Juniperscauldron - Blog Posts

Irene didn’t answer right away. She rarely did — especially when the questions pressed deeper than the surface. When the words weren’t just about facts or logic, but about identity. About the mess between the lines, the in-betweens no one wanted to name. She stayed quiet, fingers brushing the back of Shiv’s hand like she could trace stability into him. Sage had gone still against her, content and warm, her tiny weight curled like a secret under Irene’s chin. She could feel the raccoon’s small breath rise and fall — steady, grounding. A reminder that even here, even now, someone trusted her without conditions.

Her voice, when it came, was quiet. But there was something dense in it — something worn-in and real, like stones pulled smooth by riverwater.

“I wouldn't say I am —no, I don’t know if I am pretending.”

She didn’t look at Juniper when she said it. Not yet. Her gaze drifted somewhere just past her — unfocused, like she was seeing a place she hadn’t stood in for years. A childhood home that never felt safe. A hallway with too many closed doors. A training field with cold-eyed instructors and no room for mercy.

“That’s not fair.”

It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t defensive. It was just… true, in a way that sat heavy on her tongue.

“I’m a witch.” A pause. A breath. “But that's something I can't admit openly right now. Not to anyone that didn't already know.”

She exhaled through her nose, the sound soft and tired. Not ashamed. Not brave either. Just resigned to the reality of it.

“I’ve always been one. Born with it in my blood, in my bones. I used to think I could choke it down. Tame it. Repress it until it stopped hurting.” Her lips twisted, not quite a smile. “Didn’t work.” Irene reached up absently to push a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture as tired as everything else about her.

“But my father — he was a hunter. So when you say I’m pretending,” she said finally, voice still soft, but anchored now — to the bed beneath her, to Shiv’s pulse under her hand, to all the things she could never say out loud in the halls outside this room — “You’re not wrong, but you’re not right either.”

She looked at Juniper now. Really looked. Her expression was unreadable, not because she was guarding it, but because there was too much written in the lines of it to separate cleanly. Fatigue. Frustration. Certainty and confusion tangled together like thread through the same needle.

“I don’t know what I am. That’s the truth of it. You want honesty? That’s it.”

The words didn’t come like a confession. They didn’t fall out of her like she was unburdening herself. They just were. Like she’d lived with them for so long that saying them out loud didn’t even sting anymore.

“I’m a witch, yes. And I’m the daughter of a hunter. The old kind. The ones who didn’t ask questions, who didn’t flinch when the orders came down, and he loved me, regardless. And I loved him.” Her lips pressed into a line. “So what does that make me?”

She didn’t wait for Juniper to answer. Didn’t expect her to.

“I’ve spent most of my life figuring out how to survive that question without getting myself killed. And I’m still not sure I’ve found the right answer. I walk like a hunter because I need to. I cast like a witch because that’s what I am. And I don’t belong anywhere because of it.”

She leaned back slightly, enough that the line of the spell adjusted again. The shimmer of it tugged in the air, barely visible except in the way her breath shifted to meet its rhythm. Sage didn’t stir, her little paws tucked tight, a low hum of trust vibrating through her chest.

“I’m not playing some long game, Juniper. I don’t have an angle. There’s no infiltration plan or secret witch cabal waiting for me to bring back intel.” Her mouth twitched, just barely. “Though I’m sure some of them would love to think that. Makes for better stories.”

She glanced down again, at Shiv’s hand in hers. Thumb brushing over his knuckles like punctuation.

“We all have our reasons to be here. Some more than others. And if I can use my powers to help them, then why not? Why can't I be a witch in one moment and a hunter at the next? Why can't I care and be both?”

The plate of food was still untouched, but it didn’t feel ignored. Just… postponed. A promise to herself, maybe, that there would be time later. When her hands weren’t full of something fragile.

“I know I’m burning myself down to do this,” she admitted. “You’re not wrong to say it. You’re not wrong to care.” Her voice thinned for a moment, not from lack of conviction, but from the sheer weight of the line she’d been walking. Every day. Every hour. One foot in the light, one foot in the dark. “But it’s not always about what I want. Or what I should. It’s about what I can do. And right now? This is it. This is the only thing that feels like it matters.”

She hesitated then, long enough to let her words settle. To let the moment breathe.

