![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smackenzie(I'm a vegetarian 99.44% of the time, until I get it into my head that I really want some fried catfish, or a good scoop of tuna salad.)
I sent Liliana and Kelly back to their hotel with some cookies. They helped me bake, after all, and I was taught that under some circumstances, the good hostess thing to do is send one's dinner guests home with leftovers.
I did not learn that from my mother. I learned it from mine and my sister's nanny, who took care of us when we were babies and continued to watch us after school until I was ten, at which point my sister was thirteen and my mother decided she was old enough to look after me. Our nanny, whose name was Olivia, was also the housekeeper and occasional cook, and it was from her that I learned how to fry catfish and chicken and how to make pie crust and biscuits. Even after she stopped working for us she would send me and my sister cards on our birthday and for Christmas. She retired and moved in with her daughter in Tuscaloosa, and every now and then I think of her and have an overwhelming urge to fry something.
I don't know if Olivia had any magic herself - if she did, she never said anything - but she believed in it the same way and with the same fervor that she believed in Jesus. And she wore a little gold crucifix and went to church every Sunday. She might not have an explanation as to why the guy in the coffeeshop turned into a hedgehog right there in front of me, but she wouldn't tease me for having seen it.
Liliana calls me in the morning and asks if I want to meet her and Kelly in town for brunch. Of course I do. If Suzume Tattoos is on the way, I want to drop off the cookies first, but even if I can't, the little spirit will wait. What's going to happen if I don't bring them by right away?
What can happen is that the kitchen sink will start to leak, as I discover when I stop at the studio on the way to brunch. It's not a very big leak, but it's enough to have made a puddle under the sink. It must have been dripping most of the night. I wipe it up and announce "I said I was bringing cookies!" to the studio at large. Thankfully we're not open yet, so I'm the only person there.
I put some cookies on a paper plate on the counter with a note that says "These are for the studio spirit. DO NOT EAT THEM", put the rest of the cookies in the fridge for later, check the bathroom sink (still dripping, but not too badly), and head off to brunch.
Our waiter doesn't seem to understand that when Kelly says he's vegan, that means he doesn't want cheese or butter on his grits, and he has to send them back twice. The waiter is annoyed. Liliana suggests to Kelly that he just tell the server up front that he'd like margarine for his grits, not butter, and no cheese.
"I should stick with lactose intolerance," Kelly mutters, after his grits finally come to the table plain with a couple pats of margarine on the side. "But you'd think, in a college town, they'd know what 'vegan' means."
"Tell them you get explosive diarrhea," I say. Liliana giggles. Kelly seems to consider it.
"Just make sure there aren't any little boys listening," Liliana says.
"Do you remember Khalid from school?" I ask her. "Pretty boy, fashion major, used to tell people his father was a Moroccan prince?"
"I think he modeled for one of my friends for part of her portfolio. She was a photography major," she explains to Kelly. "There was no shortage of models for her. I haven't thought of him in years. Why?"
"I thought I saw him in the coffeeshop a few days ago. He was in line in front of me. I was about to say something to him, so I'd know if it was him or not, but he turned into a hedgehog."
Kelly splutters into his coffee. Liliana stares at me.
"I hadn't had my coffee yet," I continue, "but it really happened. There was a girl standing in front of him in line, and she saw it. The barista didn't seem very surprised. Have you ever heard of anything like that?"
"Did he turn back into a person?" Kelly asks.
"Yes. A naked person. He just looked annoyed. He grabbed his clothes and stomped off to the bathroom to get dressed. That night was a full moon, but this happened in the morning."
"Weird," Liliana says. "I've never heard of were-hedgehogs. I wouldn't have guessed they even existed. I wonder what it means."
"Magic running amok," Kelly suggests, clearly pleased. "You think this has anything to do with the spirit in your tattoo studio?"
"I don't think so," I say. "That's happened before. Every few weeks it will remind me that it exists and it wants some cookies. I dropped them off on the way over, so it should be placated by the time clients start showing up."
"How busy are Sundays, anyway?" Liliana asks.
