literally no one: bad lab partners AU
me: *Logus voice* Dear diary, my new lab partner is a pool boy with a fancy hat. Our TA had to tell him not to wear face paint to lab; I'm embarrassed even to stand beside to him. Worse, he's a mathematician. He constantly makes jokes about imbibing or snorting whatever substances we're working with, hardly takes this seriously, thinks he's hilarious, and to top it off, despite my clearly being the more competent party between us, he won't let me do a damned thing! Every time we come to the hood it's 'Logus measure this,’ ‘Logus fetch me that,' while he does all the important bits. I can't protest or he'll throw a fit, draw attention, and nothing will get done. Then of course when I go to write up my portion of the report, he insists on changing everything I've written before we hand it in. He hardly even alters any of the substance: just re-words it, for no reason! He wrote in my lab book once. That, i'm pretty sure, is blasphemy. It may even be illegal, and I only refrained from slapping him on the spot because we were surrounded by onlookers and I for one pride myself on not throwing tantrums in public like a child. Speaking of which, did I mention he's about 5 feet tall? Between his appearance and his behaviour, I'm not certain he isn't actually twelve. Honestly, that might explain things.
I hope he gets one of his contact juggling balls lost up his ass. I don't care if it's child abuse. He deserves it.
logus: Whatever made you think i would play nice? You never play nice with me. Give me one reason I should.
oskyod, quietly: Reason has nothing to do with it. You’re obedient to a fault, Logus. And I command it.
logus: What was that now?
oskyod, darkly: I said: I command it.
logus:
logus:
logus, biting his lip and grinning like an idiot: Say it again.
oskyod: *facepalm* why are you like this
osk, braiding up hair after receiving 1st head massage from logus: that was lovely, Logos. i’ve admired your fingers for a long time, but i didn’t think you had it in you to put them to use.
logus: (….!!>!>!!)
osk: I mean, it was a far cry from one of Jezebel’s
logus:
osk: but you’ll get there.
logus: >: |
logus: alright, you seem to have got the hang of it, now here’s the message (see if you can decipher this, professor, ahaha >:})
logus, signing with his fingers into oskyod’s scalp in a super secret sign-touch conlang: <3
oskyod:
logus:
oskyod: ...you are aware that this is the clumsiest conlang i have ever suffered to engage with, aren’t you?
logus: it did occur to me.
oskyod: a fitting courier, then, for the most inane message that I have ever received?
logus: but of course.
oskyod, signing back into Lougs’ hand in the same language: it’s brilliant <3
Pah, you would do better to ask me what I dislike least! That girl is a time-bomb. She’s unstable—even moreso than your average Star. She can’t contain herself. She’s got more raw power than she has the brains or the discipline to harness and—ah, well, but see? There’s the rub. She is powerful. Extraordinarily so. And as such… well, you know my business. That’s what we’re looking for, after all. It’s what we select for, and I’d be lying if I said I weren’t eager to get my hands on her yield. I’ll like her in that form, I daresay, but I really don’t like her running around with all of that on the loose, and honestly I don’t know that it’s worth the risk. I personally would never have taken her on. But the Master is very fond of her, and he (god help him) trusts that Jezebel knows what she’s doing, and neither of them will listen to me, so, you know. What can I say?
jezebel: can’t you shut UP for one moment you brown-nosing busybody
logus: floozy.
jezebel: milksop.
logus: dullard.
jezebel: incel.
logus: cheat.
jezebel: ninny.
logus: whore.
jezebel: absolute ninny
logus: *Lying Whore(TM) (beg pardon)
jezebel: ABSOLUTE ASS-CRACK OF NINNY(TM)
oskyod: *wanders in with popcorn*
logus, attempting to lead osk in a dance: you’re doing it again.
oskyod: mmm?
logus: the thing. we’ve talked about this. it’s terrible form.
oskyod: i’m afraid you’ll have to be more spec---
logus: STOP BACK-LEADING.
oskyod:
oskyod:
oskyod: i have no idea what you’re talking about, logos.
Characeter ask meme, re @theghostisametaphor.
Logus asks Oskyod: F. envy or jealousy
note: Λόγος (Logos) is Oskyod’s pet name for Logus, because naturally.
---
Jezebel shifted her weight pointedly. “We’ll see,” she said, and took her leave.
Once she had passed out of earshot, Logus laughed.
“Such a jealous creature,” he said. “Will she never learn?”
Oskyod tucked the card they had been examining back behind their ear, where it vanished from sight.
“Jealous?”
