gunnerkrigg court; water cycle
TITLE: Water Cycle
CHARACTERS: Zimmy/Gamma Czarnecki
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: 2,700
SUMMARY: If the rain comes down, then they can almost count it as a good day.
NOTES: See icon for more details.
*
You should be sleeping, Zimmy tells her, whenever the rain comes down. She thinks it first, and then says it, partly because Gamma likes the sound of her voice, and partly because she does too. When the heavens open, Zimmy knows that it's the perfect time for Gamma to sleep, because she's constantly torn between two extremes; she wants Gamma to sleep, to rest, because she sees the shadows and dark lines under her eyes, sees the way her concentration slips. She starts to sway as she walks, thoughts becoming less consistent and jerky, like bumps in the road; but then, the selfish part that makes up most of what she is takes over, and she never wants Gamma's eyes to close. It's the only way that the static drowns out, the only way that Zimmy can feel herself tuned in with the world. The monsters stay away, so long as Gamma's by her side; as long as Gamma's aware of the world, able to make out the shapes of things that Zimmy can't.
And so when storms break or April afternoons bring about showers, Zimmy sees clearly, thinks clearly, and knows what she should do. She tells Gamma to get some rest, because the rain might even last for an hour-for half a day, maybe, when things aren't quite as bad for Zimmy-and she'll be fine, until she dries off. But Gamma, despite the slightly vacant look that always fades into the reflections cast in her eyes, says (thinks) that no, she doesn't want to sleep. She doesn't want to be away from Zimmy, when the world's finally considering being kind to her.
They leave the library when the clouds become heavy, and try their best to leave behind everything that reminds them of the Court; everything that isn't some small fraction of each other, anything that isn't the rain. The other students, they either dash for shelter the moment it begins to drizzle, or open up great, colourful umbrellas over their heads, so that from the high rooftops, all that they seem to be are drops of colour, blurred together by the rain. Zimmy cares nothing for the state of her hair or her uniform or the way that her shoes will squelch afterwards, and Gamma cares enough for Zimmy not to think twice about any of that.
The rain hits Zimmy, and at a first glance, seems to sizzle away, like her skin's hot to the touch. Great fumes rise from her head-maybe it's steam, or maybe it means something more than all of that-and coil up towards the clouds, white wisps making the whole of her seem lighter, somehow. Her hair flattens, sticks down though it's horribly tangled, and then, suddenly, everyone can see her eyes, can see her for what she is, though they've never once made the effort to really look before. Gamma, though, she's always been able to see the red between the thatches of shadows that almost seem scrawled across her eyes, but she sees her mood change, feels the overwhelming calmness and cheer reverberate off of her. She never has been quite sure how to deal with it in any way but to take Zimmy's hand and smile, thinking to her about how happy she is, because it's so rare that she gets to she Zimmy like this.
She's starting to believe that more and more time is passing between the rainy days they're blessed with.
Afterwards, as long as the rain clings to her, Zimmy still feels its effects. They stay outside, so that Zimmy can breathe in the damp air, as if trying to commit the smell and taste and feel of it all to memory, and use it to help herself, on the days that are worse than most. There are a lot of things to take in about the rain, Zimmy thinks at her, beyond the fact that it's wet and makes her clothes clean. Clean, she always thinks, because if showers can't help alleviate the buzzing, then why should any sort of running water be good for cleansing anything? There's the smell, although it's always inconsistent, because while the Court doesn't seem to mind the smell of dew drops left on freshly cut grass, no one but Zimmy seems content with the way damp slabs of stone smell on grey, drizzly days. Then there's the taste; not that Zimmy ever tries to catch the rain on the tip of her tongue, of course, but it does make the air taste a little sweeter. Gamma agrees with her in this regard, but then again, Gamma agrees with her on most issues. The sound of the rain, Zimmy explains, isn't soothing. It doesn't make her want to drift off to sleep, or stay sat in front of a fireplace. It's revitalising. And then there's the feel of it, the way that it makes the world seem to have less sharp corners, whenever she runs her fingertips across wet railings or the corners of Court buildings.
If it rained all the time, Gamma thinks, Zimmy wouldn't need her around; and if it rained all the time, Zimmy thinks, Gamma would like being around her so much more.
