[Viktor tells Palamedes, broadly, to chill out for a few days, after All That Shit goes down. And Palamedes, to his credit, agrees: he should keep to himself for a little while, or at least keep to Viktor and the Sanctuary, if nothing else than to be sure nothing in the sea corrupted him past normal levels. He enjoys Several Days Off, truly he does, and then the fact that he works at a literal hospital creeps up on his conscience and he insists: he must go to the Lumenarium, if only to be sure nothing has gone wrong in his absence.
The little flock of ministers is lost without him, after all. He arrives not to disaster, but to the kind of wary discomfort that he'd expected from the boardwalk, from what he's heard— except every one of his little flock tells him, no, it's nothing, it's just... the new guy.
Palamedes can't deny being curious and a little excited about a new Sleeper colleague, and so he makes a point to seek out this New Guy as soon as he's able. He expects someone maybe a little serious? Maybe a little intense? Not someone, ah, passed out in the breakroom with a few empty vials on the floor nearby, along with... is that a pair of gloves dug out of the biohazard disposal? Good god.
Palamedes makes his approach. He stoops to pick up a vial. He raises an eyebrow at it, then down at the illustrious new guy, and nudges him in the kidney with his bony knee. Wake up, sunshine.]
[dreams are, in daniil's opinion, a dragging affair. the curse of a light sleeper maybe, that the quality of said dreams remain more vividly in mind as he wakes, often unsettled.
tonight a beak looms and tuts, says you can't teach the old dog new tricks, but the old ones have their charm, don't they? it says i really wasn't scripted for a new set here, i don't know the new rules any better. don't look at me so, some beats never change, do they?
daniil says something like fuck off, just as a weight lands somewhere at his abdomen and-]
Hngh. [is the first thing he says to pal. the second thing he does more than says is a half-awake grappling for something, which happens to be a gun, which he points at pal. the third is a slow blink before the gun is lowered.
finger still on the trigger though. thank gods for morphine, his skin doesn't feel like screaming quite as much.] What is it? Who are you?
[Who let this man into a hospital with a gun? Palamedes' raised eyebrow arches even higher, just looking at the thing, with all the unearned confidence of a guy who has never been shot and still doesn't know all that much about guns. He's got the concept down? Luckily, his natural resting bitch face covers for his gun-based ignorance in this matter.
But he knows guns aren't supposed to be in a hospital, that one's easy. This week has been far too long to deal with this, even counting his very magical days off, augh—]
The Warden. This is my wing, [Mostly true in spirit if not officially--] and you're using up my supplies.
The staff told me you came here to work; [he gestures towards the door, for Staff, and then at Daniil's personal mess, for this:] what are you doing?
[the gun does get tucked away finally, though the animal part of daniil's brain twitches to let go. he runs a hand over his face, just a moment's respite before squinting at the actual beanpole of a creature before him.]
Ah, like a prison. You are the one they must cluck about. This or that, Palamedes won't stand for it. That is you? Palamedes?
[he draws himself up, as much as he would dearly love to roll over and attempt a few more hours. the fact he is still looking up at palamedes is annoying, if not unexpected. scarecrow with glasses. despite it he's glad there's someone who seems to have their head on right.
well, aside from one tiny complaint]
I did work, and have been working, so I will hear no complaints of my work ethic, sir. I was hardly the one off and about during a severe storm and irritated mob.
[Score one for not being shot at, good work Palamedes for this victory. He crosses his arms and waits for Daniil to get up, a thing he should not have to do, because morphine naps are not what this room is for, good god.]
That's me. I'm in the process of not standing for it, if you were curious.
[But aw, his wee flock, they did good to at least mutter their complaints. He'll teach them to show a little spine yet. And— what is this, a criticism of his well-earned days off? Yes, and?? Shall he unring that bell? He scoffs and holds up the empty vial, waving it significantly in front of Daniil's face, pointedly.]
I'm complaining about this. This is for patients, not staff. Helping yourself to the medicine isn't your reward for doing a shift or two.
[He gestures for Daniil to take the empty vial back; this is his trash, after all. Jerk.]
If you want to check yourself in as a patient, use the proper channels.
[the irritating thing is he can't fault palamedes for this, even if he snatches the vial, shoulders tensing. it looks... hm, unfortunate. like he's some wayward and addicted soul sleeping off a bender.
which he is not, thank you dr beanpole. he tucks the bottle away too (waste not want not) and attempts for civil instead of glowering. it is a moderate success.]
