A Laboratory in Purple.

Little self-proclaimed genius girl seeking to discover, study, dissect and do SCIENCE (in the least possibly scientifical way). [[Independent OC RP blog. Open to roleplay with anyone and anything, don't be afraid to ask. Other blogs by the author: Tatara Kogasa RP Account Kaku Seiga RP Account Multi-Muse Blog ]]

[midst-anima]

He was uncertain whether his appearance was a good one with her initial reactions, but as she ushered him in he began to feel more at ease from that worry and looked around her lab, thinking back to how it had looked back when they would meet before, comparing his memory to how it was now.

He gave a sheepish laugh on his off-handed comment having been pointed out to be rather insensitive. “Sorry about that. I spoke before I thought that through. And thank you.” Saying before her found the sofa and moved to it to take a seat.

He thought on what went on in the time they last seen each other, mainly needing to remember just how much he had told them about himself and what he was capable of. A small smile formed on his lips before his elbow came to rest on his leg and using his hand to prop up his head, leaning on the limb. “Quite a bit’s happened actually. Though. Would you like the long or short version? Granted both will sound strange and fall into what you’d consider just plain fiction.” Saying with a slightly amused look before casting her a curious one. “Also, did I ever tell you what my power was?”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

“Oh, I’m used to people doing that. Speaking without thinking, that is.” Offhanded rudeness to break the ice and bring along that warm, fuzzy feeling of nostalgic social inadequacy. And to go along with that, two fingersnaps called to attention the maid-clad gynoid standing idly in a corner: called to attention by the auditory signal, the remodeled Rebecca, now sensibly different from her master, wasted no time to step forward, a glass taken from a compartment momentarily opened into the wall and green liquid pouring from her ring finger, before she could hand it to the guest. Ah, good ol’ kiwi juice!

“I can handle long, Nicholas. It’s not as if I have time to waste anyway.” It was in fact one of the luxuries of living where Rachel did. The scientist hid no pride in pointing the fact out and taking a seat on the armrest next to the grown young man, her grin eventually fading out as she took a sip from a glass of fresh juice of her own, which Rebecca brought before returning to her previous resting spot to await further order. “Your power? You probably did, but I’m afraid that the truth on the matter was lost during the laboratory’s remodernization process... just add that to your story, and don’t you worry - I know my way when it comes to distinguishing fiction and truth.”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

midst-anima ha risposto al tuo post “There came three knocks on the door to the lab.”

Though happy to see the scientist again he was surprised by her irritation. The hunter smiled. “You don’t recognize your own student?” He asked with a chuckle. “Well I guess I did grow a bit. Though, you still look like last we met.”

Imagine having a nearly constant stream of strangers barging inside your home unannounced by passing through the windows. Now substitute the windows with holes in the very fabric of logic and common sense, and one’ll have to wonder just when could the scientist have found the time to relax her overstressed synapses. Although, in her case, it would have been a matter of where: last time she looked, she had left an entire week’s worth of time stuffed into the fridge, only to forget about it. Now, what’s left is a lumpy mess that barely could count as a sloppy couple of hours!

“Yes, well, you know what, I suddenly feel a lot less eager to thank you, now that you too had to remind me that everyone but me has gone through a puberty or two... huh? ” Her stream of disgruntled lamentations came to a stop when her eyes settled on the visage of her guest. Which, aside from requiring her head from raising a lot more than it had in the past, just bled familiarity all over the floor. Rachel’s lips then curled into a surprised oooh, and soon (most of) her irritation had already been flushed away by something a bit more pleasant.

“Why, it is Nicholas after all! To think that you’d be able to find me back so easily... do come in, before you get stuck in the doorway and get sucked into non-existence.” urged she, tugging at his wrist while quickly closing the door behind him before it could lose its connection. “You’re a special guest here, so you can use the sofa to sit down and tell me how you have kept busy while I renovated the place.”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

There came three knocks on the door to the lab.

At first, it seemed that the noise had died into the throes of Rachel’s wrong assumption that she’d imagined it. Once the hypothetical equivalent of a couple of seconds went by, realization set in and the scientist’s forehead creaked into a frown: she really wasn’t the kind to imagine things out of nowhere. Her flights of fancy were usually the product of external stimuli, rather than any subconscious longing for escapism from her norm, which would have otherwise explained the sound of someone actually using the door for once as the result of the her delusions. Having come to this conclusion, thought gave way to action as Rachel shot up from her seat and practically ran towards the laboratory’s official entranceway, the risk of yanking it off its hinged staved off by her measly physical prowess. Almost out of breath as if to underline this fact, her first words weren’t quite those usually reserved to prospective guests, of honor or otherwise.

