Exchange PI Many are strong at the broken places

[Angela Dune]

Although the boss had recommended Dalton Cessair by name, it took Dune some time before she got around to contacting him. The reality of living with the curse and recovering from its debut had taken up a majority of her time, and when she had a mundane sling handy, it kept slipping her mind until she had his business card in her hand.

She'd thought the way the circles and triangles had been a trick of the light, some kind of embossing or lenticular printing. When she realized it had been a tiny enchantment, the Exchange agent was suitably impressed. It took a certain level of craftsmanship to enchant one's business cards--it reminded her of American Psycho, but there was actual substance to Dalton's card that set it apart.

And so, naturally, she reached out. With the man being in the Circle and her being in the Exchange, it was easy to arrange a meeting. It was nearing dinner time after her normal working hours when Dune found herself loitering around what she uncreatively dubbed 'nerd central'. She didn't go into the workshop proper, but lingered on the landing, seated on the top stair. Fortunately, nobody was coming up and down the stairs around this time, so she wasn't in anybody's way. While she waited, she had her phone balanced on her knee, idly scrolling Instagram with her good hand. The other arm was still in its sling, pinioned at Dune's side.

[Dalton Cessair]

It was a bit of a trek between his Baxendale office and the Circle's attic workspace, but Dalton enjoyed his work and the conversations at the Circle too much to mind it. Today, he also had some work waiting for him, an interesting enough challenge that he'd unearthed more of his old research. What the enchantment would do wasn't revolutionary, but the theory behind it was always worth doing the small stuff. The simplest of enchantments could have a trove of valuable theory behind it.

That brought him to the Exchange building, climbing the stairs with an old journal of his tucked under his arm. He already had some of his written work tucked away in the Circle shelves, but this was some of his more personal experimentation in the past. He could adapt the work he'd done in the past, and it would suit the sort of enchantment he assumed the agent would want. Dalton still had to clarify the details, of course, even if he'd come prepared.

As he neared the top of the stairwell and the top floor of the building, he saw the woman sitting on the top stair. Shifting the book to his other hand, Dalton paused a few steps below her, so he wouldn't loom. “Waiting for someone?”

[Angela Dune]

She heard the footsteps ascending the stairs before their owner appeared, but Dune didn't look up until they were in visual range. It being around the appointed time, she thought this could her man, but she was expecting the person she'd imagined when Theo first mentioned him. Short, pudgy, doctoral... The man pausing near the bottom of the steps was none of these things. He was attractive, in fact, and Dune tilted her head, putting on a pretty, charming smile.

“Hey.” Clicking off her phone, she shifted it from her knee as she straightened to answer. She didn't stand up just yet, in case this wasn't her guy. “Yeah- I've got an appointment with Dalton Cessair?”

[Dalton Cessair]

The woman–the agent–was younger than Dalton, attractive, and dressed similarly to the agents he'd seen around the building. Entirely nondescript. Their Inquisitor may have favoured suits and ties, but Dalton had yet to find any pattern to the dress of the agents. Which only made sense, considering they weren't supposed to be noticed in the same way feds or police should be noticed.

“That would be me,” Dalton confirmed, smiling as he inclined his head towards her. As he did that, he started moving again, stepping up the last remaining steps, and gesturing for her to follow him. “You must be agent Dune? Come on, no need to sit outside. There's plenty of space in the workshop.”

[Angela Dune]

Dune's expression brightened when Dalton identified himself. “No kidding- nice to meet you.” He looked nothing like she'd imagined, which, all things considered, was a good thing. Not that she would've minded a pudgy doctor, but hanging out with a hot doctor was way better. As he started up the steps the rest of the way, she scooted out of the way.

With his invitation, woman pushed herself up from the step and stood, leaning back and stretching gently. Then, slipping her phone into her butt pocket, she turned and ambled after Dalton into the workshop. “Thanks for coming out here for this,” she said with easy friendliness, glancing around the space and taking in the lofty attic ceilings, and wide windows letting in the last of the light. “I heard your work is top-notch.”

