ioduanlogs | [august open] rock and roll all night

Entry tags:

[august open] rock and roll all night

Characters: Rutile, Yato, Valdis, and maybe you!
Date: Early August
Location: The Dreaming Bridge, the Ioduan Academy
Situation: Roommate trouble and metaplot business
Warnings/Rating: None!

Note: Please don't tag into the open if we already have a thread for AC this month planned!

A ▸ MARKING TERRITORY | yato (early august)

It is after a long day of being caught out in the rain that Rutile returns to the Dreaming Bridge, soaking wet and with a mood to match. The days of reduced sunlight have taken their toll, and Rutile longs for nothing more than to hang their coat up to dry and collapse into bed for the next forty-eight or so hours. But it is to their great disappointment that they open the door to their room and find their bed hidden away.

Listen. It is not organic beings' fault that they are inclined to nest. That is only natural, and it makes sense; with their heightened sensitivity to the environment and functional needs, they require space where they can spread out and lounge and separate important objects from waste. Rutile only wishes it wasn't their space, as well.

How, they wonder, is anyone to get any kind of work done when there are garments and accessories strewn across the floor? It is worse than Red Beryl's chambers, for the love of Sensei.

"Yato," they grumble, half to themselves and half to summon the god. "Can you please pick up your things?"

B ▸ WITH ENEMIES LIKE THESE | valdis (slightly less early august)

It's several days now since the Narrakra returned to Aifaran, and Rutile still can't get its creaking hull and ghastly sights out of their mind. That's what brings them to the hallowed halls of the Ioduan Academy, searching for a naturalist they've contacted about their collected samples from the ship. Now Rutile passes through the campus in search of them, following signs with only half a mind to what they say, more preoccupied with their thoughts.

The void-like stone they found that foggy night sits firmly against their thigh. They have not let it out of their possession since their conversation with Kit a few days ago, and even though they are no closer to answers, they wonder about its properties and origin. They have not mentioned it to anyone else, but perhaps this naturalist can offer some reprieve.

Outside, the sky is darkening; angry clouds gather just beyond the mountains, threatening to drench the library courtyard. Rutile is glad of the indoors.

C ▸ ANTICIPATION OF PRECIPITATION | open (unspecified)

This is the tenth day in a row that it has not rained, not sprinkled, but stormed, and Rutile is quickly sickening of it. For the tenth day in a row they've tried to go out and catch what little sunlight they can, but for the tenth day in a row they've ducked under a canopy as the first drops splash in their eyes. The new paint on their skin is waterproof, Padparadscha says, but habit is as habit does, and frankly, Rutile doesn't trust anything they didn't compound themselves. Also, stone or not, being drenched is just unpleasant.

Most of the denizens of Aifaran have the same idea, slipping into stores and zipping up raincoats; the few that don't are aquatic species, lucky bugs, and enjoying themselves while everyone else suffers.

... Or not. Some select few pull out long sticks that transform into covers with the press of a button and carry on their way, happily protected by their portable canopies in lovely colors and patterns. For a moment Rutile watches, brief irritation crossing their face, and then they demand: "Where can one get one of those?"

D ▸ WILD CARD | open

[ PM me or hit me up on plurk for a starter, or just write one in yourself! I'm game for anything. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Valdis spent plenty of time avoiding the Aisling Tower, but she needed to figure out more about what had happened on the Narrakra with both her magic and what the crew had done in order to return. The rain came on suddenly, or perhaps it was simply because she hadn't been paying attention to the weather as she sat in the Library courtyard and read the book she had borrowed. The first drops sent her toward the closest building and by the time she was through the door it was pouring. She took a breath and pulled the book out from under her arm to check the damage. A bit wet, but it would be fine.

"I really wish this weather would just chill," she said to no one in particular.

She found an inside bench to sit on, unbuckling her sword from her belt to lean it next to her. Valdis didn't think she'd need to draw it anytime soon. The glow faded slightly as she released it, but the gem in the hilt kept up a steady pulse nonetheless.

