ticktopis_observatorium | A Morbid Appointment

The Morbid Socialite had dressed in fine yet practical attire, his gladstone bag containing supplies, tools, and notes and, in his other hand, sat a small cake as a gift of gratitude for inviting him. He pulled his watch from his pocket, more as a force of habit than as anything reliable to tell the time. The soft ticking and the weight was a reassurance.

They sighed and finally knocked on the front door, taking a moment to look over the house's facade. What a beautiful structure! He hummed a gentle tune from the musical they'd watched recently and shook their head of it. Far too catchy for as distasteful as the show had been. A blasphemy against Stoker's masterpiece and an affront to all theatre-

No, Mori, relax. No thinking about terrible art. Not when there's studying to be done! And so, he waited.

There's a bit of waiting before the Socialite heard steps at the other side of the door, maybe he heard someone going down a set of stairs right before? Then the door's unlocked and the now-known chimeric face of the Professor is waiting at the other side, right above the rest of the yet-unknown body of the Professor free from any covering at the moment.

"Ah, Doctor, good eveninig! You're earlier than expe-" the Professor cuts their line of thought right when a sudden terrified expression takes over their face, realizing him being early meant they didn't finish preparing...

"Oh, sorry! I am so, so sorry, please forgive such-" as the Professor started talking they quickly stepped out of sight, reaching for something. "Impropriety, I just didn't notice-" the sound of fabric. "The scales make difficult to feel easily if you're dressed at all-" the apology stops when they step towards the doorframe once more, now covered by a dressing gown. By they way one could overhear faint scandalous gossip about the deed, it was probably whisper-satin.

The Professor inhaled deeply, then exhaled, and offered a rather anxious, apologetic look. "My apologies, you can come inside. I'll just ask you to wait for a short while as I get properly attired..."

Edited 2025-07-06 08:14 (UTC)

The Socialite gave the start of a polite greeting when the door opened. "Good evening, Professor. I apologize, I did send Tularemia a-"

The eyes glanced down, freezing the Socialite in place before darting back up to their face. "-head." They coughed and shifted their gaze to higher than head level. Even as the Professor moved out of view, he still kept his sights on the top of the door frame, half listening to the slight ramble.

Once the Professor moved back into sight, the blush would still be present with the temporary attire of a whisper-satin gown. "There's no need to apologize, really. It happens to the best of us." He could count on three hands the number of times he'd answered the door nude, sloshed, honey-mazed, or still bound in ropes.

Once inside the parlor, the Socialite would find it sober but comfortably furnished and renewed not too long ago. There's a brachiating spindlewolf sat in- Well. Sat across all the seats at sight, probably long and lazy enough to manage such achievement. All of them but the one the Socialite would take. Her many eyes are inescapable, the indifference in her eyes quite obvious. Unlike her owner, it seems she already expected him. The voice of the Professor comes from upstairs.

"Please, make yourself comfortable. Don't mind Noa, she will claim any space you leave available. Careful with Tularemia, she likes to play but always cheats-" Their steps are once again heard at the stairs, yet those can't be described as footsteps accurately. They haven't put on any footwear, so they're still strictly digitigrade and with the soft but noticeable scratch of claws against the wood. The rest of them are properly clothed now, albeit with the loose and colorful clothing related to the First City, just without so many adornments.

"I have water heating, can I offer you some jasmine tea? There's also some chocolates. Actual chocolates, of course. While we talk about what we intend with these meetings." Already going towards the kitchen to get it all ready.

Edited 2025-07-06 14:27 (UTC)

The Socialite approached and kneeled before Noa as he called out. "Tea would be lovely, thank you! Just as well, as I've brought a cake from a lovely bakery off Veilgarden." Having set his things aside, he offers a hand for Noa to sniff. Expectation of arrival did not always mean trust, as he'd learned with his spouse's spindlewolf, Kerberos.

Tularemia clambered to the top of the hat and stared down at Noa, assessing. She had experience leading a pack of the most violent weasels known to man, she knew when to assess a person as either an ally or a foe.

"Is there somewhere I may place my hat and coat?" The was a part of the Socialite that found it odd that a person of the Professor's stature, in a home so grand, wouldn't have any serving staff. They'd become acclimated to the well-to-do of London and the almost invisible presence of servants (ones they tried so very hard to treat well without making it clear they were very much acknowledged and known as equals). "I might help you in the kitchen, once I've disrobed."

Noa stretched her neck to reach for the Socialite's hand, sniffing it with sudden interest, but having enough with two-to-three sniffs, then nuzzling at his wrist softly before changing focus entirely towards Tularemia. The spindlewolf passing from complete leisure to full alert in the space between a tick and a tock, ears straight up, tail slightly curved, mouth closed, so many eyes focused on her (Yet not all, there's always corners to observe). Seems to be waiting for the allowed intruder to do the next move and take herself a decision.

Just when the Professor returns, carrying a tray with a steaming teapot, two cups, a sugar bowl and some of the Mycologist's Assorted Fungal Spice Substitutes, named by the flavor they have. There's also a charming box of chocolates, shaped like hearts of varied designs. "Yes of course! Forgive me, I completely forgot my manners it seems. There's a rack by the door, let me..."