[Dalton Cessair]

Unaware of the agent's thoughts about him defying her preconceived notions of a professor's appearance, Dalton led the way inside the workshop. Familiar with the space, he went straight for his usual workbench. Not necessarily assigned, but the Circle wasn't so populous that the members couldn't have their own workbenches. The space held more than enough for those who frequented the workspace.

As he placed his bags next to the bench, he glanced up as the woman stepped into the space herself. Dalton smiled, nodding absently as he snapped open the bag and fished out his amulet. He didn't wear it when he was teaching, but he looped it back over his head as he spoke.

“I like to think so when the magic remains stable. And it's no bother, truly, I work here most days.” He pulled out a chair from one of the other benches, setting it next to his workbench. “Have a seat, let me have a look at your arm.”

[Angela Dune]

Dune nodded, eyes skating across the workbench he'd picked, before her attention was drawn to the amulet he looped around his neck. As he smoothly guided her to take a seat, she wondered at its purpose. His focus, perhaps? She'd heard that arcanists often had preferences.

Regardless, she obediently perched herself on it. “Sure,” she said without hesitation, a soldier accustomed to taking direction. It was a habit she was letting herself fall back on, when the thought of showing a stranger her cursed limb still made her stomach clench.

The velcro ripped as she unfastened the straps on the sling, shifting her shoulder to loosen them enough to pull it off over her head. With a little sigh, she unfurled the arm, and stretched it out to her side, rolling her shoulder. With her button down on, just her gunmetal-gray hand was visible, hints of gold glinting at the knuckles and finger joints. The stretch felt good, although she wasn't sure the metal could get cramped. Was that in her head?

After a moment, she started undoing her button-down, so she could show him the entire limb. “I wouldn't touch it if you've got your phone on you,” she warned, deftly undoing each button to reveal her white undershirt. “Sometimes the curse makes electronics go a little haywire.”

[Dalton Cessair]

The agent sat without a complaint and Dalton was almost tempted to compare her to a docile patient. Treatment wasn't what he was offering her, however, so she wasn't his patient. She began stripping her sling without a word as well, the harsh sound of the Velcro loud in the room as Dalton fetched another chair and placed it in front of her. He didn't sit quite yet, allowing her the space to get herself sorted.

Dalton couldn't help but watch, however, as the sling came off and he got a better view of the arm. Undeniably mechanical, gold accents giving it an elegant appearance. Her fingers moved smoothly, human rather than robotic, and as she stretched out the arm it became clear that there was little in its movement that differentiated it from an organic arm. His enchantment would be purely cosmetic, then, rather than doing double duty in covering odd movements. A shame, almost, considering how elegant the limb looked.

As he watched her, there was the barest moment of hesitation before she began unbuttoning her shirt. Discomfort, Dalton interpreted it as, but whether it was about taking her shirt off in front of him, leaving her in just an undershirt, or showing the arm itself, he couldn't guess. Truly he didn't need her shirt off, but it would help.

Her warning got an intrigued murmur out of Dalton, as he pondered what magical mechanisms was at work in the arm. A curse, he'd gathered, but curses were so unpredictable. “So there's a strong magnetic component to the arm?” he queried, both because he was curious and because he wanted to ease her into his mini-physical in preparation for the eventual enchantment.

[Angela Dune]

“Umm...” Dune thought aloud, doffing her shirt completely and shaking it out so she could drape it across the table. She looked at him, brows furrowed. “It's possible that's how the magic interpolates the effect, but uh... It also messes with things like locks. Mechanical clocks, watches... just like- things with moving parts, y'know?”

She flexed the arm before stretching it out, offering her hand palm up to Dalton. The gold marked her palm, glinting against the gunmetal, the plates and fibers moving smoothly together to imitate flesh and blood. There was a little hesitation in the movement, the motion uncharacteristically timid. It came from both a sense of unfamiliarity with a full range of motion and from watching Dalton's reaction.

