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Sierra Roen:
Sierra's left the door to her house unlocked in anticipation of getting an affirmative response to the invitation she'd sent. It wasn't really her house; she was renting it, a standalone but zero-lotline structure, brick and cobblestone on the outside, with a withered, ash grey tree, stripped barren by winter, lonely and spindly in the front yard. There's no driveway; only street parking.
Jackie:
Vorpal arrives, of all manners, on foot in the real world. A slow pace, leading her up to the front door- the unlocked front door- of the address she'd been invited to visit. She knocked, mind- she's a polite soul, under most circumstances, and "new friends" count- and then heads in, meandering towards whatever signs of life seem most promising and Sierra-ish.
Sierra Roen:
A few stairs lead up to the front door, and a voice unmistakably belonging to the Irraka in question calls back out at the sound of the knock: "Come in."
The house is not large, but rather on the cozier side of small, and the front door opens right into a tidy, spartan living room with a kitchen adjoined in an L-shape, and two hallways lead off, one in either direction; the one on the right leads to a guest bathroom, a closet, a laundry area of some kind, and what looks like the doors to two rooms; the one on the left leads to stairs, some going up and some going down.
Most of what covers the space are books and oddments. "On your left, downstairs."
Jackie:
"Mm. Thank you." Jackie calls back, drifting as directed, abandoning the unnecessary plays at mortality once on the stairs down out of possible observation, flowing down with impossible grace. She shifts through the lower area full of strange things and stranger manuscripts, weaving her way towards signs of life and occupation. "Fine library you've got down here. No small collection of this-and-that, either. This place wouldn't be out of place at Market."
Sierra Roen:
While there are elements of style in the small house, and bits of Sierra's preferences sweeping over most things, it looks hardly lived-in. There were broken down cardboard boxes outside by the trash, but not many; whatever had to be unpacked already had been. And it was not very much.
"Most of it's not mine," the voice calls up the stairs as Jackie makes her way down them. "Well, some of it's not mine," she course-corrects inconsequentially. "But thanks. Come in." The lower level, the basement, is one massive room with tiled floors, and it's noticeably colder than the rest of the house. The walls are lined with shelves, and there are older, larger, more imperious looking tomes on them, and stranger-still assortments of weird bits.
This is the only part of the house so far that actually appears inhabited.
On one shelf, broad and reinforced and about waist height, there's a large sack that seems filled with sediment, and on its side, the words 'grave dirt' are printed in big black letters. Different types of incense are catalogued on another, along with a giant jar of what looks like salt. A kaleidoscopic array and assortment of herbs and dried flowers, mushrooms. Bones in small glass jars, next to even more glass jars that contained liquids and crushed bits of things, most of which were labeled, but many of which were not.
Where Sierra is actually seated, at a broad, tall desk with a bar stool-like chair, there are a couple of monitors and a keyboard, with another screen mounted on the wall; it was split up into four quadrants, showing different security vantages from around the house. "Welcome to my favorite room," she says, waving a hand and pushing up out of her seat.
Jackie:
"I love it," Jackie immediately stated as she took it all in. "Almost everything here I recognize would be useful in driving off or damaging something or other; I can't tell you how delighted I am to see a sufficiently sophisticated surveillance system to leave me feeling moderately at ease for once; Underground is always a plus, and besides that, you've so many lovely books! But much of it, you say, isn't yours? Storage left behind by the owner? Or storage shared with others?" She muses, moving round, examining everything, touching nothing.
Sierra Roen:
"Borrowed," Sierra replies. "A lot of the books. They don't travel well," she gestures at some of the worn tomes. "Historically, I don't stay in one place for very long. This is a little more settled-in than I've gotten used to, but," she raises her shoulders. "That's another story. But most of what I do actually own is in here, aside from my toothbrush. I keep that upstairs." Somehow this is a worthy inclusion.