Reward- it was a medical necessity that I will not clog our already bloated system with the paperwork of just to be prodded at by your little- by our colleagues.
[an exhale from his nose. ok. trying again.] Fine, if this is a matter of payment then what do you wish to trade to make up the deficit? I understand there is no currency in this wretched place.
Oh, he doesn't believe in record-keeping! [Please, where is the audience groaning to really underline Palamedes' fussy despair in this moment. He can only throw his hands up and then take to rubbing his temples, like, he won't do paperwork... about using up medical supplies either, probably... That's inventory! Fuck!!]
I shouldn't need to tell you why letting our supplies slip through the cracks unmonitored is a bad idea. Just because you're frustrated with paperwork— what were you thinking, really?
[Because he doesn't buy "already bloated system" as, like, a valid defense, that's stupid. The system, needed overhaul and prodding colleagues or no, does not excuse stealing supplies from a hospital!! He presses his fingers harder into his temples for a long moment before he actually loses his temper, eyes closed, before he can handle trying to explain moral concepts like this again.
Okay. Alright. He's good.]
I want you to fill out your fucking paperwork— [no. nope. temper. take two,] We're running a place of healing here, not a hobby shop. Don't pay me; fill out the paperwork for use of inventory and then replace what you took.
Of course I marked it off for inventory you- [temper 2.0 as well, born mostly from again, it's infuriating how right this man is. did he really let that god damned hellhole of a town drag him down this far-
his jaw works, irritated that any answer he can give anywhere close to the truth is too painfully pathetic to offer. things like this is one of the only places that felt even remotely safe to sleep in, thank you, or that he cannot go bartering with his blood for morphine when he isn't sure his wretched, infected blood might not be dangerous on more levels than he'd care to picture. who knows what these heathens did with the stuff anyway, and what else is he supposed to do when he desperately needs the rest pain will not allow?
ugh. there is an obvious moment of struggling not to snap and say more, leave it a bitter back and forth. 'hobby shop' nearly sends him down that spiral but he musters enough composure to return merely a hard stare.] I cannot replace it, so I would hope that payment in the form of my service will suffice. One I can get back to now, if you would be so kind, dear colleague.
[Too bad for that thick irony, that Palamedes would offer far more sympathy if Daniil just voiced any of his problems or legitimate medical needs, but then he'd be all empathetic and it would be infuriating in the other direction. So instead, he can only stand there and continue frowning, waiting for Daniil to come up with something. Must he go check the inventory records? Or worse, repeat himself and say that the point is using the supplies!!
So, he will wait out this struggle. See, the thing is, he would like some more morphine to put on some shelves, on principle. Maybe everyone needs to have a minister meeting about consequences for actions, he'll think about it.]
What work have you been doing? You were tattled on for plenty of things; I've heard you refused to complete a single training shift.
The Sanctuary. He's a little nervous going back there, since people seem to dislike him now - he shouldn't care, he doesn't care - but he doesn't really have a choice but to go through with what he said he was going to do. He heads there without much trouble - it's kind of a big building so it's not easy to miss. He hesitates and then knocks on the door, waiting for the guy who said he could cut paper.
"Palamedes?" He's shown inside, down to the guy's office.
Palamedes' office is just off the main cloisters, luckily, so it isn't a far or particularly confusing walk in this seemingly endless building to get there. The place is a little dusty and about a quarter still in disorganized disrepair, mostly the weird cluster of covered paintings and half-broken busts crowding a corner behind the desk at the far end, for his other art project. In front of the desk are two old but squishy armchairs, for guests. The man himself is standing at said desk, deeply considering two different stacks of paper: a lovely cream colored one and one that looks like a construction paper variety pack, or this world's equivalent.
It's a serious matter. He looks up at the sound of footsteps in the doorway, recognizing the kid from the two seconds of video he had on the omni, aha.
"Oh, you found it! Come in, I haven't picked the paper yet." He gestures, come in, come in, the volunteer guide can go, come in. "Grab a seat."
He stops and looks around the office, staring at the books a little longer than is probably polite. The whole room is amazing and he wants to explore a lot of it, but that wouldn't be right. He turns to look at Palamedes and nods.
