ioduanlogs | woe to thee with fearful eyes, their lighthouse is burning up

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woe to thee with fearful eyes, their lighthouse is burning up

Characters: Rutile, Yato, Pepper, Antarcticite, and you!
Date: Throughout September
Location: Around Aifaran
Situation: shenanigans
Warnings/Rating: None so far!

A ▸ MARKING TERRITORY | yato (very early september)

It is after a long day of being harrassed by the ocean and gyroshei and Sentry members alike that Rutile returns to the Dreaming Bridge, clothes in tatters and with a mood to match. The last month of reduced sunlight has taken its toll, and so has the fruitlessness of their efforts; Rutile longs for nothing more than to hang their coat up 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 Adamant.

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

B ▸ CALL ME MELANIE | ~~open~~ (mid september)

[ watch this space! ]

C ▸ POPULAR (Commerce 2) | pepper (mid september, slightly later)

After several months of their single outfit taking all kinds of abuse - standing on the beach during a storm, crawling through the sewer, sneaking aboard ships, walking on the bottom of the ocean - Rutile is really feeling Red Beryl's absence. The gem tailor would have reprimanded them for not caring for their clothing long ago, as well as mended and repaired these and had more on the way. Their tattered lab coat can't even really be called that anymore; their gold fingers are poking through the tips of their gloves, and it's a wonder their shoes have lasted this long. They cannot get away with it anymore: they need new clothing.

And they have no idea where to begin. Rutile's pocket is unfortunately light. The only rhinn they have is from the job they took corralling gyroshei last week, and they are still not certain about how all the coins work. They've stuck to the open-air market, which they have some passing familiarity with, but the choices are still overwhelming.

The item that's caught their eye now is one that's been marked down seventy-five percent. Without a head for numbers, the thing that truly draws their attention is the bright turquoise of the cloth; they've never had colored clothing before, and though they won't admit it, they are curious about how they'd look in such a color. Other customers have turned up their noses at it: the front is unfortunately speckled with a black and white mess of uric acid from one of the fowl visitors plaguing the city. Rutile, though, has gotten closer to inspect it. Waste not, want not, after all.

D ▸ WITH ALL DUE RESPECT (SciTech 3, Arts 4) | open (late september)

Despite the general aversion the ecologists had to Rutile, no one stops them from dropping by the beach late one September evening to the party hosted by other researchers from the Academy, to generally mingle and hear more informed opinions about what's going on. A bit uncharacteristically, they refrain from doing much more than eavesdropping; they are keenly aware that the strangeness with the barrier is probably partly their fault.

That said, it's not helpful. Rutile slips from conversation to conversation and hears plenty of words: some that they know, like Dreaming and metaphysical, and many that they don't, like Kähler manifold and charmed meson. After turning down many drinks (and then finally accepting one so that people will stop offering), Rutile finds themselves on the edge of the party, staring up at the rippling in the barrier overhead. In the twilight, the ripples are vibrant shades of purples and pinks with the occasional bright vermillion. It really is quite lovely.

E ▸ DOWN BY THE WATER (reference to SciTech 4) | antarcticite (late september)

Rutile did their best to volunteer for the team heading out to the reef - if there's anything biological they know about, it's coral - but the Aifaran marine ecology labs were just not keen on having them present. Something about "proper clearance" and "documentation" and "no prior record of wandering willy-nilly into scientific facilities" or something like that. (It's possible their name has been blacklisted. Who could say for sure?) Even reminding them that they don't need gear didn't work, since regulations insisted that everyone have it anyway. Rutile has long since stopped expecting sense from Aifaran's bureaucrats.

It's fine. Rutile doesn't need permission to go to the beach. It will take far longer to walk out to the coral, but they have never truly lacked for time anyway. It is a clear, sunny day that finds Rutile standing in the shallows, soft waves lapping around their ankles as tiny fish explore the stranger that has invaded their midst. Rutile's shoes are set on top of their tattered lab coat, folded neatly and stowed beneath a small rock. It's not frivolous that they take a moment to savor the experience; the last time they swam simply because they could must have been ages ago. They stand motionless, sinking into the sand and simply enjoying the low burst of energy from the sun on their limbs.