She exhales a long breath, and starts to turn towards a low table on the other side of the large room that is the basement level. "Anyway. I thought you might be interested in seeing this process." There's a glass bottle with etchings on its side, stoppered with what looks like petrified cork, and inside it, well, Jackie would see nothing. But Sierra glances at it like she sees something in there.
Jackie:
"Ah! Yes. That's- a hazard with books." Jackie pauses and muses to herself a moment. "You know, I really should start a library. If I carved one out with a ritually accessible entrance... hm, yes. That could be tremendously useful, actually. A universally accessible library location. I'll have to look into that."
"Yes, you mentioned you travelled often when we first met. And I suppose it's best your toothbrush is at least a -little- separated from the open sack of grave dirt," she teases faintly. "And... you're very right as to my interest. What are these for, may I ask?" She leans to examine the etchings, frowning faintly. "I'm not entirely certain I've encountered this specific writing before... curious markings. They seem to be-" She shakes her head. "I've often seen writing reduced to carvings, and there's a sense of diminishment, of simplification, to the characters afterwards. These feel designed to be carved."
The incredible intuitive machine that is her brain performs a tremenous leap and lands safely on the other side.
"Carved... or -clawed.- These are your people's writing, but the bottle's..." More connections, lashed together lightning fast. "... Sierra, is this a written version of the spirit language?"
Sierra Roen:
"More or less. Less a written version of the language, and more like runes that approximate some meaning. In this case, that bottle," Sierra gestures at it as she slides down to take a seat on a low bench that faces the table. "Is holding a spirit. A small, somewhat cranky little wind spirit that had its heart set on messing with some agricultural weather vanes. I peeled it out of there earlier this morning and bottled it so I could release it somewhere more suitable."
She reaches for the bottle and handles it; in her eyes, she sees the swirling, smoky rings of Essence within. "And now that we have had a chance to talk, it's making a small, parting gift for me. Would you like to see?"
Jackie:
"Yes. Absolutely. I- can you hear them? When they speak? From here? I'd love to watch, but I'd much prefer to watch from Twilight, so I can see what's actually happening and I don't want to look like an idiot talking to you if you can't hear me while I'm there."
Sierra Roen:
Sierra nods her head. "I can hear them, and I'll be able to hear you. If you want to shift over to Twilight for a better view, that's fine with me." She raises the bottle a little. "I don't think our little friend will mind either."
Jackie:
"Ohmygawd, this is amazing, thank you!" Jackie chatters, the sound of her voice quavering and dissolving as it moves into the ether, dissolving the Helldiver in a matter of seconds and delivering her into Twilight. She sounds damn near giddy! "Gods, I can't tell you how exciting it is to have friends who can hear me over here."
Sierra Roen:
Sierra huffs a soft, appreciative laugh at Jackie's elation, and turns her attention back towards the bottle, which, once in Twilight, Jackie can also see is filled with the smoky, almost-liquid swirls of mutely glittering Essence wisps. "You are going to behave yourself now, yes?" She seems to be addressing the contents of the bottle themselves. The substance pulses a few times in what Sierra seems to interpret as an affirmative answer, and she starts to handle the petrified cork stopper, pulling and yanking at it until it pops free of the glass.
The spirit slips out through the opening with a small flutter of wind, rustling a few loose papers and pushing Sierra's hair around. It doesn't exactly have a form or a shape, but its corpus, such as it is, is more made visible by the inflections and warps of light in the air; it's also quite small. It does a zoom around the room, kicking up another harmless gust that's not quite strong enough to blow anything aside or away, and then turns towards the Irraka somewhat expectantly.
"Right, right," she mutters, standing and setting the etched bottle down to walk over to one of the shelves and swipes from it a small charm shaped like a doll and chiseled out of bone, covered in dried paper.
She presents this to the wind spirit by setting it down next to the bottle, and the spirit draws closer to it, and glows warmly again as it had before, burning away wisps of its Essence to infuse into the bone-and-paper doll. Sierra, for her part, draws a small knife out of her pocket and cuts her finger, murmuring some words in the First Tongue and smearing them over the doll; the rust red bleeds into the paper, but it's only a little.
