In the morning following the battle, Freyr awoke surprisingly refreshed and energized. It was a rare occurence, but a welcomed one at least. Of course, Kåre was nowhere to be seen. He'd been trained to sleep a certain number of hours or face punishment. A cruel fate, but one that its benefits. Once, he had tried to keep Kåre with him in bed for a while, but the Seraphim practically pushed him aside in an attempt to head to the kitchen. Freyr still had a lot of work to do to mold him into what he wanted Kåre to be. A servant, but also a companion. Someone he could trust. He had to wonder if the effort was worth it. If it all was so that Freyr could feel a little better. Knowing that Kåre would never betray him or act in his own self-interest. He was too fanatically loyal to him to do so. In fact, the Seraphim had been trained and molded for that singular purpose.
When he sat up, the assassin nearly fell to the ground when he was suddenly stricken by a bout of dizziness. He held his head and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment and waited for it to pass. Mornings were going to be hell if this is how things were going to he from now on. As he managed to stand up, Freyr thought that perhaps he could find an alchemist who could give him something for the dizziness. Something clicked in his head; alchemist? Armiel.
As he opened the large walk-in closet adjacent to his room, he remembered the handsome alchemist he had met in the battlefield last might. The one he bad promised a drink to. As he put on an embroidened purple robe to cover himself, he thought about why he had offered him one in the first place. It wasn't normal for him to initiate things, well, at least when he wasn't fulfilling a contract. But, he supposed that a promise was a promise. Besides, at least Armiel wasn't some sickly old man looking for quick sex with someone younger and more attractive. Though, it was likely that this is what Armiel ultimately wanted. That or he wanted someone dead.
Once he was dressed, Freyr made his way to the dining room to check on Kåre. After last night, he was still not particularly hungry. He hoped that the Seraphim wasn't waiting for him with a feast. Right now, he didn't have the stomach for it. As he approached the dining room, his nostrils were overwhelmed by the smell of cocoa. Chuckling, Freyr entered the kitchen, to find Kåre in a chef's outfit pooling together a series of ingredients to attempt and make chocolates.
"Morning." Said the assassin, who leaned against the doorframe leading into the kitchen. The poor servant nearly jumped upon seeing him. He bowed his head and resisted the urge to kneel.
"Good morning, Master... Forgive me for not preparing you breakfast. I was hoping to try this chocolate recipe again to see if I can get it right. But... progress has been slow." By the look on his face, Freyr was half-expecting the Seraphim to beg for a beating. Freyr approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder, though the shorter assassin was forced to raise his arm to reach.
"You are not in trouble. I wanted to check on you before I left. Going to go look for someone." He said, glancing at the mess Kåre was making in his attempt to make the recipe right. "While I am gone, you keep working on that. Just make sure to clean up after yourself."
With a big smile on his face, Kåre wrapped his arms around Freyr and lifted him up in a big hug. "Thank you, Master!"
Caught by surprise, Freyr gasped as he felt the air being suddenly pushed out of his lungs by the somehow stronger Kåre. "Y-You're welcome-" He said with a strained tone, "Now put me down..."
The Seraphim apologized and put Freyr back on the ground. "They'll be ready by the time you come back, Master. I promise."
The assassin did his best to return a smile. "Yeah, you keep working on that. I'll... be back in a few hours."
Freyr got a big smile and a nod in response. With that taken cared of, Freyr returned to his room, had a quick bath and changed into something provocative, but simultaneously formal. It consisted of a pair of black boots with a tall heel, knee-high purple trousers, a belt that held them togerher and a crop top consisting of two overlapping pieces of black fabric that exposed most of his belly. On top of this, Freyr wore a large black cloak with a hood. For this ocassion, Freyr chose to wear some of his rings, and carry with him a walking stick. He wasn't sure why he wanted to make an impression, but something told him he should. For once, he wanted to put effort into something like this.
