Difference Between Us [Ambrose & Audi]

There was resistance, but that ceased to matter-- the thing, whatever it was, existed. And, Ambrose was determined to keep it. He grasped onto it tighter, no longer pulling but making sure that what he had would remain 'his.'

let it pass--
Shut up.

And then, he heard words-- the rat woman, Audi. He heard his name, another thing he could grasp onto, and blinked hard. When he re-opened his eyes, the scenery was back. The physical world had returned.

Ambrose looked down at the object and slowly followed the coil up to its owner. Why was he--? He attempted to remember the white. Something had happened, something important had clicked, but it was slipping away before he knew to grasp it. He looked up at Audi and, with his mind clouded once more, pieced together the question:

"What happened?"

Audi was far from wanting to deny him grabbing onto her tail, if that's what he wanted or needed, she just wished she knew what was going on. A bit nervously, she noted the fingers coiling tighter around it.

Just as suddenly as he had gone, he was back. She just kept staring with a bit of curiosity, half-expecting him to drop off again. "You tell me." She shrugged. She looked him up and down, her nose twitching. Well, at least he wasn't dead... yet, but he didn't look much better at all. Audi felt conflicted, on one hand wanting to get away from him so that she would not be responsible for whatever happened to him, and on the other actually wanting to help... and not knowing how. For now, she just kept an eye on him, clearing her dry throat. "Are you very ill...?"

As if talking could help anything.

That look she gave . . . Something did happen, but what? One minute, he was trying to remember . . . something, and the next . . . There were only pieces, not the full picture. He relaxed the grip on Audi's tail, not remembering why he had grabbed it in the first place. He didn't let go completely, though.

He shook his head at the rat woman's demand, not because he wouldn't but because it was impossible. He hated that. He hated not knowing, not understanding when the answer should have been right there. Ambrose attempted to answer her question, at least, with his increasingly-limited words.

"Maybe." He hated that word; what was worse was specifying the problem. He owed at least one answer to her, but Their snickering was already forming-- "In the mind." Because as much as he wanted to prove Them wrong, to prove the asylum wrong, there was something going on in there. And, it was not in his control.

Audi sighed, feeling utterly helpless. The tail in Ambrose's hand moved slightly as she shifted in her seat. 'Maybe'. As far as she could see, there were no 'maybe's; in one way or another, he was ill. And if it was a mind-illness, then all the worse... With a sudden thought and newfound interest, Audi leaned forward a bit. Maybe his... essence... was corrupt. Too bad she could not tell - being able to examine -- or manipulate -- the souls of living beings was a skill way above her.

For now, at least.

She glanced to the cockroaches, then back to Ambrose. Tilting her head, she stared at him a moment before speaking. "Has this happened before?"

Maybe there was something to be done yet.

He expected Them in an uproar but only received a few snickers; that by itself was alarming.  Why didn't They laugh when They had every right to?  They knew something he didn't; that had to be it.  That 'something' was the question . . .

He let go of the rat woman's tail, no longer needing the hold nor remembering the original reason for it.  Audi's reaction was not of disapproval, a refreshing turn from the usual judgement.  She wanted to help, and Ambrose was going to accept it.  He looked directly at her while he spoke.

"Yes," he answered, attempting to remember the specifics but gaining no results.  He had been in this situation before-- a gap in his memory, a struggle he could not recall-- but not the actual occurrence.  "Many times . . .  Different reasons."  Some of those times had been blamed on Entropy; he could remember those vaguely as shades and emotions, even snippets of dialogue.  This was white, overwhelmingly so.  Which events were which would be the key.

"The haunting."  With Crowley and the trash monster-- his head ached with the mere remembrance.  "Garbage creature--" too many syllabuls, but he had to press forward-- "--in kitchen.  Crowley."  She could ask him for the details; the cook was in a slightly better state than he was.

Was that the first time?  There had to be another time.  The pause in-between dragged on for a minute before continuing: "Halloween.  Eleven," he specified, as two thousand twelve's event only brought good memories.  Metis . . .  "Pain.  White."  He waited another moment to regain his verbal strength, then: "Spasms."

