Breaking Bread
23st of January 2007 A.D.
Idun's Bread and Cider is about three miles and seemingly half a world away from the Seaport. Instead of old world extravaganza is sprawls comfortably the cookie cutter two story commercial real estate that had sprung up in the proverbial grave of the old Boston & Maine railroad yard. Only pair of apple trees flanking the front door, bare and slander branches reaching for the overcast sky hint that something might be just a tad out of the ordinary. The sign above the door reads in a sort of faux-Cyrilic that is still understadibly English:
Bread from the Finest Grains, Cider from the Fairest Apples, Immortality Optional swaying in the cold January air as you enter, though the winter certainly cannot find a foothold inside. The counter is polished walnut and frosted glass with a little golden hand bell that the little boy in front of you is eyeing longingly white his mother considers the virtues of rye bread vs regular.
To tell the truth the kid's braver than you were at his age given the woman behind the that counter, a stern old lady with a strong jaw, lips thinned by countless disappointments and knowing eyes. Or maybe he just knows something his mother does not given that she hands out pieces of candied apple slices and nuts in a little plastic bag instead of change.
"You are going to ruin his teeth you know Olga," the mother proclaims, her heart not really into it.
"Pish, horses should eat hay, monks should eat turnips and children should eat sweets. Let him worry about his teeth when he's old like me," the old woman replies.
"I'm pretty sure most people don't get
quite as old as her," Lydia whispers from behind you. "She's einheri."
Once the pair had left the proprietor turns her eyes your way and shakes her head. "That's not something you can tell at Wednesday's door or Friday. Now what can I do for you girls?"
"My name is Molly Carpenter, I was told to come here if I wanted to know about the city by Mr Vadderung," you introduce yourself.
After a moment of looking you over she snorts hands you some kind of nuts and honey cookie you would swear had not been in her hand a moment before and says. "I thought you would be taller."
"Sometimes I wear heels," you answer, matching her tone.
"Come on in the back if you want to talk, Fyodor will mind the counter." At these words you had expected some equally slavic fellow to come out and pick up from her, what you had not expected was for Olga to flip open a drawer take out a wooden wind up figurine of the same shade of walnut as the bar turn the key three times and put it on the ground where it would grow into a deep chested man with salt and pepper hair and a very impressive mustache who proceeds to doft his now cloth cap at the three of you.
"Is this normal?" Olivia asks, no one in particular
"Moderately odd," you answer with a smile, taking a deep look at Fyodor the Clockwork man. He does not seem particularly in awe of you as he proceeds to straighten out the stock, but maybe he's just stoic like that. Looking deeper though, still no ghost or goblin nor anything else of the dark.
Lost 1 Essence (Hellscry Chakra) -> Now at 13/15
"Well, are you coming or not? I there's Yabluchnyk."
Even though you have even less idea what that is you follow along into a dark backroom that smells of cinnamon, from the cake and linseed oil from the rather impressive gun collection that makes Olivia's eyes go wide. "Is that a Mosin-Nagant, what kind is is? I know
that's an French Lebel 86 and that one's a Lee Enfield..."
Apparently 'gun vintege enthusiast' isn't something Olga had prepared for since she seems a little taken aback by it at first, but she warms up to Olivia's enthusiasm. She goes on to explain that she is a sniper by trade in war the same way she is a baker in peace, a rare outlook among the Soldiers of Valhala which makes her particulary well suited to to this kind of long term posting.
Alas you do have to interupt "So what can you tell us about what happened around here since September?"
"About what you would expect," she steeples her fingers together in a gesture that reminds you of 'Donar' a bit. "The White Court is moving in, the Raiths in particular, buying up one of the more upscane nightclubs, the Pink Panther or some such silliness. Some of the Ventori have passed though town last month, but they were only here to take some books off the shelves and give the librarian a stern talk.."
"Just a stern talk?" you ask. It is hard to think of something bad enough that it would warrant agents being brought in from out of town, but not so bad as to do something about the seller.
"Yes," Olga nods once sharply. "This is a town of many scholars, real and imagined so there is much money to be made selling books, including books on the occult, but as with many in that sphere they left by one door or the others when the madman came September-last so of course new people came in to replace them. One of them is this Patrick Healy of
Lightstone Books. Make of him what you will. Apart from him I heard tell that there's a new doctor at Massachusetts General Hospital that heals with more than pills and needles, that as may be fair or foul depending on just how she's going about it. No spoor nor mark of the Red Court yet, but that might just mean they're being careful."
What do you do?
[] Ask Olga about something
-[] Her Yabluchnyk recipe, this stuff's really good
-[] The Clockwork Man out front
-[] Write in
[] Bid Olga farewell
-[] Visit the university grounds, you are curious as to what Johann of Cleves was meant to have done with the body of Aleron LaFortier had he slain him
-[] Pay a visit to this magical doctor at Massachusetts General, magic and hospitals don't usually mix, but you're willing to keep an open mind
-[] Go into Lightstone Books,
maybe they have something you're interested in
-[] Have a talk with the White Court representative at the Pink Panther
-[] Write in
OOC: I'll post Olivia's sheet tomorrow. I wanted to make sure I'd get an update today. 