“Thank you, and again, thank you for your cooperative behavior. Now identify yourself, so that I can file you under my list of subjects of honor, of which you’d be the first one anyway.”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

With the reemergence of a certain laboratory onto the common plane of existence, would its occupants be surprised to be suddenly accosted with a veritable trove small bound packages in the same void? Each one would have a small label addressed to the recipient in a neat script, and within would be found various items of interest, including vacuum sealed mochi, small pieces of laboratory equipment, machinery parts, and children's dresses that were certainly far too small to be useful anymore.

It goes without saying - or, in this specific case, writing - that anything pertaining to the good Lunarian doctor would have been received with utmost delight in this here laboratory just like during its heyday.

“Now that the laboratory is finally revamped, it is time to go hear from the one person that won’t give me a headaaaAAAAGH--!”

It also goes without saying that opening the door to infinity and getting showered by a pile of packages is not exactly what most people are prepared for. Then again, most people’s doors usually lead to a single place, rather than any other possible place ever. Rachel would later find it in herself to appreciate the nature of this gesture, soon as Rebecca’d be finished with digging her out.

A bit harder was appeasing Chel’s discomfort with the new additions to her wardrobe, but that did not mean that she wouldn’t keep them for the eventual day when an enlarging machine would eventually come out of Rachel’s “to construct” queue.

[nocameranocares-deactivated2021]

Oh poor poor Rachel. Not even a moment’s respite before chaos would flood through those dimensional uncertain doors. Welcome back home to the world of activity and constant social entropy as your solitary monologues will now have to become dialogues to the peanut gallery. Though of course, you must admit to yourself. You ENJOY the inevitable heat death of activity, don’t you?

“Mm, I thought academics were supposed to be open to information. Including those that don’t fit into their incredibly narrow spectrum of observation. Over specialized to the point where basic speech events are about as foreign as the Lunarian’s physiology?” Smart choice not to hit Alice, but also a dumb choice not to hit Alice. Certainly the action of non-action has allowed Rachel to go through her very important job of telling Rebecca what to do for her without an injured hand (contact with Alice’s skin would literally cut you in two), but now the scientist would have to deal with the overly rebellious ego of an Alice that has not been specifically told what not to do.

Or more specifically, an Alice that has realized Rachel has no power over the magician. For now. No, she would not sit and wait at the operating table. That would come for later when bad goes to worse and Rachel undergoes mental aneurysms. For now, Alice would be very very satisfied with hovering over Rachel both figuratively and very literally for Shanghai. See exactly what this location was. Oh Rachel, how many years have it been and you still have yet to find a way to control your intruders? Or maybe you have Chel to do that now? She seems to be the more sociable and polite of the two. 

“Mm, I think you mean you have quantities of vicarious work to do that cannot be expressed in any non-zero system of measurement except say, bipedal movement. Bipedal motor movement as well, goodness how you speak! It seems as if you seem to have enough energy to spare for idle chatter, so perhaps you may explain what exactly you’ve been doing for this area to fall into disrepair. Or where this area even is. Or… Mm, no. I do believe if you’re trying to doll me up for an operation table, we’ll get to know each other well soon enough.”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

There was silence. Well, there could have been silence. If Alice had kept her mouth from running a marathon only to stop and chew a bit of the laboratory’s limited scenery, Rachel could have enjoyed the sort of perfectly distilled silence that not many are able to achieve without some effort into removing themselves from the greater happenings of life, social or otherwise. And you can’t get more removed from the world than when you live outside of it, the universe that containts it and a bunch of other celestial bodies of inconsequential importance, and even the imaginary portion of it. Or maybe you can, and Rachel was none the wiser; she certainly wished the contrary would be the case, and that hadn’t been truer than the moment Alice Margatroid had set foot in her laboratory. No, not the one who’d let her borrow a book on magic of all things back during the laboratory’s original run, get on with the times, gosh.

Also no, she doesn’t enjoy the eventual cease of operations that’d bound to happen. Mostly because of her beef with the “eventual” portion.

