tolpen | An Encounter in the Veilgarden, 24th of June

The lights are still bright and the crowds bustle - although for the Veilgarden, this is fairly low traffic. The air is thick with the wine of yesternight, honey, and a mixture of perfumes.
The Soft-Eyed Mycologist is stalking- no not, stalking, he is loitering on the edge of the area. Biding his time. Waiting. He has a pocket watch. He doesn't check it, not even once.
Unlike earlier today, he is not wearing light blue nor teal. The tailcoat is true apocyan and so are the trousers. The waistcoat is silver and white. There is a lapel pin in the shape of a cross, and there is a pair of comfortable yet dashing shoes. They click audibly on the cobblestones and the occasional spark betrays that the soles are reinforced with steel.
Wherein one would expect him to carry a walking stick, all he holds is a parcel of a modest size, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a piece of twine. It doesn't appear to be heavy.

Current Location: the Veilgarden

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The Chimeric Professor arrives scarce seconds before the agreed hour, this time dressed in clothes reminiscent of the First City still with a slight modern twist, marked with the unmistakable viric brand of the Clay Taylor Club. The color is cream with Tire's purple embroidery and some golden jewelry- No, not gold but burnished bronze. The color and shape of the clothes add to the now fully exposed garnet scales that cover the Professor's skin, almost white in the hand's palms and around the neck. The face is similarly ophidian but keeping many traits of humanity, allowing for a full expression. Expression that seemed cheery and hopeful, gleaming in those (natural) honey-hued eyes. They wore a bejewelled cane on the right hand, leaning slightly, and a leather satchel, almost the same color of their long, wavy hair, left to fall freely as it prefers.

Upon seeing the Mycologist their smile only grows, approaching their date.

"Such a handsome look. You wanted to be certain I'll remember you?" a little not-entirely-joke about the apocyanic effects.

Edited Date: Saturday, 28 June 2025 20:48 (UTC)

"Artn't thou a charmer, Professor," he chuckless. He bows with a flourish and takes the Chimeric Professor's hand, giving a little kiss to the air just above the knuckles. "Alas, no such a devious scheme on my mind. This is merely my outfit most suitable for a night out."
While not untrue, the purpose of the apocyan is, of course is to make everyone remember his presence, which is more useful than remembering his absence.

He looks around, which sends his heavy earrings jingling and glimmering, tips a nonexistent hat to a tabby passing by. The cat gives the pair a suspicious look, and slinks away into an alleyway.
Only then the Mycologist remembers - or rather pretends to remember - the little package. He offers it to the Professor: "I have taken the liberty of procuring this for thee. Think nothing of it, if thou mightst."

The package is very light. Beneath the paper is a cardboard box containing four glass test-tubes, each filled with a different powder. Someone extremely carefully labelled them:
Orange-Milk Bolete
Cardamom-Cinnamon-Clove (C3)
Ginger / Cayenne
Anniseed / Lemon

The Professor received the flourished greeting with a gracious nod and a pleased smile. "And you say I am the charmer..."

Then the package is produced and taken with gratitude, gently opening it and maybe unknowingly flicking a forked tongue at it. "So wonderful! I'll definitely make a good use of these." There's a light chuckle when reading the C3 part as well.

"Coincidentally, I've brought you something as well..." carefully keeping the little box in their satchel, then producing two little cloth bags. One is branded "Cumin", the other "Cinnamon". "These are authentic, from the Surface. Courtesy of a loving family under the Sun and" this last part in a low tone "The dumbwaiter at Balmoral".

The Mycologist's eyes widen when he sees the spices. Real genuine spices, not a mushroom that thinks too much of itself. He takes the packets with profound gratitude and deposits them in the inner pocket of his tailcoat.
It's not as if he couldn't afford true Surface spices by himself. But it's always seemed like a frivolous expense when his breeding project is going so well. Besides, Mr Spices' pockets are fat enough.
Instead he notes: "I see that Balmoral has not changed one bit since my last visit, then. I had to distance myself from the place; the attendants of that particular lifting contraption seemed to have me for an errand boy whom they didn't have to pay much." His bright expression darkens momentarily.