"All right..." He walks over and looks at the paper, a little lost but still trying to hold it together. He finds a seat and dusts it off for a moment before sitting down. His posture is stiff, a little formal - he's clearly trying too hard. "I don't know if the paper matters all that much..."
Oh— oh, he sure is trying too hard, that's sweet in its way. Palamedes magnanimously doesn't point it out, simply gesturing broadly over his desk like, actually, this paper is crucial— for him, anyway. He's particular.
"It probably doesn't, you're right. But— I've been told, nay, criticized about my personal aesthetic," One might here glance and clock that he is dressed head to toe in various shades of gray and gray only, that aesthetic. "And so the question is now: uniform cream, or complete nonsense chaos?"
He gestures to each pile as he names them, then looks up from the desk pointedly. It is time... to choose.
He glances up and down - yeah, he can see why. At least he has color in his outfit - black shirt, but blue jeans. "Let me think..." What has he usually seen at festivals?
He points to the multicolored paper. "Those would be more familiar to people from worlds like mine. Blue and red and yellow... all sorts of colors. I'm sure that others wouldn't be too out of place."
There, that's one meaningless decision down. At least there's that, and he won't have to think about it. "It's been a while since I went to a festival." They were too locked down by the army to go anywhere with a lot of people. Too dangerous.
"Colorful paper it is," he says, with a nod like this has been a serious and businesslike decision. He opens a desk drawer to slide the cream paper into, then sits properly at the desk to start sorting the colored paper into distinct piles. Technically, Allen had mentioned red and gold to him, but there's no harm in slipping in some blues and greens as well, is there? Absolutely not. He's doing it.
He glances up from his sorting. "I've never been to one. At best, I've been to a handful of parties."
Literally, a handful; if he got out more he wouldn't be dressed in grayscale, probably, maybe. "Do you know this one well, then? What usually happens, besides the wishes?"
It seems a little silly, but simply making a decision has him feeling... a little better? He's not quite sure why. He thinks about it, trying to remember everything that happens.
"There's the wishes, which get burned or sent on the water to get rid of them. There's usually a lot of colorful streamers and stuff too. Paper ornaments, sometimes. There's usually a lot of food like takoyaki or yakitori. There's a whole thing with booths that sell food and have carnival games and that kind of stuff. Sometimes people wear yukata, too."
He remembers running around with some of the other kids in his neighborhood, seeing what kinds of games there were to play. He'd only attended in recent years begrudgingly, and usually because he was in charge of watching Kana.
The wishes get what now, that's news. He thought they were just going to put them on the tree, but burning is a fascinating new idea. Huh. He raises an eyebrow, thinking about it, nodding along as he listens to the rest.
Here's the thing: "I've never been to a carnival, either. Here, take this-" as he passes over a kind of ornate, old-timey pair of scissors, for the paper cutting, and picks up his own, "You've got me beat for this entire thing. If they do pull off a festival, I'll need you to tell me the most efficient way to have the best time."
This is not a bit. Like, it's definitely a little bit what it seems to overtly be: a tactic to help this kid feel more accepted, but it's also not not true. Palamedes has never been to a carnival and only barely knows what paper ornaments and so on are. He could actually use a guide.
"I... see." He takes the scissors, staring at them for a moment, then sets them down as he folds the paper to make creases. All the easier to cut along. Once he folds them he picks up the scissors to start cutting a few of the pieces of paper.
"It's not really about efficiency. And a lot of the fun is just wandering and seeing people and places. As much as I like things being neat and efficient... having a good time isn't really something you can always plan."
If there was a magic recipe for efficient fun, he would have sought it out a long time ago.
"You don't say." Snip snip, down the middle of this sheet of paper. "We'll try it your way, then; wandering around and seeing people. Do you like animals?"
Not that there's going to be a petting zoo, or anything, but, "My partner's omen will probably be there until the fireworks start. She's a giant pink lizard and she'll almost certainly bump her whole face into your knees if you're with me. That's how she says hello."
Itinerary for fun: gone. Plan to introduce this kid to a big lizard: definitely not gone, he's set on it.
'We'? That implies that he's going, Palamedes. He nods at the question though. "I wanted to be a zoologist when I got older. Maybe focus on marine biology." He'd gone to the science camp willingly, after all. Kana joining just wasn't part of the initial idea.
