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Inga Freyjasdottir There aren't many things that can be done in winter, but Inga has been so cooped up in the house she needs to get out a while. So, she packs up her basket, planning to make a trip down to the village and see if anyone could use the services of a wisewoman. Brews and salves for common winter ailments are packed into the basket, along with a bit of food in case she ends up spending more time than she planned. It's mid afternoon when she heads out, walking stick in one hand and small basket in the other. She is fairly sure /something/ is going to happen, but for some reason or another, she's not actually sure what just yet. The visions of a Seer do not tell all, which really, is probably a blessing.

Inga is watchful as she walks, eyes always moving, keeping an eye on her surroundings. Of course there is talk of fae in these parts, she always wonders if she will catch a glimpse of these beings. Despite Dun Realtai being a fairly quiet place, Inga knows to expect the unexpected.
Merlin     Expect the unexpected indeed. In this case, there's a bit of a commotion in town. A small group of children running to and fro, hooting at some game or another, and making what is probably only a minor ruckus. They don't seem to be getting into trouble, which is good on one of the rare slightly-less-than-arctic days. What they're doing out and about, what their game is for, well, Inga will find that out soon enough.

    There's a yelp and a laugh from behind her, as a particularly young boy lunges forward and makes a grab for the wisewoman's posterior. In an instant he's turning to back the way he must have came, giggling and cackling madly - and apparently, with his hand on fire. Or...not quite. It almost looks as if he's holding some kind of tiny...fire-spirit?
Inga Freyjasdottir The wisewoman isn't terribly surprised to see children playing, that's normal, especially on a day when it isn't impossible to be outside. She smiles, heading further toward the village, planning to call on the usual places to see what was needed.

That is until she hears a young boy behind her. She starts to turn to greet him when he /grabs her bottom/ and runs away cackling.

Inga is aghast. She doesn't respond right away only because she is dumbfounded by the act. It takes a moment to get her bearings. What is he holding? Something on fire? Inga turns and looks down briefly to make sure her dress is on fire, then glares after the boy. "Hey! Get back here! That was wildly inappropriate!" she calls, trying to see if she can figure out just which boy it is. She visits this village frequently, its quite possibly she knows him--and thus his parents, and has every intention of getting him in trouble.

But something is off. What was that in his hand. Inga purses her lips, suspicions mounting.
Merlin     It's so much pure fun to tease Inga. Merlin, further into town, can't help but smirk at the particular misuse of his magic and the boy's perfectly predicted actions. This, of course, is still behind the usual small crowd of shoppers and sellers; in the meantime Inga's young would-be red-handed paramour skids to a halt for a moment, face in shock.

    Yes, he's familiar, someone whose family Inga knows. He's never been a problem before, even at the ripe old age of six - and the boy just gives an innocent laugh, cradling that little ball of fire and dashes back off. Maybe he thinks it's a game of tag. Of course, pursuing him will be easy and will reveal further curiosities - a group of three children teaming up, one standing on the others' shoulders and stretching for something.

    Another little ball of flame, this one blue instead of red. It's flickering slightly, hanging just underneath a roof as if playing peek-a-boo with the children, whose hands aren't quite stretchd enough to reach it. But darn, they're trying.
Inga Freyjasdottir Having your bum grabbed by a usually well behaved six year old is further clue that something is up. Perhaps the fae are being mischivious today.

Or perhaps it's someone else. Some cheeky and highly magical.

Grumbling, Inga follows the boy, but Inga doesn't move quickly. She moves with purpose however, and the look on her face is usually enough to stop people in their tracks. "What is that you have?" she asks the children, watching those stretching to reach a ittle blue ball of flame. "There's broken bones waiting to happen," she grumbles. "Get down from there!" she calls.

Inga is looking around again, highly suspicious.
Merlin     It might well be. Said cheeky and magical person is, of course, at the center of it all - and when another little girl goes running past, head turning as if she were a falcon seeking prey, it's not hard to figure out just what might be up. Someone's working the kids, alright, and that someone just happens to be the sexiest wizard in Dun Realtai.