Then, they set off into the deep.

F ▸ WILDCARD | open (early september)

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Rutile has an audience, albeit an audience of one, as they stand in the shallows taking the energy of unfettered sunlight directly into their limbs. Antarcticite hadn't come to this section of the beach seeking them out; they are prone to wandering the shoreline with their eye on the horizon, despite reassurances from the Bridge staff that 'sunspot activity' is not a concern. This stretch of unpeopled beach is one of their favourites for simply walking and thinking, about home, about Sensei, wondering what had become of Phos in their absence--and they are so caught up in their internal pondering that for a moment they don't notice anything amiss about the scene they've just encountered.

Then Rutile starts forward into the water, and they snap out of it abruptly.

"Rutile!" they call out, hesitate, then quickly start to tug off their heels one boot at a time. "Wait!" they call out again, "you shouldn't go alone--let me go with you!"

Rutile startles when Antarc's voice carries over the soft roar of the sea and a wave smacks their torso as they turn. It's difficult to make out Antarcticite's pale figure against the white sand and the bright sun, but there they are, a moving spot tossing black shoes back onto the shore.

Rutile closes their eyes and counts to three. They'd been rather hoping to go alone and have some peace and quiet to themselves, but their responsibility to Antarcticite is greater than that. Calmly they make their way through the water to meet the other gem.

"It's fine, Antarcticite," they say when they're within earshot - of speaking normally, and not shouting. "There's no need to worry about me."

"...There's no need to worry about me."

That doesn't appear to deter them. With their shoes off, Antarcticite takes only a moment or two to mull over whether or not to shed any additional clothing, and settles on their shirt. It is the only one they have, and it wouldn't do for it to be ruined by the sea water. They tug it up and over their head--at which point the sunlight catches on their unpowdered crystalline torso; there's quite the sparkle to be seen there, though nothing near as dazzling as Diamond.

"We don't know what the seas in this area are like," they point out, neatly folding their shirt and settling it beside Rutile's on the rock. They set their shoes down nearby, then turns and step purposefully into the water... which doesn't wash away the pigment on their legs this time. When they meet Rutile's eyes, it's clear that they've made up their mind about supporting their senior in whatever quest they've chosen to embark upon, although standing up to Rutile of all gems is something they aren't yet accustomed to doing. They frown, earnest. "Please, let me come with you--I promise I won't get in the way."

Rutile's had their fair share of upstart juniors who think they know better than the doctor, but Antarcticite has never been one of them. It makes the conviction with which they confront Rutile all the more impressive - not an easy feat, given Antarc's youth and constitution. Even when they quaver a minute, the effect is not lost.

Rutile takes a moment to parse the situation. Antarcticite would have been just five hundred by now. Perhaps it is time they grew up.

"Very well," they allow, with the most subtle of smiles. "But only if you can keep up."

Then they turn and wade deeper and deeper into the water, not hesitating for a second before the waves close over their head.

"Very well. But only if you can keep up."

Their earnest expression falters minutely. Well, that's not a statement brimming with ominous foreboding or anything, is it? Nevertheless, once Rutile turns to continue their descent beneath the waves, Antarcticite truthfully has only one path left available to them, and that is forward. The alternative would be far too embarrassing, after they've made such a show of tugging off their shirt and shoes.

They steel themselves and then wade forward into the surf, which rushes around them with somewhat alarming strength. If the temperature were colder, it would be easier for them to judge how well their structure might hold up to the impact of the waves against their limbs, but already the Dreaming has stripped them of their ability to gauge their limitations in this place. For just another moment Antarcticite looks back towards the beach, but--no. What was it Padparadscha had told them shortly after their arrival? If they spend so much of their time questioning this new lease on life given to them by the universe, they'll never truthfully be able to say that they have lived it. Gems of their unique composition--and Padparadscha's--shouldn't take such an opportunity for granted.

