Solo Craving a Boon

[Alses]

Timestamp: 4th Day of Summer, 513 A.V.
Location: Elena Lariat's Estate

It was a cool, clear day when Alses first went to crave a boon from Lady Elena Lariat.

Her ladyship – the title seemed to be an automatic one, acquired after sufficient effort to accrue influence was expended - was the reclusive, eccentric and fabulously wealthy magus who, it appeared, was the only one in all of the celestial city with a magical laboratory that was both adapted for Alses' specialised requirements and, further, not already in use. The Dusk Tower's own laboratory was currently the private domain of Ald'gare Dusk himself – apparently for the wards that had been built into its construction rather than the array of specialised equipment that informed its primary function – and however prideful and skilled Alses was, she wasn't about to challenge the Patriarch of House Dusk's authority and right to do whatever he pleased in his own home.

It would have been a) suicidal and b) bad manners – and the Alses who was slowly, slowly emerging under Chiona's rather unusual tutelage was attempting to be a little more socially-conscious.

Chiona's advice – such as it was, anyway – had been to dress well, and to accentuate her beauty. For someone whose beauty regime consisted mostly of polishing her crown-of-horns, combing her hair and making sure her skin and fingernails weren't dirty, this was something of a challenge. Nonetheless, she'd done her best, polishing her glittering horns until they shone like frozen fire, and the day was that perfect sort that saw the sunlight highlighting every shimmering colour in her fire-opal skin, putting the gilt threading in her silken robes to shame.

The Lariat estate was a monument to civilian wealth and power second only to the Towers in Lhavit, a palatial sprawl of many spires and minarets and domes, of enclosed atria and verdant gardens bursting with health and exotic plants, all of it walled off from the rest of the city by a shimmering skyglass barrier – easy to vault over, to be sure (if you had that kind of mindset), but doubtless salted with all sorts of defensive wards and traps and Syna-knew-what-else to prevent just such an occurrence.

Elena Lariat was a successful and powerful wizard; one didn't approach that lofty pinnacle by being gullible or incautious, after all. Best to enter properly; she wasn't any sort of criminal, after all. The ornate gateposts were the only ostensible gap in the perimeter wall, and therefore her destination, as a legitimate visitor.

Alses passed between the ornate gateposts – with a friendly smile to the Shinya and the gatesman standing vigil, because manners were important – and into the rarefied atmosphere of the estate itself. This was not, in truth, the first time she'd visited; that had, in fact, been several days prior, in order to lay the groundwork, as it were.

A

Several Days Earlier...

A garden in the tenuous grasp of Summer hummed with vegetative pleasure all around her as Alses – resplendent in her instructor's robes, having come straight from a lesson at the Dusk Tower – contemplated the main building of Elena Lariat's estate; a three-story, tiered wedding-cake affair of skyglass and pale marble shimmering under the benevolent sunlight.

A colonnaded portico, bedecked with swags of elegant drapery and further extended into the gardens with pergolas around which wisteria climbed with patient slowness, ran around the bottom storey, sheltering the rooms beyond from the glare of the sun and providing the servants, immaculately turned-out and beautiful to the last, with some welcome shade, even in their finery.

Close-packed gravel crunched under her booted heels as she approached, and then skyglass chimed softly as she mounted the shallow steps into the incense-scented dimness of the portico. The very instant she did so, a handsome young Lhavitian – well-fed in a manner only the wealthy could afford in this day and age – shimmered forward with a deferential bow.

“Good morning, blessed one.” His tones were rich and silky-smooth, layer upon layer of mesmerising depth resonating gently out into the world, far more remarkable than his pleasant visage. Alses didn't even find the usual flash of irritation at the common title, the couching caress of his voice soothing any annoyance away.

“May I ask your business with the Lariat estate?” came the next question, again achingly polite and well-phrased in that luscious voice. So much nicer than an Animated guardian or a gruff guardsman, all that 'Halt!' and 'State your business!' nonsense. Perhaps mistaking her pause for something else, the servant continued apologetically: “I'm sorry to say that the estate does not accept solictations or uninvited guests, even ones such as your august self, ma'am.”

Recalled to her primary purpose, Alses waved one gloved hand in dismissal. “Your pardon. We – I was wondering whether I might speak to Lady Lariat's secretary, seneschal, reeve or man of affairs?”

A brief pause, perhaps confused by the battery of titles she'd thrown out, and then the buttery voice came back with a reply. “That might be arranged, ma'am. May I ask what for?”

