#Max Parkhurst

[maxparkhurst]

Max Parkhurst by [Saltmatey]

#Foaming at the mouth #ITS SO GOOD #ID LET HER STEP ON ME #Max Parkhurst #character art #commissioned art

[antiquated-dust]

Seeing is Believing

Max turned the vial between her fingers, its contents casting a faint, crimson glow. The shop was dark and dusty, lined with a layer of comforting silence. Tobacco smoke hung thick in the air. She felt at home among the oddities, rarities, and antiquities of Grimorium Verum. Or as close to home as she would allow.

“You’re awfully quiet, Bato.” Max’s fingers closed around the vial, sealing away its light and ethereal warmth. “Gil for your thoughts?”

She stole a fox-quick glance over her shoulder. And there, framed by towers of decrepit books and obelisks of junk she found the greatest antique inside Grimorium Verum. A raisin of a lalafell  hunched over the sandstone counter, milky gaze narrowed through a thick veil of smoke. Grey hair hung limp over his shoulders, left to grow wild and unruly. A black coeurl made fat and lazy laid on the counter next to him. Chirped when the man gave its belly an absent pat.  His lips shriveled into a deeper scowl. The pipe hanging from them bobbed when he muttered.

“Nothin’ important.”

“Same as usual, then.”

Max’s laughter died prematurely when Bato remained quiet. Not even a twitch to hint that she’d been heard. She cleared her throat, gaze flitting to the curio cabinet. A mental note was made: whenever the opportunity presented itself, she’d drag that old sense of humor under the table and smother it.  

“Anyroad- I have something for you.” The vial was returned to its home on the rack. A placard beneath it labeled the vials in thick, black letters - Voidsent Blood. Max reached into her jacket, procuring from its folds a velveteen pouch. She hovered uncertainly. Then tossed the pouch onto the counter. “Happy Starlight.”

Bato’s eyes flicked down to the pouch. Smoke rolled over his lips as he barked a humorless laugh. “Starlight?” - withered fingers curled into the plush fabric- “Heh. Ain’t ya’ just sweet.” He slid the pouch into a drawer, then returned his attention to Max. Stared at her through wire-thin brows. She knew that look very well. It was a look that demanded no nonsense.

So, she tried again.

“I need a favor.”

“O’ course ya’ do.”

“This one is different.” Max’s hand slipped into her jacket once more. This time, she retrieved a slip of parchment.

Bato upturned his nose with a chuff. “Different my ass.”

The note was slid across the counter, pinned beneath her finger. Her voice dipped into a gentle hush as she leaned forward. “Please, Bato.”  

The lalafell grew still and quiet, milky gaze burning a hole into the paper. A sly smirk drew across Max’s lips as she withdrew her hand with aching slowness. It felt good to win.

Bato remained silent a moment more before relinquishing a defeated sigh. He fumbled with the note. Read it over once. Then gave a curt nod. From its resting spot against the counter, he retrieved a wooden cane. A few hobbled steps brought him to the curio cabinet beyond the desk. “Curse th’ day I made that promise t’ ya’ father,” he grumbled as he began plucking jars from their shelves, “ ‘Twixt the two o’ ya’, m’ gonna be bled dry.”

“Oh. You’ve seen him recently?” Max propped either elbow on the counter, watching the Lalafell measure spoonfuls of fluorescent powder onto a scale. The warmth that crept into her smile almost felt instinctual. “And what exactly is my little brother up to these days?”

Bato hesitated. Threw a weary look over his shoulder before tapping off the excess powder from the spoon. “Shovin’ his nose where it doesn't belong.” From a drawer, he procured a draw-string bag. As an afterthought, he added, “Came ‘round here lookin’ for ya’ again.”

“I see.”

The powder was scraped from the scale and dumped into the bag. He sealed it with a taut pull of its strings. “He knows, kiddo.”

The air felt suddenly cooler, and the shadows appeared much darker. Max stepped away from the counter. Found a home for her twitching hands in the comfort of her pockets. “How much?”

“Mo’e than he ought to know. Enough t’ ask the right questions…”

Max drew in a quiet breath and held it until she could feel her pulse in her ears. When she finally spoke, she cringed at how weak her voice sounded in the open air. “Did you tell him?”

Bato’s nose crinkled at the question, lips curled to reveal a picket fence of plaque. “Told him the last I saw of Maxinora was on a boat set for Kugane.” He dropped the draw-string bag upon the counter. “An’ nothin’ mo’e.”

Inklings of relief seeped into Max’s fingers as she reached for the bag. After a moment, she mustered a quiet- “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

Max met Bato’s gaze. She still remembered a time when he looked upon her with warmth. When her puckish antics merited begrudging smiles and smoke-tinged laughter. Cold indifference warped his eyes into something far paler and more distant. He was peering through Max as though she were made of air. In this shop she called home, she was little more than a shadow on the wall.

“I did it for him,” the Lalafell sighed, “He’s finally findin’ some happiness. An’ he sure as shit doesn’t need you fuckin’ it up for him.” Bato plucked the pipe from his lips, dumping the ash into an awaiting tray. “He’s better off without you.”

She didn’t need to hear it from him.

She already knew it. Repeated it to herself until the words tasted foreign on her tongue. As if she could form a callus thick enough to withhold against its bitter sting.

Hearing it and knowing it were one thing. But seeing it with her own eyes was another.

