Let There Be Light: Sc.04


                                            >Noire glances away from your cooking for a moment to look at the storm outside.

                                            >”I could always send the storm away.”

                                            >A peal of thunder punctuates her remark.

                                            “Nah, don’t. I like storms.”

                                            >A motion of the pan to toss its ingredients draws her attention back. “Are you sure? We will not be able to perform our ritual.”

                                            “Ritual? We’ve only been doing it a week. The Garden can survive unattended a day or two.”

                                            >Noire looks down at her plate and sighs. “I was hoping to hear more of Earth.”

                                            “Ah, the true reason comes out.”

                                            >She looks back up at you, and you spare a glance from the food to shoot her a grin.

                                            “We have plenty of time for that. Today we can work inside the house.”

                                            >You finish the food and scoop some onto her plate.

                                            >This morning’s breakfast is omlettes and home fries.

                                            >You’ve gotten genuine potatoes, and many of the other requisite plant ingredients, from the ground already in the Garden.

                                            >But there are still no animals on this world, so the eggs came from Noire’s spontaneous generation of whatever came to your mind.

                                            >You were never huge on cooking, but a kitchen that worked mostly how you were used to was a big comfort.

                                            >A reminder of your old home.

                                            >You fix your own plate, then head out into the great room of the log cabin that is your NEW home.

                                            “So there’s three categories, right?”

                                            >Noire follows behind you, with her plate levitating in front of her. “There are?”

                                            “Well, yeah. For what we gotta create. We’ll dabble in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral.”

                                            >”Ah, yes. I see.”

                                            >You put your plate down on a table in the middle room, and she sits on the floor opposite from you at the table, but you’re already looking for something else.

                                            “I need something to write on.”

                                            >”Will anything do?”

                                            “Well, uh, maybe multiple things.”

                                            >You look back over to her, to explain, but stop short when you meet her eyes.

                                            >She has her utensils held in a magical orange glow, cutting at her food daintily to spear just a tiny bit with her fork.

                                            >She’s frozen mid-cut, looking back at you.

                                            >You stifle a laugh.

                                            “That’s pretty, uh…”

                                            >She looks sheepish. “Am I doing something wrong?”

                                            “No, I’ve just always been so focused on my own food I never noticed how… human you ate.”

                                            >”Oh.” She looks down at her food, then back at you. “Is that improper?”

                                            “No, just, weird. You can magic the food to your mouth, why do you need to use my utensils?”

                                            >”I only know how to eat from you, Anon.”

                                            “Fine. You’re silly, and I’m an idiot. Now can I have something to write on? Maybe two. Something I can easily erase and draw on, and then something I can keep notes more permanently.”

                                            >”I will give you both.”

                                            >A plain tablet appears next to your plate, along with a short stick of some sort.

                                            >Noire returns to her food – still using the utensils – as you finally eat some of your own and study it.

                                            >One side of the slate was fairly light, and the other side dark.

                                            >The stylus would write on both sides, in the opposite color.

                                            >You could erase it with your hand, which left no mark on your skin.

                                            >So far, straightforward; it worked like a chalkboard or whiteboard, but neater.

                                            >You want to ask her how it keeps notes more permanently, but you don’t want to interrupt her meal too often.

                                            >She always eats your cooking like she’s somewhere between savoring and analyzing it.

                                            >You smile to yourself, shake your head, and begin to eat your own meal.

                                            >By the time you finish, you’re not surprised she isn’t – often she didn’t even finish her meals – but she’s looking at you instead.

                                            >”Anon?”

                                            “Yeah, Noire?”

                                            >”What was a meal, to humans? As a ritual?”

                                            “There you go calling things rituals again.”

                                            >”I do not see why it should not be thought as one.”

                                            >You poke your plate with your fork in contemplation.

                                            “Well, I guess it’s a time where people can slow down a little and connect. Everyone’s usually got their own concerns, but having a meal or even just a snack is when they align in a common activity.”

                                            >”Why is it then that you eat so fast?”

                                            >Your fork stops in mid-air before striking the plate. “I don’t know. Maybe I just conversed after. Maybe I never ate much with others. Maybe I just wasn’t the social type.”