In an attempt to save the conversation, he throws in: "I take it, Professor, that thou art well acquaintanced with the Hinterlands?"

"Ah, somewhat acquainted, yes. I could never resist the prospect of exploring new horizons, and since the City in Silver was established so estrategically, lodgings became far more accessible and expeditions less costly. There's still much to learn there, but step by step. Is there something that interests you particularly there, dear?"

During the conversation the Professor silently offered the Mycologist to start walking, no matter where. The way they clutched at their cane showed they weren't comfortable standing still.

The Mycologist makes their way to the dancing hall at a temperate pace. It wouldn't do to walk slowly, but it also wouldn't do to arrive already breathless and perspiring.

"Oh, nothing as such that I haven't seen, I suspect. I still do visit Evenlode and the Burrow-infa-Mump. My work calls me to travel more and more as of recently." HE sighs. "I suspect that the price of providing one of the best services in my field is to, well keep on providing them. I don't seem to be having as much time for my own projects as I would like to. Truth be told, these classes in redacted language I am taking? Mostly an excuse as to why I can't make an appearance further up the River."

He rubs his left forearm absentmindedly, lost in unspoken thoughts for a moment.

The Professor gently reached for that arm, as if to ask if they could go together instead of side by side.

"Is there something discomforting in the prospect, that makes you wish to avoid it?"

Of course. Where are the Mycologist manners! Certainly not in his other coat. He extends the arm for the Professor to hold it as they please. whether they go hand in hand or with arms linked, the Mycologist is flexible to any arrangement.

"Oh, no such thing. Merely remembering the White City. Well, the little I've been permitted to remember," he adds a bit sheepishly. "Which, I admit, are mostly the gardens. One would think we'd see far more infernal gardeners around."

The Professor links arms comfortably, and listens with great intent.

"Were you beyond the White Walls?" raising their lack of eyebrows, impressed. "That takes courage, I never found a good enough reason to do so myself. Interviewed some Marigold bearers, though, and many of them agree regarding the gardens. Their descriptions were the most unbelievable, even for Neathy standards, but that's to be expected referring to Devils..."

"How was the experience?" they ask, after a short pause. "What do you mean about being permitted to remember?"

"Oh! Also. I didn't ask where are we heading exactly. Which kind of dance do you prefer? I know an excellent salsa dancing hall directed by one former player of the Great Game from Buenos Aires, her career cut short by her accidental death here. Always had good times there."

"I have walked there, yes. At first out of curiosity. We know of hell what is preached within the walls of our Anglican Church. But those texts are poorly sourced. No reliable citations," the Mycologist smirks. He hardly looks the picture of a Christian, Anglican or any other. Well, besides the cross in his lapel, but he clearly hasn't been taking a good care of it, it is slightly bent to one side.
Maybe he likes it, because it is shiny?

"I assume thou art familiar with the existence of border control? Besides having to prove thy identity and right to entry or exit the country, they also ensure thou artn't carrying anything forbidden to cross the borders. Hell, being very secretive of itself, does not allow for memories of certain kind to be carried out - much like silkworms couldn't exit the Chinese Empire. Thus I do remember the gardens and the people I have met and talked to... but I have not retained most of the conversations, thus I suspect I asked of their society and economy. I remember church bells, but not post offices. I know of them only in their absence."
For a while he is quiet, and the he adds: "I do remember getting into a fight with a goat demon and spectacularly loosing. I landed in a fountain. Quite the flight. I haven't got the faintest why we fought."

The dancing hall they are heading towards is just at the end of the street. It is lit brightly, full of cheerful voices and even some singing.

The mention of the spectacular defeat against a goat-demon gets a light-hearted laugh from the Professor. "Such an interesting story, all of it... I admire the reach of your curiosity, and very much appreciate your recalls. It also makes sense they control which memories can be taken from Hell, I just hope no other nation gets the same idea. Tourism would become so strange in that case..."