They summon up their courage and forge ahead, trusting themselves to push past their own limitations, and follow Rutile beneath the waves--and startle as soon as they are below the surface, and surrounded by more varied marine life than they've ever witnessed before in their lives. Fish as brightly scaled as the more lustrous of the gems of their home world shoal together in the sandy shallows, while others dart out of the path of the approaching gems as though unsure of what to make of them.

"I've--never seen anything like this," they say, awed, their earlier trepidation all but forgotten.

The water here is far clearer than it ever was back home, a curious side effect of the composition of the sea and sand and sunlight. They have no trouble keeping track of Antarcticite beside them despite the translucence of their crystals, and they can see out several meters into the deep indigo of the water.

"The ocean is frozen and dangerous by the time you're awake," Rutile explains, rather unnecessarily. "And it's actually more active here than it is back at the school anyway."

And than it is outside of the barrier. Rutile sombers a little recalling the state of the sea that far out, and then quickly pushes it aside.

A few curious fish dart back and forth around the gems' legs, bold enough to occasionally nip at them, but not above swimming away when Rutile tries to catch hold of one.

"There's a bigger reef deeper out somewhere," Rutile mentions, "but if the currents are too strong, we can stay in the shallows as well."

There's plenty to see either way - the sea grass is quite extensive, and there are a few mini-reefs scattered about as well.

Plenty to see is an understatement--Antarcticite cannot decide what to look at first, where to let their eyes linger, or how to respond to the small golden fish that have just bumped into their torso. They blink owlishly back at the confused fish, who flits away from them through the water and back into the lush sea grass.

"What is it you want to see at the reef?" Lifting their eyes towards the deep blue of the open water, they can just barely make out the shape off it further off. They turn to look questioningly at Rutile, though they've mastered their apprehension and squashed it down where it shouldn't cause them any problems; it should be clear enough from their demeanour, however, that wherever Rutile intends to go next, Antarcticite will follow.

Rutile values this experience - Antarcticite's first venture underwater, that is. Their eyes are that of a gem just born, taking in the world with the innocence and fascination that is untainted by exposure.

They've accepted by now that Antarc is going to follow wherever they lead, so they resolve to stop offering opportunities to turn back. Instead, it's Rutile's turn to feel sheepish. They avoid looking at Antarc, walking out a few paces into the grass as they say, "I fear my actions may have caused more trouble than I intended. I want to do what I can to fix it, or at least bear witness to the trouble.

"I overheard some ecologists saying that parts of the reef had died off," they admit. "I intend to go see it."

(Also, being surrounded by schools of fish is just fun. Sometimes you just have to have fun, Antarcticite.)

That revelation cuts short Antarcticite's wondering appreciation of the varied sea life around them. They look to Rutile through a school of silvery fish that dart out of the way as they step after their senior, bewilderment clear on their face. "I don't understand," they say--and then nearly lose their footing on a loose bit of rock and sand.

They right themselves with a wobble, flush with embarrassment, then look beyond Rutile to the outline of the reef in the distance. From where they're standing, it's difficult to make out any detail at all indicating whether it's alive or dead, and regardless, Antarcticite has never seen so much life teeming beneath the water's surface before anyway. "How could you have killed off an entire reef?"

They don't bother asking 'why'; Rutile might have a slight proclivity towards experimenting on living things for science, but killing off a lot of living things at once for no discernible purpose has never been in their nature. (Though, they must admit, it seems that much has changed about the gems in the years since Antarcticite was taken by the Lunarians.)

Rutile's expression is grave and their eyes are somber as they say, "That's part of what I want to find out."

They keep on through the water, slipping almost as often as Antarcticite does (but with more dignity) on seaweed and soft sand. The smaller reefs and rocks become fewer and farther between as the two lustrous make their way out to the larger reef, and the sea life becomes rather more solitary: some yards away, a shark skims along the bottom; a barracuda lurks in the shadowy grass; and Rutile gently bats aside a jellyfish that bobs in their path.

