The Alkemist ~the RP~

[silentdraconis]

Locale Name:

Classification:
(district, business, city service, eatery or inn, clan, other)

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On Main Street in Byako, there is a little brick-faced building of a dark reddish hue. A set of black wrought iron stairs leads down to the door, set a little below street level. Over the door hangs a neon sign made of narrow green lights; it reads simply 'The Alkemist.'

Inside, the room is dimly lit, with a bar stretched across the wall opposite the door. A stage stands in the far left corner on the same wall as the door, both made of dark hard wood and polished to gloss, the first also having a gleaming brass rail wrapping its base and oaken stools with black leather tops. Behind the bar is a portrait of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Spindly tables with similar chairs are scattered around the edges of a wide clearing meant for dancing. On the left most wall, not far from the stage, equipment stands ready for a DJ's attention and nimble hands. Black leather couches and chairs are tucked comfortably into nooks and crannies all about, sitting well on the dark, polished hardwood floors. To the right of the bar is a door opening into a short hall that leads back to the kitchen and provides an opening to the stairs leading to the second and third stories. In the corner furthest from the door is an opening with a sign in the same neon lettering as above the outside door, this time reading 'Arcade' in green neon lights.

Hanging on the back of the door in a simple frame was the Alkemist's Mission Statement:
"We the members of The Alkemist Staff (henceforth to be referred to as 'Rabids') hereby swear to uphold and represent all that is 'oh dear'-evoking and red-tie-wearing in this fair city (henceforth known as Byako). We also solemnly vow to ensure and better the appreciation of great art and good Role Playing throughout the population of Byako, accompanied by a appreciation of video games, video game music, Japanese, and Irish people (Huzzah!). By these things do we so solemnly swear, in the continuation of our work (and fandom) at The Alkemist (Fan) Club. Yare yare!"


The second floor is where the owners of The Alkemist reside. The narrow stairs open straight into a slightly wider hall divided by a smattering of doors, one of which (the one on which a tree has been painted) is Rowen's, across the hall (with a painted dragon curled on the wood) is the dragon's lair. The next door, beside Rowen's, had a little flask with a bubbling red liquid inside. This room was forever reserved for a certain talented artist with a red tie, and the inside was the exact same as his own room, down to the very last bit of eraser fuzz. There are two other doors with paintings on them, and two empty. Of the painted, one has the shadow of a person, the other a closed-mouth angel.

The third floor, which is perpetually under lock and key, is by far the most... unusual. Perhaps even frightening. To reach this floor, one requires a key with a most unique shape, much like a 'K' overlaid on an 'A', the grip end of which strongly resembles a flask.
Inside, the floor is almost entirely one long room, set up much like the headquarters of a police operation, with two offices on the far side, a simplistic tree painted over the door of the one on the left, the same and even simpler curled dragon above the door on the right. Between the two doors is a glass display case.
A closer look reveals the slightly... obsessive nature of the items. The map, set on the wall to the left of Rowen's office, is a large, highly accurate one of Byako, and has pins and flags stuck into it at various locations. There are desks and tables, all of which are spread with sheafs of papers and information, and more detailed maps and blueprints of areas where a certain person has been seen repeatedly. There are white boards beside the large Byako map, and standing vigilantly beside the lesser maps, all with writing scribbled on them in at least four different hands, and probably quite a few more. There was a wall of tack-board, on which many many snapshots had been stuck, every single one of them of the same artist whose room was recreated down below. The glass case, if one dared venture that far, was even eerier, containing, among other things, socks. A great many socks. Quite possibly every sock to ever go missing from his laundry...
There was also a glass bottle full of some strange liquid, carefully labeled 'Cassandra Potion.' What its use was, one could only imagine...