With one last wave, he bid farewell to Kåre and set out onto the streets of Nero to find the elusive alchemist. Freyr searched every alchemist shop in the upper districts. While there wasn't many, there were enough that he spent the next few hours searching and asking for a Nayu named 'Armiel'. Then, he approached the last alchemist's store that he knew of. Sighing, he stopped by the door. If he didn't find Armiel here, he was going to give up and go home. There were many attractive young Nayu out there who probably spoke the way Armiel did anyway. He wouldn't lose anything by not finding him again. Entering the alchemists shop, he perused the shelves with ingredients and potions. While he wasn't planning to buy anything, Freyr didn't want to appear suspicious. And, besides, he was looking for something to help with his headache anyway.
As the doorbell rings, signifying a customer, the slow and methodical footsteps of the the man at the counter are heard approaching his station.
Seeing Freyr so well dressed, he doesn't recognize the man afore him. He wipes his hands upon his smocks, and dryly smiles. The high cheeks bones almost give a sinister approach, despite his efforts to avoid it.
"Welcome, a pleasure to see you, Lordship. To what am I to assist you in? I have many remedies, and much more things in the workings that will require others to need remedies themselves.
The alchemist, then, speaks with his hands and small gestures. His words, everything about him, slow and methodical. Just like when he was at the killing ground of a battlefield last time, still calm. However, less operational stress working a storefront and not triaging people with arrow holes in their ribcage and lungs.
"You will see my prices do go higher than you will see in other such stores, but that is because they use filler ingredients and I do not such thing. If one is to have the best product, one is to use the best materials. We spare no expenses."
Freyr turned, "I am actually looking for some- Oh."
The moment he came face to face with the man speaking with him, Freyr realizer he had encountered the person he was looking for. Up close, Armiel looked more handsome than he remembered. For a moment, the assassin just sat there staring at him, unaware that he was doing so. Blinking twice, he finally managed to compose himself. This whole situation was starting to look very familiar. It worked on Pan last time, maybe it will here.
"I have been looking for you." Said Freyr, placing his hands on the belt around his trousers. "Armiel, right? I'm Freyr. The one you assisted at that battlefield last night."
"Ah, yes it would seem so. Have you healed? Speak of your injuries to me, please. I used the last three years of my wages to keep you alive, and the lords in that loathsome castle have yet to give me the right to conscript items."
Looking nervous and fidgeting, the Alchemist peers on, curious to see and hear if his emergency repairs on the hitmans' lithe body worked.
He pulls off his work gloves, the stained brown leathers plopping onto the countertop, revealing his painted nails and hands one could never tell work for their daily bread.
"Pardon me, Freyr. I just have much surprise to you attempting to find me. As I hear it, everyone in the strike group we had the merry slaughtering spree with went separate ways, though this is a small town for a kingdom. I am most surprised they made you attend that meeting fresh from fighting! You look as though you struggled to stand, and nearly fainted from lack of vigor!
However, most handsome, I did take many notes on what was said. In case it needs to be in writing, what we were promised, and incase I am ever in dire need of leverage later, though in my deepest wishes I am to hope I do not. These hands heal. They do not hurt."
Normally, Freyr detested people who went on and on about things. Though, those people usually went on about themselves. With Armiel though, he had a way of speaking that just made the assassin want to sit there and watch him ramble on and on. That very thought made Freyr raise an eyebrow. It wasn't normal for him to find likeable qualities on anyone like this. Though, it wasn't rare either. Seems he had made a good choice for a one night stand.
"If you must know." He said, staring down to look at Armiel's hands. He'd never seen a man paint their nails like that before. He might try it too at some point. It certainly added to it. "You did fairly well. When I returned home, all I wanted to do was sleep. Though-" The assassin seemed unsure if he should share such a weakness with someone who he had just met. Though, this Armiel had already patched him up once, perhaps he could do so again. "This morning I woke up with a dizziness that nearly knocked me over. You wouldn't happen to have anything for that, would you?"