Audi listened attentively, though as he went on, increasingly distracted with sudden panic. Was that by any chance how others perceived her? Sparing just bits of sentences, confident in the misled belief that what she meant was as clear to them as to her...? Nobody has ever misunderstood her completely, though, and what she said was never as... disjointed as Ambrose's strained-out memories.

But maybe she should still try to be clearer...

Her nose twitched. Back to the subject at hand. What he said told her very little -- not enough to draw any sort of conclusions. Longingly, she glanced to the piece of cardboard again. If only she could take the pins and just poke them into the boy's head to find where it was... but in this case, all she had in place of pins were questions, and his answers were that of a madman. What was she expecting, anyway?

The tail, now freed of Ambrose's grasp, thudded against the floor in frustration. "Don't breed." she muttered sourly under her breath as she stood up and turned around to add a few pieces of wood to the fireplace. After a moment of staring at the flames as they enveloped the new fuel, Audi spun around again, suddenly angry. "Why are you here, anyway?" With a wide gesture, she indicated she didn't mean just the room, but rather the whole island. "You're just a human."

She was a good listener.  Perhaps that was why he was telling her all of this-- that, and she could help.  Audi asked the right questions to do so.  Her first statement, though, was neither helpful nor a question.

"Fine," he managed, shrugging as his eyes turned towards the ground.  'Breeding'-- he had never thought of the word before, and now, its mere idea was sending spikes of pain up his forehead and back.  Children . . .  His thoughts turned towards Metis and the pain receded.  What would she think of such conversation?  Had she ever thought of it?  His face was turning visibly red with the possibilities.  He had never thought that far into their relationship.  They were happy together; that was enough for him.  Was it enough for her?

Lost in new thoughts, it took a moment to register Audi's venom.  His blush lingered, but, once he understood, it turned a more harsher hue, the red on his pale skin remaining in rage rather than embarrassment.  Of all the questions she could ask, she asked that?

"Some disagree," he managed to spit out before turning back to his thoughts of Metis, glaring not at the rat woman but up at Them.  Damn Them.  His gaze remained upward; he tried to return his mind to her . . . but, it was no use.  It was too clouded with Them to focus on Her, and whatever joy he had in thinking up a future with her had vanished.  The glare faded not to neutrality but something closer to sadness, a longing.

Squinting, she could see that Ambrose was doing the thing where blood rushed to the skin of the face, but the implications of it beside him being hot eluded her still. His expression, though, was not hard to read at all. She watched him for a moment, then turned up her nose and huffed. Right. Enough pointless chatting with crazies, she told herself, her time wasn't an unlimited resource she could just throw away willy-nilly. Demonstratively, she turned to face her laid out research again, but now it seemed just as pointless. The pins didn't actually grant her much more knowledge than questions aimed at Ambrose; the results were as seemingly random and uninterpretable. There was no logic, no rules, no predictability... oh, how she hated that...

No. Of course there were rules, just outside of the realm of her current comprehension. Audi took a deep breath, then turned a page in her notebook.

Damn Them, and damn this immortality he couldn't shake off due to Them.  It was obvious: They wanted him to remain Their toy forever.  He, as usual, had no say.  The anger was gone; he cast his eyes away.

When he turned back to her, expecting the usual reactions of concern and worry from others, she was continuing to be pragmatic.  The literal turn of a page.  It was disappointing-- What, Entropy; are you relying so much on their sympathy?  PATHETIC-- but refreshing.  She was taking a distant look at the problem, at all problems.  Good.

Ambrose did not want to interrupt her thought.  Audi had listened to her enough, and there was work to be done.  So, the boy got comfortable where he was, crossing his legs and polishing the rim of his coffee mug (cracked but still useable).  He wanted her to work.  And, if possible, he wanted her to share her findings.

After feeling around for her pen, Audi leaned over her notebook and slowly wrote down a sentence, placing the dot at the end decorously. Then, she sat up again and stared at it for a while. A line that ended up shaky was fixed. And then there really was nothing else to do. Sighing, she looked over the work-space, at the dead insects and those still futilely trying to escape from their glass prison. There was little apparent difference between dumb stubbornness and determination.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at the boy. It seemed that he was determined to stay.

Half just to occupy her hands, half to feign how busy she was, she started doodling over the empty page.