Alses frowned, mildly irritated; she'd not expected such questioning merely to see a functionary. A vital functionary, yes, she'd be the first to admit that secretaries were necessary, having seen the evidence first-hand, but they had to be at least marginally accessible, surely?

“To make an appointment, what else?” was her slightly sharp reply. “It's the logical progression, no? Your employer's time is valuable and I highly doubt she would clear her schedule simply to see us on a whim. Similarly, we can ill-afford bell upon bell being stuck in a waiting-room, so an appointment of mutual convenience is the best way forward I can see. Thus, her secretary, and his power over her diary and engagements.”

Another pause, this one contemplative, assessive, and then a diffident cough and a gesture in the dimness with one white-gloved hand. Double doors cracked open, spilling out bright light and a rolling wave of incense, and she was invited inside in short order.

No further words were exchanged between Alses and the footman as she allowed herself to be guided through the sumptuous interior of Elena Lariat's home. Silk and skyglass was much in evidence and often paired with jewels and precious metals, a battering impression of wealth and success from all sides. Opulence, that was what breathed in golden waves from the walls, the floor, the ceiling, even the furniture. Fortunes had been lavished on this place, and it showed.

Even the secretary's office was plush, money whispering from every accoutrement and trimming, from the paintings on the walls to the silk-upholstered chairs and divans scattered about to the desk itself, an intricately-carved mass of dark wood and sage-green leather.

The footman rapped politely on the open door – it didn't look as if the portal to this silk-swathed room was often shut – and then stepped over the threshold.

“Sir?” he intoned respectfully, ducking his head in a brief genuflection. “This lady wishes to speak to you. If I might leave her in your care?”

The secretary was not at his desk; the response came instead from one of the chaise lounges positioned close to the windows overlooking a lush courtyard garden in which bougainvillea exploded in joyous profusion.

“Yes, yes, indeed you may. Back to your post. Come and take a seat by me, madam, and present your case. Her ladyship has many demands on her time, and is ill-inclined to answer most of them.”

[Alses]

It was only as Alses rounded a spindly table and swept out the silks of her robes so as to be able to perch – as instructed – on one of the plush chairs that the secretary looked up from his work, a beringed hand flashing in the light as he moved a document from one stack to the next, warm brown eyes scanning dense but exquisitely-made cursive script. Even the notes and forms and general bureaucracy seemed to be beautiful here.

“Forgive me if I don't rise, blessed one,” he murmured, voice soft and cultured. Heavy gold earrings hung from the fleshy lobes of his ears, shining bright against the pepper-gray hair carefully swept back from his temples. “I wasn't expecting one of the Forty-Eight.”

Alses had to suppress a stab of irritation at that – she generally professed to dislike the obesiances Lhavit offered the Ethaefal, but always noticed with razor-keenness their absence, for whatever reason. It was one thing to tell someone to stop, subconsciously flattered, and quite another to not even be offered the unwanted courtesy.

Intelligent eyes blinked at her, assessing and weighing up her response, all part of the unacknowledged game of power and influence exercised at every level of social interaction, even if it was mostly subconscious. As someone who'd had no real frame of reference, no preconceived notions of how things should go or understanding of the natural progression of a conversation at first, Alses was perhaps more sensitive to these tiny little clues. She relied on inflection and tone, on the ripples of muscles shifting and tensing with the play of expression across faces and the cues of body language she was just beginning to see the significance of. Faces and voices could lie, the rest was harder to change.

Auristics helped, too, the weave of emotion and expectation shimmering around everyone and everything – it was so easy to read the truth of things rather than to pay attention to cumbersome words and expressions, the abstraction of an expert aurist that Alses herself had marvelled and wondered at during her own novitiate and now found herself slipping into more and more as her Sight continued to develop, to pour yet more information and impressions into her waiting brain from the world all around.

Sex and hedonism, they breathed and sang from the walls, richly red and purple skeins and tumbling veils stronger to her senses than the incense burning slowly in ornate braziers. Passion rippled from the outwardly-innocuous desk – she blushed rubies at the phantom stains burned into its aura, the impressions of figures locked in embraces and more almost visible to even the shallowest expression of her power, and took ruthless hold of her magic before it could swell to the grand auristic symphony of Lady Lariat's fornication-drenched estate.

Well. Perhaps that was a little harsh, but Elena Lariat's secretary was hardly a gray bureaucrat whose life was his documents and ledgers, given all the sensations burned into his walls, many fading but quite a few still recent.

“It's quite all right,” Alses replied equably enough, waving a dismissive hand. She needed something from this gentleman, after all, so a little courtesy on her part would go a long way.