Freyr failed to mention that it may have been caused by withdrawal. He had decided to leave his addictions behind and try to get clean, but his body was clearly disagreeing with that decision. "As for the meeting... I was very tired and the Elders were not exactly thrilled to hear about our success. Their arrogance and ignorance seems to have no limits."
The bitterness in his voice was as clear as day. In this environment, Freyr felt safe to speak ill of people who could put him to death at the snap of their fingers. Though, at this point, that seemed like a good fate. Despite his answers, Armiel was never told why Freyr had sought him out in the first place.
"That is to be expected! The amount of trauma. . . Here, sit down. I'll be right with you, gorgeous. I'm happy you're so sturdy, lesser men would have gone stiff!"
Turning his back to him, and going to the backroom once more, does Armiel come upon an epiphany. It wasn't until he left, to search the musty backroom did he acknowledge that Freyr went through the effort to find him, and that he still needed help. Resolute, he grabs a few books that may assist him in what he needs to know, to be sure of what to give. It's not like Armiel didn't already know, from his 6 years of doing this exact job. It's just that ones like this, where the heart quakes and trembles, does he take extra precaution to be sure the efficacy of his remedy is all there. Grabbing two blue bound books, he decides this is what he'll need. A few roots, most of them a pale green, a yellow stalk, and four browning autumn leaves, and he has everything he needs. However, he reaches into a pouch placed upon his black leather belt, and has a small bonbon that he hasn't had yet. While it was waiting for his own personal enjoyment later, he decided that his crush deserves his medicine to be sweet and not as bitter as it normally is.
He takes the things he needs, and a few glasses, and proceeds to set up his things with a practiced and methodical approach. All his tools are evenly spaced apart, suggesting the Alchemist may be a bit neurotic, but what magus isn't? His tongue lightly pokes past his lips, as he focuses on rolling the brown leaves into cylinders, using the small stem as a time after he trimmed off the excess. He looks up, closing his eyes and smiling at Freyr.
"Are you comfortable, my most talented friend? I figured you'd wish to see me work! Some find a joy in watching how exactly this style of medicine and witchery is completed. . . ."
He reopens his eyes, and takes the yellow stalk, celery like in design, but a dandelions' color onto a cutting board. He then lowers it into a stone bowl.
His hammer smashes it, the mortal and pestle pulverizing it, into bits. It takes him considerable effort, and a light sweat drops from his forehead, down past his almost white platinum blond eyebrows. It was still alive, making this hard, but after a series of denting blows and crunching, it resembles powder, the best it can anywho. Into a jar, do the four rolled leaves go, and then the powder is poured into them. He looks back up, and exhales almost childishly.
"That's always the hard part! Though, an addendum if I may issue it. These hands hurt ingredients, but they feel bad for it. I would also wager my hands caused considerable damage to those lizards we hath fought. I still feel a tinge of guilt for it, and ask myself what if I was a smelly lizard, with minimal higher functions, and then exploded? I have all my mental faculties, and my physician mentions I have a feminine and fainting demeanor- and I do not wish to be exploded! I am sorry, Fireflies-for-eyes, I ramble when I work. My hands lightly shake if I am not running my gob. All my masters strike me for it, and I'm afeared you'll do the same."
As Armiel headed into the backroom, Freyr pulled up a chair from the corner and sat down by the counter. When he emerged once more with his ingredients, he tilted his head and scanned every single one for anything dangerous. Up until now Armiel had been a bit too perfect, and the assassin was starting to suspect treachery. His mistrustful nature and paranoia made it difficult to not think about such things when encountering someone new. When asked whether he was comfortable, Freyr nodded and sat back in the chair, crossing his legs.
"Go on. I have never seen a real alchemist prepare something for me before." One of the only honest statements he'd ever make. And that went for everything he consumed, especially the controlled substances he used. His body shivered thinking about it, though he was able to hid it by gripping the silver head of his walking stick.