The crooked cross does not go unnoticed, together with the first declaration. Sure there's a lot to learn from the Mycologist, and each moment they share the more apparent this is. Wonderful!

"Ah! Almost there. The cheer is almost contagious."

"It is certainly only a matter of time before someone gets the bright idea to impose a tax on memories. We have the precedent of taxed love, memory is the next logical step," the Mycologist shrugs the shrug of a man who's spent a weekend or two drafting tables on the matter.
"With the correct ratio on the taxes per type of memory, tourism would be rather lucrative business opportunity."

He smiles, lips thinned. It is not a nice smile.
"Ah, listen to me prattle on about such ventures. I might give someone ideas, in my free time, no less. All the while I should be paying my attention to thee. I hope thou pardonst me. I shall do better from now on."

He sizes up the dancing hall and then turns to the Professor: "Pray tell, what is thy favourite dance?"

The Professor listened to the Mycologist surprised at the idea, then promptly dismissed the apology with a gesture of the hand. "No problem in the slightest. I planned to get to know you better and you're indulging me delightfully. About the dances? The first I learned was the waltz, and in so many parties the chotis is involved- Ohm, excuse me. Schottische" forcing an unfamiliar pronunciation "And as of late the South-American dances have been earning a place in my heart and hips, like salsa. I have yet to find someone in the Neath who can dance a good jota."

"Salsa is a stranger to me, I admit," which he doesn't do with light heart, "but the remainder I ought not to have a problem with. We shall see how thou findest my jota. though I am first to say flamenco agrees with me better."

He lets them into the dancing hall through the door. A footman approaches and suddenly turns in a completely different direction; the pair obviously needs no any tending.
The hall itself is not crowded, but it is definitely not going out of business tonight. Fungal arrangements adorn every pillar and window. The music is loud and still swift.

The Mycologist turns to his companion, the glim-strings of his earring sending refracted light everywhere: "Do teach me the steps of this salsa. I am most curious."

The Professor catches the beauty cast by the Mycologist's both nature of preparation and is momentarily transfixed. Then, with a swift motion, a long reptilian tail makes itself known from the clothes covering it and gets closer to the Mycologist's legs, not touching yet.

"Of course, dear. Let me guide you in position..." The starting pose is already known. The Mycologist's hand on the Professor's hip, the Professor's hand on the Mycologist's shoulder, and the remaining hands of both joined in the middle, at shoulder height.

"The basic dance involves three steps, and a stop, that's a cycle. It can be in the same place or moving, sideways or forwards then back. We'll start without moving. You move your left foot forwards and I do with my right backwards, first step." The Professor does the mirrored step slowly, allowing the Mycologist to follow. "Return to starting position, second step." Demonstration again. "Then I do my left forwards and your right backwards, third step." Guiding him again. "And during the fourth, whatever you want as long as you don't move your position. You can do a kick" kicks "or tap the floor." taps. "Maybe a spin?" Doesn't, but leaves the chance open. The plan is getting creative. And that finishes a cycle."

"The key, though, are the hips..." This time they gently hold the Mycologist's hips showing how the swaying should go. "Like this, with each step, trying to keep the music's rythm, see?" They're doing the same, but mirrored, their tail emphasizing the swaying. "There, ready for a basic cycle?"

OOC(And here I am, digging my mind for the first lessons. It's been a fun exercise though!)

The Mycologist observes the tail for a moment. He blinks once, very slowly, and practically purrs: "Is that a Catastrophe within thy attire or art thou merely that pleased to see me?"

The Mycologist is a quick study, finding it the easiest to mirror the Professor's steps. He helps himself to keep the rhythm by throwing his head to left and right. It is in fact harder for him to keep his feet moving rather than the hips. Or, well, the rest of his body. Whoever taught this man to dance focused their attention from the knees up.

That is not to say he is a slow learner. If there is any fault to his study method, it is perhaps that he leans into the guiding hands a touch too eagerly.
"Oh this is delightful. So many ballrooms leave a man's back so stiff," he chuckles. "Oh, thy hast found a new favourite for me."
His eyes, while still warm, have lost most of their softness. They are now sharp and aglow with delight. (Next time, granted that there is a next time, he is going without the tailcoat, but will throw in some bangles for a good measure.)

