[OPEN] at least they haven't melted yet

[acicular]

Characters: Antarcticite + you??
Date: Throughout September.
Location: Throughout Aifaran.
Situation: Various affinity-specific open prompts!
Warnings/Rating: Prompt 2 might be a bit unsettling for people with a fear of heights. Otherwise go to town!



Faith 4: Fortune Favours the Perch (OPEN)

This is, quite frankly, more attention than Antarcticite has received in their several centuries’ long lifespan, and they don’t like it one bit.

The mottled butterfly is fine company, of course. It isn’t the first one that Antarcticite has ever seen, given that they often stayed in solid form long enough into the very early spring to see the snow begin to melt, and the beginnings of flowers blooming among the frost. Late winter butterflies in their home were small white things though--they didn’t dazzle the bystander like this, let alone spend this much time perched on anyone’s ear. Antarcticite spends several hours seated quite still on a rock overlooking the sea with their insect companion, loathe to move lest they frighten it off.

Eventually it does take flight, but whatever time Antarcticite would like to spend mulling over the pleasant mystery of that encounter is used up by the arrival of several kedan Ban Om devotees, all of whom seem to think it is perfectly appropriate to push their odd trinkets towards their hands. Startled and discomfited, Antarcticite scrambles down off of the rock and begins to back away along the surf.

“No,” they insist earnestly, holding up both hands to ward off the gifts, “no, I don’t need anything like that..!”

The kedan exchange confused looks with each other, before several begin speaking at once to try to explain the gesture--but Antarcticite, rather overwhelmed by all this attention at once, appears to be a hair’s breadth away from turning tail and bolting directly into the sea.


Sci-Tech 1: Mission Grime (OPEN)

Antarcticite is not familiar enough with Aifaran’s technology to be truly unsettled by most of it backfiring on them out of nowhere in the days immediately following their foray into the shunt with Rutile and Padparadscha. Maybe yimos are supposed to spontaneously turn on and off; it seems a strange functionality to design into a device, but given the other strange things they’ve witnessed since their arrival, they don’t find it too surprising.

What does strike them as alarming is the skytrain suddenly grinding to a stop several hundred feet above the ground.

It’s only alarming for them because they know that even should the train collapse, shattering them upon impact, Rutile would (most likely) be able to reassemble them. (They think. They hope.) Given the reactions of the living things around them who begin to mutter and pace and panic, however, they would not be so easy to reassemble after impact.

The train conductor’s voice crackles across the loudspeaker with, “Attention, passengers, there’s been, uh, a mechanical issue with the train. Just sit tight, response personnel are on their way--”

Above them, the lights flicker ominously, before fizzling out into nothingness. A hushed silence falls over the whole train car.

“...just, uh. Just hang in there, folks.” Click.

Somewhere else on the train, a baby starts to cry. For their part, Antarcticite gets up and approaches one of the windows, as though trying to determine how best to open it.


Meta 2: The Tide is High (OPEN)

Ending up shoulder-deep in rising seawater might be a life threatening proposition for other Dreamfolk beset by the dreaming sickness, but all Antarcticite discovers upon coming to their senses is that the vast majority of the white powder covering up their translucent crystalline structure has been washed away by the salt. They startle the poor Erol’an rescuers who come to fish them out, but frankly, they’ve seen stranger things than a human-shaped crystal that walks, talks, and speaks at this point.

They wade ashore and gratefully accept the towel that is given to them, delicately dabbing at their exposed arms and legs with a worried frown creasing their brows. Obviously both Rutile and Padparadscha have found an adequate substitute for the powder flowers that they used back home, and for the waterproof resin that kept the powder from running in the rain; they will simply have to seek them out and enquire about it.

Once they’ve dried off, and are able to fend off the Erol’an do-gooders who keep trying to offer them tea and food. “No, thank you,” they insist mechanically, “I don’t eat.”

A few of them blink. “...you don’t… what?”

Antarcticite sighs.
 

Comments

[corundrum]

It doesn't take long for Padparadscha to come back in with a medium-sized cylindrical container, the lid still on it, a brush, and a cloth. The former two things are set aside for the moment as Padparadscha wets the cloth under the tap water.

"I'm not sure how this would react to going over remaining powder, so I'll ask you to wash the rest of it off first. I'd do it for you, but with the difference in our hardness, it'll be easier on you to do it yourself."

While Padparadscha has fine enough control over themselves that it's unlikely they'd break Antarc unless they intended to, it would have to be a scrupulously careful process. At least the brush doesn't have to be pressed down or anything else that might cause a crack.

[acicular]

"...I'd do it for you, but with the difference in our hardness, it'll be easier on you to do it yourself."

The comment is hardly intended as a slight--Padparadscha is, as always, a pragmatist--but Antarcticite cannot help but flinch and look aside. Wordlessly, they tug off their damp uniform again and fold it neatly aside, then step beneath one of the shower heads to wash the last remnants of their powder from their structure. It's a surreal experience, watching the water cascade across their arms and carry away with it the powder that they last remember applying to themselves in the clinic on Earth. But that isn't so, is it? They can remember the Chord Shore, and Phosphophyllite in their strange alloy prison, and the Lunarian arrow that struck and shattered them. This powder must be some creation of the Dreaming's; there is no good reason to feel the loss of it so keenly.