A nod from the reclining man. “Good. Now, what can the Lariat estate do for you...” he tailed off, and Alses was adept enough with that hook, having used it on more than one occasion, to recognize it and respond appropriately.

“Alses, sir. We were wondering whether I might make an appointment to speak to Lady Lariat herself?”

A wry smile, a creasing of fleshy jowls into a smile of nearly-convincing demurral. “As I mentioned, my employer has many demands on her time and is...ill-disposed...to dealing with many of them. Perhaps I or another member of staff could help you? Why do you wish to speak to her ladyship?”

Alses shifted. “Chiona – that is, Lady Dusk - has told me that Elena Lariat sometimes allows others to use her magical laboratories,” she replied carefully. “For a fee, naturally. We wished to speak with her on the matter; I'm a magesmith without a laboratory at the moment and we'd like to practise our craft once more.”

Ah, now there was interest, thrilling and spiking tendrils of brilliant green uncurling from a lazy sea of thoughts that swirled around the secretary's supine form. “I see. Well, you're quite right, my lady does not let out her laboratories lightly, not even to those who study here. Do you have work lined up?”

The question was sharp, a quill suddenly poised and charged with ink over a fresh sheet of creamy parchment – when had he acquired that?

Slightly unsettled by the sudden scrutiny, and doing her best not to show it, she nodded. “Indeed.”

Now it was the secretary's turn to pause. “Would you care to elaborate, Alses?” he asked delicately, quill still hovering.

She replied with a smile, dazzling and bright and without any intention of yielding. “Client confidentiality, sir. We'd not dream of breaking a trust, and certainly not if we want more work.”

He frowned, obviously annoyed at the response, but unable to do much about it. “Very well,” came his reply, tones still silky-smooth – but the aura never lied, and that was power, knowing the truth of things and people. “As per her ladyship's orders, I'll pencil you in for the fourth day of Summer, tenth bell of the morning, if it suits you?”

It wasn't really a question, Alses knew. It would have to be fine; she'd speak to Mr. Secretary at the Dusk Tower if some rearrangement of lessons was necessary. An inconvenience, a sacrifice, but a very minor one, especially considering the potential rewards.

“That's most kind,” she replied instead, the picture of a serene Ethaefal, perched as elegantly as she knew how on the edge of a plush chair.

“I wouldn't get my hopes up, if I was you,” the man intoned, even as his quill darted down to put a very final full stop to the end of a sentence. “Her ladyship is a demanding woman, and never more so than when it comes to her precious laboratories. She holds them close to her heart; no incompetent gets in there, still less anyone she dislikes, and there are so many ways to earn her ire.”

Alses blinked, quailing a little inside – which was doubtless the intention. “Have you any advice?” she asked softly. “The secretary knows all, I've learned.”

The subtle – or perhaps not-so-subtle, she wasn't an expert by any stretch of the imagination – rolled off him though, and he granted her only a small, official smile in reply. “My employer is of a mercurial nature,” came the considered reply. “To second-guess her is futile, and often expensive. Many powerful mages have been turned away at our doors – but then again, the most unlikely sometimes gain the privilege. Then, too, my mistress has a weakness for beauty, and there you have an advantage. Still, I don't fancy your odds.”

A nod behind her, to where a footman had just shimmered through the doors at some unseen signal. With her aurist's vision, however, the effect that the secretary might have hoped to achieve was ruined; she was ready for the sudden raise in his voice and the imperious gesture to the servant to see her out.

Now all there was to do was wait, and research, and prepare as best she was able.

[Alses]

The incense-thick air of the mansion enveloped her the instant two footmen bowed open the doors for her in perfect unison – so perfect she'd almost thought them Animated golems. As ever, the wealth on display in the soaring entrance hall was dazzling, gilt and rare woods leaping to soft fire in the light, sunshine fracturing into brilliant rainbows in the crystal swags of the chandeliers overhead, beautiful paintings glowing serenely in their frames and sculptures that seemed almost alive as buttery sunlight caressed their marble forms.

Alses had remembered the way to the seneschal's office, but nothing was being left to chance, it seemed – a living shadow in the form of one of the footmen shimmered into existence next to her and guided her diffidently through the opulent halls and corridors and into the presence of the courtly seneschal.

Normally, she still felt somewhat overdressed in her robes, even though she rather guiltily enjoyed the feel of silk on her skin, but here those elegant, ornate garments were just about par for the course. They fitted here, much as they did in the Tower, and that was a relief, a little extra balm for her nervous soul.