Merriment lined the streets of Ul’dah by way of strung-up lights and Starlight sentinels. Vendors’ pockets were fat and deep from the seasonal bustle. Children were made gleeful by the mounds of snow pocketing the curbs. Warmth filled the air as couples meandered through the night, hand-in-hand. And above all the wonder and delight rose a note of laughter.

A sound she knew better than her own heart beat.

She picked him out of the crowd, though it took a few tries. He was taller than she remembered. More broad of shoulder. The missing tip of his ear was also new. As was his steady gait. She’d recognize those eyes anywhere, even if they gleamed with confidence she knew he wasn’t born with.

When did it all change? 

He wore a bright smile unlike any he’d ever donned. A smile that was unafraid to exist beyond the confines of his cheeks, becoming more teeth than eyes. It was one of growing happiness, much as the sun peeks through an overcast sky. It came from deep inside him. A morsel of his own soul offered in the most gentle of fashions. And she heard it, too, in his voice. In his choice of words. In the way he relaxed in the presence of that white-haired Au ra.

Max watched from afar, hidden in the recess of an alley, as A’gust and his companion disappeared into the crowd. How happy he seemed to be these days.

Much happier without his sister.

But she already knew that

#dribble #drabble #ffxiv stories #ffxiv character #Max Parkhurst #IC Stories #| The Alchemist |

[kat-hawke]

To Rattle the Chains

Kat stood upon the stone outcrop, the gentle breeze rustling her hair as she gazed out over the serene park. Her eyes drifted across the vast open space, listening to the one-eyed alchemist below as she collect a bowl of soup from a street vendor just below her perch. Their gaze meeting for a brief moment in silent understanding.

With a covered bowl in her hand, Max respectfully approached her, acknowledging her position. "Director," Max spoke as she settled on the stone, holding the bowl carefully in her lap.

Kat's attention turned towards the bowl in the alchemist's lap, her curiosity piqued. "Is the soup for actual consumption, or some sort o' experimentation?"

"I don't play with my food," Max scoffed, tapping the lip of the bowl. "Augustine is watching the shop this evening. Thought I'd fetch him something."

"How kind 'n sisterly." The Director muttered, feigning interest.

Max clicked her tongue in jest, "I do try," she replied, turning towards the promenade below. "Business or pleasure, Director?" the alchemist asked with a smile, gesturing to the people below.

A curt snort forced through the Director's nostrils as her lips flattened at the corners. "As much as I love jokes about pleasure everyone seems t'make... Do I ev'a make an appearance in public for anything other than business, Miss Parkhurst?"

"Suppose not." Max hummed in agreement. "You'll have to excuse me, Director, if I so wish to cushion your professional demeanor with a bit of light-hearted banter."

A faint smirk curled the edge of Kat's lips, "Th' absolute audacity," she muttered before scanning the area. "A quick word, however, is my business here. I'll try not t'bend your ear for too long. Wouldn' want the soup t'go cold."

Max nodded understandingly, "Certainly not. Cold soup makes for a terrible meal," she quipped, raising a brow. "You have my attention. Unless you'd prefer a more quiet place to speak business?"

Shifting her attention fully toward the alchemist, the Director gave her a knowing stare. "When do I eva enjoy public crowds or the noise?"

"Fair enough," Max chuckled, rising to her feet with the bowl held securely. "Lead the way, then."

Kat motioned vaguely as she turned on her heel, leading Max to a quieter spot for their discussion. Choosing the longer route to ensure none were tailing, the two made small talk on the newly re-opened shop that the Parkhurst siblings had acquired. Whether or not the Director truly cared was uncertain, but the long walk to the far corner of the graveyard in silence would have been less than ideal.

Navigating beneath the vine-covered trellises, she approach one which held a tub of water and a handful of fish. Gloved hands rested upon the weathered rim as she stared down into her reflection in the water. Sinister thoughts and whispers of self-loathing began to stir in the deepest recesses of the Director's mind.

"I trust things have been goin' well with Sherwood's potions?" She inquired without looking away from the water.

Max took in the scenery with a subtle nod. "More or less," she remarked, turning to lean against the trellis. Her myopic gaze traced the vine's path upwards, tongue tapping against the backs of her teeth. A sigh eventually fell from her lips. "I've been researching the technicals behind the curse along with corresponding treatments. The result is just a lot of theory and postulation, though, without a real test subject."

The alchemist's fingers drummed against the bottom of the bowl. "All that to say— I've only a trial sample to offer."

As she gazed at her reflection with disappointment and disgust, Kat let out a low hum from behind her lips. Shifting her focus to Max, she leaned back against the water tub as her arms crossed beneath her bust. "Ian serves as the primary test subject, being th'only worgen in our crew," she explained. "But that's no' th'only reason for our conversation. There's something else that doesn' require Sherwood or anyone else's involvement."

Max's gaze snapped back to Kat, and the corners of her cordial smile twitched upwards. Revealed the faintest hint of a fox's wicked grin. "Then, at your word, I'll have the first samples delivered to Mister Sherwood." She paused, head canted as she recollected her smile. "You've my attention and discretion, Director."

Kat raised her hand for a brief moment before nestling it back into the opposite elbow with a shallow nod at Max's initial statement, a silent green light to deliver the trial potions to Ian. "Good. I need somethin' t'do th' opposite of wot Ian's potions will do. A concoction that will, let us say, uncage the beast within someone who is afflicted, rather than calm it."

Max's brows rose to meet her hairline as she incredulously blinked. "Might I ask why?"

The Director maintained her solid expression as she looked the alchemist back in the eye. "You may not."