When they are finished, they stand translucent before Padparadscha, self-consciously folding their arms across their chest and averting their still quite blue eyes to the side. "It feels strange to be like this," they admit uncomfortably.

[corundrum]

While Padparadscha has the cloth ready to clear out finer areas that the shower water might not hit, for now it seems like the more general stream of water has done a fine job overall. Nonetheless, they hand over the damp cloth before going over to borrow a towel for them to use.

"Go over between your fingers and around your nails once more, and any other place that might be harder to get to. Better to be safe with it than sorry."

In the meantime, though, they start to twist open the container, holding it rather carefully as they do. It's made of something softer than stone, so Padparadscha doesn't want to risk breaking it, even if they're generally on good enough terms with the local scientists that getting more wouldn't be much of an issue.

"Being a little bit uncovered is normal for me, but I think having our cover washed away completely is a bit strange for all of us, huh? It often means we've just been fixed."

[acicular]

They comply with Padparadscha's instructions, taking the cloth and carefully cleaning the remaining powder from their fingers. It's a good thing that this experiment is taking place indoors and out of sight of the gyroshei, because Antarcticite is all silvery sparkle and gleam and glitter now without the powder covering them up; no massive magpie would be able to resist such a prize.

"...I think having our cover washed away completely is a bit strange for all of us, huh? It often means we've just been fixed."

"It makes me think of Sensei, a little," they admit in a wistful sort of voice. "He is usually the one who had to fix me when I got careless and lost parts of myself. It didn't happen often," they're quick to add, as though being seen as even remotely incompetent in front of Padparadscha is unconscionable to them. "But--sometimes I wasn't fast enough."

They pause in their navel-gazing to look instead at the container Padparadscha is holding, their curiosity piqued. "That's the new cover?" they ask.

[corundrum]

Padparadscha gives a soft laugh at that. All gems have their moments of failure - considering Antarcticite's low hardness, it's remarkable of itself that they weren't broken more often.

"Rutile has been the one fixing me for a long time now, but then, it's been such a long time since I was truly broken that I've almost forgotten how it feels."

Being 'incomplete' and being 'broken' are two different things, and while Padparadscha is incredibly used to the former, it doesn't present much opportunity for the latter to happen, especially with their hardness taken into account.

Once they twist the lid off the container, they show the contents to Antarcticite - it's a smooth, fairly thin liquid. "It is. It's similar to something they use in this world called 'paint', but made with gentler ingredients."

So it's essentially a drying liquid pigment - something that will wash off eventually with enough exposure, but otherwise stay fairly firm.

[acicular]

A strange thought, to be so old that the experiences of one's life have been forgotten over the years. Antarcticite cannot imagine forgetting what it was like to be broken, or to be shattered into a million tiny pieces, bits of their consciousness falling away fragment by glittering fragment. But Padparadscha has well over a thousand years of life under their belt that Antarcticite can only hope to experience here in Aifaran; surely if they will have to change a little in such a lifetime.

(Lots of things must be subject to change in such a lifetime, they think privately to themselves, recalling that glimpse of melancholy that Rutile had shown them when Antarcticite first arrived here.)

"How long does it last?" They come back to themselves and look questioningly to the senior gem, already reaching out with almost naive curiosity to dip a finger into the solution.

[corundrum]

"It's lasted since I initally used it, and that was a few months ago now. It seems as if it stays well unless you're exposed to something like saltwater for too long, and even then it stays better than powder."

Perhaps about the same as powder with resin, but the removal of the resin step means this is honestly a more convenient option regardless. The fact of having to cover oneself with an additional layer whenever doing any work that involved water had always been a bit of an inconvenience, Padparadscha thought.

"Though I don't think venturing out into unknown seas is something any of us would consider a good idea anyway."

Padparadscha dips the brush into the coating, letting it cover most of the bristles but not quite to the base.]

[acicular]

Antarcticite looks at the white solution coating the bristles of the brush, and ends up extending an arm out towards Padparadscha without thinking. So often in their past, the responsibility for seeing to this part of the process belonged to Adamant, and occasionally Rutile if they woke in the dead of winter to continue their work. It does not occur to them to take the brush from Padparadscha instead--at least, not yet.

"...Though I don't think venturing out into unknown seas is something any of us would consider a good idea anyway."

"We ventured into that city in the shunt," they point out quietly, frowning a little as they say so. Their sense of duty and loyalty to the senior gems had compelled them to follow after Padparadscha and Rutile, overriding any instinct that might ward them off from behaving so recklessly. They peer up at Padparadscha again, curious. "Does that happen here often? Breaches from other worlds just--appearing out of nowhere like that."

[corundrum]

Padparadscha would have to take over for at least some part of it anyway - nobody can see all of themselves - so they very carefully stabilise Antarc's hand with their own and start to apply the solution. There's a certain awareness to the motion, as if they're being extremely mindful of the amount of pressure they apply. Even a heavy touch from such a difference in hardness could produce serious damage.

Their expression grows more serious at that question, though they continue their work. "I believe that's the first time we've had one so large in the time I've been here. Usually the breaches are the other way around - things like the ship Narrakra disappearing for a month or two before that, though the crew reported having been lost for years."