The Alchemist's Apprentice (CYOA)
The antechamber was crowded. Partly that was because it was a small room, made smaller by walls lined with bookshelves, but mostly because there were almost two dozen people stuffed into it. Most of us were standing, since there were only enough seats for five or six people. The room was well-lit but still felt stuffy between the dark wooden walls and the crowd.
Only two of the people in the room were men. I don't know why they even bothered to show up, considering there hasn't been a male Grand Alchemist in... ever. Then again I supposed we all had to be ambitious to be here in the first place.
There was little common ground to the women present, who between them represented every skin and hair tone common to Ocha. After watching the others for a while, for want of anything better to do, I realized they perhaps had one thing in common: they were all wearing their finest clothes. But those ranged from a simple blue cotton dress with a bit of lace around the collar - worn by a pretty young blonde with a remarkable chest - to an elegant creation of brocaded silk draped over the slender form of a dark-haired noble.
I supposed that was another commonality: everyone present was young. The oldest person in the room was perhaps twenty-five. Not that that was particularly surprising, considering what this group was assembled for.
The room was nearly silent, quiet enough that I could hear the faint hum of the electric lights. Occasionally there was the whisper of a girl near me turning the page of a massive tome she'd pulled off one of the shelves, or an actual whisper exchanged between a couple of girls.
Abruptly the silence was broken by the slight squeak of a hinge. Cloth and hair rustled as every girl in the room looked up towards the doorway.
An older woman, perhaps on the lower bounds of middle-age, entered. Her dark hair had a single streak of grey to it, but it was bound back in a strict bun that did her few favors. She wore a severe grey dress with a high collar and long sleeves, which made me think she must be suffering in the summer heat. Her face showed no sign of any discomfort as her eyes scanned the room.
"You," she said, sharp and sudden. One of her fingers was extended, pointing at me.
"I have a name," I complained, but started to walk towards her. "It's-"
"Don't care. Follow me."
I bit down on my automatic response and followed her. The rudeness rankled a bit, but complaining probably wouldn't look good for me.
The severe woman led me down a corridor of dull white stone, lined with door after door of heavy, dark wood. I wondered if there was a room full of girls waiting behind every one. After we'd passed enough doors that I lost count, we stopped by a door that looked like any of the others. My guide opened it and gestured for me to go inside; I did.
The room inside looked superficially like the one I'd been waiting in. Dark wooden walls lined with overstuffed bookshelves, an elaborate light fixture. But where the other room had been filled with young women waiting anxiously, this one was dominated by a heavy wooden desk with a leather-seated chair behind it.
Behind the desk sat probably the second-most recognizable woman in the country, after the Queen. Considering the Queen had her face on money, it was hard to top her in that field.
Sophia Flamel was not a beautiful woman. Her features were too soft, almost childish, for that. Rather, most people would call her 'cute', or a 'girl next door'. Her dark hair was cut so that it just barely hung above her shoulders, with a soft curl to it that only became visible toward the end of that length. She was wearing a white blouse with pearl-coloured buttons. It was entirely possible they actually were made from pearl, considering her station.
The door closed behind me with a muffled thud, jarring me out of my thoughts - which were mostly going in circles involving distress at being in the same room as the second-most powerful woman in the country. Or, depending on who you asked, the most powerful.
Sophia's lips had a slight quirk to them that made me think she knew what I was thinking, and was amused by it.
"Hello," she said. I managed to reply in kind. "I suspect I don't need to introduce myself. So, girl, let's get right to the point: who are you? And, furthermore, why should I take you on as an apprentice?"
Poll 1: background: www.strawpoll.me/11988569
Poll 2: talent: www.strawpoll.me/11988572 (see next post for details)
Poll 3: motivation: www.strawpoll.me/11988583
Poll 4: name. Post in the thread with a suggestion!
Only two of the people in the room were men. I don't know why they even bothered to show up, considering there hasn't been a male Grand Alchemist in... ever. Then again I supposed we all had to be ambitious to be here in the first place.
There was little common ground to the women present, who between them represented every skin and hair tone common to Ocha. After watching the others for a while, for want of anything better to do, I realized they perhaps had one thing in common: they were all wearing their finest clothes. But those ranged from a simple blue cotton dress with a bit of lace around the collar - worn by a pretty young blonde with a remarkable chest - to an elegant creation of brocaded silk draped over the slender form of a dark-haired noble.
I supposed that was another commonality: everyone present was young. The oldest person in the room was perhaps twenty-five. Not that that was particularly surprising, considering what this group was assembled for.
The room was nearly silent, quiet enough that I could hear the faint hum of the electric lights. Occasionally there was the whisper of a girl near me turning the page of a massive tome she'd pulled off one of the shelves, or an actual whisper exchanged between a couple of girls.
Abruptly the silence was broken by the slight squeak of a hinge. Cloth and hair rustled as every girl in the room looked up towards the doorway.
An older woman, perhaps on the lower bounds of middle-age, entered. Her dark hair had a single streak of grey to it, but it was bound back in a strict bun that did her few favors. She wore a severe grey dress with a high collar and long sleeves, which made me think she must be suffering in the summer heat. Her face showed no sign of any discomfort as her eyes scanned the room.
"You," she said, sharp and sudden. One of her fingers was extended, pointing at me.
"I have a name," I complained, but started to walk towards her. "It's-"
"Don't care. Follow me."
I bit down on my automatic response and followed her. The rudeness rankled a bit, but complaining probably wouldn't look good for me.
The severe woman led me down a corridor of dull white stone, lined with door after door of heavy, dark wood. I wondered if there was a room full of girls waiting behind every one. After we'd passed enough doors that I lost count, we stopped by a door that looked like any of the others. My guide opened it and gestured for me to go inside; I did.
The room inside looked superficially like the one I'd been waiting in. Dark wooden walls lined with overstuffed bookshelves, an elaborate light fixture. But where the other room had been filled with young women waiting anxiously, this one was dominated by a heavy wooden desk with a leather-seated chair behind it.
Behind the desk sat probably the second-most recognizable woman in the country, after the Queen. Considering the Queen had her face on money, it was hard to top her in that field.
Sophia Flamel was not a beautiful woman. Her features were too soft, almost childish, for that. Rather, most people would call her 'cute', or a 'girl next door'. Her dark hair was cut so that it just barely hung above her shoulders, with a soft curl to it that only became visible toward the end of that length. She was wearing a white blouse with pearl-coloured buttons. It was entirely possible they actually were made from pearl, considering her station.
The door closed behind me with a muffled thud, jarring me out of my thoughts - which were mostly going in circles involving distress at being in the same room as the second-most powerful woman in the country. Or, depending on who you asked, the most powerful.
Sophia's lips had a slight quirk to them that made me think she knew what I was thinking, and was amused by it.
"Hello," she said. I managed to reply in kind. "I suspect I don't need to introduce myself. So, girl, let's get right to the point: who are you? And, furthermore, why should I take you on as an apprentice?"
Poll 1: background: www.strawpoll.me/11988569
Poll 2: talent: www.strawpoll.me/11988572 (see next post for details)
Poll 3: motivation: www.strawpoll.me/11988583
Poll 4: name. Post in the thread with a suggestion!
