[december catch-all] once more, with feeling

[rutility]

Characters: Rutile, a bunch of others, and you!
Date: Throughout December
Location: Around Aifaran
Situation: Rutile antagonizing people
Warnings/Rating: None so far!

Rutile is woken by the peek of the sun through the window, its rays chasing away the last vestiges of a nightmare that leaves dread deep in their core. They glance around, noting the monitor, the shelves, the board games with missing pieces scattered about the room - this is not their clinic. This is Aifaran. The Dreaming Bridge. The common room.

They don't quite remember drifting off, but their limbs are heavy with fatigue and their heart with loss, and it takes some significant convincing to force their their body to sit. In the distance, there are stormclouds.

---

A ▸ HOUSE GODS | yato (commerce 3, late december/early january)

Rutile's only understanding of money is that more of it is better, spending less of it is preferred, and spending none of it is best. So they've frequented flea markets and pawn shops and other holes-in-the-wall the last several weeks, searching for the best deals on household necessities that are affordable with their limited funds. The nick-nack store they wander into is filled with junk - selys-shaped tea steepers, figures with bobbling heads, strange "cooking" implements that all seem to have the same function, mismatched dishwear and socks with novelty sayings embroidered on. Little of it seems useful. None of it looks worth much more than Rutile's pinky finger.

"How hard is it," they wonder, as they examine a box that tinkles out an off-key tune when poked, "To find useful things? A bowl? A set of tools?"

B ▸ EXPERTISE| open (crime 3, early december)

The tiny stall, tucked away in a dark corner of the marketplace, is selling jewelry. Rutile wouldn't normally concern themselves with this, but the pieces are something spectacular: glimmering stones set in lovingly twisted wire or knotted cord, in shades of yellow, turquoise, and bright green. They take a closer look, entranced by the merchant's promise of diamonds, of all things.

"May I have a look?" Rutile asks about a particular diamond piece, and when the merchant generously nods, they bend in. With an expert's eye, they note the dispersion, the cut - and their eye narrows. "I must caution you," they say, "that you have misidentified this stone. It is not diamond, it is titania. A common mistake for the untrained."

"Yoooou must be mistaken," the merchant replies in a shrill voice, speaking almost through their nose. "This is a great price for a rare stone. You can have it for ten percent off."

"I don't care about purchasing it," Rutile insists. "It is the label that concerns me. It is misleading."

"You don't buy, you don't stay."

"No, you're not listening to me. Let me explain..."

C ▸ HARD KNOCK LIFE | open (mid-december)

Rutile's talent isn't that much to speak of, and it's not what gets them approved for the volunteer force stacking sandbags around the city. It's their peculiar strength that does that, the strength that finds them lifting three or four bags of sand at a time and depositing them about the city. The strength that lets them build a wall of sandbags entirely on their own, and the one that keeps going when the other volunteers have gone on break.

The work is welcome, and not difficult. It's methodical, and rather mindless, and the action of contributing to something keeps them from spiralling off into remembering... well, into remembering. They are rather sullen during this time - the sun has been gone for days, and with it most of their energy reserves - but they are happy to strike up a conversation when prompted.

D ▸ MISTAKEN IDENTITY | jacen (mid-december)

Rutile is back in the Dreaming Bridge for the first time since their re-arrival in Aifaran. The place is still distasteful in their eyes, and they keep their head down as they enter, steadfastly taking the long route which will avoid what were Padparadscha's and Antarcticite's old rooms. In fact it is their old room that they approach and their old door they knock on; though they've never been one for nervous ticks, they tap their foot as they wait. The sooner they can get out of here, the better.

E ▸ IS THAT A THREAT | open (justice 1, mid-december)

Rutile has popped down to Die Rose Tulpe in a rather dour mood, the bitter aftertaste of nightmares experienced yet poorly remembered driving them in search of company. When the rain begins instinct hastens them out of it, and fortunately the cafe is only around the corner. Other people have had a similar idea; the cafe is actually quite busy, and a quick glance around shows no one Rutile immediately recognizes. They stand in the doorway, rainwater rolling from their hair and dripping off their nose, their lovely sage tunic soaked through.

