one;

[originallutece]

Hello, all.

[Has she ever used the network before? Not for herself. What a day of firsts. She's in a shop, leaning on a counter. Next to her, a vial seems to be glowing.]

Quite a fun little few months we've had, hasn't it? Riots, pyres, torture, terrorists . . . and while I'm sure the next few months will be a bit of a lull, I hardly trust this planet to stay quiet.

Thanks in no small part to Dr. Watson, I've finally got the funds to open up a shop. Lutece Labs. And to commemorate our opening, I'm offering a sale on a protective shield. They're electromagnetic, and will-- well, shield you, frankly, from a great deal of damage in any form. Bullets, fists, knives, magic . . . the only thing it can't keep you safe from is electricity, but beyond that, they'll last a fair bit. Long enough to stop those first few bullets from sinking into your back, or that first stab of a knife.

Now, it shan't last forever. If nothing happens to you, it'll fade out after six months. If they're put under stress, obviously, it'll take less time. After a few rounds of assault, it will shatter, and you'll need to find cover while it regenerates, an act that takes a few seconds.

Useful, no?

For the moment, I'm selling them only to refugees. Seventy-five silver per shield for the next month; a hundred after that. They're based on the individual person's height, weight, and other small factors, so if you buy one, don't share.

The results if things go wrong aren't pretty, I assure you.

[She pulls a little face.]

In any case: on to the second part of my announcement. I need people to work here. Shop keeps, mostly, so you'll have to be somewhat good with people. Even part-timers will be appreciated. The pay will be decent, and quite possibly you'll learn something if you hang around long enough.

Hmm . . . we'll be selling any number of other useful concoctions. Dirt repellent-- and I do mean repellent, it'll quite literally jump off-- energizers that actually work instead of simply pumping one full of sugar and cocaine, sleep enhancements, and anything else you can think of, as I work on commission.

Comments

[priorly]

I don't see why not. One side effect of illness, in general, you get used to passing out free samples.

[originallutece]

Good, then. Come by my lab within the next few days, I won't need an enormous amount.

Actually . . . come by tonight, if you'd like.

[priorly]

You have an actual lab? And I thought that was just fancy branding.

I can come over.

[originallutece]

I have two labs, in fact, though I think I can convert my home one to something more low-tech now that I've the shop. But come by, I'll give you the shop's address. The sooner the better.

[priorly]

Well all right, Francine N Furter, you clean off the slab and I'll get my running shoes on.

[Which means he'll appear a little over an hour later, nursing a deathgrip on the cane he's picked up using over the last couple of weeks, and has hopes of turning into a small but satisfying pyre as soon as possible. For now it announces his presence loudly as he enters the shop, with the heelclicks of someone wearing a singular stiletto shoe.]

[originallutece]

Francine N Furter . . .

[She says it softly, but doesn't care enough to ask after it. Instead she busies herself in the lab, pulling away from her work only when she hears that clicking. Her hair is pinned up, red marks around her eyes. The culprit, a pair of goggles, hangs around her neck.]

Hallo, Prior. Right in here, please, come take a seat, and roll your sleeve up.

[priorly]

Miss Lutece.

[The lack of preamble actually makes him smile, as does the get up - the kind of harried female scientist costume someone might draw up on a storyboard for a movie. Frazzled but strangely attractive, just waiting for the doubtless less useful male protagonist to take her goggles off and declare her beautiful.]

Do you have a background in medicine, too? Because you've certainly got the manner down.

[He does as he's told, though, sitting and hesitating only a moment before starting to roll up his sleeve. It's a collection of wounds from different wars. Fingerprint bruises, fading slowly, and strange rainbow streaks threading across his veins from wrist to elbow.

There's a dark, port-wine stain of a lesion just above the bicep, probably his least favorite of the three, though he offers nothing more than a clenched jaw to tell this.]

[originallutece]

Madame Lutece, actually. And selective medicine, though fortunately for the two of us, nothing that would be useful for you right now. Hopefully you shan't hemorrhage while you're here.

[Her eyes skim over those bruises, but given her shirt hides her own, she won't comment. Instead she takes his arm, her hands gentle if not kind, and tries her best to find a vein that isn't covered in bruises.

The needle slips in, dark red blood darts out, and Rosalind hums in satisfaction as she starts to fill up a vial.]

Though actually . . . I'm very, very good at taking blood, though it's usually my own. And these devices are a fair sight easier than the ones I had in 1893. Two more, now.