Now, Rachel just so happened to have fingers, ten of them in fact, protruding from each of her hands (of which she had two) in sets of five. she was well aware of the fact, and thus decided to make use of said knowledge to put her digits into motion: namely, balling four out of five into a fist and leaving the index to protrude and rise next to her face, pointing towards the ceiling. It did its job quite well, but that probably wouldn’t have been enough by itself... good thing that the self-proclaimed also found herself in possession of a mouth and a fully functional vocal apparatus.

“Yes, I understand perfectly.”

It wasn’t perfect, but Rachel’s arm nonetheless did its best attempt at drawing an arc as it bent forward, until the above-mentioned finger found itself pointing right in the middle of Alice’s nose. Had it hidden the switch to the puppeteer’s self-destructing mechanism, you can bet your words that she would have pressed it immediately afterwards. Maybe with the aid of a ladder to help her small height impairment.

“I understand perfectly that I would love for nothing more than to see your tongue sitting on a plate, where I know that it can’t attempt at my mental well-being.” With its duty fulfilled, Rachel’s hand retreated to a pocket sewn on her labcoat, leaving her eyes with the definitely vital task of expressing the sheer weight of her annoyance at her first guest in about two years of externally perceived time of supposed inactivity. Had the sensation been an ice cream flavor, this would have been the point where Rachel started spitting and cursing.

“In fact, I find the idea particularly appealing. I actually think I will put it in practice, unless you gave me a reason why I shouldn’t, or for your presence here. I would give you a time limit, but here of all places would be beyond pointless, so I will just wait until I feel like doing without these pointless formalities. So go on! Get talking like you seem to enjoy doing, I am all ears.” And scalpels. Loads upon loads of scalpels.

[prodigiousanima]

“Then it seems we are akin in more ways than just appearances,” Lute replied. One might think that’d be enough reason for her to leave, given she knew the annoyance of unwanted company all too well, but nay; perhaps her recent company rubbed off on her, as she decided on some badgering of her own. 

“And what sort of stuff do you devote your time to learning? I should like to learn now myself what you mean by messing with the laws of nature. I would think it’s a difficult thing to do, else they wouldn’t be natural laws.”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

To say that Rachel missed this would constitute a lie the likes of which would find no truthful validation in any of the known universes. And even in the known ones, it’d still be quite the hyperbole. But as the sage says... Thoron! Unfortunately, zapping strangers to death wasn’t an ability that Rachel had quite grasped yet (not that she’d tried in the first place). That left her with very few options, and as things stood, the anaesthetics were too far from her reach. That left humoring her guest as the second-least troublesome way to get her out of the way. Not too hard a feat to achieve when you possess the social skills of a rabid sloth, right? Let’s start with a nice, deep sigh then!

“Difficult does not mean impossible. Just because you cannot be prosecuted for it - even if that would make things a lot simpler - does not mean that you should feel entitled to do it anyway, just because you can.” Hmph, as if someone who reeks of so much magic it might start spilling over the place would get any of this anyway. “I study everything that is worth studying, whether visible to the eye or otherwise. How everything is made and can be used, instead of bent out of shape. Science, in other words. I study science and usually do science, whenever I’m not welcoming unwelcome guests.”

Rachel no don’t nod in Lute’s direction that’s rude.

[prodigiousanima]

“Oh, certainly not, that’s why you mentioned possible competition in the first place,” Lute said blankly. “As for anomalies, do you really think finding someone similar to yourself in appearance is truly all that strange? …My, you must be quite a hermit.”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

“I value the company of myself,” and her clone, and her artificial maid, and an unspecified number of intruders, “above that of people who use up their time to waste that of others. Like mine. Which I use to learn stuff, instead of messing with the laws of nature.” The poor things.

[prodigiousanima]

“Why, you say that as if you could be worthy of calling yourself my rival.”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

“I don’t plan on sowing hopeless thoughts like that in some look-alike anomaly’s head anytime soon, so you can keep focusing on your hocus-pocusing without fear of disturbances on my part. ”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

Well. The question still stands for your previous physical form.

“There has not been a single insh--instance of that happening. It might have been that most people were too busy paying attention to other things, like sis’ scalpels.”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

“I am getting a sense of deja vu... but also something like competition?”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

((Oh my God did you deliberately wait until Chel got an age boost and long hair to answer that? xD That's amazing. I vaguely remember sending that ask like a year ago.))

“How about we don’t throw praise where it isn’t supposed to go, yes...? The last thing we need is for someone to think that laziness can somehow be considered a positive trait.”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

Chel, given your young figure and androgynous haircut, have you ever been mistaken for a boy?