Rutile passes by only moments after Valdis has settled on the bench, their heels echoing off the wooden floors. They recognize Valdis in a flash of dismay: here is the person who was so disagreeable on the network several weeks ago, in the same place as Rutile as if dictated by fate.

Rutile would really rather it was anyone else; still, with the conversation with Padparadscha fresh on their mind, they swallow their pride and resolve to be civil. They both have to live here, after all - may as well attempt to be nice.

"I really wish this weather would just chill."

"It can be as chilly as it wants, so long as it stops being so wet," Rutile says neutrally, and then throws in an over-exaggeration - some humor, to lighten the mood. "I think I will melt if this continues."

The weather is a safe topic, right?

Edited 2018-08-13 21:01 (UTC)

Valdis looks up, one brow raised when she recognizes Rutile. They are being rather nice considering how much she'd played with them the other day. She isn't quite sure what to say to the joke, or really what to say at all.

"The weather?" she asks, "Of all topics, you choose the weather?"

A light laugh follows and she closes her book to give Rutile her full attention.

"I do appreciate your attempts at pleasant conversation, but I think our minds are better off focusing on higher pursuits than making small talk. Wouldn't you agree?"

If Valdis is paying attention, she might notice that Rutile’s appearance has changed from the last time they met in person. On that bright sunny day Rutile’s hair had been a lovely carmine juxtaposed with gold; now both have darkened and lost their luster, taking on unsaturated hues that only recall what they once were.

But, that could just be the light.

Rutile’s eyes narrow a hair’s breadth when Valdis laughs at them. If t is what they get for trying -

“On the contrary,” Rutile says with a cold smile, gloved hands settling on their hips. “I would say that the sharpest minds are adept at many things, including small pleasantries. What good is your work, after all, if you can’t communicate it effectively?

“But,” they go on, with a flourish of their hand, “if you feel your book is more worth your time, I will leave you to it.” And they almost do: they take another step forward, ready to continue on their way. They have an appointment, after all.

If she notices the change in appearance, Valdis doesn't mention it. Instead, she tips her head, her amused expression taking on a sharper edge. She realizes she could choose to ignore Rutile, but it seems they have severely misunderstood her meaning.

"I only meant that if you cared to talk, why not make it constructive?" she replied, "But if you are more interested in the weather than the visions and the planes, then by all means, let's talk about the weather and how it might make a gem melt."

There's nothing smug about her smile or demeanor, no point in escalating already less than ideal relationships.

There may be nothing overtly smug, but the damage is already done. Civility will be all Valdis is likely to expect from this encounter. Rutile stops and turns back to Valdis, their arms crossing over their chest and their weight shifting to one leg. The effect is one of hubris, but also of casuality.

“I wouldn’t dismiss the weather so quickly,” they point out, “for meteorological changes may be one sign among many of nefarious activity. Where I come from, a sunny day is the most dangerous of them all.

“That said, you are right. I have more interesting things to care about than the rain. How goes your investigation into the Planes?”

The question is born of true interest: their personalities may clash, but at heart, Rutile and Valdis are asking similar questions. The fastest way to an investigator’s heart is to ask them about their work; perhaps this will bridge the gap.

In response to Rutile's stance, Valdis sets her book aside and crossed one leg over the other, leaning against the wall, completely relaxed. The comment about sunny days being dangerous was worth noting, but in light of the question they asked, Valdis felt it best to move on.

"About as well as it can when I'm avoiding the aspect of the Dreaming," she replied, "It's a volatile plane, more dangerous than the Death Plane if I'm honest, because its power may be limitless if someone figures out how to harness it."

Imagination knew no boundaries.

"My expertise lies more with the Death Plane. Though experimentation with that is limited due to the...nature of the magic involved. It might be safer to focus on the Dreaming, but as one who cannot dream, it is difficult to try to manipulate the flow of it."

Rutile ponders that a minute, tapping a toe on the wooden floor. The echo is that of pebbles clinking against each other, a curious noise from someone who appears mostly human. “I had an interesting conversation the other day,” they begin, “with someone about death and dreaming in their world. The implication was that where they are from, there is little difference between the two: the land of dreams is also the land one returns to upon death.”