"So... Why are you here?" she said, eyes not leaving the paper. And again, it was not the empty night-time study that she meant. At least, not only it.

Ambrose was not originally patient; it was a skill he had learned from the asylum.  He thus found ways to occupy his hands and his mind as Audi wrote, polishing his diatoma from his pocket methodically and searching for Laughter's voice amongst Their masses.  He despised the diatoma, and his search gained no result, but he was doing something.  Time was never to be wasted, even while it was being spent waiting.  When Audi finally spoke, the diatoma was glistening.  Progress.

He composed his words carefully.  Her question was two-sided and deserved both; whether or not he could answer to both was the struggle.  "Sanctuary," he said at last, choosing to answer to the whole rather than to the specific.  The four syllabus were difficult to get out, but it was by far the most fitting word.  The original purpose of the academy was to escape from the wardens; only now was he stuck here.  He spoke the word without its luster and glory; sanctuary.  Not by choice. Not anymore.

Slowly, a confident in the placement of the lines, though shakily executed drawing began to emerge under her pencil. It wasn't a cockroach, or any specific insect as such; it seemed to be somewhere between an ant and a beetle, its wings and legs spread like rays of light.

Sanctuary. Audi rolled the word around in her head for a moment, giving no real sign that she had even heard it. Ambrose didn't seem to be terribly pleased about it. She supposed that being in need of a sanctuary such as this could be a hit to one's pride.

"I see." Having outlined the insect, she proceeded to fill in its internal anatomy, or, vague notions thereof. Maybe she should show more sensitivity on the matter, but... "Why do you need it?"

Why should she, really? She was curious, and if he didn't want to answer, he wouldn't have to. They were both free.

He flipped the diatoma in one hand, carefully studying the gleam on the surface rather than the actual etchings.  On the tails side, a clock tower at one post meridiem being struck by a bolt of forked lightning.  The other was smooth, unmarked, and blank.  He paused at his own reflection, listening carefully to the pencil scratches.  She was still working; good.  She needed to keep working.

He continued the pause at her question, considering the best wording possible.  Explaining the threat of the wardens and further asylum was difficult enough, but if he wanted to be comprehensive in his response and include Them, as well . . .  And, all within the confines of Their thoughts.  It took almost five minutes before he responded to her question:

"Escape from Their eyes," the 'they' referring to both Them proper and the wardens.  It would do for now.  His current situation, however, differed from the original; he started again not a minute later, his head ringing with the strain.  "They're still watching."  All of his remaining strength went into making this last statement spoken with all the venom necessary for comprehension.  THEY were still watching.

Before the answer came, Audi managed to conclude that it would not, as well as finish her drawing. She leaned back a little to get a better look. It wasn't very good, but not very bad either. A few spots within the insect were emphasized; the spots that caused death upon being stabbed into. The essential bits. For once, the word fit the thing it was supposed to be describing.

Her ear twitched when suddenly Ambrose's voice sounded in the quiet room again. She turned her head just enough to put him within her field of vision and side-eyed him critically. Right. He sounded simply crazy, but... he was on the Island after all. There had to be some sort of a real reason.

Audi let out a sigh, then reached for one of the cockroaches to pop it in her mouth and chew on it with loud crunching noises. They were pretty much useless for anything else at that point. Well, at least they were pretty tasty.

"Why?"

He nearly lost consciousness with those last words, the strain almost being too much-- but, with his fingers digging into the carpet, Ambrose managed well enough to keep awake and aware.  His coffee cup had refilled, too, by the 'grace' of the Them; the boy eagerly partook in the drink while Audi ate whatever it was she was eating up there.  Some of The Powers made gagging noises, but he ignored it.

It didn't take contemplation for Audi's simple question; Their reason was always the same and Their short-term goal around the same lines.  The coffee helped in his near-immediate answer:

"Sick amusement."

Four syllabuls that told it all; Ambrose took another swig from his coffee cup, already feeling more tired.  He couldn't fall asleep.  He would never fall asleep again.  He made a promise to himself of that, and he always told the truth.  He would never fall asleep; he would one day escape from Them.  And with that, he took a slow sip.

