A Deal In White and Red

The sign above the door read "A Single Drop" in an elegant script, with a single green teardrop carved and painted into the wood beside the name. In Radasanth's underground network, this store had become known as a place where one could acquire a selection of poisons and antidotes, and even have custom crafted ones made, with no questions asked and no Guild interference. The proprietor was a redhaired man who seemed to always be working alone here,
but he was polite to a fault when dealing with people. A few ruffians had tried taking advantage of the store, thinking that a single man couldn't be that intimidating - right until that bloody whip had bled them out, coiling around them and stabbing in with sharp barbs. Then the alchemist had cheerily given them a surface patch up, binding any wounds, and tossed them out onto the street once more.

The interior of the store neat and orderly, and somewhat dark in the interior. This was due to the fact that the sources of light were small flames that burned in the corners of the room and a desk torch behind the counter - a minimum of light being provided, and a minimum exposed flame to keep any accidents from occurring. There were shelves along each wall, and in the middle of the room two standing shelf units. The two on the walls held a variety of bottles, some glowing on their own and others not, in a variety of colors - but also locked behind a mesh cage, to prevent anyone from just wandering off with one of the bottles. The shelves in the middle of the room held plants and small mineral samples, each labeled neatly with what they were - here, only one shelf was locked, and this one bore the outright poisonous substances, those things that were harmful even if ingested directly. Behind the low wooden counter - which held a ledger and a register - was a door, currently closed, that lead into the back of the store.

The store was also unique from many other alchemical shops in Radasanth in that it operated late into the night - opening its door around five in the evening, and running until nearly four in the morning. This night owl schedule served the majority of its clientele quite well, as they too worked in the dead of night. It also had made the store a popular spot to come to for medicine late at night - as he was usually open when other places had closed.

Right now, the store was empty save for the redheaded alchemist who was currently sitting on a stool behind the counter, a note book open in front of him as he wrote in it, slowly writing out formula and checking them against other things he'd written before. In all, a quiet, peaceful evening seemed to be in store for Nevin.

Boots echoed through the alleyways. A small group made their way with importance. Cloaks hid the faces of most of them, making features gained hard to discern. The only thing that was certain was that they huddled around one in their midst and they were afraid of that person. Wisps of white hair flickered under the leader's hood before they came to a halt in the dark alleyways. The leader pointed to the ends of the back alleys and spoke, her tone harsh, “No one in or out. I shouldn’t be terribly long, but I do not want interruptions.”

The men muttered assent before they took up lazy positions at the end of the alleyways. With the route to the apothecary firmly in control, the figure slowly lowered the hood of her cloak and looked wistfully up at the night sky. White hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, though faint wisps outlined her face. A scar slashed across her face just below her left eye speaking of some altercation in her past. Chainmail shined briefly under the cloak leading down to leather pants and boots, a pair of daggers on her hips showing she was in fact armed. A sword was on her back worn over the cloak, though her eyes darted about obsessively looking for any signs of treachery or ambush.

She hated the city, the congealed mass of corruption that served its own ends. People dealing, selling, and whoring to create an existence rather than use their strength for more fruitful endeavours. The Social Contract stagnated and there was no more evidence than to step into a city and see everyone play along by the rules. Rules that saw only those with the money or connections accomplish anything of note. How she longed to unleash pure anarchy on Radasanth and cleanse the filth from it. Destroying the usual order of things was about the only way to truly cleanse Corone of its corruption.

Still, today was not a day for cleansing. Instead, she was here on business.

Her hand gently twisted the knob, and she entered the shop. The chime of the entry bell pierced the silence she found herself in. Her eyes drank in the details, the low light, the countertops kept clean. She was mildly impressed, seeing that the reputation this little shop had gotten was more than some hot air. From what she had already seen, she could see this was the place to accomplish her goals. Grey eyes drank in details effortlessly, and she finally turned to the form of a man at the counter.

Her eyes studied the sole occupant of the shop, and she drank in the red hair, the dark eyes. Her look spoke volumes, not immediately impressed, but not disappointed. She figured there would be a weapon behind the counter where she couldn’t see it. He took immediate notice of her, gently tucking his pen into his book and closing it. The vest and gloved hands were in keeping with her expectations. Spills happened, better he avoided death to such inevitabilities. She idly tugged at the gloves on her own hands, pulling them deeper into the leather fabric.

Samantha Ambria moved down the counter, a hand whimsically trailing along the wood, stopping when she reached the proprietor. She gave him a courteous smile, one that Aerith had been working on, telling the warden her usual scowl was hardly a good conversation starter, ”Would you be the proprietor? I have business I wish to speak of with him. My name is Samantha, and I represent a group of people that could benefit from his...wares.”

Niceties, such things were frustrating to the woman who would prefer to speak plainly. However, she would need to play along if she wished to surprise Aerith with her initiative.

The gentle chime of the door had Nevin look up from the notes he was working on. Sure enough, someone was purposefully making their way into his shop. Excellent, a distraction from the alchemical formula that were currently chasing each other in circles in his head. He closed the book and folded his hands together on the counter and watched as she approached.

She was definitely different from most of the clientele that came into his shop at this time of night. She had a lethal grace to her motions as she swept across the shop floor. On her back was a sword, primed and ready for easy grasp - a definitive warrior, as opposed to the cutthroats that normally served as the messengers for the different groups that plagued Radasanth. So when she said that she had business - well. He tilted his head to one side, studying her. It seemed that he had drawn the attention of a somewhat more prestigious organization, this time.