Max clicked her tongue. Then nodded. "Fair enough."

"I do no' plan anythin' of ill intent. If that is of concern." Kat offered in a monotone.

A hum escaped the alchemist in her breath. It sounded more contemplative than condescending. "I am paid to craft potions and maintain discretion." She summoned her cordial smile and offered it to Kat with a slight inclination of her head. "What you do with my creations is beyond my concern. Though, I appreciate the reassurance nonetheless."

Max's shoulder rolled in a subtle shrug. "A lot of frivolous fluff to say I trust you, Director."

"Trust is generally earned, no' given, but I appreciate th' statement all th' same." Kat chuffed with a quick roll of her eyes.

"Fair enough. I'll begin work on your request as soon as I am able." Max replied before her brow raised once more to voice a slight concern. "This will require more valuable herbs and reagents, so you know."

"Send me th' invoice and I'll make sure it's taken care of. Either that or a list of th' reagents 'n herbs and I'll arrange a delivery." Kat dismissed the matter with a shrug, unbothered by the financial impact it may carry.

Max's warm smile lit up her face ever so slightly. "Wonderful. You can expect to hear back from me soon," she said, pushing herself away from the trellis and tilting her head inquisitively. "Is there anything else that needs to be addressed?"

"No, that's all," Kat replied, gesturing with two fingers towards the path. "You should go before the soup freezes."

"Of course." Max chuckled softly and started down the path, waving briefly over her shoulder. "Enjoy your skulking, if that's what you prefer, Director."

The Director let out a low, grumbling sound, lips pursed tightly as her gaze narrowed. "I do not skulk," she muttered, glancing briefly at her reflection in the pool before heading off in the opposite direction.

[ @maxparkhurst ] [ Mentioned: @ian-sherwood ]

#ic #Unit Eight #{Bottled Void} #Toxicologist Parkhurst

[kyuusei-shadowleaf]

FMK: Shandris Feathermoon, Max, Zeehva

“Marrying Shandris and there’s gonna be a looong honeymoon.” Kyuu’s reply was decisive, with nary a moment of hesitation. “You name me one kaldorei who went through the Long Vigil or served as a Sentinel and still says they don’t at least low-key crush on the General, and you’re naming a liar.”

The druid sighed, lost in a brief, happy reverie.

“What were we talking about again?” “Oh, yes, the other two. Mhmmm. Both human, and I wouldn’t want to marry a short-lifer anyways. Maxinora, the Parkhurst woman, we’ve done some business in rare herbs before. That gives us something in common for pillow talk afterwards, so she’s in the fuck category. And Zeehva? I think I’ve heard the name but… sorry. Kill is all that’s left.”

(Thanks for the ask, @damien-ward. And sorry @zeehva - maybe if Damien had provided some pictures!)

#asks #fmk #SHANDRIS OF COURSE WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?

[poptarttheremix]

The Writer

NOM DE PLUME: 

High School is such a weird time. Everyone’s growing into their shoes and learning how to walk comfortably in their skin. I wore beat-up Chucks and felt out of place no matter how much makeup I painted on. The greatest adversary I faced happened to be the lunch line. No one tells you how they work or which one to stand in. So, instead of asking someone - and risking whatever fictitious standing I held- I took my lunch money and bought Poptarts out of the vending machine. This wasn’t a sound idea as a full lunch, drink and all, was only $2.15. A Poptart from the machine was a $1.75, and no matter how much water I drank from the fountain to fill those empty carbs I went back to class hungry. 

This would become routine for the rest of Freshman year, and gradually it bled into Sophomore until someone took pity on me and took me through the line.

Now, I know that the fear of not knowing shouldn’t be demonized. Your questions are not silly. Making discoveries is not lame. And Poptarts? Well, they still make for a good snack. 

So: Call me Poptarte. 

ABOUT: 

[Kek.] 

I fancy myself a writer, when in reality I’m a dork who likes the sound of their own voice. The night is when I reign supreme, coffee saturates my blood, and I’ve the terrible habit of sticking my face in dogs’ faces. Catch me running on that Eastern Standard Time and filling this blog with absolute nonsense. The vibes here are always chill. 

You want writing? 

Check out these characters I write for on Final Fantasy. 

THE CHARACTERS:

A’GUST TIA: 

Final Fantasy XIV, Crystal/ Mateus (Status: Active) 

An affable, young Miqo’te searching for answers to questions surrounding the disappearance of his sister. While raised amongst the civil unrest of Ul’dah, he’s managed to keep his smile radiant and hopes high. It’s thanks to the crew of Porta Ciela that he’s able to venture out into the open world, equipped with aught more than his alchemical knowledge, quick wit, and endearing charm. 

[Tumblr]

THE ALCHEMIST:

Final Fantasy XIV, Crystal/ Mateus (Status: Under Construction)

A reflection cast in crystal, she can’t shake this perpetual feeling of deja vu. She wanders across Eorzea under a myriad of alias and names. Though, she is most commonly referred to as The Alchemist. 

