[Deaths] well pre campaign
Title: shan't say nevermore
'Verse/characters: Death be Not Proud; an alchemist, Julian De'Ath
Prompt: 71D "obsession"
Word Count: 481
Notes: K and I had got to talking about certain properties of metal in the deaths-'verse, and I had a bit of a brainflash. There have to have been accidental-death alchemists. Then she handed me "a ridiculously cluttered workspace" as a spark. This is sometime before the councils cemented their power, before the lady went West.
The alchemist found his new client standing at the edge of the workshop, her--her, good lord, how strange!--head tilted back to watch the ceiling, like she expected something to drop on her.
Which was not, he had to admit, an entirely baseless concern. It had been a long, long time since he let any of the cleaning staff enter his private workspace, and things had, indeed, grown a trifle cluttered.
He knew where everything was, of course, but he could entirely understand why it might concern a stranger.
"What may I do for you, my dear?" was how he introduced his presence, and as her head snapped around so fast he thought he might have heard her neck pop, he quickly rephrased it to "My apologies, my lady--"
She flicked a hand at him--he wondered if it was really the Scattering of Leaves on the Surface of the Pond it appeared--then stepped past him into the dusty, close confines of the workspace. She seemed not to mind the wisps of smoke that he couldn't figure out how to vent without also sending papers into miniature whirlwinds, which was frustrating; the light quality was seriously impaired by the end of any given day.
"I wish to buy a few pieces of your equipment," she told him without preamble.
"I'm so sorry, milady, but that is quite out of the question! My things are part of what makes me so successful!"
"I know," she said flatly. "I've read several of your papers--anyone attempting to reproduce your results dies choking on fumes, but here you stand."
"Beg pardon?" he said, trying not to squirm under her gaze, which found every iodide stain on his sleeves, the bleached spots on his shoes, the way his hair was beginning to thin and thus coloured with a solution of iron to hide the fact. He had been about to offer to make copies of the things she wanted, when she'd interrupted.
"I wasn't able to find good information about your early career--strangely enough," and here her lips quirked briefly into a truly amused smile, "the recent publications don't have records back that far. So I'm not actually sure if you created it yourself, or if you inherited it."
"'It'?" he inquired blankly, wondering how they're traveled so very far from the conversational realms he knew. She hadn't even offered a price for the pieces of equipment she'd come for.
"Mm. Yes." She was now prowling through his workbench, delicately turning things over to peer beneath them, a long blond queue tumbling from her back nearly to brush the floor as she leaned down. "Did you do much experimenting with life-energy, early on?"
There were things not to be tolerated, no matter his position and need for patronage. "Get out."
"No."
"I don't care if you're a princess or some sort of investigator from the Guild, out!" he shouted.
She grinned at him, feral as any medieval lion. "Make me."
'Verse/characters: Death be Not Proud; an alchemist, Julian De'Ath
Prompt: 71D "obsession"
Word Count: 481
Notes: K and I had got to talking about certain properties of metal in the deaths-'verse, and I had a bit of a brainflash. There have to have been accidental-death alchemists. Then she handed me "a ridiculously cluttered workspace" as a spark. This is sometime before the councils cemented their power, before the lady went West.
The alchemist found his new client standing at the edge of the workshop, her--her, good lord, how strange!--head tilted back to watch the ceiling, like she expected something to drop on her.
Which was not, he had to admit, an entirely baseless concern. It had been a long, long time since he let any of the cleaning staff enter his private workspace, and things had, indeed, grown a trifle cluttered.
He knew where everything was, of course, but he could entirely understand why it might concern a stranger.
"What may I do for you, my dear?" was how he introduced his presence, and as her head snapped around so fast he thought he might have heard her neck pop, he quickly rephrased it to "My apologies, my lady--"
She flicked a hand at him--he wondered if it was really the Scattering of Leaves on the Surface of the Pond it appeared--then stepped past him into the dusty, close confines of the workspace. She seemed not to mind the wisps of smoke that he couldn't figure out how to vent without also sending papers into miniature whirlwinds, which was frustrating; the light quality was seriously impaired by the end of any given day.
"I wish to buy a few pieces of your equipment," she told him without preamble.
"I'm so sorry, milady, but that is quite out of the question! My things are part of what makes me so successful!"
"I know," she said flatly. "I've read several of your papers--anyone attempting to reproduce your results dies choking on fumes, but here you stand."
"Beg pardon?" he said, trying not to squirm under her gaze, which found every iodide stain on his sleeves, the bleached spots on his shoes, the way his hair was beginning to thin and thus coloured with a solution of iron to hide the fact. He had been about to offer to make copies of the things she wanted, when she'd interrupted.
"I wasn't able to find good information about your early career--strangely enough," and here her lips quirked briefly into a truly amused smile, "the recent publications don't have records back that far. So I'm not actually sure if you created it yourself, or if you inherited it."
"'It'?" he inquired blankly, wondering how they're traveled so very far from the conversational realms he knew. She hadn't even offered a price for the pieces of equipment she'd come for.
"Mm. Yes." She was now prowling through his workbench, delicately turning things over to peer beneath them, a long blond queue tumbling from her back nearly to brush the floor as she leaned down. "Did you do much experimenting with life-energy, early on?"
There were things not to be tolerated, no matter his position and need for patronage. "Get out."
"No."
"I don't care if you're a princess or some sort of investigator from the Guild, out!" he shouted.
She grinned at him, feral as any medieval lion. "Make me."