Muscles go taut at the unforeseen voice, stance almost instinctively switching to one of defense. Wariness silences the sharp tongue, crimsons coming to a narrowed gaze that fixates on the unwelcome form the moment he comes into vision.
What a mess. ❝ And you wish to preserve them, why ? ❞ he interrogates in lieu of a greeting. He wouldn’t be purposefully malicious to archaic wonders that researchers often tended to value, but distant curiosity curled in the pit of his stomach ( fishy, it was ).
“ well, my friend, that is because, ” they say, tone light by way of sheepishness at their prior harshness, giving a slight cough even. “ i am an alchemist. ” gold must seem absolutely insane, but, well, he would never argue that he’d ever been perfectly sane either --- whatever the other thinks, he has not a single care. “ these materials are in high demand, so long after the fall ... ”