                                            >You sigh and lean back against your low chair. “I don’t know anything about myself. I don’t even know if I was a good example of a human for you to meet.”

                                            >After a moment of silence, she stands, lifting her plate in her magic as she does. “I think that is why you are the perfect example for me to meet.”

                                            >You chuckle, shake your head, then make to follow.

                                            “If you say so.”

                                            >Plates in the sink, remaining food in the yawning abyss.

                                            >No point in actually keeping garbage when your house is run on magic.

                                            >You return to the low table in the center of the great room

                                            “Alright, so we’re working in today.”

                                            >You look around the interior of the room.

                                            >The log cabin aesthetic is nice, but wood isn’t exactly a suitable work surface, and even the floor is made of it.

                                            “Let’s clear a space.”

                                            >You drag your chair back to the wall, then grab the edge of the table and do the same.

                                            >Noire moves the couch she tends to occupy when attending to remote parts of the world, then stands in the middle of the cleared area.

                                            >You look around her when you return, gauging the area.

                                            “We’re gonna have to change the floor. About this whole space.”

                                            >You indicate an area with a few slices of your arm through the air.

                                            >”What would you like it to be?”

                                            “Uh, hrm. It needs to be very durable, but I’d prefer some natural material. And stone rather than metal. Dunno, just the aesthetics of it, I guess. It’s still our floor, after all.”

                                            >”I see. It could be-”

                                            >An idea strikes you even as she begins to speak.

                                            ”And it needs to be a dark grey color.”

                                            >She stops at your interruption, then stares at the floor in thought.

                                            “Should I try to think of some examples?”

                                            >”Conforming this world to the approximate physics of yours comes with an implicit alignment of mineral variety. I just need to think what would match your requests. Perhaps...”

                                            >A section of the floor, perfectly square, roughly fitting the area you indicated is transformed into a very dark grey stone.

                                            >”Diabase can be quite dark.”

                                            >You kneel, then lay a hand on the surface of the stone slab

                                            >It’s smooth to the touch, and so flat that brushing its surface feels strange.

                                            >Standing back up, you place your hands on your hips and walk partway around it.

                                            “Yeah, yeah this is good. Okay, now lets do a little detail work.”

                                            >Returning to the table you moved, you grab the drawing slate Noire made for you. Stylus in hand, you look at her.

                                            >She’s watching you intently, and those fiery irises between black sclera and pupil always grab your eye, but that’s not what you’re interested in.

                                            >At least, not right now.

                                            >Her crown, what used to be a full halo, is always face-on to you.

                                            >Even when she looks back down at the slab, it stays positioned behind her head to your line of sight.

                                            >You draw a quick arc in strokes matching its current shape, then head back to her side.

                                            “Alright, lets put an curve in it, from here-”

                                            >You indicate a point on the slab.

                                            “-to here.”

                                            >Another.

                                            “Carve it out a little, and full it with another material, also strong, but some yellowish or orange color. The surfaces they meet at shouldn’t be a shape that compromises its integrity.”

                                            >She looks between your sketch and the slab a couple times, then nods.

                                            >You see material literally scooped out, then vaporized, in the same direction you initially drew on the slate.

                                            >Then, moving like molten glass, a slightly pale yellow-orange material fills in the curved channel, forming an arc the same dimensions as the one you drew, but with perfectly defined edges, rather than the rough and not-quite-meeting lines you sketched out.

                                            >”Jade is durable, and could have a yellow variety.”

                                            “I’m glad you didn’t copy my drawing exactly. I’m not much of an artist.”

                                            >She smiles. “I understood your intent.”

                                            “It’s good, because we’re about to complete the circle. But do it in… can the diabase be black, or almost black?”

                                            >She nods.

                                            “That then.”

                                            >The rest of the circle darkens as if burnt.

                                            “Is that how it works in nature?”

                                            >Her smile broadens. “Just a personal flourish.”

                                            “Heh. It looked pretty cool. Alright, one last set of details. Make a series of rhombus-shaped cuts, at these points.

                                            >You mark them on your slate, after sloppily completing the circle. She watches while you do it, but a giggle tells you that you don’t need to finish.

                                            >It draws your attention back to her face.