His hands shake for a moment as he pushes away the thoughts of his adopted sister. Not now. He can get upset again later. Just focus on the now.
"My omen doesn't show up much... I guess he knows I prefer to not have him bug me. He's a golden retriever. I don't really know why. He probably weighs close to as much as I do." He's a very big dog and Jun is a very skinny nerd.
Oh, he is going. He's helping cut paper, he ought to go. Palamedes glances up from his paper cutting, appropriately interested - they don't have zoologists on the Sixth, mostly because they don't have animals. Even if he isn't a huge fan of the sea, that must be an interesting job.
"Mine is a... terrible bird," he offers, but with unmistakable fondness. She may be a giant harpy eagle, the name of which he does not know and has never learned, but she's his horrible raptor. He waves his freshly cut paper strips idly, like, that omen! What a card! "I let her keep to herself. She'll be perched nearby, somewhere outside.
"I'm not sure the omens follow any kind of rule for how they form, necessarily. Yours must like being a dog."
He shrugs at that. "I guess he must. He keeps showing up when I'm trying to go to sleep, flopping on me like he's trying to be a blanket. But it's July, it's too hot for a blanket, even here." He grumbles a little as he cuts some more strips, doing his best to keep them even.
"A lot of things here don't seem to follow any sort or rules. Magic doesn't exist where I'm from, and it's not exactly an easy thing to wrap my head around." He hunches his shoulders, letting his hair fall in front of his face a little. "At least when something big happened on my world it had some sort of scientific explanation to it."
Quantum physics, or something like that. Something he doesn't have the math for yet, something that's beyond him. But he knows it's not magic, it's science. It has to be. The magic here must follow rules, too.
"He's lonely," Palamedes offers, with a shrug. Surely it is just the dog that is lonely, and no one else. "I'm sure you'll work something out."
He puts his scissors down a moment to stack up the already cut strips, tapping the edge to see if they're all the same width. Not that this necessarily matters, but it matters to him, for aesthetic purposes... Anyway.
"Most magic is scientific in nature, in my experience," he says, after a moment. "The medium might be different than the chemistry you're used to, but I've yet to encounter a type of magic that just happens— there has to be a source, and a medium, and a specific way to manifest a result. Thinking of it that way, most magic is at least a physical science. Until you start messing with the presciences."
"Maybe." Surely it's that and nothing else. It's not like he's lonely. There's no reason he would be.
He continues cutting the strips, doing his own best to keep them even. Some are a little wobbly, but it's fine. He's not a professional and he's not trying to be. "I guess you're right... it still is hard to grasp since the cause and effect seem so... disconnected? At least from my point of view."
Hm. "Though I guess you could say something like that about the teleportation we used to get around with the robot... it's quantum physics, somehow... but I'm just in junior high school..." He sighs and squares his shoulders. "It's. A lot. To try to reorganize your worldview when something tips it upside down."
Wiggly wishes give them more character; it's perfectly fine. Palamedes' strict adherences to aesthetics has nothing to do with the festival, so who knows - maybe the unique shapes will be a big hit.
"How old is 'junior high school'? I've never heard of it." The perks of being from Mercury: no junior high. The cons of being from Mercury: school was everything, all the time, so actually a lot of junior high.
In any case, that question is enough support on its own for when he says, "I've had to turn myself upside down a dozen times, since coming here. It's been a ride. Viktor- have you met Viktor?- throws around words like 'teleportation' like they're nothing at all; maybe his explanations of these things will make more sense to you than mine do." He is, fundamentally, a wizard and not an engineer, after all.
"It's about twelve to fifteen. I'm thirteen." The ages can get a little wiggly, depending on when in the year you were born, but he's in seventh grade. Or was, at least.
"I haven't met Viktor. Maybe I should... it'd be nice to know at least the people who are more science than magic. It might give me a better foundation to look at these things from. I'm... still trying to understand how that guy made ice out of his hands." Shouto, he's talking about. But he never really got the guy's name, nor did he really care eto.
He sets a stack of paper down and looks around the room. "This place is huge... are the books organized in any way, or are they just random like how the Archives are?"
"Oh," Palamedes says, because thirteen is absolutely when he tested out of school forever, but he doubts that's going to be a very-- inspirational tidbit to have. So, "That's a decent while."