[Dalton Cessair]

Dalton let out a hum as the agent spoke, making it clear he was listening even as the arm held most of his attention. She'd pulled the shirt off, revealing the full length of the arm. It looked fully mechanical, but not like anything human made he'd ever seen. It could not be mistaken for a prosthetic, he thought, with how it moulded into her flesh, but perhaps someone might mistake her for a dedicated SFX artist. To hear it had the effect of... randomly scrambling things? Another curious element, but knowing it was a curse, he knew it might be magic he couldn't explain or label.

As she offered her hand to him, Dalton took it, resting the back of her hand on his palm as he gently gripped her hand and gently manipulated the limb. The faux muscles and tendons moved, an uncanny display of anatomy in action, but far from human. He felt fascinated by it, already wondering what manner of ritual enchantment might get a similar result. A lot of research and high-quality materials, along with time and exacting work, perhaps something close to it could be achieved.

He shared none of this with the woman, too aware of her hesitant movement. Even in his pursuit of knowledge, he knew something about what to say and what not to say, and revealing designs on replicating her curse would likely not be well received, not unless he knew her better. A surgeon knew anatomy, and to see a wholesale replacement of a limb got a medical mind thinking about how it could be used in other ways. He set the thoughts firmly aside, looking up at the agent's face.

“How often does it scramble things around you? A couple times a week? More?”

[Angela Dune]

Dune's metal skin was cool at first, but quickly took in the heat from Dalton's hand, warming to the touch. It was still unyielding like metal, but reacted to his touch with the kind of micromovements one would with expect from touching another person. She could feel his touch as well, made clear by her reactions. A gentle flinch, before her hand relaxed into his, the back of her hand on his palm. She relaxed her fingers, letting them curl up, slightly.

His main reaction seemed to be curiosity and she recognized the calculating look on his face, but to his credit, the man didn't start drilling her with irrelevant questions like the highly practiced arcanist nerds tended to do. Dune privately thought that the deeper an arcanist got into magic, the worse their manners became. They wanted to disassemble practically everything.

Dalton stayed on track, asking her about her magical mishaps, and Dune snickered softly, relaxing into the conversation. “More, maybe a few times a day. I only haven't nabbed my phone because I can't work the screen with the metal hand.” she answered. Then, tilting her head in thought, she smiled and asked shrewdly, “You an MD?”

The way he'd asked about her symptoms felt medical rather than something more technical. Dune had been working under the presumption that he was a doctor of magic, if that was even a possibility. Perhaps it was a degree they offered over in the universities in Erasmus Cross--they were all about that magic across the pond.

[Dalton Cessair]

Dalton let out a low thoughtful noise as she shared that she couldn't operate her phone and thus, quite conveniently, hadn't bricked it yet. He wondered if magic could replicate that electrical conductivity touchscreens required, or if that would wreck the technology on touch. It was a tricky thing to accomplish, and experience told him it could work for a short while, but would eventually break down the electrical components. Coating her fingertips with some mundane material that did it, like the cheap styluses one could buy, might be the better solution.

He was in the middle of his thoughts on magic versus technology when she prompted him for his career, but Dalton glanced up with a small chuckle. He knew his manner sometimes betrayed his history. “Yes, guilty as charged. A surgeon, to be more precise, but I'm more or less retired now.” He supposed nothing stopped him from continuing practising medicine, just not hands-on surgery, but his passion had been for surgery, not for the endless cycle of patients complaining of run-of-the-mill illnesses.

[Angela Dune]

With one hand still in his, Dune grinned and snapped the fingers of her flesh hand before waving a finger at him. “Knew it,” she said with a wink, satisfied at guessing right. It was the mannerisms.

Of course, anyone could've guessed, she supposed, but the typical context clues weren't there, so she felt pretty good about it. “Retired?” she went on, warming and getting comfortable with the conversation. “Retired to become a wizard?” Her smile went a little crooked but she meant the question in earnest.