“I’m not asking you to approve of it. I’m not asking you to understand the way I’ve had to twist myself just to survive in a world that would pick me apart no matter which name I wore.” Her baby blues met Juniper’s again — not challenging, just asking, in the simplest way that mattered. “I’m just asking you not to judge me for it and keep it to yourself."

Another breath, thinner now.

“The world isn’t just witches and hunters, good and bad, light and dark. It’s not that simple. You know it’s not.”

Oop she was caught. 

Juniper had the decency to look sheepish. Suddenly very interested in the pile of fries in her palm. She knew Irene worked dream magic. To put it as simply as possible, but now she was wondering if she didn’t have some kind of mind reading as well. A horrifying concept. It was already a mess in Juniper's head, she didn’t need another person mucking it up.

“That’s… not exactly it. There are a lot of reasons to pretend to be human… It’s the hunter part of it I don’t get. You are running yourself ragged Irene. You say he’s done the same- I’ll believe you. Thera seems to put stock in him too. Whatever. The one hunter that can be trusted completely I guess.” She sighed 

“All that I can rationalize somehow in my head… Pretending to be a hunter? I don’t get it. I don’t see the angle.” It was probably her own biases skewing her perception of the situation. But she couldn’t help that. It felt wrong to just sit by while Irene worked herself down to skin and bone. 

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. It isn’t my business. I’m also pretty horrified I couldn’t keep my thoughts off my face. I will have to work on that.” She sat up straighter, getting more situated in her chair. 

“I’m just trying to make sure you are aware of your own boundaries Irene, what happens to this spell you are working so hard on if you end up on bedrest as well? It’s not always easy to see the effects our actions are having on us in the moment. You are tired Irene, you are not eating or sleeping enough to maintain this level of spellwork.” It was blunt but she felt it needed to be said. 

It was a talk she had given a couple of times when she was coven head. It was also a talk she needed to receive a couple times. She was deeply familiar with both sides of it. Knowing your boundaries as a witch can be some of the hardest learned lessons. Juniper was still reeling from learning her boundaries had been altered; and still learning how to handle the new influx of power. It was a fresh concept to her and she hated to see someone she was starting to see as a friend come up on the wrong side of that delicate line.

Sage shifts against her with a soft chitter, tiny paws patting at the edge of her collar like she might burrow inside it if given the option. Irene lets her. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Just rests her cheek against the top of the little raccoon’s head for a moment, eyes slipping closed like that warmth is enough to trick her into stillness, a moment that barely lasted, before her attention was back to Shiv again.

Irene didn’t look at Juniper right away. Her gaze stayed somewhere near Shiv’s collarbone, the place where breath kept rising and falling slow beneath her palm — proof enough that the thread still held. That what she was doing mattered.

Juniper’s words weren’t wrong. She knew that. Knew it in the way her own body dragged with every movement, like it had forgotten the shape of rest. The way food felt more like obligation than comfort, and how even the water she sipped tasted like ash sometimes, because it never touched the kind of thirst she really had.

But it was Shiv.

That was the beginning and the end of it.

She curled her fingers a little tighter around his, still careful, still there. And after a long breath that she let filter through her teeth, she leaned back just enough that the spell could stretch with her — pliant, practiced, held steady with a flick of her wrist. Sage shifted with her, head tucked beneath her chin now, breath warm against her throat.

“I know,” Irene said finally. Her voice was low. Not defensive. Not even distant. Just worn at the edges, the way soft things got after enough time spent exposed. “You’re not wrong. You’re not annoying.”

A small pause.

“Thank you,” she added, and meant it — even if she couldn’t quite put the weight of it into her tone. She looked over then, meeting Juniper’s gaze for the first time in a while.

She didn’t say she was grateful for the food — she hadn’t touched it yet. Probably wouldn’t, not until the spell settled and the ache in her stomach turned from fog to signal. But the plate stayed within reach, and that was enough for now.

“I know I’m running close to the line,” she admitted, thumb brushing lightly along Shiv’s knuckles, grounding. “But I can’t not be here. Not for him. He’d do the same. Has done the same, even when I didn’t ask.”

There was no wobble in the words. No heroics either. Just fact. The kind of bond that had been carved quietly over time, sealed in things unsaid.