“...”

“I... I think we decided to answer this question a tad too late, didn’t we.”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

Bird has a question. "So, are you related to Honored Yakumo as well?" It makes sense! Rachel has purple hair (which ties into Yukari's name), several Shikigami (sort of), and lived beyond reality! Plus, as a wise man once said, any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

And speaking of complaints...

“Even if I were to feign ignorance about the reasons provided for that question, since I am not supposed to be able to read those...”

“Yeah, that’s one ridiculous assumption if I’ve ever heard any.” Good thing you didn’t mention that comparison out loud, or you’d have gained yourself a free trip on the operating table!

[purplebitsofanalysis]

HOLY SHIT

“...Right. I just got told by someone who, for all intents and purposes, might qualify as myself, so how about we hold off on dropping vulgarities all over the pile of reasons I have to complain today? Thank you.”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

“Mmh. That should do it.”

A moment to step back and behold the results of her efforts all but confirms it. Gone are the walls imitating the solidity of wood that gave this spacious room a somewhat homely vibe, as is the floor underneath which eternal nothingness boils fervently with the potential to be anything. In their stead, it is now pristine white concrete that shields the purple-haired girl from the void outside, if even such a term gains sense solely by virtue of there being an “inside” the labcoat-wearing girl created herself in the first place. Her name is Rachel Diorata, and her bobbed purple hair sways lightly, a movement provoked from her satisfied nod. Grey boots clack noisily against the ceramic tiles that paint a grid on the floor’s remade surface, shaded with slightly lighter shade of the same color; a few steps bring the adolescent, or so her appearance would suggest, to the impressive array of monitors, keys and all sorts of circuitry encased in metal and plastic strewn across the entirety of a wall - it is impossible, here, to tell what directional position it occupies: it could be located to the north, the east or anywhere between the two, depending on the whims of one’s perception based on a world where polarities exist. The chair sitting in front of it all is cushioned to the point of excess, although its comfortability might still be unable to match that of the black sofa that occupies a portion of the opposite wall, alongside two rows - one on each side - of more machinery. The glass covers on the latter let Rachel take a peek into their contents, once she moves to check them attentively: smooth terrain and artificial light stronger than the one that fills the room itself nurture rows upon rows of plants from whence brown, fuzzy skinned fruit hangs, much to the scientist’s pleasure. A scoff seems on the verge of drippin from her lips, soon as she gets sight of the one discordant element, the decorated charm hanging atop the sofa on the otherwise spotless wall. It is but an instant - more than enough for the one sitting on the comfortable piece of furniture to get wind of it.

“Are you still dwelling on that, sis?”

And so Rachel does indeed scoff, after all. While her hands are resting inside her labcoat’s pockets, some of her fingers reflexively caress the cold handle of a scalpel sitting inside. Even with her shoulders shrugging, there’s not a hint of conviction in the other’s eyes, as red as those of Rachel herself. A fact that should come with little surprise, seeing as the former was the living blueprint to which the latter’s existence owes her existence.

“I have nothing against it, aside from the fact that it clashes with the laboratory’s new aesthetic. Vividly, that is. Metal! Whites, greys and polished, shiny surfaces! Science...y, that’s how all should be here. Oh, but I’ll compromise,” she’s quick to add, seeing a purple eyebrow arching with judgement that she’s not in the mood to deal with... not that she ever is, ”since I don’t feel too eager about losing the primary reason for all these good harvests.”

“Until you can find a way to sh... surpass it by yourself, is what you mean.”

“Hmph.” Rachel’s lips purse, although it is not (entirely) that spot-on remark’s fault. Chel, so is (rather unimaginatively called) her clone, inclines her head, quizzically clashing her gaze with one that seems to be lingering on some unspecified reason for Rachel’s annoyance. It is not often that this happens, but it takes the living imitation a moment to understand what said reason might be.

“I don’t get it. I still don’t.” The labcoat floats dramatically, moved by the flashing extension of Rachel’s fingers pointing straight towards Chel’s nose, mere centimeters separating the two. The latter’s eyes cross in an attempt to read the mystery drawn on that index without finding any answers yet.

“What is it you don’t get, sis?”

“You. You.”

Silence echoes for a moment, filled only with a slight twitch of the scientist’s increasingly annoyed eyebrow.

“How come you’ve become like this?”

“...I do not follow you, sis.”