[Tumblr]

#A'gust Tia #Max Parkhurst #The Alchemists #Mateus #ffxiv roleplay

[auggieparkhurst]

Labyrinth

Perhaps he could not find respite in the shadows of their shared hearth, the second chair now occupied by someone else,  but he could still find it  within dust-filmed tomes. The bell’s chime welcomed Augustine into Stacks. It was  an old, decrepit bookstore. Haphazardly wedged between two towering buildings, as if it’s been an afterthought.  Even late in the evening, as Augustine had left the house at nine bells, the door to the shop remained unlocked. Ever confident was the Archivist in her security measures. The runes of her ingenuitive mind were etched into the doorframe, their lament light barely visible. He blinked up at them, flashed a smile, and stepped inside. Immediately the young man was met by the dower countenance of the Archivist. A gnome, who showed the first signs of grey as testament to her age, by the name of Tinkara, perched behind an adjacent counter. The ledger sprawled across her desk marked by a quill as she peered over horn-rimmed glasses.

“Hello again, Augustine.” She spared no time for pleasantries. Any kind word to be offered by him promptly silenced by an upheld hand. She licked a fingertip and flipped a few pages in her ledger. The crow’s feet at her eyes deepened as she strained to read. Her lips puckered in an indignant pout, nail tracing along a line of text. “Here we go.  Alchemical Principles and Runic Associations,�� -she quirked a thin brow- “Just got it in, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

He forced his smile to grow beyond its limits, revealing a sliver of teeth, while he stuffed any misgivings down his throat. The passenger in his bag squirmed. “Oh,” he chittered, clutching his satchel’s strap in a  white-knuckled grip. “Um...Not tonight, actually. I was just looking to browse.”

“Hmph.” Tinkara squinted. Milky gaze traipsed up and along his length until it lingered on his face. Another chuff. She flipped the ledger closed with a satisfying smack. “Look to your heart’s content, I suppose.”

“Thank you.”

Just as he turned to leave, Tinkara beckoned him back. “One moment, Augustine.”

He froze in the aisle, gaze fixed on some distant point. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You don’t have that cat with you, do you?”

His laugh was effortless. Light and airy, he expelled it like any other breath as he shook his head- extra sure to jostle his curls just so. “Of course not.” He looked over his shoulder to the Archivist, canting his head. “Wouldn’t dream of bringing her inside. Not after what happened last time.”

“Uh. Huh.” Tinkara pushed the spectacles further up her nose. She gave Augustine another once over.  “I should hope so.” She waved him on.

Augustine dipped his head in gratitude and scurried down the seemingly endless aisle of books. That was the magic of Stacks.  It’s exterior belied little of it’s interior. A street view would lead by-passers believing the shop to be little more than an insubstantial accrual of second-hand books. Only those who ventured inside knew the truth-- that the shop was bigger on the inside. Augustine ventured down the aisle, hand trailing along the spines of leather-bound books, and veered right when the path forked. And continued to choose right whenever the opportunity presented itself.  Further and further, he dove into the labyrinth. His shadow growing into itself by glow of alchemical lanterns. The tension in his shoulders began to unwound as the thick shelves swallowed any idle sounds made by the Archivist. Sure that he had placed enough distance between himself and her, Augustine paused. Knelt down and opened his satchel. From its fold, a black coil spilled onto the floor. A pleasant purr rolled from the feline shade as she nudged his hand.

“Yes, hello.” Augustine ran his hand down Calcifer’s back, and smiled when she rewarded him with the languid swish of her tail. He rose onto his haunches, arm extended down. “Come on then.” A devious smile curled at his lips as he added in a haughty tone, “As it please you, my Shadow.”

Green gaze wrinkled beneath the weight of the cat’s smug grin. She plodded up his arm and curled herself around his neck- tail coiled just under his chin.  

The two continued their journey- always right, never left- until they reached the emporium’s heart. The endless line of books opened into a central chamber lit by alchemical lanterns and furnished with a handful of weathered tables and accompanying chairs. A few ink pots and quills dotted the separate work spaces for anyone who chose to use them, stacks of parchment kept at the head of each table. Everything always kept in order, no matter the occasion, by an unseen force which enacted on the Archivist’s demand for organization.

Augustine expected the space to be vacant, as it normally was at this time of evening, and found himself a bit miffed when a mysterious man occupied his favored spot. A Kaldorei reclined back in the chair closest to the trolley of books. One hand supported the back of his head while the other held a weathered-novel folded back on its spine. He read with an impassive countenance. Skimmed through the pages as if they were little more than filler.

Retorts churned in Augustine’s stomach. Unsure if he could muster them beyond a shy whisper, he continued to swallow them down. His fingers flexing as they worked the icy-pricks of annoyance from his hands. Resolving to leave the man alone and choose another spot, he turned on his heel-

-and froze when the gentleman cleared his throat.

“Master Parkhurst?”

Augustine bit back a crestfallen smile as he faced the man. “Oh. No. You must have me mistaken for my sister- Max Parkhurst.”

The Kaldorei rose from his chair with the shake of his head. Stepping out from the shadows and into the lantern’s glow, Augustine caught a better glimpse of the man.  He was such a miserable specimen. Ears cropped to a length far unusual, cheeks hollowed and eyes - faintly lambent and silver- sunken into his skull. Wisps of black hair, dull and a bit lackluster, pulled into a haphazard tail. Only the wire-thin hairs of a goatee brought softness to his features. Augustine might’ve thought him to be bitter with his ill-fitting clothes and slight limp. But then, the man’s thin lips curled in a beaming smile. All teeth and no eyes.

“No. I am quite certain I have the right man.” He dipped his head low. “Augustine Parkhurst, yes?”

Augustine cast him a dubious look. “Yes…” A tentative hand reached for Calcifer, finding remedy to his nerves in the down of her fur. “That’s me- I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Laughter eased the bite from the man’s appearances. He extended a callused hand out to Augustine. The chemical stains on his fingers contrasted against his ash-grey skin. “My apologies, young master. I am Hyleass Duskbough.”

