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 Posted: Tue Oct 04, 2011 10:35 pm
  A plaque is securely placed on the doors leading into the room. It confirms your inquires as to what is held behind the thick wooden entry way; the laboratory and office of the Head Potioneer, Alfons Flint.
The room in itself is dark due to the single, small window that is placed so very little light is allowed to enter. All the details and features which can clearly be seen are instead illuminated by several bottled blue flames that slowly rotate around the room from the low ceiling. All the furnishings in the room are unsurprisingly dark and leathery. Large, ancient armchairs are placed for any guests' comfort near a table standing tall with papers, thick, dusty texts and various vials filled with various (and many of them moving) things.
A large, stone fireplace is lit with the same blue flame lighting the entirety of the room, and a cauldron is raised above it. Empty, for the time being, with a large black metal ladle sticking from its hungry mouth. Dried roots, leaves and other, unidentifiable ingredients are hung above the mantel and are secured to the cold walls. Where those do not hang for show, shelves stand towering with so many glass vials, jars and bottles that one can barely tell whether it is truly the back of the wall they are seeing or just a reflection. Labels, some new some peeling with age, are stretched over ever container, making it hard to speculate what is captured within.
The desk, positioned not far from the armchairs and the living fire, is completely covered with vials and glassware. Papers are strewn about in a strangely tidy way, a small potions set sits a top the largest pile of books and many colored quills sit perfectly in a holder.
About the room are other things not instantly noticed in the distraction of the infinite reflections of glass and ingredients. Things such as brass and gold scale, smaller cauldrons, pestles and mortars, even a small bag of shinning floo powder secretly placed at the foot of the fire.
this is where Alfons Flint can most often be found, as well as Summoned
one need only say his name thrice and state their business and Alfons Flint would appear with a crack
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Posted: Tue Oct 04, 2011 10:58 pm
 The Offices of Sir Flint are always open to his colleagues, customers seeking aid or instruction as well as any other meetings before scheduled.
Alfons Flint provides the basic services of potion brewing for everyday uses or selling ingredients and instructions as well as doing commissions and required concoctions for specific persons.
Often, his services are paid, but doors are often open, unless he is working on his private experiments.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Public Services:
homely potions
healing brews
instruction books
potions/antidote/poison/etc. consultation
commissions
complicated mixtures
reference/aid in one's own potioneering
open-door service
(healing, antidotes, simple potions, cooking, ingredients, inquiries etc.)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Prices can be discussed and determined.
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Posted: Tue Oct 04, 2011 11:28 pm
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Posted: Wed Oct 05, 2011 9:38 pm
 alfons marcus flinthead potioneer of the most extraordinary society of potioneers     - -The man jumped from the chair he sat in. All the light in the room, however minimal, suddenly seemed to have taken the intensity of several suns. All the noises, even ones no other could hear like the crick of the minute hand of a clock, suddenly became the sound of a blowing war horn.
Alfons Flint gasped in complete overwhelment. His feet staggered unknowingly and he nearly crashed into the table set behind him before he caught the sturdy arm of the seat he had previously occupied. His mind seared with a blazing fire of over-exposed senses as he tried to blink everything back and focus on anything. Anchor to something, just so the terrifying instant of explosion would pass.
He stood frozen, clutching to the arm of the chair in complete desperation for the endless length of his own speeding heart, and then everything returned to its proper alignment. His knees had locked and he had fallen to the ground without realization. His lungs gasped silently, still in gripping shock and he could not stop his molten dark eyes from blinking repeatedly.
He lay, crumpled on the polish wood of his office for a few stretching minutes, trying to deduce his situation as his body calmed. He had fallen asleep, he judged from the change in sun position. And the two empty bottles of liquor discarded by the armchair were not ones he remembered drinking. But they looked fresh. He tested his breath and was repulsed by the bitter stench of alcohol that emitted from him.
In quick glace, he saw everything else apart from himself was well with his offices. Desk still strewn with letters and papers and potion ingredients, blue fires still circling as they light the space, and all the cabinets were as pristine as he always left them.
He tested his legs, trying to stand and trying to collect himself as best he could. His legs complied, though not without some fight, and within a few murderous minutes, he was on his feet and both hands gripped nothing. His mind finally began to think; what should he do?
Maul over the information given by Remington that had thrown him into this disgustingly pathetic state? Try and discover what else he could? Maybe even look for Krina himself...
A paper slipped off of his desk and immediately distracted his attention. He stepped forward and reached to pick it up. It was an old letter. One from Deanne Raines. A dear friend.
