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! ]
no subject
"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."
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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."