extradimensional space

[thaumobabble]

Here is a house.

It is pretty and trim and green-and-cream and really ought not to be able to hold itself up like that, and yet here it is, somehow defying the laws of architecture. It is surrounded by a neatly bordered garden of ornamental and useful plants of all sorts: here vegetables, there herbs, there spell components, there rows of flowers.

There is a sign out front. It says only: Magic. Not, Beware, Magic or Magic Emporium or anything like that. Just: Magic.

Sitting on top of this sign is a cream cat with smoke-dark points of color on each paw, his ears, and his face and tail.

All in all, you could be forgiven for thinking that a witch lives here.

Comments

[allthebrightest]

"Sherry, look," says the voice of a gleeful teenager from amidst the trees, "we found a witch's house, Sherry!"

[calendarofcrime]

"That we did," agrees a second voice. "Let us go in and ask about her sign."

The owners of the voices appear a moment later. The one in front is wearing a close-fitting and well-articulated set of plate armour, with a plain-hilted sword belted around her waist; the one behind is wearing a very durable-looking red dress with short sleeves and a skirt to mid-calf, which displays her extremely practical and extremely attractive red leather boots to great effect, and carrying a massive pack on her back.

[thaumobabble]

The cat inspects them, then tilts his head expectantly. "Mrow?" he asks.

[calendarofcrime]

The armoured twin addresses him.

"If you are not otherwise occupied, would you please be so kind as to announce us? I am Sherlock and this is Tony."

[thaumobabble]

The cat considers this request, deems it sufficiently polite, and makes a graceful leap off the sign and saunters in through the cat-flap.

Presently, the entirety of the door opens, revealing a woman about the same age as the twins with brown hair a bit past her shoulders, curious brown eyes, and a slightly bewildering outfit. She has witch robes on, in traditional black - but they are worn open to reveal an outfit of blue leggings and a white tunic, and a wide variety of accessories, including seasonally inappropriate lace-up moccasins, a belt covered with pouches, and a necklace that features as its centerpiece a glass marble. "Hello there!" says this person. "Cricket says you're Sherlock and Tony; ought I be addressing you as Your Highnesses?"

[allthebrightest]

"Nah," says Tony. "Not unless you wanna. What's with the sign?"

[thaumobabble]

"Well," says the possible witch, "I could have been more specific, but then I would have been less accurate. Do you need some magic done or undone or looked at or theorized about or squealed over or combined with some other magic?"

[allthebrightest]

"Not especially," says Tony. "But if you want any of your magic squealed over, I'm game!"

[thaumobabble]

"Well, then, why don't you both come in and have some biscuits and limeade, and you can tell me what a pair of princesses are doing all the way out here?"

[allthebrightest]

"I think that is a great idea!" says Tony.

[calendarofcrime]

Sherlock nods.

[thaumobabble]

"Biscuits will be out of the oven in a minute," says the maybe-a-witch, ushering them inside. "Limeade is available immediately." Maybewitch opens a cupboard, flicks a pitcher full of green liquid three times, and supervises as further pouring and serving carries itself out automatically.

Sip.

"You've come a long way. What are you looking for, and have you already tried asking a squirrel for directions?"

[allthebrightest]

"Mom wants us to find a husband and/or husbands," says Tony. "Ooh, limeade."

Mmslurp.

[calendarofcrime]

"The last squirrel we tried pointed us this way, but was either unable or disinclined to direct us further."

[thaumobabble]

"Husbands, husbands," says Maybe-a-witch, tapping her chin. "I don't think I have a window that will do husbands. Not my area. I have one that will do lost tailors and tinkers and merchants' sons and the like? Generally I just find them and see if I can help them find what they're looking for and get home without incident, but I bet several of them would be the sort to be pleasantly surprised by eligible princesses, if you're so inclined."

[calendarofcrime]

"You're a very helpful person," Sherlock observes.

[thaumobabble]

"How do you know? Perhaps I am intimidated by princessitude and want you to think highly of me. Perhaps I'm a romantic of some sort and would be completely worthless to you if you were in search of the Spring of Crystal. Perhaps I am bored and you present a diversion," she says.

[calendarofcrime]

"You exhibit helpfulness," she says. "You are helpful. The alternate theories you propose do not explain my observations as well as mine."

[thaumobabble]

"All right then," she laughs. Her oven opens itself, and she gets up to don oven mitts and remove a sheet of biscuits therefrom. "Here we are." She puts one on each of three plates, cuts them in half, and dollops butter on each half. "What are you looking for in a husband or husbands, anyway?"

[calendarofcrime]

"Sense," says Sherlock.

[allthebrightest]

"Looking good in a crown: also a plus," says Tony.

[thaumobabble]

"Admirable criteria. I'm not sure how much my lost-people window will help, unless you're planning to stay in this general area for some weeks. They are not that frequent, and when they appear, they are sometimes short on sense. Also, about half of them are female. No comment on whether they'd look good in crowns. I suspect it might depend on the crown."

[allthebrightest]

"You'd look good in a crown," Tony observes.

[thaumobabble]

"Do you think so?" asks maybe-a-witch, who has managed to go for a rather long time without realizing that she needs to introduce herself now. "For cosmetic purposes, quite possibly! And yet my parents do not qualify me."

[allthebrightest]

"There's ways around that," she says cheerfully.