"I am indeed Nevin, proprietor of A Single Drop." He nodded his head to the seat that was in front of the counter, off to one side from him slightly. Slender gloves fingers stretched before he opened his note book and flipped to a blank page, then he twirled his pen in his fingers a moment before tilting his head to one side.

"You are not from one of the normal groups that seek my wares. Are you after poisons? Antidotes? Customized serums of some kind?" He tapped one end of the pen against the book after each question, studying her. "And is your name something I might enquire to, or do you have an alias you would prefer?" The alchemist would prefer not to have to write her down as 'white-haired woman' in his request forms.

Samantha regarded the man momentarily. Finally, she moved down the counter and raised her voice for him to hear her, “Very well, I am Samantha Ambria, Warden of the Cult of Blessed Torture. I am sure you have at least heard whispers of our exploits, including but not limited to the near total destruction of Castle Ixia and the downfall of it’s Knights. I come, because the governments of lands far away have begun to wise up to our presence in Corone, and seek to hamper our efforts in other regions. Particularly, the gathering of materials which we use in alchemical substances and poisons.”

She looked at the shelves of reagents recognizing a few form her time spent with Aerith Remi. The woman that was the high priestess of the Cult and the Mother’s Dark Daughter was often working on some chemical concoction, a few that had made Samantha’s eyes tear up with how noxious they could be. The Warden nodded softly and looked back to Nevin, her voice firm, “I understand that this will be an odd request, but we need those regents. We also need them from a source with the same reputation of discretion as our allies. If the Crimson Hand’s Right Hand can trust you, then I feel a business arrangement can be made for you as well. You may use my title as Warden, as I am the Cult’s only one. If you say I allowed it, then they will not question or harm you. The flock knows better than to get involved in my affairs. However, use my real name at your peril. I need to remain in the darkness, and I will not have years of effort come to waste because a back alley apothecary could not keep his mouth shut.”

Samantha looked around the shop and sighed, feeling herself deflate a little as she had gotten the point across. She was taking a risk, coming out here by herself, but she knew it would be worth it. Aerith would surely appreciate a steady flow of plants and unguents to make her poisons with, and perhaps Memnar would shut up about the destruction of the Mana battery at long last. With a serious obstacle to his works impeded he would be at last able to research the device, and hopefully stop eyeing Zavine. The worst she would have to deal with is another lesson from Jebb, and all Samantha could hope was that the benefits of her little trip would mean she wouldn’t suffer punishment for going out of the manor unbidden.

She looked at Nevin and spoke, “I see you certainly can get the proper stock, the question is can you get enough of it and what would you charge for such services. Speak your price poisoner, and let us begin the dance.”

The alchemist sat back in his chair, studying the white-haired girl in front of him. He drummed his fingers on the countertop, then sat forward and wrote ‘Warden’ at the top of the page. Then he turned his dark gaze back to the woman, considering her. The casual derogatory term had irritated him - but at the same time, he didn’t really care. He wasn’t one of the guild alchemists, who hung everything on their prim and proper names. If that was all this woman saw him as, then that was fine. He would deal, and ignore it because it didn’t really matter what she saw him as, if she was willing to return or, in this case, set up some kind of long term trade.

He had heard of the Cult she was a part of. He’d thought them gone, after the fall of Ixia and its knights - with their primary antagonist gone, the group had gone quiet. Well, if they were here, in Corone, and working, that might be why. And this woman - apparently knew Scarlet. Enough to know that the red-haired woman, corrupt and dark, had come to him and begun some kind of business with him. A bit surprising, as he thought that Scarlet wouldn’t want anyone knowing about it, but he supposed that they might know each other personally, not just by reputation. He spun his pen around, dancing it along the fingers of his hand as he studied her. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“So, Warden.” If she felt that using her real name would be a problem, then he would not use it. He had no concern about that - it wasn’t like he had a personal grudge against the Cult of Blessed Torture. She wasn’t a Salvarian priest, then there might have been trouble for him. “Are you wishing just general stocks for poisons, or are you desirous of more specialized materials? While I could easily arrange a portion of my reagent stocks to be delivered to a location of your choosing, that would only be for common ingredients. For the rare things, I usually must venture out and gather them myself, and so the supply flow of them is far more restricted.” He settled the pen down, dark eyes focused on her gaze.

“No, if you’re wanting reagents, you likely have a chemist of some kind working with you already. They likely are the ones who would go looking for the specialized things - as they’d know what they’re needing for whatever it is they are making. So - you likely need the general supplies.” He stood up and stretched, his tall, lanky frame unfolding from the stool he had been sitting on. Slender fingers closed the request book that he had been writing in, and he watched her as he organized some of the bottles on his counter. He was thinking, turning over her request in his head. He was currently operating on a somewhat small scale - he’d been getting shipments from Madison, and had taken to drying and storing most of them, as working alone he didn’t use enough to work through everything she had been sending him. He could give her some, that much was true. But - how much was the question.

“I have a ready stock of reagents, currently dried. I can sell you a few pounds of a variety right now, to take back with you. That will let your chemist examine them, and know if the ingredients would be suited for whatever they’re trying to do. If they are, that is when we can discuss a more proper business arrangement - it would be bad deal for us to begin something, and have shipments going to your group, only to find out that they are not right for whatever it is you and yours are working on. So. Poisonous ingredients.” He began calculating - then gave a moderately high estimate, writing it down in the book and spinning it around for her. They’d start the ‘dance’ of negotiation there.