Having concluded that all that there was to be done was done, she could only twist around to face Ambrose again. The cup caught her eye briefly; didn't it seem empty just moments before? It was odd, but it wasn't like she paid any attention to it before to be sure she wasn't mistaken.

Ambrose himself was a much more interesting subject, and she watched him keenly as he downed his drink. Right... so because he was there on the Island, the assumption was that he had a reason. That there was truth to what he said. But as far as her, admittedly less than perfect, eye could see, there was nothing special to him at all.

The fire crackled behind them, and Audi became acutely aware of the circle of light they were enveloped in -- and how alone in it they were, with the rest of the castle asleep in the darkness. Once, she would have been scared, but now... nothing scared her anymore.

She tilted her head, squinting slightly, as if that could help her look in deeper.

"Why you?"

She was paying more attention to him than to her work; while Ambrose didn't like such distraction, the eager ear was nice.  Usually, it was he that acted as the unwilling hearer.  Her prying question irked him, though, to the point of downing the rest of his coffee in one swig.  He knew the answer well enough; it was Their jeers that was the problem.

". . . I volunteered," he answered once setting down the coffee cup, glaring at the container as a proxy for Them.  They hadn't told him the conditions to the power, and They never told him the consequences for refusing once figuring those conditions out.  Explaining such an aspect was difficult in the few words allowed to him, especially through Their hollers and the like.  And so, he left it at that, his coffee cup being refilled once more and he partaking once more.

At the answer, Audi couldn't help a sad smile, but as she looked at the worn-down boy before her, she found herself indifferent to his plight. Ambrose was... a colony-mate, as much as living at the same place made him, but he was not a friend. Ratfolk held little pity for those who couldn't work, especially if their disability was brought on by themselves. They were allowed to stay in the community, but barred from the main food-pile, making them squabble over scraps of edibles others discarded. If they couldn't earn their fill by labor, they would earn it by tooth and nail.

Humans clearly lived by less sensible rules.

She watched the cup go bottom-up again. It really should have been emptied by now... The strangeness of that only made her feel more detached; her kind had - rightfully - rejected her what felt like ages ago, but she didn't belong amongst these people, either.
She didn't belong anywhere. The only thing she had was the craft, but if she chanced upon another alchemist, they would scoff at best and try to kill her at worst. One day, she would vie for acceptance into the Guild. Maybe. She had to make something out of herself before she tried.

Slowly, Audi lifted her heavy gaze from the floor to which it had fallen to Ambrose's face. She was an outcast as much as he was, but Lillegard Castle wasn't a community of outcasts. There was no such community. Everybody was an outcast of their own world.

And though her eyes were devoid of sympathy, they held no ill will, either. Her tail thumped against the carpet.

"So... This is the best you can have now?"

A listening ear was all she offered; a listening ear was all he wanted.  He expected nor desired any more than that-- the solution to all this would be gained with his own hands.  His eyes met hers, leveled.

"For now."  There was something better out there, he knew: a life with Metis, a life with no more of Their constant interference . . . A life with an expiration date.  To do that, though, he would have to survive the academy-- and, to do that, he needed more coffee.  In clear view of Audi, Ambrose raised the coffee cup up to the air, flashing the "I <3 Them" insignia briefly before the coffee began to flow down from Up There.  It didn't come from the ceiling nor anywhere exactly in-between; the stream was visible, though, and stopped once the coffee reached the brim.  Steamed rolled off the rim rather poetically.

Ambrose allowed a small "Mmm," before partaking in a scorching sip.  One of Them making this mug must have been particularly loathing, for whatever reason.  Caffeine was caffeine, though, and he downed half the mug despite the burning mouth.  He set down the mug into his other, open-palmed hand.

He had a thought . . . and turned towards Audi, simply holding out the mug towards her.  The message was clear: want some?  It was all he had to offer, and she had been offering her ears.

Shifting in her seat a little, Audi let out an acknowledging hum to his answer. At least he had the hope, the will to improve his situation eventually; that did score him a few points in her book. When he raised the cup, she followed it with her gaze, a bit perplexed, and her eyes widened at the show. All of the previous subject was immediately forgotten in favor of this new riddle: was it an enchanted mug, or was it Ambrose's magic, and either way how did that work?