They've barely slid into the single empty seat when their historically poor luck with the Sentry kicks in. "Let me see your identification and empty your pockets, please," says the officer.

"I will empty your skull," Rutile idly mutters, as a wooden coffee stirrer splinters in their grasp.

F ▸ MEANINGFUL WORK | valdis (arts 4, late december/early january)

All it takes to get asked on the committee for redesigning and updating the architecture of some minor buildings in Aifaran is a portfolio and a demonstration that yes, Rutile is capable of some rudimentary geometry. The portfolio is a little longer in coming, but frequent trips to the library to study up on the principles combined with centuries of drawing detailed crystallographic structures leaves Rutile quite qualified for the position.

They arrive to the meeting early and pick a seat at the corner of the table. Unobtrusive, but present. Near the door, but not quite so. They are a picture of prim prestige even despite the storm; not a hair out of place, they observe with a bit of humor, catching a glimpse of their reflection in the glistening wooden table. Tapping their nails very gently on the wood, they watch as other government employees pass in the hall outside, waiting for others to arrive.

G ▸ WILDCARD | you!! (throughout december)

[ supply your own or hit me up on plurk or discord! ]

Comments

B!

[psituational]

It's a very confusing and surreal first few days of December for X. There are a lot of people he means to touch base with in the aftermath of his waking up, and some of those keep getting put off despite his best intentions. Mentally, it doesn't feel like he's been asleep for a month, so missing all that time still stuns him on occasion. Physically, it absolutely feels like he's been asleep for a month, so he walks around Aifaran a lot more than normal to try and coax his muscles out of their lethargic and permanently exhausted state.

The sound of arguing catches his attention, but it's Rutile, a familiar and welcome figure, who draws X over to that corner of the marketplace. He's learned very quickly not to get involved in every argument he overhears here, but there's an inbuilt instinctive exception when it comes to his friends.

"Is everything alright?" he asks as he walks up. It looks like the merchant sells -- oh, dear. Precious stones. That might explain what started the argument.

[rutility]

Rutile notices, but only barely, that it's X that approaches - and by this time they're so incensed that any appreciation they have for him is dulled.

"Peachy," Rutile replies, their brow furrowed and eyes engaged in an intense staring contest with the igheeri merchant. "I am simply trying to explain -"

The igheeri stands and towers over Rutile, not quite twice their height, but perhaps near it. Their wings spread and their hand curls until a single long finger is left pointing at Rutile's chest. "You are disturbing my business and I will call the Sentry -"

"I ought to call the Sentry over this gross frauding of your customers! And get that thing away from me!" Rutile retorts back, shoving the igheeri's hand aside. The argument descends into both of them trying to talk at the same time, in louder and angrier voices.

It is not peachy.

[psituational]

In X's experience, calling local law enforcement would only give allies to the established merchant, no matter who actually called them. The Sentry isn't the law enforcement of X's experience, but his mistrust still exists. Probably something to do with how they temporarily jailed him for trying to find a missing child.

"Rutile," X tries, but it doesn't look like anything reasonable will work. The argument is getting too loud, too heated. When that becomes clear, he steps firmly between them, a physical barrier to more shouting, facing the igheeri merchant. "Stop," he says. "Shouting at customers in front of other potential customers is not the best business strategy. Please."

Then he looks over his shoulder at Rutile, and against all odds, he looks faintly amused. "Peachy?" he asks, brow raised. "What's going on?"

[rutility]

Once X breaks the eye contact between Rutile and the igheeri, things calm down - for the most part. Rutile finishes their sentence and crosses their arms, tossing their head as they turn away from the merchant with a scoff.

