Rutile (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rutility) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ioduanlogs2018-12-01 10:53 pm
rutility) wrote in ioduanlogs2018-12-01 10:53 pm
[december catch-all] once more, with feeling
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! ]
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! ]
E
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
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.
no subject
"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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
"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?"
no subject
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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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.)
no subject
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."
no subject
"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?"
no subject
Then, "You are right, I think, about sharing burdens. Maybe that is the problem. The one I used to confide in is gone, and has been for some time, though I did not notice it before."
no subject
"Padparadscha," he says quietly, and sighs as he slips into the seat across from his friend. A moment later and he drops his eyes, admitting, "I had wondered whether the Dreaming had taken them away. But I'd hoped--" A pause, and he grows quiet. His hopes are irrelevant, now.
Instead, very sincerely, he says, "I am sorry, Rutile."
no subject
Gems do not cry; they are not capable of it. But hairline fractures appear in Rutile's face, only partly hidden by their hands. Part of them dearly wants to tell the Fool all that happened, but a larger part is too ashamed to consider it.
"I think we were apart for too long," they say finally. "Padparadscha even told me so; it was one of the last things they said to me. I didn't think that they had changed so much. Or that I had. I was so attentive, I knew everything about them, everything... but it must not have been enough."
no subject
As for the rest--
"...I didn't think that they had changed so much. Or that I had. I was so attentive, I knew everything about them, everything... but it must not have been enough."
(It is impossible, in that moment, not to think of Fitz's shock upon encountering the Fool as Amber in Lord Golden's chambers.)
"Every heart holds hidden secrets--even those we hide from ourselves." If there is a gentle admonishment in his voice, it is kindly meant; he cannot pretend any real understanding of the bond that Rutile and Padparadscha shared, but he can recognize the hallmarks of emotional intimacy when he sees them. And while intimacy invites many wonderful things, above all else, it invites misunderstanding.
"Love alone is never enough," he says quietly, almost more to himself than to Rutile. He looks to them, at length, apologetic. "I'm sorry, I did not intend to tell you what you already know."