The Professor reached for the Socialite's coat and hat right after leaving the tray on the table, placing them comfortably in the aforementioned rack if allowed. Then returns to the table, serving the tea. "Sugar? There's a special mushroom I've been recently introduced to that tastes almost exactly like cream milk when biten, do you want one for your tea?"

Tularemia moved from the hat to the shoulder just before the Professor could take her previous perch, eyes still locked on Noa. She paused, then flattened her paws out in front of her, an invitation.

"Oh, no, you needn't- I can-" The Socialite sighed as the coat was taken. "Thank you. And, as well, thank you for hosting. You have a lovely home."

The Socialite inspected the tea arrangement with consideration, blushing only slightly at the heart-shaped chocolates. Surely, simply left over from the Feast of the Rose. Surely. "Might I try the cream-mimic fungus alone first? Even nearly exact similarities may have small differences and I'd like to see for my self if it and jasmine pair well together."

"Thank you... After the very needed renovations, there wasn't enough budget for furniture. Then the research expeditions came, and decent life in the Neath is expensive... Eating properly and keep the publications running became more important than furnishing the house, and here we are many years later. Oh well... But thank you." Smiling sincerely returning to the tea table.

In the meantime Noa adopts a more playful stance, tail swishing left and right like a sharp furred duster, looking at Tularemia and compressing to a more manageable level, to play at the same height to the newly found companion.

That's not a complete box of chocolates, that's for certain, so Mori's mind can rest assured of any possible hidden meanings. The Professor does give him one of the cream fungi to try, their reptillian face showing reassurance that he'll be surprised. When put in the mouth isn't much different in texture from any other fungus, but after biting it releases a substance thicker than milk but with a heavily similar flavor, easily filling the mouth. Perhaps the calcium contents would be comparable as well.

"Now, let's see that excellent cake I've heard about~" The Professor is always so easy to tempt via their sweet tooth- Or fang, were you so inclined.

Tularemia dashed off, landing lightly and speeding off into the rest of the house, stopping only once to make it clear she was waiting for Noa to chase her.

The Socialite hummed in shock at the flavor of the fungus. "Goodness, that is remarkable! You're quite right, it would be an excellent addition to a jasmine blend. It has such a lovely thickness."

The Socialite, reminded of the cake, positioned it before the Professor. It was a small cake decorated in flowery pastels and frosting that appeared golden in the light. "It's a delightful vanilla rum that I've had the pleasure of trying at an afternoon tea once, in the form of a petit four. While this is an informal tea, I thought it best to provide a suitable sweet. Shall we sit? I'm sure there is much to discuss."

Noa didn't even need Tularemia to clarify, for as soon as the little stoat jumped, she swiftly followed, testing both their speeds and energies to spend. The hunt is on!

After a chuckle at the animal socialization having place, the Professor returned to the more human one, smiling pleased at the Socialite's appreciation. "Glad you like it, it's a lovely discovery from our esteemed classmate the Soft-Eyed Mycologist." Just by referring to him their eyes blazed alight for a moment. "I can show you how to get them, they're too easily mistaken with a highly toxic variety, and this one is to be consumed with caution as well..."

"And thank you! Such a thoughtful detail, I can't say I tried this one before. And oh, of course, take seat. I'd love to hear what do you wish to learn about the Correspondence, your end goals, and how to better reach them." Taking seat after the Socialite does at the sofa by the coffee table, all set for them to enjoy together with a conversation.

The Socialite laughed as he watched the animals run off before turning back to the Professor. "Perhaps we can discuss the fungal foraging at another time. First and foremost, I don't believe I properly learned your name."

They held out a hand for a shake. "Doctor Mementomori Malodrema, though you may call me Mori. Most of our class does at this point, I don't see why a study partner cannot."

The Professor shook that hand gently, accepting the Socialite's name. Such a precious thing a name is these days. They could perfectly make without theirs, but it's still theirs, and thus free to be spoken out loud.

"Ángel Uriarte. A pleasure to meet you, Mori." And a warm smile that means it.

"The pleasure is all mine, Ángel. Now, I suppose next on the agenda is discussion of the contents of the lessons. I must say, your use of the layered Correspondence was quite remarkable." The Socialite poured the tea and set the pot aside, allowing the Professor to doctor it as they saw fit: with mushroom cream or sugar.

The Professor takes their tea with one cream mushroom and no sugar, cupping their hands to the comfortable warmth even in this false-summer.

"Thank you. So far, as the lessons go, I see you are following perfectly. And you showed an impressive creativity when composing novel symbols from the ones we've been taught. Thus I should say. Before next class comes likely with a new challenge, I deem you don't need much study- Nor do I, at risk of sounding arrogant..."

"So I thought it could be better to try and establish connections between our end projects. I could facilitate your access to some literature as well, if you're not doing complete innovation that is. And perhaps collaborate in our research if it's compatible."

