exsiliumlogs | (no subject)

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kevin cecil (makai ouji)

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Date & Time: 01/02 in the afternoon
Location: The creepy hotel, guest study
Characters: Rufus Barma and Huey Laforet (or anyone snooping around the museum/hotel)
Summary: Very safe science and alchemy
Warnings: Moral ambiguity- WHUP Blood and Baccano! death

In its prime, the study, boasting of a selection of actually printed books and rich, polished oak desks, was austere and quite a draw to the wealthy patrons of the establishment. While the valiant cleaning crew had done what they could from the warp of cold, bite of vermin and the simple passage of neglect, the room only clings to its fancy dress of ages past.

Still. It had books and paper, two things Rufus Barma took comfort in. Also, it was close to the heating ducts and far from the remaining colonies of aggressive penguins... Probably.

"I trust thine journey were a safe one."

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[Hm. How curious.]

Certainly.

[There's no distortion, no feeling to the air. There's absolutely no warning before reality simply changes. The table in front of him groans, wood cracking and splitting. The smell of sap is sharp in the air and lacquer flakes off of the surface as it outgrows its paint.

The plantlike monstrosity winds around Huey, bruisingly tight.

He pauses a moment, looking at Huey's face for any trace of fear... the one and single sign he'd take to stop.]

I've two hypothesis entering this.

The first is that the art ye hath shown me is not illusion.

[A point, sharpens like a spear in front of him.]

The second is that damage of the mind is physiological in nature.

[The spike shoots up, through the neck and brain... Though it was an illusion, the nerves lit up, seizing in frantic energy before going dark, one at a time as was convinced it died in an instant. The heart's rhythm went wild, and ceased, the diaphragm no longer pulled, and every blood vessel lost tone, opening wide and porous, dumping their contents into the space between vessel and tissue.

The illusion dispelled in a flutter of black wings, dropping Huey through it. The death would have been instant, forced by the mind alone.]

I trust ye shalt not disappoint.

Edited (Important word!!) 2014-01-09 21:24 (UTC)

[There's a mild sign of surprise in his face. After all, even Huey can react like this to unknown situations. There's also some pain in his expression. Being immortal doesn't mean you don't feel pain. However, it's obvious that he controls it rather well, and isn't bothered as much as he should have been.

However, the most prominent emotion in his face is genuine interest. Not even as the "spike" rips through his head does that change. At least, until he dies. Again. While he never acquired actual injuries, his body still reacted as a normal body would.

But that's again, that's for a normal body. Because soon after a few moments, his chest starts moving and his fingers twitches. And as soon as his eyes open again, you can see the interest in his expression come back as well.]

[This time he offers a hand down, to assist the other man. It was its own gamble. There was scant chance he'd need it, but what were manners after all, if not sentiments?]

Tis breathtaking. Mine own work in that circle is pale beside it.

[He reaches to grab his hand, but he does so with completely indifference. By his reaction, you'd have thought that Huey was on the floor because he merely tripped on his feet. Once he gets up, he picks up some of his notes, surely scattered around by now.]

What's important is the work that derived from it.

[He pulls out a pen and starts jotting things down.]

For example, your own work is impressive, but there's obviously much more to it than that.

[He returns to his own tea a moment, ruminating on what he'd just seen. He doesn't pick up his own pen yet, not until he'd finished sorting the information to the last scrap of it and his expression remains distant, inward.]

Indeed.

That which ye hath observed tis a borrowed power, harnessed through alchemical means, summoned and shaped by will and paid in mine own body.

The art which hath been studied and practiced in mine own family focuses on the soul.

I'm slightly upset at myself. I should have recorded the moment on video since dying makes it difficult to observe properly.

[He let out a wry chuckle, but he is obviously not upset at the least.]

At the very least, our powers have similar backgrounds though there are a few key differences. One, I studied alchemy at a school when I was a young child. Two, though summoned by alchemical means, it wasn't really necessary. Three, the power wasn't originally mine, but I was allowed to keep it.

Edited 2014-01-10 07:47 (UTC)

Mine apologies for disallowing preparation... had what ye demonstrated been a trick of illusion, surprise wouldst hath been necessary to forestall a second. While none of mine art would display itself on tape, I can hardly call claim that there would be nothing of interest on it. Twould be of little bother to do again, when ye hath preparations to test it. I would rather see how it holds to scrutiny.

[He moves the fan to the side and pulls his own notes back in front of him, picking up a pen and quickly outlining a few observations, with room left to expound on each.]

However, from thine words, I take it ye have managed to reproduce what hath been granted to thee.

Mmm, I see. I guess for now, I will have to take your word for it.

[Though it's obvious he isn't content with just leaving it to his word. It might not bother him much, of course nothing really does, but it is enough for him to think about.]

It's only one of the experiments I'm currently working on. I use it as another tool of research since actual immortality means very little to me. However, I've managed to reproduce what I've wanted to because of it which is all I want really.

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