Obviously, facts cannot be extrapolated from one realm to another. Rutile understands this well. However...

“While it certainly doesn’t work the same way here,” they go on, “it seems possible to me that the connection between the two planes might be what’s truly interesting. Where do the Dreaming’s capabilities intersect with Death’s? Where do they not? You would get around experimenting with Death, or dealing with the complexities of Dreaming, while studying them both.”

They shrug. It is tempting to offer to assist Valdis with this process for the sake of science - they are set to leave for the barrier in a matter of days - but they are still limiting the number of people who know of the quest. Bad enough they’d felt the need to tell Padparadscha. They hardly wanted someone even more prone to following along.

“Perhaps it is an ill founded idea,” they finish, “but it is an idea just the same.”

"Who did you talk to?" she asked. The idea was an interesting one, even if the Death Plane here seemed more akin to nightmares. She sighed for a moment.

"The Dreaming is less connected to the Death Plane than it is the Life Plane," Valdis pointed out, "Dreaming and Life merged hundreds off years ago, and then the veil between them and the Death Place began to break down. Looking at the world now, there is a sort of...conflict between Life and Death that didn't exist before."

There was nothing wrong with studying the interactions between all three planes, it was simply so complex and so far away from her expertise that an attempt would likely end in failure. Rutile's shrug catches her attention perhaps more than it should, and she wonders if the brief sense of...temptation and light guilt is anything to comment on. Such emotions could mean anything and she didn't know them well enough to guess.

"I wouldn't say it is ill-founded," she continued, "Just...not possible on my own and I know of very few Dreamfolk who will understand the position I'm in and still possess the knowledge to help with such experimentation and research."

"A person called Kit Gandir," Rutile says. "I would recommend speaking to Kit if you want to know more. We didn't get the chance to have a meaningful conversation about it; the comment was offhand."

"... conflict between Life and Death that didn't exist before."

"Correct me if I am wrong," they go on, after pondering Valdis's words for a time, "but it sounds to me as though it is the barriers themselves that are the problem. This talk of merging and all that. And with the sudden influx of Dreamfolk last month... "

They pause, thinking about it, but each possibility they consider holds too many loose ends to relinquish any theories. They simply don't have the background they need to make conjectures. As a debilitating sense of helplessness overcomes them, Rutile scowls, quashing the emotion down and letting frustration rule in its place. "These are truly difficult questions," they admit. "It sounds to me as though there are no Dreamfolk better suited to this than you."

(Privately, Rutile thinks Valdis may benefit from reaching out - but Rutile cannot ask of her what they would be capable of themselves.)

"I know Kit," Valdis commented, glancing at her book, "And they are difficult, but maybe I'm just not asking the right questions."

Her gaze moved back to Rutile, wondering over the frustration and brief helplessness that she felt from them. It passed too quickly to discern any meaning, but she understood the frustration. Valdis' mouth quirked in a short smile at their evaluation of her knowledge, but her knowledge wasn't enough here.

"Life and Death have a sort of harmony on my world." Mostly. "For instance, the agent of Death is also technically a creature of light, not darkness. It seems different here...maybe I just need someone who doesn't know as much to help focus the questions."

The clash between barriers was worthy of note, as was the sensation of Death aboard the Narrakra. She suspected that the strength of the plane in that location had something to do with her visions.

Alright, so Valdis knew Kit. Odd, then, that his knowledge of the Fade hadn't come up in their conversations. Surely his knowledge would have been of use to her, unless...

Ah. They must not be close. (That suggests good things about Kit's relationship with Rutile, at least, which is rather gratifying.)

"Agent of Death?" Rutile asks, their brow furrowing. "You'll have to elaborate on that, as well as on the notion of them being attached to light and darkness. There is no equivalent where I come from."

It's a philosophical quandary whether shattering counts as death, and the conclusions are different for every gem; Rutile's feelings on the issue are rather complicated. Regardless, light and darkness seem to have no association with life or death either way.