Over the next few minutes, Freyr sat there and listened to Armiel go on and on about everything and anything that was on his mind. The faintest smile appeared on the otherwise stone serious face he always had. The alchemist's personality, which was optimistics and just a little energtic was starting to grow on Freyr. It was endearing, and dare he say... cute.
"I don't mind." Said Freyr, doing his best to sound genuine. After lying through your teeth for years and hiding your inner self, it was hard to say what you truly thought. "My sla- erm, servant sometimes sings when he cooks. Gives some life to my otherwise silent home. And, I rather not sit in silence for too long. The mind wanders, you know?"
He made sure to say the last bit with some humor. Make it into a joke so as to not appear weak or... sick.
"And so do my fingers, as they go about my arcane art! I'm very happy you find interest in this, dearest."
Lightly humming out a beat, he then takes the pale, sickly green roots, and cracks them, pouring the milky substance into the jar. Afterward, he lights a match, and and turns to a small stove, which gently creaks to life. As it heats the room, he goes out infront the counter, and opens a window. Freyr can't help but stare at his figure. Slightly toned, angled, and enough to register as a mans', but not enough to make the mind have a small amount of doubt. The sun shines into his face, illuminating the center of his face. His high cheekbones hide the chin, and the neckline. A faint breeze creaks its way inside the lab, and vents some of the heat. The mixture is then placed onto the heating element, and a small blue and pink bonbon with a swirl pattern is dropped in the glass.
"I've placed a small candy inside the mixture, to hopefully have my remedy be as sweet as thee, Freyr."
Somehow, he flirts with a stoic voice, the only hint that it was about attraction to the dainty killer afore him is the blushing of his high cheeks, and the small curling he does with his platinum blond hair, revealing a bit of nervousness in discussing what he truly seeks, leaving coils where it was otherwise brushed down and straight. The mixture begins to bubble, and the Alchemist scurries over, to cork it, swirl it five times counterclockwise, and then place it onto a stone tray for it to cool. The vapors inside the bottle begin to cling and condense to the side, and the resulting mixture looks gross. Like a mixture of heavy whipping cream and lemonade, with the texture of honey, it slowly slides down the glass as condensation continues.
"If you are to permit me about 12 more minutes, this should be sufficiently cool to drink, and not at the tepid heat that scalds tongues. It means much to me I got to show you my work in a setting with less shouting, dead men, and arrows firing."
The mixture Armiel was making looked nauseating even when he was promised the taste wouldn't be as bad. But if it got rid of rhe dizziness, he'd do it. He had gone through worse. That aside, Freyr had kept count of how many times Armiel flirted with him. Every now and then he would throw a compliment or a nickname. Why was he going through so much trouble if he just wanted sex?
"Yeah I uh, I enjoyed it." He said, sounding a little distracted. "I'm really happy I found you. Get a chance to talk without fearing for our lives or having to shout over each other."
Freyr thought he should ask what his deal was. Sure, he had been the one who sought him out, but it was Armiel who complimented him and went out of his way to save him. Maybe the alchemist would say so at some point.
"Even you still fear, while taking lives? You talk about opening necks and ending battles with such ease, I thought it was something no more novel than shaving. . . You fascinate me, you handsome devil. Come, now. I present to you, the finest panacea you'll ever have. Taste, I cannot certify. I did my best."
Walking over, the humming Alchemist presents the bottle, uncorked, to Freyr, and closes his eyes with an ear to ear smile as he presents the bottle to his crush.
"May this medicine be as good as the smile I see you trying to hide from me, young man."
He then goes behind the counter, and starts to wash out his tools, placing things that aren't in need of drying where they are, and dryly giggling at the joke he said. It is uncertain what part of that was funny, or if this was a nervous tick of his. Either are likely, at this time.
"Thanks." Freyr said as he was handed the concoction. Looking at it for a moment, he decided to down it as fast he could. The faster he did it, the faster he could get over this. Drinking it, Freyr closed his eyes and tried not to spit any of it out. It didn't have the worse taste in the world, but the texture and consistency made it hard to swallow. Once he had downed the whole thing, he shivered and shook his head. Hopefully, this was worth it.
