[august open] rock and roll all night

[rutility]

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

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Comments

[acicular]

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.

[rutility]

”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.”

[acicular]

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."

[rutility]

"... 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.

[acicular]

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.

[rutility]

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."

[acicular]

"...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."

[rutility]

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.