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rainbowfic2026-03-14 11:10 am
soricel) wrote in rainbowfic2026-03-14 11:10 am
Entry tags:
[The Conservatory] Cattleya #1
Name: Resting Uneasy
Story: The Conservatory
Colors: Cattleya #1: Torschlusspanik
Word Count: 1435
Rating: G
Warnings: NA
Clavvy rolled onto her back and stretched her limbs, trying to soak in as much of the diminishing sunlight as she could. She could still feel a chill as the cool air met her sweat-sheened skin, but even so, she could feel Spring in the air--could even feel it in the cold ground, which she was lying on without a blanket under her, despite Scapp's nagging that she'd get sick if she wasn't careful.
Perhaps Spring had come earlier outside, and had taken a little longer to scale the high stone wall before spreading over the Conservatory grounds, but it had arrived, as it always did, and Clavvy could already feel it buoying her spirits...even if her body felt all but inert now that she was finally letting it rest.
She smiled sleepily, watching the strange shapes floating behind her eyelids as the sunlight washed over them. She wished that tomorrow she could try dancing the way those dark, formless shapes moved...but that depended on what Scapp chose to play, and lately their music had been more suited to slow, heavy, plodding steps: forceful, staccato footfalls on the studio floor that had begun to leave Clavvy's knees achier than usual at the end of their sessions. Even now as she let her limp body sink into the bristly grass, and imagined herself floating weightlessly above it like the amorphous shapes on the insides of her eyelids, she could feel the dull pain in her legs. It was a relatively new sensation, and one she preferred to ignore, though it was getting a bit more difficult to do that lately. She hoped that the change in weather might inspire a change in Scapp's playing--something lighter, slower, more suited to languid and fluid movement than all the stomping Clavvy had been doing through the winter--but of course she couldn't suggest that to them without risking an increase in both of their Impurity levels...which had already gotten high enough to earn them a meeting with Mx. Zien. Clavvy would just have to wait and see where Scapp's inspiration took them.
In the meantime, she was enjoying these few moments of relaxation after dinner. Many of the other Artists who'd just ended their sessions were still lingering in the canteen, though they'd migrated closer to the massive windows to take in as much of the lingering sunlight as they could without having to further exert themselves by walking a few extra feet to the garden. In fact, aside from Clavvy and Scapp--alternately pacing and leaning against the wall, as they usually felt the need to after ten hours sitting behind the piano--the grounds were mostly empty.
So Clavvy was startled when she heard a polite but weary voice seemingly directed at her. "Excuse me."
"Huh?" Clavvy mumbled, her reverie ending as her eyes shot open. "Oh--yeah," she said to the Crafter who had appeared a few feet away from her. Clavvy pushed herself up into a seated position, noticing with some displeasure that doing so was a little harder than it should have been, and smiled at the old woman approaching her, walking with an awkward waddle thanks to the basket strapped to her belt.
"Thanks," the Crafter said, and bent down to gather the discarded orange peels resting on the ground in front of Scapp, who seemed to be trying to do their best not to watch.
"Sorry about that," Clavvy said, running a hand over her close-cropped hair. She could feel her cheeks burning, but not because of the sunlight.
"No worries," the Crafter said. The wrinkles lining her face shifted slightly as her lips tensed into something like a smile. "Enjoy your evening."
"You too," Clavvy said weakly as the woman shuffled on, hunting for more litter to collect.
"Sorry about that," Scapp said, echoing Clavvy's earlier words.
"Well, you shouldn't be apologizing to me." Clavvy groaned and turned to watch the Crafter making her way across the yard. "It sucks that they have to do this stuff," she said, more to herself than to Scapp...though she could tell that they would hear it as a recrimination of their carelessness.
"Yeah," Scapp sighed.
"I think someone said she was a Sculptor," Clavvy went on, curling her back and crossing her arms over her knees. She felt bad that she'd never asked the woman directly--had never really asked her anything. She knew next to nothing about her despite the fact that she'd been a presence on the grounds for as long as Clavvy could remember.
"She looks strong."
Clavvy shrugged. She could tell that Scapp was humoring her, saying just enough to prevent her from getting angrier at them for being insensitive while also being careful not to indulge her anger at a perceived injustice. Truthfully, Clavvy had never thought much about the policy that relegated Artists to menial chores like litter duty when they were no longer able to meet their MPU quotas--either because they'd drained themselves of Muse Power, or because their Power had become contaminated with Impurities. Some of the retired Artists asked to leave the Conservatory, but most stayed on as Crafters, cooking, cleaning, and doing all the other grueling, unseen, and uncelebrated work that kept the Conservatory running. But just because they chose to stay and take on those roles didn't make it right...a fact that it was getting as hard for Clavvy to ignore as the soreness in her joints.