Co-founded by Rowen McNeil

 

[silentdraconis]

Die Drache threw the door open and towed her catch inside to the bar, leaving the door to close quietly of it's own accord. She chattered merrily as she moved, not really seeming to expect him to be listening, but in truth intending for him to be able to quote her.
"Welcome to the Alkemist, spelled with a 'k,' like Alkemi. Or Kenton. You get to be the bar tender." The uncommonly strong lady went behind the dark, highly polished bar (dragging the light elemental with her) and rummaged around a bit in the shadows where glasses and bottles were kept out of sight; if he had tried, the tall youth might have been able to run away while she was distracted, but if he attempted it, a serpentine tail would have snaked around his ankle. Die, whose name was still pronounced 'Dee', was not one to let someone get away from her. She shoved a small bundle into his arms when she stood. It was, from the looks of it, clothes, and while he investigated his newest acquirements, a silver tipped finger flicked on the bar lights so they could see better than the dim atmospheric lighting had permitted.
His bundle appeared to contain an apron, a white shirt, dark slacks, a red tie and a green coat. She added to that several keys, and a little book which was simply titled:

Yare Yare
or the 'Oh Dear's

"Over there's the arcade, see the sign? Through that door there," and she pointed, "Is the hall leading to the kitchen and the upper floors. I'll show you the third later, for now, I'll just take you to your room. The tie is uniform, the other stuff is in case you need something else to wear." And she swept him off, up the narrow flight of stairs, and indicated which key went where.
"I'll be downstairs. Come back to the bar when you're ready to start work and I'll swear you in!" And away she went in a shimmer, going back down to officially open 'The Alkemist' to business.

Die (Dee) Drache seemed to have forgotten to mention something important. Something other than introducing herself.
Like what was going on...  

[Rowen McNeill]

The wind elemental blinked as he was dragged through the door, his emrald eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the dim lighting of what appeared to be a club of some sort. "Nani...?" Hearing himself slip into his first language, the young man shook his head and tried again. "What...?"

Before he could form a full question, the girl was talking again. Something about a guy named Kenton, and Alchemy... Suddenly the sign outside came to mind, and he nodded, figuring he had found some sort of connection. Not 'Alchemist', but 'Alkemist'. Interesting. The whole i/y thing was still lost on him, but that would have to wait untill later.

Rowen might have thought about running, if he wasn't so distracted by his suroundings. Whoever had done the decorating, he decided, had good taste. True, he would have prefered a place with windows (and to rely mostly on natural light), but it was the building's basement, after all.

"Eh?" He looked at the bundle which had suddenly been thrust upon him, hiding the book he had almost forgot about. "Oh!" I gotta return that to the library... Or at least what's left of it... Rowen frowned a bit, wondering what their return policy was like if/when the building was in shambles, and almost lost balance of the bundle when she added things atop it.

Blinking, he looked down at the keys, and the book. "'Yare yare'?" He blinked at it for a few minutes and then looked around. "Hai. Yare yare." Somehow, the phrase seemed to fit the place perfectly, as did it's english counterpart. I somehow feel I'll be using that phrase alot lately...

When she pointed his eyes followed, and the 21 year old found himself nodding. True, he had no idea who she was or what the hell was going on, but as soon as she said the word 'kitchen', Rowen no longer cared. Food! He really was starving.

When the girl pushed him up the stairs, past the kitchen, he sighed mournfully. Oh well... I'll have to get changed quickly then... Wait, did she say 'swaring in'? To what? Oh, nevermind... As long as I get access to that kitchen... He unlocked the door and opened it easily, not bothering to look at the tree on it's front. He'd notice (and act exasporated about it) later.

Hm... I hope she doesn't expect me to kill anybody... For a moment he stopped getting changed, and glanced out one of the room's windows. I wonder if she knows about... As if to remind him that there were bigger fish to be fried (literally) Rowen's stomach groweled loudly.

"Oh well!" And then he quickly changed, leaving the tie untied and hanging loose around his neck. He had warn such things in the past, but wasn't really that fond of them- plus he had no clue how to tie it on his own.

If Die was waiting for him in the main area of the Club, she'd be waiting there a while. Rowen made it down the steps and into the kitchen, then stopped; or perhaps started, depending on how you looked at it. The man with the winged shadow was making himself a pre-lunch sandwich, in a style known to some as a 'Dagwood'.