Alses was early for her appointment – she'd been outside the gates just as the consensus peal of the ninth bell of the morning died away, in point of fact, but she'd taken perhaps half a bell or so to compose herself and wander around the leafy boulevards and courtyards laid out in formal array before Tanroa's sparkling Temple. Punctuality might be the politeness of princes, but to arrive a full bell early was a little too much – even Alses knew that. A half-bell, now that was much more reasonable, especially given the length of the grand mansion she'd have to traverse in order to arrive at the seneschal's office, which should take her down to about fifteen chimes or so.

The seneschal's room was mostly unchanged from the last time she'd visited, although the cultured gentleman who ran it was, this time, behind his desk rather than reclining gracefully in the clutch of chaises and chairs round the fireplace.

His spectacularly-beringed hands gestured expansively as she entered. “Ah, you're early!” there was approval shimmering through his tones, a hint of relief that touched on past experience, perhaps, of head-in-the-stars mages and forever-late visitors not keeping to their appointments.

“I thought we should start as we mean to go on,” Alses replied with a faint smile. “Being late would hardly endear me to Lady Lariat, now would it?”

A low, rumbling laugh – he seemed much more congenial this time around, more active, too, hands flashing over his desk with practiced, liquid ease. “Most probably not. Although she's of a mercurial disposition – it might amuse her.” A wry smile at the vagaries of his employer, quickly suppressed; Alses was still an outsider, a supplicant here, after all, not part of the fabric of the great house as she had become over the seasons at the Dusk Tower.

Mercurial. Alses, attempting to calm and centre herself, to meditate slightly in order to give her talents a good run-up, turned the description over and over in her brain, considering its implications as best she could. She'd heard the term applied several times to the mysterious, reclusive Elena Lariat, and still more often to Chiona Dusk. That, at least, gave her some hope – the two of them got along quite nicely, with their perpetual game of one-upmanship being a cornerstone of a fast-developing friendship. Chiona didn't have to take her out to tea or to the opera all the time, after all, quite apart from the fact that their lessons could have been conducted with regimented formality in the Dusk Tower rather than taken out in the city, wherever possible. It seemed to give Chiona pleasure just to talk, to hear about the minor triumphs and failures in Alses' life, just as much as she enjoyed hearing anecdotes of Tower life from someone poised to take the top of the heap, someone who'd been groomed and primed to take over the entire edifice from youth.

It had to be admitted that things were much more congenial as two people – perhaps even friends - who happened to be student and mentor than simply as pupil and master, one of a class, a face in a crowd. That didn't mean they didn't try one another's patience on occasion; sometimes one or the other misjudged a situation – her own blunt assessment of House Dusk being a case in point, or Chiona's occasional prying into her mortal form – but on the whole Alses found herself well-able to enjoy and appreciate the flights of fancy and impulsive decisions Chiona Dusk so relished in her life.

Presently, the seneschal's streamlined head – an impression furthered by the smoothed-back hair and the aquiline, bladed nose – nodded gracefully to a small door set into the far wall. “If you'd care to go through, Alses? It's nearly the tenth bell, and her ladyship should be ready to receive you.”

Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, fighting off the urge to wipe suddenly-sweaty palms on the tyrian silk of her robes with an effort of will and trying to calm the swooping butterflies in her stomach, Alses sailed forwards as elegantly as she could, knocked respectfully on the dark wood and, at the imperious command of “Enter!” passed through the portal and into Elena Lariat's inner sanctum.

The first thing that hit her was the sweetness, a wave of perfume so powerful as to be almost overpowering, something almost tasted as well as smelt with a sly little tickle to the back of the throat. Vast sprays of lilies and roses in gilded stands soared up to the domed ceiling high overhead, the source of the scents, perfect down to the very last detail of petal and leaf.

Perfection, it seemed, was the only state that was tolerated.

Underfoot was warm old wood, varnished to a richly buttery sheen and laid in intricate patterns that subtly drew the eye, scattered with richly upholstered furniture, gilded tables, vases with yet more spectacular profusions of blooms and much else besides. Steady, even light was cast down from on high by enormous tiered chandeliers suspended on chains as thick as Alses' forearm, mountains of glass and light forever suspended in midair.

Initial impressions aside, the centrepiece of the room could not be in any doubt; a massive, silk-swathed divan on a slightly-raised dais, cluttered about with spindly end-tables on which lay a vast array of objects and documents, from jewellery to fans to exquisitely-bound books and plate upon plate of sweetmeats and treats, interspersed with tall bottles of fine spirits. It looked chaotic, to the untrained eye, but doubtless there was some sort of system in which everything had its precise place and could be located quickly and easily and brought to a languid hand in a space of ticks.