She was quiet for a beat, then her mouth tilted just slightly — not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.

“You can ask,” she said, a little drier now. “You’ve wanted to, haven’t you? Why I’m here. Why I’m sitting in the middle of this, pretending not to be something I am.”

Her eyes didn’t flinch. Neither did her grip on Shiv.

There was a smile as Irene lifted Sage up into her lap. Noting the barely there shift in Irene's posture. Juniper was lucky to have Sage. She was rather in tune with people, and had a knack for knowing when someone needed something warm and fluffy to hold onto. Only causing a little trouble as she played gently with Irene's hair and reached out for the hunter from time to time. 

“Yeah, well someone has to make sure you two are eating. Magic burns more calories than people would think.” This is why she usually got larger portions for lunch. That way if she didn’t finish it all Irene still had plenty to take home. It wasn’t really her job, but she had seen this kind of thing before. Too many times in her past had Juniper skipped a meal because she was too focused on something else. Or simply just skipped a meal. Not a good habit. And not a habit she was keen to see repeated by Irene. 

She nods when Irene says she is managing. It’s a strained answer. She believes her. Irene very much is managing, 24/7, she never seems to stop managing. Her plate is always full, between work, hunter business, witch business, and still finding the time to spend hours here everyday, working some intricate spellcraft from what Juniper has seen. Dream magic is nothing to scoff at. 

“I have no doubt he is doing fine. He has some very competent witches taking care of him.” She makes the statement pointed. “Thera is handling the brunt of the physical care. But you are handling the mental load. That’s not nothing.” She leans back in her chair, letting her legs stretch out in front of her as she slouches with a sigh. “Honestly it’s exhausting just watching.”

Reaching into her own lunch bag she grabs a handful of fries. Picking at those one by one so she doesn’t have to sit up yet. Shrugging a shoulder. “I'm the same as usual. Not enough hours in the day but we still go on. I’m thoroughly relieved to have construction going now. The entire floor got wrecked by the flooding, so today they are ripping everything up so we can look at the foundation. Interesting stuff. I know.” Her voice drips with sarcasm. 

She didn’t speak again for a while. Watching Irene and the way she interacted with the hunter. Using fries to swallow down the sour taste in her mouth. Juniper was no stranger to the complicated nature of hunter/witch association. It was a strange dance. Witches supplying humans with just enough magic to be a threat. Working side by side and only hunters really seemed to get the benefit of the bargain. She wondered what Irene got out of pretending to be one of them. 

“I’m going to be annoying for a moment, but you really can’t run on empty Irene, at least not without exorbitant amounts of adrenaline. If you keep up this pace you are going to burn out.” She didn’t look at Irene, she didn’t want this to seem like a lecture. It wasn’t a lecture. It was Juniper expressing reasonable concern for a fellow witch. This was the conversation that happens before lecturing. 

She doesn’t look up right away — not until she’s sure Shiv’s breathing hasn’t shifted. The hand she has curled around theirs is loose, careful, but still tethered. Still there. Her other palm stays pressed lightly against their forehead, thumb brushing idle circles in the spaces where fever once bloomed and the dream still holds.

There’s no magic shimmering off her skin, nothing obvious left to trace. But if Juniper looks close enough, she’ll see the cost of it.

The edges of Irene look worn thin — not just tired, but unraveling in the kind of way that happens when sleep becomes an afterthought and the body forgets how to want for itself. The dark circles under her eyes have taken on a kind of permanence, bruised at the corners. Her skin's a touch too pale. Shoulders tight, like they haven't dropped in days. She hasn’t eaten. Juniper knows that already.

But it’s Sage — bounding toward her with that small, determined reach — that finally draws something faint from her; a breath that’s not a sigh, a look that’s not a wince. Just something softer.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Irene murmurs, voice like old parchment, quiet but not cold. She shifts an arm, carefully freeing it so she can scoop Sage up, letting the little raccoon settle warm and insistent against her chest. Her eyes flutter shut for half a second as she leans back, just barely. Not quite rest. Not quite surrender. But close.

Juniper’s voice cuts gently into the silence, and Irene opens her eyes again — slow, steady. She watches her lower the food to the table like it's some quiet ritual, the way she does every day now. It hits her, again, that quiet kind.

