[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)

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Comments

[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?"

[rutility]

[ As soon as the music box is out of their hands, Rutile picks up something else. A face with numbers on it, and small arrows that turn, but have no motor powering them. as they speak, they twist the gears on the back of its face. ]

I don't believe I've had the pleasure. I've only seen the fruits of your efforts.

[ Suddenly, the clock face explodes and a tiny wooden gyroshei on a spring catapults toward Rutile's face. Rutile ducks and the clock slips from their hands to the floor. ]

What is even the purpose of such a thing?! It does nothing except scare you! If I wanted to leap out of my coat in anger and confusion I would have just stayed home.

[ What a convenient opportunity to not answer Yato's question! ]

[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."

[rutility]

(Self-righteous, perhaps, is a good word for Rutile. Devoted to a fault. Elitist. But this is why they don't describe themselves frequently.)

"They're a thoroughly dishonest merchant with absolutely no capacity for change..."

They quirk an eyebrow, giving X a curious look. "You're mocking me, aren't you?" they ask, hands going to their hips as they glare up at the human. The truth is, they can't quite tell - there is a chance that X is completely sincere, and his idea of going to a guild leader or some such thing supports that. But his laughter and dramatic word choice suggest otherwise.

When X asks how things are going for Rutile, they falter for a second, and the irritation in their face smooths over into careful, neutral pleasantries. "I am well enough. I hardly want to bother you with the dull details of catching up on the news and shopping. There are so many new festivals to read about; I feel as though we only just finished having them.

"How has the time passed for you? I'm sure you are far more up to date with the minutiae of life than I am."

[rutility]

Rutile has never been upstairs in Die Rosa Tulpe, and certainly never to the Fool's apartment; upon entering and being inundated by the splash of color and life and personality, they are surprised both by its irregularity and by how quintessentially the Fool it is. After the sparse rooms of the School and the standardization of the Dreaming Bridge, it is a sight to behold.

"Your home is beautiful," they compliment quietly.

It takes a moment of the sights sinking in before Rutile realizes the Fool has spoken to them. They accept the towel gratefully, drying the nape of their neck and other areas liable to wear away first. "You are too considerate," they say, with a smile. "Though perhaps this is simply karma, given the reasons I last found myself in this building soaking wet."

It is the bat kitten that captures their attention more than anything, though. Rutile crouches down as it slinks past their ankles and runs their fingers over its fur; the kitten arches its back and makes a strange sound, almost like thunder, though very soft and far less intimidating.

"I don't recall you have a pet," Rutile says. "Is it new?" And then, taking note of the wings, they ask more excitedly, "Does it fly?"

[minorgod]

[ Yato fishes one out of his pocket and passes it over to them: proclaiming his services for the low, low cost of just a single copper rhinn. He stoops to pick up the discarded clock from the floor and brushes it off. ]

You're kind of rough on the merchandise here, you know? Sorry if it scared you though. I think it's kind of cute, and certainly moreso than the full size gyroshei!

So what was it you were looking for when you came in? I'll help you find it.

[afoolsgold]

"...Though perhaps this is simply karma, given the reasons I last found myself in this building soaking wet."

At those words the Fool laughs, though maybe--just maybe--he sounds a trifle sheepish as he does so, a bit of embarrassed colour rising to his cheeks. He threads a bit of hair behind one ear, but the bat kitten saves him the awkwardness of having to admit that yes, perhaps he'd acted a bit rashly that stormy day at the turtle's head. (A bit? Come on now.)

He peers fondly down at the little animal as she winds her way between Rutile's legs, purring noisily and contentedly at all of the attention being lavished upon her. "Does it fly?" Rutile asks, and the Fool gives his head a slight shake.

"I would say Holly just falls, slowly," he observes wryly; Holly, apparently, is her name. As to her origins, he explains, "I came by her after the most recent shunt disappeared. A number of little ones like her were offered out during the masquerade; I thought it might be nice to have a companion."

