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50th of Ymiden , 517Located at the far tip of Rhakros lay a narrow street, lined with a row of even narrower shops. It was this corner of the city that lay quiet, free of the falling water at the cliffs, free of the hum of early risers and foot commuters. This corner was quiet, unmoving. A dormant street and a dormant building. And that’s just the way she preferred it.
Keegan sat at her work desk, a plain but large utility table that housed various tools and curiosities stuffed into glass jars. Copperleaf, Indian turnip. The dusty roots of a wormwood, and the bright, vulgar clusters of the butterfly weed. They were all pristinely kept and fashioned in tight rows, just so. Just so. A gaunt hand reached for another neatly cut label, and she grabbed the feather quill from it’s place and scribbled the last word, the nib painting inky black gouache in elegant loops and undulations.
Tassel flower.
Emilia coccinea
They had always been her favorites, the flowers, though she was wise enough to keep that pleasure to herself. Toxins of all types were her deepest fixation, but it was the flowers that she spent just two extra trills on. It was those chapters on the flowering plants that were reread of her own will, and the flowers that she handled with most care. What a curiosity, that something so delicate and unassuming at first blush, could be something else entirely. It was fitting, really, and those same gaunt hands fastened the label to the glass with short, trimmed nails. She was tipping the vial from side to side, watching the petals flatten as they pressed against the glass when she heard him.Emilia coccinea
”Keegan.” His voice was flat and impatient, a tone he reserved only when she had not answered him the first time he had called her. He was standing over her now, a grizzled shell of a man that was not even handsome in his youth, that much was certain. He stood erect, though even at his best posture Barlow Baynard’s shoulders cowed and his spine rounded as a fish hooks might. Despite his impatience, he did not encroach her space, but she could feel his presence spilling into hers nonetheless.
”I am not finished.” Was what she replied with. Labeling and jarring was not an exciting task, but it was tolerable enough, and more productive than what Baynard was proposing.
”You’ll finish when we’re done. For the Daughter.” And dirtied hands deposited a collection of greenery atop the desk, Keegan’s jaw tightening as it did. Baynard was not as thorough when it came to preparing plants as she, and a crumble of dirt littered her otherwise polished station.
The Daughter can wait, is what she’d think, but she’d pick out the aucuba, and the barberry. The begonia, and the jimson weed. There was a painted nonchalance to the gesture of sorting, a forced indifference. Keegan was not often put off, but being interrupted was something that caused a stir in the weave of her emotion. And after all, one did not argue or test Barlow Baynard, not on Wyeb and not any trial.
And while the woman would not outwardly rebel, the aucuba rolled lazily between her fingers, blue eyes idle as a few more chunks of dirt were freed from the root. It was Baynard’s carelessness that would require her to sweep again, and she took a moment in silence to allow the irritation of this settle. It was rare that she grew bothered by the old man, but it was most unfortunate she would be interrupted like this, an entire trial lost for devotion.
Despite this, the woman found inwardness, working through the tangle of her own emotion to preserve what little sense of calm was left. She thought of the flow of the quill, and the tassel flower, and she could feel the palest of blue. The color of calm. Using strum, the thread of calm was woven closer to the surface of the tangle, encouraging a placid mood even after the effects of the plants had metabolized.
”She’ll find me able.” She said, and the barberry was popped into her mouth. ”And I will finish.” The statement was curt, delivered with a sort of sharpness that sounded more like a threat than a promise. The begonia and jimson weed followed shortly after, down the hatch and into the girl’s belly.
