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The market had been quiet for the last hour or so - or at least, relatively quiet, compared to some of the shows and art fairs that they have attended at the past. The one in Silver creek has enough space - and few enough people - that the shoppers are free to meander through the stalls set up, instead of being carried along by a steam of people. Salem had taken advantage of the relative calm to finish some of the commissions they had taken - mostly completed, needing just a few, delicate, small details added, before they were complete. The project at the moment was supposed to be simple - a single wire wrapped opal cabochon, hung of a fine, delicate silver chain - closer to thread, really. The buyer had been willing to pay well, at least, because there was nothing Salem hated more than trying to affix clasps to anything below two millimeters. This one was only a .8, and it had already resulted in several bouts of swearing as the dark haired dom fought with it. They made a noise of triumph as it finally slid into place - only to lift the chain of their work surface and watch in dismay as the clasp fell to the floor. They swore harshly, tossing the unfinished necklace back onto the table in a fit of frustration, pinching at their nose before a noise caught their attention, looking up - to catch the eyes of a shopper staring at them. “Oh fuck. Please tell me you saw absolutely none of that.”

#sc.start #salem starter

This isn’t their first time at their school, or even the second, though it is the first time under this name. If pressed, Salem would say this is, perhaps, their fourth, maybe fifth time walking through these halls, though its hard to tell when so much of it has changed just in the few decades since they last attended, much less since they would have first come, a few centuries ago. Still, there’s at least one piece of paper tucked away giving them a degree in occult horticulture, outdated and ink near faded- and two or three people seemed to remember them from a potions class that hasn’t been taught in a century, and the knowledge of plants and their uses and how exactly to turn the flame just right to make sure the monkshood numbs but doesn’t kill - well, it must have come from somewhere, so as far as Salem is concerned, they’ll call themselves a returning student as much as they like, thank you. Of course, this return is not a matter of increasing their more magical knowledge, but a sheerly practical choice. It’s become, over time, as humans become more and more clever and more and more picky over the details of constructed backstories, a necessity to be able to blend in with them, which means that technology is an unfortunate skill they have to learn - hence their enrollment in a computer science course, despite the fact the most experience they have is with running a semi popular instagram account. So far, it had only resulted in colorful swears, multiple startled library guests, and one very angry librarian after a curseword turned into an actual curse, resulting in where they were now - wandering the campus, looking desperately for anything to do. Which, unfortunately for the unsuspecting person walking down the sidewalk, meant that they were the best available target. “Hi there” Salem spoke, stepping up next to them and swinging to face them, hand out to shake. “Please tell me you are not headed anywhere urgent, I am disgustingly bored and I will literally do anything if it means I have an excuse not to look at code for a while.”