"Welcome to Sale and Swindell. How may I help you today?"
Emma said nothing as she led Sir Bearington to the desk: the receptionist showing no reaction to the bear. The floor, too, held up without trouble; the gold not shifting an inch beneath Sir Bearington's steps, leading Emma to suspect it was merely gold plating over something much more durable.
[Ask for a thousand Thrones from the account of Ana Gram.]
Anagram? Really?
Despite Emma's misgivings, she dutifully repeated the request to the bank teller, receiving a blank stare in return. Thankfully, he didn't question the name as he typed something on his computer: the first working computer Emma had seen since the apocalypse, she realised.
[The internal workings are powered by magic, not electricity. By design, most magical equipment is kept off-grid and self-sufficient, to minimise ordinary people stumbling upon it. That said, the front-end user interface has steadily converged with modern technology in recent decades. It makes life easier for everyone: instead of training employees on some novel system, just give them a keyboard and screen. They'll have a general idea how to use it, just from everyday experience.]
"I can see your account is still active, Miss Gram," The receptionist confirmed after a few moments of clicking around. "As it has not been accessed in over one hundred years, we will require some proof of identity, and an update on your current circumstances. Please fill out this standard questionnaire, in your indicated lingua franca."
A twenty page form was promptly produced, alongside a clipboard and pen for Emma's convenience.
It was the first time she'd gotten to see Babel Fish at work: a very curious situation where she instinctively knew the meaning of each word before her eyes, and also knew it to be Mycenaean Greek, despite this being her first time ever seeing it.
"Figures that a visit to the bank would include plenty of paperwork," Emma sighed. "Let's get this over with: first up, full name and date of birth."
Thus prompted, Edith began to feed her the right answers, and the familiar monotony of pen on paper commenced.
Amal's eyes shimmered as contact lenses were conjured and fitted in place, compensating for his lacking vision at a distance: something he'd had since childhood, never mind his thirties that the philosopher's stone had returned to him. Now properly focused on the target, Amal joined his hands together to form a triangle: invoking the aspect of Sulfur. A small exertion of will, and the mammoth ignited wholesale; fur and flesh burning away over the course of just a few seconds, leaving only a blackened skeleton in place.
"We'll have to do some cleaning beforehand," Amal grunted. "We're the first ones here, so it's up to us to lay the groundwork. Can't have animals making a mess just a mile from Stonehenge.
"Remind me why we set out so early?" Tom huffed, though he didn't disagree.
Taking a deep breath, his body glowed gold as the power of the Sun nourished its chosen. Lowering himself for a crouching start, Tom's next step took him five hundred yards, slamming into a mammoth at just under the speed of sound. His open palm met an oversized face; his palm won, caving all it touched inward with the force of his blow. He repeated the feat on the remaining four, leaving five stains on the ground where they once walked.
"A ten percent increase in size over our two months of travelling," Amal noted. "No greater resistance to Tom's blows; not surprising, when faced with the strongest Body Cultivator in England. Still, that rate of development is worrying: it takes heavy weapons or esoteric magic to overcome such demons en masse, and neither are readily available for most mortal settlements. The increased availability of mana is a benefit, of course, but perhaps it requires a bit more direction. Summoning so many demons bereft of guidance is just wasteful."
Floating closer to the ground now, Amal spared a glance at Stonehenge itself; a bleached white ring lain mostly in ruin.
"The demons first," Amal decided. "Once we've cleared the perimeter, then we can see to the raising of the stones."
Tom was good at that; the stones were remarkably resistant to magic, but not his strength.
---
"Done," Emma exhaled, rubbing her sore wrist as the receptionist examined her answers.
She'd gone in expecting mostly multiple choice, only to be surprised by several sections of the questionnaire requiring answers in essay form.
"Now, can we finally get our money?"