#earthrunes

While not a frequent visitor to Earthrunes, Symon has been around enough to hopefully bypass more than a cursory check from the Thanes. Or maybe they won't even notice one more sluagh amongst the hoard.

Rollo greets him, the burly boggan eyes him "Hey, you're not one of the rescued... but I seen you here before"

He nods. "Figured I ought to pay my respect to the slither before they squirm off to new boltholes."

"Oh right..." A thought "Go easy on em, they've all been through some ugly shit. Glad we've got the right kind of Varich around here"

Symon makes a face, but he doesn't remark on the Varich comment. "Do you know where I can find a Fl - uh, a Sir Florian?"

"Him? Weirdest thing. Guy's got no hands.... but he's at the sparring area... doing air duels or something, guess Katas? " he jerks his neck that way

A wince. "Thanks." Symon heads that direction.

Symon finds Florin working hard at.. well, kata isn't a bad term, the moves are not of tai chi or the like, but rather dueling, sadly minus the hands let alone the blade

A soft sound, clearing of throat. Nothing a non-sluagh could pick up on, but a polite 'I'm here', sound without interrupting.

The guy is athletc, if he were a zombie in a movie, he'd be one of the fast ones. Of course, sluagh make lousy zombies even when fast- no teeth

But he turns, and sees Symon and stops his motions save to incline his head "Greetings, cousin. I confess surprise to see you. Most of our kind aren't found around dueling dummies"

Symon inclines his head a bit lower than the first. "I'm not here for the dummies, but I wanted to meet you." He steps over, and manages to remember not to offer a hand to shake. "I'm Symon Lee. You must be Sir Florian." Unless there are other disarmed sluagh lurking about.

"The denier himself, this is a great honor" He says in a whisper, sounding a bit transatlantic in his accent, more Cary Grant, less radio announcer, "Yes, I'm Sir Florin. How can I Help you, Mister Lee?"

Symon's cheeks mottle grey a little, a touch embarrassed. "It's nothing like fighting against the Varich, or rescuing an entire slither in one go, but I get by."

"I actually wanted to see if maybe there was a way I could help you. Do you have time for a cup of tea?"

"There is always time. One of the craftsmen here, lovely nocker, helped me with tea cup with a wide brim, makes it easier to ...ah lift." He nods "Shall we go within? Still a bit nippy for outside tea i think"

"A.. lovely nocker?" He says, a little doubtful, but accompanies him. "Can't say I've met one, but more things in heaven and earth, right?"

"I'm a Fiona, sir, flattery is supposed to drip off the tongue like slime off a slug's underbelly, leaving a most impressive trail" They move on in, seeing a maid kinain, sluagh blood "Ah, Miss ivanka?"

"Yes, Sir Florin?" She curtsies ,and does the same for Symon

"Might we have tea in that alcove I was at before?" He asks "With that special cup?"

"Of course," She says, bobbing once more, and she is off

"I'm afraid I lack the manners of a courtly slug." Symon says dryly, though he also nods to Ivanka. "I brought some tea to help shore up reserves. I mean, you probably don't need it, but in case anyone wants some." He offers over a large, fragrant brick foil wrapped green tea.

"And my mom sent this." He offers a triple-wrapped and sealed container. "I told her you have like, an entire team of chefs and stuff, but... she's a boggan." An expressive shrug. "And she's been cooking for me for years."

Florin can likely catch a whiff of something pungent and fermented, despite how well wrapped it is to avoid offending any normals.

Ivanka takes the items, "I know a bit about mothers, they are terrible tyrants atimes, but they mean well. I shall put them to use" NOW she departs

"You're a very generous young man, Mister Lee" Florin approves as they move to the alcove with a ricket old table

Symon looks around with approval. "This hold is often too... boisterous for my taste, but this is a nice little cranny you found."

"a product of prior Eiluned ownership I suspect." They sit down. In relatively quick time, properly prepared tea with option of Zara's prefered cream

Symon takes his without cream, but appreciates the offer, and lets them both be settled with a cup before speaking. "I'm assuming that you've had an offer, or dozens, from local nockers and Dougals to get a stab at fixing what the Varich took." He nods towards Florin's arm stumps without judgement. "My guess is that they'd all love a chance to show off their skill, as much as to help you out."

"In point of fact, yes. Glass workers, metal smiths, wood carvers, with styles varying from steampunk to new medieval to art deco. I had no idea that the field of prosthetics were such a calling, but I suppose when one is in ah old where a woman has a literal wind up heart, I shouldn't have been surprised" He takes his stumps and rather deftly uses them to take a sip from a tea cup with two flat top side handles that seem made for those who face limitations such as his. "It is... important I get back in fighting trim soon. My services maybe required"

"As a slug myself, and someone who works with miniatures, delicate things, and precision work, I know what it means to have your own fingers, touch, feel, and all that. Somethings, even the most clever prosthesis can't match. Tell me, did you have 'fly fingers' before?"