[Dalton Cessair]

Grinning at her satisfied words, clearly pleased with herself, Dalton inclined his head in deference to her sharp eye. He was sure he'd given himself away, but not everyone noticed the nuances. She cheerfully fished for more information as he gave her arm one last look-over. It was a valid question, considering Dalton was not obviously in his retirement age.

Dalton let her have her arm back, giving a crooked smile to match her own. “Not quite. I've been a practitioner for longer than that,” he admitted, remembering pouring over texts in his teens, sucking up the theory and scribbling small circles even as he planned more ambitious things. He'd had a firm hand to keep him cautious back then. His smile turned wry, a little regretful, “But I can't deny it's related.”

[Angela Dune]

Withdrawing her hand, she rested it in her lap, the fingers curling into a resting state. It felt a little heavier on her thigh than her other arm, even though she'd found she wasn't thrown off balance by it. She weighed the about same, but the arm was denser than her flesh and blood limbs.

Dune was a fairly perceptive person, socially, and so, she picked up the tang of regret in Dalton's air as he answered. She was curious--what would cause a man to pick magic over surgery? And how was the transition related? Very interesting--but this being a first meeting, she was cautious about digging into whatever put that look on his face. It didn't seem to be a funny story.

“Yeah,” she said instead, going for sharing something of her own instead. She smiled, understanding. “I get that. Magic was a big part of my career trajectory too.”

[Dalton Cessair]

Dalton angled a knowing look at the agent. Extensive experience with the supernatural was part and parcel of being a member of the Exchange if his old friends in the New York cohort were any indication. Several had grown up in it, he knew, but plenty had found themselves thrust into it, the veil lifted and their ignorance no longer shielding them. It would be interesting to find out which one counted for Agent Dune, but that was not the subject of their meeting. Dalton was mindful of remaining on track, even if he wasn't going to be some stuffy ritualist who couldn't see beyond their own nose.

“And your future, no doubt,” he said lightly, a wry smile settling along his lips. A good and a bad thing, knowing curses. “Are there any wants or needs you have in mind, regarding the enchantment for your arm?”

[Angela Dune]

Dune huffed a laugh and nodded her head in agreement. As far as she was concerned, if losing her arm to a curse didn't send her into retirement, nothing would, so she had plenty of magic to look forward to. Dalton pushed on, and she made a thoughtful noise, lifting the limb from her lip to look consider it.

With magic, the sky was certainly the limit, but she didn't have much in mind. “Not much. I was just hoping you could make it look natural.” She squeezed her fingers into a fist, and then glanced over at him with a lifted eyebrow, asking, “Could you make it feel natural too, you think?”

[Dalton Cessair]

Dalton considered the agent's question but knew the answer fairly quickly off the top of his head. “It is possible, but not with what I have on hand right now,” he elaborated, a 'yes, but later' to a very valid want. He hadn't spent much time making things look, or feel, naturalistic. It wasn't his wheelhouse, but it was something he could learn. He'd have to look into it, but he knew he could implement whatever he learnt into the old enchantment easily.

“What I can do today is layer a visual illusion over the arm,” He continued, elaborating some on what he had planned. “I can make it solid enough to hold up to touch, but it won't feel natural. It would feel closer to a prosthetic, hard plastic or carbon fibre. Is that something you'd want?”

[Angela Dune]

A 'yes, but later' was a perfectly acceptable answer for Dune. The curse wasn't going anywhere, so they had time to fine-tune the enchantment. That is, if Dalton had the time. She gave him a grateful smile, and nodded in agreement to what he proposed for that day.

“Nah, yeah, that's fine by me. I just need it to hold up to casual observation, so I can stop wearing that sling everywhere I go.” Then, she brightened a bit, realizing, “N' I could wear a swimsuit again, hell yeah.”