The figure at the centre of all this decadent luxury seemed rather dwarfed by the splendour all around – but only physically, and Alses had long ago learned that physical presence was the least reliable; fortitude and intellect and all the other driving factors of success lay in the ephemeral realm of the mind, after all.

“Come in, come in, no sense in standing in the doorway letting in a draught,” came an imperious command; Alses found herself moving before she consciously thought about it, gliding across seeming-acres of floor to stand nervously before the divan on its raised dais.

From that lofty peak, two steel-gray eyes, startlingly pale and direct in a caramel-coloured face, gazed down, calculating and assessing. “So you're the impecunious magesmith wanting to borrow my laboratories? Alses, isn't it? Come up here and sit by me.”

[Alses]

Slightly nonplussed, Alses did as she was bid, mounting the steps with a careful tread and, at a further impatient gesture, settling onto the delicate pink silk of the divan itself, stiff and uncomfortable next to the sprawled, barefoot form of Elena Lariat, a diminutive figure swathed in cloth-of-gold that made her caramel skin glow.

Resting her heart-shaped face on her hands, there was a chime or two of silence whilst Elena assessed Alses from close range. “Relax,” she purred, voice rich and husky. “I don't bite. Well, not unless asked, anyway.” A smile, showing rather too many pearly teeth; Alses only just managed to hide her wince at the thought.

Sex and stickiness in general rarely intruded on her thoughts, Chiona's continual, playful innuendo and evergreen delight at making her student blush notwithstanding, but if Alses hadn't known better – her auristics showing the surging, sparkling pathways that were the djed-print of a practicing sorceress as plain as day inside Elena's vast aura - she'd have pegged the woman as some sort of high-class courtesan, a paid companion to the true mistress of the house.

As it was...

Her ruminations were interrupted by a caramel hand thrust under her nose, bearing a sphere of sparkling sugar and philtered goodness – Alses recognized the distinctive ringing shock, auristically-speaking, of Tian J'net's philtered sweets instantly. “Sweetie?”

Operating on automatic, she reached out and closed sparkling fingers around the little confection, even as Elena herself tipped a handful of them into her mouth, eyes closed in near-orgiastic bliss and heedless of the sparkling sugar crystals that tumbled off and onto her gown and divan both.

It was a very fine sweetie, Alses had to admit, the pinnacle of Tian's art – a hard shell of sugar surrounding a sweet syrup paste philtered to the brim with all sorts of flavours and even scents, a firework-explosion for the senses and a delight to the tastebuds. Bane to the figure, too, given the sheer amount of sugar and fat that went into them, and yet Elena was eating them as though they were, well, candy.

Perhaps there was a weight-loss philtre of some kind, or maybe her ladyship simply took a lot of exercise. Then again, Alses reminded herself, heavy magic use demanded a great deal of fuel, and for most mortals that was food. Mages ate a lot – or they did if they wanted to keep their strength up.

“Not eating that?” the voice was soft and low and right by her ear. “I don't like it if my hospitality's turned down.”

Alses jumped, having momentarily forgotten about the presence of Elena Lariat next to her. “It's delicious,” she replied, as calmly as she was able. “One of Tian J'net's, yes?”

Elena waved a dismissive hand. “The staff keep me supplied,” she replied, indifferent to whom had actually manufactured her sweeties. “You've still not eaten it. On a diet?” the way she pronounced 'diet', the word could have done sterling duty for 'scum'; the inflection was clear.

“We don't need to diet,” she replied, with as much dignity as she could muster. “I simply choose to experience the taste and texture of it through my power, rather than by physically eating it, my lady.”

Elena's dancing eyes became speculative at this, and she lay back down. “Finished experiencing it?” At Alses' slightly confused nod, she continued, voice layered with perhaps more than simple suggestion: “Feed it to me.” Mouth open, she lay back looking at the intricate dome overhead, not bothering to check if her order was being obeyed, having the absolute assurance that it would be.

Gingerly, Alses inched the confection into the waiting cavern of Elena's mouth, feeling all at sea – this 'interview', if such it could even be called, was decidedly not going to plan. She'd expected questions on competence, on her understanding of specialised equipment, perhaps a little on her magical prowess, not...this.

A warm wetness on her fingers caused her to jerk them back as though burned, though not fast enough; Elena Lariat's red, red tongue had darted out to lick them even as she'd let the sweet drop.

“Never licked an Ethaefal before,” she pronounced, after a brief period of industrious chewing, eyes alight with naughty fire. “You taste lovely-” her voice caressed the word “-although that could be the sugar.”