"It's my job, you know." Freyr remarked, glancing over to Armiel who was giggling behind the counter. Could he get any better? Armiel's personality had a childish quality to it, Freyr thought. It was strangely likeable. "After doing it for many years, you get used to it. Though, unlike most of the members of the King's assassin's league, I don't enjoy killing, nor do I fear it. It is something that has to be done, because His Majesty commands it." As he spoke, Freyr played around with the glass bottle. "I'm his loyal servant and if a contract says I must kill, I will do it without hesitation."
...Unless you fall in love with your target. The last noises Pan made when Freyr slashed his throat played again in his head. If he had been able to see, Freyr had to wonder what his eyes would have looked like. Betrayal, no doubt…
"Goes down like syrup, doesn't it? If I thinned it out with water, I'd be scamming you, and I fear you'd part me of my blood if I was to scam you. How fearsome a warrior you are, presenting like a sheep yet secretly being the wolf. How exciting your life must be! Mine isn't full of thrills. My physicians warns me about seeking them, that people faint of the heart such as myself should live a more cautionary life. I could never do a third of what you do, living icon of talent in a dark art."
"If I may, can I have the bottle back? I need to wash it out, to the best of my ability. You should be feeling amazing in a matter of mere moments."
Extending his ungloved right hand out, he delicately reaches for his vial, a small glass piece that wouldn't be worth anything, but the owner of this particular establishment is a bit of a miser, so better on the safe side to return and clean it. His way of moving is odd, like every small muscle movement has been long since planned on a mental chessboard, awaiting to see how anything could respond, and his smile. Always with his eyes closed. For some reason, he always attempts to hide those jade orbs in his skull, as if there's something hard to look at afore him. His heart, fluttering, surely reveals a different internal picture.
Freyr returned the vial with a nod and sat back. Finding something else to fidget with, his hands reached for his walking stick, whoch he proceeded to play around with to channel his general anxiety. For once, he could not feel that something was wrong with a person. Armiel seemed so... genuine. He couldn't understand it. Freyr had been doing this for years. Talking people up, seducing them, and then slitting their throats without a second thought. In Nero, he did the same, though it was usually Nobles getting him to sleep with them. He was a prize to be worked for and then placed on a shelf to collect dust, never to be touched again. He was a great conversation piece. His beauty and talent in the bedroom was unmatched by any other man in the Kingdom. Hence why everyone wanted him. But in the end, he was just another object to them. He had gotten used to it, but he hated it. To see someone so blatantly express genuine feelings of attraction came out as odd to him.
"Armiel." He stood up, placing both of his hands on his walking stick. When he did, the alchemist heard the distinct sound of high heeled boots clacking against the stone floor. "I want to know why you feel so... strongly attracted to me. I've met plenty of men and women who have professed their love for me or have done their best to seduce me into sleeping with them. But you've yet to make a move. Instead, you compliment me and talk to me as if I were a friend."
He pointed his walking stick in Armiel's direction. "I want to know what your deal is."
His words came out in a rude manner that Freyr didn't intend, but a part of him was beggining to get annoyed. He wanted to know what Armiel wanted. At rhe same time, he feared the answer. Feared it'd be something different from what he had come to understand.
Freyr returned the vial with a nod and sat back. Finding something else to fidget with, his hands reached for his walking stick, whoch he proceeded to play around with to channel his general anxiety. For once, he could not feel that something was wrong with a person. Armiel seemed so... genuine. He couldn't understand it. Freyr had been doing this for years. Talking people up, seducing them, and then slitting their throats without a second thought. In Nero, he did the same, though it was usually Nobles getting him to sleep with them. He was a prize to be worked for and then placed on a shelf to collect dust, never to be touched again. He was a great conversation piece. His beauty and talent in the bedroom was unmatched by any other man in the Kingdom. Hence why everyone wanted him. But in the end, he was just another object to them. He had gotten used to it, but he hated it. To see someone so blatantly express genuine feelings of attraction came out as odd to him.