To put it simply, he was puting one slice of every vegetable, meat, and cheese he could find between two halves of a kaiser roll. If she wanted him out now, she would have to drag him out kicking and screaming like the hungry young adult male he was.  

[silentdraconis]

Die Drache (literally 'the dragon', feminine, in German) heard him descend and turn into the kitchen and curiously padded back there on silent feet to peer at him.
He is soo doing the cooking. she decided, and returned to the main room. She played with the DJ set up for a few minutes before returning to the bar, a song she liked in the air of the place. and if she seemed to be dancing across the space between DJ spread and bar, well, what else had the place been built for? *coughthirdfloormockstalkerycough*
She didn't truly expect to get much attention from the locals, but... She liked dancing, music, arcades, and was quite fond of the third floor sprawl.
Besides: she rather hoped the unusual spelling would catch the attention of the target of the Office. Barring either event, she drew out a book titled Thief of Time and started reading, ears open for footsteps.
Absently, her left hand dug under the bar and drew an already tied red tie out and hooked it over her head and down around her neck so that it dangled neatly (if loosely) between the lapels of her black leather jacket.  

[Rowen McNeill]

Rowen finished making the sandwich, and put it on a plate, carefully balancing it as he headed for the bar- the library's un-checked-out copy of 'Good Omens' tucked carefully under his right arm. Behind him, the wings of his shadow stretched out, as if their solid (yet nonexistant) counterparts were helping him balance.

After a few minutes of stepping carefully, the young man sat down at the bar and lowered the plate. Once it was resting on the bartop, he drew his hands back and smiled triumphantly at his masterpiece, savoring it's beauty for about five minutes before giving in to his ravonous hunger. It was gone in under a minute.

After it was gone he smiled, then looked alarmed, and then annoyed. "Aww..." He had forgotten to grab a drink while in the kitchen, and wasn't sure if the bar had anything non-alcholic. "Is there any Code Red in this place?"  

[silentdraconis]

She reached under the bar and silently set the requested drink on the counter, nose still in her book.
"You're officially promoted Head Sandwich-Maker."
Which, considering she had not looked up at all, might be a very odd thing to hear her say. But then again, she'd already proven she was more aware of her surroundings than anyone so absorbed had a right to be.
"Questions?"
And she turned a page.  

[Rowen McNeill]

"Thanks!" The drink was quickly grabbed, opened, and chugged, though not finished. With a satisfied smile the young man screwed the lid back on the bottle, and considered things.

"So you dragged me here before I could check out my library book just so I can make sandwiches at a club?" He regarded her silently for a few minutes, and then nodded. "I see... I just wish people would tell me whenever they plop me into a British-style sci-fi comedy..." He glanced around again, realizing that it could be any kind of British comedy for all he knew- Sci-fi just happened to be the only genrea of British humor with wich he was familiar.

"Uhm, yes actually. I have quite a few quiestions. First and formost: I'm Rowen McNeill. Who the blazes are you?" If he were a normal person, Rowen would have said 'hell'.

Rowen, however, rarely said hell- he also rarely said heaven. Instead, the words 'blazes' and 'stars' were generally used ('stars' also occasionally replaced the words 'god' or 'gods' in his vocabulary). One could speculate about this all day, but the author would say you were wasting your time. If somebody who had been writing about him for a decade couldn't figure him out, then nobody could.

((Yare yare, I am in a wordy mood today! Don't worry though, I'm sure it won't last very long... I hope.... >_>;; ))  

[Blight_of_Luca]

Blin flew out of the doorway into the building "Woah! what was that!?!?" He shook his head as he came to his senses after being pulled from the rich side  

[Rowen McNeill]

Hearing somebody enter, the young man spun his stool around lazily to face the newcomer. Well, technically speaking, they were all newcomers... Ok then, the new-est-comer. "Hello... Can we get something for you?"