As if a wash of rain had suddenly fallen on him and cleaned him of all the clinging impurities and burdens, he held the letter tighter still. When had he written her last? Too long, he decided. And with a graceful seat, he placed himself at his desk, conjured a piece of parchment and a quill and began to write.
Another flick of his wand and the bottles that had brought him so low were thrown into the blue flames of the hearth. A delightful smash and crack and the flame exploded with life from the new energy.
- -yew || the flint estate || office
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Posted: Tue Nov 01, 2011 5:04 pm
alfons marcus flinthead potioneer of the most extraordinary society of potioneers- -
Time leap
Enter from Raines' Farmhouse
The bone-shaking snap of the air sounded and rattled the stone walls of the office. Alfons Flint appeared and instantly stumbled over his demons, knees buckling and bringing him down onto his hands. His body shook and his soul heaved with the memories that flooded and pressed his head relentlessly under the waters of sin and hell's fire. He gasped and his eyes rolled madly. The red-haired girl burned into his retinas, not allowing him to look away. Staring at him with the eyes he had given her, like a raven taking them from him and pushing them into her own skull. A mirror to his every mistake. The red locks she wore she had cut from Krina and the face she molded from the woman's skin. A perfect copy, a perfect doll. How destructively beautiful she was.
His back felt ridged and made of frozen stones as he tried to straighten up against his convulsing muscles. Catching his breath and holding it in his screaming lungs as he urged himself to remain composed. The pieces of him that were strewn about stopped sliding away and instead moved closer. Scratching the floor as they returned to him pulled by thin strings, repositioning in the areas they had fallen from when he shattered. A mirror repairing itself. He let out the breath that he had captured and it tore his throat in its escape, blinding him with unrecognized pain. Not all his pieces were there, loosely placed. Some were lost with Deanna.
That woman's face now flashed before him. The broken, confused pleasing eyes that had always offered him the warmest comfort when he was nearly shattered to no hope. A hand to hold when he was almost completely consumed by the ever-lingering shadowed pit of his mind. And a friend that continued to make him feel like he could be better, a better version of himself for her. Be perfect, be strong. Everything he never felt he was.
To see her silver eyes breaking just as his mind had, it brought a spear into his chest and ripped everything for his bosom to see. Heralded at the top of his guarded walls so he could see the sickly black blood slither down into the cracks just before the high monument fell and crumbled for all to see him exposed and raw. Years of building and protecting and the wall he used to keep the world out of him mind fell with the look of one little girl.
His legs gained some strength and he took the moment to stand, grasping with the white hot desperation of a drowning man. Knuckles snapped with the power of his grip as he tried to rise with the weight of a life time's burden locked in his veins. Dark molten eyes rushed over the cabinets of the office in terror and sudden thought, searching for a large blue vial of basic potion. The glint of the tinted glass stabbed him in the eyes as he nearly pasted over it in his thirty haste. The vial was large and rounded, containing a clear liquid that was clearly labelled with its name and many applicable uses. Heaving up from the ground further he reached for the golden latch of the cabinet and unhooked it. The clink of all the bottles, vials and preservation jars sounded like a ghostly symphony of raven calls as he opened the door ungracefully. Snatching the bottle, he ripped the cork holding the contents with his teeth and poured it down his throat. Animal eyes closing with the instant relief the concoction gave him. The entirety of the contents slid down his throat and he sighed with the feeling of slowly becoming whole once more. The control of his own being returned within a few moments of the potion filling his belly and he let the bottle rest on the ground where he before lay gasping in bounds of hysteria. The Calming Draught working straight away and hitting his mind, flooding it with logic and reason. Exterminating the clinging, bloodsucking emotion and reuniting him with Alfons Flint once more.
Minutes ticked past his closed eyes as he allowed all of himself to be restored and reattached before he fully stood. Brushing the hair out of his dark, shadow rimmed eyes and looking around the office for an answer for a question he had not yet asked.
The desk and all his things were just as he had left them before he had aparated to the Raines' home, but he had returned a different Alfons. Eyes as cold as a grave and skin as pale as bone.
Mind burdened with immeasurable weight as he realized what everything now meant. What Krina was after, why she had left and who it was she wanted to kill.- -yew || the flint estate || office
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Posted: Mon Jul 09, 2012 5:25 am
I know about her, Alfons...
How far will you go to keep her a secret?