Valdis arches a brow, considering how death might be so confusing. But then again, Rutile was not organic, perhaps 'death' doesn't apply in the same manner. She hums a moment, trying to decide how best to explain.

"I suppose it's a more complicated matter for someone like you," she replied, "In all things there is a scale between 'good' and 'evil'. 'Good' is often associated with light, and 'evil' with darkness. Many beings on my world consider death an evil thing, but the one who brings death to the living is a creature of Light, not Darkness."

She shrugged, "The Planes are complex as well. On my world we have three planes, Life, Death and Soul, and three realms, Heaven, Hell and Earth. Heaven is often considered a place of Life and Light, while Hell is considered a place of death and darkness. Humans do not seem to understand how oversimplified their views are."

Oh, Valdis, you don't want to know the first thing about gems and death.

Rutile listens to her exposition with rapt attention, their expression carefully neutral. "I cannot imagine what human views must be," they say when she finishes, "if that is complex. Gems, ah... well. It suffices to say that it simply doesn't make sense to speak of death for us.

"But you didn't speak of this agent of death. Given the similarities between your world and the Dreaming, is it possible some equivalent exists here? Although, it seems to me that as I learn more of the Planes, there are similarities with all human cultures..."

They trail off, tapping their chin with a tiny clink-clink-clink of their fingers that is only more white noise against the pattering of rain. Interesting, that much of the Lustrous's knowledge and literature comes from humans - it was from a human book that Rutile learned so much mineralogy - but that their culture fell through the cracks, so to speak.

"Ah, and we're back where we started," they muse. "So many equivalencies, and so little else, and nothing consistent enough to make conjectures about."

"That was the simplified version," she replied, "But yes, you do not seem to live the same way most here do."

Devin was technically dead, but he was also alive in a strange way. He could die, so she suspected that Rutile also had a sort of 'death', even if not the same way mortals did. Valdis let them think, trying to figure out a way to explain the Angel of Death to them.

"Despite my general inability to dream, I have found that the Plane itself isn't consistent, which is in line with what I have heard of dreams."

She picked up her book, but didn't open it again, opting to turn her vision on Rutile. The strange gem did have a soul, it glowed brightly, evenly, which meant that there was more to the life they possessed. Not that it came as a surprise.

"But you asked about the Agent of Death," she continued, "On my world, he is known as Abaddon. His task is to escort the souls of those who have passed into Heaven, or into Hell. The Soul is what gives life. It...is an energy, but also an identity. It is the true essence of a person and seems to be the catalyst for dreaming."

Zephyr is mostly taking the rain as it comes: that is, flattening blond hair close to his skull and drenching his clothes. He doesn't particularly seem to mind.

He pauses when he's asked a question; and then pauses again, glancing over what is apparently a talking statue with some bemusement. It lasts only a moment or two -- he's seen weirder. Zephyr shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. "What, an umbrella? Think I saw a place selling them not too far off. You're not going to melt if you get rained on, are you?"

Rutile is used to bemusement at this point; it is quite a common reaction to them, and not always because of their appearance.

The person who approaches them deserves it more, however, given that he is drenched: his hair plastered to his skull, and his clothes soaked through. Rutile raises an eyebrow; he almost looks familiar, though they can’t place it...

“No,” they admit after a moment. “But you look like you’re quite in danger of that, if I may say.”

They give up on the prospect of an umbrella for themselves. Their rhinn ran out long ago.

"Gonna take a bit longer in the rain before I melt," Zephyr says. He's basically joking. Submerge a person long enough, sure, but that's not going to happen just out in the rain. "And I'm pretty sure we don't get acid rain here, unless you know something I don't...?"

He shrugs, beckons. "If you're not going to melt in it, we can walk down the way and I can show you." Once the initial bemusement has worn off, he's determined to approach this person as casually as he would any other.

