Brea the Curve

"You missed the lecture again," says an annoyed voice.

It's a beautiful day out. Just enough cloud cover to keep a constant shade over my eyes, a swirling breeze to keep the scent of fresh flowers rolling through my head, a gentle bustle of a street over at the other edge of the park to chase away the annoyances that want to keep me awake. Like the sweet, honeyed voice that wants me awake.

"How did you even get up there in the first place," it continues.

Right around now, lunch has kicked in and I'm very sleepy. I don't understand how anyone actually gets things done when they are full of lunch. It's a terrible time to be up and doing things. I assume it's from the sea of anxiety and coffee that I mostly stay out of. Not the coffee, but the stress, the anxiety, the worry, mostly by taking luxurious afternoon naps on halcyon days. If only we all had the good sense to do that instead of attending lectures in stuffy halls with droning professors doing no justice to their assigned topics.

"Big. Big. Miss Big Iron," says that wonderful angel, "I know you can hear me. I will come up there knock you off if I have to."

I was having a very pleasant daydream. I was big and strong and cool, doing all the big and strong and cool things that someone of that station should be doing. I fought a dragon or two, made peace with those same dragons, bedded some wenches, had myself a grand old time attending a gala. Something like that. But I yawn because that same vibrant songbird that pulled me out is now trying to peck my nose.

I roll, dangling off the edge of the artistic wall meant to divide the park so that the people using the lake don't have to look at the people using the wide-open spaces. Or to keep out the errant soccer ball so no one gets waterlogged. I blink my eyes open and there's my little bird, hands on her hips and staring daggers right through my heart.

"Hi Luca," I saw with a little wiggling wave, "and I climbed. The bricks are pretty rough and I can get pretty high up with a running start."

She's mad. She's also cute when she's mad. Her sharp little ears get a little quiver, she makes sure to tuck her hair behind said quivering ears, but that prediscussed quiver keeps knocking strands loose. She's caught in an endless loop and all she has to do is not be mad and then we'd both be happy instead. She's wearing her favorite poncho. It's also mine. It has these fun little leaves intertwining along the edges. She also tends to wear something nice and tight underneath it, so it flows with her movements and gives me so many wonderful things to look at. She also decides to let her shirt ride up a bit so I get glimpses of her stomach as she works on mustering all of her hate.

"How many have you missed this semester?" she asks.

"No clue. But not all of them. I've been to Professor Mayer's study sessions."

"We had him last semester. Now it's Professor Alotshy. What does she look like?"

"Kind of short. Biggish nose, but not that big. Mean eyes, but they can be nice. Nice long wavy hair, dirty blonde or light chestnut, depending on the light. Big ol' hat."

"I have no clue who you are talking about. I don't think that's anyone who teaches here. You have made a figment out of your sloth and given it form. How dare you. Our halls are now infested with your laziness."

"From this spot, hammocks shall sprout from the earth like kudzu. My lazy ways shall infect the world until even the sun itself is too sluggish to rise in the morning. Are you hungry? I could eat and I haven't seen Ruger today."

She sighs and the wind picks up with her. It's still a criminally beautiful day.

"Yeah kind of. Ruger's already got our spot. I didn't have breakfast," she says as she holds out a limp hand to get me down.

"If you skipped your first lecture of the day, you could have joined me."

"As much as I want to eat, I also don't want to watch a golia woman eat my weight in bacon and eggs first thing in the morning."

"I could eat more than that. At least a you and half a Ruger."

She rolls her eyes and I do take the hand. It doesn't help as much as she wants, but I don't have that much of a drop. I stand taller than her. That's not hard for someone like me, but it's still kind of funny when she tries to intimidate me. I can just pick her up and cradle her away. That would just make her even angrier and then my ankles might be in danger.

She leads me on and I see so many others resisting the temptation of my entire purpose. Studious things pattering back and forth, back and forth over the green in a desperate attempt to get to where they need to be. The grass is soft. The shade is cool. The water babbles and laps at its banks. They could all slip into that blanket but the final presentations and the savant mark waiting at the end is just sitting under their asses with a hot needle.