[Dalton Cessair]

The agent seemed happy with Dalton's suggestion and he felt like he could move on to the next step of the process. He chuckled at her bright declaration of finally being able to wear swimsuits and leaned back in his seat, reaching for one of the drawers in his workbench. He pulled it out fully, the gentle clink of metal against metal as he moved it to hold it between them. Inside, there was a collection of various jewellery, rings, bracelets, and necklaces, even earrings, all in different styles but generally more understated than flamboyant. Most of them were golden or silver–although not all were true gold or silver, simply plated–but there were a few rose gold-hued pieces and even leather pieces wound around bits of elegant metal.

“Well, let's make those swimsuits happen. I like working with metals, and jewellery is an understated way of carrying an enchantment with you,” Dalton began, keeping the drawer steady so she could peruse the contents at her leisure. “Does anything here catch your eye as something you might wear every day?”

[Angela Dune]

This was fun, Dune thought. And comfortable, in a way. Dalton had the attitude of a smooth professional, someone who knew exactly what he would do and how he would do it. And there was a funny element of salesmanship too, in the way he pulled out an arrangement of rings and bracelets for her to choose from. The agent felt a little twinge of guilt, like she ought to be paying for this kind service rather than bumming around the Circle.

As he presented the drawer to her, she made a soft 'ooh' sound of interest, reaching out momentarily before drawing her hand back to pinch her chin instead. She didn't want to smudge up the metals, and considered them without touching for a long moment. However, now that she knew Dalton liked to work with jewelry, another idea popped to mind.

“Actually! Wait-” she muttered, working the one ring she tended to wear more than others off her right hand. She held out the ring she'd been gifted from Merula, asking, “I already wear this most days, and it's pretty tough. Do you think you could work with this?”

[Dalton Cessair]

Dalton watched as she examined what he had on offer, a collection of jewellery he'd mostly picked up from second-hand stores and antique shops. Some of it was genuinely old, noble metals and edging into being genuine antiques. Other pieces were modern, sturdier metal plated with a noble metal for appearances, keeping the price more reasonable. It wasn't about cost, after all, but about the enchantment and how well the material took to it.

His mouth curled into an amused smile as she aborted her move to touch, looking up at her as she seemed to realise she had something of herself she'd prefer. It suited Dalton well, watching as she pulled off a ring she was already wearing. When she offered it out, Dalton took it with one hand, as the other placed the drawer on the top of the workbench, out of the way.

“Ah, this will work well,” Dalton confirmed, turning it over in his hands, examining the design and turning it to look at the inside of the band. It had plenty of space for Dalton's enchantment to be set in the metal, he judged. The design looked historical, rather than modern, with a shape that implied the use of historical crafting methods than the sleek lines of modern jewellery, but it did not have the same patina as truly antique jewellery. The inscription and the symbology allowed Dalton to guess at its origin. “A Byzantine reproduction, is it?”

[Angela Dune]

Dune smiled, pleased with Dalton's assessment, but at his further question, she huffed out a bashful laugh.

“I... Your guess is as good as mine, doc,” she admitted, gesturing at the prized ring. “A good friend of mine gave it to me, but I'm am uh... Well, not entirely certain of its provenance, no.” She gave him a little grimace-slash-smile, but figured that probably wouldn't preclude them from enchanting it.

She realized it would've been a good idea to give the ring a closer look when she got it, though, considering that good friend was a shadowy monster masquerading as a raven and sometimes a dog. But she decided to keep that to herself--she didn't want to look like a complete fool in front of Dalton, even if that was bound to happen to some degree the longer they were acquainted.

[Dalton Cessair]

“Ah,” Dalton exhaled, adding a light chuckle at the end, realising that he couldn't get a confirmation on his theory. Not a bad thing, he didn't think, because the ring itself seemed perfectly well formed. If given by a friend, Dalton would assume it was harmless as well, regardless of whether it was or wasn't a Byzantine reproduction.

“Well, it looks like it might be Byzantine, but I could be wrong. Do you know what this says?” Dalton tapped the Greek lettering, the first sign that it was a Byzantine style. He knew, but he didn't want to assume she was ignorant of it. Exchange agents often had hidden depths, often because of the various languages they knew as a result of their close ties to dealing with magic or practising it.