As far as the science types, though, well - hyping up Viktor is one of his all-time favorite activities, which definitely comes through with his glowing review, "Viktor is brilliant; he's the reason half the things in this building work properly. I've never met anyone with a head for machines as impressive as his. He's claimed a study here, a few corridors over; I can show you the way, later."
He will eagerly and enthusiastically bring Viktor science-minded teens to talk to about science, for sure.
"As for the books, I'm not a useless fraud like that Never Mind, so no— they're not random. The shelves back here by the desk are mine, that I brought over. Closer to the door," and the shelf seemingly entirely dedicated to an old inkwell and pen, "are the ones I could salvage from the debris, when we first uncovered this room. Upstairs in the loft is where I've been putting the fiction."
"Yes... you're generally in school until you're seventeen or eighteen, and then you can go to university. A lot of people do." It's what he wanted to do, but... well. He'll have to settle for the school here, if they're teaching anything worth learning.
"I see. I'm not one for machines usually, but I don't mind learning about them. I know the basics as to how some machines work, but I never got in depth." He can explain a pulley or a lever, but that's about it. "I'd appreciate the guidance."
He snorts at the insult to the Pthumerian and glances up... huh. He's not a fiction reader, but that seems like a strange place to put fiction. Oh, well. "Good. It drives me nuts, how they're not organized at all..."
"Huh! Education where I'm from ends with your aptitude, generally— age isn't a part of it so much as proof of practical skill and exam scores." An age-based system sounds incredibly foreign and novel to him, as a result; he's sure he'd have hated every minute of it. Being in school when one could be out making progress, just for age... eugh.
"Viktor will open your eyes, I'm sure. He's got a laser, and everything." So cool!! Ah, and as he follows that gaze up (there is a couch up there, at least), "At least you're a person of good sense. That Never Mind-- if someone showed him a proper card catalog I'm sure he'd lose his mind spectacularly. I try to avoid going there if I can."
"If it ended with aptitude I'd have tested higher than where I was. As it is, the others on the science camp trip with me weren't... all the highest scoring students, I think. We came from different schools all over the country though, so they all at least had some aptitude... or were forced by their parents to go." He can't imagine Anko going on that trip without being forced.
"A laser? In this place?" He'd suspected most of the technology would be basic, but a laser is intriguing. "Maybe one will wash up on shore some day... things keep showing up there, right?" It's not impossible. "Though most card catalogues I know of are digital these days."
Oh, and that might sound like a smarmy little braggart teenager thing to anyone else, but Palamedes hears 'I'd have tested higher' and shoots Jun a knowing smirk, like, that's the spirit. That's some age-old smart kid confidence, and he can respect that. He, too, would have tested out of junior high, if he had to go and it was an option.
"A laser," he confirms, and then with the same sort of wow-Viktor-is-so-great enthusiasm, "He built it. If he could build a card catalog generator I'm sure he would, but instead, we're forced to suffer through Never Mind's nonsense."
He's not so bold as to think that he'd test out of school entirely, but he definitely reads at a higher grade than his peers at the very least. But on to other things, which are also exciting. Because really? He's not even sure how you'd make a laser here.
"I don't like things that aren't organized somehow. I work in a bar and some of the liquor gets switched out with stuff that clearly isn't the same but we have no labels for some of them and it drives me a little insane." He's trying. He's trying so hard to organize things. Manabu is also trying very hard. "There's fiction and nonfiction all mixed together... at the very least those two should be separate."
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heartbreaking: the worst person you know just made great point (daniil)
The little flock of ministers is lost without him, after all. He arrives not to disaster, but to the kind of wary discomfort that he'd expected from the boardwalk, from what he's heard— except every one of his little flock tells him, no, it's nothing, it's just... the new guy.
Palamedes can't deny being curious and a little excited about a new Sleeper colleague, and so he makes a point to seek out this New Guy as soon as he's able. He expects someone maybe a little serious? Maybe a little intense? Not someone, ah, passed out in the breakroom with a few empty vials on the floor nearby, along with... is that a pair of gloves dug out of the biohazard disposal? Good god.
Palamedes makes his approach. He stoops to pick up a vial. He raises an eyebrow at it, then down at the illustrious new guy, and nudges him in the kidney with his bony knee. Wake up, sunshine.]
