#cakes! seagulls! alchemy!

[kindnessinsilver]

I HAVE FINISHED RUNNING CLOSE TO THE WIND AND I AM JUBILANT, INCANDESCENT, AND TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO DRAW POSSUMS.

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

UPDATE: I have finished Running Close To The Wind! I want to read it again immediately, but there are other people waiting for this copy. I also want to eat it, like an absolutely magnificent and insightful cake, so that I can have it living inside my ribcage forever. I don't think this is how ribcages work, but the imagery pleases me. In conclusion: go read Running Close To The Wind, by Alexandra Rowland, which has everything you could possibly want in a romantic fantasy--pirates, ghosts, giant turtles, blue dogs, sexy monks, non-binary fashion icons with religious trauma, absolutely pathetic little men who yell all the time, sea serpent fuckpiles, crime, alchemy, hair-pulling, an absolutely tremendous polyamorous romantic arc, emotionally significant hugging scenes, philosophical arguments about the nature and existence of luck, the spiritual pursuit of truth and knowledge, entirely justified violence against seagulls because fuck those guys, cake, and, most importantly, a conspiracy to destroy a bastion of capitalism. Then, once you've read it and been overjoyed by its very everythingness, go say nice things to the author on Tumblr @ariaste, because it's an excellent book and they deserve to hear that from literally everyone.

My hold for Running Close to the Wind just came in, so of course I got Rudo to pick it up for me during their weekly Dad-and-Gremlin library trip, and since starting it this afternoon I have already interrupted their reading at least ten times to read them bits and pieces of it. They're being very patient with me. I adore them. Also apparently there are a number of other holds on it because it's the only copy our county's library system has, so I'm not allowed to renew it. I don't think that's going to be a serious concern, given the concentrated delight I experience with each paragraph read.

[luciformwriting]

The Spelswazle Routine

Soft, cold water under a pink sky lapped at my legs. It cooly spread up my thighs to my waist then back out again with the rhythm of the tide. I looked back at the beach for anyone else, just double checking they hadn’t somehow made their way into this dream.

The island was small, barely larger than two football fields together, and there was nothing else to see on the horizon but a never-changing pink and blue gradient. Those were the colours that made me know where I was, an almost perfect imitation, amalgamation of all of the beautiful skies I had seen in pictures before in my life. I wished I could be a seagull in the endless expanse of ocean and sky. Why? I couldn’t tell you. It didn’t seem to stem from any particular desire to be free or like a bird. It just felt right.

A forest of palm trees and others I could not name made a semicircle around one half of the island. Normally they would provide shade, but here there was no discernible sun in the sky, more like a perpetual twilight. In general there were few shadows. After all, it was a composite stitched together from many different images, and my skills were not enough yet to fix it. A distance away to my right was a small, old boat moored in mangroves. It made me curious since I had never ridden on a boat before, and wouldn’t have the slightest clue where to take it.

I got up out of the water, my shorts sticking to my legs. The feeling of realistic water was something I could stitch up, and I was proud of it. What now? I thought. I could choose anything, and nobody else would know about it.

“Beebus!” a voice called from the distance. “Beeeeeebussss!” It echoed through the trees, loudly enough to make the coconuts thump to the ground. Surely not, I thought. That blasted, dumbus imbecile!

“I seem to have a problem, Beebus,” said the wavering voice. And just like that, my concentration was shot. The water, the beach, spun away into a void of black. I opened my eyes.

The inside of the dim laboratory swirled into view, and I could feel the hot breath of my ruddy-faced partner on my face. He had the gall to shake me awake?

“I will kill you one day, Tellius,” I whispered hoarsely. “I will not hesitate.”

“Oh, thank god!” he responded, loosening his grip. “I don’t have the ingredients for a full spelswazle routine. A client came in asking for one and the boss approved it, but I don’t think he’s taken inventory in a long time. And they’ve already paid,” he hissed through his two, wobbling cheeks.

“Coconuts are an ingredient in a spelswazle routine,” I muttered. “I could have gotten you some coconuts just a moment ago, but alas, here we are.”a

“That doesn’t help, Beebus!” he whined. “Where are we going to get coconuts from at this hour of the morning in Elbelston? Not to mention the cinnamon and.. Oh, the lizard tails we have in abundance. But…”

I got up off the dusty cobblestone floor and dusted myself off while listening to Tellius babble. Frankly, I wasn’t sure why he was so bothered. The worst thing that could happen if a client request was unfulfilled was a refund and potentially a bad word of mouth review. If he paid in gold, then that was easy. Payments in blood were, as you can imagine, not so simple.

“I’ll go see what the boss wants to do,” I yawned, heading up the stairs past all of our equipment.