An excited current danced up Augustine’s spine. “You’re...The Hyleass Duskbough?” he breathed, lips curling in a manic grin. He promptly took Hyleass’s hand in both his own. “The Glasswork Alchemist?”

“Anu’dora,” -Hyleass turned bashful gaze skyward- “That is one of my many titles. Though, these days I’m referred to as Councilman Duskbough.”

The sudden realization sapped the warmth from Augustine’s blood, and settled heavy in his stomach. He pulled his hands from Hyleass. Swallowed back the lump crawling up his throat. “High Alchemist…” He folded himself over in a low bow- Calcifer spilling from his shoulders. “I-I am so sorry for the disrespect! Had I known- If I was more observant… I’d wouldn’t have guessed you of all people would frequent- erm. Um! Not saying you couldn’t visit a bookstore,  but tha-”

Hyleass culled Auggie’s stream of incoherent babble with an upheld hand. His smile turned gentle. “It is quite alright. I am no more a man than you. Amongst these stacks, we are equals. So, please, just Hyleass.” He left no room for interjection as he canted his head.

Augustine nodded slowly as he rose. His gaze remained rooted to the ground. “Then it is an honor, Hyleass.” A moment’s contemplation passed before he cracked a meek grin, stealing a glance up at  the elder alchemist. “I am a big fan of your work.”

“As I of yours, young master.”

Inklings of warmth swelled in Augustine’s chest. “Really?”

The Kaldorei gave an affirming nod. Either of his hands came to rest in the depths of his coat pockets. His gaze found the young man’s, twinkling with aged whimsy. “Quite. Unique ideas with execution of equal measure. And your dissertation?” A breath of laughter filled the momentary quiet. “It I was none the wiser, I’d have sooner thought you a wordsmith rather than alchemist.” The gaiety all but withered from his smile. “A pity,” he lamented with the twitch of an ill-cropped ear, “That the Board refused to advance it.”

For all the praise in the world, Augustine couldn’t ignore the thin dagger which those words slid between his ribs. Old wounds never quite healed reopened with a simple reminder. The rejection still lived rent free in his head. Denied advancement. Try again next year. He tried to not let the disappointment show in his smile. Brushed it off with a half-shrug. “It gives me plenty of time to re-evaluate. To hone in on my research. As they say, ‘A jack of all trades is a master of none.’”

“Dora’ dor,” Hyleass remarked, “Though, you neglect the entirety of the quote.” He ventured back to the table, gaze thrown over his shoulder. “ ‘But oftentimes better than a master of one.’” A knowing smirk given as he began to collect his things. “You’ve remarkable potential, Augustine. Let not the word of a few pious individuals sully your thirst.”

The tailspin of emotions had begun to make Augustine dizzy. He entered Stacks with a seedling of resentment in his chest. So quick it shifted. Like the passing of a season. First to annoyance. Then annoyance rolled into excitement. To embarrassment. To pride then shame. And now, he stood in a dizzying stupor. Strength siphoned from the current dancing up his spine. Not a name to be given to this buzz as he merely beamed at Hyleass. For once, he was left speechless.

Hyleass filled the silence for him.

“It was a pleasure to meet you in person. Unfortunately, I’ve other duties to attend to.” He paused beside Augustine, casting the young man a knowing look. “Shall I see you here tomorrow, same time?”

Augustine blinked out of his stupor. Met the question with an eager nod. “Oh. Um. Yes, sir!”

A dubious brow was quirked at Auggie. He quickly checked himself. “I mean- Yes, Hyleass.”

The elf grew a face-splitting grin. “Excellent. Until then, ande’thoras’ethil.”

And with a departing nod, Hyleass ventured into the labyrinth of books. Augustine left to simmer in his excited buzz until Calcifer’s delicate chirp plucked him dust-filled clouds. He smiled down at his feline shadow.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, reaching down to stroke Calcifer’s ear.

The cat responded with the deft thump of her tail.

Tomorrow.

[Prelude] | [Audience] 

#| Labyrinth | #The Alchemists #| Omens Etched in Crimson | #Augustine Parkhurst #Hyleass Duskbough

[numinous-queer]

I’m in my late twenties and I’m only now coming into terms with the fact that I’m trans masculine. I’ve been a longtime follower of yours under different tumblr names, but seeing you thrive has always made me happy. Thank you.

son, you're in a very exciting time in your life.

You've been given a gift that not many cis people get - the opportunity to build yourself from the ground-up in a very thoughtful and intentional way. It may feel like this "gift" is a particularly rank shit sandwich some days, and like it's an insult to refer to something that makes your life so difficult in positive terms. But I've learned that sometimes you have to repeatedly choose to reframe something and reintegrate it into yourself.

You're going to be doing a lot of that - revisiting old memories and ways of being and seeing them with more clarity and self-understanding. Don't worry if everything doesn't resolve itself into a coherent narrative immediately! Like a teen who's throwing paint at the walls to see what sticks, there's some frenzied pressure to figure yourself out immediately and project a very polished camera-ready version of yourself right away. You don’t need to know who you are from day 1. It is normal and okay to try on different versions of ourselves! This is particularly fraught for trans people, who may feel a pressure to broadcast to all our family and friends how extremely OK and SUPER CHILL this big new fact about us is. It often feels like we are skipping a bunch of steps, life markers from childhood that it’s harmless to indulge in. One fun way to "test out" new names for ourselves is to recreate kid experiences like writing your name in big bubble letters on the sidewalk with chalk or looking at fun keychains with your name... chasing any experience that gives you a sense of joy. Gender euphoria is real, and you need to orient yourself towards whatever gives you a sense of peace and wholeness. Yes, some of transitioning is setting down those things that no longer serve us, but it is good to remember to move forward as well.