[annihilist]

Devin's smirk turns a shade brittle. "In war." He retrieves more bags, talking and working. "Protecting or shoring up trenches, mostly, so they wouldn't collapse in on us when it rained and snowed; it's easier to use sand to build upwards from a ditch than try to dig up frozen ground eight feet deep and hundreds of yards long. Fortunately, those conflicts have been over for a while."

Another bag is placed with a loud thwump, and a second follows. Devin kneels to work on tying them in place with thick cord, his hands deft and sure with the knots. What has Rutile questioning their place in the world, he wonders?

"I'm not a librarian where I come from," he adds wryly, glancing over at them. One does not earn the scars he bears from shelving books. "Though I do spend a lot of time reading when I'm not otherwise occupied."

[rutility]

[ The card is a sufficient distraction. In the moments it takes to study it, Rutile does not pick up any more merchandise. ]

I suppose cute is in the eye of the beholder.

[ The business card disappears into their pocket. ]

I am looking for many small and disparate items, really, some of which I'm not certain can even be found here. Baskets for sorting tools and materials, hangers; bedding, eventually. I quickly became distracted by the merchandise here.

[rutility]

"Interesting choice of career change. You were a soldier, then?"

It is the last of the immediately available sandbags that Devin lashes together. Rutile stands at their full height to survey the work done, as well as how much they have left to do. "We ought to retrieve more sand bags," they murmur as they take the wheelbarrow, and begin to head in that direction.

It makes sense, this revelation that Devin too has a history of war. He is sturdier than many of the other peace-loving humans, who Rutile sometimes fears will shatter if they glance at them the wrong way. Seven decades is not long ago, either - or perhaps it is, by human metrics? How long do humans live, again?

"Rain and snow in a trench sounds terrible for humans," Rutile points out. "Even a gem would fare badly in those conditions, and the elements are not typically a concern for us."

They have a rueful grin when they say, "Though where I come from, it's clear, sunny days that are the most dangerous, so who's to say if any one thing is worse than another?"

[psituational]

"A little," X admits, looking appropriately sheepish for the confession. "But you did convince me that nothing justifies the dishonesty."

It doesn't matter. The merchant's behind them. What X abruptly finds far more interesting than the moral question of whether or not to report the gross overpricing is the way Rutile reacts to what should be a perfectly ordinary query. The irritation vanishes, quick in that way non-readers have of wiping away whatever they're feeling -- and there's something else there, something X can't quite identify. It's gone before he can study it.

"Instantly," he answers Rutile's returned question, though curiosity still shines in his eyes, "and no. I've... actually been in a coma for the last month. I'm still catching up on what's going on. End-of-year holidays, it looks like."

[rutility]

"I thought it might be nice to have a companion."

"Holly," Rutile repeats, as the bat kitten's tail brushes under their fingertips, and then they are left alone when Holly decides no one in the room is worth her time anymore. Rutile stands, dabbing at their face and neck once more with the towel, and watches her go.

"Kit had a pet, too," they recall. "A bibiru. I wonder what became of it when--he vanished."

So many things had happened after that, and pets were never quite on the forefront of Rutile's mind; they had never thought to ask whether Flekk had found a new home. But Kit likely would have been sad to see the little thing suffer.

Rutile deftly folds the towel, in half once and then again, and lays it on the kitchen counter. The patterns woven into it would be the pride of even Red Beryl, with the bright colors and fine detail. "I'm sorry. You may not even know Kit; he was another Dreamfolk I spoke to often.

"Anyway, I don't know much about small animals, but I am sure Holly is very happy here."

[rutility]

"... Nothing justifies the dishonesty."

"Well, that is certainly correct," Rutile agrees, their head held high, but even as the words escape their mouth they wonder about its truth.