The merchant sneers. "I recommend," they say, confident in their moral high ground, "that you take your friend somewhere they will cause less of a disturbance while they calm down. I simply don't have time for this."

"I agree that time spent in your shop is time wasted," Rutile snaps back, "and assuredly, soon will everyone else. If you don't mind accompanying me, I'm going to pursue more honest retailers," they finish, their attention turning to X.

Rutile's fight, though not exciting enough to merit more than a few turned heads and videos on the Lae, doesn't dissuade customers from the merchant's stall; if anything it makes them more popular as the crowd turns up to see what all the fuss was about.

"I do apologize for my behavior," they say, "but not for my motivation. That merchant is selling counterfeit gems - so sloppily, too! Even beyond the unflattering cuts and low clarity, the specimens aren't even remotely correct, the crystal systems don't match, and the prices are outrageous."

[psituational]

Well. The merchant definitely seems to think they're in the right. X doesn't know enough to gently correct them, but he has a strong suspicion it's exactly the opposite. He also has a strong suspicion that Rutile, as many experts are wont to do, has lost sight of how important having the argument right here and right now is.

"I'm sorry," X says quickly to the merchant before he follows Rutile away, all earnest and cheerful. "You know us Dreamfolk -- passionate to a fault. I hope the rest of your day goes well!"

Then he and Rutile are alone, or relatively alone, and Rutile explains before X has a chance to ask. 

X nods very seriously as he listens, bemused in the privacy of his own mind at how well he'd predicted what the problem was. "They certainly didn't act like an honest merchant," he agrees. "But either way, I'd listen to your advice over theirs. I don't think you'd have started arguing if you didn't know exactly what you're talking about. Still, it's not our place to police it. No one changes their mind when they're angry, and for all we know, that merchant desperately needs the money."

F

[redlightgreenlight]

Working security for the council meeting for rebuilding after the storm hadn't been what Valdis expected when her commanding officer said he had something different for her to do. The chances of anyone actually doing something that required her to act were slim and hence this was an even bigger waste of her talents than managing interrogations. She opened the door to the meeting room, intending to do a sweep before the others arrived. To her surprise, Rutile sat at one corner of the table, their nails tapping on the wood as they waited.

"I see you have returned," she said, her tone lacking any sort of care, "You look well."

She left the door open as she moved around the room, checking scents and for any trace of things that didn't belong.

[rutility]

A pained, watery grin wrinkles the porcelain of Rutile's face, though it is not Valdis's fault so much as it is her words. They feel like shit. They do not say this. "I appreciate the sentiment," they reply, "though I believe we are all struggling in the wake of such a natural disaster. You know, I think in my many centuries, I've seen comparable events perhaps only once or twice... "

They cut off their own reverie before it can get too in-depth. (If Valdis's high empathy is on the up-and-up, she may find regret, anger, and confusion, all deadened by the fatigue of heartache.)

"What about you? It has been some weeks now since my return, but still we haven't met, when we were so close before," they wryly continue as Valdis pokes her nose into corners and cabinets. "Keeping busy?"

[redlightgreenlight]

Disasters came and went, it was best to push emotion aside and just deal with what was in front of them. With that in mind, Valdis chose to not ask about the emotions she felt from Rutile, whatever had caused them, she did not care enough at the moment to ask.

"This storm was unnatural," she replied, pausing in her examination of the room to look at them, "But surely not so unnatural as to make you forget that we are not on friendly terms. Allies, yes, but only just."

Her tone lacked bite, more a simple statement of fact than any ill will. Valdis shook her head, resuming her search of the room.

"Busy enough, though I'll admit some boredom."

[rutility]

Ah, of course.

"I thought now was a good time to attempt a truce. Just allies is quite acceptable."

Terse as always, Valdis was; difficult to understand, and harder to appreciate. Brutal as it is, Rutile must admit to some gratitude for Valdis's honesty. They incline their head, acknowledging Valdis's desire to stick to small talk. Perhaps that was for the best, given how all their previous interactions have gone.