“You don’t have to do that,” Irene says after a beat. Her voice is hoarse, roughened by disuse and wear. “I hope you know that.”

But she doesn’t push it. Doesn’t turn it into guilt or refusal. There’s no sharpness in the words, just fatigue wrapped in something… just grateful. It lingers unspoken between them.

Her hand drifts back to Shiv’s again, grounding herself. She doesn’t say how long she’s been keeping the spell woven tight around them. Doesn’t mention the tremor that runs faint and quiet through her wrist every now and then, the kind that comes from channeling too long without pause. She doesn’t need to.

“I’m managing,” she says finally. Barely above a whisper. A tired smile ghosts across her face, faint but real, eyes flicking toward Sage, who’s now curled half into the fabric of her sweater like she belongs there. "And Shiv's fine. Enjoying a day at the beach."

It’s not a lie.

Her gaze returns to Juniper then — not guarded, not armored. Just open, just tired. And maybe a little surprised she’s still being looked after, too. "How are you?"

When: June 10th, afternoon Where: Crow & Chalice Who: @ireneclermont

Juniper was spread pretty thin since the storm, she was splitting her time between the cafe construction and Theras shop. She didn’t know why this hunter was important to Thera. It left a bit of a sour taste in her mouth honestly. But she trusted the older witch. She would just need to keep a close eye. 

Another close eye she needed to keep was on Irene. To say Juniper was surprised when the apothecary showed up was an understatement. She worked some kind of magic and should have been on her way. But she stayed, and it gave Juniper a chance to observe. One of the first things she observed was how tense Irene was, all the time. Her relaxed attitude was less relaxed and more anxiously apathetic. 

She also hardly ate, spending hours in the back of the shop with the hunter, not a bite to eat, not a sip to drink. So it became a routine. On her way between stores after making sure the day's work was going well she would pick up lunch for the three of them. Irene never asked. Juniper never minded. 

Today she brought Sage with her. The weather was nice and the critter was getting restless in the apartment. Juniper couldn’t blame her. Walking into the shop she dropped Thera's lunch in the fridge before heading upstairs to the guest room. A room she had once stayed in herself. Immediately Sage was off her shoulders and approaching Irene. Arms up asking to be lifted. 

“How are you both doing today?” She asked as she entered. Setting their lunches down on a side table and taking a seat herself with a heavy sigh. She knew the hunter was doing well, between the three of them he was probably doing better than expected. She was more asking Irene, but didn't want to be too direct.

END.

Irene stepped out into the night without hurry, coat already buttoned against the bite in the wind. The door clicked shut behind them, shop light spilling warm and gold onto the pavement for a breath before dimming again. She didn't say much at first — she rarely did. But her gaze flicked once toward Juniper and lingered a beat longer than it needed to. Not exactly assessing. Not quite protective, either. Just… noting. Marking presence.

When Juniper spoke, Irene let the quiet settle before answering — like she was giving the question room to breathe before deciding how to respond.

“Coffee,” she said simply. “Black’s fine.”

Her voice didn’t soften, but there was a steadiness to it now. Like she’d decided something, even if it didn’t show.

She walked a few paces, hands in her pockets, the sound of their steps meeting damp asphalt and the distant murmur of streetlights humming to life overhead.

“Appreciate the offer,” she added, a little lower, like the air had thinned around the words. “Not necessary, but… it’d be welcome.”

She didn’t mention she’d be getting some anyway. Not for the taste, not even for the ritual. Just to keep her eyes sharp when sleep kept missing its mark. She’d spent too many nights lately counting hours by the bottom of a mug. But she didn’t say that out loud. Didn't need to. The walk stretched ahead of them, shadows curling long, and the city had the kind of hush that always came just before something tried its luck.

Better to stay alert. Better to keep moving.

And for once, she didn’t mind the company.

Irene stepped out into the night without hurry, coat already buttoned against the bite in the wind. The door clicked shut behind them, shop light spilling warm and gold onto the pavement for a breath before dimming again. She didn't say much at first — she rarely did. But her gaze flicked once toward Juniper and lingered a beat longer than it needed to. Not exactly assessing. Not quite protective, either. Just… noting. Marking presence.

When Juniper spoke, Irene let the quiet settle before answering — like she was giving the question room to breathe before deciding how to respond.

“Coffee,” she said simply. “Black’s fine.”