"Depends. Technically we open at eleven, but most of our clients come in later. College students are recovering from Saturday and everyone else is probably at brunch or at church or sleeping in. Sometimes we do get people first thing, though. But not today. My first client isn't until two."
"Does that mean you don't want another Bloody Mary?"
"It means I shouldn't have another Bloody Mary." I finish the one in front of me. It's not very strong but even then I probably shouldn't have had it, but I'm eating as well and will have some time to let the vodka make its way through my system before I have to work on a client.
"Do you miss the days when you could spend all weekend drinking?"
"Sometimes. I don't miss the hangovers."
"Can we talk about your were-hedgehog some more?" Kelly asks, completely changing the subject. Discussing our wild college days probably isn't going to be that exciting for him, since he wasn't there, and either Liliana has told him her embarrassing stories already and he doesn't need to hear them again, or she hasn't told him and it's not my business to share. "Because that's really interesting. I didn't think people did that."
"They don't," Liliana tells him. "Werewolves don't exist."
"Selkies do."
"That's not the same thing. Werewolves can't do it at will. They don't have a skin to wear."
"You said he sounded annoyed," Kelly says to me. "That says to me that he didn't have any control over it. And if it was a full moon - even if the moon wasn't out, it was full somewhere - he might have been expecting to change that night, when he was better prepared. That sounds a lot like werewolf tradition."
"Those are folktales. They're like vampires or goblins or - "
"Ghosts?"
"No, not ghosts. Ghosts are still open for debate. Werewolves are like succubi or mermaids or shapeshifters. They're fairy tales."
"That's what people used to say about magic," I point out.
"Then explain your hedgehog."
"I can't."
"Free-floating magic, I said," Kelly repeats. "It's running amok." Lilian gives him a skeptical look. "What? It could happen. Have you seen anything else weird since then?" he asks me. I shake my head.
"So what does it mean?"
"You need to have coffee before you leave the house?"
"Maybe he was cursed," Liliana muses. "Could it have been an illusion?"
"It was a good one, if so," I say. "That would take a lot of power. Someone with that kind of power has to be licensed."
There are professional societies for technomancers and instructors and other people who make a living from magic, the same way there are organizations for teachers and tattoo artists and engineers and scientists, and once you get into the higher levels of magical skill and training you need a license. You need an independent body of your peers to hold you to a certain standard, but you also need some oversight to protect the people who might want to use your services. The theory is that if you have enough power to cast a mass illusion, you have enough power to be dangerous and you need to be held accountable to someone so you don't do anything threatening.
I don't know how I feel about the licensing. On the one hand, there are not a lot of people with that kind of power, and I don't like the idea of a governing body being able to tell people what they can and can't do, and under what circumstances they can and can't do it. And considering the licensing board was created and staffed by government officials, they're less likely to be actual practitioners or even people with some small, fairly useless, magical talent. But on the other hand, I know just enough about not being able to control my own little talent to be a little wary of people who are.
But all the same, just because someone is a licensed technomancer doesn't mean they can't still write some charms in their off-hours. Magical licensure so far hasn't meant a whole lot unless you need someone with a certain amount of skill to do a very specific job. So it's entirely possible a licensed mage cursed not-Khalid to turn into a hedgehog every full moon. If the object of the curse doesn't know who cast it, there isn't always something they can do to stop it.
"If nothing else like that happens," Liliana says, "it's probably a one-off. Not worth thinking about."
"You're probably right," I say. I sip my orange juice. We've pretty much finished eating by now. In theory I still have some time before I need to be at the studio and can thus sit with Liliana and Kelly some more, but in practice I can always find something there to occupy me if I were to pay my part of the bill and say my goodbyes. If nothing else, I can make sure the cookies worked and my sinks have stopped dripping.
It still takes at least half an hour to get the check and get going, because Southerners, especially brunch-eating Southerners, are not the most hurried of people. I've never minded, and even now, when I have a very set time by which I need to be somewhere, I don't feel as if I'm in any rush.