"Armiel." He stood up, placing both of his hands on his walking stick. When he did, the alchemist heard the distinct sound of high heeled boots clacking against the stone floor. "I want to know why you feel so... strongly attracted to me. I've met plenty of men and women who have professed their love for me or have done their best to seduce me into sleeping with them. But you've yet to make a move. Instead, you compliment me and talk to me as if I were a friend."
He pointed his walking stick in Armiel's direction. "I want to know what your deal is."
His words came out in a rude manner that Freyr didn't intend, but a part of him was beggining to get annoyed. He wanted to know what Armiel wanted. At rhe same time, he feared the answer. Feared it'd be something different from what he had come to understand.
"My deal? Today's special is actually something really mild, it's just a headache medicine we normally greatly overchar..."
Cutting himself off mid sentence, he catches onto Freyr's point, and then clears his throat, his tiny Adams' apple barely visible as it bobs with his cough.
"Freyr, we're friends. I saved your life, you saved a lot of soldiers lives, you were apart of my military unit. Being no soldier myself and far from it, my brother always speaks of the comraderies inside of it. I was hoping to still have friendship, and... who knows, maybe courtship...
A terse whisper of his, immediately followed by his normal speaking volume and tambour, but accompanied by another new arrival, the second coming of the Alchemist blushing.
"Aren't we friends? Or am I to act as though I do not see or hear of you anymore? I can do so, if it pleases you. I wouldn't like too, but it would be very rude of me to think the world revolves me, and not the other worlds revolving around our planet."
The alchemist tries his hardest to recollect the past conversation and any other encounters. 'What have I done that made him agitated? It has to be the compliments! But I do not wish rudeness upon my character. . .' The internal monologue of his goes. A tang of fear lightly grips his stomach, sending the first few rogue butterflies free from the internal cage he keeps them. An easy signal for the killer to detect, that gentle anxiety surfacing, yet being hidden upon stoic staring and a cold, emotionless face that heaves a stark contrast to the enthusiastic, almost child like speech of the scientist.
Freyr sighed, lowering the threatening walking stick and looking away in mild embarassmemt. He felt like he was overreacting, and he probably was. Armiel was just trying to be good to him, but was there such a thing?
"Listen." Armiel could see Freyr's exposed stomach deflate as if he had been holding in a breath. "This place... Nero, it's taught me that no one has good intentions. Not Anui-" Freyr began to take steps with every name he mentioned until he reached the counter. "or Lila, or the Elders, or that grotesque Nayu down in the dungeons. Not even the King himself has good intentions."
When he reached the counter, he placed his scarred hands upon the table, leaning the walking stick against the edge of it.
"I'm sorry if you felt intimidated. But I cannot help but feel suspicious toward a person who compliments me at every turn and goes out of their way to be kind to me. Sure, we may have fought in battle together, sure you may have saved my life. But everyone has a hidden motive and I cannot for the life of me find out yours."
If Armiel had the ability, and if he looked close enough he would have seen a hint of fear and regret in the assassin's eyes. Those eyes that had seldom seen death up until now. To Freyr, Armiel was an anomaly. Like one of the black roses from his garden. Or the light at the end of the tunnel that was Kåre. And like all anomalies in his life, he wanted to get closer to them and care for them. Because in this bleak land, it was all he had left.
"To be upfront, my ultimate goal is to humiliate my brother, and show my parents that they shouldn't have been so quick to discredit me for not being out the womb about 5 minutes before my brother. However, you are no tool for that, and it saddens me to think that you only evaluate yourself as such a tool."
Crossing his hands and leaning in, getting somewhat close to Freyr instead of remaining as fluttery and avoidant as he was, he sighs and looks into Freyrs eyes.