Her voice didn’t soften, but there was a steadiness to it now. Like she’d decided something, even if it didn’t show.

She walked a few paces, hands in her pockets, the sound of their steps meeting damp asphalt and the distant murmur of streetlights humming to life overhead.

“Appreciate the offer,” she added, a little lower, like the air had thinned around the words. “Not necessary, but… it’d be welcome.”

She didn’t mention she’d be getting some anyway. Not for the taste, not even for the ritual. Just to keep her eyes sharp when sleep kept missing its mark. She’d spent too many nights lately counting hours by the bottom of a mug. But she didn’t say that out loud. Didn't need to. The walk stretched ahead of them, shadows curling long, and the city had the kind of hush that always came just before something tried its luck.

Better to stay alert. Better to keep moving.

And for once, she didn’t mind the company.

Juniper nodded along. She understood very well trying to get around another person's idea of order and organization. It was only her own luck that made it so her brain seemed to work the same way as her grandmothers. Everything had a place, everything had a label. Did the places make sense? Most of the time. Were the labels legible? If you understand the language it’s written in, sure. It was something she had always had to help her grandfather with. Married for almost 50 years and he still had a hard time reading her vine scrawl sometimes. 

She conceded. This was not a place or time where she could help. And she really did not want to get Irene in trouble if it came to that. She was reserved but very kind. Reading her felt like looking at one of those magic eye optical illusions from her youth. Everything you needed to understand what you were looking at was right there. You just needed to know *how* to look at it. So she instead tucked herself into a corner near the exit watching the world outside pass by as she waited. Sage playing with her hair all the while. 

It was a nice type of calm. One that felt nostalgic. The scent of dry herbs and burning candle wax, the sound of a busy world through glass. If she closed her eyes she wondered if for even the briefest moment she could go back to a simpler time. Back when pain didn’t linger in her bones and smiling wasn’t in defiance of the world that surrounded her. 

She lost herself in the process, vision going blurry; she wasn't really paying attention to the glass or what was behind it. Instead focused on some non-existent space in between the two until her attention was brought back to the present. Turning to see Irene approach, her smile returned. 

“Oh- that was fast. Alright. Shall we?” She held the door open for the other before exiting herself. Taking a deep breath of the cold air to clear her head and fully return to the here and now. 

“Will you be working in the morning? It’s not much but I would be happy to bring a pick-me-up in the morning when I pick up my order. Pick your poison, coffee or tea?"

Irene watched as the little creature was hoisted back onto Juniper’s shoulder, head tilting slightly in that quiet way of hers — like she was filing something away, not for judgment, just understanding. “She’s better trained than most customers,” she said dryly, a flick of something faintly amused in her voice. “Still, smart to keep her on your good side. I’ve seen people do worse damage with less motive than an empty stomach.”

She glanced at the basket again, making a quick mental inventory of the contents before nodding. “It’ll be safe here overnight. Counter’s got charms enough to keep anything from nosing in where it shouldn’t.”

At the mention of disorder and charm, something in her expression shifted — not quite a smile, but the hint of one in the corner of her mouth. “Some of the chaos has charm,” she allowed. “The rest just makes restocking hell.” Her gaze moved to a shelf where two nearly identical jars sat side by side, one faintly crooked. She didn’t move to fix it. “But I get what you mean. Places like this remember people. It’s better when they’re a little wild.”

Juniper’s next words slowed her hands. Not stopped them — Irene always kept moving, even when listening — but the gesture she’d started smoothing the corner of a label became more deliberate. She didn’t interrupt, just let the compliment settle in the space between them. There was no outward shift in her face, not much that could be called softness. But there was a kind of stillness that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Maybe the kind people give when something lands close to a wound, even if it doesn’t cut.

She shook her head slightly at the offer, the faintest scoff under her breath — more at herself than at Juniper. “Pretty sure Stephens would have my head if she came in and caught a customer sweeping the floor,” she said. “Might accuse me of conscripting labor again.”

But there was a flicker in her tone now — dry affection, maybe, or something like it. The offer had landed. Irene just didn’t always know what to do with kindness unless it came in the form of clean inventory or a labeled drawer.

“Still,” she added, eyes flicking briefly back toward Juniper. “It’s a good offer. And I appreciate it.”