And Luca is not even immune to it. Every step brings another fun little bounce to her step. I'll probably have to jog to keep up with her in a few moments. She has her fun and I can't tamp that down. It's infectious. Existence has decided to be positive for once and the whole world rotates around that one axiom.

The crowd grows and grows as we turn to the main square. The glowing crystal orbits in its brass cage, clear water raining down from its top, the shallow canals flowing down to the lake on the far side of the school. The whole thing pulses with a soft white starlight glow. The ships are still waiting to hear where they need to go, some up to the mountains and some down to the sea.

"Do you think the twins will be back soon?" I ask.

"No clue," says Luca.

"I should have fought for that harder. But I can't say no when they get all pouty."

"No one can. And then blue gets all smart alecky and you just say yes to shut her up."

She sighs like she isn't the same way, sort of. I say yes because she has a cute smile. I say yes because our interests align a good 65% of the time. She slows down a bit and matches her pace with mine. We don't want to get separated.

From my mountain peak vantage point, I see a waving hand poke up and gesture to us. I grab Luca's arm and tug her in the right direction. She lets me. She does acknowledge that there are things I am good at. Looking, peering, looming, sleeping, a few other things that I can't quite think of right now, but also leading and parting a crowd. Only another golia can stop another golia and most of those peruse the mines and high seas more so than ivory academia. Except for Professor Bright Crystal. She's alright.

Ruger's waving at us and, like the absolute doll he is, there's a set of frost laden cups waiting for us. Judging by the glow on his rings, that's his doing too. I break forward and pick up the poor thing. He is terribly underhugged. It just so happens that my hugs plant him squarely in my chest. Any flustering on his part is just a bonus. I set him back down and all of him is just as red as his hair. His fluffy isop ears twitch and flick right to the tips. His tail goes still. Luca gets a little jealous but she woke me up. No fun treat for her.

"So how was the lecture," I ask. The drink's sweet. There's probably a whole thesis in the mix ratio and what it should be eaten with. But I taste blueberries and like blueberries.

"It was good," he says with his bright beautiful eyes, "Still going on the discoveries of the new world. There's been a few more acrido filtering in now that there's a solidified trade route. The twins sent a letter on one headed back. They are catching the next one, so they should be home soon."

His drink's a bright shimmery red. Luca has a yellowish creamy thing that is probably too sweet for both of us, but she seems to like it. But that's still not enough to get her out of the idea that she needs to set me on the straight and narrow.

"You know the deliverables are coming up soon," she says, "You really need to start going to classes at least some of the time."

I sigh. The sweet fruit can't hide the truth even if it wasn't pulped and ground into a cold paste.

"You're right," I say while she gets that sunny gleam of being right, "I need to go to the lectures. Once the twins are back, I'll make them get me up."

She glares at me and I smile back. My plan is great. It's perfect. She just needs to see it in action. And I probably need to run some tests to make sure they're up to the task. It'll be in the works for the end of the semester, a break to work out the kinks and next year we'll be running along at a good clip.

"Seriously, Big," says Ruger, turning on me, "They could kick you out if you're not performing. Crystal isn't going to cover for you all the time, even if you are her favorite."

"So, I go to her and ask if there's a project or something I can swoop on and put my name too. There we go. Or we all can do something together. It'd be a fun bonding experience."

I put a little swerve the word 'bonding' and the shared memory gets Ruger blushing back to his drink. Luca's a bit more composed. We have fun.

"I've already put my name in with the pictrometer project for mapping sky ship routes," Luca says, "so I can't. Sorry. Not sorry."

And she has failed me yet again. Fortunately, my dear excitable Ruger is much more of a sweetheart. I turn to him, putting all my hopes and dreams on his delightfully wide shoulders.

"Sorry, Big," he says through his drink, "But the expedition team wants to do a comparison study with courtship habits between acrido and isop. Apparently, there's a pair coming back with the twins. They want a few isops on board so that the whole thing is accurate."

"Great. I know all about how isops fuck. Just put a word I with the board and I can add my two cents."

He blushes. The poor thing blushes with an ancestral urge to vault the table and pin me to the ground. I might even let him do that for a little while. Luca kicks me under the table. I deserve that. The drinks don't deserve that little rattle and shake.

