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"Massster..." this came from a disembodied head floating in front of Raistlin's desk. The archmagus didn't look up immediately, busy scratching writing onto a piece of flattened parchment, the quill in his thin golden fingers practically vibrating with the speed of his notes.

Genessia was a land of fascinating marvels. He'd be sure not to forget a single one.

"Masssster pleasssse," the head tried a second time.

Finally, Raistlin glanced up, impatient at the interruption. "What?"

"Therrrre is an intruderrr in the Grrove."

That. That was interesting, and Raistlin's hand finally stilled. "In the Grove, you say?"

"Yesssss. The defenderrrssss have not been able to kill it..."

Extremely interesting. Something from Genessia, no doubt, nothing else would make sense. The blackrobe dabbed the last of the ink off the feather quill onto a pad and set the instrument aside, and then took the time to carefully close up the inkwell. This could take a while.

And so it was that whatever this stranger was doing, he suddenly wasn't the only living creature in the dark, ancient grove. Raistlin lurked in the deepest shadows, silently watching.

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And with that, Raistlin sprinkled the sand in an arc over Wade's head on the table, whispering the skittering, strange words of magic.

And then...

The world went dark, silent, empty.

Time passed, though Wade would have no concept of it. Heat, hotter than dragon's fire, had actually blackened and cracked the stone table that Wade would wake up on, days later -- a week later. Even the heavy stone of the floor around the table was warped and dark, and the sand from the sleeping spell had formed a halo of smooth glass under Wade's newly-grown head.

The ash around him on the table was a fine grey powder, a skeleton fired well beyond the point of needing to be crushed to lose shape.

A sheet had been draped over Wade up to the chin, and the items from his backpack had been laid out in plain view nearby on another of the stone tables. No sign of Raistlin.

And for one long week.... Nothing. He'd have no concept of time, of course. But at least for one week, everything stopped.

No pain, no confusion, no sadness or anger. Black nothingness. If he'd been cognizant enough to be aware of it, he might have enjoyed the sensation.

As it was, waking up a week later, he could at least say he felt rested. Perhaps it was for the best Raistlin wasn't in the room. The wizard might not have been terribly offended by the words spat by Wade in absolute, abject frustration and rage at waking up alive, but the tantrum that followed might have at least been off putting. Scraping newly grown fingernails over still raw flesh, his fists striking the table until his knuckles bled.

It would come, and then just as quickly, go, his head buried in his hands for a time. Ignoring his things for the moment in favor of putting his mind back together again before he had an audience.

When had Raistlin appeared in the room? Uncertain. But there he was, standing with his ever-present staff near the wide open door, the thick hood of his robes down for once. Just, watching. Studying, as ever.

Silent.

... When had he got there? Wade said nothing, the seconds stretching on, just looking at him through his fingers. Just taking a moment to regain some semblance of control, before he said anything unfortunate.

It wasn't after all, Raistlin's fault that he'd not died. He'd done far better by him than Francis ever did just by knocking him out, that was for sure.

At length he'd speak, his voice a touch hoarse, lips bone dry.

"Got any painkillers? I got a hell of a headache..."

"Fascinating."

Raistlin that isn't nice. But his eyes are locked on Wade's hands, for the moment, as the bleeding knuckles just... stitched themselves right back up again.

"...I never see it in reverse." Remarkable. Things aged, decayed, wore out in front of his eyes. They never mended up.

But then after Wade's hands seemed to have fixed themselves back up, the mage shook himself out of his fascination, and went to one of the stone cabinets set into the wall.

Brushing some soot out of his way, he opened the cabinet and brought down a large pitcher of water. Super stale, surely. But hey. Raistlin approached with the pitcher -- held in two hands, his staff in the crook of his elbow -- and set it down beside Wade. "I imagine you are quite dehydrated, with how little you reconstituted from."

No it's not nice, but it's still nicer than Francis. He wasn't tied down and he could breathe oxygen, so it was fine. Let him stare.

Ah, that's right. The whole aging and rotting thing. There's a dull, dry laugh from Wade. "Yeah I bet it's a real trip." He'll be fine just... give him a bit.

Stale water was still water, and he took that pitcher and just started chugging it, not batting an eye at the taste. Yes he was thirsty, and also-

"Fuckin' hungry too." Considering how much energy it must have taken to pull himself back together again? There was a good chance he'd come back with a few shed pounds to boot.

Following much the same logic, Raistlin nodded slightly at that. "Unsurprising."

But he didn't keep food in the lab. Something to keep in mind for next time, should Wade survive a second attempt and begin reviving himself.

"There is food upstairs, if you are able."

"Yeah just... gimme a minute." Still naked, and right now his skin was still a bit too new and raw to go around getting dressed.

No he wasn't the least bit ashamed of only sitting here in a sheet in front of someone, he's been in worse positions.

"Still rocking that Irish tan, gotta wait for the top layer to calm down."

Don't mind Raistlin, just casually leaning closer to get a good look at the skin of Wade's head, since it was the easiest to access. "--Hm. Still, to come back from ashes is certainly... something."

Everything was being rebuilt. Not a shock, there.

