Perhaps it wasn't Murielle's finest moment when accidentally mispronouncing a spell had an unconscious Original landing slap-bang in the middle of her home. Though at first this mistake may have seemed horrible, it leads to a whirlwind of a life tha...
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"So, you're telling me I am here by mistake?" Finn Elliot, as Murielle knew him, sat across from Murielle Reeves on one of her sage green sofas. He was leaning towards her with his arms propped on his knees and a disbelieving look on his face.
Murielle was a bit less relaxed than the vampire across from her; she was sitting up straight with a slight tenseness to her posture. Being able to communicate with the Wiccan did wonders for her trust in him, and she found herself without the feeling of needing to bolt as far away from him as possible. It turns out his appearance was simply because she did not choose her words carefully enough; there was no malicious intent on his part involved.
Yet, he was still a vampire. Able to snap her in half in the blink of an eye should he suddenly feel like it. Her life was completely in his hands, without the necessity for her to place trust in him. No, Finn would have to prove himself before she felt completely settled around him.
"Yes, I was performing a summoning spell for the white ash of an Oak tree. When oak is burned, there is a specific point in the burning, and provided the right conditions in the burning are present, it becomes an alabaster white that is perfect for mixing with sap to create glue." Her trowel would now have to wait until she found the energy to cut off a branch from an oak tree and burn it. Or until she stopped being so picky about her ashes.
Once again, Finn listened attentively to her ramblings, prizing every morsel of information as if it were the first thing he had ever learned. It appeared that times had not changed much if they were still using ash and sap for glue, which sounded much preferable to his childhood boiling down animal bones for collagen glue. Though there were still many changes.
Within what little Finn had seen of Murielle's home, there were many objects that he did not recognise at all. Candles that had no flame were everywhere and always bright. A pane of black glass. Objects on which he would have to question her later... If she even allowed him to stay, that was.
Even her fashion was unusual; he had never seen such a style of dress with free-flowing, colourful fabrics. Her eyelids, as well, were adorned with colourful swirls that differed from the more common white powders and blushes of his time.
"So, where am I?" He finally asked the million-dollar question.
"The English countryside—Epping Forest, to be more specific. This is in a small clearing shielded from humans, so you don't need to worry about others for now; as long as you stay in the clearing, they cannot approach you." Murielle was quick to assure him of how remote they currently were from the general populous. Missing nine hundred years of the world's development would require some assimilation into the current state of affairs rather than just jumping into the fray.
"And the year?"
She understood his need for specifics in getting his bearings but that was an answer she was afraid would provide him no help. "We switched calendars in the 18th century so I doubt my telling you the date would help anything. But, for your information, it is Sunday the 21st of February 2010. If you give me a moment, I could probably find the date according to the Julian calendar."
