Drifting to an Unheard Rhythm

(10:2:2)

Thwump!

Winds blinked, resetting his vision to bring the ceiling into proper focus, the impact resonating oddly in his senses. Especially his ears as the mechanisms rattled out of sync.

“As you can see, he’s quite sturdy.”

He pushed himself up, rolling carefully onto his bare feet, but nothing seemed out of place, just vaguely dizzying. A hard hit, but not damaging.

“One of the latest models, isn’t he?” Domini Delryhn commented at the edge of the room where she stood by the window overlooking the view, the light streaming through sparkling off the glass held casually in her fingers.

“The eighth generation of the servitude type. Currently still the best model, in my opinion. The impersonator line is far too impractical to be seriously bothered with, unless you’re in the mood for a little... improprietal fun. As I hear it, those are growing quite popular in the blind alleyways. But a traditional servitude type?” Hafest idly ruffled at Winds’ perfectly straight, close-cropped hair. “They’re not very expressive, nor particularly pleasing, but a perfect fit for their purpose, nonetheless.”

“I do like the custom look. Very non-threatening. Nondescript yet elegant.” She raised the glass to her lips. “Tell me, child, do you know of the Builder’s Flaw?”

The Builder’s Flaw. Currently the foremost pillar of any argument in council sessions regarding world events. He idly wondered if she intended to ask his opinion on it as he dutifully rattled off the summary. “A man is told by God that there is a flaw in his house, but not where. In the process of trying to find it, he destroys his work and is left with nothing. The question it raises is whether there was ever a flaw at all, or if he created it in his efforts to find and fix it, and whether the flaw itself would have been as destructive as his own actions.”

“Very good.” Her smile played around the rim of the glass, her gaze drifting over to her fellow councillor. “Intelligent, too. You could almost have him speak for you, Hafest.”

“I’m afraid he would be too blunt for the likes of Jondice,” the man said with a long-suffering sigh. “Though seeing him blow up like an old skin would be entertaining....”

She gave a delicate little huff of amusement.

“Well, Winds, off with you.” Hafest waved him off. “I’m sure the cooks have some errand you’ll enjoy taking.”

Winds dipped his head respectfully. “As my master wishes.”

Padding from the room, he left them to their discussion. A shame it wasn’t acceptable to add his own opinion. If she’d asked him what he thought of it instead of requesting a summary, he would have pointed out that it was a decent argument, but not entirely applicable to the humans’ current situation, the major difference being the additional time sensitivity, with the outcome fixed whatever path they chose to take. The more fitting thought experiment would be the Inevitable River.

He spotted Delryhn’s Divination in the open, pillared corridor between the sparring/martial studios and the main building, flickering his eyes in greeting as he paused in the shadow of a column. |Vines. What do you think of the Inevitable River?|

|A pointless human thought experiment. You would be best leaving the river rather than trying to block it.|

He hummed. |It fits their current situation, doesn’t it?|

The other mulled over that for a moment, birdsong drifting between the ivy-covered pillars and the leafy latticework overhead. |It does encompass both the situation and their reaction quite well.|

He smiled, warmth flickering in his heating core—a spark of triumph. Getting any of the others to agree that human philosophical arguments had any bearing on anything was like pushing against a river in itself. But what better way was there to sum up humanity than by their own thoughts?

|I hope you aren’t spending your time thinking over these pointless things.|

Winds hummed. |Hafest often instructs me to pull up summaries of the current opinions on events and philosophy.|

And, well, what else did he have to do with his time? Many of the others watched with morbid apathy, waiting for humanity to dig its own grave, but what point was there in that? They could chastise him for his interest, but their way of looking at things wasn’t much better.

What could it hurt, to be curious?

But today, he was allowed to do more with his time, and if he dallied too long then Hafest might call him back again. Pulsing a farewell, he left for the exit to the grounds, reaching out towards his link to the connection with Wisp and the other cooks to request a list of needed items.

|A satchel of tup-roots and a vial of fresh aurum oil,| she responded.

He acknowledged and archived that, turning through the airy, open space of the living room. Sunlight shone through the leafy tendrils hanging from woven wooden beams high overhead, the musical tinkle of water trickling along carved channels at its edges. As he walked, a domesticated fluffwing chittered at him from where she scampered along a low-hanging rope vine, little tail curling around the naturally-woven strands, her silken wings fluttering along her back.

Holding his hand out to her, he allowed her to dart across his arm, settling against the crook of his neck with a low croon and cleaning at her face with delicate front paws. A true baby cousin of the ancient dragons. He shooed her off again with a single shrug of his shoulder when he reached the wreathed archway exiting the room.

Performing errands was something that brightened the depths of his soulcore. Perhaps a human might have called it enjoyment. For him, it was a complex interweaving of the sense of heat from the sun digging into his skin, the touch of the breeze, the smell of flowers and dust and stone, the bright colours splashed across clean white masonry, and the sound of his sturdy sandal-shoes against the cobbled road.

He stepped into the busy marketplace at the more crowded and simpler foot of Lower Abode, the scent of street food, the babble of raised voices, and the bright ripple of fabric and flower flowing across him. The best place to find high-quality staples, if one knew what to look for, he noted as the depth of his soulcore tingled, anticipation joining the sense of enjoyment. Perhaps such sensations were also the result of the whispers of his experience impressors, who seemed to have enjoyed the practical things in life.

And the thrill of the haggle.