undergrounds | Every act creates a ripple with no logical end.

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Every act creates a ripple with no logical end. | OPEN.

It's a little odd to work out of her livingroom, but in Njoki's experience it's a good idea to have regular clinic hours set up for those that aren't comfortable with house calls. Most of what she does during these times is a bit of basic consulting, the occasional spot of under the table first aid, and listening to people talk through their own worries. It's never very busy, but this is her calling, not her job. Some of her friends and family have been helpful and discretely passed out her contact information and she knows that a little pocket money is a fine thing, but she doesn't believe she'll ever make a living off it.

As she fills and puts the kettle on, she huffs in amusement. At least it's a good excuse to make sure her flat is scrubbed and clean enough for company once a week.

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"It's no trouble. C'mon in and let's chat," she says walking back into her apartment and leaving room for Abigail to enter if she'd like. "Do you want anything to drink? I just put the kettle on and there's plenty of water."

At the very least, human or otherwise, she's got good manners.

"I'm Abigail," she says politely as she comes in. After all, introductions are in order. Even informal ones now. "Thank you. A cup of tea would be lovely."

It's a relief, certainly, that this conversation can, at least, start civilly.

"Good to meet you, Abigail. Like you saw on the card, I'm Njoki, but if it gives you trouble, just Ki is fine." She knows that not everyone is comfortable with an 'nj' sound and it's easier to hear it shortened than mangled.

"And, well, I do a bit of conjure. Nothing flashy, but I know enough to do what I do and recommend people on to others if it's not to my talents." Or interest. Or in line with her morals.

"Ki, then." For now. If she proved to be someone Abigail wanted to be on better terms with, she'd have the name pronounced several more times until she could say it with ease.

"Conjuring, huh? What sort of conjuring? If you don't mind me asking."

"I don't mind at all." There's already a little sugar bowl on the low table by the chairs in the livingroom, so all Njoki needs to bring out are two mugs of tea. If Abigail would like lemon or milk, she's welcome to ask for it.

"There's all the usual things that people ask about: love, luck, worries about their partners, their children. You know how it is, hmm? What's troubling you?" It's fairly easy to weed out the 'tourists', but it doesn't hurt to be cautious.

"What isn't?"

It's said lightly, but there's more truth than she likes to admit to it. Still, it gives her a place to begin. A way to get to know what she's dealing with.

"My family. ...Found family, that is. If it makes any difference. I'm worried about them."

Njoki takes a sip of her tea and hums thoughtfully. She prefers to drink it very sweet and very dark and often forgets that not everyone else enjoys a malty Yorkshire blend.

"Family is family and there's always something to worry over. What's pressing? What's the big issue you want to tackle or the smaller things that you need moved out of the way first?"

Abigail puts a bit of sugar in her tea and sips it, mostly to buy time. It could have tasted like oil for all she cared. She just needed the moment to think. But, well, Sylvia already knew anything she might tell this woman. There was little danger.

"I need to keep them safe."

"I'm going to be very honest with you, ma'am. I can do a few things that might help, but there's no one, perfect thing that can guarantee safety and anyone who tells you otherwise is lying or wants to make too harsh a deal." It's not a speech that's designed to sell charms or trinkets, but there are things far more important than a little money.

"Who are you worried will hurt them? That they'll hurt themselves? Someone they know? Something they don't?"

Abigail arches an eyebrow then offers a small nod.

"Then I'll return the favour by being honest with you. My name is Abigail Widdowson. I am the High Priestess of Circle Midnight here in London."

Words that might mean nothing. To a mortal playing at or who believed themselves a witch without being one, they were meaningless. But one from outside of the English system, it might mean just as little, even if they were a witch.

"Ah. Well then, High Priestess, you are still as welcome here as you were before. Such as it is, my hospitality is yours." Her smile is a bit too toothy for your average human, but her reply is genuine. She's not about to get upset or do anything foolish.

Abigail gives a small nod.

"You'll have to forgive me for not saying anything earlier. But with the secrecy the Night Council requires, it's always best to make sure who I'm talking to."

"Better safe than sorry." When it comes to platitudes, Njoki prefers 'measure twice, cut once' but that might be a little too much. She's not sure just what the local opinions on fleshcrafting might be and it wouldn't do to get everyone up in arms just yet.

"Wasn't too sure who to chat with in town to make sure I wasn't stepping on toes. I figured I'd find out sooner or later, eh?"

"Sylvia Redbright is the Mother of Witches here in London. I... would suggest speaking to her." But she doesn't sound like it's something she would want to do. Still, better to send her there now rather than wait for Sylvia to seek her out.

"I would suggest not mentioning my name. She and I aren't on good terms."

"Got a letter from her asking about birthday gifts. Strangest thing, but I sent her a box of salt." As one does. It's traditional and shows a measure of respect.

"I'll be honest; I'm not much of a witch. I can do a few things and do them well, but nothing like some of my aunts who're really something."

"Ah, well. At least you'll have made a good impression, then." After all, Redbright was a woman who wanted to be flattered. Any gift was likely to be received well. "You're welcome here. Much of a witch or not. Granted, I can't speak for Redbright."

"She sent me a prick in return," she drawls and gestures towards a tiny cactus in a pot on her windowsill. Dick jokes are always welcome and classy. It's a fact.

"And thank you. You've been upfront, so I should be as well. I do flesh-work. Repairs, mostly. And it's better for the undead than the living. It's messier for the living, but possible." Her magic tends to be a very hands-on sort and for some funny reason, it's far more difficult to convince someone living to let a stranger slip a hand along and under their skin.

"...Is that dark magic? Or is it arcane?"

Because something that deals with the undead, even if it can be for healing, doesn't sound like magic Circle Daybreak would approve of doing. Even she has very little understanding of it, though she doesn't sound like she's judging the practice. Merely curious about it.

"It's a tool. Like anything else." Njoki doesn't really subscribe to what seems to be the very British way of dividing all magic of one sort into 'Light' and anything else into 'Dark'. If you ask her, it's a false and frankly half-witted dichotomy.

"Often a messy one. It's good to invest in a tarp or two, but it's no more 'evil' than a crowbar or a saw."

"And I see no inherent evil in contracting with a fae, but the Night Council considers it dark magic." The only 'evil' magic she sees is what deprives a person of their free will. Including truth serum. Not that she can say that. Not to Njoki or to Sylvia, whom she'd very much like to say it to.

"But Daybreak and the Night Council set those rules. Those who don't abide... Well. Most of them have a place under my protection, if they want it."

"I hope that if they see what I do, they see that I'm not harming anyone and leave me in peace." Her expression is wry as if she knows that it's a false hope, but she can still believe there's a chance. "If no one suffers, if it reduces pain, how is it wrong? Tsh, might as well say antibiotics and vaccines are wrong. The people who say that are the people who don't think they'll need it."

"They don't care." The words come out more bitter than she likes, but it's the truth in her eyes. "If they decide it's wrong, then it's wrong. No matter what use it's being put to. And they will try to stamp it out."

"What luxury. Not to care." Njoki chuffs in annoyance and it's not a very human sound. There's something almost dog-like to the gesture.

"I am bound to ease suffering where I find it. I can't and won't do less."

Abigail's brow arches slightly at the wording. Perhaps she has simply lived with a fae for too long, been brought up to somewhat straddle those worlds. Still, it's interesting.

"'Bound.' By your own choosing? Or something deeper?"

"Six of one. Half a dozen of the other." Njoki can't sit idly by when she sees someone in pain. Whether that's just her nature, her morals, or a part of the curse she's bound up in, no one knows.

"It's not a bad way to be."

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