“He wants you to stop trying to magick up that nonsense,” huffed Tellius, squishing something to powder in a pestle. “Just stick to physical alchemy for now. I can’t stand seeing you lying comatose in a corner pretending you’re waltzing around a forest.” He paused. “Also, I think your… thinking might be doing things again. While you were out I found all the cake spoons had cleaned themselves again.” He wagged his finger. “Useful today, but if we have the lizards crawling out of the ceiling light again you’re in trouble.”

I got up, restraining my tongue. What right had Tellius, my underclassman, to be wagging his finger at me? Me, Beebus Bimbel, one of the finest graduates of the Elementary Alchemy School and one of the few who could do astral alchemy, the finest skill of all. And yet alchemy labs had become far and few between in recent times. I used to be praised and encouraged as top class, and yet I ended up working in the same place, in the same position, as my junior who came into the job a year after myself because of the fact he failed basic physiological alchemy. He was lucky to find a position here, but apparently the customers find him very agreeable. All labs, even our lab, were struggling; potions no more were in demand, and now our business was in very, very fancy cakes.

“A spelswazle rush order,” I mumbled. “Tellius, I’m going to market to find some coconuts. I should return shortly. In the meanwhile, won’t you get started on grinding the cinnamon, tails, and flour together?” “Already on it,” he huffed. Sure enough, I turned around and there he was; throwing his weight into the huge pestle. Despite everything I was grateful that his large size meant the boss gave him all the physically exerting tasks to do.

I put on my raggedy leather boots and stepped up the creaky basement stairs. Light flooded in as I opened the door to the front of the shop. The glass counter shimmered with holographic, magical visions of our cakes, a price and name below each. Magical ice on the shelves nearby kept our ready-made concoctions cool; drinks and rare sweets from the frosted lands imported through our astral alchemy service. Truly, this was the power of our boss - like me, an incredibly talented man doomed by the economy to make cakes in a corner of Izle Town.

A man in a very fancy dress suit was standing aloof at the front of the shop, examining the shelves. He rested on a hardwood cane, decorated with all manner of charms and jewels. Certainly not the usual client. I nodded to him respectfully on the way out.

“So you’re one of Haleron’s ‘lab rats’, as he says? Sitting in that basement all day making up his magic!” the man called to me as I passed. I stopped. Lab rat? Our boss called us that as a joke, but it sounded awfully offensive coming from someone else.

“I don’t prefer to be called that, but yes,” I said uncomfortably. The man’s face was unusually kind and soft, a large grey moustache and beard poking out from under his kind eyes. It seemed impossible to be mad at him.

“My apologies then, friend. I’m sure you do lovely work.” He looked around naively. “I don’t ever usually come by this end of town. I’m ordering this spelswazle cake, how shall we say, for a friend?” he added, rubbing his chin. He seemed enamored with the red candies on the shelf.

“I could tell,” I responded jokingly. “Men dressed like yourself rarely come here. Why not go to one of the fancy ateliers up the hill? Though of course, we are thankful for your business.”

“I think, he specifically implied, he wanted one from Haleron,” the man said carefully.

“Well, that’s very flattering,” I said, rubbing my hands together. I’m right about to go find some coconuts to start the cream on your cake. It should be done by tomorrow.” The man’s eyes widened. “Tomorrow?!” he blurted. “It won’t be done now?”

The man’s shock at realising a cake could not be made within minutes seemed genuine. I eyed him carefully. “Yes, when we run out of ingredients we must get more. Then we need to… you know, cook them. It takes time,” I explained.

He raised his staff and closed his eyes. Suddenly, there were a series of thumps. Looking down, I saw three perfect, round coconuts, sitting on the tiled floor.

“Will this help?” he said. “It must be done quickly.”

I looked back up at him. Who? Who was this man, and how could he have magicked those coconuts so quickly? “Astral alchemy?” I whispered, stunned.

“Almost, kind of, basically,” he responded. “I need the cake soon and I’m willing to pay extra to have it done fast. You’re a lovely fellow, you know,” he added, running a finger over the icy cold cake cabinet. He seemed to have a real problem making eye contact. “What’s your name?”

I stared at him for a moment, feeling a mixture of awe, admiration and fear. Knowing what he could do, I would let him call me a lab rat. “Beebus,” I responded, wheezing. “Beebus Bimbel. Pleased to make your acquaintance, mister…?” “Ponybrown,” he said, characteristically aloof. “Please call me Ponybrown.” He reached out a hand, and I shook it vigorously.

“I’m going to take these down now to go make your cake.” I grabbed the heavy coconuts, eyeing him as I walked backwards. I slinked down, through the door, into the basement.