Between Us

Enchanted Willow Alchemy - 

''Alchemist Iovynne Willow makes the second "Iovynne" to have a successful shop in Trademeet, the other being the proprietor of The Gryphon's Flight. Neither is fond of this fact, and even less pleased to have it realized to them.''

''The name, though, is where the resemblance ends. Enchanted Willow Alchemy is a clean, casual sort of place, smelling strongly of herbs and...something else. A musty, heavy sort of a smell overlies everything - including the pungent aromas of the herbs, but it's impossible to say just what it is, or where it's coming from. Vases and jars of everything imaginable (and some things not) fill the shelves and tables. There's a hearth at the back of the room, equipped with a beautifully cliche cauldron. And yes, that cauldron is usually filled nearly to the brim with something viscous, bubbly, and vile. But usually not the same something two days in a row.''

''Iovynne herself has the habit of bustling about her little shop, checking on her goods as if she thinks they've crawled out of their bottles and slipped away since she last looked. When she's not doing that, she's usually sitting on a stool by the side of the cauldron, stirring it occasionally and muttering to herself. The only door leads out into the Culinary District of Trademeet.''

Tonight, the shop is even largely /quiet/, though Iovynne is still working - up late, or so the lanterns prove. A cauldron boils - the noxious scent of rendering skunkleaf tingling the air in a way that would certainly drive away custom at any other time.

It at least explains the late hours.

As the Duchess approaches the shoppe, however, a form in a cloak too heavy for this time of year is moving away from it, on down to the north along the nearly deserted streets of the great trade city.

A guarded pair of scholarly, green eyes trace to the left, watching the wool and fur-shrouded figure stalk away from the place of their present interest. Booted feet continue onwards, flawlessly keeping pace without a missed beat, however. The woman shrugs her cloak into better position, the leather flapping sharply in response. "I do hope that was not the proprietor," Murmurs a fatigued contralto. Scuff scuff go the boots politely before the door, attempting to shake any dirt from their treads while a hand lifts to knock and illuminates the door with a sudden, ethereal blue glow. "Mistress Willow?" She calls lowly forth, glancing aside to the shape of the other buildings.

Inside, the muffled call is, "S' open, 't is. C'mon then - Light. Woul' think I were nae havin' better t' do.." But it's an oddly good-natured grumble, the woman stirring at the pot. "What, y' man got ye wi' little one, o' was 't yer fellow on th' side, then?"

Taking a small step back from the door, Rowena knits her brows to the side and looks off in the direction that the supposed patron had vanished to. "Erm," She mumbles, shaking the thought from her head and reaching for the latch. It's with great care that Rowena steps over the threshold and into the shop, tapping her toes a final time behind her in turn. Folding her hands back inside her cloak after closing the door behind, she silently scans the assorted novelties, lastly of which bringing her gaze to rest solely over the figure of Iovynne.

Iovynne prattles on - she's a skinny woman, getting older but not yet 'old' - with no wedding-ring, for all that that is no sign of anything beyond not having a ring. Busily stirring, tending that foul-smelling concoction, she fills the empty space with /words/.

"Mind 't not - wi' nae go spillin' e'erything t' e'eryone - woul' be surprised how many women-folk come after th' lanterns are lit an' e'eryone else b' run off. S' nae kind 'n yer body, mind - doin' what yer thinkin' - if 'es yer one 'n only, y' shoul' talk t' m first."

"Oh, I see," Rowena ahs softly with a little smile in spite of herself. "My man, yes, I understand now, well...No. No such 'condition' has brought me here tonight, though I'll admit that the timing does lend to such assumptions." Stepping twice, three times forward, she stifles a cough and narrows her eyes with mild accusation to the burbling cauldron across the room. "Skunkleaf? I don't suppose I blame you for losing sleep to brew it now as opposed to waiting till morn."

It's the voice that catches her off guard - and the Alchemist is quick to look up, to flash a smile... and her accent actually smooths, at least a bit, the woman straightening her dress, her work apron. "Light, m' sorry, yer ladyship - I were not lookin' up - o' course one like ye woul' not be comin' here fer /that/ sort o' thing." She.. doesn't really stop /stirring/, though. Has a tendency to get worse, if you do -

"Aye. Drives off most folk durin' the day, it does. What can I do fer ye then, Lady?"

