#scarsdale

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Hirim works. That's what he does. He works, and motivates apprentices.

An expression like a thundercloud, more sour than usual. Said motivated apprentices work at a very low murmur, measuring, cutting, sewing, tacking and hammering very lightly.

(He has never been here before, but he has the accurate, if maddeningly terse, directions given to him. The unseen chimerical assistant acting as his cane, and with his usual pharmaceutical dose of courage boosted, he brings the wooden tea-box wrapped under his arm. Anyone passing will see a quizzical visitor, black hoodie drawn up to hide a face that is already half hidden by hair and glasses. He's in baggy black jeans and wearing fingerless rubber-grip gloves and cut-off toe socks, trying to get his bearings. After asking directions, and getting turned around once (why did he think it was a good idea to ask a pooka, anyway?) ...he finally finds the shop in question, entering cautiously)

(He moves to the side of the doorway so as not to block it, scanning a sea of -- white haired, pasty-faced, spiral-cheeked nockers, and hoping to find one he recognizes there)

He doesn't seem to be in evidence. Perhaps hidden away in the back of the shop.

(He'll wait for an opportunity to ask for the gentleman in question, a soft inquiring whisper to a passing stranger)

(Or, perhaps, if they would be so kind as to direct him to Miss Zara, if she is here?)

"Zara, you here??" The voice hardly has to be raised, seeking, as it is, a sluagh. "Nope. Sorry. No clue where she is."

"What? Who's that? Who's looking for Zara?" Croaks a voice in the back. Limping forward comes someone who can only be Hirim, from descriptions.

"Then, what of the gentleman, Mr. Hirim? Is he..." (Stopping when the older Nocker approaches. A discreet hand catches his balance on the unseen chimera, and he offers a courteous enough bow) ooc: Connection issues.

"Sir," (Respectfully enough to the Grump, as he straightens)

"Mr. Hirim, an' I am not mistaken?"

"Even if you are, I'm still Hirim Himmelfarb. Who're you?"

"We have met twice afore, albeit not formally. Jeremy, sir...a pleasure to make thine acquaintance, at last," (His whisper is soft, soothingly pleasant) "I would have sent Mr. Ice in my stead, but he is unfortunately....otherwise occupied. And my last messenger, had...." (A pause) "An unfortunate accident, its last visit. So methought it best....to come personally. Is this a bad time, then, sir?"

He wipes a pungent adhesive from his fingers with a rag as he squints at the sluagh. "Ice, huh? That schmuck works for you?"

"He is....family, of sort," (Mildly) "As is Miss Zara. I cannot say, any of us....precisely are within the employ of each other, in the sense I believe thou art speaking...nay." (A pause) "But he is more familiar with the route....and is, as it happens...rather more adept at travel, than I." (He shifts, and his hand reaches again, to balance on something unseen)

Hirim regards the sluagh shrewdly, waiting.

"I brought aught for the Lady, as...she has not been present, of late, and I wish'ed to see, an' there was aught she require'd." (He removes his hand, to shift the box from under his arm) "A fresh batch of tea. There is, as it happens....aught here as well, as for the Lady Miriam, pardon."

"What do you want with Miriam?" He bristles aggressively.

(The blank glass ovals of the glasses seem to regard him, the black-dusted mouth beneath revealing little expression. The whisper remains pleasant) "Is the Lady Zara here, by chance?"

"Ha!" he barks, not at all amused. "So, like that?"

"Pardon?" (Vague bemusement)

"Question for question, and no answers."

"I was not aware, Sir...that I was here, to answer queries," (Mildly, his whisper soft) "Albeit I shall be please'd to do so, an' this becomes a proper visit." (A pause) "It is rather public here, is it not? And sooth, this is my first time here, I am unfortunately....not conversant, with the pleasantries expected, within a nocker business. I plead thy pardon." (Inclining head, holding the box as one might cradle a baby; it is wrapped in black fabric)

(Muslin, as it so happens...)

"Huh." He appraises the sluagh closely. "You're not here to answer queries, fine. I'm not here to either. Here, I work. Business, like you say."

He rounds on the others with their heads bent so studiously over their work. "BREAK!" he barks loudly. They break.

(He flinches away at the bark, catching his balance with a sway; even more sensitive than Zara to loud sounds, it seems)

The room clears. The nocker seems smugly satisfied. "Heh."

(He lifts hand, to rub his ear, with vague consternation) "Ah....right, then."

(He does relax subtly as the room clears)

"Pardon, what were we saying?"

"You were going to tell me what you want with Miriam."

"Ah. Is there a place I might put this down? I believe, it may require a bit of...explanation."

"The contents, thou see'st."

He gesture abruptly to the counter right there. "You want a doily for it?"

(If he catches the sarcasm, it doesn't show) "I believe this shall suffice, thank thee." (He lowers hand, balancing on the unseen -- thing --takes the few steps forward, and sets it down. He unwraps the yard of muslin, and carefully -- only a bit awkwardly -- folding the length, to set aside) "This is for the Lady. A return, of the....loan, of piece, she sent. It was, unfortunately, not salvageable." (The box underneath is an antique-looking teabox, or perhaps merely old, lined in worn green velvet. He opens it, to reveal compartments inside, and -- there is a smell of herbs, not unpleasant. A faint trace of Glamour in the white muslin bags; an amberglass vial and dropper lie to the side)

Glowering, and gripping his cane. "Miriam never sent you anything."

"I speak of the Lady Zara." (Mildly) "First. And the fabric, she sent, with my messenger, sir." (The glasses turn to study the Grump sidelong, as a hand reaches, to pull his hood back slowly. Black hair, overlong and silken-fine. Lank, as most sluagh's is) "I shall answer thine inquires presently. But with the Lady not here...I trust, thou wilt fill her in, on what I am leaving her, and her Lady Nocker?" (Yes, she is Zara's nocker, apparently)

"Not that happy you're talking about Zara, either, but there's probably not much I can do about that. Pfft. You want I should memorize instructions? You should write it down. My memory, not so good."

"My handwriting, Sir, is worse," (Mildly) "But the explanation, mayhaps, shall serve as thine answer, as well." (His head turns back to the tea, and a long finger reaches, to touch one of the bags) "This...is the same as afore. A tonic, for the nerves. She shall recognize it."

The door to the shop cracks open, a soft whisper drifting across the quiet shop. "Feter Hirim? Mama sent dinner..."

(His head lifts, turns towards the door. And now, a ghost of a smile)

"Miss Zara," (A soft whisper, audible to her, if only barely so to the nocker)

"Zara, you know this momzer?"

(His eyebrows lift. Someone apparently told him the meaning of the word, but he holds his tongue)

The pale sluagh slips the rest of the way in, cradling a basket. "Jeremy, sir. Hello.... yes, Hirim, I know him. You have - I told you of him, he created Esther to aid you in the Dreaming."

(He inclines head to her, respectfully, as she enters)

"I receive'd thy note, Lady. Methought to send one in return, but, ah. It seem'ed less intrusive, to bring aught mine own self, this time. Pardon."