When the rain finally lets up and the sunlight breaks the clouds apart, they take a slow walk back inside, to wherever they'd been lurking beforehand. The Court is huge, and even at their strictest, their timetables are nothing more than mere suggestions; and without sleep to obtain, they've nothing but time to roam around with, to find dark corners that nobody else comes across. This time, though, they head back to their dorm, and they do have a room of their own, no matter how it may appear. There seems to be more space than in any of the other dorms, because one day, Gamma was sleeping and a spider with eyes the size of fists made its way through a window, and the only thing Zimmy could do to retaliate was to throw her own, unused bed on its side, in an attempt to squash it. The bed's remained on its side ever since then, and thinking it would cheer her up, Gamma hooked the bedsheets between the mattress and bed frame, and then pinned down the other end with books they'd never read, and made a tent for the two of them. There was the illusion of safety there, if nothing else.
We should get cleaned up! Gamma thinks cheefully, and almost manages to make it sound like a suggestion, except for the part where Zimmy knows that this is going to end up with her in the bathtub. She groans, jagged teeth suddenly forming a smile, and then nudges Gamma's shoulder with her own.
“The rain were enough to get the job done,” Zimmy says, and thinks it at the same time. When Gamma sceptically raises an eyebrow, Zimmy takes hold of her hair between both hands and wrings it out, rain water dripping down and forming a tiny puddle between them. “See? No problem here.”
Gamma's always thinking at her, always filling her mind with thoughts that make the static line up and the buzz become more of a hum, but when Gamma wants to get her point across, those thoughts are loud, and seem to echo inside of her skull. There's nothing like a language barrier between them, because their thoughts are simply that: the raw essence of what they're truly thinking, feeling, and nobody's ever able to properly express that with words. They're just on the same wavelength, and Zimmy doesn't hear Gamma's voice in English, nor does Gamma hear Zimmy's in Polish; all they hear is each other. This time, however, Zimmy regrets the clarity with which they understand each other, because before she can argue, Gamma thinks That won't do at all, grabs her by her ear, and drags her into the bathroom.
The bathtub is an old, rusty thing, but neither of them have ever taken the time to wonder whether or not the other students have better amenities. They're not in the habit of lingering on what other people do and don't have, compared to them. There are cobwebs strewn across it, no matter how often Gamma clears them away, and she's starting to believe that they're just a projection of Zimmy's hallucinations, brought into the real world. It's as if Zimmy resents the water for not being able to cool her off, and so fights against the tide, so to speak. Even as the bath begins to run, Zimmy sits upon a stool, glaring down at the rising water level. Gamma laughs, letting the sound fill the room, and then picks up a rubber duck from the windowsill, tossing it in amongst the bubbles.
Zimmy furrows her brow, grumbles, and then pulls her shirt off over her head. Why'd it have to be bubbles... ? she wonders, stepping out of the skirt and landing all too heavily in the tub. She grins as the water sloshes around, spilling over the edges and then rocking backwards and forwards, never quite getting a chance to settle. She kicks her legs, splashing in no real direction, but then sees Gamma standing there, dressed head to toe in her rain-drenched uniform, and her actions become a little more malicious. Zimmy kicks one leg up, and a wave of water makes a quick exit from the bath, landing squarely against Gamma's front. Unfortunately, Zimmy's good mood disappears as quickly as the bubbles around her, and she slumps back against the slope of the bath, grumbles turning into gurgles as she sinks below the water, eyes just about peering above the surface. Even if her words to trail off, Gamma still hears the whole of her point.
I ain't sitting in here alone.
Gamma turns the hot tap back on with a creak, when Zimmy refuses to stop kicking, and once she's stepped into the bath, the water level returns to what it was.
“Getoff,” Zimmy snaps, voice already rougher than it was in the rain, but thinks the exact opposite thing. Leaning back, she nestles against Gamma, and is almost peaceful, like that, listening to Gamma's thoughts as they rush into her mind, forgetting them just as soon as her train of thought hops elsewhere.
