Dolce

The sun was nearly overtaken by the horizon as Archebold tapped along the open road of the settlement. Always a sway of arrogance and superiority in his movements. His free hand flipping a playing card in his hand he found in the rubble. It smoothly transitioned between his fingers as he whistled a two-tone tune, occasionally twirling his walking stick between taps before arriving at the door of the alchemist. He'd peak through the window to make sure it was occupied, no doubt about to close...perhaps one last customer wouldn't be so troublesome. Archebold grinned as he gently pushed the door open, sounding the chime as he stepped in. He'd glance around, using the knob of his walking stick to sway easily along the labels of several bottles as he read the name of their contents. Walking stick would be tucked under his arm, though the card continued to dance between his fingers. "Mmmhmmmm...." Archebold mused out loud with an amused growl as he leaned and studied various mixtures as if he held any particular use for them. archebold Death is not a defeat. It is a cure.