Eye of Newt

Asavvi My mind, my body, my soul Only feels good standing out in the cold When Asavvi had pictured an alchemists shop her mind’s eye had created something more akin to the old apothecary that her been her old supplier: stuffy and dusty, shelves filled with rows and rows of serviceable but unimaginative boxes. This is much more eclectic in its wares and has more than a touch of whimsy and of warmth that welcomes her in. She is caught for a moment by some sort of stellar clockwork, the glowing stars giving her a swift slice of nostalgia for the magic of her childhood. At the answering voice she breaks away and hurries to step through the last of the racks and up to the counter. The young man there gives her another pause, his cloudy eyes something she’s never encountered before even though she assumes what it must mean. Announcing herself seems the proper thing to do but the fact that her name probably wouldn’t mean anything to him makes even that thought seem somewhat foolish. Still, manners were manners, blind or not. “Good morning, I’m glad I’m not too early.” her gentle voice glosses over her brief hesitation well enough, let it never be said that Asavvi was anything less that polite at all times. ”I think I’ve found the right place, or at least perhaps you can point me in the right direction. I’m setting up shop just down the way and I’m looking for a few supplies—compounds really— that are a bit hard to come by. Are you the alchemist?”