Acid rain...? Great, another thing Rutile hasn’t heard of. “The rain seems aqueous enough to me,” they say, though their eyes narrow with suspicion. “I just find it generally unpleasant. Normally my makeup will run; it is waterproof now, but old instincts die hard. Still, I am glad to take you up on the offer.”

It is as they’re heading down the street that Rutile gets an extended look at the person, and his features finally come into alignment. Their face lights up with recognition. “I’ve seen you before, I remember now,” they say. “Ilda sent me a picture of the two of you. You had ... something, together. Tea, I think. She was excited.”

"Awesome, let's go." Zephyr shoves his hands into his sodden pockets and saunters, matching his pace to Rutile's. There's approximately one sidelong glance to size them up again, and then he keeps going as normal.

When Rutile speaks again Zephyr tilts his head, makes a thoughtful noise. "Huh, Ilda? Yeah, I know her." He's pretty sure he remembers the occasion, too. "Don't know why she was so excited, though. That was one of the nights everyone had all those shitty dreams-- she said she wanted a picture to remember the occasion." His mouth twists wryly to indicate how unlikely he thinks this is.

The only thing really notable about Rutile at this point is that their colors have faded to slightly warm grays and blacks, other than the places covered by powder, but that might be obvious only to someone they've known longer than an hour.

"Ah, the picture was my fault," Rutile admits. "Ilda was in such a state that night; I wanted to make sure she was being careful while in so much distress. I apologize if you found it obnoxious. You can rest assured that she appreciated the offer."

The umbrellas are being sold at a portable stand on one corner, which, rather ironically, does not have an awning on it. Several Aifarans are lined up to purchase one, while others simply browse nearby. "I've never seen this here before," Rutile says, in a bit of awe tainted with irritation. "I'll have to keep it in mind for next time, provided it stays put."

He's not about to judge a color change. Maybe it's normal for rock people? You never know. Zephyr's probably going to learn things today.

Zephyr shrugs as they go. "Hey, can't fault you for being cautious. It all worked out, and it's a good instinct." He probably wouldn't trust strange guys.

At the stand he shoves his hands in sodden pockets to peer around the others at the stock available. "It probably moves," he says helpfully. "Unless they're selling these as parasols, too. Which I guess they could be...? Anyway, why next time? It's still raining now."

Antarcticite has much to mull over in the time it takes them to accompany Rutile the rest of the way back to the Dreaming Bridge from the skytrain platform--though that does not prevent them from noticing the change in their senior's demeanour at their question. For a time they don't press the issue, though they note that fissure as clearly as Rutile does.

"If you have the materials, I can mend that for you," the volunteer, polite but sincere, as soon as they reach the edge of the Bridge's property.

Good thing Antarc asks no questions, because Rutile would provide no answers - at least, none that would be illuminating.

“I have some materials,” Rutile says. “They are not ideal. Nevertheless, I may take you up on that offer.”

They cross the threshold of the Dreaming Bridge and into reception; Rutile casts a glance to make sure the secretary isn’t looking, then opens a closet to one side and rifles through the shelves of colorful pens, paperclips, and notepads. They slip a small tube into their pockt, then shut the door and beckon Antarcticite follow quickly.

They walk quickly down a hallway, heading for the common room. There are other Dreamfolk around, but other than passive curiosity of seeing someone new, Rutile and Antarcticite are regarded as unremarkable. Once there Rutile goes for a table near the window and gestures to one of the seats. “The light is better here,” they explain, and pull the tube and a couple of softer chisels out of their pocket. “This is a glue synthesized in Aifaran. It’s much stronger than what I could make at home, though it also dries faster and requires a defter hand.”

Rutile is quiet then as they chip away some of the looser pieces of Antarc’s knee, apply the glue, and reconstruct it. It is an old familiar process, their fingers slipping into their old dexterity and mechanics of the action.

“This is quite impressive,” they say eventually, “that you are so solid at such a temperature.”