Logus straightened. “Do you object to my choice of word? Clearly she resents me—resents my discovery—and irrationally so. This ought to be a cause for celebration, but to her there’s no true victory unless it’s hers. What would you call that?”
“Envy.” Oskyod did not hesitate. “I would call that envy.”
“But that is a synonym! Don’t you stand there and tell me that it isn’t.”
“It is,” now Oskyod spoke more slowly, “but you asked what I would call it. To my mind ‘synonym’ is a fallacy: I do not hold any two words to be interchangeable. The connotations of envy, I think, fall much closer to the mark.”
“Oh? And how do you distinguish?”
Oskyod shrugged. “I don’t hold to any hard-and-fast rule. But I like to be consistent. I generally think of envy as a desire for what isn’t yours, and jealousy as a reluctance to share what is—or what is yours in part. Envy is ambitious; jealousy is possessive. Alternately (or additionally), jealousy tends to carry more intimate connotations than its counterpart. Jealousy is always personal; envy may be less so.” They paused. “That said, not everyone draws the distinction in the same way that I do. There’s a good deal of overlap, and your usage was certainly fair play: it’s just not how I would have put it.”
Oskyod left off, but they did not withdraw their gaze. All the time they had been speaking, Logus noted, they had not broken eye contact; he was not sure whether he liked this any better than the professor’s more customary evasiveness. Their braid uncurled in the air from left to right, and Logus had to suppress a sudden impulse to grab hold of it and make it stop—together with the curiosity that had welled in him. He put his hands in his pockets and looked away.
“Such a messy business, language” he said. “There’s no precision in it. But I do respect your attempt to bring some more rigour to the discipline. By your terminology, here, yes, I agree. Jezebel is insatiable above all else—as envy must be in its extreme—and that’s what rules her.” Still the curiosity pricked at him. He rocked back on his heels. “Would you say then…that some people are ruled more by one or the other? Envy, jealousy? Take Lux. She’s quite the opposite: I don’t think I’ve ever seen her envious in my life. She wants nothing. But lay one finger on anything that’s hers…?” he laughed. "Jealous as the devil, that one.” He stole one glance at Oskyod from the corner of his eye. They had not moved. “But I am curious, professor. You seem to have put some thought into this—which suggests to me that it is above all an important distinction for you.” He circled two paces to the left, vulture-like. “Tell me. Why is that?”
Oskyod followed him with their eyes as he paced, all else about them motionless.
“You may ask me, Logus,” they said. “I am inclined.”
Logus stopped dead. There was a command behind that—something he had not heard before—and it chilled him. Oskyod pivoted to face him directly. “You may ask me,” they repeated, “but you must do better than that if you want a good answer. Language, I think you will find, only lacks precision if you don’t know where you are in it. You don’t. But one man’s mess is another’s filing cabinet: a mess one can navigate is no mess at all. Give me the context and I can give you anything: as intricately—as precisely—as you like.” They stepped in close. “Ask me again, Λόγος,” they said, “and don’t insult me. Do it right this time.”
Logus stood transfixed, his mind racing. Oskyod never did this. Oskyod never maintained eye contact for this long—not with him and not with anyone. They would look at a book, look at the floor, look out a window, at their own fingers—at anything—at nothing. This was deliberate. Right from the start he’d known something was off—how had he not caught it?
It was too late. All this time they had been casting, and now the spell was fixed: if Logus spoke, he could not lie. Not only that, but he could not lie by omission; he could not conceal—not until Oskyod looked away. He knew the trick well—he used it not infrequently himself—but he'd thought only Lux had the cards to use it on him. Was this even the same spell? It felt very different, under their cast—like a dimly lit maze, or a web with many twists and snags—and there was much less compulsion to it. When Lux demanded a truth, she extracted it—willing or no. But this was not a demand. It was a condition. If he should speak…
The panic passed. Logus would not be made to reveal anything. Easily he could snip every thread that held him; depart, and never speak of it again. But what would that imply? That he feared the truth? He, Logus? And still the curiosity ate at him. Rarely was Oskyod so forthright: when next could he expect such an opportunity? Was there any good reason he should not take it? They knew already what he had asked—of that he was certain—only they would not answer it until he had given the question in full.
Well, he thought. If that is to be the price…
“Well played,” he said, and collected himself, “but I do not mind.” He flexed his fingers and pulled on the cuff of one gloves. "And why should I? I’ve nothing to hide. I will ask again, and on your terms.”
He held himself tall, taking a moment to feel out the boundaries of the spell—what would give and what would not. He began.