Rutile stops short when they find the reef. The difference between this one and the ones they and Antarc had passed on the way is striking: instead of a colorful assortment of plants, algae, and animals teeming with life, the coral is more akin to forest brush in the dead of winter, brown and skeletal and devoid of creatures as far as the eye can see. There is something sobering about it, that snatches Rutile's tongue and holds their gaze captive.

It is not certain whether or not Rutile's actions were responsible for this - but now, it doesn't seem to matter. The tragedy is that it's happened at all.

It's barren and lifeless in a way that is too familiar to the seas of Earth, except not even the occasional jellyfish drifts by this far out to sea. Antarcticite comes to stand beside Rutile in grim, respectful silence; at length, they reach out a hand as though to touch the dead coral, but stop just short of doing so.

"This is what happens to living things, then," they say after a time, breaking the almost sepulchral silence that has fallen around them. "When they die."

With Pepper in a better mood of late, she's returned to one of her favorite habits: shopping. Often, this is just window shopping - saving money is in fact a thing that's worth doing - but it's also a helpful way to get to know the different nooks and crannies of the city, the patterns of what comes to the markets.

She spots Rutile on her way home, apparently investigating some clothing that has... what looks a lot like bird crap. It'd be pretty if it hadn't gotten dropped on. Her smile is still bright when she approaches the gem, waving. "Hey, Rutile! Looks like you found a pretty mess. God, I'm glad the pigeons in New York aren't this big," she adds with a laugh.

Rutile brightens to see Pepper approaching, glad that she seems much improved since last month. They stand back a bit to give her space, greeting her with a slight nod of acknowledgement.

"God, I'm glad the pigeons in New York aren't this big."

"We don't even have pigeons where I'm from," Rutile laments, running a hand over their hair. "There are birds, and they excrete things, certainly, but it is rare that anything is affected and never to such an extent. Still," they go on, with a resigned expression, "it does make the price drop tempting. It can't be that hard to clean."

Pepper's skepticism about the ease of cleaning is fairly obvious, but she's still smiling encouragingly. "I don't know, honestly. I've pretty much only seen it cleaned off streets and cars and stuff - a wash would probably get it off, but it might stain."

She tilts her head as she imagines the lovely turquoise going a bit marbled. "Which could be alright, depending on how it turns out." Rutile's attire is looking a bit tattered, and that might explain their looking at this selection. "If you're trying to find a new outfit, it'd probably be worth getting something that'll look good and last you. Do you want some help shopping around? We can always come back here."

Rutile's not oblivious; they can see doubt written across Pepper's face. It changes very little, though it does cause some fluctuation in their resolve. "It is not as though stains are uncommon in my line of work," they say, but it is to themselves more than anything. Red Beryl is not around to make them a new outfit every month, they have to remind themselves. Pepper is right to suggest something that will last.

They proffer the lady a smile of gratitude and nod, though it's almost more of a bow. "I would appreciate your assistance, though I hardly want to impose," they say with some embarrassment. "I think it's obvious how out of my depth I am. Do you have suggestions?"

Glee blooms across Pepper's features. "Are you kidding? Shopping is my favorite sport. I have so many suggestions."

Many of them general points that might not even be relevant here, but Pepper has Opinions about fashion. She takes a step back and gives Rutile a quick study, noting what they're already wearing (and what it looked like when it was in better shape). "Okay, you need something functional and I am all for having enough black in the closet since it goes with everything, but I like the idea of trying color." Turquoise might work surprisingly well with their hair, and with some experimentation the two of them could figure out what works for Rutile for future clothing needs.

"Tunics," she declares, and starts scanning the market. "Not the super flowy ones, just something a little longer than a normal shirt, I think, to compliment your height."

Rutile can't hide the faint deer-in-the-headlights look that steals across their countenance as Pepper gives them a once-over. It's like having the undivided attention of Red Beryl, which historically, has never been a good thing. But, Rutile reminds themselves with no small amount of chagrin, this is about trying something new.

"Tunics seem sensible enough, though I'm not sure what they have to do with height," they offer by way of agreement. "And I'll definitely need another coat; I wouldn't want to get anything new dirty.

