open (like hermione's heart)

[reparo]

WHO: Hermione Granger + you
WHAT: catch-all
WHEN: end of Harvestmere to Haring
WHERE: Gallows, Crossroads, anywhere else that suits*
NOTES: * I will write you a starter, come at me with any idea at all. Otherwise, generic starters around, pick and choose

Comments

gallows infirmary (open)

[reparo]

Potions-brewing follows the same principles anywhere, and Hermione was adequately adept at potions. (More than, she did experiment with a few potions in Akhuras. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.)

It's not as desperate here. Or rather, it feels more contained and better managed, in the Riftwatch. One needs to take into account rations, supplies, stock. So as much as it might bring her some joy to have the liberty to experiment and see if elfroot has the same healing properties as dittany, she is being a good witch. Brewing what is needed, offering a helping pair of hands.

So from time to time, if not on an assignment, she's in the infirmary in the Gallows, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled up into a bun, wand tucked into it (until she gets the sheath for Satinalia, anyway), chopping and dicing and slicing away. And for anyone lurking: "You can say hello, or you can help me bottle this up, but you're not getting a sample for free."

[portalling]

Part of trusting Hermione Granger and her potion-making skills means that Stephen doesn’t always hover and monitor her progress or her usage of their supplies; instead, she’s free to come-and-go and to work on this as she pleases. Supplies from their stores, now that the garden’s suffering in winter. Herbs imported from warmer climes and different growing seasons. Careful instructions laid out in the infirmary for her; there are recipe cards, describing exacting doses and proportions.

Riftwatch often sees active combat. They’re always in need of more healing potions, and some of them take a while to brew.

“I’m glad you don’t seem to mind this,” he says, rummaging through one of the cabinets, “because waiting for water to boil is, quite literally, one of my least favourite things on this earth or any other.”

The more he can task her with this sort of chore, the better; she seems to have a talent for it.

[reparo]

"Ha," she actually says, in place of laughing, because she is counting the number of elfroot roots that she'll need to chop finely, picking them out of a jar.

"It's surprising how unsurprising hearing that is." She sets down her roots and returns the jar to the shelf where she took it from. "I used to have a spell for it, so I'll confess to some amount of cheating. It could heat water up faster - though I mostly used it to speed-brew tea on the road."

Priorities, Hermione Granger, et cetera.

"Doesn't come that easily here, so in the spirit of not setting the Gallows on fire because I wanted the water to boil faster..."

[portalling]

“It’s ironic, isn’t it, that the smaller more delicate magicks are in fact harder here? I used to be able to use telekinesis to tie my tie or pour a cup of tea. Now I can’t do that, but I can still fling an outrageously heavy boulder into darkspawn just fine.”

Fully two years in, and Stephen never really tires of discussing these subtleties: the differences in magic, the mechanics of it.

At his own mention of darkspawn, however, there is the smallest flicker, a cloud passing before the sun — he hadn’t meant to evoke Sarrux and what they both experienced there — but he consciously brushes past it. His hands stilling, and then shifting back into easy movement again. Decanters, distillers, mortar and pestle. Chemistry.

“One of my current wishlist items is to construct something using fire runes and enchanted tanks or kettles, so we have easy access to hot or boiling water without a mage. A smaller project than running heated water to all the Gallows, sure, but the infirmary needs it. Washing hands, disinfecting supplies, making potions.”

For now he’s rigged up a makeshift sink at the back, with a water tank which needs occasional refilling, but there’s always room for improvement. He misses modern comforts, the operating hall’s scrubbing station.

[reparo]

She wonders if Gwenaëlle comes to help brew potions as of late, or if she's shaken over Sarrux.

The stilling, the silence, and then a hand out of that grim memory into something that makes Hermione let out a tiny laugh.

"Hot running water? God, I feel like I could kill for it some days. Let me lend whatever hand I can."

[portalling]

“Oh, gladly. If you come across any fire runes that you might want to contribute to the cause, let me know anytime, and I’ll rope you in for the actual jerry-rigging regardless.”

Stephen sets out the rest of the ingredients, and then leans against the worktable. Wryly: “Not to brag, but while I don’t have running water, the houseboat has an enchanted bathtub. Magic’s a wonder.”

[reparo]

She grins at that, pausing in her fine chopping to look at him. "That's what I think, too." Magic is a wonder. "I'm curious to learn how you got the bathtub enchanted - wards?"

A pause, then earnestly: "God, I wish I had had my Ancient Runes textbooks with me when I came here."

[portalling]

“Didn’t do it myself — it was already on the boat when I moved in — but from my inspection,” because of course Stephen had craned his head under the thing and investigated all the seams and angles to figure out how it worked, “it’s all runic wards and glyphs, yes. I know the situation there is fraught, but if you’re ever at liberty in Minrathous, I highly recommend browsing some of their mid- to higher-end enchantment stores.”

A little wistful, “I know there’s the whole slavery thing and the fact they’re currently under Venatori rule, but truly, they craft some marvelous things over there.”

[reparo]

She gives Stephen a look at that last bit. "Do they craft marvelous things, or does the whole slavery thing craft them?"

It's so confrontational and cutting that, with a delay, she gets flustered. So she's going to turn her attention back around to the worktable, and chop chop chop the elfroot.

"I'm sorry, Dr Strange, but I find it fairly difficult to be anything except terrified or angry in Tevinter."

[portalling]

The sharp look and sharp words don’t seem to faze the sorcerer, and roll off him like water off a duck’s back; a tip of the shoulder, a shrug.

“You can be terrified and angry and impressed all at the same time,” Stephen says gamely. “We contain multitudes.”

And he’s never seen a dark complicated magic artifact that he didn’t, on some level, also admire and kind of want to possess —