There are some days that she knew it would be impossible to sell more than a few dollars worth of her potions and today was one of them. She could likely go to mall and try to do some soliciting but she would likely get booted off the premises really quick and she just didn't have the available funds to go renting out one of their booths - not to mention the profit of that on a day like today would be nil. So she would just chalk up today as a day of losses and hope that it stopped raining later tonight. Maybe she could make it down to the cargo ship and the Were fights to try and sell some of her potions. There had begun to be a steady stream of customers for it and despite the way they seemed to stare her down, their animals perhaps demanding they do so, they seemed pleased enough with the results of her endeavors so she kept at it loyally.

No selling today did not necessarily mean being stuck inside, however, for the day called to Sorcha in a way that it had long ago when she had lived in Scotland with her parents. Those cold rainy days that many cursed and that her family loved, for their ways were more Druid in nature than some witches and she felt a kinship with the slow breathing of the earth beneath it. So she grabs her poncho, leaving the hood down and uncaring of the mess her hair would be soon, and slips out of her studio apartment to wait at the bus stop. The bus is almost deserted, except by those few brave humans who have no choice in their bravery - they had to work. She commended them and she sat up front with her butt barely on the seat, ready to hop off as soon as the bus stopped at the beach.

It would be deserted today and she enjoyed the fierce way the wind stung her face as she stepped off the bus, closing her mossy green eyes and smiling slightly before beginning a jaunty walk to the beach despite how depressing some might think it was. While she was here she could try and find some shells that were being washed up or maybe even some flotsam that had been missing in the ocean for years (a sort of fantasy of hers). The shells at least could come in handy, for they once held living creatures and such a thing was not taken lightly as it made them more valuable, once crushed, for potions.

She begins her search in the middle of the beach and heading down aways with the warm ocean water contrasting beautifully with the cold rain. She didn't care her sneakers were wet or that her toes were going numb. It made her feel alive, her silver blood seeming to thrum with pleasure at the raging of the elements, and she paused at the sight of a rather large shell before bending over to scoop it up. As she pushes herself back up she stills, catching sight of the man sitting in the cold ahead of her and she blinks some water out of her eyes as she strides towards him with easy movements (despite wet jeans beneath her overlarge poncho).

"You might ought to go buy yourself a poncho if you are going to be out here. You don't want to catch a cold," she says in her lyrical voice with a beaming smile towards him, as if they had been friends all along, and there was concern in her voice. She assumed, incorrectly, that he was a human. "Unless that is your intention, in which case, I can tell you that I sell remedies for such things and would gladly help you out," she adds, plopping down next to him without thought, and it is perhaps a careless maneuver because he could be crazy and homeless (not that he looked homeless with his handsomely cut features). "I'm Sorcha," she says, reaching one hand across her lap towards him and waiting expectantly.