Meandering along a length of shelving, Rowena leans her nose subtly aside, closer to those dried herbs in search of polite relief. "You posses a very fine shop here, Madam. I don't believe I've visited this one in particular before...Freehaven I think was my last such encounter. That was some years ago of course, before its former name was declared bastard..." Trailing off, Rowena steps closer to a table, captivated by a particular jar. Without thinking, her fingers are drawn towards it, seizing the silverwyrm collection and lifting it to eye level.

"Aye? Has been a bit in comin' - I were apprenticed for a while, then finally got the gl.. coin t'gether for my own - " She covers the /very/ street slang quickly - flashing a slightly embarrassed smile. "A.. ah. Yer Ladyship - you.. are lookin' for somethin' in particular, then?"

It's Rowena's turn to look sheepish, her ears coloring swiftly with red as she reverently places the jar back onto its home. To avoid future temptations, she entwines her fingers together between folds of cloak. "Aye..." Voice becoming distant, Rowena casts a long, reflective look to the ceiling. "Though I'm not sure how it is that one 'asks' in a situation such as the one I dwell currently in without chasing away the quarry she would seek it from?" Flicking her gaze back onto the alchemist with regained composure and sense of control, Rowena paces around the end of the insectoid table and makes a slow advance on some serpentine forms. "Do pardon me if I am straying you from your work."

"Well, m' guessin' you would.. er. Ask, Lady?" The woman pauses stirring long enough to glance at the door, at Rowena - and she ventures, "Got some right nice late-season rosepetal and ground button mushrooms, an' if ye are o' a mind, Lady, well - I been puttin' aside a bit o' lowweed tincture."

The slender fingers twitch against their self-restraint as Rowena glides by some nightslider heads - forever entombed in glass. Pursing her lips, she diverts her course yet again. "Lowweed? Alas, no," the Lady sighs and breaks her vow with a forward reach to pinch some dried leaves between her forefinger and thumb. "Gooseweed on the other hand, I'd be most interested in. As well as a few. Other. Components." Tapping two of the three - goose weed and oxmarsh - respectively, she does an about-face and redirects her finger to point at Iovynne. "That is, if you've any in stock."

"Well, aye - a bit o' those - " But there's an oddly suspicious look from the woman. "What are y' looking at makin' then, yer ladyship? If you mind not me askin', anyway." She lays the stick aside - for /now/, it seems, concentrating on - using rags to keep the pot's edge from her hands - pouring off that foul smelling liquid into glassware set aside for that purpose; mismatched, but they all have (luxury!) stoppers, at the very least.

"Me? Oh, I'm not entirely certain I'll be mixing those ingredients - if it's too late, for instance - but you see, a dear friend of mine...she nearly suffered an unfortunate mishap. She's this garden, many years now, at the edge of the wood." Licking her lips, Rowena curls her finger back into her fist and stalks again along the herbal displays. "A few days ago she tried her hand at making a stew-which calls for mushrooms, of course-and Light bless her, her eyes simply are not as young as they once were. The fungus she did collect was most certainly not the one intended but she was none the wiser! Thankfully as fate would have it, I had paid a visit later that afternoon and managed to avert the disaster before she'd stewed them all." Pausing to breath and recollect her thoughts, Rowena closes her eyes and drums her fingers against her belly. "I've not been able to sleep a night since, fearing that she'll make the same mistake again, being less educated than I, and send her entire family unwittingly into eternal sleep. I've decided that it would be wise to make ready an antidote, should misfortune have its way."

The woman frowns, slightly - "... Hangman's Noose, or Knight's Thumb?" She takes this seriously, it seems, laying the cauldron aside, wiping hands on her apron. "Either woul' be bad, one worse 'n th' other. From what yer askin', that sounds like Noose, 't does - but th' mushrooms alone should be not enow t' do more 'n scare her, less she were eatin' quite a few." More thinking aloud, than anything -

"Funny. Lady, where is this patch o' mushrooms, if ye mind me not askin'? You are th' fourth this week, lookin' for bits n' pieces to ward 't away."

Lustrious, long lashes bat endearingly open to nail Iovynne with a slyly studious smile. "The mushrooms alone would not harm her? Ah, that is much relief, thank you. Yes, I tried to tell her what it was she'd found privately so as to not scare her family, but little ears being what they are spread what I'd said like wildlife. I suspect that her neighbors are seeking out similar remedies. Really, they are the superstitious sort. The three persons before me, did they give a name? I should pay them visit to put minds at ease."