Yeah go ahead, it seemed fair. He was asking the guy to kill him after all, had to pay for it somehow right?

Again, it wouldn't be the first time he'd been looked at this closely.

"Yeah I'm just as surprised as you are, buddy. How long was I out for?"

"A full week."

Hey at least Raist was keeping his hands to himself this time, right? Right. Nothing but creepy close up staring from those creepy, weirdly-reflective, hourglass eyes.

But after a few more minutes of this, he un-leaned, going back to his usual slouch against his staff.

"This necessitates more study. I had thought removing all organic matter might work..."

But it hadn't.

"Yeah I think I read somewhere that if even like... an atom was left over-" He gestured at himself, as a completion to that thought.

Obviously, this would be the result.

"A week though, shit..." He scrubbed his hands over his head, peeling a few strips of dead flesh off. Well, he had been left with a bit of a burn, after all. The red flesh beneath was already quickly turning a mottled peach again though.

"Well as long as I'm breathing, I guess we have all the time in the world for some science."

"Quite. I have much to study."

If Raistlin knew science half as well as he knew magic, this first attempt may have been the last!

But for now, he turned to shuffle slowly for the door, staff clicking against the deformed, blackened stones of the floor with each step.

"Wear the sheet if you prefer, or come up dressed. I must go sit."

Still... still real tired, here. Golden skin a bit browner under the eyes than normal.

"I'll wait." Wait until his skin stopped hurting so much. Wait, and watch Raistlin shuffle towards the door, having noted during all that staring the circles under the other man's eyes.

Of course he said nothing about it.

It'd be almost a half hour before he'd be up, dressed, but still moving just a little gingerly. Even if he wasn't burned anymore, new skin was sensitive. It'd take a bit for it to toughen up again.

He'd been forward thinking enough to pack a pair of pajama pants though, hope you like unicorns, Raistlin.

"Alright, here I am, where's the food? I'm gonna fucking demolish it."

Raistlin was sitting at his huge desk, cluttered with notes and books -- mostly those with modern bindings, because science -- but some with weathered spines from his own shelves. He was scribbling more notes and barely glanced up, stringy white hair hanging over his forehead as he wrote at speed, quill loudly scratching each line.

One got used to the sound. Like a loud keyboard, perhaps.

"By the fire."

And indeed, there was a tray on a small endtable, loaded down with cooked meat and cheese and bread. Standard fare. A full bottle of wine, and a fresh pitcher of water, and a few clean cups. None of it looked to have been more than very slightly picked at, if at all.

He'd be there and loading up in a heartbeat, not really bothering with any kind of plate.

Nope just going directly into his mouth, only vaguely better than a starving animal. Healing, after all, took a lot out of him, and coming back from virtually nothing?

He was surprised he even got up the stairs. The water wasn't even poured into the cup, this one was just downed as well. Perhaps someone elses stomach would have burst.

Wade didn't stop until the pitcher was empty, only then going to uncork the wine.

"You want any?" Food and wine of course, still some of the former here.

Raistlin's nose actually wrinkled at the thought, still scribbling notes like a madman. "No." Ew.

Ew at Wade's table manners, or at the idea of eating as well?

Yes.

"Suit yourself, shit's good." It was, again, noted however. After all, Raistlin wasn't exactly the picture of health, and his weight didn't seem to be an exception to this.

"Not even the wine? I burn through this shit like paper, it's gonna be mostly wasted on me." He'll drink it anyway, because a momentary buzz is better than no buzz at all.

"I have my tea," indeed, steaming from a large cup near his notes on the table, the astringent, foul smelling stuff that would smell suspiciously like the herbs he'd coughed into the other day. Week. Whatever.

That tea.

"I would imagine drunkenness is a lost foible, in your case." What with the regeneration always, always trucking. "As well as any other substance, helpful or not."

"... The stuff that smells like an herbalists armpit?" He glanced at the tea. Ew.

Well, not really like he could throw stones here, he'd pounded back cheap whiskey before, and there was a good chance that smelled worse than the tea. He wouldn't remember.

It was cheap whiskey, and he'd been a lot less immortal then.

"I mean... yeah, but I'm no quitter." Stated bluntly before the bottle was sucked down like a liter of coke.

"Yes, that." Please don't describe his tea anymore Wade, he has to drink it.

Something else to note down, then, that resistance. He's making note of just about everything, really.

"I think it will be some time before I am ready for a second attempt. I need to do more research into the related sciences, and study the samples I took from you before immolation."

Goddamnit Raistlin he was halfway through the bottle, you could have waited until he was done before you said that.

He chokes, coughing for a second, before quickly going to gather himself again, blowing a bit of wine out his nose in the process.

"Took what?" A what with the what.

"... Uh... what... did you take?"

Ew, Wade.

"Samples," Raistlin can't help but say it slower like he's talking to a dummy. You know. S a m p l e s.

"Uh yeah, I gathered that, doctor." You know what?

"If you don't tell me what body parts are floating in a jar somewhere, I'm gonna assume it's my dick."

"Your-- what--"

Good, Raistlin's turn to splutter, though he wasn't drinking. Thankfully.

"Why does it always come back to that with you?"