[open post: the apothecary is in]

[wickedwit]

With Dark well in the rearview mirror (a metaphor Claudius is allowed to make, with his newfound automobile expertise) Claudius can finally stop stockpiling spices, and dedicate himself to the more frivolous sciences. It’s taken him three seasons to isolate the compounds from the remarkable plants that bloomed all Rainbows, or to find a use for the shimmering salts his elfin counterpart guaranteed were magic. Claudius would have declined to buy bags of 'magical salts from another world,' but the other Claudius insisted they were a gift.

(Because, he wrote at his most condescending, apparently Hydaelyn knew you weren’t getting anything from your planet this Rainbows, and deemed this worthy of pity. No wonder they call her the Mothercrystal, she is so endlessly ... mothering.)

Regardless of the source, those salts were magic. Lan Wangji said he could sense the subtle, twisting flows of qi within them, and so could Galahad. Which led, of course, to Claudius heaping praise after praise upon his husband, asking for details on every qi-bearing object in the room. (Which was, of course, all of them.)

When he got around to testing, the otherwordly salts produced results Claudius would have once considered unlikely, if not plainly impossible. He had a lifetime's disappointments to draw on: herbals all over Europe possessed plantlore to improve a person's luck, or protect loved ones from harm. In alchemical texts, the more outrageous of these claims could be explained away as metaphors, or as codes and keys. Alchemists loved to hide their secrets behind coded language, almost as much as they loved an extravagant metaphor.

In the end, no concoction ever changed Claudius's fortunes, except for poison. He had no magic salts. Simply by mingling with salts from a magical world, dill and vervain warded off malicious witchcraft. (Modified cells from the Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom -- phyllobaeis humiformis, he's taken to calling it -- improved the admixture's efficacy.) Distilling a fern flower brought out all its promised luck, though Claudius found love-lies-bleeding to be superior as a sleep and fertility charm. Days passed in his workshop, refining formulations, filling his batch-book with recipes. That done, he began brewing and bottling batches.

With crates he certainly didn't move himself, Claudius set up shop in Café Ami. He sits at the table with his stock is on display, indulging in a glass of full-bodied wine and waiting for custom.

Comments

[wickedwit]

"You do drive a hard bargain," Claudius says with an indulgent enough sigh, then puts on his most welcoming smile. "Please, Crowley, won't you ensorcell yourself a glass so we can play?

[aflashbastard]

"You got it." For the briefest of moments, Crowley wonders if they should actually be doing this. As a demon, he knows very well that truths are more dangerous than lies -- but it's Claudius. He already knows nearly everything about Crowley. He ensorcells up a glass.

[wickedwit]

Claudius downs the rest of his wine with swiftness, before lifting the crystalline stopper from the display bottle and pouring equal amounts of vino veritas for himself and Crowley. After so much time spent brewing batches and measuring doses, he manages it quite skillfully. “Now who should go first, do you think?”

[aflashbastard]

"Why don't you go first? That way I can see how this goes." Crowley looks at the glass and the liquid in it a bit curiously. "You sure this works on demons¹?" He's asking this not because he doesn't have faith in Claudius's skills, but mostly because demonic chemistry is a bit unique. See: laudanum.

¹It does.

[wickedwit]

“I’ve no idea,” Claudius confesses cheerily. “This is also an informal testing trial, you see. You understand the difficulty of arranging anything more formal — but you’ll report any unexpected symptoms, won’t you?”

[aflashbastard]

"Sure," Crowley says, absolutely unworried about any unexpected symptoms. What could go wrong?

[wickedwit]

Claudius leans back and considers what truths he wants to start with. He imagines Crowley must know most of his career at the mansion — after all, Claudius tells Crowley everything. Not a word about the whole Aornis business, of course, no need to worry him when it’s easier to bother Aziraphale, but surely everything else. He’ll have to draw on his history in Denmark, and in the various scattered courts of Europe.

“I once posed for a commissioned painting of one of the Greek gods here," he starts, "in order to expedite a deal with Rome — it might still be hanging in some gallery somewhere. One season, I had my ear pierced because it was all the fashion abroad but then Osric got a piercing and you know Osric¹. I decided to leave seasonal fashions to younger men. Oh, and I have a hidden stash of your husband’s favorite tea that I was going offer if you needed additional incentive to play this game.” There’s one thing he didn’t tell Crowley.

¹ Do I even need to footnote this.

[aflashbastard]

Crowley narrows his eyes slightly at the last sentence, but he considers Claudius's words for a moment. "Two truths and one lie, is it?"

[wickedwit]

“Just so. Your task is to find the lie.”

[aflashbastard]

Crowley considers it for a long moment. "Well... I do know Osric¹, so that one's true. And -- you know, I think you're just petty² enough to know Aziraphale's favourite tea and keep it from me. Just a small blackmail, nothing big. So that means it's got to be the painting, then."

¹Do you, Crowley? Do you really?
²Petty towards Crowley, obviously, not Aziraphale. Why would Claudius ever be petty towards Aziraphale?

[wickedwit]

"I am so glad you understand about Osric," Claudius says, not with surprise, but with absolute faith in his friend. "Fashionable, yes, but fashion at what cost? By the time any trend reaches the younger set, it's been exaggerated to the point of parody. It's what old men grumble when they want to disparage anything too daring: what will the young wear next? One season courtiers are experimenting with feathered hats, the next no feather will do, every man of sense and style needs a taxidermied bird ... and what's worse, it isn't daring anymore, because every man has one. Osric did that, but with earrings -- and it didn't work for him at all. I could make taxidermied birds work, he couldn't. But yes," confirms Claudius, "the portrait was of one of those half-naked allegorical figures ... you know, the ones that look like gods, but represent Peace, Providence, and the like. I forget the full justification for the commission; I'm fairly sure it was an excuse to collect pictures of half-naked men."

[aflashbastard]

"Taxidermied bird--" You know what, probably best not to ask. "So neither of us drink, right?"

[wickedwit]

“It builds suspense,” Claudius confirms, leaning forward and smiling with his chin propped upon his hands. “Your turn.”

[aflashbastard]

"Right, let's see." Crowley muses for a just a moment, but he quickly decides which two truths he wants to tell. The lie is even easier. "First one: For a while, Aziraphale and I were both calling the same Witchfinder General for help, both of our Sides paying him money at the same time without either of us suspecting a thing. It all just evened out. Second one: I invented beans on toast. And third one: I have a favourite plant in the greenhouse that gets VIP¹ treatment."

¹Very Important Plant, of course.