Toivo glared at the chalk board and the countless equations written all over it. Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong!

He strode to the chalkboard, erased the offending information with his coatsleeve, and revised it with a few hasty slashes of chalk on the slate. That changed the formula further down, which received a new total, which affected change elsewhere in the equation. When he was finished, he read through it, and then backed up and leaned against the lab bench in the middle of the room. He nodded and jotted notes in his notebook, scribbling out things that were proven to be insufficient.

He was dimly aware of being hungry. He'd been at this for six hours. Lunch had been pushed off for at least half of that. He was on the verge of a major breakthrough, and he didn't want to break his stride at all.

"Okay," he said. "Let's try this."

He eyed the apparatus before him. It was vials and coils and beakers of glassware and elements and compounds. He had to clean it, but much of it was destructive when faced with water. And it was a lot of cleaning. There was an easy way, and there was a hard way. After working hard for the last six hours, he deserved the easy way of cleanup.

He crossed his wrists, touching the backs of his hands together. Muttering an intranscribeable word of power, he slid his hands apart. The elements within the apparati became inert, ending all bonds with one another. They slid off the glass, and they diffused into the air in the room.

Of course, Toivo didn't want them to be in the room with him when they became active again in five hours' time. So, he opened all thirteen of his windows, and reorganized his apparatus while waiting for the elements to disperse beyond his room.

It would all be separated by then. Nothing would be concentrated enough to carry a subsequent reaction. Well, probably, anyway.

There was that one time when the magnesium all got carried to the river, and it exploded really really strongly. But that hadn't been his fault! He couldn't keep track of every single atom that floated on the breeze, and he shouldn't be expected to! He was busy, after all, realizing the state of perpetual change in the world.

He reread his notes, and then leaned his forehead against the bench and tapped it lightly there against the black ceramic covering. He sighed, watching his breath form on the mostly matte surface. He was having a lovely time-out from his brain, when the door opened.

"There's a sign out," he called.

There was always a sign on his door. It said "Enter at your own risk," and may have been joking in any other laboratory. Toivo, on the other hand, made no attempt to conceal his abbraisive attitude. He was well known for ripping down and tearing apart his peers, metaphorically, of course, as well as members of his family and dignitaries from other provinces who were stupid enough to interrupt his work.

Bubo, he large golden and silver mechanical owl that perched by the door, hooted and whirred quietly and flapped its wings as someone passed by it.

"And here I thought you'd be glad to see your brother," a voice almost completely identical to his own said, though much more cheerfully than Toivo would have said.

"Tycho, you shouldn't be here," he said, not bothering to look up at his twin. Instead, he turned the lights on. Tycho usually came when it was nearing dark. "It's dangerous."

"What? I waited until your windows were open. That means I can safely wash my clothes without fear of contaminating any number of things."

"Why are you here?" Toivo asked, pushing a rolling stool towards his brother.

"I was just over visiting Mom. She sent you some food. She said I was to make sure you ate, or else I'd be in trouble. So. Eat. Or I get in trouble." He slid a plastic container towards his brother.

"What is it?" Toivo asked of his twin.

"Chicken."

"What kind of chicken."

"The dead kind. Feather-free. Mmm. Chicken. Good. Good chicken."

"I'm really busy, you know," Toivo said. "I'm working on something to rival the Arcanum Experiment."

"Oooh. Ahh. Eat your dinner, or Mom'll be ticked."

Toivo looked at his brother sternly.

"It's Chicken Divan. Your favourite. I brought you extra greens."

He took the container and snapped his fingers, breathing an intranscribeable before opening it and starting to poke around it with a fork.

"So," he said, sitting down next to Tycho. "How is Mom?"

"Oh, she's fine. She has it in her mind to invite you to a party she's throwing in a month or so."

"I'm busy," Toivo said dismissively.

"Yeah, I told her as such. She said it's impossible for you to be busy on Dad's birthday."

Toivo nearly choked on his chicken.

Tycho smirked maliciously. "She's even got an outfit picked out for us. They're .. get this... identical."

Toivo actually started to choke at that. He clapped his hand to his mouth to stop from coughing out food. "I bet you told her that was a good idea," Toivo snarled once he'd recovered.

"One of her best. I told her I had no idea how she came up with them year after year."

"I hate you."

"Only when I make you do things that you'd rather not imagine doing."

"Which is almost every time you visit."

"Exactly." He snatched the chicken divan from its container on the bench and munched on some of it happily.

Toivo snatched the container back. "You already ate," he snapped.

"You weren't eating," Tycho teased.

"Don't you have skirts to chase, money to lose, that sort of thing?"

Tycho beamed. "Sure, but my little brother needs company."

"Yes, like I need another hole in the head."

"Imagine how well you could smell with a third nostril!" Tycho teased. "Your grip's improved since you got a sixth finger."

"Anytime you want to leave," Toivo said, setting up his equipment for another run of the experiment.

"Fine," Tycho said with mock hurt. "I can tell when I'm not wanted." He faked a sniffle. "I'll... see you around... kid."

Tycho petted Bubo on his way out, and closed the door quietly.

Armed with enough chicken divan to last the night, Toivo pressed his hand to some blocks of steadyfuel and slid them under several beakers. He prepped the ingrediants, taking the time to crush the Red Pulvis Solaris to distill in the Aqua Regia, which he handled with care and heavy rubber gloves that stretched up to his elbows.

He enjoyed his brother's visits. They broke up the monotony of the evening. Still, he had work to do. And if he didn't do it, well, frankly, he didn't trust the rest of the alchemical scholars to do it. So, he hunkered and got to work.