Outfit
These days, Emily was in the Sewing Circle on the top floor of the brownstone so often that it was beginning to feel like a safe haven. She knew people and could share her work with them, and recieve proper feedback. The thing she liked about it was that none of them were what one expected a wizard to look like. A lot of them had families and were gainfully employed. They felt normal, but with a dash of magic. Emily felt like she fit in here.
Today, on her way up to the workshop after her shift, she stopped to chat with Fanny Mcleod, another arcanist in her mid-forties. She was a botanist turned housewife with teens in the house, who specialized in magic herbalism. They'd bonded first over Emily's take on tree that produced healing fruit, and before long, they were meeting for coffee. Fanny wasn't a very advanced arcanist, but what Emily liked about her was that she was exactly where she wanted to be. It was less about ambition and more about deepening understanding.
The pair of women stood in the corridor outside for at least twenty minutes, catching up, before Fanny needed to leave to pick up one of her kids. They said their farewells and Emily slipped into the workshop, hefting her overstuffed bookbag and component bag.
She found it quiet at this time of the evening, most regular practitioners at work, or going home from work. One other person occupied one of the workbenches, and out of politeness, Emily selected a different one across the room. It was usually better to stay out of one another's way, although the man only seemed to be reading.
It was on a second look that she noticed the man's shock of red hair, and that had her giving him a closer examination. By virtue of her profession, she was good with faces, and recognizing him was a little shock to her system. She did not... like to see this man here. It was nothing personal; it was only that the juxtaposition of the memory of the ill-fated Byte Bash, and the very humble and shoestring surroundings of the Sewing Circle discomfited her.
That said, the man wasn't doing anything except reading, and Emily worked to stow any suspicious thoughts. After all, just because he seemed to be the host of Byte Bash's right hand man didn't mean it was the truth. It was just... likely. In any case, nothing stopped the woman from seeking the truth, not even her social reticence.
Crossing the workshop, she approached Markus' table, holding the fingers of one hand in the other in a very prim gesture. Her posture was stiff, but she still wore a friendly, if faint, smile.
“Hi...” Emily greeted, her tone the typical stilted of someone trying to be friendly but feeling awkward about it. It didn't help that she was speaking quietly, despite the place being mostly empty. She smiled, and pointed as she carefully ventured, “Markus, right?”
These days, Emily was in the Sewing Circle on the top floor of the brownstone so often that it was beginning to feel like a safe haven. She knew people and could share her work with them, and recieve proper feedback. The thing she liked about it was that none of them were what one expected a wizard to look like. A lot of them had families and were gainfully employed. They felt normal, but with a dash of magic. Emily felt like she fit in here.
Today, on her way up to the workshop after her shift, she stopped to chat with Fanny Mcleod, another arcanist in her mid-forties. She was a botanist turned housewife with teens in the house, who specialized in magic herbalism. They'd bonded first over Emily's take on tree that produced healing fruit, and before long, they were meeting for coffee. Fanny wasn't a very advanced arcanist, but what Emily liked about her was that she was exactly where she wanted to be. It was less about ambition and more about deepening understanding.
The pair of women stood in the corridor outside for at least twenty minutes, catching up, before Fanny needed to leave to pick up one of her kids. They said their farewells and Emily slipped into the workshop, hefting her overstuffed bookbag and component bag.
She found it quiet at this time of the evening, most regular practitioners at work, or going home from work. One other person occupied one of the workbenches, and out of politeness, Emily selected a different one across the room. It was usually better to stay out of one another's way, although the man only seemed to be reading.
It was on a second look that she noticed the man's shock of red hair, and that had her giving him a closer examination. By virtue of her profession, she was good with faces, and recognizing him was a little shock to her system. She did not... like to see this man here. It was nothing personal; it was only that the juxtaposition of the memory of the ill-fated Byte Bash, and the very humble and shoestring surroundings of the Sewing Circle discomfited her.
That said, the man wasn't doing anything except reading, and Emily worked to stow any suspicious thoughts. After all, just because he seemed to be the host of Byte Bash's right hand man didn't mean it was the truth. It was just... likely. In any case, nothing stopped the woman from seeking the truth, not even her social reticence.
Crossing the workshop, she approached Markus' table, holding the fingers of one hand in the other in a very prim gesture. Her posture was stiff, but she still wore a friendly, if faint, smile.
“Hi...” Emily greeted, her tone the typical stilted of someone trying to be friendly but feeling awkward about it. It didn't help that she was speaking quietly, despite the place being mostly empty. She smiled, and pointed as she carefully ventured, “Markus, right?”