I say goodbye to Liliana and Kelly, wish them a safe trip home, promise if I'm ever in Atlanta I'll give them a call, and wave them off. I fetch my car and drive to the studio, thinking ahead to my clients and what other things I have to accomplish today.
words: 1847
total words: 14,469
I sent Liliana and Kelly back to their hotel with some cookies. They helped me bake, after all, and I was taught that under some circumstances, the good hostess thing to do is send one's dinner guests home with leftovers.
I did not learn that from my mother. I learned it from mine and my sister's nanny, who took care of us when we were babies and continued to watch us after school until I was ten, at which point my sister was thirteen and my mother decided she was old enough to look after me. Our nanny, whose name was Olivia, was also the housekeeper and occasional cook, and it was from her that I learned how to fry catfish and chicken and how to make pie crust and biscuits. Even after she stopped working for us she would send me and my sister cards on our birthday and for Christmas. She retired and moved in with her daughter in Tuscaloosa, and every now and then I think of her and have an overwhelming urge to fry something.
I don't know if Olivia had any magic herself - if she did, she never said anything - but she believed in it the same way and with the same fervor that she believed in Jesus. And she wore a little gold crucifix and went to church every Sunday. She might not have an explanation as to why the guy in the coffeeshop turned into a hedgehog right there in front of me, but she wouldn't tease me for having seen it.
Liliana calls me in the morning and asks if I want to meet her and Kelly in town for brunch. Of course I do. If Suzume Tattoos is on the way, I want to drop off the cookies first, but even if I can't, the little spirit will wait. What's going to happen if I don't bring them by right away?
What can happen is that the kitchen sink will start to leak, as I discover when I stop at the studio on the way to brunch. It's not a very big leak, but it's enough to have made a puddle under the sink. It must have been dripping most of the night. I wipe it up and announce "I said I was bringing cookies!" to the studio at large. Thankfully we're not open yet, so I'm the only person there.
I put some cookies on a paper plate on the counter with a note that says "These are for the studio spirit. DO NOT EAT THEM", put the rest of the cookies in the fridge for later, check the bathroom sink (still dripping, but not too badly), and head off to brunch.
Our waiter doesn't seem to understand that when Kelly says he's vegan, that means he doesn't want cheese or butter on his grits, and he has to send them back twice. The waiter is annoyed. Liliana suggests to Kelly that he just tell the server up front that he'd like margarine for his grits, not butter, and no cheese.
"I should stick with lactose intolerance," Kelly mutters, after his grits finally come to the table plain with a couple pats of margarine on the side. "But you'd think, in a college town, they'd know what 'vegan' means."
"Tell them you get explosive diarrhea," I say. Liliana giggles. Kelly seems to consider it.
"Just make sure there aren't any little boys listening," Liliana says.
"Do you remember Khalid from school?" I ask her. "Pretty boy, fashion major, used to tell people his father was a Moroccan prince?"
"I think he modeled for one of my friends for part of her portfolio. She was a photography major," she explains to Kelly. "There was no shortage of models for her. I haven't thought of him in years. Why?"
"I thought I saw him in the coffeeshop a few days ago. He was in line in front of me. I was about to say something to him, so I'd know if it was him or not, but he turned into a hedgehog."
Kelly splutters into his coffee. Liliana stares at me.
"I hadn't had my coffee yet," I continue, "but it really happened. There was a girl standing in front of him in line, and she saw it. The barista didn't seem very surprised. Have you ever heard of anything like that?"
"Did he turn back into a person?" Kelly asks.
"Yes. A naked person. He just looked annoyed. He grabbed his clothes and stomped off to the bathroom to get dressed. That night was a full moon, but this happened in the morning."
"Weird," Liliana says. "I've never heard of were-hedgehogs. I wouldn't have guessed they even existed. I wonder what it means."
"Magic running amok," Kelly suggests, clearly pleased. "You think this has anything to do with the spirit in your tattoo studio?"
"I don't think so," I say. "That's happened before. Every few weeks it will remind me that it exists and it wants some cookies. I dropped them off on the way over, so it should be placated by the time clients start showing up."
"How busy are Sundays, anyway?" Liliana asks.
"Depends. Technically we open at eleven, but most of our clients come in later. College students are recovering from Saturday and everyone else is probably at brunch or at church or sleeping in. Sometimes we do get people first thing, though. But not today. My first client isn't until two."