This is a gross misuse of resources.
no subject
tonight a beak looms and tuts, says you can't teach the old dog new tricks, but the old ones have their charm, don't they? it says i really wasn't scripted for a new set here, i don't know the new rules any better. don't look at me so, some beats never change, do they?
daniil says something like fuck off, just as a weight lands somewhere at his abdomen and-]
Hngh. [is the first thing he says to pal. the second thing he does more than says is a half-awake grappling for something, which happens to be a gun, which he points at pal. the third is a slow blink before the gun is lowered.
finger still on the trigger though. thank gods for morphine, his skin doesn't feel like screaming quite as much.] What is it? Who are you?
no subject
But he knows guns aren't supposed to be in a hospital, that one's easy. This week has been far too long to deal with this, even counting his very magical days off, augh—]
The Warden. This is my wing, [Mostly true in spirit if not officially--] and you're using up my supplies.
The staff told me you came here to work; [he gestures towards the door, for Staff, and then at Daniil's personal mess, for this:] what are you doing?
no subject
Ah, like a prison. You are the one they must cluck about. This or that, Palamedes won't stand for it. That is you? Palamedes?
[he draws himself up, as much as he would dearly love to roll over and attempt a few more hours. the fact he is still looking up at palamedes is annoying, if not unexpected. scarecrow with glasses. despite it he's glad there's someone who seems to have their head on right.
well, aside from one tiny complaint]
I did work, and have been working, so I will hear no complaints of my work ethic, sir. I was hardly the one off and about during a severe storm and irritated mob.
no subject
That's me. I'm in the process of not standing for it, if you were curious.
[But aw, his wee flock, they did good to at least mutter their complaints. He'll teach them to show a little spine yet. And— what is this, a criticism of his well-earned days off? Yes, and?? Shall he unring that bell? He scoffs and holds up the empty vial, waving it significantly in front of Daniil's face, pointedly.]
I'm complaining about this. This is for patients, not staff. Helping yourself to the medicine isn't your reward for doing a shift or two.
[He gestures for Daniil to take the empty vial back; this is his trash, after all. Jerk.]
If you want to check yourself in as a patient, use the proper channels.
no subject
which he is not, thank you dr beanpole. he tucks the bottle away too (waste not want not) and attempts for civil instead of glowering. it is a moderate success.]
Reward- it was a medical necessity that I will not clog our already bloated system with the paperwork of just to be prodded at by your little- by our colleagues.
[an exhale from his nose. ok. trying again.] Fine, if this is a matter of payment then what do you wish to trade to make up the deficit? I understand there is no currency in this wretched place.
no subject
I shouldn't need to tell you why letting our supplies slip through the cracks unmonitored is a bad idea. Just because you're frustrated with paperwork— what were you thinking, really?
[Because he doesn't buy "already bloated system" as, like, a valid defense, that's stupid. The system, needed overhaul and prodding colleagues or no, does not excuse stealing supplies from a hospital!! He presses his fingers harder into his temples for a long moment before he actually loses his temper, eyes closed, before he can handle trying to explain moral concepts like this again.
Okay. Alright. He's good.]
I want you to fill out your fucking paperwork— [no. nope. temper. take two,] We're running a place of healing here, not a hobby shop. Don't pay me; fill out the paperwork for use of inventory and then replace what you took.
no subject
his jaw works, irritated that any answer he can give anywhere close to the truth is too painfully pathetic to offer. things like this is one of the only places that felt even remotely safe to sleep in, thank you, or that he cannot go bartering with his blood for morphine when he isn't sure his wretched, infected blood might not be dangerous on more levels than he'd care to picture. who knows what these heathens did with the stuff anyway, and what else is he supposed to do when he desperately needs the rest pain will not allow?
ugh. there is an obvious moment of struggling not to snap and say more, leave it a bitter back and forth. 'hobby shop' nearly sends him down that spiral but he musters enough composure to return merely a hard stare.] I cannot replace it, so I would hope that payment in the form of my service will suffice. One I can get back to now, if you would be so kind, dear colleague.
no subject
So, he will wait out this struggle. See, the thing is, he would like some more morphine to put on some shelves, on principle. Maybe everyone needs to have a minister meeting about consequences for actions, he'll think about it.]
What work have you been doing? You were tattled on for plenty of things; I've heard you refused to complete a single training shift.
[It's time for your training arc, little dude.]
