1389/Glassware... of the Damned!

Glassware... of the Damned!
Date of Scene:	26 April 2020
Location:	Empire Glassworx
Synopsis:	Nick gets an interesting commission, and an interesting component to incorporate into it.
Cast of Characters:	Nick Lytton, Daimon Hellstrom

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Nick Lytton has posed:
    Typically, Ginny would be up front, but she can't be there all the time.  Heck, even when she's on the clock, she gets breaks and lunch and all, and someone else needs to be up front.  Nick usually volunteers to cover her absences, since he doesn't actually need to be at a furnace to work.  He even kind of enjoys it, lounging behind the main counter with a blob of glass in his hands, just 'doodling', as he calls it.
    And let's be honest, seeing someone working molten glass in their bare hands generally makes a hell of an impact on visitors.  Business has picked up a little bit since the interview with Lane, and the fundraisers, which is great.  Unfortunately, there has also been an unfortunate rise in just plain gawkers who wander in to see the mutant artist—and then don't buy anything.
    Sigh.
    Sometimes, Nick has to remind himself that such is the price of even minor fame.  For now, he's comfortably ensconced behind the counter, idly kneading a blob of glass like it was silly putty.  Mostly, this is to keep himself from messing with Ginny's coffee mug.  Her threat, should he do that again, is probably not physically possible, but he doesn't want to chance it.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    Daimon had heard about this unique artist from one of Anton Devine's hangers-on in San Francisco—the avant garde is often a subject down at the Wasp Factory club, after all.  And the amusing idea of having a few special items crafted by heated hands was simply too good to pass up.  There's a power in craft, after all, a resonance in useful things made by human hands.  So he decided to swing by.  He'd purchased a special service recently, and his time spent in his father's former realm is a bit less than it's been lately, so he decided to come see for himself.
    The half-demon is quite presentable as he enters, casual suit, boots polished to a high shine, red hair tied back, he looks like he's here to do business, not gawk, something in his demeanor.  As he does enter, his eyes do go to the artist himself, working a ball of glowing glass in his bare hands and a smile creases his lips, oh yes, this will be a nice diversion.

Nick Lytton has posed:
    Nick looks up automatically at the sound of someone coming in, although his hands never stop moving their slow play over the molten blob.  "Hi, welcome to Empire Glassworx," he says, half-automatically.  "Anything I can help you with?  Picking up, just looking, here to see someone?"  He hasn't the polish of a born salesman, but Nick isn't one of those anyway.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    Daimon pauses, taking the place in with an appraising gaze.  He does indeed note the lack of 'pitch', but really, that's not why he's here.  He does look at the artist's hand and he doesn't gawk, or seem shocked at all, but his eyes narrow a touch in an amused fashion, "Oh my, yes, that will do nicely," he says quietly, as if to himself, then addresses the man directly.  "Daimon Hellstrom—"  He doesn't act as if he expects the man to know who he is, only folks in certain circles tend to, after all, "—and when I heard about your… unique work I just had to see for myself.  I have some rather specific items I and some associates are going to want and if you can manage… I think it will be well worth your time and effort.  Not to mention spreading your name about a few communities it may not have yet reached."
    He does that cute little trick people do when they pull a business card out of the air, doesn't even make a show of it, really, and holds it out, between his first two fingers.  Longish nails, well-manicured, though.  The card reads:

    Prof. Daimon Hellstrom
    Applied Theology, Comparative Religious Studies
    Author, Lecturer, Exorcist

    That last is surely some academic in-joke.

Nick Lytton has posed:
    Nick takes but a second to fast-anneal the unformed glass in hand so he can safely set it aside, putting it on a small metal table with a soft 'clank'.  "Always interested in a commission," he says, accepting the business card, glancing at it, and adding, "Professor Hellstrom."  Either he's not fazed by the job description thereupon, or he only glanced at it long enough to get the name.
    "Nick Lytton," he says by way of introduction, and offers his hand.  If accepted, it is unusually but not uncomfortably warm.  "What did you have in mind?"  A simple enough question, asked with the confidence of someone who knows his skillset well.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    Amusingly enough, 'warm' can certainly describe the handshake Nick receives as well, firm as well.  Hellstrom takes the moment of contact to 'skim' the man's soul, ever-so-lightly, just to get a sense of what he's dealing with here.  Dark secrets?  Massively buried guilt?  A hidden dark side?  Anything out-of-the-ordinary really, it's a habit, but one that's served him well.  His reply is straightforward enough: "Alternative religious paraphenalia," he says smoothly, "several items, several sizes.  How large can you reasonably make an item?" he asks.  Straightforward, this one.

Nick Lytton has posed:
    "Ooo."  Something sparks in Nick's eyes.  "That's a very good question.  If it's something that can be pieced together, there's functionally no limit beyond being able to fit it into the studio, and safely get it out of the door when it's done.  If it needs to be one piece, that's another matter entirely.  There's only so large I can make a piece and control the temperature consistently throughout."  He shrugs.  "Physics makes the rules, and there's only so much I can bend them.  Fundamentally, over a certain size it's just too difficult to control, and that would go for anyone."
    He makes a gesture with his hands.  "About like that," he says, indicating about a meter across.  "Anything larger would need to be pieced together.  Although I can make that look essentially seamless."  Talking about his work, Nick is definitely growing more animated.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    Daimon nods slowly at the explanation, the man thinks things through, he respects that for sure, not always common in some artists.  Maybe the medium helps.  "Excellent."  The man grins, slowly, satisfied.  "I'd want to see some of your other work here, if I may."  Almost as an afterthought, "Most of the items will be under two feet, one will be approximately nine feet tall, if you can manage.  Transportation can be arranged.  Can you add other materials into one of the smaller items?  I've seen it down with cremated remains."  He has a very amusing idea… "Price is no object, of course," he adds, casually.
    It is gratifying in a few ways to the Hell Lord, the obvious passion for the work, that's helpful, that's harnessable, emotional content is almost impossible to fake.

