[EP] each has been sent as a guide

[st_oriedqueen]

Even for a witch, keeping track of inventory in a inn that magically resupplied itself on no definable schema, planning for non-magical and magical shortages and disasters, was only about 10% magic and 90% paperwork. For a witch putting the inhabitants of that inn before herself as penance for past evils and in place of her actual victims, it was 100% soul-searing. Especially because of her self-imposed restrictions on telling people what she'd been doing (they had to notice, because if she spoke through actions she wasn't being boastful or attention-seeking), it was also 100% isolating, lonely, and tedious.

Still, Regina persevered, today working on the health and healing aspects of her pencil-and-paper draft of a crisis management plan. The problem, of course, was that while she'd heard rumors of magical healing, no one had exactly jumped up and proclaimed their expertise in that area, and the few people with practical experience had more field medicine and triage. The only real light in that plague-threatened darkness was Henry's medicinal herb garden.

As morning passed into afternoon, Regina stood, stretched, reversing the bow in her back and then stowed her glasses in the drawer of the desk in the officer she'd appropriated in the otherwise unoccupied back office suite behind the front desk. In need of a break, she passed through the front desk area, told the Innkeeper (who scanned magically as human but never had anything useful to say) she still had the towels he'd given her before (which she did, in the beach bag she'd acquired from the shops), and headed out to explore the best locations on the grounds for fruit orchards and what, if any, structures she could appropriate or manipulate to greenhouse them so the magic wouldn't be as obvious.

High sun found her in the Madonna Meadows across the street from the registration and cafe building where she sat on the clean towels the Innkeeper had given her and made planning sketches. It had the advantage of plenty of room, even if it didn't have the 23 acres the hotel brochures claimed (some of the acreage had been lost to scrub desert by whatever planar shift magic had brought the Inn here. As she surveyed it she decided it would do for bulk growth, but in the event of another plane shift might be lost.

After 2:30, and lunch of a chicken Caesar salad, an apple, and cranberry-soda with a wedge of lime, she packed up her bag again and struck out again. This time she went to the "Secret Garden," and began investigating surrounding structures. When she found a useful tool-and-tractor shed, she rolled up the sleeves on her blazer and blouse, then began clearing the apparently unused materials from the shed. She did most of it using her physical strength (penance), but in the case of heavy objects or the tractor without the keys, she permitted herself magic instead.

[ooc: Find Regina anywhere she is in the post. She's not being showy with her magic, but if you're gifted, you'd probably notice. In the last location, she's uncharacteristically sweat-shiny and her hair's a bit of a mess, because she's not using magic to maintain her untouched glamor. I promise no fireballs unless previously agreed upon.]

Comments

[st_rigaetsica]

Determining if someone was a witch could require a spell, if the person had used magic to hide their nature. Joanna didn't much bother with spells to hide her magic any more, although she had in lifetimes past. But the use of magic was much easier for Joanna to sense, and when she felt an energy shift in the air, she stood from the bed she was planting, whispered a bit of Latin, and followed her metaphorical nose as it led her to a storage shed on part of the grounds she had explored weeks ago, but not worked her way back around to in her daily gardening.

In a simple peasant top and jeans dusty from time kneeling among plants, her hair in a loose bun, Joanna looked better dressed for clearing out the shed than the woman who'd taken the task for herself, but that was only a passing thought as Joanna took in the source of the magic she'd followed. Joanna had seen her in passing around the inn, but only that, and she knew nothing about the woman but a name, Regina, and that she seemed the efficient sort. "Would you like some help? I would've gotten here eventually, if someone else hadn't, but I'll admit it wasn't my priority."

[st_oh_honestly]

Dot was placing a basket of muffins on the front desk when the woman came out of the back office, and the fact that she'd never seen anyone back there peaked her interest. The reticent desk clerk asked the woman about towels and then turned as though to ask Dot who out of politeness had more towels than she may ever need.

She backed away before he could offer, but not so far that when the woman started around the desk she couldn't step forward with a second basket and offer, "Muffin?"

[st_arknaked]

Scrub dessert, for all that it was mostly barren, held a surprisingly decent number of rabbits. The meat wasn't that different than the chicken perpetually served out of the kitchen but he'd been out hunting and thought a variation in protein might be in order.

WHich was why when he came around the shed, heading toward the stables he carried a half dozen medium size rabbits and there was a sprinkling of blood on the part of his chest visible at the neck of his shirt, but none on his clothes.

"We have to stop meeting like this," he stopped when he saw her. She kept turning up like a bad penny. "People will talk."

[st_abby]

"Are you out for a picnic?" The voice came from just behind Regina in the tall grass of the meadow, and slightly to one side, though there had been no sound of his approach. She might take it as coincidence that he hadn't seemed to loom (and most people did), but it happened that the speaker knew exactly how to stand to keep a stray shadow from giving him away, even when it was high noon. "Or are you planning to do a bit of sunbathing?"

His was the tone of someone who knew very well it was neither.

[st_rutsthepolka]

Hermiting in his room and hoping he'd wake up in Chicago was decidedly not working. Every morning, chintzy wedding decor. Butters was entirely sick of chintzy wedding decor.

So today he was having his obligatory chicken (grilled, on focaccia) actually in the cafe. (He was almost as sick of chicken as he was of his room, but at least you could have chicken any number of different ways.)

Talking to people--like, say, the vaguely intimidating-looking professional lady at the next table--was probably the next step, but Butters. well, Butters hadn't gone into forensic pathology for the scintillating conversation. Also he was probably staring, trying to nerve himself up, so that was a thing.

[st_illavirgin]

Carlos settled in far too easily to his new role in the restaurant in the hotel, years of helping out in his family's restaurant coming into play. Though really, they had far too much chicken on hand for him to even keep on top of things.

It was only when he was meandering his way to the kitchen today that he saw the office was occupied. He knew other people worked here, but other than chatting to the bar staff, he didn't know much about them. With time to spare before his shift, and after all, what else was there to do here, he made his way to the office, tapping lightly on the door frame, smiling a little when Regina looked up. "I'm just about to start shift early, do you need anything?"