    The boy on top of the other two looks at Inga, grins, then flat-out /leaps/ for the little fireball. Fortunately, it was only slightly past his fingers, and he manages to snatch the little ball of light easily. The leap, of course, does send him right down into the other two, picking up a nice three point spare as they all hit the ground.

    Kids are, of course, annoyingly resilient, and they spring back up soon enough. "Miss Inga! It's catchasprite, we're playing with Merlin!" And apparently one of the rules of the game is not to sit around holding onto magical balls of light, because all three of them take off - probably to find said wizard. It won't be hard to follow them at all, and it is Merlin sitting in the middle of the square upon a random borrowed barrel that soon greets the wisewoman.

    The wizard, naturally, pays her no immediate attention, instead drawing out long strings from a bag at his side - strings coated in rock candy, apparently. Rewards for the wee ones catching the little fireballs.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga looks to the girl, frowning slightly at her expression before looking back to the gaggle of children reach for the sprite. As for sexiest wizard in Dun Realtai, Inga might have to argue.

The wisewoman sighs as the children topple, but as there seems to be no lasting damage to any of them, she doesn't scold them. She'll save her scolding for the one who really deserves it. Inga sets her basket down so she can fold both hands atop her staff, raising her eyebrows at the children. "Ah, with Merlin are you? I do hope Merlin can mend you if your bones get broken," she replies.

With a soft sigh, she rounds on Merlin and heads over to him, watching him pull rock candy from his bag. Inga raises a brow, curious as to what the crystals are. She's never seen such before. "Merlin," she greets. "What is that?" she asks, unable to resist. Scolding can wait a moment.
Merlin     As far as the great competition of sexy wizards, Merlin will of course give Inga her due. But there's just no beating shoujo bubbles. Except maybe bishounen stubbles. Should Merlin grow a little Bruce-Willis-style fuzz?

    "Yah! Mr. Merlin can do anything!" The kids laugh before they take off, and it isn't long before the wizard is found. His staff is by his side, and the usual soft pastel colored robes swirl as he passes along the candy. After a moment he scoots over, another barrel by his side offered if Inga wishes to sit.

    A smile. "Wisewoman. Good afternoon. Hmm? Ah, this." He draws another crystal-clad string, and offers it to Inga. "It's called rock-candy. I read about it from the other worlds, and found the idea curious. It seems to grow upon the string, and is quite sweet. And," Merlin adds with a nod to the children, "quite popular."

    Said children of course, take off to go do whatever it is kids do - it seems for now the game of hide-and-seek is over. Meanwhile Merlin glances back to her. "And may I ask, what draws you to town this fine day?" Fine indeed - it's actually warm enough that you can't see breath.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga looks over Merlin's outfit, eyebrows climbing. Pastels? Really? "Where do you even find robes of that color?" she comments, shaking her head. She suppose it suits his coloring, even if its completely ridiculous.

Inga does sit. She's tired from the walk. She takes the string of rock candy, examining it more closely. Eventually, after watching Merlin suspiciously for a moment, she tries a taste, biting off a piece and chewing thoughtfully. "Interesting...sugar, I'd think? It's a bit like honey when it crystalizes," she comments.

"I come down to the village fairly regularly to see if anything is needed. Bring a few brews, salves, charms and the like. And it is a nice day, rare at this time of year," she offers with a shrug.

She levels him with her gaze then. "Imagine my surprise to find a small boy grabbing my behind," she scolds, narrowing her eyes slightly. "Really now, he's seen six summers. Far to young to be learning things like that. And I hope healing is something you have some skill with, if you are going to be having the little ones climbing to catch your 'sprites'," she continues.