"Tools are replaceable, Freyr. That bottle, the bowl, the chair, those get replaced. Pretty, lithe people don't get replaced, and were I a betting man, I'd place a high wager on you being described as pretty, lithe, or even both if this casino permits it. I have no means to assure you my veracity of intentions, and even had I such a measure, I wouldn't use it. I don't wish to prove everyone else in your life who mismanaged the person in front of me, who saw the person near myself as little more than a checker."
He turns his back to Freyr, giving him time to consider what he spoke of, before gently humming and moving his head side to side as he hums a song just under the sound of the water gushing in cooled sheets into the basin. The bottle is dunked in, gently soaped, and then filled and swirled a few times. It seems the Alchemist has another little ritual, as the numbers of clockwise and counterclockwise rotations, and filling and emptyings of the glassware he finalizes in cleaning is laid to dry out. He turns around, and his face didn't change, still the same expression and posture. However, it's noticeably colder. Armiel grips the counter a little harder, showing a middling amount of frustration that he isn't believed, but then releases his grip as he processes and internalizes what the killer for hire spoke to him of.
"I..." He paused, cutting himself off before he revealed anything compromising. Things had not turned out how he was expecting them. Freyr expected Armiel to admit that he had only done all these things to get a shot at sleeping with the infamous assassin. But no. He just wanted friendship. It was an odd thing to ask of another Nayu, especially a member of the Dolofon. Even when Armiel explainee, Freyr still didn't understand.
"I'll think about it." Was the best Freyr could say. "You're different, I'll give you that. I've been in enough situations with other Nayu to know when they want to use me for something, and you're being honest so it's clear you don't want that."
The assassin reached up to one of his ears, detaching one of the ornaments hanging from a chain in his earing. The chain included a piece that attached itself to the lobe of his ear and another thay connected to the earring itself. On the chain were three roses, that ended with the earring part that was a larger rose. He then handed the ornament to Armiel, placing it in his open palm.
By the look of it, the ornament was made in gold with the roses having petals decorated with silver.
"This was a gift I made to myself on my 20th birthday. It means a lot to me. I'm giving it to you so you know I am going to come back. Even if it is to retrieve it. In the meantime, I'll think about what you told me..."
Freyr's voice took a more somber tone. A stark contrast with his previous agitated state.
"I'll be sure to cherish it, and every time it is to jostle or rustle itself against my neck as I walk with it as a necklace, I shall always think of the ocean that is your beautiful blue eyes, and those cute little horns atop your head. This is a most splendid gift. Do not think so hard you hurt yourself, or you'll else you'll need to come back, and we do charge a rather high mark up of head pain reliving salves!"
With his eyes closed Armiel smiles again, and then turns around as he expects Freyr to see himself out at around this time. What an interesting morning, that. With a mild amount of guilt for liking Freyr for his body, he replays all the events that occurred. 'Who knows?' he says to himself. 'Another month of this, and afore it's knownst to both me and him, we'll be dating. Though, I am a rather difficult partner to deal with. . . Agh! The future's problem, not mine. I very much need to practice my ability to weave waters before I move onto toxins!'
He slides the small door and crouches underneath the frame, to go back to the proper laboratory area, where he marks down what he used, what for they were used, and lies about a price he'll cover himself, using his hard earned pay.
When Freyr exited the alchemists shop, he took a deep breath and turned back toward the door, seeing Armiel head back into the backroom through the window. As he walked back home, Freyr thought about their interaction. It was all so surreal... His intentions were different from everyone else he had ever met. He was different in many ways, and strangely endearing. His voice, his personality, his eyes... everything about him made Freyr want to jump at the opportunity to befriend him. But he knew the costs of that attraction. If he was wrong in his assesment of Armiel it could cost him his reputation and even his life. He needed to take things one step at a time. Ensure everything went perfect so that he didn't lose sight of his goal. As he walked, Freyr heard his stomach grumble.
"Yeah, yeah..." He murmured, "Guess I can't hold out like I used to." Sighing he continued down the road back home. Thinking of what he would ask Kåre for breakfast.