                                            >Now you can let her eyes distract yours.

                                            >”Anon, you could have just said so.”

                                            “Yeah, well, a little surprise I guess.”

                                            >”A pleasant one. Thank you.”

                                            >She looks down at the slab, and once again material seems to scoop itself out of the slab, cutting through rock and jade alike. She stops, however, before filling it back in, then looks back at you. “I am not sure what we should make the gemstones.”

                                            “Well it’s gotta be orange, obviously. Can’t be washed out or it gets lost in the jade. So it needs to either be vivid or dark. Uh, the only one that comes to mind is citrine, but I’m not sure how durable that is.”

                                            >”I could protect the slab supernaturally.”

                                            “I- yeah. You know what, just do that. Here I was trying to be clever, forgetting I’m talking to a god, even while watching her work.”

                                            >A bout of ringing laughter from Noire. “Sometimes you are the silly one. It is done.”

                                            “Protected?”

                                            >”Absolutely.”

                                            >You grin.

                                            “Then give me a hammer.”

                                            >Her smile fades. “For what purpose?”

                                            “I want to test it.”

                                            >”Hrm.” She looks back at the slab. “Knowledge against experience.”

                                            >In the center of the slab appears a long-handled hammer, flat on one side and coming to a fine point on the other. While its size is impressive, its design is even moreso.

                                            >A dull but flawless grey metal makes its working surfaces, but its head’s bulk contains bands of jade, a brilliant green this time unlike the floor.

                                            >While clearly intended to be used like a sledgehammer, when you pick it up, it feels awfully light. You can lift it then set it down next to you one-handed. Its head is larger than your foot it now rests beside, and its handle comes almost exactly to your waist.

                                            “Can’t exert that much force if it’s this light.”

                                            >”It is that light only for you.”

                                            “Aw, you shouldn’t have.”

                                            >You allow a bit of a joking tone into the stock phrase, but Noire gives no indication of being bothered.

                                            >”A little surprise, I guess.”

                                            “Is it as durable as the slab?”

                                            >”Yes.”

                                            “Cool. Let’s get some citrine then, since I mentioned it.”

                                            >A decent-sized chunk appears in the middle of the square, just as your hammer had.

                                            “Time for a classic.”

                                            >”A classic?”

                                            >You stand before the gem, and grab your hammer with both hands.

                                            “What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.”

                                            >”Self-contradictory.”

                                            “I’ve a pretty taste for paradox.”

                                            >You lift the hammer behind you and widen your stance.

                                            >”It is not something I would want to test in our home.”

                                            >You pause at the end of the swing’s wind-up.

                                            >’Our home’ it is, obviously, but that lands a little different when a being previously unconstrained by time and space says it.

                                            >How is being limited settling in, for her?

                                            >You shake your head a little.

                                            “Well, these aren’t technically unstoppable or immovable anyway.”

                                            >You tense, then let fly.

                                            >The gem easily shatters between your hammer and the slab.

                                            >The vibration does not transmit to your hands as much as you were expecting.

                                            “Whew. That was fun.”

                                            > She walks up close to your side, peering down at the shattered gem. ”Was it?”

                                            “Humans like destroying things just as much as creating them. We got really good at both.”

                                            >”That sounds counter-productive.”

                                            “Well, we drew a line at annihilating cities with the power of the sun. I mean, we could, we just decided not to. Yet.”

                                            >Ears lain back, she furrows her brows and scrunches her snout.

                                            >How much conceptual leakage accompanied that?

                                            “Don’t, uh, don’t promote any inclination to do that, with the ones we make here. Free will and all, but maybe no affinity for armageddon.”

                                            >“Noted, but I cannot promise anything. I will at least avoid conditions that may bring any such proclivities about. However, as you said, free will.”

                                            “Maybe my people aren’t the best models.”

                                            >”How much this world inherits from them is for you to decide.”

                                            “Hrm. Give me another gem.”

                                            >Another chunk of quartz appears, and Noire steps back.

                                            >You haul back, then launch yourself into obliteration again.

                                            >You’re starting to understand how people can do nothing but chop wood for a few hours.

                                            “I should make a workout routine of this.”

