Dinner Talk with the Elf Grad Student (1)
After the brief interview with my new graduate student, I settled into the small office attached to the lab. Classes were one thing, but there was just so much else to handle. I'd told her to study, but for her first project, I should probably pick something suitable and hand it off myself. Not too tough, but useful for future research. Above all, it had to be fundable. And if it didn't cost a fortune in experiments, even better.
I needed to draft a research proposal, buy equipment and materials for the experiments, and figure out where to place all the incoming supplies. Normally students handled this stuff, but elves had different senses, so I couldn't just trust her with it—I'd have to do it myself. Was I spoiling this grad student too much? Come to think of it, it had been a few minutes since I'd come in here, and I hadn't heard a peep from her. No time to waste, right?
As I stood up with that thought, I heard a sudden rustle—she was shifting in her seat. Reality must have finally sunk in, and way too late at that. This was why elves were... Anyway, best to stock the empty lab first. The settling-in funds for the lab came to 150 gold coins. Right after arriving, I'd already spent 20 gold on cleaning, repairs, and renovations. Arienael's tuition was on the lab too—10 gold per semester, so 20 gold a year. I should probably slip my assistant a bit for living expenses too, since she had no income—say another 5 gold. Then there were the 10 gold for stocking the office bookshelf with essentials.
That tallied up to 55 gold spent so far. With the remaining 95 gold, I had to outfit the lab with equipment, materials, and sundries.
"Let's see... First, one big iron cauldron and three small pots..."
If her main experiments were potion brewing, these were basics. Results could vary by batch size, so at least two sizes. Multiples of the small ones for replicates. It wasn't just pots—I needed setups for heating and venting smoke. Plus beakers, flasks, empty vials for reagents in various sizes. I'd snag used cauldrons and haggle to keep it under 40 gold. Then a versatile alchemy workbench for 25 gold.
"This should pay off no matter what."
Potion-making was key, but it had endless uses: processing materials, crafting items, enchanting... Not great for specialized work, but that made it universal. Any hands-on lab would have one. My classes involved magical materials anyway, so it'd help with prep. I could even test it before lab sessions.
Layout mattered too—brewing reagents went outside. The office, stuffed with books and papers, needed to stay dry.
Equipment aside, materials: mana stones for external mana infusion. Universal stuff. No budget for high purity, so low-grade it was. Quantity over quality now. 10 gold worth of cheap ones should last two months. Plus common herbs, catalysts, reagents, miscellany—another 10 gold easy. No topic set yet, but starting empty was daunting. Stock a bit and experiment to spark ideas. Planning everything upfront wasted months.
"Down to barely 10 gold left."
I'd overlooked plenty of items and materials. Once the direction solidified, special stuff would be needed. Analysis commissions meant fees; maybe more gear. Running out meant borrowing from other labs—awkward favors and mental debt. Avoidable at all costs.
Then my personal research: ancient tomes and parchment scrolls. The shelf stock wasn't enough. One reason I'd picked this school over others? The library. Traperon University's vast collection and long history were legendary—few universities matched it. Old texts hard to find elsewhere abounded here. Access varied by security level; outsiders were limited, even students. Professors weren't exempt—deeper zones had strict loan limits. Better to buy frequently used books outright than burn loan slots renewing endlessly.
With that in mind, 10 gold wouldn't cut it. Priority one: crank out a proposal and secure funding ASAP. University, mage tower, workshop—didn't matter. State, guild, noble commission—whatever. Mana stones would run dry in two months; others weren't endless. My first faculty proposal couldn't be Arienael's project—it had to fund my personal research.
I pulled open the desk drawer. Inside lurked a worn book with an ominous, sickly brown cover. Spoils from wiping out a heretical cult that summoned aberrant beasts. From what I'd pieced together, it covered otherworldly monsters, blasphemous rituals, curses. At least ten varieties, judging by thickness. Publish a translation? Inquisition would raid in a week. I'd be too busy with church trials for research. Already on their radar—handing them ammo was idiotic.
Better to parse out interpretations as "results," sans source or details. Normally impossible—no basis for inventing spells and begging funds. Mockery awaited. But those in the know about my "evidence" would sponsor gladly. Making the grimoire decryption a "public secret" was why.
Topic? Curses over summons or rituals—I was confident there. Spellcraft major, obviously. Nominal theme: "Countering an Unknown Ancient Curse." Funders cared less about counters, more about the unknown ancient curse. Scheming nobles, plotting mages or sorcerers, desperate merchants and workshops—they'd pay to corner the knowledge for years. Good results? They'd buy exclusivity.
Ah, but then funding without papers. Needed visible outputs for tenure and promotion. Reputation hit too. No new "slaves"—er, researchers—either. Maybe start milder, less lucrative...
The more I pondered, the worse the headache. Call it for today. Piles of other work beyond money and research woes. Catalog-scouring drained time and sanity.
Glancing aside, unopened letters piled on the desk corner. Checking mail was such a drag. Eh... too annoying. Later. Sender names showed nothing urgent.
Tomorrow, class prep. Theory could be delegated, but lab work? Too soon. Natural sciences major—might be her first. She could learn, sure, but as assistant, she needed guidance. Helping me supervise or the students.
Clock said evening already. With that, I stood and headed out.
Arienael stared at the book I'd given her, eyes hollow as expected. Too tired to even turn her head? Elves had sharp ears—she couldn't have missed me coming. Wanted to say good work, rest up, but no dice. Side-glance at the thickness: not even a quarter done. Tsk tsk tsk.
"Arienael?"
Her head finally swiveled.
"First day—want to grab dinner if you're free?"
"Y-yes... Sure..."
Why the drained act? First day, and I'd already offered—generous me would endure.
"Anything you crave?"
"Nothing comes to mind."
"Any foods you avoid?"
"Not really. I'm easy—professor's preference is fine."
Ah, headachy research topics, and now this lazy decider. Special medicine for types like her.
"Near the back gate..." No, wait.
"...?"
"......"
"Professor?"
"......"
"Professor Atwill?"
"Ah, excuse me. Like fish? Decent set-course place a bit past the back gate. There?"
"Yes. Sounds good."
Usually I'd push something vile they'd never touch. Like the giant bug cuisine spot by the back gate—got honest tastes fast. But elves? Knew some, not close enough for food chat. Seen orcs raw-dogging meat skin-on abroad. Elves might dig grubs.
"No issue with meat?"
Some assumed forest elves communed with beasts, hence vegetarian. Wrong, but good chance to gauge.
"Not all elves are vegans. Treating every animal as a friend is the weird exception."
Quick reply—familiar question. I shrugged it off, but then:
"Seafood aren't friends anyway. Never see 'em off the plate."
Ah. Forest folk. Never saw that coming. This obligatory dinner suddenly held a spark of interest.