At least no one's starting a fight.

"It seems to me that chaos has overtaken much of the city in light of the destruction that has occurred," Rutile says, equally neutral. "I'm sure your job will pick up momentum in the coming days."

[redlightgreenlight]

Valdis didn't inspire many friends, but alliances were a fact of survival. She got the feeling that something had happened to Rutile, they seemed rather subdued, not a trace of the defiance or superior attitude she knew them to have.

"Chaos is nothing new," Valdis replied. Not to her at least. "It is the origins of the storm that concern me, but I'm sure the scientists in the Aisling Tower are working on that."

Her job still seemed aimed at minor things, but she was slowly becoming accustomed to taking orders, even if she disagreed with them.

"I take it you are here to help with the rebuilding?"

E

[afoolsgold]

This particular afternoon sees Die Rosa Tulpe so swamped with customers that the Fool finds it necessary to step out of his usual role as artisan in residence, and to provide some assistance behind the bar. (The extent to which this assistance results in anything other than more confusion is up for debate, but let it never be said he is unwilling to assist when the situation calls for it.)

He'd spotted Rutile upon their arrival and had made a mental note to slip over to greet his long absent friend once the rush had died down, but the appearance of the Sentry intent on hassling one of the customers rather expedited that process. Frowning, he wipes his hands clean with a cloth, steps out from behind the bar, and makes his way across the cafe to come stand by Rutile's side.

"The Sentry! How serendipitous," he declares, all smiles and sharp eyes. "You must be here to address the disturbance I reported. The one just outside and across the way." He points out the window with a needling finger. "Just there."

He's pointing to some pastel blue balloons tied up outside the front door of a tea shop.

Glowering, the Sentry nevertheless grudgingly looks out the window, then back towards the Fool. They scowl. "Begging your pardon, but you did not just call us here to investigate some bloody balloons."

"No, I daresay you'd have better things to do," the Fool replies blithely, placing one hand on his hip while the other flourishes another gesture out the window. "But surely that can't be normal behaviour for balloons, can it?"

"What do you mean--" the Sentry begins, but when they have turned to look over their shoulder again, the balloons have begun to transform from their shade of baby powder blue into a red nearly as deep as blood. The Sentry startles, and starts forward to investigate with alarm.

The Fool watches them go with raised eyebrows, evidently none too bothered by the balloons. He turns to greet Rutile with a warmer smile. "They can be such a bother," he muses quietly, ostensibly referring to the Sentry.

Re: E

[rutility]

The Fool appears at Rutile's side with all the grace and stealth of a cat; Rutile doesn't notice his presence until they hear his voice declaring a greeting, and gratitude floods through them as he does his best to redirect the Sentry. The gratitude, though, is tempered by exasperation: they did not come here to get the prophet in trouble, merely to keep out of it for once. "Fool," they sigh, "this really isn't --"

As they crane their neck to watch the exchange, they catch the Fool's jovial expression and the sentry's growing astonishment and confusion, and glance out the window just in time to see that the blue balloon they passed earlier is now a red more brilliant than their hair. Their words trail off, though their jaw hangs open with similar surprise as the sentry rushes to the window to get a better look.

"They can be such a bother," the Fool muses, drawing Rutile's attention back to center.

Rutile's shoulders heave, though no air escapes from their mouth in a sigh. They let the remains of the wooden stirrer spill from their palm to the table, and brush them into a small pile. A tiny splinter catches in their glove, which they peel away between delicate fingers. "That was your doing, wasn't it?" they ask, with some fond resignation. "I don't know how, but I appreciate the intervention all the same. Only now I'm afraid they'll just want to interrogate you as well."

They glance back at the sentry, who has poked their head out the door to try and split the difference between doing their job and being soaked. They call a partner over, and in hushed voices try to hash out their next move.

"How long do you think I have?" Rutile asks the Fool with a wry smile.