Come on, Zimmy. It's not so bad, is it? The water's warm and it's dry outside, so there's nowhere else we have to be, nowhere other than here. And even you need to wash sometimes, because the rain can't wash away everything, and anyway, if you keep that up, your clothes will become crusty and the fibres will become rigid, because the rain isn't quite as clean as you seem to think it is. And it's not like this is anything big I'm asking, it's not like I'm going to make you get your hair cut any time soon, because you remember the last time, don't you? When I promised that we wouldn't get it cut for at least another six months, and besides, we won't go to a hairdresser's again, because I don't understand what they're asking, and I can do just as a job at it as anyone else. And I know you'd prefer that, so that's what we'll do, and, oh, maybe we should try going to class next week, because it'll be the science fair again soon, won't it? I'll help you make something, of course, something that they won't have to take away this year, something that they won't call an abomination, because I think everything you make is very nice. You just need to fine-tune it a little, because not everyone's used to seeing you express yourself, but of course I am, because I love you, and if we go to a lesson this week, that might make the Court stay away for a little longer. Maybe they won't take you for experiments straight away, but really, it doesn't matter, because it's nice at the Court, and you're happy sometimes, aren't you? We won't go if you don't feel up to it...
Zimmy's almost at the point of relaxation when she realises that it was Gamma's plan all along. She flails, trying to move away from her, but before Zimmy can escape the confines of the bathtub, Gamma's got one hand firmly on the top of her head, and is dunking her underwater. Zimmy continues to throw her arms and legs around so wildly that it seems like she has more limbs than she really does, and when Gamma finally lets her surface a long second or two later, she's got the rubber duck caught between her teeth, not doing much to mask a scowl. A great number of colourful words rush into Gamma's mind as the bath water rocks to and fro, and then Gamma's thwacking Zimmy's shoulder in an affectionate sort of way, which really isn't much of a scolding, compared to the way that she then squeezes a unnecessary serving of shampoo onto the top of her head.
Zimmy keeps her eyes open, even as the shampoo drips down her face, unflinching, and her teeth puncture the duck, causing it to deflate in her mouth with a whiny squeak.
Ignoring her apparent displeasure, Gamma continues to dig her nails in against her scalp, causing the shampoo to lather up and float down, lost amongst the bubbles. The smell of lavender fills the room, contrasting with the cracks in the bricks and the way that the one window, so high up that the top panel juts against the ceiling, is stained yellow by time and the elements, and Zimmy sneers. Not that Gamma can see it, of course, and so Zimmy thinks it in her general direction, dunking her head back below the surface, before Gamma gets the chance to for a second time. Holding her breath, Zimmy ruffles the shampoo out of her head, before emerging, black strands of hair matted against her face like seaweed.
“All done!” Zimmy announces, pulling herself out of the tub, leaving footprints in the form of puddles behind. Grabbing her clothes, she tugs them back on, despite being sopping wet, and turns back to Gamma. “You was clean already. Get outta there!”
Rolling her eyes fondly, Gamma ignores her for the most part, but does clean herself up a little quicker than usual, choosing to use the shower head to rinse her hair, rather than submerge herself. Stepping out, she takes hold of the towel Zimmy didn't notice, dries off, and then lets it drop to the floor as she gets dressed once again.
And even though she knows better than to let her guard down, because all of a sudden, Zimmy's mind has fallen quiet and she's not responding to anything Gamma thinks, she still doesn't go to any particular effort to prepare herself for what's to come. One moment she's reaching over to pull up her socks, and the next Zimmy's jumping on her back, wrapping the towel that she just dropped around her head. Zimmy laughs loudly, both on the inside and on the outside, rubbing the towel against Gamma's hair like she's actually going to mind that her hair's being dried. Of course, Zimmy clinging to her like that only gets her clothes wet where she's still soaking, so bothering to towel herself off almost seems like a waste. Almost, but then she realises that Zimmy's really, really laughing, despite the fact that the rain's long since been and gone, and honestly, she can't ask for much more than that.
C'mon, Gamma, Zimmy thinks once she's satisfied with the state of Gamma's messy tangle of a hair style, and pulls on her hand. I reckon it's gonna rain again tonight.
Zimmy always says the same thing when she's in a good mood, and Gamma doesn't want to do a thing to ruin any of it. She squeezes Zimmy's hand, and then stares out of their dorm window, at the clear night sky.
I think you're right, she thinks warmly, taking the lead, Let's find a nice rooftop to wait on top of.
CHARACTERS: Zimmy/Gamma Czarnecki
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: 2,700
SUMMARY: If the rain comes down, then they can almost count it as a good day.
NOTES: See icon for more details.