Nick Lytton has posed:
    Nick picks up the unformed blob of glass, and heads for the main door back into the studio area proper.  "Sure, be glad to," he says, leading the way.
    He holds the door; of course, with a couple glass furnaces, it's warm back there.  "Come to think of it, I have had one cremains encapsulation.  She wanted an hourglass with her husband's ashes.  That was an interesting project, mostly for getting the flow rate right."
    He walks as he talks, leading first past one of the furnaces where he chucks the glass blob back in like someone tossing a wadded-up Post-It note into the trash, and then over to a work table with a matched pair of goblets.
    Rising up the pale aqua stem of each and stretching lacy fingers upwards along the outside of the bowls are tiny glass spheres, mostly white, fused together to resemble sea foam in quite surprising detail.  "Just finished these," he says.  "Couple of marine biologists up in Woods Hole commissioned them for their wedding."  He smiles broadly.  "Fun challenge.  I'm afraid I don't have anything really large scale in the shop right now.  If you'll check our web site," he continues, producing his own business card, "you can see some of the larger scale work I've done."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    Daimon nods and this and takes the card, then goes to remove his phone but pauses first.  "If I may?"  Upon confirmation, he sees a few items that fit the parameters… he nods again, seemingly satisfied.  "I've a few designs I could send to you… a few colleagues of mine did them."  He pauses, leaning down a bit to eye the goblets.  "How appropriate," he says with a slight smile.  "Something not dissimilar will be part of what I need."  He doesn't seem bothered by the heat at all, not one bead of sweat on him.
    "It's a bit eclectic, for demonstrations and events, you understand… some Wiccan, some Kaballistic, some neo-Satanist, a few very traditionally Catholic—"  There's an air of amusement in his voice at that last, he explains, "I was almost ordained some years ago, you know."  He shakes his head, seeming almost to laugh inwardly at himself for that.
    He also reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out a small, glass vial with a silver, screwtop lid.  Within is some sort of golden… dust?  But it doesn't look like refined gold.  Hard to place… "This will be swirled into a Kaballaistic Tree-of-Life pendant.  I'll have a design, including measurements for you, if you think you can manage."  A tiny bit of a challenge there, to get the creative juices flowing.  "Don't worry, this will easily survive the heat."

Nick Lytton has posed:
    Nick smiles very slightly, accepting the vial.  He examines it closely and curiously, trying to judge its properties in a very broad, back of the envelope way.  "Is this something you want encapsulated in a glass envelope, or actually incorporated into the glass itself?  Either one's quite possible, although I'd need a chemical workup to have a chance at predicting what effect it would have on the glass itself…."
    He shakes his head clear.  He was in danger of getting sidetracked by theory there.  "Sure, I'll be glad to look at it—you can email me the specs, my address is on the card."
    Doesn't bat an eye at the list of religions cobbled together.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    The response from Hellstrom is a wide, not-unpleasant grin.  "Encapsulated," he notes, then goes over what seems to be a quick list in his head: "An athame—certain symbols etched, of course, the Tree-of-Life with the mineral within the half-globes, a Catholic cross, specifically, with the little Jebus fellow on it—" he notes, a little joke there, clearly, and his grin widens at that.
    He turns to take in the room and the furnaces, gesturing broadly.  "The larger piece will be somewhat unique, not dissimilar to a Baphomet statue, but not any established figure in current literature.  Several design elements etched or carved into it, your choice, of course, whatever will work best given the size."
    He seems quite pleased to have found you.  He walks to one of the furnaces and leans down a bit, looking into it, curious, perhaps?  "Such a unique gift you have, and I must say, such a damnable clever use to which you've put it."  He hasn't shown one iota of care or concern for your mutancy since he arrived.

Nick Lytton has posed:
    "Etched, carved, molded, hand-shaped," Nick confirms, "although of course I'll want to confirm design elements with you before committing them to the piece.  The encapsulation should be simple enough.  I haven't done many devotional pieces, so I'm looking forward to the challenge."
    He smiles, and nods his head slightly to receive the compliment.  "Well, I thank you for that.  I'm not the superhero type, but I figured I should do something positive with my mutation.  And once in a while I get to make a little difference, too."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    "Oh, don't doubt you will here.  A good number of people will very much put so much into these."  Daimon doesn't add that you'll be emailed a pair of goblets as well… yes, for the blood.  He does note, "Keep the vial for now.  Do a little testing, if you wish."  He also doesn't add exactly what is in there… something called simply 'Netheranium', a rather trite name for a psychoactive substance from the Hell-realms themselves.  Solidfied into reality… it enhances magical energies, pulls resonances from the ether, attracts small spirits when dormant, and is utterly impervious to heat, of course.  Just possessing it will be… unusual in this place of heat and artistic passions, not dangerous per se, but… interesting.  "We'll set things up."  He extends a hand.  "So very pleased to have met you, Mister Lytton."  A handshake… a bargain.  Oh, nothing to worry about, but ever so traditional.

Nick Lytton has posed:
    Nick returns the handshake firmly, tucking the vial into his shirt pocket.  "Yes, I'll need to work with it a little just so I understand how it reacts to the heat; I won't need to use much.  I'll have Ginny get in touch with you on the business side of things—she handles those details.  Any sketches, 3D renders, stuff like that, just send it to my email address.  I'm very glad to have met you, Professor.  I love an interesting project and this sounds like it will be exactly that."