[afoolsgold]

It is a truth universally acknowledged that trouble will find the Fool whither or whether he he bothers to avoid it. (He usually doesn't.)

"How long do you think I have?"

"As long as they remain preoccupied with that peculiar phenomenon across the street, I would say." That phenomenon which the Fool, of course, had nothing to do with. He leans around just enough to get a good look at the tea shop again and, after concentrating on his target for a bit longer, the front door to the shop abruptly turns a blinding shade of lemon yellow.

"If you like," he says to Rutile lightly, "you're welcome to hide in my apartment until they've lost interest. I live just upstairs." Quite literally.

[rutility]

The invitation comes as somewhat of a surprise; the Fool, though amicable, is a private person, and privacy carries a significance in Aifaran it did not back home. "Oh, I couldn't -" Rutile begins to say. In the corner of their eye, the door flares into a new color, yellow as a beryl and as difficult to gaze upon.

The sentries jump away from the door and their discussion becomes harsher. The second one gestures back at the Fool with an exasperated flick of her wrist, while the first expresses some disagreement.

None of that is something Rutile feels inclined to deal with; amusing as the Fool's antics are, he has surely made things worse for the both of them. And at the end of the day, it is the end of the day, and they are tired.

"... Perhaps only as long as it takes for me to dry off," Rutile concedes. "And you will want to make yourself scarce before they realize their culprit was standing here the entire time."

[afoolsgold]

"...And you will want to make yourself scarce before they realize their culprit was standing here the entire time."

"Oh, if it were not this, they would undoubtedly find some other reason to find me troublesome." The Fool waves at the Sentry rather dismissively before he turns towards a set of polished wooden steps leading to the building's second storey. The Sentry look after both of them with frustration, but without due cause (or proof of it at any rate) their hands are tied, and they can't follow. If the look the Fool sends over his shoulder is a bit coy, well, who can blame him?

The second storey above Die Rosa Tulpe is home to two private apartments, and the Fool fishes out his keys to open the door to the left. Inside, the apartment has grown to be his own over the months that he has spent here, filled with brightly coloured accents and with a selection of blooming plants before the windows that are thriving in the tropical environment. Lounging atop a table next to a modest kitchenette is one of the bat kittens that made an appearance with the most recent shunt, and with a tired sigh the Fool scoops her up with an admonishing cluck of his tongue and deposits her on the floor.

There's a little table with an incomplete chess game on it near one of the windows, as well as a small work station with the Fool's tool set still set out atop it. The Fool straightens up and glances back at Rutile. "I would offer you tea," he says, "but I think perhaps a tea towel might be more useful." For the purposes of drying off, that is. He fetches one out of a drawer and offers it out to Rutile.

A.

[minorgod]

[ Yato's started to accumulate some regular clients now, thanks in no small part to Ilda's persistent advertising and his own positive work ethic of actually doing his jobs well. One of them is stocking inventory, but when he overhears Rutile's voice from the front of the store, he pops his head out. His jersey sleeves are rolled up and he looks dusty from the back room wares, but he's grinning when he sees them. ]

Rutile! You're back!

[rutility]

Yato?

[ They whirl around with more surprise than becomes them, the music box emitting a metallic shriek as its internal mechanism jerks in their hand. Rutile's eyebrow threatens to leave their head, but honestly, what were they expecting? Where there's junk, there's Yato.

They take in his disheveled appearance, drawing a few quick conclusions from his emergence from the back room. ]

You work here?

Whatever happened to granting wishes?

[minorgod]

Don't give me that, this is a wish job! Once ever two weeks I work in the stock room here. They're pretty good, they even remember my name, which is more than I can say for some of my less frequent employers.

[ he looks entirely too proud of these shopkeepers for remembering ]

Welcome back though, you were gone a while.

[rutility]

[ They're more confused than anything else. ]

I'm glad they remember your name, but what does the stock room have to do with wishes?

