues on subtracting the distance between them, two more steps forward.

"You're correct in that, ma'am." By now, Jackson's close enough to whisper. His tone is deep, rough against his throat. "Though I wonder-- what business does a fae have in matters of human technology?" One step closer. "Or rather, in our realm?"

"I am finding it fascinating as well, Clara" Her response to the greeting is more unusual but that tends to happen with the fae and her pronunciation of Clara's name is remarkably spot on as far as inflections and tone go.

It is interesting to see Clara focus and pull the chair out. It takes a great deal of spiritual strength for the dead to so affect the human realm. It is an impressive display for a ghost. "I am finding it far more agreeable when I purchase tea." She replied. "It is more than passable. The British know their tea."

"Tell me about yourself, Ms Clara."

She does not back away any further, allowing the man to close the distance. She's a tall woman, about six feet so she doesn't have to look up. He's ballsy, stepping right up in her personal space and though he isn't threatening, he sounds like he is.

Instead of increasing her anger, or looking fearful, Mab smiles slowly and it's sharp enough to cut. She takes a step in closing that space between them completely and her hand moves to slide up his chest in an intimate gesture as she turns her head to let cool air brush across his ear, lips close to his skin. "Bold, impertinent," those words come out sounding like honey. "It is sweet on you. What might you pay for the answers to your questions?"

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Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky [Open]

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Coffeers' Shop [For Clara]

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/slides in hello yes i'm excited

:)

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