Rubies would have had a hard time matching the brilliance of Alses' cheeks, the more normal fire-opal shades chased away by the armies of embarrassment surging onto her face with a vengeance. Oddly, this seemed to please Elena; she let out a trilling little laugh at the sight.

“My seneschal said you had a lovely blush,” she remarked, a wicked observation that reinforced the already-prominent stain on Alses' cheeks. Desperately, she wished for this ordeal to be over, for whatever obscure criteria Elena was looking for to be either satisfied or unfulfilled and to simply have her answer, one way or the other.

Alas, the mercurial Lady Lariat wasn't done yet. “What did he say to you, hmm?”

“N-nothing,” Alses stuttered, and blushed some more – it hadn't been anything the man had said, more the damnable prying nature of her own power that had splayed out a choice selection of what he got up to for her perusal, whether she wanted it or not.

“And there's a lie if ever I saw one,” Elena pronounced triumphantly. “Come, come, there must be trust between us if I'm to grant your desire. Tell me.”

Alses looked away from those direct gray eyes – they were surprisingly hard to meet, even for an Ethaefal. “I maintain he said nothing,” she replied, choosing the words with care. “But we are an aurist of some small skill, and his office is chock-full of impressions of a...a carnal nature,” she finished, in little more than a whisper.

“He's a treasure,” Elena said, fondly, dismissing the thought of a romp in the office as a harmless peccadillo, or perhaps even something laudable. “And I'm quite sure he keeps several Red Lantern ladies happily in pocket. Where would we be without them?”

She was suddenly very close, fingers almost resting on Alses' skin.

“Does sex offend you, Alses?” Elena asked, eyes half-lidded as she slid with practiced ease over the acres of divan, breasts resting on the furniture's curve and pressing distractingly against her translucent gown, drawing the eye.

[Alses]

Discreetly, Alses tried to shift away from the sudden, distracting presence of the lissome Elena Lariat right beside her, but really, within the confines of the divan there was nowhere to go. The blush was camped permanently on her face at this point, settling in for the long haul and continually renewed by the sensual, provocative Elena, who surely, surely knew exactly what she was doing.

It helped – a little – if she thought of this as a test.

“N-no, no, it's not offensive,” she reassured, “But-” her mouth worked as she tried to articulate her thoughts. “-but to us it's surely a private affair? It embarrasses us to see private passions splashed across the walls.”

“You think it embarrassing? But it's pleasurable and necessary to further the race – well, most races, at any rate.” A wicked grin. “Besides, sharing multiplies the delight, if your partners know what they're doing.” A contemplative pause. “That's not to say the blushing virgin doesn't have a certain charm, laid out on the bed and with that beautiful frisson of lust and anxiety before the first deflowering,” her voice curled lasciviously about the description, evidently lost in a pleasing memory, “But a skilfully bad woman – or man, for that matter – can delight for endless bells. Or so it seems, anyway.”

'Syna give me strength,' Alses prayed fervently, trying her best to ignore the warm pressure of Elena Lariat against her side, the diaphanous, translucent gown and her robes no barrier at all.

“You must have had an offer or two,” she murmured, eyes still half-lidded and drifting over Alses' form as though by the power of her gaze the tyrian silk would fade into transparency. “Especially in Lhavit, an honoured Ethaefal like yourself.”

Elena's fingers reached out, to twine in the elegant crown-of-horns around Alses' head, and this time, she moved, placing her head deliberately out of reach of the grasping hand. Feeding this sly, minx-like martinet was enough.

“I am not a doll or a toy, Lady Lariat,” she reminded the woman firmly.

“Look but don't touch? Cruel tease,” came the reply, soft and low and cargoed with an entreaty that promised stickiness in the near future. “Putting your magical talents to good use, I see, reading me like a book. I do so enjoy the chase.” Another catlike grin, heavy with anticipation, even as Alses panicked inside her head; she'd not used her power beyond the bright shallowness of her perpetual Sight, hadn't seen the subtle effects of her actions and words on the vastly complex aura of the sorceress next to her.

“You're Chiona Dusk's protégée, aren't you?” The question was sudden, unexpected, and still couched in those honeyed tones that so unsettled Alses. “The unpredictable heir with the gorgeous eyes.”

“You know her?” Alses blurted, surprised. Elena was famously reclusive, after all.

“But of course. All of Lhavit's elite – you'll appreciate this in time – know one another in some fashion. I do occasionally venture forth from my perfumed bower, you know, even if my time is more sweetly spent lying here with someone delightful.”

