@ Simchuff: Thank you!
I didn't actually like Jaycen that much to begin with, excepting the story possibilities and the money, but...He's starting to grow on me.
Part 2: Destiny[/u]
From the personal accounts of Aurum AlchimiaMr. Hendrix began his stay with me by himself a 'make-over.' To be made again is certainly a charming idea…If Father had had a second go at making me, how improved would I have been? Still, my duty now is to do just that: to make myself over,
I am not sure how clothing accomplished this. It will require further study. Perhaps the adjustment in clothing is symbolic of an internal restructuring of the psyche? I shall consider the rose as a symbol…At a later date.
I praised him for his efforts, and with a bow and a wink, he set off. He said he wanted to learn some new skills, and moved quickly to the science center.
”I need some hobbies or something if I stay here, and this place is pretty dull…So I’m thinking it could use a garden.”Ah, perhaps that is the meaning of the rose. If so, it is advantageous. Having someone to tend a garden frees up time for me to work for my art.
Research. My retort bubbles away, collecting the fine steam rising from its belly; it forms a background rhythm to my thoughts. I begin by making some aqua vitae as a base (and practice; I left very little of the theoretical within my father’s instruction), and begin contemplating my experimental processes. There is something I would like to do… That happiness of Mr. Hendrix’s face after he moved in (but before I sold the car, illiciting that noise whose harmonics I have since analyzed as possessing a 40% correlation with the cry of a distressed puppy). It looked as if…As if the wish of his life had been fulfilled. Bliss. I would like to see if there isn’t a way to produce that feeling. Our souls are chemicals; or perhaps chemicals are our souls. They’re one substance, and so igniting one can have positive effects on the other. Chemically, there is something to happiness that feels almost photosynthetic, a production of energy from external sources, an a certain sugary quality. This is the thinking that allows me to begin with a plant or fungus, ideally a fruit, but if this works, I suspect other matter will suffice. Taking my substance, I pulverize it in my mortar and boil the oils and extracts in the retort and...
It’s at this point that I feel, for defense of Aurum’s recipes (and our reader’s sanity, which Aurum would have never considered), I should cut out the remainder of her research documentation at this juncture. Her journals are littered with these passages, but I’ll only include the segments relevant to the dynasty, or of particular entertainment value.The end result is not exactly what I intended, but I do sense a significant increase in enjoyment of both social fulfillment and the general sensation that can be loosely categorized as ‘fun.’ … But that may be because I have been researching. I will call it a vial of bliss, and accept it as a trial success.
I go forth… And find a building that smells faintly of barbeque pork and heavy stimulant.
“…This does not appear to be the elixir consignment store.”
I will require a map before making further ventures… But there is the matter of my return trip… Where will I end up going home?
”Wow, you look like you’re having a bad day, too.” A man interrupted my thoughts to observe. Signs such as bloodshot eyes and bags indicate sleep troubles on his part. He notices my gaze.
”Oh, sorry; that’s a little rude. I’m Darren Dreamer.”
“You are experiencing misfortune, Mr. Dreamer?” I asked, in the name of politeness. Perhaps he would be willing to be a subject to test out some new potions, or maybe a spell I’ve recently acquired use of. If I ask him too directly, however, I may create a placebo effect that would damage the results of my trials. I will have to surprise him.
He laughs.
”Well, not exactly… It’s less what’s happening and more…Nevermind. What’s wrong? Maybe I can help.”“I have moved here recently to work on my craft and studies…But… I have yet to acquire a proper geographical framework.”
”You’ll get used to it. I actually came down here to work, too. The spirit of the desert is beautiful to paint.”The spirit of the desert…So this man also understands that objects have a sort of spirit? Fascinating. I wonder what the
telos of a desert might be. To be a plains or a forest, perhaps, as in the dawn of time? Perhaps Mr. Hendrix’s gardening might help that, then.
“I have set up a residence here to pursue my art, with the accompaniment of a friend.” The word tingles slightly on my tongue, alien with disuse. I will document this sensation comes with a certain pleasant, perhaps proud, rush.
”So, like an artist’s retreat?”“…Yes. I am in retreat.”
I am happy to give a summary of my studies in alchemy, including my recent discussions. He is momentarily afflicted with a slight glazing-over of the eyes, but recovers as I mention the literary history of Alchemy.
It seems that in addition to his dreams of painting, he also has dreams of authorship. And… He was very interested in my father’s dream of Alchemy, of Destiny as something bright and pure…
”I’ve been having dreams…About a future. It doesn’t look very bright or pure to me. I mean…There’s something of that in there, but…” He sighs.
”It all ends in disaster.” “The future is not destiny. Destiny is something you craft; something that happens when you burn away fear and doubt, dissolve and cleanse uncertainty, Warm and brighten your spirit.”
“Mister Dreamer, if there’s something worthwhile in that future you see,” I find the notion of oracular dreams somewhat implausible, but then again, I am a witch made from gold, “…Seize it. Throw away the rest, and keep that precious future. I will hope for your success, sir.”
That said, I turn to look around and consider my path home, when he interrupts me.
”If you were trying to get to the elixir consignment store, and ended up here…Maybe I should drive you home. See your place and stuff.”“Very well.” I’d solved one problem, at least.
***
What was he thinking?
Well, to understand this, you need to understand a certain ladyfriend of his: Darleen Matlapin. A pretty girl, a native of the town. Some time ago, she talked him into visit a fortune teller…Who told him that Darleen was the woman he was destined to marry. However, she was also the woman he was destined to lose to death.
Ever since, the young artist had dreamed of that future, torn between joy and misery. Something about Aurum’s version of destiny spoke to him.
The ghost of that future loomed over him as he looked over Aurum’s little “retreat.”
”Bringing home boys already, ‘Miss’ Aurum? You move fast, girl! I had you pegged wrong!” Hendrix jokes from the sculpting station.
Oh, Henrix…Please change at some point.
Anyway, He’s just goofing about with whatever he has on-hand. Still, he finds it oddly relaxing.”…I was unaware pegs were involved at all.” She turned, looking for a peg he may have put somewhere on her person. ”…””…Yeah, nevermind.” …Seriously, Aurum. This is rather embarrassing.
The moment is about as awkward as one might expect, and in a desperate attempt to change the subject, Darren points out the easel set up against the wall.”Do one of you paint?”Aurum shakes her head.”I will require a portrait for my documentation and for certain energetic, possibly aetheric, properties of my long-term objectives.””But you just said neither of you paint, so who…?””I have considered cloning as an option.” Hendrix and Darren check her face for a trace of humor, the way a man might look for water in the desert. And with about as much success.
Several ideas form in Darren’s head, one of which is that this woman may be crazy. The other of which is that it’s a crazy that he thinks he needs, right now, before he goes crazy in a totally different way.
“So, this place… Is there room for one more? (Maybe 2? 3, at some point?)”Destiny is a thing you have to make.
And, with a bit more negotiation (which all sounds unpleasantly long-term to Hendrix, but no one’s listening to him at the moment), Darren Dreamer joins the household. It took him a ridiculously long time to get what should be a customary move-makeover, so that’ll be coming…Someday.