"They're trying to keep the mix equitable," he murmurs, "so I don't think they'll go for it."

I make a big show of leaning back in my chair. My best friends have killed me. Again. I am an island adrift in an endlessly calm sea.

"I'm going to say some really mean things to you, Big," says Luca, genuine care trickling through her voice for once, "But I've always thought it was kind of weird you came to the Academy. I mean, you're smart, but not smart smart. You don't really go to class or any of the events. Almost everyone here is after something. You just seem like you're after a good time."

My beautiful little songbird sings so sweetly to me. Ruger looks somewhat shocked. The words should be a slap across my face, but they have just soothed my soul. A smile breaks across my face, wider and wider and wider. They are now afraid. A smile should not be this wide.

"You're right, Luca," I say, "I am after a good time."

---

Poor, poor Professor Crystal looks so tired. A bit of bag under the eyes, a bit of sag at the corner of her mouth, she can't quite get her posture set up right, shoulder's square. I can see down her dress a bit, but that's fine. She's dignified enough to look good in any pose, in any state of exhaustion. Time has been kind to her. Or she's tough enough to take it well. The underlying stone of her being has been chipped and worn, but never cracked. She pushes up her glasses and takes gently circling finger to her temple.

"Miss Iron," she says, a gentle fray at the edge of the words, "You are surprising, to be kind. This is the first project proposal I've ever seen that has been scribbled on a napkin."

"Thank you," I beam, "I pride myself on spontaneity."

"If that's what you want to call it. I will say, the medium does impact my thinking on the project extension. It's bad enough that you're cutting it this close to the wire. If this was at the start of the quarter, and on the department stationary, then I might be a bit more amenable."

"I think given the nature of the project it is the more ethical approach to do so after. I know the exploration department and astrologs are getting an extension."

"The exploration guys are traveling across the Grand Deep. The astrologs are marking the path of the Red Comet. Time can give way to space. You want to throw a party."

"After the standard due date for the majority of the scholars so that whatever ill effects are minimized to their academic studies. If you have ethical or moral concerns, I'm happy to work with you on this."

She sighs and sits back. My eyes dart to her chest, but she's too busy being exasperated to be annoyed.

"How the hell are you so good at the bullshit words?"

"I think its natural. Kind of how I got in here in the first place."

Professor Crystal's hair has gone white. Not from stress, but from some wonderful mishap early in her career made her the not-so-secret crush of anyone who can appreciate an older woman. She keeps running her finger in a tight circle on her temple. All the stress will flow away from that point and she'll be fine.

"That and your parents," she sighs, "Never, ever forget that, you adorable disaster. I never could say no to Cold Iron. Him and his stupid tight ass."

I prefer not to think about it, but I do appreciate that sentiment. I keep smiling. I do all I can to make this little exchange as pleasant as possible. Overall, I think I'm doing a pretty decent job.

"I can't approve this," she says, "I just can't. Even if there was a decent time frame on this, even if you had more than a napkin's worth of a proposal, even if I had a decent chunk of budget remaining, I can't approve what appears to be an excuse to get drunk on the department's dime. I'm tenured, but not invincible."

"Professor," I say, "I know what I'm proposing is incredibly unorthodox. I know that it's all done in a very unconventional manner. But I am playing to my strengths and trying to think outside the box. You and the rest of the department have done wonders but-"

"What is my department," she asks.

"I'm sorry?"

"What's my department? I am the head of what? You signed up for my area after all, Miss Iron. I think it's an obvious question."

The walls will help me. There are always things on the walls. A silvergraph of her and my dad, all done up in mining gear and obviously tired. A pressing of some extinct or exotic flowers. A shelf full of scrolls and tomes with hidden titles. The walls have failed me. These are all bad walls.

"Starts with an 'l,' she says, moving that circle finger to her desk, tapping out an impatient rhythm. Neither help my poor brain come up with a good answer.

"Lattology," Professor Crystal says, "The study of manifestation. How the arcane forms in the physical world. So called because the natural form is in lattice structures. Such as crystals."

"I knew that," I lie, "I just couldn't remember the word."

"If you couldn't remember the word, then you didn't know it. That's how knowing works."

