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Miranda busied herself cleaning and tidying up the shop for closing, (not really) quietly humming the Spark’s “This Town Ain’t Big Enough” to herself, as she wiped the glass surfaces of the displays. There never was much to clean up for her it seeemed, because … dust never collected, stains and finger prints never stuck – it was like magic. It also made this part of her job rather easy, so that was fine with her.

Still she was giving the floor a quick swipe with the broom just out of principle, even though it already looked impeccably clean and tidy, when – much to her surprise – the door opened. Well, customers this late were rare, but not unusual. But the person who seemed to float into the shop all ethereal-like (she actually walked, but never mind that), certainly was.

Unusual, that was.

Miranda blinked, and – for a moment – openly gaped at the late customer, taking in all of her appearance. Usually Athan was the only one she ever saw wearing black robes and they never … were this elaborate. “Wow …” She murmured. GOTHIC summed up the lady’s appearance quite nicely. In fact a picture of her should be in the Wikipedia entry dealing with the topic (subculture, not architecture), right at the very top.

Then, finally getting a hold of herself, Miranda quickly added: “Uhm, I meant to say, Good Evening. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just … I’ve never seen …” She was stuttering, oh, how terribly embarrassing this was! “You must be here for Athan, right? Just a moment, I’ll get him for you.” She just barely managed to resist the urge to bow. Instead she dropped the broom, cursed inwardly, stopped to pick it up and lean it against the wall carefully,

Amaranthe’s black lips curled up in a most generous smile. Ah, it was obvious, the young one had been completely mesmerized by her intense charisma. It happened. She folded her manicured hands in front of her lap and slowly advanced into the shop, black velvet and lace rustling across the floor. She cast curious glances left and right, wondering just what it was that attracted her brother to this place. For he did come here, quite often.

She hadn’t heard back from him since … almost two years ago, when he’d asked her for advice about that ‘cursed stone’, and then again, some time later, calling her to ask about some strange plants she’d never heard about. So this was where his little ‘daimon’ came from, hm? Of course, stones had power. In fact, she was itching to get her hands on one of these, certainly that would please the Grand Master and allow her to advance further in the ranks of The Order.

But mostly, she wanted to know what her brother was up to. She hadn’t heard from him for so long, and his room mate who had accepted her annual gift in his absence had been … of the most unfriendly kind. That fool, trying to lie to her about her brother’s whereabouts. He was her brother. They shared the same blood, and she’d always, always know where he was. Or at least figure it out quite quickly. Most times. In fact, she was in a bit of a pinch right now, as he had - once again - moved without telling her.

Sweet, dear brother.

She idly tugged at her veil, and glanced at one of the numerous reflections to make sure here appearance was perfect.

“Athan!” Miranda stumbled into the back room rather hastily, but still mindful enough to close the door so they could not be overheard. There was a tiny, but audible ‘clack’ as Rutie hit the door from the outside, and promptly broadcasted his dismay at having been shut out. “Sorry …” Miranda murmured, opening the door just a gap for a moment to let the wisp sweep in. Because, really, she had a gut feeling it would be a bad idea to leave him alone with that strange lady.

“There is a … I’m not sure. She may be a customer. But more, like, for you? She, uh, wears robes. And is generally really gothic-y looking, if you know what I mean.” Not for the first time she wished this shop actually had camera surveillance, as she’d very much liked to be able to simply point at a screen. Like: ‘This be the impressive gothic-y lady.’ Or: ‘This is Reyna making fun of me AGAIN.’

“I need to ask her where she got her nails done …” Miranda absently murmured to herself.

“In any way,” she shook her head, seeming as if to wake from a daze (those nails had looked fantastic, so she might be excused ...) “I don’t feel comfortable handling her, so if you would, please, pretty please …?”

“Why, yes, Yes, absolutely!” Amaranthe beamed at Athan brightly, hiding her disappointment. Somehow she had been expecting someone looking more impressive, more ... intimidating. But, his eyes were really something. She couldn’t quite take her gaze off them. “Good evening …” Oh, how should she greet him? How was she to address him? ‘Master’? No, she could only have but one master; not that hers was teaching her much. Maybe this Athan would take on an apprentice? She quickly settled on a deeply reverent and respectful: “… Sir.” And a curtsy.

She paused, wondering how to proceed best. “Actually, it was curiosity which brought me here,” she admitted openly, “for the most part.” That and her eagerness to appease the Grand Master of her order with news of her brother’s whereabouts. And she wanted one of these stones. These daimon familiars. She was quite certain one of these would enhance her arcane abilities a great deal. But … first things first.

