New Avenues

The Ichorists, it turns out, have set up in what used to be an empty store a few blocks down.
Kenshi is certain they don't have a permit to occupy the space, but nobody seems to be picketing outside or demanding that they leave, so he's inclined to shrug and disregard the red tape side of it. 

In lieu of a doorway there's a suspended curtain made of fine silk, so he raps on the doorway instead – immediately regretting being so forward with his approach. Maybe he'll be greeted by the same abomination possessed by ether that attacked him the other night? Maybe they'll turn him away? Worst of all – maybe they'll talk to him. 

He's about to turn and leave, second-guessing himself, when the curtain is whipped aside by a young hanasei; they're a bright honeydew green, and seem to be barely out of hanachi stage.
“I- yes! Hello! Can I help you?” they say with a chirpy voice that resonates through their gills.

Kenshi hates their sunny disposition already.

“Um. Long story short, one of the... acolytes? From the other night, did something weird to my ether, like it was sort of... resonating? I'm just here for-” 

Their eyes light up before he can finish the sentence. “You felt the call,” they breathe reverently.
“Uh,” he says. “What?”
“The pull in your blood! The song of the earth! The ichor,” they say, excitement thrumming through their body. “The-” Their words are muffled suddenly by a massive hand blocking their entire face

“Excuse them,” the newcomer says. She has a deep, calm voice, like a deep oceanic well in comparison to the babbling brook of the other hanasei. “They're very... passionate.”

She stands at least half of Kenshi's height again, her graceful horns curving out either side of her head and decorated with simple gold plate-rings. Her skin is a rich deep violet with bright yellow eyes accentuated by slight blue freckles scattering from them like stars, but most of her body is hidden beneath a heavy-knit traditional garb with a dark woven haori over it.

“Those who approach us are usually few and far between,” she says. “And usually for inquiry purposes. But you're not of that sort.”

Kenshi shakes his head numbly. He's definitely not the religious sort; there's no time in the day to think about that sort of thing.
A smile pulls at the edge of her mouth, flaring her cheek pouches slightly with the expression. “Fret not. We set up in this place to help those who may have been afflicted during the... incident, with some of our trainees. I go by Saori.” 

She pulls back the silk curtain, revealing a shadowed interior. “Please, come inside for a moment.”

It's softly lit, with sparse decorating, but there are stools and a low table.
Kenshi finds himself trying to assess the type of bulb used in the ceiling lights; the dimness of them makes him wish he brought a torch. He wonders if they were cheaply acquired or need replacing. 

“Sit if you like,” Saori tells him.

He remains standing.

“We have few amenities set up at the moment, or I'd offer you tea. Might I know your name?”
“K-Kenshi,” he blurts out, his gill flap twitching too hard and spitting the word out louder than he wanted. His cheek pouches flush with embarrassment.
She doesn't react at all to both the sound nor his resulting agitation, and he's not sure whether to be offended.

“Ah, a swordsmith?” she asks. “I haven't heard a name of that sort for a long time.”

He opens his mouth, pauses, and shuts it again, averting his eyes. Instead of speaking out loud, he brings his hands up and signs instead. “Difficult work,” his fingers map out. “But I like it.”
Again she doesn't react to the language switch but this time he's actually relieved by it.

“The aether,” he signs. “I added it to the forge.”

Ah, but that elicits a reaction: her eyes widen in surprise. “You-” she half speaks, but then stops and encourages him to continue.
“There was something different to it. More life. More... fire, but deeper. Powerful.” He pauses, thinking. “The reaction wasn't strong enough. I want to know how to... amplify it.”

“To use it as a tool...” she muses. “There are some of the more excitable members, those more... susceptible to the aether, who might disapprove of your casual use of it. But I at least appreciate the innovation you've shown with this unusual gift. I may be able to help.”

She ducks behind a dusty-brown hanging curtain for a moment, before reappearing with a book. “I may not know much about forge-craft myself, but fire is very much an earth-bound energy. The world has fire at its center, white-hot and constantly moving and changing.”

She hands him the book, and he looks it over.
The Earth's Pulse, the cover boasts in gold leaf on hard-bound black gloss, and he's extremely skeptical.
It must show in his face, because Saori lets out a slight warbling laugh in her throat.

“Oh, I know that look well,” she says, hiding her smile behind a hand.
Kenshi flushes with embarrassment.

“Not to worry. It's theory on the earth's harmony, not a gospel. To tap into the fire ether again, you can't rely on the dangers of an overenergized acolyte. However, you've felt the rise of the heat in your blood, so it shouldn't be too hard for you to repeat. It just takes some focus, and knowledge of where you'll draw that energy from.”

Kenshi tucks the book under his arm to sign. “Like the heat beneath a forge,” he says tentatively.

Saori beams. “Yes! A good comparison. The fire is there, with a source and a fuel given to it, waiting for the correct channel. For you, you must first understand the source of your ether's energy, before you can let it rise – you cannot light a forge without a flame.” She sighs, growing somber. “The acolyte who struck you, they had the flame, but no forge to contain it in.”

Like a volcano, running rampant. 

He thinks back to the flawed channels in his plasmic rings, and how they overwhelmed their bounds and exploded his work frequently. Perhaps a symmetry can be drawn... if he can use the ether to craft something strong enough to constrain the unpredictable energy conduits...
“Well, borrow that book as long as you like,” Saori says, cutting through his daydreaming. “This little storefront, such as it is, we're working on a permanent permit to stay and give guidance and the like. If you'd like to discuss things further once you've read it, we'll be here.”

It's honestly not much of an answer to the thousand questions he still has in his head, but Kenshi certainly doesn't have the courage to ask them anyway, so he supposes it's a fair compromise.
He bids Saori farewell, and tries to settle the growing disquiet building in his chest.
The way Saori put it, it'd be quite a while before he can handle the ether in the ways he wants to. And besides, he's not known for his patience; the hundreds of hastily-constructed and subsequently destroyed and scrapped projects he has is clear evidence of that.

He'll read the dumb book, but he won't be satisfied with it, he's certain.

The eyes of the overflowing acolyte haunt him, taunting from the embers of his slumbering forge's coals.