"Do you want to...meditate?" Scapp asked cautiously. Clavvy could hear the slight worry in their voice, and she knew it wasn't just because they feared Clavvy's reaction to the question. They both knew that her dwelling too long on her thoughts and feelings about the Crafters would surely result in Impurities tomorrow. All the same, part of her resented the idea that she would have to rid herself of her anger, that there was nothing else to do with it. Maybe if she'd been a Storyteller or a Poet instead of a Dancer...
She shook her head and looked down at her bare feet, flexing her toes to try to warm them up. The sun had dipped so low that only the faintest light was making it over the high walls surrounding the Conservatory grounds. There was still a touch of Spring in the air, but the Winter was still hanging on, chilling Clavvy's bones, amplifying her aches; she unrolled the baggy sleeves of her tunic until they reached her wrists. How long would it be until she'd be asked to transition to Crafting? Sooner rather than later if she couldn't get her emotions under control--she knew that.
"Fine," she huffed resignedly, pushing herself up to her feet. Scapp got up too, carefully folding their blanket and tucking it under their arm. They began walking back to the dorm where they'd lock themselves in their separate rooms and meditate until bedtime. Clavvy wasn't looking forward to it...but she was too tired to do anything else to try to clear her mind.
"And hey, Scapp?" Clavvy began, pulling open the door to the dorm building for them. "Try to remember to clean up after yourself, okay?" She managed to keep her voice, and the emotions pushing the words out of her mouth, fairly even...but she had a feeling that Scapp could sense the edge to them anyway, and she knew that that edge would keep pricking their mind tonight as they tried to meditate. Oh well, Clavvy thought. Serves them right.
By the time Clavvy made it to her room, the inside lights had flickered on throughout the building. Clavvy thought about the dancesteps or brushstrokes that were providing the energy to illuminate the hallways, and decided to keep her room dark. She was just going to be meditating, after all--and she didn't want anyone to have to expend any more energy than necessary to power her lights and devices. She doubted anyone outside the walls thought about such things; as long as they were getting the MPUs to keep their homes and businesses running, they probably hardly ever thought about where that energy was coming from...and as long as the price of that energy was kept relatively low, they probably didn't give a second thought to what it might cost for those producing it.
Clavvy settled on her bed in her meditation position, closing her eyes and deepening her breath to try to settle the anger that she kept stirring up inside of herself. In the darkness of her room, she didn't see anything dancing on the insides of her eyelids.
Story: The Conservatory
Colors: Cattleya #1: Torschlusspanik
Word Count: 1435
Rating: G
Warnings: NA
Clavvy rolled onto her back and stretched her limbs, trying to soak in as much of the diminishing sunlight as she could. She could still feel a chill as the cool air met her sweat-sheened skin, but even so, she could feel Spring in the air--could even feel it in the cold ground, which she was lying on without a blanket under her, despite Scapp's nagging that she'd get sick if she wasn't careful.
Perhaps Spring had come earlier outside, and had taken a little longer to scale the high stone wall before spreading over the Conservatory grounds, but it had arrived, as it always did, and Clavvy could already feel it buoying her spirits...even if her body felt all but inert now that she was finally letting it rest.
She smiled sleepily, watching the strange shapes floating behind her eyelids as the sunlight washed over them. She wished that tomorrow she could try dancing the way those dark, formless shapes moved...but that depended on what Scapp chose to play, and lately their music had been more suited to slow, heavy, plodding steps: forceful, staccato footfalls on the studio floor that had begun to leave Clavvy's knees achier than usual at the end of their sessions. Even now as she let her limp body sink into the bristly grass, and imagined herself floating weightlessly above it like the amorphous shapes on the insides of her eyelids, she could feel the dull pain in her legs. It was a relatively new sensation, and one she preferred to ignore, though it was getting a bit more difficult to do that lately. She hoped that the change in weather might inspire a change in Scapp's playing--something lighter, slower, more suited to languid and fluid movement than all the stomping Clavvy had been doing through the winter--but of course she couldn't suggest that to them without risking an increase in both of their Impurity levels...which had already gotten high enough to earn them a meeting with Mx. Zien. Clavvy would just have to wait and see where Scapp's inspiration took them.
In the meantime, she was enjoying these few moments of relaxation after dinner. Many of the other Artists who'd just ended their sessions were still lingering in the canteen, though they'd migrated closer to the massive windows to take in as much of the lingering sunlight as they could without having to further exert themselves by walking a few extra feet to the garden. In fact, aside from Clavvy and Scapp--alternately pacing and leaning against the wall, as they usually felt the need to after ten hours sitting behind the piano--the grounds were mostly empty.