It only takes a few moments, and then the little spirit is done. It drifts lazily over towards a window that looks out on a subterranean, backyard patio, and Sierra follows, opening the window -- and away it goes.
"Don't touch that," she mentions quickly to Jackie, pointing at the doll. "It bites."
Jackie:
Jackie watches in abject fascination. This entirely is beyond her, and that is such a new and novel thing, she can't but watch in delight and take it all in quietly. "Oh, fear not, I know enough not to touch things I don't know what they do," Jackie reassures, though she DOES peer at the doll and examine it, such as she can. "So have you contracted the spirit- or, I suppose, executed a contract with the spirit- to store its magic in the doll, for release at a later date?" The enthusiasm is not one touch died down.
Sierra Roen:
"You can, you can probably switch back over," Sierra mentions to the still-Twilit Jackie. "And yeah, something like that. This was only a little one, and didn't take much bargaining with. Essence and to be free to go on its way, a few kind words, that about does the trick. Sometimes. But even little ones can be problematic," she relates, striding back to the low table and stooping down to pick up a handkerchief from its surface, and pluck up the doll with that.
"This little bit of magic here will make someone's day quite a bit of a hassle."
Jackie:
Another few seconds and Vorpal melts back into being, nodding. "Gotcha. Man. That was something new. They're fascinating. I've been trying to teach myself to listen when they speak, but I'm still figuring out which ones actually speak and when a burble is just a fucking burble, you know?" Jackie offers calmly. "I didn't know they made deals like goblins do. That's news to me. Fascinating news, honestly. Ghosts don't do anything like that, they're just their own thing, with their own tricks, but. A promise from a ghost is just a promise. It's different with them?"
Sierra Roen:
"It's not particularly special in that way. A deal with a ghost is no different than a deal with a spirit. I can trap a piece of a spirit, or all of one, into an object and imbue that object with some aspect of the spirit's magic; I can't do the same with a ghost. But nothing prevents them, or me, from trying to reneg on any arrangements. And it doesn't always have to be a bargain; I can, and have, trapped them by force," Sierra explains.
Jackie:
Johnnie looks puzzled. "Oh. I guess that's so. I might have read into things. That's just a thing the spirit could do, then? Less a magic deal and more just an arrangement?" Jackie still sounds curious- and then nods as the explanation goes on. "Ahh, okay. So it's more your thing, the investment into an object. The deals are just a formality, a pleasantry to keep things kind?"
Sierra Roen:
"Exactly that," Sierra nods, sinking back down on to the bench and resting her elbow on her knee, reclining there in a languid sort of manner.
Jackie:
Jackie nods, absorbing all that. "That's tremendously clever and I love it. Is it the same sort of trick you use to understand their- beep boop flashy winky lights?" Jackie tries to put it more elegantly and, simply, fails, following Sierra towards the bench, staying a polite arm's reach away.
Sierra Roen:
"Being able to understand them when they're in the bottle is just part of that particular bit of magic. Had it chosen to speak once it was released, I would have understood it, but it was only a little one. Sometimes they don't," Sierra elaborates, tucking away the wrapped-up doll, and whatever unsavory effect it promised for the next person to touch it.
Jackie:
"Hm. Maybe I've been trying to listen to the wrong ones?" Vorpal mused to herself, watching Sierra as she tucks away the magicked little doll. "I'm assuming the doll isn't just going to- do something so literal as make someone break wind or whatnot, yes? Can I ask what you had the little one arrange?"
Sierra Roen:
"No," Sierra shakes her head with a wry laugh. "Nothing like that. No, it's a trap," Sierra supplies candidly, simply. "Whoever touches it becomes trapped. I use these when I am hunting or tracking by myself, or if I need to make camp somewhere relatively unprotected. If you place them just right, they can really sneak up on people."
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