There was a single moment, a single flinch, that disappeared as quickly as it arrived, as if it were never there. Then the Socialite smiled.

"Well, I do worry our projects may not overlap as much as desired. I must ask what your project is on." As he spoke, he took one cream fungus and two cubes of sugar in his tea, stirring gently.

"Oh, of course." A brief stop to sip tea, taking the cream fungus and biting down, adding another at the remaining tea afterwards. They looked at Mori with a bit of wondering. Was he evasive or just polite? The Socialite usually appeared more eager to please than to be pleased, so it checks out. "Are you familiar with the electromagnetic spectrum, Mori?"

The Socialite considered, tapping the tea spoon ever so lightly and setting it aside. "The name does sound familiar to me. Would it have something to do with magnetic waves? Or perhaps it's a spectrum of light? Please, do explain." It was a genuine curiosity with which he spoke.

"You're correct at both! Current state of the art considers electricity, magnetism, radiation and light different forms of the same energy. An energy composed of waves the frequency of which determines its effects on the surrounding world! Ranging from simple harmless communication to utterly destructive chemical reactions! It's just so fascinating... Doubly so when you consider the natural channel of communicating the Correspondence is light, don't you think? If the language was born of light, could it change on such a fundamental level depending on which wavelength is used to convey it? That's my question, and my project intends to answer it."

They're also so excited talking about this. Not just proud of their idea, but also fascinated at the endless wonders that can be found all over the world, natural or supernatural.

The Socialite hummed with a smile. "A noble pursuit indeed. There's no doubt in my mind you can come up with something spectacular. I'm going into poetry, myself. I'm afraid I attended this class for mere curiosity and expansion of knowledge, so my goals are not nearly as high as yours. But I believe practicing with the language will prove fruitful to my own learning, and thus becomes my project."

The Morbid Socialite took a sip of tea. "Communication via light... I believe zailors use something of a language with light, a sort of code conveyed via spotlight lamps. As well, light plays an integral role in the natural behaviors of man and animal, aiding in sleep, energy, focus. I hear some men working under one of the Masters say the lights in their warehouses keeps the men awake for longer and forbids the second sleep of night. There are plenty of avenues to traverse with the idea of light and the Correspondence."

The Professor seemed a bit perplexed, leaving their empty cup in the platter. "Ah, you changed your mind? I thought I heard something along the lines of a... 'Medical miracle'? I truly hope that's not the case. Ambition in pursuit of knowledge, and of course its application, is fundamental if someone is aiming to the stars quite as literally as we are."

The Socialite had been taking a sip of tea as the Professor spoke, nearly choking. "A 'medical miracle', dear Professor? I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest clue what you're talking about. My form of operation has a net zero survival rate, I couldn't possibly- I'm a mortician, not a medical doctor."

Another stir of the tea. "A medical miracle... It does sound intriguing. One does wonder whose project that was, if not mistakenly mine. Perhaps the Maven's? She's a medical doctor and I would believe a quite skilled one."

"Perhaps there's the miracle, don't you think?" The Professor chuckled in good humor, serving themself a bit more of tea and offering Mori the same with a gesture. They'd serve if affirmative.

"But I believe you are right, I don't quite remember who said that exactly. I was just interested, batbiorangilogical studies were a fixation of mine for quite a while, even before I knew what it meant at all. Life had another plans and got deviated towards a, in my humble opinion, better outcome, but curiosity always lingers, so I was hoping you could introduce me as well. Oh, not that your current focus is disappointing at all! Writing poetry in nature's own language sounds exactly like science should be, and to move people's hearts and minds is one of the noblest goals one could aspire to. I know you would do impressively, given your already exceptional way with words and feelings."

The Socialite chuckled. "Good Professor, you flatter me! I am no better with words than any other well-learned man. But, perhaps, the direct communication of ideas would aid in the art form, imbuing a stronger connection between creator and audience. To speak directly with one's mind and soul rather than force the thoughts into words. It will be a challenge, but a welcome one."

Somehow, someway, what he said was not dishonest.

"I am curious, however, if there is still room for us to work together on our respective projects. I'm afraid I have no resources to share with you and I would be remiss, if our meetings were to only ever be one sided in advantage."

"Oh, not at all! I am thinking on testing my hypotheses in a wide variety of environments. And an idea correctly formulated by one specializing himself in such endeavour could make a perfect field test of how its meaning or effects on others change depending on the way it was written, or the dye, or the environmental factors... Don't you think?" Grabbing one of the chocolates and eating it pleasantly. They seem to be filled of some cream, perhaps? The petit-four is yet untouched. Maybe leaving the lovely treat for the end?

The Socialite took one of the chocolates and considered it. "You have a way with words yourself, Professor. However, if there were any way I could aid your project directly, help you to solve the riddle of light and language, I would do so in a heartbeat." His voice was soft, gentle, patient, a breathy quality that spoke to an empty and wanting chest without the strength to support the structure. He ate the chocolate, savoring the creamy sweet on his tongue, as if that might fill the hole behind his ribs. What else had they done to try and fill such an ache?

A Morbid Appointment

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