Aerospace Engineer v. Alchemist

Fog turns to mist. Mist turns to dark cold spring rain.

The Aerospace Engineer sits beneath the oak, miserable, clutching his windbreaker, the Actor's red English hunting jacket hanging loose over his head. Somewhere a dog barks. From the stand to the east the Alchemist emerges. He walks slowly, carefully making his way over the timber fence, across the field to the oak. He wears a long black thick wool cowl, hood covering his face. Beneath this a fine academic gown, a fox fur collar. He regards the Aerospace Engineer with concern. You seem large for a Homunculus, says the Alchemist. Everything is relative, replies the Aerospace Engineer. The Alchemist considers this, then shrugs.

The Alchemist's face is gaunt and tired but his eyes are intelligent, bright, blue. A dark beard flows to a point below his collar, beneath which hangs a gold ouroboracular medallion. Tell me, he says, standing beside the Aerospace Engineer, back close to the trunk of the oak, you won't lead me to her. Will you?

The Aerospace Engineer's eyes look to the body of the Agent, then quickly away. All this hidden under the shelter of the Actor's English hunting jacket. I don't know her, he says, and didn't.

The Alchemist walks slowly from the tree to the rosewood table. He bends to inspect the pistols. He touches nothing. He bends over the pistols for a long while before picking one up, gently, and examining the mechanism. The Aerospace Engineer stands, walks over and explains. He mentions nothing of his notes. He leads the Alchemist to the field. They take their places, fifteen feet apart.

The Alchemist looks at the pistol, then to the Aerospace Engineer, then - at the sound of the second bark - with wry expression to the stand of trees behind the fence to the east. The Aerospace Engineer stares ahead, fair wet hair molded, dripping, squinting against the rain.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.