Idly, Elena turned over onto her back, once more gazing blankly skywards as her gown shaped itself around every curve of her body, the darkness of her skin showing clear through the translucent silk – a supremely distracting sight that Alses continually had to fight against, to stop her eyes lingering on the half-hidden pleasantries of the flesh.

“So, my sweet, sweet Ethaefal aurist, why have you come to me for your needs? Your Tower has its own laboratory, this I know.” A sly smile, an angler with a baited hook looking for an opening, an unsuspecting fish. “Fallen out with them as sit in judgement?”

As primly as she could, Alses replied: “The Tower's laboratory is already in use for another project, and since I had no intention of abandoning a commission and a chance to practise my craft once more, it was suggested I try and convince your fine self to let me borrow your laboratory.”

Elena yawned, the rising heat of the day seeming to act as a soporific. “How nice. Convince me, then.”

A pause. “Lost your pretty tongue, my sweetie? Why magecraft, can you answer that? You must have known it was the most expensive of the arts.”

“Because it's a delight,” Alses replied distantly. “A pleasure and a challenge, better than almost anything else-”

“Better than sex?” Elena interjected quickly, breaking the flow.

“We wouldn't know,” Alses replied, in a tone she fervently hoped was quelling, and then continued, trying to pick up from where she'd left off. “And because it was all we knew, at one point. Ethaefal remember our past lives – not well, and not with any frame of reference – and many of mine were sorcerers and sorceresses of one flavour or another. Magic's in the soul, even if it did kill us more than once.” Those were the memories she tried to suppress, normally bubbling to the surface at some ungodly hour, waking her sweat-slicked and fearful, feverishly checking her body for gross mutations or whatever horrible fate had befallen her in a former life, brought to unwelcome life by the dreaming mind.

“And auristics? What use is the soppiest of magics to you, then?”

Alses bridled at the slur, and then tried not to let it show. 'Patience, Alse, patience, she's doing this on purpose, just like everything else with this hellish interview...'

“Tasting food and sensing sickness, never being surprised by someone creeping up on us, knowing people's true feelings and hopes and fears and desires and how they change, tick to tick, telling lies from truths, seeing the panoply of magic in the world...it has many uses, although we started to study it merely to aid my magesmithing. Lenses never quite do the trick, after all.”

Evidently this was in some way satisfactory, for Elena rose abruptly, in a waterfall of silk. “Come with me, sweetie,” she commanded, already gliding across the floor and expertly swiping a bowlful of confectionery up from a table as she passed.

[Alses]

OOCElena was such fun to write . Hope I managed her well.

“What do you think?” was the expectant question posed to Alses as double doors were pushed wide by the diminutive sorceress, exposing a magesmith's heaven, wrought in skyglass and tile.

A clear domed roof, high overhead, let in abundant sunlight that sparkled on neat ranks of tools in special clasps, on an array of cabinets stuffed full of further equipment and supplies, was drunk in by a neat quartet of blackboards on wheels, each with its own pristine set of chalks in various colours and much else besides.

There were heavy glyphed troughs of many different sizes – from stone cups for finishing the smallest of artifacts up to those big enough to take a full suit of plate. To the left, a blister of skyglass enclosed a small library of common reference texts, each one handsomely bound with the gilt lettering gleaming, freshly polished, and to the right a complex arrangement of pulleys and tilting-tables supported several large barrels of water, the emergency dousing system that could stop a runaway reaction dead in its tracks.

The floor was smooth tile, save for around a pedestal of gray stone where it became rougher, more ridged – much easier to inscribe on, therefore, whether it be with chalk or the more permanent glypher's paint – pots of which she could see lined up neatly and labelled in a clear hand nearby.

A desk, such a staple in any laboratory, stood solidly in one corner, gratifyingly near the fireplace – not that it would be needed, not in Summer, but it was still an example of good design that Alses was pleased to see.

Instead of replying immediately to Elena's question, Alses carefully ventured inside, running her fingers lightly over the work surfaces and examining the tools on display – vices and clamps and a vast array of hammers of different sizes and materials, to name just a few. Not just gold and silver and copper, no, electrum and hepatizon and a few others she couldn't even put a name to, all lined up in neat rows for selection, perfectly clean.

Her fingers itched to take them up, to experiment with their heft, to see the effects of their unusual compositions on the warp and weft of transient djed, drawn from reagent to nascent artifact, first-hand. Such experimentation could be done here, such masterworks created!

“Is there something amiss?” Elena prompted, a slight frown creasing her perfect forehead.