The Nerd With The Paper
The Sanctuary. He's a little nervous going back there, since people seem to dislike him now - he shouldn't care, he doesn't care - but he doesn't really have a choice but to go through with what he said he was going to do. He heads there without much trouble - it's kind of a big building so it's not easy to miss. He hesitates and then knocks on the door, waiting for the guy who said he could cut paper.
"Palamedes?" He's shown inside, down to the guy's office.
no subject
It's a serious matter. He looks up at the sound of footsteps in the doorway, recognizing the kid from the two seconds of video he had on the omni, aha.
"Oh, you found it! Come in, I haven't picked the paper yet." He gestures, come in, come in, the volunteer guide can go, come in. "Grab a seat."
no subject
"All right..." He walks over and looks at the paper, a little lost but still trying to hold it together. He finds a seat and dusts it off for a moment before sitting down. His posture is stiff, a little formal - he's clearly trying too hard. "I don't know if the paper matters all that much..."
no subject
"It probably doesn't, you're right. But— I've been told, nay, criticized about my personal aesthetic," One might here glance and clock that he is dressed head to toe in various shades of gray and gray only, that aesthetic. "And so the question is now: uniform cream, or complete nonsense chaos?"
He gestures to each pile as he names them, then looks up from the desk pointedly. It is time... to choose.
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He points to the multicolored paper. "Those would be more familiar to people from worlds like mine. Blue and red and yellow... all sorts of colors. I'm sure that others wouldn't be too out of place."
There, that's one meaningless decision down. At least there's that, and he won't have to think about it. "It's been a while since I went to a festival." They were too locked down by the army to go anywhere with a lot of people. Too dangerous.
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He glances up from his sorting. "I've never been to one. At best, I've been to a handful of parties."
Literally, a handful; if he got out more he wouldn't be dressed in grayscale, probably, maybe. "Do you know this one well, then? What usually happens, besides the wishes?"
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"There's the wishes, which get burned or sent on the water to get rid of them. There's usually a lot of colorful streamers and stuff too. Paper ornaments, sometimes. There's usually a lot of food like takoyaki or yakitori. There's a whole thing with booths that sell food and have carnival games and that kind of stuff. Sometimes people wear yukata, too."
He remembers running around with some of the other kids in his neighborhood, seeing what kinds of games there were to play. He'd only attended in recent years begrudgingly, and usually because he was in charge of watching Kana.
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Here's the thing: "I've never been to a carnival, either. Here, take this-" as he passes over a kind of ornate, old-timey pair of scissors, for the paper cutting, and picks up his own, "You've got me beat for this entire thing. If they do pull off a festival, I'll need you to tell me the most efficient way to have the best time."
This is not a bit. Like, it's definitely a little bit what it seems to overtly be: a tactic to help this kid feel more accepted, but it's also not not true. Palamedes has never been to a carnival and only barely knows what paper ornaments and so on are. He could actually use a guide.
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"It's not really about efficiency. And a lot of the fun is just wandering and seeing people and places. As much as I like things being neat and efficient... having a good time isn't really something you can always plan."
If there was a magic recipe for efficient fun, he would have sought it out a long time ago.
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Not that there's going to be a petting zoo, or anything, but, "My partner's omen will probably be there until the fireworks start. She's a giant pink lizard and she'll almost certainly bump her whole face into your knees if you're with me. That's how she says hello."
Itinerary for fun: gone. Plan to introduce this kid to a big lizard: definitely not gone, he's set on it.
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His hands shake for a moment as he pushes away the thoughts of his adopted sister. Not now. He can get upset again later. Just focus on the now.
"My omen doesn't show up much... I guess he knows I prefer to not have him bug me. He's a golden retriever. I don't really know why. He probably weighs close to as much as I do." He's a very big dog and Jun is a very skinny nerd.
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"Mine is a... terrible bird," he offers, but with unmistakable fondness. She may be a giant harpy eagle, the name of which he does not know and has never learned, but she's his horrible raptor. He waves his freshly cut paper strips idly, like, that omen! What a card! "I let her keep to herself. She'll be perched nearby, somewhere outside.
"I'm not sure the omens follow any kind of rule for how they form, necessarily. Yours must like being a dog."
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"A lot of things here don't seem to follow any sort or rules. Magic doesn't exist where I'm from, and it's not exactly an easy thing to wrap my head around." He hunches his shoulders, letting his hair fall in front of his face a little. "At least when something big happened on my world it had some sort of scientific explanation to it."