“Amon comes here often, doesn’t he? So, ah, I wanted to see for myself …” She started nestling with a pouch attached to her belt. “I’ve got something for him, actually. I’m not sure he ever received his midwinter gift from me, so I made him another one …”

Miranda was making use of her ‘break’ to hang out at the door to the backroom, having opened it for just a tiny gap to peek, and listen. She was dying of curiosity, but quickly ended up being disappointed. So this lady was, what? That annoying Amon dude’s ex? His stalker? How boring!

“Oh really?” She hadn’t noticed anyone else coming by as regularly as him when she’d staked out this place, but that was because mostly because of where her focus had been.

No one else was as important to her as him.

“Why, he’s tall, dark, handsome … Sort of like you? Oh, and missing one eye,” she added Amon's most distinctive feature almost as as if in an afterthought, even though she’d been there when he’d lost it. But that had been a most dreadful day, and she did not like to be reminded of it.

“I’m positive he comes here often, and I’ve been wondering just why, as he usually doesn’t like places which are strong with magic.” Which was a major understatement.

“Oh, why, hello there~!” Amaranthe purred, her gaze distractedly dropping to somewhere past Athan, close to the floor, where a floating, diamond-shaped golden gem was making it’s way, surrounded by a whirlwind of shadows.

Curiosity had overwhelmed not only Miranda, but also the tiny fiendling bonded to her, and opposed to her he wasn’t smart enough to remain hidden in the back room.

“How does one obtain one of these?” Amaranthe queried innocently, crouching and reaching out with one hand in an attempt to lure the wisp closer. “I know Amon has a little familiar like this too, he came to ask me for advice when he first obtained it. He thought it was cursed. Which was nonsense, of course.”

“Oh.” Amaranthe breathed softly and looked up, her expression decidedly disappointed. She still was holding out one hand to lure in the little daimon, but it refused to come any closer. What a shame.

“So they are cursed?” she inquired, her mouth forming a quiet ‘oh’ and CONCERN being written all over her face now. “In that case I really need to know Amon’s whereabouts.”

She rose to her full height again, giving the wisp a scathing look as she did, because the stupid little thing had refused to come any closer despite her charm.

“Amaranthe,” she introduced herself, politely curtsying again and adding: “Silverchair. Amon is my brother. And I’m not going to leave until I know what he’s up to,” she added rather stubbornly.

For being siblings (supposedly!), the two could not have looked any more different from one another. Both had pitch-black hair, but Amaranthe’s was quite obviously dyed. And, very much opposed to her brother, her skin was of an almost deathly pale.

They shared the same eye color, however. Not that it was visible at all, as Amaranthe had opted to wear purple contact lenses today.

Needless to be said, there was little to support her claim but the concern she displayed, and her stubbornness.

Souls. Amaranthe drew in a sharp breath. Trapped inside stones? That was fascinating. Quite fascinating.

“But he’s my brother!” She insisted, her hands momentarily clenching into fists at her sides. How could he … how dare he keep her brother's whereabouts from her?! “I must know where he is! Or …” She fumbled with her pouch again, retrieving a small package from it, wrapped in black silk-paper.

“Could I at least leave this for him?” she pleaded. “It might … remind him to contact me. I’m sure he just forgot. He’s very busy, as I’m sure you know.”

“That … will be enough, then.” Amaranthe relented, as gracefully and dignified as possible, ignoring on purpose what had been said about doubting her identity – because, really, that sounded entirely too much like it was meant to be an insult.

She eyed Athan warely, because, never mind what she’d first thought about him not seeming intimidating at all, there certainly was …something about him.

Her eyes widened with sudden realization. It couldn't be ... But yes, it probably was him who’d trapped those poor souls in the first place? That … would make him a truly powerful Wielder of the Arcane.

Instinctively Amaranthe made one step back, then another. All of a sudden she was admiring her brother’s courage for walking in and out of a place like this.

And at the same time she was seething with jealousy.

Because her brother was the one who got to be special again.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly.

“Well then,” Amaranthe said upon completing her retreat towards the door, one hand already resting on the handle. Sh had somewhat regained her composure, but her courage had definitely fled her for now. “I’ll be back to see if he’s picked it up. If not …” She smiled serenely. “I’ll find him.”

She always had.

“Weirrrrrd,” Miranda commented once the woman had bowed her way out, not realizing she probably shouldn’t have been listening in. That lady was definitely the Evil Ex. Miranda didn’t believe a word she’d said about being Amon’s sister – those two didn’t look alike at all, and in her mind, it only confirmed her opinion of him having an awful taste in women. See: Reyna.