[Angela Dune]

Again, Dune had to give her regrets. She shook her head, maintaining her bashful smile. “Couldn't make heads or tails of it, honestly.”

Although she'd admired the ring on more than one occasion, it's value was more attributed to the giver rather than it's look or whatever was written on it. This was good information, though, and seemed right in Merula's wheelhouse. Over the years, she'd absently rubbed her thumb over the words, polishing the tarnish away and making them stand out.

[Dalton Cessair]

Cinder Collection Average quality, strand of reflected light

Dalton tilted the ring in his hands, watching the daylight streaming through the windows sparkle along its golden surface. As if plucking off a stray hair, the sorcerer reached with his hand and caught a strand of light as it gleamed, pulling it free from the ring. The thread glowed faintly, shimmering in the sunlight just as the ring did, but it was as fine as a strand of hair.

“I believe the inscription itself is Latin, although written in Greek script, as was the habit of the Byzantines,” Dalton informed easily, settling the thread into a rounded dish resting on the workbench for just such spontaneous collections of finer materials. “Poulchrīs. It can mean beautiful and, in a more figurative sense, noble or honourable.”

[Angela Dune]

Dune watched as Dalton seemed to pull a golden hair away from the ring and for a brief, embarrassing moment, she thought it was her own. Too light, for sure, but the light could've been playing off it in a strange way--or maybe it was left on there from some other woman, who knew. To his credit, he wasn't reacting, but as a doctor, he'd probably seen plenty of gross things.

A little wide-eyed, she watched him put the hair aside, only partially processing what he was saying, and then tilting her head to one side in mute curiosity when he put it into a dish. That was when she noticed it was not behaving like hair at all, and the light was no longer playing off of it but gently emanating from the strand. It all came together then--Dune spent very little time around arcanists, but she did know of their odd little ability to seemingly pluck things out of thin air.

“Huh...” She hummed. Her mind was not the most agile at times, especially on those occasions when she was thinking with her libido, but here, she did catch up quickly, and looked back at Dalton with a pretty, pleased grin. The realization that the ring might mean something so complimentary swept away her momentary embarrassment, and she tilted her head the other way, laughing merrily. “Oh my!” Unconsciously, one of her feet started gently swinging, much like a young girl's might when learning something delightful. “Well, now I'm thinking my friend might've been playin' at something when he gave me this.”

That being said, Merula didn't seem like the sort to drop a riddle and wait with bated breath for her to figure it out. Dune suspected that he wouldn't have thought anything of it if the gift's meaning had remained a secret for the rest of her life, being just an inside joke for himself. She was glad Dalton had the knowledge, though, and found it all quite charming.

[Dalton Cessair]

Cinder Collection Exceptional success, good glass bead

As Dalton let Dune digest his trivia, he let go of her hand and leaned back to rummage in his bag. He carried with him various things that complimented his style of magic, bits of polished metal and shiny glass, or sea glass, and even a few gems, lab-grown for the most part, but a few natural ones, as well. Things that caught the light in interesting ways, shimmering with multifaceted light.

As she started laughing, Dalton glancing up at her, he found what he was hunting for. He plucked it up, holding the glass bead between thumb and forefinger–a marble, in truth, with a twist of colour in the centre–as he arched an eyebrow at her sudden girlish attitude.

“You'll just have to ask him, hm?” Dalton teased,

[Angela Dune]

Laughing again as the good doctor teased her, Dune shrugged her good shoulder, a habit that remained even if her injured shoulder no longer pained her. “Guess so,” was all she could commit to. She didn't know how she would ask, or even when she might see the elusive raven again, but even if she did, she imagined she would get teased by him as well.

Gaze drawn to the collection of beads, glass, and other shimmering things, she tilted her head and wondered, “So, where's this spell taking you?” She was tempted to reach out and touch some of the baubles, curious enough to touch, but knew better than to mess with a wizard's components. Rather, she knew that arcanists tended to customize for each spell they cast, and she wanted to know a bit more about Dalton's process.