So Clavvy was startled when she heard a polite but weary voice seemingly directed at her. "Excuse me."
"Huh?" Clavvy mumbled, her reverie ending as her eyes shot open. "Oh--yeah," she said to the Crafter who had appeared a few feet away from her. Clavvy pushed herself up into a seated position, noticing with some displeasure that doing so was a little harder than it should have been, and smiled at the old woman approaching her, walking with an awkward waddle thanks to the basket strapped to her belt.
"Thanks," the Crafter said, and bent down to gather the discarded orange peels resting on the ground in front of Scapp, who seemed to be trying to do their best not to watch.
"Sorry about that," Clavvy said, running a hand over her close-cropped hair. She could feel her cheeks burning, but not because of the sunlight.
"No worries," the Crafter said. The wrinkles lining her face shifted slightly as her lips tensed into something like a smile. "Enjoy your evening."
"You too," Clavvy said weakly as the woman shuffled on, hunting for more litter to collect.
"Sorry about that," Scapp said, echoing Clavvy's earlier words.
"Well, you shouldn't be apologizing to me." Clavvy groaned and turned to watch the Crafter making her way across the yard. "It sucks that they have to do this stuff," she said, more to herself than to Scapp...though she could tell that they would hear it as a recrimination of their carelessness.
"Yeah," Scapp sighed.
"I think someone said she was a Sculptor," Clavvy went on, curling her back and crossing her arms over her knees. She felt bad that she'd never asked the woman directly--had never really asked her anything. She knew next to nothing about her despite the fact that she'd been a presence on the grounds for as long as Clavvy could remember.
"She looks strong."
Clavvy shrugged. She could tell that Scapp was humoring her, saying just enough to prevent her from getting angrier at them for being insensitive while also being careful not to indulge her anger at a perceived injustice. Truthfully, Clavvy had never thought much about the policy that relegated Artists to menial chores like litter duty when they were no longer able to meet their MPU quotas--either because they'd drained themselves of Muse Power, or because their Power had become contaminated with Impurities. Some of the retired Artists asked to leave the Conservatory, but most stayed on as Crafters, cooking, cleaning, and doing all the other grueling, unseen, and uncelebrated work that kept the Conservatory running. But just because they chose to stay and take on those roles didn't make it right...a fact that it was getting as hard for Clavvy to ignore as the soreness in her joints.
"Do you want to...meditate?" Scapp asked cautiously. Clavvy could hear the slight worry in their voice, and she knew it wasn't just because they feared Clavvy's reaction to the question. They both knew that her dwelling too long on her thoughts and feelings about the Crafters would surely result in Impurities tomorrow. All the same, part of her resented the idea that she would have to rid herself of her anger, that there was nothing else to do with it. Maybe if she'd been a Storyteller or a Poet instead of a Dancer...
She shook her head and looked down at her bare feet, flexing her toes to try to warm them up. The sun had dipped so low that only the faintest light was making it over the high walls surrounding the Conservatory grounds. There was still a touch of Spring in the air, but the Winter was still hanging on, chilling Clavvy's bones, amplifying her aches; she unrolled the baggy sleeves of her tunic until they reached her wrists. How long would it be until she'd be asked to transition to Crafting? Sooner rather than later if she couldn't get her emotions under control--she knew that.
"Fine," she huffed resignedly, pushing herself up to her feet. Scapp got up too, carefully folding their blanket and tucking it under their arm. They began walking back to the dorm where they'd lock themselves in their separate rooms and meditate until bedtime. Clavvy wasn't looking forward to it...but she was too tired to do anything else to try to clear her mind.
"And hey, Scapp?" Clavvy began, pulling open the door to the dorm building for them. "Try to remember to clean up after yourself, okay?" She managed to keep her voice, and the emotions pushing the words out of her mouth, fairly even...but she had a feeling that Scapp could sense the edge to them anyway, and she knew that that edge would keep pricking their mind tonight as they tried to meditate. Oh well, Clavvy thought. Serves them right.
By the time Clavvy made it to her room, the inside lights had flickered on throughout the building. Clavvy thought about the dancesteps or brushstrokes that were providing the energy to illuminate the hallways, and decided to keep her room dark. She was just going to be meditating, after all--and she didn't want anyone to have to expend any more energy than necessary to power her lights and devices. She doubted anyone outside the walls thought about such things; as long as they were getting the MPUs to keep their homes and businesses running, they probably hardly ever thought about where that energy was coming from...and as long as the price of that energy was kept relatively low, they probably didn't give a second thought to what it might cost for those producing it.
Clavvy settled on her bed in her meditation position, closing her eyes and deepening her breath to try to settle the anger that she kept stirring up inside of herself. In the darkness of her room, she didn't see anything dancing on the insides of her eyelids.