The Malimo District, even once they begin navigating away from the open marketplace, is still a cacophony of shouts of anger, cries of joy, bells, whistles, and everything in between; the colors are dizzying, and it's a wonder the two of them can navigate the crowded streets and hold a conversation at the same time. Rutile ducks to the side as carpenters carrying a large ornamental log cross the street, and immediately has to move when a caterer and a cart go zipping by.

"End-of-year holidays, it looks like."

"And so many of them, too. As many as there are people, I think - are there any Dreamfolk-specific ones? From your people, perhaps?" Rutile asks X.

[annihilist]

Once finished with the knots, Devin follows after Rutile to retrieve more building materials. Piling up the sandbag wall is slow but steady work, and they're not in enough of a rush to waste energy in running around.

"To each their own form of misery," he agrees, brushing sand and dirt off his clothing as they walk. "Most of my kind can't do sunlight, either, and prolonged exposure is dangerous to humans, too. But yes, I was a soldier for about ten years in total. We had two world wars and I couldn't in good conscience sit idly by, no matter the logistical issues of a vampire serving secretly among humans."

Devin shrugs, not relaxed but by no means uncomfortable with sharing this information. "I've spent most of my life fighting on my own, though, or studying the nature of my universe. What makes sunny days a danger in your world?"

[psituational]

It's refreshing beyond words, not to immediately face worry or concern over the bit about the coma. X doesn't begrudge anyone worry, of course, and it hasn't stopped him from explaining where he was when someone asks -- but now it's like being back with his clan, talking to someone who knows exactly what his preferences are without needing to ask. Refreshing, and a little nostalgic.

Not that X has time to be nostalgic. He and Rutile get separated through the hustle and bustle on the street, and it takes a few seconds for them to be within earshot of each other again.

"I don't know about Dreamfolk," says X, "and we'd be here all day if I told you about every end-of-year festival I know of, but... well, in my first family, we didn't have enough resources for something like this." X gestures around them, indicating all the bells, the decorations, the colour, the food. "For us, it was more a day of gratitude. Small gestures, to show one another we cared. Smoked meat. New clothes. Although oddly enough, we did have bells. Bells go very well with drums. If you had your way, what would everyone be celebrating?"

[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?"

[afoolsgold]

It is a delicate subject, the vanishing of one's friends from this place. The Fool's heart gives a pained little twinge; Fitz had been here for such a brief spell, but having him near had been such a complicated blessing. When he had vanished with so much unresolved between them...

"I confess I know of him only through hearsay," he replies at length, referring to Rutile's friend. He regards them with transparent empathy. "But you mustn't apologize. Losing ones we care about from this place seems inevitable, but that does not make the loss any easier to bear."

(He stubbornly does not follow that thought towards its logical conclusion regarding Devin.)

[minorgod]

That's part of my expert organization! It's the same reason it's hard to tell time in a pachinko parlour or casino. It draws you in and then before you know it, you want to buy stuff. But it sounds like you're more looking for housewares. There's a few here, but it's really going to be random.

[rutility]

They emerge from the crowd into, you guessed it, more crowd! This crowd is more fluid, not least because of the fountain at the center of the plaza they now stand at the edge of, with twinkling lights strung around the spouts. As they break into the sea of people, Rutile stays close to X, the better to hear his words.

"Smoked meat, new clothes..."

"Smoked meat?" Rutile notes, and their nose wrinkles ever so slightly at the thought. They're never going to understand human customs, or human food. Not that the inhuman ones of Aifaran make much more sense, but that's neither here nor there.

"If you had your way, what would everyone be celebrating?"

Rutile's pace slows, and their expression softens as they consider the question. But even as thinking of home stirs an all-encompassing ache, it is even more painful to banish those memories.

"We never had large gatherings like this," Rutile muses. "There are barely thirty of us - fewer, even, than that. We don't eat, or play instruments, or care much for the harvest. There is excitement when a new gem is born, but... other than that our days are passed in an unmarked stillness."

They half grin at X. "I suppose that must sound sad to you. It's funny; such stillness never struck me as such, but perhaps if we'd been a little more lively we would be better poised to accept disruption."