                                            >You lift the hammer, then indicate the spike on the back, when Noire returns to stand beside you.

                                            “Can you make this an axe blade instead?”

                                            >As soon as your finger describes an ark, the spike widens into a broad blade.

                                            >The tool doesn’t seem to increase in weight at all, and its proportions still look pleasing.

                                            “And then, uh, there.”

                                            >You point at where the two angled halves of the north wall meet.

                                            “Put a chimney there, with a big fireplace.”

                                            >The bole serving as the post joining the two halves is replaced with a column of brickwork.

                                            >A gap yawns open at the base, and more stone elements seem to slide out of the brick into place around it, defining the fireplace.

                                            “You really do have a flair for the dramatic, with your changes.”

                                            >”Thank you.” You can hear a note of pride in her voice.

                                            >You look back to the crushed gems.

                                            “I guess it doesn’t matter if they’re not strong, when you can just strengthen them yourself, but it’s the principle of the thing I guess.”

                                            >”We are already making use of stronger materials.”

                                            “We are?”

                                            >Noire points her nose towards the windows she just stuck a fireplace between. “I have made those windows out of transparent sapphire, not glass as you specified. One of the ideas that transmitted around your request was that not all materials referred to as “glass” are strictly such. I took liberty.”

                                            “Oh, that’s smart. See, I’m just the ideas guy, you sound like you have a perfectly fine grasp of execution. Hey, you know what, sapphire can be plenty of colors.”

                                            >Noire hums in thought, then before the two of you appears a faceted rhombus, one side smooth, big enough to fit in one of the six larger of the sockets in the floor.

                                            >”Do you know how they get their color?”

                                            You grimace.

                                            “Did that not make it through?”

                                            >”No. I could guess, based on shared physical principles, but it would be easier if you clarified.”

                                            “Sorry.”

                                            >She squints at the currently-clear gemstone.

                                            >It turns red, then blue, then clear again.

                                            >Each color changes how light moves through it, sparkling in different ways.

                                            >Then, slowly, it turns pink.

                                            >It changes colors several times after, sliding around the spectrum, before turning yellow.

                                            >Then, as if carefully dialing in some precise point on a complex machine, it starts to darken, while a bit of red is mixed in.

                                            >The final color is an extremely vivid orange, slightly tinged red.

                                            >”Padparadscha, your people call it.” She nods, then walks forward, the gem staying the same distance in front of her as she does so.

                                            >She lowers it into the socket at the center of the arc, pointing north, as much with a motion of her head as with her magic.

                                            >It fits cleanly, and a flash follows the action.

                                            >”It will not be budged.”

                                            “Sweet. Four more to go. And the four smaller ones.”

                                            >”Only four?”

                                            “Yeah, we’ll leave out the ones on the darkened part of the arc, like the ones you gave up.”

                                            >Noire fills the other sockets in the same manner, except the three pointing south, on the darker arc.

                                            >It’s not an exact match to her crown; the remaining points of the genuine article had settled into just the upper one-eighty degrees of the arc rather than the expected two-forty when the halo had ‘broken’, but you wanted the symbolism more than strict visual accuracy.

                                            >The gemstones she created are the largest you’d ever seen, or even heard of, though you don’t believe you were a gemologist. This process would have been a lot faster if you had been.

                                            >You walk over to one, and swipe a foot over it.

                                            >You can’t feel any transition between the stone, the jade, and the gem. Perfectly flush.

                                            “I’m going to have to restrain myself from indulging in radical interior decorating. You have a dangerous power.”

                                            >”Oh, I apologize. I knew you were fragile, but-”

                                            “No, dangerous because I have no confidence in my sense of fashion. Not a guy thing.”

                                            >You turn then point at her.

                                            “Hey, maybe that’s another thing we can fix here.”

                                            >“I will try to remember.”

                                            >You drop your hand, looking at her.

                                            >Visually, she has a very interesting form. There’s a not of incredible – and impossible – details to drink in.

                                            >But her front, her chest, is very plain.

                                            “I found where the last three gems really go.”

                                            >You go back to your slate, sit on the displaced couch, and close your eyes.

                                            >Think back to that brief moment you saw her true form.

                                            >Her body’s shape defined by titanic tendrils of filigree, gold wrapped in starfire.

