catch and release || altair

[Ximena Rojas Aguirre]

She followed the directions and doubted more with every step. This was a different alley, darker than the last. It was as if she'd been lured into the seedy underbelly of wizarding London, and, for a moment, Ximena worried that the plump little man with the cheerful face had lead her into the maw of a waiting monster.

Sure enough, she found the door he'd described, its green tinted window obscuring what lay inside. With no small amount of trepidation, Ximena stepped inside. It looked like the entryway into someone's private home which, of course, did nothing to temper her doubt. But a small placard asking for the removal of shoes indicated that, at least, guests were expected in some shape or form.

Ximena felt even more exposed without the steady click of her heels on the ground. She braced the camera around her neck like a shield. A warning that said, whatever can capture me, I can capture, too. But at least, when she stepped in further, she found what she was looking for.

Books.

Of course, she wouldn't be able to afford the ones she wanted most. The best she could hope for, for now, were a few tomes to fill her small apartment and color her new life.

As Ximena began to peruse the shelves, she started to notice, every now and then, eyes looking back. They were there one moment and gone the next, like wisps of existence observing her passage. Lucky, then, that the presence of books had eased her doubts and fear.

The next time a pair of those eyes blinked up at her, Ximena raised her camera, finger pressing down on the shutter.

Flash.

[Altair]

He was pondering.

He'd been doing that a lot lately, grasping for strands of meaning. For where to turn to to push himself into the furl of everything that went on around while he covered himself up here in his bookish little cave.

It was as though the world just kept going and all he managed to do was to be overwhelmed. It was frustrating.

So now he did the usual, pushing books into a shelf while debating the general use of his life, a cup of dark coffee propped on the small table beside him. Wondering what the hell they were doing in Hogwarts nowadays and what that ghost of his was up to, that hadn't even bothered to talk to him ever since he'd visited the Castle to set him free.

Figures.

But the bell rang, and his mind was set on other things, the sound of clicking heels luring him out from the aisles, coffee in hand, to catch a glimpse of a tall figure moving about his little bookshop with a - was that a camera?

Leaning his shoulder against a bookshelf, Altair observed her for a moment.

"You know, your film is going to catch fire the moment you open that thing up," he said calmly. Over the years, he had experienced many odd things - amongst them the occassional father that found it appropriate to bring their children. People trying to take photos were also among them.

But O for effort, he supposed.

[Ximena Rojas Aguirre]

So focused on this new discovery was she, that Ximena failed to noticed the man leaning on a bookcase nearby. The camera lowered from her face, and she noticed that the eyes that had been peering back at her a moment before had gone. Still, even with them gone, and even without noticing the other person in the room, she felt very aware of being observed.

Awareness, however, was not enough to prevent the start that seized her as a man's voice broke the bookstore's eerie silence. The hand that wasn't holding a camera fluttered to her chest.

"Mierda!" She breathed, though she quieted all at once when she spun around to see him standing there. "You startled me." This was the owner, she imagined, as he did not have the air of a patron. His words, too, implied a certain familiarity with the things she'd been photographing.

Or trying to, at least.

Regaining her composure, a small, if somewhat disappointed, smile found its way to her lips. Ximena looked to the shadowy spot where the eyes had been a moment before, then back to her camera. It was a fresh film, so at least she wasn't losing any important work. Only the money she'd wasted on something that would burn up, uselessly. At least with the warning, she could take it out before the flames took the camera with it.

"Well, that's too bad," She said. "Thought I might have something revolutionary to put in my portfolio." Too much to hope, in retrospect; if it was that easy, it wouldn't be revolutionary at all. "What are they? Some sort of spirit?"

It seemed a better guess than bowtruckles.

mierda - shit

[Altair]

She was startled and he watched - well, he had tried to not jump her. Since she was chasing his passengers in the first place, he'd supposed she might not be one that was too easily scared, alas --

"Well, that's too bad. Thought I might have something revolutionary to put in my portfolio."

He sent her a ghosted smile, edged with a mild humour.

"What are they? Some sort of spirit?"

He turned his head as though to look for them, but what he rather did was stare through. The truth was they were such an integrated part of him, like the blood coursing in his veins and the automated motion of air drawn into his lungs, he did not much notice anymore. Unless they decided to rebel, which was more often than not.

(To them it was him that was the menacing presence, the shining light of mass darkness in the stars of his eyes as viewed from a different dimension.)

"Many sorts," he answered, truthfully. Dragged in from all around the universe. Some went back, some decided it was more fun to bother him for the rest of eternity. He didn't mind sharing his thoughts on such questions, but as the practiced Seer would find the answers were usually more confusing than the questions asked in the first place.

"Looking for anything particular beyond spying on these --" he made a gesture with his hand in the air "-- elusive friends of mine?"

Friends was hardly the word, but they were with him in any capacity of the word.

-- and, as an afterthought.

"Sorry about your film."

[Ximena Rojas Aguirre]

So it had been a spirit—one of many sorts, if he was to be believed. And Ximena didn't see why she wouldn't. From the very minute she'd stepped foot within these stacks, she'd recognised this place as a repository of knowledge that ran far deeper than any conventional bookstore.

Almost too deep to suit her needs. It was almost embarrassing to say she'd only been trying to decorate her apartment. It needed a bit of life, a bit of depth, and books, along with music, had always been her first and favorite building block.

But Ximena Rojas Aguirre had so recently shed her mask that she was loathe to wear another, especially so soon.

"Nothing too specific, I'm afraid," She said with a sigh, though her smile remained. "I have a few bookcases I need to fill."

She glanced over the stacks again, their shelves brimming with so much possibility.

"I suppose anything on politics, history, music, culture…" That cast a wide net, but there was so much Ximena had to learn about her new home. These things had all been dearly important to her in Chile, and she wanted them, still, to be important now.

"Sorry about your film."

"Well—" The word came out a bit louder than Ximena had meant it to. Again, she looked down at the camera. She was eager to dispose of the loss, to replace it with something she could use, but she knew better than to open something guaranteed to be flammable when she was surrounded by books. "There was nothing important on it yet. Just one less book I can afford to buy, I suppose."

[Altair]

She did not seem particularly set on a path. Rather like a spirit drifting through, caught in whatever stream most caught her fancy at the given moment. Though Altair tended to think that people ended up here for a reason. Whether that reason was more hidden or out in the open mattered less.

Either way, there was something about her that kept his attention.

"I have a few bookcases I need to fill. I suppose anything on politics, history, music, culture..."

He raised an eyebrow at that, allowing himself a moment of mild humour.

There was something distinctly muggle by the listing of those topics, though he did not pry into it.

"I'm not that kind of bookshop," he said instead, honestly. There was no gentle brushing of surfaces, only depth and delving deeper into depth. When people came here they usually knew exactly what they were after.

"There was nothing important on it yet. Just one less book I can afford to buy, I suppose."

He shifted his weight slightly, wondering where this was going. He wasn't usually very good at smalltalk.

"Why photography?" he asked.