There, scolding done. Now, to eat more rock candy. "What are you doing here then? Did Sir Bedivere and Lady Arturia kick you out of the keep?" she teases.
Merlin     "Frederick's of Hollywood," the wizard answers at once. "They provide mail order. You might be surprised at some of their catalog; I suppose it might suit you well." Well, it's up to Inga to decide whether or not he's full of it; maybe the little would-be viking shaman hasn't heard of it. Merlin's got catalogs, if she wants. "I rather like this attire; it's much more...proper, than those typical dark robes with stars and moons and the like embroidered upon them. Where do people get such strange ideas..."

    Sigh. But enough about that. "That is one of the ingredients, yes. I was intrigued at the idea; it's given me some thoughts on the town. Crystals are crystals after all; perhaps Dun Realtai is no great threat to the powers out there," he adds with a wave of his hand to the sky, "but it is a fortress nonetheless. Perhaps some natural features in that regard might be useful, and growing rocks is a skill that...is not without demand."

    That's more Toph's purview, though all she does is move rocks - Merlin is more looking in the creating aspect. As for her assessment of the candy, he nods. "Honey, you say. I suppose you might be right at that; I'll be sure you receive the recipe."

    That gaze is met with a stare that might be indifferent or innocent. Or perhaps simply stoned out of his mind. "A shame. For the youths of this land to find attraction to a woman quite taken already, I weep. I do hope his letdown will be gentle, at least." Smirk.

    And then she questions his power. "My skill with the healing arts may not be quite as miraculous as, perhaps, Sir Lancelot and Sir Urre, but that was a power even older than mine. The mere scrapes and scratches of a child are child's play, indeed. Out of the keep?" He laughs. "Hardly. I found a fine day spread before me, and chose to take it up on its offer. After all, one must make one's own amusement."
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga has not heard of Fredericks of Hollywood, though she's at least familiar with what a catalogue is. "They sell robes from a catalogue? Hmph...suppose there are all sorts of things in the multiverse. Tch, I have had a few things made by a seamstress, but mostly I make my own clothing, as I am used to," she replies. Inga still mostly wears the kind of dresses she wore in her time, every now and then expanding to "modern" clothes that are usually on the fuddy duddy side.

"Growing rocks, hmm? Yes I imagine that would be a useful skill in fortifying settlements. Seems a peaceful place, now....but one may never know. Well, except when one does," she adds, smiling slyly.

Inga takes another bite of candy as Merlin comments on the little boy's actions. An ill advised breath of indignation leads to choking, then then coughing, then Merlin getting smacked for good measure. "Terrible. You. Terrible," she gets out between coughs, reaching into her pouch for something to drink.
Merlin     Well, she'll be in for a surprise then. Perhaps Harry might like it. After all, one can't be responsible for one's own personal taste. "They sell many things; whatever can be dreamed of and made can often be delivered. It does take a little bit of work, but it should not be too difficult to acquire such things you might need. I recently had a television delivered, myself."

    Mm, that seventy inch plasma-screen TV. Such a joy.

    "I see. Your skills as a seamstress, then, are quite impressive," Merlin adds with a long, close look. Why yes he is taking in every stitch. "Perhaps, if you ever saw the need, you could create a catalog of your own."

    And then Merlin is getting smacked! The whack only gets Inga an amused glance for her trouble. "You sound so like Bedivere, you know." Smiiiiirk.
Inga Freyjasdottir It isn't as though no one has taken Inga shopping for such things! Riva saw to that. It was a day she'd rather forget!

Inga recovers, then wonders if she might hit him again with the /extremely lengthy/ study of her 'dress' that he is doing. She flushes, whacking him in the shin with her staff. "I'm quite sure you're not admiring my backstitch," she comments. "As for a catalog...tch. It takes a long time to weave cloth and then to sew it into something. Though it appears I don't strictly need sleep...well, it is good for my sanity at least," she finishes.

Inga's eyes widen. "I sound like Bedivere? How so?"
Merlin     Clearly, Merlin must meet this Riva.