A pause, then, “Don’t worry about it. Most of this I can catch up on in the morning. Just the usual close — lock the till, count the chamomile, wonder how it got this late again.”

She glanced toward the windows, where the light from the street painted streaks through the misted glass. Her voice dipped quieter, almost distracted: “Place likes to stretch time once it’s quiet.”

If she meant it to be a warning or just a remark, it wasn’t clear.

Then, she turned slightly, shoulders shifting, one hand already reaching for the last list to double check. “I’ll be out soon,” she said. “Walk’s better with company. And fewer surprises.”

Not a favor. Not even exactly an invitation.

But it was enough.

She laughed as she picked up Sage by scruff and returned her to her shoulder. “That is a very good point. She is surprisingly good about not eating things she shouldn’t. But it’s been a long day and I owe her a treat for sticking through it without being a pain. Best not to tempt a young and hungry stomach.” She rubbed her cheek against the furry creature affectionately. 

She nodded when the other offered to keep the basket overnight. That would free up her arms more which was never a bad thing. “A little disorder gives places like this personality. And there is no accounting for personal taste when it comes to organization. Either way it’s lovely and well taken care of.” 

She could tell Irene wasn’t much for conversation. Whether that was personal preference or professional habit she didn’t know. But there was clearly no hostility in the few words she spoke. And Juniper would be remiss if she didn’t even silently acknowledge the others' delicate care for those around her. It wasn’t personal, it wasn’t profitable. It was just her own good nature. Juniper liked that. An apothecary run by someone without care for their fellow man was an apothecary run by the wrong person. 

“If I’m overstepping, feel free to tell me off or charge me more; but I do feel awful extending the end of your day, especially when you have been so accommodating. If there is anything I can do to shave time off that 15 so you can get home faster. It would be my pleasure. Four hands make lighter work than two.” She wasn’t sure if Irene would take her up on the offer. It was an odd one, she wouldn't blame her for being off put. Not many people these days are willing to work for the simple pleasure of making something easier for someone else. But this place reminded her of her grandmother, it made her feel warm and it was nice to see old practices still holding up.

Irene glanced at the notebook, eyes tracking the neat scratch of pen to page, then shrugged lightly. “Call it thirty-six even. I’ll mark the rest for morning and bag it when it’s all here.”

She didn’t say thanks for the compliment — didn’t even really react, not right away. But her gaze drifted toward the shelf where the skullcap was stocked, and the corner of her mouth tugged in something that almost passed for a smile.

“It’s better now than it used to be,” she said, quiet. “Place was running on fumes when I got here. Half the labels didn’t match the jars. Found a bottle labeled blessing oil that was just sunflower and perfume.” Her brow lifted slightly like she still wasn’t convinced it wasn’t a joke. “Stephens doesn’t do much upkeep. She remembers things. Doesn’t always write them down.”

She watched the little creature — Sage — nose the edge of the basket, but didn’t reach to stop it. Just kept her arms loosely folded, fingers tucked into opposite sleeves. “Long as she doesn’t eat the poke root, we’re good.”

When Juniper mentioned the walk, Irene’s expression didn’t shift, but there was a pause. A flicker of something not quite hesitation.

“I wrap up in fifteen,” she said. “If you’re still around, I can walk a block or two your way.”

It wasn’t a favor. Just a practical offer. That’s how she framed it — like she was doing it for the sake of safety, not company. Still, there was something gentler in her voice than before, like the fatigue had settled into something quieter, less edged.

“You can leave your basket here if you want,” she added, tipping her head toward it. “I’ll keep it behind the counter for pickup.”

Then, finally, she nodded once, as if deciding it mattered enough to register: “I’m Irene. You’ll probably be seeing a lot of me too.”

Juniper smiles easy as the other agrees to look over her list. Walking deeper into the store and looking through the shelves as she passes. This place is comfortable for her. Even if it was her first time in the shop there was comfort to be had around dried herbs and potent mixtures. Even Sage seemed to be relaxed among the scent and atmosphere.

“Ha- no, no um… banishing's. It’s not all for one thing really. Just trying to fill the coffers y’know?” It wasn’t entirely a lie. She tucked hair behind her ear awkwardly. It would be quite a while before she was ready to start growing her own ingredients. “Oh, that’s fine. I figured that verbena would be a long shot anyways.” 