Satisfaction? That was gone, along with the relaxed atmosphere that had finally been enveloping the laboratory. In its stead came a foot, stomped rather heavily on the floor, while Rachel’s finger waved accusingly between her flustered impatience and Chel’s inability to grasp the scientist’s difficulties.

“It wasn’t even two years ago that you were scampering all about going ‘Big Shish this, Big Shish that’! You were this tall, Chel.” Her free palm aligned with the floor, reaching the puny height that corresponded to Rachel’s chest area, left equally puny by the passage of... oh, right. No real concept of time in the laboratory and all that drivel, sorry. “How do you explain the fact that you look like you took a jump from being seven years old to twenty?”

“Mmh.” The ceiling, interrogated by Chel’s pensive gaze, offered little help, but she did her best nonetheless. “Growth spurt?”

It wasn’t meant as a joke on her part. Rachel nonetheless looked completely unamused as if it’d been one anyway.

“Clones do tend to age faster, after all.”

“Oh, don’t you give me that, now. That would be true if you were a normal clone. Look at me! I haven’t grown one bit while you suddenly had your ridiculous growth spurt!”

“But you did grow taller, sis.”

“You call three centimeters growing taller?!”

“Aaah, and we were off to sh... such a great start too, sis.” A tranquil sigh and Chel was up, walking past the huffing mess that was her ‘sister’ to reach out for a coat, albeit not of the variety sporting a lab- prefix, hanging next to a door, the sole other feature of this specific wall, along with a cap and a bag without any peculiar features about them worth mentioning.

“Great start to what? And where are you going now when I’m still not finished?”

“Anywhere.” came Chel’s reply, once she was done stuffing most of her hair underneath the hat, the resemblance between herself and Rachel made all the more vivid. “If I listen to your complaints, sis, we will use up all the time we have until the next pause. There are far too many realities wasting away in the meanwhile... not that it matters to ush--us.”

The door opened. Behind it, all the possibilities that would ever be, the ones that had never had a chance to be. But, most importantly, a place away from Rachel’s complaints, and a decent description of all the changes that her little dwelling had undergone.

[nocameranocares-deactivated2021]

“If you’re holding a facility like this on the very border of anything that makes reasonable sense, I don’t think you have a right to complain about solitude and lack of guests. They won’t even know how they got here. People apparently like that sense of mystery, right? Have to find your dumb thrills somehow, I suppose”

“Wait… how am I talking to you? Where am- Oh bloody hell!”

[purplebitsofanalysis]

Deep breaths. Crackling joints and digits hovering above a familiar landscape. The alphabet is strewn across a sea of infinite possibilities, a scrambled, disjointed mess begging for the grasp that it has been denied ‘til now. All together now!

“Aaaaaaaaaaand hello there! Why yes, just spit your ignorant drivel all over my attempts at giving this place some semblance of order, won’t you!”

Arms thrown up to the ceiling (for lack of a Heaven that won’t be installed in this laboratory anytime soon), less than delighted expression, huffing and puffing in abundant doses. Ah, there it is, the bittersweet aftertaste of nostalgia. Or maybe it’s the bile building up in Rachel’s stomach. Let’s try to see how many ulceras the little scientist’s going to avoid in this new run, shall we?

“Yeah, keep proselitizing whatever it is you want, it’s not as if I’m expecting a futile apology or anything.” The fall of her arms is stopped by the trusty labcoat covering her sides: not exactly the best kind of cushioning, but it’ll make do. It constitutes a much better alternative to slapping the ever living lights out of the laboratory’s post-timeskip’s first intruder, which would end up soiling her newly budding reputation - but most importantly, she’d hurt her scrawny hands a lot more easily than those hauhgty cheeks.

“Look, I have quantities of work to attend to that I cannot express in any measurement system that you’d ever be able to understand, so go fetch a nap on the operating table in the room next door and I’ll eventually come to sew your superficial lips together. Does that sound good? Because it does to me.”

Alright, scram, shoo, get pushed out of the way Alice, the lab’s still in the middle of renovations. You’ll have to wait a bit more to cash in on your ‘get dissected free of charge’ privileges.

[purplebitsofanalysis]

“Is this actually happening, then? Far be it from me to complain... or not, since reasons to do so are attracted to this place like overly charged magnets. Aaah, alright, alright, let’s tidy this place up a bit first, for our honored guests, if any will even bother come here to bother. Rebecca, start up the cleaning routines, will you.”