Chapter Text
The so-called "Dr. Sycamore" made his way briskly down a beautifully lit hallway, Willow following along behind him. As they walked she took the opportunity to look around at what appeared to be his home.
The hall was decorated with a black on blue wallpaper that had an elegant, curvy design interconnecting all over. It had a slight sheen to it, though if that was from the lighting, she wasn't sure.
From the ceiling hung evenly spaced, cylindrical fixtures filled with an incandescent, startlingly blue liquid. She'd never seen anything like it before. At home, she'd seen lights with coloured glass over them to give off certain hues, but it didn’t look anything like this. The liquid inside the fixtures was slightly cloudy, with shimmery, iridescent flecks inside. It seemed to move very slowly.
Looking at the light reminded her of a time long ago when her parents brought her to an aquarium. In her mind's eye, she saw her mother pointing to the glass, behind it, various jellyfish of all sizes swimming about aimlessly. It filled her with a curious feeling she couldn’t quite put a name to.
“Er, Dr. Sycamore?”
The name came out forced and uncertain. Sycamore stopped abruptly and shut his eyes for several seconds, as if this pained him. She couldn’t see this, though. He turned to face her with the same warm smile he had given her since she awoke.
“Yes, dear?”
“What is that, in the lights? Is this Azran technology?”
Willow remembered his obsession with the lost Azran civilisation. She'd seen the countless notes littering his office many times. It was his life's study.
“Azran? Goodness, no. This is ‘dust.’ Do you not have it at home?” He chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “This is how most, if not all, light is made here. Lovely stuff, isn’t it?”
She nodded, looking back up to watch the liquid. “Dust? Surely you don’t mean like, ACTUAL dust? The grey stuff that makes you sneeze?”
Sycamore covered his mouth, stifling a laugh. “No, as in stardust. It's an ore that’s harvested from stars. It isn’t just used for light either, it powers all sorts of things.”
Willow smiled and let out an involuntary “Ooooh” of delight, watching the liquid swirl ever so slowly in its individual containers. “That’s incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it!”
Her apparent father watched her in patient silence, allowing her to take it in. He noticed her mahogany eyes, so much like his own, reflected back the light beautifully. He enjoyed that. “I can show you how to process it, if you like. You can buy it in its refined form like this from shops but I prefer to make my own. It’s cheaper that way, not that money is an issue. It’s something of a hobby of mine. It’s normally yellow or orange, but I colour mine this shade of blue. I think it’s lovely, don’t you?”
She tore her gaze away from the entrancing light, nodding fervently. “Yes, I love it. I would be delighted if you could show me more about it.”
Sycamore returned her nod approvingly. “I thought you might. All in good time, my dear. We still have much to discuss.”
He curled his fingers slightly at her before turning away again, indicating for her to follow. She raced after him accordingly, stealing cursory glances for other oddities she could ask about later.
The hallway opened up into a parlour that was dotted with lamps containing the strange light. All that same, serene blue. The furniture itself mirrored the home she came from. However, her parents had preferred more muted, earthy tones when decorating their abode, whereas here the familiar furnishings here were rich shades of blue to match the lighting, with gold detailing to accentuate it. Upon closer inspection, there were other differences as well. An oak table she remembered was now a glass topped table with a sturdy but elegant golden frame with curved legs.
There was a surprising amount of gold, or a metal that looked very much like it, lining the place. It was a different sort of fancy than what Willow was brought up with, and she liked it. She had always had a soft spot for shiny things- Cyrus would rip into her about it, calling her “magpie” when she got taken in by the pretty jewellery being sold on one of the London high streets.
Sycamore continued on to the next room, pretending to be unaware of the girl's brimming curiosity behind him. This room was a small dining room. She remembered this place too. There were two in their house; a large one for parties and a smaller one from the three of them and their butler Raymond, who, despite doing the house work and other errands was treated like one of the family. Though before her parent’s passing, Willow barely tolerated him. She did not hide this very well.
It was strange, she normally warmed up right away to people her father enjoyed the company of, which there were few indeed. He did not have many friends. That is to say, there were plenty of people who would readily refer to him as a friend, though he would be far more hesitant to do so if asked. Even so, there was a social etiquette to maintain for those in their status, so Sycamore politely refrained from drawing attention to this point.
Willow copied his behaviour to the best of her ability for as long as she could remember, but could not seem to do so with Raymond. The old Scottish man had done nothing to harm or upset her, there had just always been a disconnect between them. As a result, Willow pulled a series of childish pranks on him, which seemed to follow a theme of her locking him in or out of places. Despite this, Raymond treated her with the same unconditional devotion he had shown her father.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, Miss?”
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.