Be careful what you wish for, it might make you happy...

[darksmokerising]

WHO: Merlan Margret O'Keefe | SPN

WHEN: Catchall for: April

WHAT: Monthly Buncha Tags

WHERE: Tavern/Inn, Stables (getting her a badass blue roan), Vasari area (clearing out shitheads), and definitely enroute to check out Roselake because why the fuck not? It sounds pretty cool.

WARNINGS: There's cussing??? Angel wings, maybe. Pew pew things?

NOTE: Please maketh use of a header so I know wtf you are. Prose preferred!

 

A. TAVERN/INN

[2+ weeks of arrival ]

Merlan was in the back of the tavern watching the clientele, a small lute, its wood varnished in deep wood nestled in its soft straps treated suede. Her fingers strayed to it and the heavy looking bag at her hip. Her coin purse was in there, so were the medicines and potions she'd made up from the help of her own knowledge and a very helpful book she'd gotten at a herbalist's shop. Local plants were foreign, so having the knowledge to start with and then experiment with was worth her time. 

 

That book and a blank new Hunter journal/tome had eaten into almost all her savings and to get that back had made her feel absolutely miserable for a while. Ditching her modern clothes had been her first order of business and earning enough to get daily clothing in more of a men's style that afforded her more movement was something she had to work with the tailor on. Also, hidden pockets. He'd said those were fun to make. And then she was broke. 

Until she found the badly broken lute. A little twist of words, a soft, pleasant hum of magic, and the strings united, the wood strengthened and did what it wanted with its colour and pattern. When she'd come back with tea, it was an almost cobalt shade of blue and the intricate inlaid knots of natural and blue had turned into a flight of raven-type creatures that perched and flew here and there. Magic lutes, she found, were really rather lovely. When she wasn't doing things like fixing roofs in Gazin, or hunting things - sometimes for food, sometimes because they were trying to eat people - she was busy with potions and figuring out how her lute worked. Making and selling potions seemed the be the route for quick coin and  she had really begun to collect on in. A bit of magic used here and there never hurt, she saw to it well. Favours got her things with far more consistency than coin. 

So much had happened since she'd been dropped here and her scramble to adapt to the situation had been like some of the drops she'd had with Micah. Painful lessons in survival - only she had things to trade, things to cure, and she adapted to her environment like shedding a skin.  Never one to shit flip, magic filled in much of her modern needs and with skills that had always welcomed challenge, she imparted them to others. 

Sitting here, now, a knee crossed in a half lit booth, she had asked for something harder than pisswater beer and had gotten something that probably resembled fairly decent whiskey. On the rocks wasn't an option. Merlan had very covertly made her own tetrahedron chunks of ice and frowned at the singer getting harped (ha!) on. Her cloak hid most of her face as she slipped out her lute and picked notes around the words and melody to help them out. She unconsciously reached out to bolster their confidence, weaving and embellishing as she went. It wasn't a terrible voice at all, they just needed a touch of confidence and someone to help with accompaniment.

"There now," she murmured, setting her instrument down at the end of the song. "I can't stand it when people are arseholes just to be arseholes. Everyone starts somewhere and that was a fine bit."

B. STABLES

[ 3+ weeks of arrival ]

Getting the right horse for your needs both as a companion and a warrior requires more than a favour, it requires someone who knows horses. As for Merlan, she'd seen that massive blue roan in the back pasture, his strides long, his dark tufted legs beautiful as they had been when she was fixing up the one going colic a bit ago. She had yet to meet the lad but there was a nice zing in the air when he stopped showing off. Good thing she had enough to kit him out properly like the king he was.

Yet again, she'd probably be broke. It was a struggle filled in by music or song or arrows.

She frowned.

"Well shit," she said, walking into the stables proper and squinting beneath a hat that had seen way better days. "I should have gotten a fucking sword."  

C. VASARI

[ 4+ weeks of arrival ]

Traveling solo or with a group, whatever goes. Fighting shit, eating shit, learning shit.

D. ON THE ROAD: ROSELAKE

[ 4+ weeks of arrival ]

Still traveling on.

Comments

Stables

[themerlin]

"A sword? Now, a sword is something I can help you with."

And the man behind her who had not been there before, stood up. He appeared to look somewhere between a vagrant and a king, wearing a robe that was rumpled and ragged, and that rippled in the wind, even though there was no wind. It shone, and it was filled with colors, some of which did not exist and all the colors that did. And there was a little twinkling that was almost like actual stars were imprisoned within the robe.

If one looked too long, the head and eyes would begin to hurt.

He had a grin that was just a little off, just a little crazy, just a little... Merlin.

"Why do you want a sword?"