"Would cause 'er a bit o' trouble, but like as not kill 'er outright. The nasty bit is when it gets put with other things, 't is." Iovynne moves to the counter trailing fingers along it - "Most are not keen on givin' names, Lady - " A pause - "But the first one were wearin' a ring I remember, from when I were little." She looks up at the Duchess - "I got a feelin' you are askin' me that 'cause o' that ring. You really got some old one nae payin' attention to what she's pickin'?"

The fine, worry lines over Rowena's brow tighten visibly and she turns her head to scrutinize more of the shop. "I'm afraid that many persons have not been "payin' attention" to what it is they're sowing and reaping. But Adell, she would be most humiliated if I named her residence. The mentioning of a ring does make me curious, though."

Flashing a feigned, all too brief smile in the older woman's direction, she hooks her thumb over her knife's sheath beneath the cloak. "The person wearing it - t'wasn't an older woman, was she? Not many are privy to wear such rings, this era. I'm sure it must have been quite memorable to see that caliber of adornment. Nostalgic, even. Was it the first time you'd seen someone wearing that sort of ring since you were younger? I have faint memories of it myself..."

"Yer Ladyship - " The woman bites her lip, then nods. "I ... got no truck with trouble. I got no wish for it. I run a clean shop, an' the last thing th' likes o' me needs is th' Watch comin' by to check it all th' time. Worked hard t' get here, I did... and there is nothin' wrong with that, 's nae." The accent slips, just a bit.

"So just as soon, me? I nae get in the middle o' anything - y' ken? I want no trouble - does m' nae a whit o' good. And I want /less/ trouble wi' that ring, if y' get my meanin'."

Nodding a silent confirmation, Rowena back-paces a few steps. "Am I to understand then, Madam Willow, that you would never wish to become entangled with the ring? And by entangled I mean selling the little, earthy means of a euphoric, sputtering death? Logic would inform me that if they came to you seeking remedy then they had already the means of concocting the nefarious brew elsewhere that for reasons unknown could not also supply them with those three remedial ingredients."

"... I .. donnae much want t' think about 't. But if they were makin' it? Only one I ken what /would/ woul' be Aeric - an' he is up 'n Sweetwater, at th' shop there. Does anythin' for coin - o'.. whate'er." The woman wraps her arms around herself - perhaps an unconscious gesture. "But.. 'f anyone kens more 'n him, well - I ne'er met 'em."

"Very good, Madam." Bestowing a more genuine, patient smile, Rowena dips her chin forward with a casual bow. "Rest assured my ears and tongue does not belong to the Imperial Watch, nor to the fallen Church. This is Valorian territory, after all, and from what I'm told, they are a stubborn sort, tending not to follow conventional means of conflict resolution." "Now...I do think that I wish to make a purchase." Rather than collecting her afore mentioned triad of herbs, the Healer side steps to pat the cork of the parasitic silverwyrm jar. Tilting her head to look pointedly at the spindly legs and bristly maws, Rowena smirks faintly. "Sentimental reasons."

"Lady -" The alchemist shudders - "If y' kin be sentimental about that bunch - yer welcome to 'em." A breath, and she seems to uncoil, to focus - "Ye.. want the lot?"

"Aye, why not?" Rowena proposes and cups the jar lovingly in one hand. "Wouldn't want them to get lonely, now." Some less than benevolent flashes in her eyes as she watches the little bugs writhe and clamber over one another. "I've a rather warm home I believe they'll enjoy."

The alchemist goes a bit pale - "They are yours then, Lady - " She even backs up a step - "Wi' my blessin's, aye?"

Yes, yes, little ones...

Breaking her stare off the purchase and onto the rather mortified alchemist, Rowena uses her other hand to fish some coin from her waist. "They'll be no blessings needed, honestly. Cept perhaps in favor of the embers burning for eternity." Slapping a handful of Imperials onto the table in place of the jar, she offers a cordial bob of her head. "My thanks, Mistress Willow. I truly am sorry if I've caused you trouble or delay in your work."

"Y' did neither, Lady - " The woman watches the jar with undisguised... well. Morbid curiosity, perhaps, and she moves no closer. ".. Light keep ye, lady - I jus'.. well. Light keep ye."

"And may it shed the same graces upon you," Tucking the jar beneath her cloak and in the fold of her left arm, Rowena offers a wry smile. "Well then," The melodic, self-assured murmur returns as she then wanders out of the shop. "There'll be no need for kindling."