"Ah, alas, no" He admits

Symon mulls over his next words for a moment. "I had an idea that might give you your hand, or hands, back, or a reasonable facsimile. At least, Chimerically - maybe even on the mortal side. I'm not sure if it will work. Even if the idea is sound, I'm not sure I can actually pull it off. I -am- positive that I can't make things worse, though."

an incredulous look, "may I say, if you hope to get into marketing, you might wish to reconsider another line of work. Though to be fair, I am intrigued. What is this idea, forgive my cutting to the chase. Nothing like dismemberment to damage one's usual patience"

"I might not be a slick-talking salesman, but I am honest." He shrugs with a faint smile. "You've heard of me as Symon Lee, the Denier. But before I earned a name doing something I never wanted credit for, in fact, since I first chrysalized, I've had a... let's call it a hobby, that few understand or appreciate, and so was never popularized - not that I want more attention. But I am also Symon Lee, taxidermist." He brings out from his bag a box, and from that box a carefully wrapped figurine, and from that he shows to Florin.

Whether it is fantastic or horrifying depends entirely on one's perspective, but it's hard to deny that the work is exquisite, A rat, so cleverly preserved, stuffed, molded, and poised that it could be in any alleyway in Bergen. Except, the ones there don't have the head, forelegs, and wings of a pigeon. Where bird begins and rodent ends, is so seamlessly melded that it cannot be determined by casual glance. If one didn't know better, it might be a chimera itself, except that it is 100% mortal work.

He also slides over a thin portfolio of images. Mostly very common animals, the ones that one can come by corpses of without much trouble. One larger item looks like he may have actually skinned and stuffed an actual satyr from the waist down, though it is clearly labeled 'half goat carcass'.

"Masterful..." he says and reaches out before he realizes he has no fingers to touch the rat, "Are you self taught? Surely you must have a mentor"

"Self taught. I'm a loner, mostly. I have a lot of time on my hands. I also do miniature creations, painting on a very, very small scale. I was never interested in clockwork, but the ins and outs of a body... that's intriguing."

A pause, and he adds, "I've never worked on a live subject before. But... and this may be a stretch, but my father is one of the finest surgeons in the country. They fly him in for consults all over. He'd be famous, if he didn't insist of giving away most of his time for free... but he's also been enchanted before, and might be again. Between the two of us, I think you might have a chance at new hands."

"With the help of magical intervention mixed with modern science..."

"I am most interested, I had never considered the avenue of such an elegant art. Can there can be flexibility without purification? I don't mind the latter, but others might and i'd hate to have to get a new set every half year"

"They can graft swine and baboon hearts into humans without rejection now, even without the dreaming's aid. I think we could handle as much. Hands - human hands - are surprisingly easy to come by if you make friends with a Mortician and a Chicanery artist. But why stop there? Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a ape's grip strength, the suction of a squid, or the claws of a wild beast?" He steeples his fingers.

"The claws should be left out, they might hinder my weapon handling. However... this talk of squid hands... they are said to be remarkably nimble"

"It may take a hunter's quest into the dreaming to find a suitable chimeric monster to defeat as a 'donor'... and there, I'd be of no help." Symon cautions. "Thought I do know a Fiona pirate who might be up to the task."

"I also know of a particular hand that is already animated - I would be most intrigued to find out if a 'Thing', already mobile and seemingly of at least passing sentience of it's own accord, would retain any personal autonomy once grafted..." Symon is rarely so animated, but then Florin might not know that. This is a passion of the sluagh teens, clearly.

A tip of cup and sip, to hide his smile at the boys' youthful energy, then "What would you and this pirate want in payment?"

Symon almost sputters on his tea, and sets the cup down. "I can't speak for Lady Captain Siv, but I imagine that the thrill of the adventure might be enough for her. As for me? Damn, just the chance to try would be incredible. I couldn't dream of asking for repayment, when you're giving me an opportunity." A bit of a sigh. "You might imagine how difficult it is to find anyone willing to be experimented on. And unwilling subjects - that's not my cup of tea." He sips his tea again. "Unless they really deserved it, but I've yet to come across that opportunity. My home barony is disgustingly Seelie."

"People are squeemsih by nature, shivering at such intriguing words as experiment, or unnatural, rather than seeing such as the challenges they are. I am glad, nay, delighted, to hear this would be your own dark heart's delight. There are not many sluagh in Fiona, but the house encourages audacity, and is unblunted by mere horror. I would shake your hand if I had one, young man. You may do with my hands what you will... we shall see if I feel in your debt when we are done. I do lean more attic than basement, but then, as they say 'no one is perfect'" a nod

"The other reason I wouldn't charge you... if it fails, you'll still have to go to one of those Nockers - or maybe a Dougal. Depends on whether you favor ingenuity over an assurance that your hands won't suddenly explode, or implode, or start doing jazz hands when you're wielding a rapier."

"Uggh... I do not scare easy, but... a loss of dignity would sting, yes. That and so many nockers, and sidhe dougal as well, tend to go for bright, or shiney, and yes, loud"

"Would you want both hands to be cephalopodan? Or one more traditional? It might even have greater impact, to have a dissonance between the two."