“You know that I…require you,” he spoke carefully, testing the syntax. “I mean I care for you very much—” and there was the wall. A panic took him and he felt for the exit. Was he bound to keep speaking now that he had begun? No: he could still break. Or could he...? But he did not want to. (Was that a part of it?) “And while I do not know for certain your regard for me, I have reason to hope that I am not entirely unrequited in my love.” Again he balked. That he could never have said—he did not have the cards for it.
And yet he’d said it. He’d let the words be pulled from him—against his hand—with his permission and without his will. It felt almost exhilarating. Lux only ever dealt in hard truths, and when she extracted them it was with an iron fist. But these were shadow-truths: many-sided, and they wanted shaping. He had to yield them, but beyond that he could yield them any way he liked. He had expected to feel forced. He did not. He felt fluent---so fluent it frightened him. Every truth he gave now was his own.
You’re doing very well, said the spell. Take your time.
Logus bristled. He did not have to look up in order to read Oskyod’s expression (smug, insufferable). “I hate you,” he said—and found with relief that he could still say it.
Gathering his thoughts again he pressed on, more irritable now than cautious.
“It’s as I said: you know these things. You know (confound you) everything. And you know also my position. You know where I stand in the Master’s esteem: you know his claim to me. And you know that even if I could I would never change it. It’s what I am. So what I’m asking you is simply this.” He took a breath and retreated into the collar of his coat. "Do you....do you mind it? You do not strike me as the envious sort. Yet sometimes I imagine—sometimes, in the way you…” Again he stalled. No. He would say it: he could. “Are you jealous then?” Now, and never again. "Are you jealous towards me?”
He opened his eyes (he had not realised he’d closed them). The world did not end. He looked up. Oskyod tilted their head to one side, blinked, and released the bind; Logus reeled a little, feeling almost giddy. He laughed once, recovering quickly, and skipped lightly backwards.
“Your move, professor,” he said, “And you had better answer: you know you’re not the only one who can pull that trick.”
“Oh, I fully intend to,” Oskyod smiled, looking very pleased with themself. The smile broke into a grin, and they laughed, and laughed again, stumbling a little as they did. They seemed almost to be having difficulty containing their mirth. Logus looked on in some bewilderment: he was not quite sure he had ever seen them in such a state. “Excuse me, please,” Oskyod said, “I am not laughing at you, believe me: you performed splendidly—that was much better. You speak so beautifully, you know, when you’re enabled. Yes, yes, you have certainly earned a reply.”
Feeling more insulted than flattered by this praise, Logus waited. “It had better be honest. I can tell.”
“I am aware,” said the professor, sobering a little. “I don’t suppose you would take a more eloquent reply tomorrow, would you?”
“No–!” Logus sputtered. “No, absolutely not! I played your little game. You’ve made me say all sorts of ridiculous things—and very ineloquently! I’ve humiliated myself. Now you.”
Oskyod laughed again, still very fey. “Sorry, I had to ask. Well.” They adjusted their glasses. “Thankfully it’s not nearly so difficult a question for me to answer as it was for you to pose. You’re on the right path: I do generally incline much more towards jealousy than towards envy, in the instance that I incline towards either. It’s all a great deal of energy, you know—envy especially. And very pointless. Though… I do not especially love for other people to touch what’s mine. My office, for example. My records, my person, my cards.” Now they locked eyes with Logus, their expression blank. “But you already know that. You did not ask about generally. You asked about you. You guessed that I do not envy your position, and you guessed correctly. As for the Master…” They looked past Logus now, and spoke distantly. “I would not flatter yourself so far as to think me jealous. I don’t give a damn whether he touches you. I might be able to muster some resentment over other aspects of his claim, but it’s such an effort to work up a real fit. And we both know I’ve never required you quite so desperately as you require me. ” Now they looked back, and smiled strangely. “Besides. Say that I did possess you—comprehensively. What would I do with that? Keep you in my office in a box, take you out only when it amused me? Because you see, if I really wanted you, that’s what it would take. I do not possess things lightly. I do not possess people lightly. It’s really far better that you’re his.”
Their voice had dropped considerably in volume, and Logus realised that he could no longer say what language they were speaking in—only that he understood it.
“That said…”
Oskyod moved in to adjust the front of Logus’ jacket (which Logus was fairly certain did not need adjusting). Their braid swung very close to his face and he grew impatient.
“That said, what?”
Oskyod looked up. “What?”
“I’m not letting you off. You were going to say something. Stop touching that—out with it.”
“Ah, right.” Oskyod stepped backwards, quiet as dust.