Take heart that you come from a long line of strength, from Alan Hart to Jack Bee Garland to Willmer "Little Ax" Broadnax to Billy Tipton to Charley Parkhurst to Lou Sullivan. Our knowledge is historied and long; let their momentum carry you forward. I highly recommend bell hooks’s work, The Will To Change, which was powerful for me in considering my relationship to masculinity. I was also very impacted by The Nearest Exist May Be Behind You by Bear Bergman. Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg is also a classic for a reason. If you are looking for a day-to-day experiential discussion of HRT, Max Valerio’s Testosterone Files are invaluable. I’ve also been excited to read the second edition of Becoming a Visible Man by Jamison Green. You have this opportunity to be intentional in your gender and your way of interacting with the world. Use it to be a good human being!

#I'm your dad now #them's the breaks kid #eat your vegetables and be kind to others and use this opportunity to grow as a person #take this time to take stock in yourself and live intentionally #please always imagine me hooting and hollering in your ear in loud support #my ask box is always open #<3 #trans #queer #gender

[atvir]

Experimentation

[@maxparkhurst, @auggieparkhurst]

A brown envelope would appear on the steps of Parkhurst Alchemy, containing the following six-page correspondence within.

Dear Parkhursts and/or responsible associates of Parkhurst Alchemy,

I hope you are well. I deemed it reasonable to be the first tester of all five of your prototype elixirs since I’d be capable of attempting to deal with any side effects.

Keeping the element of mystery, ignored any labels on the vials to see if I can draw my own conclusions to what the potions would do.

Contained within the next five pages are notes for each concoction consumed, as requested by Max.

- Atvir Leafshadow

Formula One: A frothing, amber colored liquid

Examining the contents of the liquid, I would anticipate that there was a heat applied to this elixir, but it was remarkably temperate to the touch.

Uncorking the vial, the liquid reeked of charcoal.

I then drank the elixir, which tasted like ash. It felt like breathing in when stationed at Darkshore during the fourth war.

Other than the terrible taste and a brief glimpse of the past from said taste, I felt no effects.

Formula Two: A thick, brown draught

The liquid of the second elixir was an extremely thick, brown liquid, almost with the consistency of molasses.

The smell and taste were both of dirt. Reminded me of some Elwynn topsoil.

Almost immediately after imbibing the sludge-like liquid, even being quite a ways away from grass, the natural magics I have been in tune with felt very, very off.

I quickly exited the offices to investigate, reaching the farms outside of the walls of the Dwarven District. It felt as if the grass was..moaning? Walking through it unleashed a chorus of screams in pain. I ran quickly back to the office in fear.

Thankfully, the senses I felt receded very quickly. All in all, I would avoid giving this elixir to druids considering our greater connection to the natural world. The negative effect seems a bit extreme for us.

Formula Three: A vial of sapphire specked with rose

The liquid within the vial was rather pleasing to the eye. It reminded me of a courtier’s vestment from Suramar or Highborne nobility.

The smell was that of a lavender and rose perfume, the taste was surprisingly that of a sour apple, but one that has not rotten yet. Perhaps the most surprising tasting one of the five.

Drinking its contents...I felt nothing. If there was an effect that I was to experience, it did not occur here.

Formula Four: An indigo liquid

The liquid in this vial is a simple, unremarkable indigo.

Uncorking the vial revealed a faint smell of honey, which is also what it tasted like.

I felt nothing occur when consuming this.

Formula Five: The translucent green

I imbibed this potion last as one of our associates consumed it already, revealing the effects of glowing eyes.

The liquid smells of a warm, but not overwhelmingly hot night in the Redridge Mountains. The taste reminds me of the excessive humidity experienced in Dustwallow.

Drinking this elixir, I felt nothing. I then inquired with my associates if my eyes were glowing; turns out that was not the case.

After the last page of notes is a small footnote, stating the following:

I was perhaps the worst candidate for experimenting these prototype vials, as four of these five did nothing to me, and the one that did work had a very short and unfortunate drawback.

I wish Augustine the best in his endeavors and hope that the remaining participants bear more fruitful results.

#story #correspondence #Atvir Leafshadow

[annadia-thorn]

“Annadia Thorn. A woman who consists of nothing but pointed edges and silver tongue.”

Max Parkhurst

#RP quotes #not wrong #annadia thorn

[alexandriawilliams]

Drop your Muse’s name in my inbox and I’ll reveal my Muse’s opinion of them... Max :)

Most admirable quality: “Parkhurst is bright, like -- really bright. I barely know the woman, but she just has that sort of presence that bright folks do. It’s intimidating in a way that has a certain gravity to it, and it’s something I respect quite a bit.”

Most attractive physical feature: “... I’m really a sucker for those tattoos. Honestly, it’s hard to narrow it down to one thing-- but I’d never say that to her face. She’s a little too serious to take those kinds of compliments well, I think.” Most annoying habit: “Hard to read. A little dour. Very focused. Tough crowd for a joke, I think. Can’t ever tell what she’s thinking.”

