taxonomites | [visual]

Briar is stretched out on the peak at the center of a slanted roof, a makeshift shelf for building supplies set up next to him. He has obviously just finished modifying the roof, widening the ridgepole of it. Not to make it easier to reach, but to give him a comfortable seat when he does. Briar leans back and rests his elbows on the lip of the chimney, the weather warm enough that no fire is lit below. Running water forms faint background noise, his home located not far from the river.

"Has anyone else noticed how strange the plant life here is?" he asks idly, alternately basking in the sun and enjoying the view. The garden, the sun, and the cloudwatching are all doing him more good than he can say after recent events. Being up on a roof always did seem to help some.

During Briar's first explorations of the city, he made note of both familiar and unfamiliar plants, anything he could find as many of them went dormant for the colder months. "The weather here fluctuates more than the usual climate for a lot of vegetation I've found. I wondered whether they adapted to cope with a wider variety of temperatures and rainfall levels." He pauses, frowning. "But they haven't."

Briar's garden stands out in stark contrast to the neighboring areas to someone who knows what he's looking for. Seeing it from above only makes what he has already observed from ground level even clearer. "My garden is still growing what I planted in it recently, but nearby? That's different. There's plants that weren't there before, plants that wouldn't have survived the colder months here. Decade-old trees that hate cold temperatures are flourishing, and they weren't in the city when we got snow."

He grins now, informing everyone, "Fruit trees that weren't even around to get pollinated are in season. I've transplanted some vegetables that are near the end of their growing cycle but definitely weren't last time I checked them. If anyone wants lemons or oranges, I've found a lot. I've also got--" He reaches into his pocket, retrieving a brown and fuzzy-skinned oblong fruit. Briar peels half of it with a small knife, biting into the juicy green fruit inside. He chews, swallows, and smiles again. "I don't know the name for these, but they're good."

He shrugs a shoulder. "I'm in the northwest district, Wilde, a mile upriver from the tram line to the center of the city." City still seemed a misleading word, given the massive size of the place. "You're welcome to stop by and visit if you'd like some fruit or some company." Briar adds as an afterthought, "Or a sparring partner. I haven't gotten much practice with a staff lately."

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"Just black, thanks." He massages his knees absently with his hands. "Though if you have any herbal teas to help people sleep, I'd appreciate it. I have lunar insomnia, it's a right pain." He gives a sheepish smile. "I'd be happy to trade in freshly caught meat, or work around the place."

Rising from the table, Briar takes a green-glazed clay teapot and two cups to match down off of the shelf to the right of the stove. Leaves from a canister on the same shelf are scooped into the teapot, awaiting hot water. Briar eyes the kettle on the stove critically, murmuring absently, "It'll boil even if I do watch it."

The next request takes him by surprise, and Briar turns back to Remus. "Of course," he says briskly, his tones as he continues suggesting a good deal of experience with requests like this. "I'll start you off with a simple one, no magic and not too strong. If that doesn't help, we'll work our way up from there. No sense dosing you with anything stronger than you actually need." Especially not when magicked doses all layer traces on a person. Too many different treatments over a period of years sometimes leave a patient looking like a patchwork quilt to anyone able to see the remnants of old spells. It makes it harder to treat anything later on. In general, magic and medicine mix just fine. It only becomes a problem when the people doing it aren't conscientious enough to look out for their patients. Before resorting to magic, Briar will check for residual magic on Remus to make sure it wouldn't do him any harm.

"There's no need to do anything in exchange, but I wouldn't say no to help with an odd task or two, or some meat if it's already been butchered." Here, there's a good-humored smirk. "I'm a city boy, and while I could manage hunting and dressing meat myself if necessary, I've no desire to."

"It won't work," he says softly. "Not that I doubt your ability, but I've been on different sleeping potions before and unless they're enforced with magic, they don't really touch me. My insomnia is too strong."

The pull of the moon is too tight on him, especially after so many decades. "I can trade butchered meat. I've got traps laid out for myself but I'll inevitably have more than I need, so I can trade with people. I've got some handyman skills as well, or even just heavy lifting."

Briar nods, frowning. "Then... just let me check you over quickly, because I don't want anything I give you to affect you adversely." Briar doesn't mean a medical exam. He rubs at his eyes for a second or two, readying his mind to see subtler magics. Bigger workings, Briar can't avoid seeing, but small things slip past him unless he specifically tries to catch them. Magic not currently in use sometimes does too. He opens his eyes, looking Remus over. The enhanced vision only lasts a moment, ending as he blinks, and Briar is pleased to see nothing but a steady glow that is Remus' own magic. No residual effects from prior workings.

He smiles absently, keeping to himself the less pleasing part of what he learned. You've been lazy, he scolds himself; he should have been able to hold his magical vision for much longer. Letting your skills go. You're a prisoner in this city, my lad, and you'd best brush up fast if you don't want to be at the mercy of them that brought you here. Lectures in his head usually sound at least a little like Rosethorn. Briar will start daily meditation again tonight.

"Did whoever was dosing you just really know what they were doing, or do you have a way of getting rid of magical traces?" Briar asks, curious. "There's no residue from any previous treatments on you, not the way there would be if you'd been getting them regularly."

From the shelf of teas, Briar takes down a much smaller canister than the one containing black tea. "This isn't quite my strongest, but I'd like you to start with this one," he says, thoughtfully. "It works on me, and the one I was going to give you at first doesn't affect me at all." Briar uses this tea only when he's on the verge of collapse from lack of sleep. His nightmares have worsened, lately. Remus mentioned lunar insomnia, though, so Briar assumes it is cyclical, not a nightly necessity.

The water on the stove has boiled, and Briar pours it into his teapot to steep, easily managing the cups, pot, and container of tea as he brings them all over to the table.

"Several. Two of my friends were Aurors, they taught me a lot of magical removal spells. Sometimes we had to clean up evidence from the muggle populace and- I have other magical problems that need redressing sometimes."

Remus nods attentively. "It's just to get a few nights of sleep in the cycle. Does it stop dreaming as well?"

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