Even that passive curiosity is enough to make Antarcticite shift with transparent discomfort, returning each mildly intrigued glance with a sharp, reproving one of their own. (like who raised you to exist around other people so brazenly, go somewhere else.) They follow closely at Rutile's side, well aware that their stand-offish behaviour probably won't conceal the root cause of their discomfort; that they're just not accustomed to being around this many people, and there's frankly nothing to be done about it.

They do as Rutile instructs them without protest, seating themselves at the table and angling their leg so that the light falls across the cracks in their structure clearly. “This is a glue synthesized in Aifaran. It’s much stronger than what I could make at home, though it also dries faster and requires a defter hand.”

Antarcticite makes a relieved sound and says, "Then I am glad you're here to fix this. My own skills are so rudimentary." Necessity required that they learn a bit of Rutile's trade, but they haven't had the centuries of time and dedication required to perfect that craft.

“This is quite impressive that you are so solid at such a temperature.”

For a moment they are quiet and don't offer up a response. Instead they look at their hands again, unsettled by their frosted, crystalline appearance while the air around them is still heavy with the heat of summer. "I worry it won't last for long," they admit quietly, betraying for a moment their (relative) youth and the anxiety that they've been carrying since their arrival here. "Without the basin that Sensei kept for me, I worry I'll go to sleep some night and not wake up. It won't be any different from being shattered."

There it is; they do remember.

”My own skills are so rudimentary.”

Rutile smiles grimly, tapping a shard back into place. “Well, you’ll have plenty of time to learn. Perhaps you can even surpass me, with all the time available to us now.”

They meant the comment about Antarcticite’s solidity to be one of wonder, emphasizing the miracle of their presence during the height of summer. They should have known it was the wrong thing to say. Antarc’s silence afterward hangs like a fog, broken only by the clicking of Rutile’s trowel and the soft echo of voices from other rooms in the Bridge.

”It won’t be any different from being shattered.”

Rutile sits back on their heels, their hands coming to a rest in their lap as they try to think. What is there to say? Antarcticite’s resurrection is the stuff of dreams - and, they surmise now, of nightmares. The truth is that while Rutile can understand and empathize with the horror of being shattered more than most gems, they have no idea what it is like to go to sleep wondering if you will wake in the morning.

“I am sure we can arrange for a basin for you, if that would make you more comfortable,” Rutile begins slowly. Then they look up into Antarc’s eyes, their expression solemn. “But perhaps you should speak to Padparadscha about your fears. There is no comfort I can offer you that they cannot do bettter, and with more relevance and perspective. They have spent much of their life in a similar situation to yours now, after all.”

They smile then, and smooth down the last drops of glue on Antarc’s leg, tapping the cracks one more time for good measure. “There. Good as new.”

A little of the anxious tension seems to go out of Antarcticite's narrow, angular frame at Rutile's words, first that arranging a basin for them to sleep within should be feasible, and then that reminder that yes, there is someone else here in Aifaran who they could speak to about their fears... should they be able to summon up the courage to approach Padparadscha first.

“There. Good as new.”

They drop their eyes to examine their mended leg, eyebrows raising appreciatively. "Oh, that was fast," they exclaim, bending and flexing their knee to test the tensile strength of their limb. They quirk the tiniest of smiles, then reach out to pluck up the glue that Rutile had surreptitiously pilfered from the supply closet. "If only we had this back home; you wouldn't have to spend so much of your time piecing us back together every time we act carelessly."

A pause, before they look back to Rutile from the glue to admit hesitantly, "I wouldn't be a bother to Padparadscha, would I?" They fiddle with the container before setting it down. "They've always been sleeping when I've been awake. I'm not even sure they'd know who I am."

"... every time we act carelessly."

"Like I said, it is work I enjoy doing, and I have precious little else to do here." They're not bitter. Not at all.

Rutile pockets their tools as they rise, then takes the glue from the table and pockets that, too. Their fracture is hardly worth looking at, and Antarcticite's fears are more important now anyway. They lean on the edge of the table and, while they avoid looking Antarcticite directly in the eye, it is not from guilt so much as pensiveness.