Something they would like to do with them: “Hard to say. My usual go-to is some sort of playful competition, but I don’t know if I’d pin her as much of a fighter. Light, she’s so little. My next suggestion might be to engage in one of her interests, but alchemy is a bit out of my depth, I think. I’m sure, though, that we could find ways to collaborate.”

[saidelia-draconis]

💖(One for each sibling?)

"Max Parkhurst? She's a bitch. I like her, she's my kind of people. We'd probably be pretty good friends if we weren't... the way we are."

"As for her kid? I don't know, he's a good kid. Reminds me a little of what I was l like at his age. He seems unsure of who or what he is. It's scary, especially when you've already decided what your role in life is. Max loves him the way she can. Just wish he could stay sweet and sincere, but everyone has to grow up at some point."

(Thanks for the ask, @theparkhurstalchemists!)

#Asks

[maxparkhurst]

#the alchemist #max parkhurst #character musings #| Quiet Remorse |

[antiquated-dust]

Rays, soft and golden, tasted sweet upon the Fox’s sullied tongue. 

A greedy creature with a thirst that knew no bounds. 

She nestled in the Sun’s palm. Close. Warm. Content. 

And with each day, she lost her sight. Blinded by the Sun’s radiance. 

Knowing nothing but the honey-dipped lies whispered in her ear. 

#The Alchemists #Max Parkhurst #| Another Existence | #ffxiv gpose #FFXIV Screenshots #story beats

[remixinc]

BMW M4 The Ultimate Self Driving Machine from Pete Konczal on Vimeo.

Director: Jonny Mass Director of Photography: Pete Konczal Producer: Geoff McLean Production Company: Radke US Prod Company: Vision Film Production Supervisor: Jessica Wotherspoon Asst. Production Supervisor: Joy Mendez 1st AD: Todd Thompson 2nd AD: Jason Swanson

Talent: OCP: Milo Ventigmilia Stunt Driver: Matt Mullins

Production

Camera Operator: Daniel Nichols 1st AC - A Camera: Lucas Nichols 1st AC - B Camera: Daniel Ferrell 2nd AC - A Camera: Matthew Ewing 2nd AC - B Camera: Jordan Pellegrini DIT: Steve Harnell

Gaffer: Robert Oliva Best Boy Electric: Marlon Obrien Electric Driver: Jeff Parkhurst

Key Grip: Otto Bettencourt Best Boy Grip: Chris Rountree Grip: Dewayne Richardson Grip: Alex Ingrim Grip Driver: Bo Williams

Camera Car Team: Pursuit Systems Camera Car Driver: Matt Moss Crane Operator: Rob Rubin Head Tech: Michael Pagan

Drone Team: Aether Films Pilot: Alex Vanover Drone Assist: Davis DiLillo Drone Assist: Caden McMahon

Biscuit Driver: Robert Nagle Biscuit Tech: Adam Jeffrey Biscuit Tech: Nick Jennings

Car Prep: Fred Winney Car Prep: Angel Alvarado Car Prep: Bill Longo Car Prep: Andy Riess

Production Designer: Craig Reynolds Lead SPFX: Damon Sarafian SPFX Assistant: Anna Humphries

Location Scout Manager: Patrick Renoso Gang Boss: Harry Bchakjian Solo Moho Driver: Roger Ligman Driver 1: Jose Enriquez Driver 2: Carl Vallejo Driver 3: Sami Soulagheh Compliance Officer: Rai Quartley Compliance Officer: Christian Santiago Compliance Officer: Max Klaiber Covid Assistant: Megan Rach Covid Nurse: Felipe Flores Medical Assistant: Jhovanny Pedraza Set Medic: David Faliki Set Security: Meybel Ramirez

Office Assistant: Meagan Elizondo PA - Production Truck: Steve Rea PA - Cam Truck: Alex Meyer PA - Cargo Van: Jose Polanco PA - Mini Van: Francisco Hernandez PA: Marty Marquez PA: Jamal Taylor

Client: BMW VP Marketing NA: Uwe Dreher Department of Head Brand Strategy: Albi Pagenstrert National Brand and Media Director: Michael Jobst National Marketing Manager: Lisa Judge Senior Manager, Media & Film Production: Neil Moreno National Media Specialist: Zach Ambrosino National Media Specialist: Jamie Pritchard

Agency: Goodby Silverstein & Partners Co-Chairman / Founder: Rich Silverstein Client: BMW Brand: BMW USA Spot Name: The Ultimate Self-Driving Machine Air Date: April 1, 2021