Quantum physics, or something like that. Something he doesn't have the math for yet, something that's beyond him. But he knows it's not magic, it's science. It has to be. The magic here must follow rules, too.
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He puts his scissors down a moment to stack up the already cut strips, tapping the edge to see if they're all the same width. Not that this necessarily matters, but it matters to him, for aesthetic purposes... Anyway.
"Most magic is scientific in nature, in my experience," he says, after a moment. "The medium might be different than the chemistry you're used to, but I've yet to encounter a type of magic that just happens— there has to be a source, and a medium, and a specific way to manifest a result. Thinking of it that way, most magic is at least a physical science. Until you start messing with the presciences."
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He continues cutting the strips, doing his own best to keep them even. Some are a little wobbly, but it's fine. He's not a professional and he's not trying to be. "I guess you're right... it still is hard to grasp since the cause and effect seem so... disconnected? At least from my point of view."
Hm. "Though I guess you could say something like that about the teleportation we used to get around with the robot... it's quantum physics, somehow... but I'm just in junior high school..." He sighs and squares his shoulders. "It's. A lot. To try to reorganize your worldview when something tips it upside down."
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"How old is 'junior high school'? I've never heard of it." The perks of being from Mercury: no junior high. The cons of being from Mercury: school was everything, all the time, so actually a lot of junior high.
In any case, that question is enough support on its own for when he says, "I've had to turn myself upside down a dozen times, since coming here. It's been a ride. Viktor- have you met Viktor?- throws around words like 'teleportation' like they're nothing at all; maybe his explanations of these things will make more sense to you than mine do." He is, fundamentally, a wizard and not an engineer, after all.
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"I haven't met Viktor. Maybe I should... it'd be nice to know at least the people who are more science than magic. It might give me a better foundation to look at these things from. I'm... still trying to understand how that guy made ice out of his hands." Shouto, he's talking about. But he never really got the guy's name, nor did he really care eto.
He sets a stack of paper down and looks around the room. "This place is huge... are the books organized in any way, or are they just random like how the Archives are?"
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As far as the science types, though, well - hyping up Viktor is one of his all-time favorite activities, which definitely comes through with his glowing review, "Viktor is brilliant; he's the reason half the things in this building work properly. I've never met anyone with a head for machines as impressive as his. He's claimed a study here, a few corridors over; I can show you the way, later."
He will eagerly and enthusiastically bring Viktor science-minded teens to talk to about science, for sure.
"As for the books, I'm not a useless fraud like that Never Mind, so no— they're not random. The shelves back here by the desk are mine, that I brought over. Closer to the door," and the shelf seemingly entirely dedicated to an old inkwell and pen, "are the ones I could salvage from the debris, when we first uncovered this room. Upstairs in the loft is where I've been putting the fiction."
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"I see. I'm not one for machines usually, but I don't mind learning about them. I know the basics as to how some machines work, but I never got in depth." He can explain a pulley or a lever, but that's about it. "I'd appreciate the guidance."
He snorts at the insult to the Pthumerian and glances up... huh. He's not a fiction reader, but that seems like a strange place to put fiction. Oh, well. "Good. It drives me nuts, how they're not organized at all..."
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"Viktor will open your eyes, I'm sure. He's got a laser, and everything." So cool!! Ah, and as he follows that gaze up (there is a couch up there, at least), "At least you're a person of good sense. That Never Mind-- if someone showed him a proper card catalog I'm sure he'd lose his mind spectacularly. I try to avoid going there if I can."
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"A laser? In this place?" He'd suspected most of the technology would be basic, but a laser is intriguing. "Maybe one will wash up on shore some day... things keep showing up there, right?" It's not impossible. "Though most card catalogues I know of are digital these days."
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"A laser," he confirms, and then with the same sort of wow-Viktor-is-so-great enthusiasm, "He built it. If he could build a card catalog generator I'm sure he would, but instead, we're forced to suffer through Never Mind's nonsense."
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"I don't like things that aren't organized somehow. I work in a bar and some of the liquor gets switched out with stuff that clearly isn't the same but we have no labels for some of them and it drives me a little insane." He's trying. He's trying so hard to organize things. Manabu is also trying very hard. "There's fiction and nonfiction all mixed together... at the very least those two should be separate."