Seventeen and In-Between
It's strangely easy on the island to lose track of the days.
Dairine doesn't, generally. She and Spot worked out an algorithm ages ago, given all the information they could come up with, that keeps track of the date not only here, but on every relative world they've been able to get data for; it's hard to say how accurate it is since you can't ever be sure how time runs outside, but it's at least something.
So there's the little blinking icon at the bottom of Spot's screen, lighting up because it knows something happened that never got acknowledged. October 21. What had she been doing yesterday? How important could it possibly have been?
It's one thing to have other people mess this up, it's a whole other world to forget yourself.
She's sitting on a rock on the beach, Spot balanced on her knee. It's probably even worse for her eyes than being inside, but whatever. She sets him aside, gently for all she's frustrated, and stalks down toward the water, kicking a bit of sand.
She whirls back, demanding, frustred--"Do you know how long it's been?"
It's a stupid question, of course he does. "Nine hundred four days," Spot answers. "With a variable of hours."
"Christ." Dairine doesn't have an answer for that. Is there even one? She just stands there, barefoot on the beach, all freckled with her hair blowing everywhere, and tries to figure out--not in the calm rational logical scientific way, but the greater, incomprehensible, cosmically intuitive way that she's never been very good at--just when this happened. This...growing up thing. "If I went back right now," she says, and Spot spiders across the sand to brush an eyestalk against her knee, "nobody'd recognise me."
Quiet, then, but for the ripple of waves against the shore. A sigh. "Come to think of it, I'm not sure I do either."
"I do," Spot says loyally. "I always would."
Dairine bends down to pick him up again, holding him against her chest. "You and me against the world, huh?" she says, and doesn't sniffle at all. "Well, let's you and me have a belated party or something, how about it?"
"Affirmative," Spot beeps softly.
[Dairine bears the brunt of her mun not being able to read a calendar, and missed her 17th birthday. New/old/all welcome, of course. ST/LT and all that fine as always! You don't even have to bring a present.]
Dairine doesn't, generally. She and Spot worked out an algorithm ages ago, given all the information they could come up with, that keeps track of the date not only here, but on every relative world they've been able to get data for; it's hard to say how accurate it is since you can't ever be sure how time runs outside, but it's at least something.
So there's the little blinking icon at the bottom of Spot's screen, lighting up because it knows something happened that never got acknowledged. October 21. What had she been doing yesterday? How important could it possibly have been?
It's one thing to have other people mess this up, it's a whole other world to forget yourself.
She's sitting on a rock on the beach, Spot balanced on her knee. It's probably even worse for her eyes than being inside, but whatever. She sets him aside, gently for all she's frustrated, and stalks down toward the water, kicking a bit of sand.
She whirls back, demanding, frustred--"Do you know how long it's been?"
It's a stupid question, of course he does. "Nine hundred four days," Spot answers. "With a variable of hours."
"Christ." Dairine doesn't have an answer for that. Is there even one? She just stands there, barefoot on the beach, all freckled with her hair blowing everywhere, and tries to figure out--not in the calm rational logical scientific way, but the greater, incomprehensible, cosmically intuitive way that she's never been very good at--just when this happened. This...growing up thing. "If I went back right now," she says, and Spot spiders across the sand to brush an eyestalk against her knee, "nobody'd recognise me."
Quiet, then, but for the ripple of waves against the shore. A sigh. "Come to think of it, I'm not sure I do either."
"I do," Spot says loyally. "I always would."
Dairine bends down to pick him up again, holding him against her chest. "You and me against the world, huh?" she says, and doesn't sniffle at all. "Well, let's you and me have a belated party or something, how about it?"
"Affirmative," Spot beeps softly.
[Dairine bears the brunt of her mun not being able to read a calendar, and missed her 17th birthday. New/old/all welcome, of course. ST/LT and all that fine as always! You don't even have to bring a present.]