[ The music box lets out a creak and a gasp as the music tinkles to a stop. With two fingers, Rutile very gently twists the key, but no dice. Silence abounds. With a strong scowl on their face, they wonder, ] ... And what is there to stock?

[ They set the music box back on a shelf. ]

I have been back for some weeks, but yes, it does feel like ages. I am grateful for your welcome.

C!

[annihilist]

The Academy libraries were Devin's first priority, but since the campus is located on higher ground there's less risk and he requested to be retasked to helping shore up the city at large.

While Devin may not have Rutile's practically indomitable strength, he is stronger than most. He's also built a few walls of sand bags in his time, albeit for purposes of war rather than flooding. Back then, though, he had to disguise how much he could carry and how long he could work. It would have been rather obvious he wasn't human, otherwise. Now, though, Devin can be more useful.

"Keeping busy, I see," he remarks offhandedly, heaving one of the bags down off his shoulder and settling it across those already placed. A bit needling: "Practical research?"

[rutility]

Devin's presence comes as a slight surprise; not because it was strange, but rather because Rutile hadn't had anyone near them in a few hours now, and further because it was a mild shock to see the librarian out of context. Fascinating how his human's hands are so much rougher than they might anticipate from an academic, and how much stronger he seems than the others of his kind.

Rutile dusts sand off their clothing - back to their old garb, a ragged lab coat and black everywhere else - and rolls their eyes at his tease. "Fieldwork is critical to a well-constructed study," they chide back, "but no, this time I'm doing my duty as a citizen. It wouldn't bode well for my education if the whole of Aifaran was destroyed."

They line up their bag with his, adjusting its weight so that the distribution is even and solid. "I don't believe I've ever seen you in the open like this, though. Are you branching out into categorizing sand bags?"

[annihilist]

"Fortunate for us all that the Academy went with the city-on-a-hill concept for their campus location," Devin says, wry. He heaves the second bag down with a huff of laughter at the last comment, placing yet another sandy brick in the growing wall. "No, I'm here for much the same reason as you. I've helped construct these before."

The second bag is nudged into better alignment. "Albeit about seven decades ago. But the exertion doesn't wear on me much, so I got permission to leave the library and use my other, less academic skills." Devin smirks, and gestures between them. "Raw strength and endurance has its benefits for this kind of work."

Rutile is certain to have more stamina than him, but the concept is the same. They can and will keep going when others cannot - and possibly to their own detriment.

[rutility]

And raw strength and endurance serve them well; less resilient citizens quickly realize that even with the conversation Rutile and Devin are outpacing them all. Many of them slink away, whether to assist more needy areas or simply to take a break.

Rutile smiles politely at Devin's reference to the high ground, and as they unload more sandbags from a wheelbarrow, they add, "Rigorous, meaningful work is the best medicine against questioning one's place in the world. I have missed it, though I was always more fond of the indoors."

"But I am curious. Indulge me: where does a librarian learn to build foundations?"

D

[soloflight]

It’s an unfamiliar face that Rutile finds opening the door for them, but he’s friendly, smiling.

“Hi there.” Jacen’s about to say something more, but he suddenly laughs — his batcat, a tiny one he’s named Annie, has decided to scale his head again and is now in the process of climbing up his neck, legs clinging to the back of his neck. It tickles.

“S-Sorry. Can I help you?”

[rutility]

Rutile is a little startled to find someone so unfamiliar answer the door - to their old room, nonetheless - but they close their eyes and remain composed. The Dreaming Bridge is like this, they remind themselves. Dreamfolk arrive, they vanish, they are never heard from again.

Unless they are Rutile, and they wake in a daze as if from a nightmare.

It is a more lackluster Rutile than the one Ilda knows that politely greets Jacen. "Good afternoon," they say, eyeing the batcat. "I was just - ah. I used to stay in this room. I came to see if my things are still here," they say. With some hesitation, they ask, "You don't know if Yato ...?"