"Of course Padparadscha knows who you are, and you would hardly be bothering them," Rutile reassures them. They cross their arms, tapping their fingers against their upper limb. "I've certainly spoken of you on occasion to them - perhaps it was the last time they were awake... ? or the time before that? I don't quite recall, but it would be in one of my journals.

"Anyway - " and here they do glance back at Antarcticite, a conspiratorial grin tugging the corners of their mouth, " - though they'll never admit it, Padparadscha is very old, and loves to be the wisest one in the room." (It's not Padparadscha's fault that they often are.) "They won't mind answering some of your questions."

Just as quickly, Rutile adds, "Perhaps company that isn't mine will be good for them." Though it is casual, they can't quite hide the wistfulness in the words.

Antarcticite is not the most socially adept of gems, but even they are able to pick up on the trace of bitterness--and melancholy--in Rutile's voice as they discuss both their listlessness and their relationship with Padparadscha. For a moment they look startled, as though some part of them is genuinely surprised to witness a side of Rutile that is anything other than the competent, quick-witted doctor who had worked so tirelessly at their given vocation.

They frown, troubled. "But they have spent so much time asleep," they venture uncertainly, "surely they must want to spend their time awake with you now." That was what it meant to have a real partner, wasn't it? Antarcticite can only guess, and extrapolate based on their own feelings of wistful longing for Adamant's company... and perhaps even a bit for Phos, annoying though the little pebble had been.

Antarcticite's uncertainty forces Rutile to their senses. Who are they now, that they spend so much time ruminating on their feelings and nearly confessing fears to those unconcerned? They have been without responsibility far too long; it's making them careless.

Rutile straightens their (tattered) lab coat around their shoulders, along with the rest of their dignity. "Oh, we have spent plenty of time together," they say to Antarc. "It's simply that we have different interests. I love to study and explore and pursue answers and Padparadscha... doesn't," they finish lamely.

Still, they smile. "You have far more important things to occupy yourself with. You should start by seeing some of the information technology people; they will explain things in a little more depth and get you set up for life in Aifaran."

Edited 2018-08-29 12:17 (UTC)

"...You have far more important things to occupy yourself with."

Antarcticite can take a hint.

Dropping the subject is not the same as forgetting about it completely; it will sit with them for quite some time now, how the partnerships among gems that they had idealized and sometimes daydreamed about were in fact far more complex than they could imagine. Yet, they must remind themselves, their partnership with Phos had been a complicated thing too, hadn't it? Brief and involuntary as it had been, there had been more to their dynamic than simply a clumsy, absent-minded junior inconveniencing their senior.

"Yes, I should take the initiative, shouldn't I," they say, and resolutely put thoughts of partnerships out of their mind, at least for the moment. They get to their feet, rather careful with their newly mended leg, and then give a short, respectful bow Rutile's way. "Thank you for your help. Perhaps, once I'm more settled, we can talk again, about..." There, they trail off some, frowning; dwelling on an old life will do nothing for them here, but they cannot help their curiosity. "About what has happened back home, since I was taken."

Rutile nods back to Antarcticite's bow. It is far more comforting than they could ever have thought, falling back into this easy rhythm of junior and senior and all the customs that accompany it. It is with an ache that they realize how much they've missed these little rituals, and how welcome, if bittersweet, Antarcticite's presence is to them.

"About what has happened back home, since I was taken."

Good feeling's gone.

Rutile's expression remains remarkably neutral as they promise, "Of course. We'll talk about it soon." Then they wave their hand, shooing Antarc off to the Bridge. "You run along and find Padparadscha and the staff members."

They wait until Antarc is gone before their true feelings emerge. Rutile had not spoken to them since before they paired up with Phos that fateful winter, but if Phos's reactions were anything to go by, the two of them had been close. First partnerships were always so hard; harder, when they ended with pieces scattered in the wind. Antarcticite cannot be allowed to know of Phosphophyllite's betrayal, Rutile resolves.

They slip their yimo out of their pocket, and begin composing a message to Padparadscha.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[august open] rock and roll all night

B

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

C

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

continuing our TDM thread;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject