As in nature, all is ebb and tide, all is wave motion, so it seems that in all branches of industry, alternating currents - electric wave motion - will have the sway. - Nikola Tesla. Timestamp: 71 Summer 517 AV Alements was not open. Caelum repeated that to himself all morning. It was still closed. It was not open. Yes, he was opening it. But it was not open yet. He had work to do first. He had to clean up the gathered dust and shake down the old cobwebs and shine every single hand crafted glass until it shone in Syna's light from the stained glass windows. It had to be perfect. It had to glow. Therefore, Alements was not open. Only there was wine. And his wine did not go bad. It only improved with age, as immortal as the proprietor who had not aged a day since he had said his farewells to Riverfall over two years gone. Honestly, he had not aged since he had first stumbled into the Akalak's city some seven years ago; and the gods seemed to love him for it. If Alements was open, then Caelum would have to worry about whether or not any of his old patrons still loved him. He would have to fret over business and patients versus patrons and trying to split his time. He needed to make sure his daughter settled in first, and that Elise had had a chance to rest up from the journey. He needed to sweep out the dry goods storage and listen to the siren call of the saltwater tide and check the docks for cracks and call upon Kavala and sleep for a week and order fresh supplies and reintroduce himself as a returned citizen and.. and.. and breathe. It was in that vein that the ethaefal sat on the edge of his dock, legs dangling down and trousers rolled up. His shoes were missing and his shirt was untucked. Summer had stunned his hair back to raivel leaf gold and his horns could have been crafted from emerald and ivory. It was a brilliant season, for him, and that had nothing to do with why his mouth was in a worried frown and why, despite the long, long, long list of Things To Do, he was fishing. From inside the (definitely not open) tavern, the sound of pots being angrily banged about and running water echoed. |