    Ow. "I am admiring the quality of the work and how well it fits and flows over the shape of what lies beneath." Give him credit, he doesn't even eyebrow waggle. "As for your stitch, it is certainly smooth and without needlessly tugging fabric, while being rugged and strong enough to last many of Dun Realtai's winters. A fine garment from a skilled seamstress."

    Merlin smiles. "Ah. I suppose, with the way the drifts may pile up in the worst days of winter, one must pass the time doing what they enjoy." Like, say, Merlin's gigantic TV. "Bedivere? Ah. Simple protestations of how terrible and aggravating I must be, but like all good students he does recognize the value of such a wise advisor and teacher. I am, after all, Merlin."

    The Merlin. The 'the' is like the "p" in psalms, it's silent.

    "And so, in deference to my overworked and quite stressed Lord and his paramour, I do my best. After all, Camelot would not have been were I not there to guide...Lady Saber in her way, early on. But that is memories of another life, another time."
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga gives him a clear 'uh huh' sort of look. She doesn't believe him for a moment. "All women are taught to spin, weave and sew--and some of the men too. Silly that people don't seem to know how anymore," she scoffs. "Strange world."

Inga can't help be laugh. "He did try to warn me about you. I was at least somewhat prepared, even if you are not at all what I expected," she replies.

"Still, I would not mind a telling of those stories, though mine seem...a bit different. I am fairly sure the Arthur in the stories was not actually a woman, and that the Merlin was in fact an old man. Then...many things were not as they seemed," she shrugs. "And you, you are still not /quite/ what you seem, are you?" she asks.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga blinks, then backtracks. "Paramore? Have they finally given in to the obvious then!? Goodness...I think I actually thought it would take longer!"
Merlin     Believe it or not, it's up to Inga. Merlin is no Ripley. But he is, at least, talkative. "This is true. Though, at the same time, one person may produce the work of a hundred, or a thousand. Most no longer know the ways, but most don't need to. I suppose it is progress." A nasty word, but one that meant so much for Camelot. And even Merlin might suppose it's not so bad after all.

    "Being not what is expected is the least I can do, and I always endeavour to do precisely that. Though...stories of Camelot. They did get most of it right, in the end - some more so than others, perhaps. Alas for Lady Saber, it seems that the King's truest of identities was lost to time and to...silly ideas of the age. And of ages since. Really, I don't see why it's quite such an issue, Arturia and Guenivere would have made quite the threesome."

    Moving along.

    Inga's question and exclamation get Merlin's attention, and he gets a truly wonderful idea. He leans close to Inga, whispering gently into her ear as well as flooding the thought with a wave of magically-powered emotion that might well be considered lewd. Two words cross the distance from Merlin's lascivious lips to Inga's formerly virgin ears, words downright dripping with suggestion and the half-incubus' other side. Perhaps the mere existence of the rumor might just finally make it true. Dun Realtai needs an heir eventually...and Bedivere just needs to get laid.

    "Like /bunnies./"
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga nods. "I work quickly, for all that. I've taken up knitting. Wonderful to pass the time, almost as good as spinning while I watch the wyrd," she comments, off-hand.

Inga chokes again momentarily, shaking her head. She considers hitting him with her stick again, but decides against it. "Was she...did she love Guenivere then? Surely /she/ had to know..." Inga trails off as Merlin leans in and whispers. She's aware of some kind of magic rushing through her. A warmth shoots through her, which gains Merlin a dirty look before she shoves him back. But not before he could give his message. "Really!" she can't help be exclaim, then laugh and shake her head. "Well good then. I will have to offer Lady Arturia a charm. Surely they must want children..." then she blanks, a thought occuring. "Oh...but is that possible?" she wonders aloud.

Still, Inga grins anew. "Well, it is about time. I don't see how they couldn't have noticed the tension for so long," she shakes her head again. She wonders if it would be appropriate to send a gift basket.

It would naturally include mead.