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Codus Immortus: Grimalkin

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Mr Murk


April 15th, 2018, 


Silvermans Books 9.57pm


The Sun was down, and it was nearly closing time. 


Mr. Murk needed the sun to be down. And he would prefer it to be nearly closing time. Less people around. 


Wrapped in the Murk, he entered as a stiff gentleman of advanced years, in a tween jacket and thick glasses. He was blind, but he didn't need eyes to see in a book store. He could feel the sumptous wit of the ink around him, he could feel the souls of those in their, and all he had to do was avoid chairs. 


He went up to the counter, smiling pleasantly. The immortal soul of Grimalkin was there, and he could feel its taste, and taste its feel. 


"Good evening. I hope I do not intrude at this lateness of hour?" he asked, softly, voice dusty with age, with a mild American accent that spoke of New York and Europhillia. 


He had come on a mission that required his gentle touch. Grimalkin was an immortal, and should be offered the duties and benefits of the Codus Immortus!

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It was late on a Monday, Tax Day to be specific; not a lot of book sales, but the coffee side of the business had kept them jumping all day. Lots of late filers on their laptops slurping lattes as they e-flied, then slowly closed the lids of their computers and sighed in relief, then took a big bite out of a well-earned muffin. After about 8pm, customers tended to thin out on weeknights, and today was much the same; Lynn Epstein, the owner of Silberman's, had already done of half of the day's bookkeeping, and was getting ready to shoo folks out.


But then she paused, and turned to the unusual customer, head cocked slightly to one side. Her eyes flicked over to the clock on the wall, then she frowned slightly and shook her head. "Uh, no, it's fine; we're still open for a few minutes. How can I help you, sir?" This man had an interesting vibe to him, not at all hostile, but definitely unique. The changeling had a feeling his inquiry would be an interesting one.

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Mr Murk


Mr Murk gave a look around. Or at least appeared to. He was, after all, blind!


"I was rather hoping to speak to the owner of the shop" he said, gently. 


"Ah...the real owner of the shop" he added, even more gently. 


He took off his glasses to reveal milky white, quite blind, eyes. And yet, he looked directly at Grimalkin. Of course, he could make his eyes look like anyones, as he was quite wrapped in the dusty dimension of the Murk, but he had found the effect of blind eyes watching someone rather helpful at times. Disconcertingly helpful. 


It was a signal that all was not humrdrum and routine. He had no clear idea of what Fae senses Grimalking had, although by his guess, she must have picked up some uncanny attributes. She might already know he was not what he appeared. 


His modus operandi for this situations was progressive revealing the truth. But whilst the progress might be slow, his initiation usually wasn't. To start with the mutual understanding that neither he nor the prospect were of regular flavours need not be delayed. 


"Is that you?" he asked. 



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Ah; this was goung to be one of those conversations. "I am Lynn Epstein, owner and proprieter of Silberman's Books, and inheritor of my family's legacy." As she said these last words, she drew herself to her full height and looked downright regal, even at five foot three inches. "If you have issues that do not pertain specifically to books that you wish to discuss, it might be best if we speak in my office after business hours. Can I offer you a cup of tea while you wait?" She gestured towards a wire rack holding an array of tea blends in colorful boxes; one might think it was thoughtless to make such a gesture in front of a blind person, but it perhaps hinted that she suspected her customer possessed a unique set of senses.

Edited by Heritage

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Mr Murk


Mr Murk looked around. In a manner of speaking. 


"Mmmmh. Patience is a virtue, I am told. No rush. Tea would be nice" he commented warmly. 


"Ill just peruse the books whilst you finish up here?" he asked. 


He held his cane stiffly and went to one of the bookshelves, quietly reading the ink. 


Not the book, the ink. 


He was blind, but he could feel the ink, the words, the letters, the caligraphy, even the flourish of the soul as thought poured into word. It was rather delightful, really. For the most part. There were of course some books that could drive a man to madness, such as those detailing the Unspeakable one and his nameless cults that were without name (and with good reason). 


"I could spend hours in here" he murmured, although with a voice pitched just load enough for Grimalkin to hear. "Or days. Years even. Why, I could spend centuries in here...."

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