"I know it now. That's something, right?"

"It would be if this wasn't your 3

rd

year studying with me, 4

th

at the Academy. But it is."

She sighs again, drumming her fingers on the desk in a staggered march against me. Her eyes are such a deep dark blue, almost like the night sky.

"Last shot," I say, "I know I've had those before, but for real this time. If I don't have a deliverable the next day, whatever you want to do to me. Expulsion. Termination. Banishment."

"Those are all the same thing, more or less."

"That's also kind of all you can do. I'll be on your side if my dad tries to get me back in. Even if he puts up the money, I won't show up. You just take a little kick back and have a good time."

The good professor rifles through a set of papers on the desk, looking up and down the columns.

"I can give you like two kegs," she says, "and you didn't get them from me. Anything else is coming out of your pocket. I'll sneak you onto the modified schedule list when I'm with the rest of the council and say it was an error on my part since I don't come across many solo projects. That's all I'm offering."

I beam as radiant as the sun. She just keeps glowering at me. I should curl up and die and save the rest of the world the hassle of dealing with me and my raw enthusiasm. I snatch her hand and give it a vigorous shake. She's learned not to fight me. I am inevitable as the tide. It's best to just go with me.

---

"I'm happy to help," says Ruger, "but I'm not sure I should have tagged along."

"Nonsense," I say, "I can't do this without you. Or Luca. But she said she was very busy and you were only pretty busy. All you have to do is sit back and let me do the talking. I just need an extra pair of hands to carry some stuff. And look pretty. You're really good at that."

Ruger's nervous and I don't know why. We're just down by the docks. Ships come in and give us things and we give them money. Not the local we, but a grander scale of what I represent. The first part of any good party is a wellspring of alcohol, and it all starts with two kegs of fortified red ale to bring a bit of home to the world at large.

The docks aren't even that scary. A few fights, a few bars, not even a red light. The people need to be focused on learning. The sailors have already fallen off the straight and narrow. I stride tall and long while Ruger does his best to keep up with a cautious glance to the shadowy alleys. They're not that shadowy. But I like the way his ears twitch when he's nervous. All in all, it's a good night. Much past everyone's bedtime, but that's part of the fun. His eyes shine in the darkness, a bright fire red flickering and shifting every other heartbeat. They come to me every so often, my chest, my thighs, my neck.

We're here, The Lamp & Knife, and I just barge right in. I do make sure to hold the door because I am kind and generous. I also make sure to get in a good grope of his tight ass. He jumps a bit. We'll get to the other reactions by the end of the night. The tap room's bright and cheery, not quite raucous by a good rush of conversation and merriment run over us. Ruger perks up as he spies a tray of food running past us. All those nerves fall away. I lead him on. We can be distracted later. For once, we have a task.

Crystal said we were looking for an isop crew and I see one in the back, laughing and cavorting like people who've put in a long day's work. And they probably did. Ruger's on my back. I approach. They notice, but do not respond. They just keep drinking.

"Hi, "I say, "I'm here to pick up the order for Professor Bright Crystal."

"Fuck off," says the one with black tipped ears, "We're on leave."

The other two nod and go back to their drinks. Charming. Although I do understand their reluctance to work. It's a universal urge. I stand there and smile.

"We're kind of on a tight schedule," I say, "We need that order."

"And I said fuck off," black tip says.

Ruger's not helping. He's been told no and that means he should be respectful and go somewhere else. I don't particularly care for that. I have kegs to get and these people have the kegs. I take the empty seat and rest my chin on my hands.

"Great," I say, "that's just super. I'm not leaving without my kegs. So, if you want to go back to having a great night of not working then you have to do a little work right now. Not even asking to carry the kegs back home. Just which ship they're on and rolled down to the dock. Two kegs. Like 15 minutes at most. Get a good stretch of the legs and some fresh air. C'mon. I'll be you friend."

Ruger's back to being anxious. Poor thing needs a snack. We'll get him some snacks. One of the other isops makes eyes at him. He gets all blushy and shy, doing his best to hide behind me. She has a good red thing going on, fading to a raspberry pink when the light catches it just right. Ruger's darker. They'd be good together, like a sunrise.