                                            >A whiff of woodsmoke alerts you to her more mundane body joining you on the couch.

                                            >You open your eyes, give her a flash of a grin, then start sketching.

                                            >A general outline. An inner decorative frame of curves and curls, coming in from the sides, filling out most of the space.

                                            >In the center, three rhombus sockets, the largest one spanning the form from top to bottom, with two smaller ones flanking it, supported by the termination of the filigree that makes it to the middle.

                                            “Whole frame’s gold. Not pure, there’s alloys for durability. Uh, copper maybe? Three sapphires, just like in the floor, but smaller.”

                                            >You pause a moment.

                                            “Uh, but not flat. Faceted all around. About this big.”

                                            >You place the slate in your lap, then hold out your hands.

                                            >She studies the sketch for a bit, then turns to the space in front of you.

                                            >Strings of gold slip out of nothingness into the air, then start winding around each other, curling into swirls and points as your drawing indicates. They weave through each other to define the sockets – and the brackets and framing necessary to support the gems that you had not specified – and the shapes close themselves.

                                            >The gems pop into existence, rather than the more organic motions of the gold.

                                            >The completed peytral floats into your still-extended hands.

                                            “I thought the floor would be nice, but then you had to show me up with the tool. So here, this is for you, even though you could probably pick that up already.”

                                            >You turn and gently press it against her chest.

                                            >She looks down at it, then that warm smile of hers makes another appearance. You can feel, in your hands, the frame developing its own loops, then a chain forming around the back of her neck.

                                            “Jewelry is a common gift, for women back home. Precious metals and precious gemstones, in artistic forms for wearing.

                                            >She looks back at you, her eyes flitting between yours, searching for something. “What is the reason?”

                                            “Well, honestly, just gratitude. If I was dropped here on my own, I would have just starved and died. Even if my presence here was arranged or whatever, and though it’s probably no effort at all on your part – not that even this was my creation at all besides its design – I’m grateful you’re looking out for me. It’s been over a week since I came here; if it weren’t for you, I’d already be dead.”

                                            >You look back at the floor, its depiction of her crown a reminder of what she is.

                                            >No. What she was, and maybe will be again but for now is not.

                                            >You think back to your fleeting realization, just before that first hammer fall.

                                            >’Our home’. How constrained she is.

                                            “I don’t know how you feel about the limitations I’ve asked you to place on yourself, or the ones you had assumed for my benefit, but I appreciate that you’re willing to suffer them. It means a lot to me to have someone that’s at least kinda similar to me here for company.”

                                            >You look back at her face.

                                            >Her smile…

                                            >Faltered. For just the briefest of moments.

                                            >A flash of something else.

                                            >Hesitation?

                                            >But it’s gone in a hurry and her smile returns, nothing showing it’s false.

                                            >”Thank you. Your ability to create things that are both simple and elegant is always pleasing.” She laughs. “Your sense of fashion may not be as bad as you fear.”

                                            >What a wonderful laugh.

                                            >Hey, Anon.

                                            >You’re supposed to be working.

                                            “Right!”

                                            >You pull your hands away from her chest finally, and pick up the slate.

                                            “You said this could also make permanent records. How does that work?”

                                            >She looks down at it, following your gaze. “First, you record what you wish to keep, as normal.”

                                            >You erase the sketch of her peytral with the side of your hand, and scrawl a string of letters.

                                            >”Your alphabet?”

                                            “Well it’s not like I know any Babylonic cuneiform. Yeah an alphabet, this is just a test.”

                                            >”I see. All you must do after is just tap the underside with the back of the stylus.”

                                            >You do so.

                                            >With a faint snap, a sheet of paper seems to pop out of the surface of the slate.

                                            >Your ABCs are written on it exactly as they appeared on the slate.

                                            “Oh, very cool.”

                                            >You get up to place it down on a nearby table.

                                            “I’ll have to write some random stuff just to get enough to do some testing on binding them together.”

                                            >You turn back to the center of the room, empty except for your hammer and some remaining quartz shards.

                                            “But first; matters mineral. Let me tell you about the human appreciation for marble. There’s some things you can do with gold there, too…”