((OOC: *Whistles from the sidelines* Hey, you two, do tango!
Wait, let me wikipedia tango real quick just in case it is too early for it. Just kidding. Unless...))

Upon hearing that the Professor can't help but burst in laughter, holding the Mycologist a little bit closer in the meantime.

"Oh dear, you have no idea how pleased I am." A devilish fanged grin answers, their slitted pupils becoming sharper to match his. "And you like it? I can see that, you're getting the catch pretty fast. So now-" The Professor aims for a spin, giving a subtle hint with their tail before commiting to the movement and see how the Mycologist responds.

"We can continue escalating... Start moving around the ballroom, getting bolder with our stops, closer in the grip... Or looser, to allow for more flourish?" A change of pace, again using the tail as indicator to where to turn, or the movement that comes afterwards. "What about we just see where the music brings us?" The Professor's wide hips feeling the rythm and getting a bit bolder in the steps. The Mycologist is enjoying? Let's see how far~

OOC(You have no right to make me burst in laughter like that. Also, tango? Yes, why not~)

At the clue, the Mycologist spins around like a record, letting the momentum to bring him closer to the Professor before he unwinds in the opposite direction to give their feet some space.
He is picking up the steps very quickly - it is obvious he knows some of them, simply not at this pace.

"Well I suppose that depends: Dost thou prefer to charm the entire hall to envy us each other, or art thou more fond of a private entertainment?"

Somewhere, somehow, several dancers have noticed them already, and are now making their own attempts at samba. Some are better than the others. A bohemian dancer of a certain sway even persuades the director of this evening for a change of music to something more fitting.

"I personally am leaning towards the first." This grin is outright mean. Yet beautiful. These are certainly human teeth, but the lips pull far too back.
"But 'tis thy night and thy dance. Thus thy choice as well."

Knowing they're with an outright professional, most likely better at the dance floor than them, the Professor matches with a grin of their own, less mean but definitely wider, holding the Mycologist close for a moment to whisper their answer.

"Why don't you start leading now? Let's Make some Waves~" Teasing, wanting to see that hinted beast take over the dance floor. And hoping to survive it as well. Their own movements trying to lure that beast out. Now their trail is getting in the middle of the dancers, yet careful enough not to hit anyone. That lack of consideration would simply not do well to the show.

OOC(Very fitting indeed. Hurray for the devilish inclinations)

Is the Mycologist comfortable taking lead in a dance he's known for, what twenty minutes? Not in the slightest. Is that going to stop him? The current hypothesis is that no.
In all truth, the most difficult task is to keep out of the way of everyone else.

Step, step, spin, step, switch (pause? Why does this dance come with pauses in it?), step. His steel-soled shoes do not make an outright racket on the parquet, but they certainly make up for what the drummer up on the podium is lacking.

A young pair, still figuring out the base steps, jumps to the corner when it notices the Professor and the Mycologist approaching. Surely the Mycologist hasn't led them across the entire dancefloor here on purpose. Just to do this?
"Share a though with me: What would Darwin say of the dancing floor?"

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ticktopis_observatorium - Date: Wednesday, 2 July 2025 11:23 (UTC) - Expand

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Tolpen

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You have reached Tolpen. Tolp is still figuring out Dreamwidth and is currently using it to role-play the Soft-Eyed Mycologist, a Fallen London character (see sticky entry). A larger crew might appear, eventually.
Tolpen uses ne/nem/neir neopronouns when feeling fancy, and he/she/they when not. Ne occasionally writes stuff on AO3 under the same name.
Among neir interests belong (in no particular order) necromancy, murder mysteries, TTRPGs, crocheting, toxicology, and pretending ne is a man with a mid-life crisis and a job of keeping the reality together online.
Oh, and ne is still a Homestuck fan in this time and age, gods help us all.

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