Chief Creative Officer: Margaret Johnson Co-Chairmen: Jeff Goodby and Rich Silverstein Creative Director: Matt Edwards Creative Director: Wes Phelan Associate Creative Director: Carlos Rangel Art Director: Kevin Leung Art Director: Duncan Spear Copywriter: Rachel Nagpal Account Services Managing Partner: Leslie Barrett Group Account Director: Chris Ferko, Jenna Duboe Account Director: Alissa Sheely Account Manager: Kelly Preston Assistant Account Manager: Ali Bentin Project Manager: Kaitlyn Landers Brand and Communication Strategy Partner, Head of Brand Strategy: Bonnie Wan Partner, Head of Communication Strategy: Christine Chen Group Brand Strategy Director: Stephanie Phillips Strategy Director: Kevin Destefan Director of Communications Strategy: Dong Kim Junior Brand Strategist: Lyniece Hill Senior Communications Strategist: Matthew Hudgins Communications Strategist: Josh German Research & Analytics Director: Jane Warren Production Co-Director of Production: Leila Gage and Margaret Brett-Kearns Executive Producer: Matt Flaker Agency Producer: Kateri McLucas Business Affairs Director of Business Affairs: Judy Ybarra Senior Business Affairs Manager: Chrissy Shearer Editorial Company Company Name: Cabin Editorial Editor: Edward Khoma Assistant Editor: Orion Fernando Executive Producer: Adam Becht Producer: Lynne Mannino Audio and Sound Design Company Company name: Source Sound Inc, LA Supervising Sound Designer: Charles Deenen Sound Designers: James Evans, Nick Martin Sound Editor: Josh Moore, Travis Prater Producer: Andrew Bock Mix: Charles Deenen Music Company Company name: Squeak E Clean West Coast Creative Director: Rob Barbato Midwest Creative Director: Justin Hori Senior Producer: Max Taylor VFX Company Company name: The Mill Executive Creative Director: Chris Knight Remote Shoot Supervisor: Alex Candlish VFX Supervisor/Lead: Alex Candlish 2D Artist: Dylan Streiff, Franz Kol, Kai Chun Tsai, Patrick Dirks, Pradeep Kumar Rawat, Nikhil K M, Arun Kumar Sah, Rahul Bharadwaj, Pushpendra Singh, Jhosidth T, Prajeesh E 3D Artist: Daniel Stern Finish Artist: Alex Candlish, Patrick Dirks Matte Painting: Itai Muller Animation: Jacob Bergman Art Department: Kevin Diaz, Valerie Chernysh Tracking: Elizabeth Hammer Color Company Company name: The Mill Colorist: Paul Yacono Executive Producer, Color: Fawn Fletcher Senior Color Producer: Denise Brown Color Artist: Gemma Parr, Logan Highlen

[longveil]

What Brings Silence (cont.)

(Continued from here)

The bell chimed as the door eased open, welcoming the stranger into the dreary shop. Tendrils of light poking out from beneath the drawn curtains sent long shadows extending into the shop’s far corners. Max crossed over to the work table and lit a candle. Its light cast a warm glow over the Alchemist as she leveled her gaze with the ren’dorei.

“What can I do for you?”

The elf inclined her head to acknowledge Maxine’s obviously reluctant invitation, fluid steps bringing Seraanna through the doorway and into the small shop rife with alchemy’s accouterments. Her shadow followed, eagerly.

But as Max lit a candle at her work table to make all indications of direct business, Seraa’s movements took her instead on a meandering path of inspection, her gaze drifting over the array of living plants and dried herbs that filled the dimly lit space.

“It is that I possess some familiarity with the... nature of your stock, Miss Parkhurst,” she murmured, “but of my own purposes, not the uses to which you bend your... attentions. I practice the art of a scribe, you see. Calligraphy, papers, and... inks.”

Seraa paused at one pot, a plant with groups of four to six-pointed leaves and groups of small, star-shaped blossoms. Her fingers lightly brushed a stem, then cupped a bloom for a moment.

“This, for example. Should the dried root be treated with alum, then with salts of alkali, it will render a pigment of color... crimson.”

Seraanna turned her head to regard Max, a faintly sly smile upon the ren’dorei’s lips. “Unusual to find such, so far from where it... is most often known to grow.”

Those same fluid steps took Seraanna to the worktable, into the candle’s warm glow. Her languid gaze remained fixed upon the Alchemist, and it could have been that shadows eddied behind her. Or it may have only been a trick of flickering candlelight.

“It is a specific need to which I would ask... you to apply your skills, one of my own and no other. I do not expect to leave with fruits in hand, only a commitment to your effort... and expertise.”

“Do I possess your interest?”

@theparkhurstalchemists​

#seraanna #rose madder #a greater silence #the parkhurst alchemists #rp

[melorica]

The Parkhurst’s loft apartment was about as organized as a goblin trash-heap... in a charming sort of way. The siblings had been nice enough to shelter Mel on a handful of occasions when the night had stretched on too long for her to walk home. Alcohol was only involved in one, maybe two, of those instances.

After a night of chatting, flirting, ranting, and whatever else goes down within the crowded walls of the Pig and Whistle, Melorica woke up to the sun trickling through the window. She sat up in a flash, and immediate pain rushed to her head. When the pulsing subsided, she found herself in the loft, surrounded by disheveled piles of books, notes, and a small army of coffee mugs.

The sounds of the alchemists’ work filtered up through the floorboards: an explosion followed by Maxinora’s signature cry of “AUGUSTINE!” A smile found its way to Mel’s lips. She crept out of bed and set about tidying up the room. It was the least she could do to repay the kindness shown. And boy, was it needed.

After the dishes were cleaned and stacked away, the books returned to some semblance of order on the bookshelf, and both beds made, Mel stood and surveyed the space with pride. “Not bad for a morning’s work!” Her gaze landed on a single book hiding away in a corner. “Oh no you don’t...” 

As Mel stooped and picked up the book, a photo slid out from between the pages. She reached out for it an gasped as she flipped it over. The Max in this picture was younger, brighter, cleaner, and much less dressed than Mel had ever seen her. There was an innocence to her look, that was for sure. Mel tucked the photograph back between the pages and set it on a shelf. Some part of her wished she hadn’t seen that picture, and she could only wonder what had happened in the intervening years to change the woman so...

Mel left the loft, descending down into the shop to bid farewell and give her thanks to the Parkhursts. She’d let them discover the surprise on their own.

#Sinday #asks #submission