"... And, turquoise sounds lovely," they add after a moment, trailing behind Pepper. More tentatively, they suggest, "Or maybe some sort of green. A yellower one? Or more blue? Perhaps it would be better to forget about color."

"Coat, yes. Does it have to be a lab coat? I can get Tony to make lab coats, but you'd rock a tailored trench coat if they have something like that here," Pepper muses cheerfully. She restrains herself from darting around the market like a buzzing bee so she doesn't scare Rutile off.

The redhead pauses in front of a stall marked out by well-worn but sturdy carpet and lined with racks. Rutile's hesitation softens the impishness in Pepper's gaze and tempers some of her excitement. "You were drawn to turquoise. And you're a scientist, right? Experimentation is good. In this case, the experiment is color." She reaches for a shirt that's not quite as bright as the stained piece Rutile was looking at earlier but still pretty, and holds it out to the gem. "At least you can say you tried."

The night comes quickly, but without the gentle touch of a sunset. Instead it is the strange warping of the protective barrier that colors the end of the day, rippling counter to the steady fade of light. Valdis can hear the party not far from where she sits, hidden in the shadows, her thick black fur moving slightly in the breeze. The dark water laps at the shore, whispering something she can't quite comprehend. She rises and pads closer to the sea, green eyes glowing in the dark. She glances at the party, catching sight of the figure on the outskirts and how their hair catches the light.

Good evening, Rutile, she murmurs, unsure if her telepathy would work on their kind. The barrier is colorful tonight.

The red plastic cup slips from Rutile's hand, its pungent contents spilling across the sand and trickling toward the water before being absorbed into the earth. Rutile barely notices as they snap their head up, their eyes wide as they search for the source of the voice.

"Who could possibly...?"

No dice; the shadows are either too dark to see through or simply unoccupied, and while Phos always claimed they could talk to fish, the soft roar of water remains undisturbed. A survey of the crowd reveals that the scientists continue to be uninterested in them. There is no one trying to get Rutile's attention.

Old habits die hard, though, and even as Rutile reassures themselves that there is no danger (and even if there were, why would it greet them so politely?), they cannot relax.

(The thought that the voice is in their head does not occur to them.)

Valdis pauses in the darkness, Rutile's confusion not unexpected, but amusing nonetheless. She really should try to be nicer, but teasing is so much more entertaining. She blinks slowly, padding out of the darkness and into a place where her eyes catch the light from the fires, glowing brightly, moving closer and closer, until she emerges from the shadows and into the distant light.

The wind ripples through her fur, and she curls her lips back in a wolfish grin. You seem concerned. Surely the colors in the sky are not worthy of concern.

Of course Rutile is concerned about the colors of the sky! There are far too many of them, all at once. The sky is not supposed to look like that, which everyone, locals and Dreamfolk alike, seem to agree on. What's even more chilling is the thought that it might be Rutile's fault.

Anyway, it's definitely Valdis's voice Rutile is hearing, which means that it cannot be a hallucination, since they would hallucinate something far more pleasant. The human is nowhere to be seen, though; certainly not within audible distance, though to be fair it's difficult to make out anything more than the silhouettes of party-goers standing near the bonfires.

In that direction though - here Rutile hesitates - there is a new shadow, a much stranger one, somewhat closer to the ground and featureless save for the two eyes glowing in the firelight. Rutile watches as the giant creature pads nearer, and then bares its teeth, marveling at both the grace of its movement and the magnificence of its size.

Valdis can argue that hallucinations have the potential be quite unpleasant, but she's not a mind reader. She's sure by now that Rutile has recognized her voice, but they seem hesitant, though not in a fearful way. She arches her neck and trots over, stopping a few yards away.

You seem surprised, she commented, lifting her gaze to the sky, It's lovely though, isn't it?

Perhaps she should be more concerned about the sky, but she's tired of worrying about everything. Still, there's something not right, not about the barrier or about the sensation of guilt.

But admittedly abnormal. She shakes herself from head to tail, You're a scientist, what do you think happened?

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woe to thee with fearful eyes, their lighthouse is burning up

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arrives late w/ lactose-free lattes 4 everyone

you're the real mvp

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