Rowen moved to stand up, then realized he had no idea where anything was, and let his rear end fall back onto his seat. Glancing sideways at the girl, he wondered if she'd help him out. He hoped so. Sandwiches were one thing, but he was out of practice when it came to mixing drinks.  

[silentdraconis]

She had time for two words before the newest comer blew through the door: "Die Drache." The first sounded like 'Dee' the second was very German in its perception, coming harshly on the 'ch'. She leaned over the bar to stare at the newest comer. "What he said. Welcome to The Alkemist!" She smiled broadly, but without a glimmer of tooth.
This close to her, Rowen could very likely see the delicately fashioned, silvery green scales that were scattered over her body (or rather, her arms, face and neck: the rest of her was under the cover of clothes).  

[Rowen McNeill]

Rowen blinked at her, noticing the scales but not seeming to particularly care. His shadow had wings, after all, while his back did not. Her name was what got his attention. 'The Dragon'? Nodding, he turned slowly back to the guest. "Ya."  

[silentdraconis]

She glanced over at what could have been German or what could have been lazy English, and froze for just a moment before straightening up and reaching out towards the unfortunate new bar-tender/sandwich-maker. She grabbed the ends of his tie and quickly secured it in a neat knot, tightening it properly. 'The Dragon' nodded once, seemingly satisfied, and started to turn back to her book, considering telling the new worker to go make her a sandwich.  

[Rowen McNeill]

"Gah-ack!" Rowen jumped when she grabbed his tie, but that only resulted in him not being able to breathe for a few moments. "Ah..." He rubbed his neck, and poked at the knot a bit, apparently trying to loosen it (and failing). "A sandwich? Who do I look like, Arthur Dent?"

While Rowen was not Bob's Only Begotten Sandwichmaker, he was good at making them, and didn't really mind doing so (provided he could snack a bit on the fixings while doing so). The main problem, was that he still didn't understand why the girl had dragged him 'here'- or much about what exactly 'here' was anyway. It appered to be a club, yes, but she had said something about a 'swaring in'...

Not exactly what one does when first getting employed by a club. It was, however, remarcably like some secret societies, and the whole thing abuot him being dragged here from the library made him even more suspicious...

After a moment of looking around, he sighed, and stood. "What kind of sandwhich do you want?" It seemed rantom, but he had gotten distracted by something, and lost his train of thought. All he could really recall was something about a sandwhich of unspecified make, and the fact that he was confused. So, a question and a sigh seemed to suffice. Ah, the wonders of ADD.  

[silentdraconis]

"Maybe." She turned a page while his mind ran amok.
She turned another page as he came back to earth.
"Ham, please." She answered when he asked, smiling.
After a moment, probably after he entered the hallway to the kitchen, she looked up, blinking her large eyes in surprise, placing a finger against her lips. "Did I say that out loud?" she asked the air (or the otter, whoever was there.)  

[Rowen McNeill]

Rowen gave her the clostest thing to a glare available. It wasn't very threatening. "No. I. Do. Not. He's British. I'm Irish. And Japanese..." Nodding when she mentioned ham, the young man turned and headed towards the kitchen, his shadow following closely, it's wings slightly opened in a relaxed position.

In the kitchen the 21 year old hummed (and skatted) 'La Vie Bohem' (A and B) from Rent, dancing around a bit as he made the sandwich. He was always more awake in the after noon and evening hours, but dispite the watch on his slim wrist the young man was miserable at keeping track of time.

When the sandwich was finished, he left the kitchen, apparently calmer then when he had been making it. Hmm, I have to figure out where exactly she keeps the Code Red...

"Here ya go." Setting the plate down before Die, he picked up his almost-empty bottle, nodded to the otter, then did a one-handed summersault over the bar (the lid was on his drink, and tight). Behind and below the young man, his shadow's wings stretched out, apparently in a way to keep him balanced. Since they were not real, though, one might note that this did him absolutely no good (or harm) at all. "Ohkey... So what have we got back here...?"