"Does that mean you don't want another Bloody Mary?"
"It means I shouldn't have another Bloody Mary." I finish the one in front of me. It's not very strong but even then I probably shouldn't have had it, but I'm eating as well and will have some time to let the vodka make its way through my system before I have to work on a client.
"Do you miss the days when you could spend all weekend drinking?"
"Sometimes. I don't miss the hangovers."
"Can we talk about your were-hedgehog some more?" Kelly asks, completely changing the subject. Discussing our wild college days probably isn't going to be that exciting for him, since he wasn't there, and either Liliana has told him her embarrassing stories already and he doesn't need to hear them again, or she hasn't told him and it's not my business to share. "Because that's really interesting. I didn't think people did that."
"They don't," Liliana tells him. "Werewolves don't exist."
"Selkies do."
"That's not the same thing. Werewolves can't do it at will. They don't have a skin to wear."
"You said he sounded annoyed," Kelly says to me. "That says to me that he didn't have any control over it. And if it was a full moon - even if the moon wasn't out, it was full somewhere - he might have been expecting to change that night, when he was better prepared. That sounds a lot like werewolf tradition."
"Those are folktales. They're like vampires or goblins or - "
"Ghosts?"
"No, not ghosts. Ghosts are still open for debate. Werewolves are like succubi or mermaids or shapeshifters. They're fairy tales."
"That's what people used to say about magic," I point out.
"Then explain your hedgehog."
"I can't."
"Free-floating magic, I said," Kelly repeats. "It's running amok." Lilian gives him a skeptical look. "What? It could happen. Have you seen anything else weird since then?" he asks me. I shake my head.
"So what does it mean?"
"You need to have coffee before you leave the house?"
"Maybe he was cursed," Liliana muses. "Could it have been an illusion?"
"It was a good one, if so," I say. "That would take a lot of power. Someone with that kind of power has to be licensed."
There are professional societies for technomancers and instructors and other people who make a living from magic, the same way there are organizations for teachers and tattoo artists and engineers and scientists, and once you get into the higher levels of magical skill and training you need a license. You need an independent body of your peers to hold you to a certain standard, but you also need some oversight to protect the people who might want to use your services. The theory is that if you have enough power to cast a mass illusion, you have enough power to be dangerous and you need to be held accountable to someone so you don't do anything threatening.
I don't know how I feel about the licensing. On the one hand, there are not a lot of people with that kind of power, and I don't like the idea of a governing body being able to tell people what they can and can't do, and under what circumstances they can and can't do it. And considering the licensing board was created and staffed by government officials, they're less likely to be actual practitioners or even people with some small, fairly useless, magical talent. But on the other hand, I know just enough about not being able to control my own little talent to be a little wary of people who are.
But all the same, just because someone is a licensed technomancer doesn't mean they can't still write some charms in their off-hours. Magical licensure so far hasn't meant a whole lot unless you need someone with a certain amount of skill to do a very specific job. So it's entirely possible a licensed mage cursed not-Khalid to turn into a hedgehog every full moon. If the object of the curse doesn't know who cast it, there isn't always something they can do to stop it.
"If nothing else like that happens," Liliana says, "it's probably a one-off. Not worth thinking about."
"You're probably right," I say. I sip my orange juice. We've pretty much finished eating by now. In theory I still have some time before I need to be at the studio and can thus sit with Liliana and Kelly some more, but in practice I can always find something there to occupy me if I were to pay my part of the bill and say my goodbyes. If nothing else, I can make sure the cookies worked and my sinks have stopped dripping.
It still takes at least half an hour to get the check and get going, because Southerners, especially brunch-eating Southerners, are not the most hurried of people. I've never minded, and even now, when I have a very set time by which I need to be somewhere, I don't feel as if I'm in any rush.
I say goodbye to Liliana and Kelly, wish them a safe trip home, promise if I'm ever in Atlanta I'll give them a call, and wave them off. I fetch my car and drive to the studio, thinking ahead to my clients and what other things I have to accomplish today.
words: 1847
total words: 14,469