As the basket was placed on the counter, she took a peek inside and smiled. The quality was nice. There was nothing worse than getting herbs with the beginnings of dry rot. These were pristine, however. Well worth whatever the price may be. “This is wonderful, thank you. Would it be possible for me to pick it all up tomorrow? Say late morning? Got pretty much everything else done today so I shouldn’t be held back on account of other errands. What will I end up owing you?” 

She takes out a small notebook to jot down the numbers, so she remembers them. Sage crawled down her shoulder and arm to stand on the counter. Peeking into the basket as Juniper reminded her to not touch anything she wasn’t supposed to. “Juniper by the way. I have a feeling you’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on. New in town and let me tell you I was excited to hear this city has a proper apothecary. This place is very well stocked and taken care of.” She had no idea if this person cared about that sort of thing. But she felt the need to compliment the space anyways. 

The question came out of nowhere from the less than enthusiastic clerk. A soft question that made her smile. People here were surprisingly nice, even when they came off as cold. “I should probably be alright. It’s not that long a walk, streets are well lit. If you are heading the same way I wouldn’t turn down the company for a block or two though.” She offered back. While she felt like she could handle herself, and this woman probably could as well. There was nothing wrong with a little extra security.    

The tablet made a quiet thunk as Irene set it aside. She didn’t speak right away—just sat there for a moment, watching the woman through the dim light like she was weighing the effort it would take to say no against whatever her own bones were asking of her tonight.

“It’s fine,” she said finally, voice softer than before, if still tinged with fatigue. “You’re already half inside. Might as well finish the job.”

She reached across the counter, palm open without fanfare. “Let’s see it.”

Her gaze skimmed the paper quickly, practiced. She didn’t react outright—just let her eyes pause on the larger quantities, the odd placements, the way none of it seemed to belong together until maybe it very much did. Verbena stood out the most, of course. Not just the amount, but the shape of the scrawl around it. Like the hand that wrote it hesitated, then leaned in.

Irene’s brow ticked, barely. Not suspicion exactly. Just attention, sharpened.

“You making tea,” she asked, deadpan, “or trying to banish someone politely?”

She handed the list back, already stepping toward the shelf-lined wall.

“We’ve got most of this. One of the berries might be low—I’ll check in the back.” She paused at the threshold of the back room, glancing over her shoulder with a dry look. “No promises on the verbena. That much, you might need to pre-order unless you’ve got friends who forage on private land.”

Then she was gone a moment, the quiet of the shop resettling in her absence. When she returned, she had a worn basket in one hand, already filling with a few small paper packets.

“Couple of these are in stock now,” she said, setting the basket on the counter. “I can hold the rest for pickup tomorrow if you want. Won’t charge ‘til it’s all in.”

And then, more gently, like it just occurred to her, “You alright walking back this late?”

We closed five minutes ago. The words hit Juniper like a sack of bricks as she has one foot in the door and the other still out in the dark and damp. Sage on her shoulder and a series of bags on her left arm, she had been shopping all day. She peeks her head out to look at the sign on the door, then down to the watch on the inside of her wrist. This motion repeats a couple times as she comes to terms with the fact that… yup. She was too late. 

“Scheiße.” she cursed under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. She was still getting used to navigating at an appropriate speed for her condition and she had vastly underestimated how long her errands would actually take. Running a hand through her hair she took a breath, the subtle earthy note within the shop's air doing wonders to settle her frustrations. 

“That’s… unfortunate. Sorry for the intrusion. I saw the lights and assumed I wasn’t too late. Thank you. It certainly isn’t so urgent it can’t wait till tomorrow. I just-” She hesitated. Not wanting to bother a person off the clock. But her bones ache and the idea of having to walk all the way back here in the morning was less than inviting. “I am so sorry. Would it be too much trouble to just take a look at this list. I don’t need to buy anything tonight. I’d just like to save myself the trek tomorrow if something is currently out of stock.” 

She waited with bated breath for any form of confirmation before going inside and handing over the small piece of paper. Scrawled onto it was a variety of herbs, spices, dried berries and the like, an impressive variety but no single ingredient had a strong or obvious purpose when places next to the others. Most notable among them was verbena. In a rather large quantity.