R. Nott
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Essy ze Ninja Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun May 12, 2013 4:58 pm
 alfons marcus flinthead potioneer of the most extraordinary society of potioneers    I came to gaze upon the stars, when they were yet unborn
And consequently, tear at my old scars, and the mask I had outworn
Grow me a garden of roses
Paint me the colors of sky and rain
but healing doesn't seem to happen when you hide away the
seed
And so I came across the medicine man, and he showed me what I'd forlorn
For if I'm stayed it happens by my own hand, and my own voice full of scorn
Teach me to speak with their voices
Show me the way and I'll try again- -Alfons reached into his pocket and procured a small, well-crafted key. Its detailed elements rubbing off and blurring into the rest of it from constant use and a nasty habit of rubbing it when the man's nerves threatened to strangled him. The scratches on the end of it telling the whispered story of how often his hands had shaken when handling it - either from the emotions, the intoxication or the withdrawal of the potion he had so heavily relied upon until now.
A bitter smile passed the man's face and his eyes softened thinking of all the things that had come to pass since last he had held this key to its door. He inserted and turned it quickly, mentally noting his surprise at the fact that it was still locked by his own hand, meaning no one had come in snooping.
He swung the door open and quickly glanced at the familiar surroundings and elements of his Potioneering office before glancing over his shoulder and stepping to the side to allow the girl behind him enter the room.
His molten eyes watched her's carefully yo catch every wisp of her every reaction and motion as she looked at the shelves of bottles and walls of ingredients: rows of books with instructions and warnings and theories and his desk with old papers still thrown in disarray over it. There were few, but those signs that could be spotted screamed of the fact that the last time Alfons had been in this office, he had left in near panic.
The elder Flint could remember exactly the erratic rhythm in which his heart had sped when he had received those words: she is in danger, my love. Come join the fun.
The potioneer swallowed thickly at the memory just as his beautiful daughter turned to face him. He smiled at her words and stepped further into the room himself, motioning for her to take any seat she liked.
"Are you sure you want to do this, please don't feel like i am forcing you." he said quietly, secret and destructive doubt chewing at his core as he looked at her with his emotions exposed: showing her what he never showed anyone. The semblances of fear and the etchings of over-caring.
- -yew || the flint estate || office
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Posted: Sun May 12, 2013 5:18 pm
phinelia von ichval  apprentice - potioneer
flint family - daughter
ex - ravenclaw▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬▬“In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.”
– Desiderius Erasmus
“The haft of the arrow had been feathered with one of the eagle’s own plumes. We often give our enemies the means of our own destruction.”
– Aesop
“There is only one good, knowledge, and one evil, ignorance.”
– Socrates
“If the brain were so simple we could understand it, we would be so simple we couldn’t.”
– Lyall Watson
╔══════════════════╗
Phinelia had followed the man in front of her slowly and silently as he lead her to his offices. Even though so many months had pasted since the man had both revealed himself to her true father and explained every detail and answered every question she could come up with, there were still elements between them the dropout Ravenclaw was trying to mentally grasp. For all the loss and tragedy reflected in the man's eyes (eyes they shared so perfectly) and life, he was one of the most skilled and talented wizards she had every met or known. His ascension and held position as Head Potioneer was a mind-boggling success: he had climbed that last ring of the later at such an astonishingly young age and maintained his professionalism and reputation for so long to remain in his seat as Head. And in what Phi had had the odd privileged to see of his spell and casting capabilities, he was a powerful force. He deserved to have the selection of Chocolate Frog Cards as he did.
The moment the door of his office opened at his hand, Phi swept in with excitement coursing down her arms and spine. She immediately started soaking in every detail of the incredible office. How easy it was to imagine the countless clients and colleges her father had helped and worked with in this office. The experiments he had conducted and the things he had learned. She spun around, pig tails bouncing, to face him and beam, "It is amazing," his small smile leaving a cold pit in her stomach.
How strange it was, that even though they had been living together for nearly a year as father and daughter united, it would normally be considered nowhere close to enough time to adjust properly. However, Phi was comfortable: she knew and understand and completely accepted him as her father. Her old family, as much as she still mourned them, had always been close friends rather than the family she now knew of Alfons. Yet he was still so tense around her.
It was clear he was trying to hide it, and this upset Phi. He was trying to not only lie to her but to himself that there was still such immense pain in him. It tortured her to no end how he hurt himself with the worry that he would hurt her again; leave her again, when even Phi knew he would never do such a thing willingly.
He asked her again with clarification whether she was truly willing to learn what he knew. Phi smiled sympathetically at this: it had been her idea to begin with. Her suggestion and wish. She knew her father had a small hope that potioneering would interest her, as it was his dearest skill, but it was a field she herself had always had interest in. "Yes, father," she answered strongly, seeing the shot of joy her acknowledging him as her parent that always came into his eyes, "I do. So where should be begin?"╚══════════════════╝
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