When the cup was offered to her, she snatched it up eagerly, because of curiosity rather than thirst. She hissed a little at the hotness of the ceramic, but held on to it with both careful hands as she examined it. It looked very... mundane for a magic item. But then, she supposed that made sense in the modern times. She squinted, palms laying flat against the outer sides of the mug. It didn't feel magical, and neither did the dark liquid contained within. She stuck her nose close to the surface and sniffed, almost feeling some vague trace of a smell. It had to be strong... She was tempted to take a lap, but it was rather clear it was hot enough to burn her tongue off.

Okay. So, not much learned. Audi looked back up to Ambrose incredulously. "How did you do that?"

The hum was satisfactory.  She understood, and that was all he needed.

The Powers giggled at the hiss; although They had garnered no reaction from Ambrose (typical, really), it was nice to see such a vivid response from the rat woman.  She provided satisfaction in the trick.  Ambrose himself did not worry about Audi or any possible burns she might have sustained by holding the cup; she was making sure not to drop the coffee, and that was all that mattered.  Her question was expected, though not welcomed.

"I didn't," went his simple reply.  He kept his eye on the coffee cup in case something bad were to happen to it.  They wouldn't find humor in needing to provide another-- or, worse, They would find humor in it and never give him one.  "It's . . . supplied."

Audi squinted at him. "By who?" Then, with ears perking up, she looked down to the mug and answered her own question. "By them."

Tangible proof... Maybe he wasn't insane. Or maybe he was, and it was just his magic. There was no way to tell. A small chuckle escaped her. "That's convenient." She tilted the cup a little, watching the drink move. "Perks..." Carefully, she applied a little bit of her energy to test if the substance of the container or the drink would be pliable to her influence. For a moment, it almost seemed like the beverage had changed... but, it probably didn't. Too complicated, too artificial... She huffed in frustration and offered the mug back to Ambrose, moving her tail as to shift the notes within the reach of her other hand. There was so much more studying to do...


((It may have a changed flavor, or.....))

The knowledge of Their presence was spreading; it made Them happy, it made Them sated.  Ambrose took back the coffee cup gingerly with only a slight nod for response.  The rat woman was clever enough to fill in the gaps of conversation.

He took the normal swig of his coffee-- and stopped mid-tilt, bringing the cup away from him and swallowing what he had drunk hard into his throat.  Something was off.  It wasn't coffee anymore; although appearances were the same, there wasn't the buzz of caffeine that he needed.  There was a certain tang to the taste, too, something reminiscent of citrus.  Ambrose did not need a tropical fruit, though.

He set the mug down onto an open patch of carpet, then looking over towards Audi.  He didn't need to state the question in order for it to be heard; his mix of frustration and confusion told all.  What the hell did she do to his coffee?

Audi picked up the notebook and flicked through it, eyes trailing over the familiar symbols that made up her notes on metals, stones, liquids, and finally insects. Useless, all useless... She craved some tangible results, but she was only capable of the merest, simplest of transmutations. She needed patience, and time, but time was precious and patience wasn't her biggest virtue.

Lost in thought, it was a moment before she noticed him looking at her, and by then it wasn't immediately obvious what was he making that face for. She gave him a questioning look, then glanced at the mug. Oh.

"Oh."

She frowned worriedly. What did she even do that for? What if she had thoughtlessly made it poison? Carefully, she leaned forward to examine the cup, but it didn't seem that different... "Did you drink it? What... is it?"

Her questions only confirmed what he had already concluded-- she did this. If he were Disaster incarnate and not Entropy, there would have been storm clouds looming overhead. Instead, he settled with the usual glare and a slight crack forming on the cup's handle. The Powers frowned at such insubordination; how dare tarnish Their lovely gift! No more coffee for the candidate!

"Orange," he told her with all the venom he had put into the word. Orange instead of coffee, a tropical fruit instead of what should have been rightfully there, caffeine. The taste still stung in his mouth, his lips puckering slightly at its tang.

The 'how' did not seem nearly as important as his responding question: "Why?" If anything, this was a direct betrayal of what he had believed not a minute before this to be an alliance of sorts.