[rutility]

"But that does not make the loss any easier to bear."

The Fool's empathy is... not unwanted. Unexpected, and perhaps undeserved. It is curious, to see their pain so clearly reflected; there are few people old enough to understand the kind of loss that haunts the elder gems' memories, and fewer still who have experienced it. Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but in the Fool's expression, it is almost as though he is both. It takes every fiber of Rutile's will to resist the urge to lean in to that kindness.

They fail.

"It does not," Rutile agrees, and it is here that the lack of sunlight makes itself known. Their limbs are suddenly much heavier than before, and their heart's desire is truly just to get some sleep. "I have been surrounded by loss ever since I can remember - I thought I was accustomed to it by now. Even the idea of coming here did not phase me, since my world is hardly any different. But there are some losses, I suppose, that you can never be numb to.

"I'm sorry," they apologize again - more frustrated with themselves than anything else. "It is childish of me to confide in you so; my burden is hardly yours to bear, and you've been so kind already."

[rutility]

Forgive me if I'm not quite convinced of your expertise...

I don't know what a pachinko parlour or a casino is, so I will just have to take your word for it. Do you think you can show me baskets, at least? That would be a good starting place.

[rutility]

In their mind's eye, Rutile sees vast fields of wildflowers and an azure sky, the sun glimmering off the heads of junior gems playing near the pond. Then the points of a black star appear over the horizon, jetting out into the blue and soaking the sky as it unfolds, like ink staining paper.

"Lunarians," Rutile seethes, their expression vile. The wheelbarrow runs over a stone, jolting wildly, and the handle cracks under Rutile's grip. "They are... they are like specters, from the moon. You cannot kill them, only dissipate them, like mist. On clear afternoons they come to earth and attack us for jewelry, for servants... for all kinds of things. It is detestable."

Rutile rubs their face with gloved hands, as if they can rub the picture away. "I am a doctor, in my world. When the Lunarians destroy us, I scavenge the pieces and put us together again. To tell the truth, I would rather not talk about it."

Instead, Rutile latches on to something else they heard Devin say. "What is a vampire?" they ask. "I haven't heard the word before. You look human enough, but I know well that that means little."

[rutility]

Rutile nods. This whole endeavor is part of their repentance - if not to Aifaran, then certainly to themselves - for their behavior during the storm. "It was so strange, to have so many buildings destroyed, and in such a random manner. I want to make sure we build them sturdy enough to last, this time."

For perhaps the third time in thirty minutes, Rutile picks up their notebook, adjusts the pages, and puts it back down, laying their pencil on top of it. Surely someone else from the committee ought to be here by now...

"You haven't seen anyone out there, have you? I came early, and no one else I recognize has deigned to show up."

[annihilist]

Rutile truly hails from an alien world based on that description - though given that they're a gem, Devin more or less already knew that. For now, he'll allow the subject to drop, but he files the information away. Sore subjects always had the potential to be useful.

"That's an unpleasant threat to be looming over your shoulders all the time," is what Devin says instead, and leaves it there.

"There are different kinds of vampires depending on what world someone is from, just like humans," he continues, taking hold of the side of the wheelbarrow that the handle broke from so Rutile can continue to push it evenly. "In my world, vampires are undead creatures - I have no pulse, and I never have. Most vampires were formerly human and turned, but a few like me are born. We're unnatural fast and strong, with heightened senses; and most detestably of all, we are required to consume a measure of human blood to survive."

This last is said with a bitter smile, and far too casually for the clear distaste Devin has for his own kind.

[afoolsgold]

"...my burden is hardly yours to bear, and you've been so kind already."

"I have found most burdens are more easily carried when they are shared among friends." He lets the apology slide from him like water from feathers; it's unneeded, and it is clear to him that the pain eating Rutile up inside has been festering for some time.

The Fool gestures towards one of the stools at his table, a clear invitation and talk more. "Would you care to sit?"