“We were looking for the master-list,” Alses replied, standing on tiptoe to examine the top shelf of one of the library's bookshelves. “Something to list all the equipment in here, and all the supplies. Last time we ended up making one for the Dusk Tower's laboratory.”

Elena shook her head. “Slapdash,” she observed. “Then again, the Dusks have only ever had occasional use for a laboratory. The list is over there, on the desk. The black-bound book, sweetie.”

Alses quickly scanned through the book, noting page after page of carefully-noted ingredients and equipment with a professional eye.

“It's wonderful,” she replied to Elena, much more comfortable with this sort of discussion than the uncomfortable conversation in her ladyship's office? Boudoir? earlier.

“It has everything I'd need, and more. Everything's organized and labelled and quantified, there's plenty of space and light – it's perfect.” Alses smiled. “Not that we should expect anything less from the Lariat estate, no?”

Elena, for her part, returned the grin. “I am a practicing alchemist,” she replied, pride evident in her voice. “I use these laboratories, too, and I expect them to be immaculate.”

There was a brief tour of the laboratory, Elena asking searching questions of Alses about some of the pieces of equipment, satisfying herself that, yes, she wasn't a total incompetent who could be trusted to use a hammer, say, without breaking a window and her own bones, or something equally inane.

“What will you do after the Dusk Tower has taught you all that it can?” she asked idly, perched on the ubiquitous, ever-present divan that seemed to be her most natural habitat.

Alses paused in her perusal of the shelves, carefully putting down an array of polished agate stones and devoting her full attention to her host.

“I suppose we'll consider another apprenticeship,” she replied eventually. “Maybe the Dawn Tower; Shielding would be a useful discipline to learn. Morphing, too, although given the cool relations between Dusk and Twilight that might not be so easy. We'd have to see what would fit around my schedule; I don't plan on abandoning the Dusk Tower any time soon, after all.”

A slight, secretive little smile played around Elena's mouth for a moment, a flicker so fast it was almost gone before it had formed. “We shall see,” she murmured, more to herself than Alses, who, distracted by a towering collection of powdered gemstones in cut-glass jars, paid no heed to a half-heard mumble.

A whisper of silk signalled Elena rising from her recumbent position and gliding up behind Alses. Auristics gave her enough warning of the motion that she could make a natural-seeming turn and evade any grasp or touch without appearing too obvious, just as a precaution. “We offer classes here as well, you know,” Elena observed, beckoning Alses out of the laboratory and ensuring the doors were locked securely behind them. The open skyglass terrace was breezy, taking the edge off the Summer heat, and bougainvillea danced in riotous profusion through the lacework balustrades, a delight for the eyes.

Halfway back to the main house, they stopped, Elena leaning against the warm skyglass and gazing blankly out at the fantasy city spread all around. “What purpose would you gain from using my laboratory?” she asked. “What's your goal here? What do you want, more than anything, from it?”

“I will ply my craft,” Alses replied, after some consideration. “And by doing so I will gain wealth and power. We'll acquire our own laboratory and further my skill in the discipline. I'll keep learning – magic, old knowledge, anything – and raise up great works in praise of Syna, to keep the flame of the faith alive and to find out why the Ethaefal fall, and perhaps even how to stop it. To do that, though, to contemplate such a thing, even with Syna at our back and blessing our work, we need resources and skills, all of which need power, which itself often comes from money. That brings us full-circle, to magecraft and your laboratories.”

Silence – aside from the gunship drone of the bees and the softer chorus of other summer insects – reigned for several chimes. Alses was comfortable on the terrace, drinking down the infinite rain of energy from on high with relish and pleasure unknown to all but the Ethaefal, gorging herself until her reserves groaned with the strain of so much internalised djed and her body felt replete, hale and full of energy.

“I'll instruct my seneschal on your admittance,” Elena pronounced quietly. “Consider our classes, too, hmm? Oh, and don't forget to bring some chocolates next time, as a thank-you. I adore chocolates, sweetie.”

END

[Elysium]

Alses

XP:
Auristics +2
Persuasion +3
Rhetoric +2
Observation +4

Lore:
Lhavit: Elena's Studio of Enchantment
Elena Lariat, Sex and Hedonism
Lhavit: The Overflowing Phial
How to Entertain the Eccentric
Sweetie for a Sweetie
Auristics: Uncovering Carnal Acts

Notes: Ooooh! Just what I love to see from Alses. Your take on Elena was different from mine, but I love that you depicted her without shame. I think I prefer her this way. I'm glad you had fun writing it, because I loved reading it. If you have any other questions, shoot me a message!

and so, the journey continues...