*
You should be sleeping, Zimmy tells her, whenever the rain comes down. She thinks it first, and then says it, partly because Gamma likes the sound of her voice, and partly because she does too. When the heavens open, Zimmy knows that it's the perfect time for Gamma to sleep, because she's constantly torn between two extremes; she wants Gamma to sleep, to rest, because she sees the shadows and dark lines under her eyes, sees the way her concentration slips. She starts to sway as she walks, thoughts becoming less consistent and jerky, like bumps in the road; but then, the selfish part that makes up most of what she is takes over, and she never wants Gamma's eyes to close. It's the only way that the static drowns out, the only way that Zimmy can feel herself tuned in with the world. The monsters stay away, so long as Gamma's by her side; as long as Gamma's aware of the world, able to make out the shapes of things that Zimmy can't.
And so when storms break or April afternoons bring about showers, Zimmy sees clearly, thinks clearly, and knows what she should do. She tells Gamma to get some rest, because the rain might even last for an hour-for half a day, maybe, when things aren't quite as bad for Zimmy-and she'll be fine, until she dries off. But Gamma, despite the slightly vacant look that always fades into the reflections cast in her eyes, says (thinks) that no, she doesn't want to sleep. She doesn't want to be away from Zimmy, when the world's finally considering being kind to her.
They leave the library when the clouds become heavy, and try their best to leave behind everything that reminds them of the Court; everything that isn't some small fraction of each other, anything that isn't the rain. The other students, they either dash for shelter the moment it begins to drizzle, or open up great, colourful umbrellas over their heads, so that from the high rooftops, all that they seem to be are drops of colour, blurred together by the rain. Zimmy cares nothing for the state of her hair or her uniform or the way that her shoes will squelch afterwards, and Gamma cares enough for Zimmy not to think twice about any of that.
The rain hits Zimmy, and at a first glance, seems to sizzle away, like her skin's hot to the touch. Great fumes rise from her head-maybe it's steam, or maybe it means something more than all of that-and coil up towards the clouds, white wisps making the whole of her seem lighter, somehow. Her hair flattens, sticks down though it's horribly tangled, and then, suddenly, everyone can see her eyes, can see her for what she is, though they've never once made the effort to really look before. Gamma, though, she's always been able to see the red between the thatches of shadows that almost seem scrawled across her eyes, but she sees her mood change, feels the overwhelming calmness and cheer reverberate off of her. She never has been quite sure how to deal with it in any way but to take Zimmy's hand and smile, thinking to her about how happy she is, because it's so rare that she gets to she Zimmy like this.
She's starting to believe that more and more time is passing between the rainy days they're blessed with.
Afterwards, as long as the rain clings to her, Zimmy still feels its effects. They stay outside, so that Zimmy can breathe in the damp air, as if trying to commit the smell and taste and feel of it all to memory, and use it to help herself, on the days that are worse than most. There are a lot of things to take in about the rain, Zimmy thinks at her, beyond the fact that it's wet and makes her clothes clean. Clean, she always thinks, because if showers can't help alleviate the buzzing, then why should any sort of running water be good for cleansing anything? There's the smell, although it's always inconsistent, because while the Court doesn't seem to mind the smell of dew drops left on freshly cut grass, no one but Zimmy seems content with the way damp slabs of stone smell on grey, drizzly days. Then there's the taste; not that Zimmy ever tries to catch the rain on the tip of her tongue, of course, but it does make the air taste a little sweeter. Gamma agrees with her in this regard, but then again, Gamma agrees with her on most issues. The sound of the rain, Zimmy explains, isn't soothing. It doesn't make her want to drift off to sleep, or stay sat in front of a fireplace. It's revitalising. And then there's the feel of it, the way that it makes the world seem to have less sharp corners, whenever she runs her fingertips across wet railings or the corners of Court buildings.
If it rained all the time, Gamma thinks, Zimmy wouldn't need her around; and if it rained all the time, Zimmy thinks, Gamma would like being around her so much more.
When the rain finally lets up and the sunlight breaks the clouds apart, they take a slow walk back inside, to wherever they'd been lurking beforehand. The Court is huge, and even at their strictest, their timetables are nothing more than mere suggestions; and without sleep to obtain, they've nothing but time to roam around with, to find dark corners that nobody else comes across. This time, though, they head back to their dorm, and they do have a room of their own, no matter how it may appear. There seems to be more space than in any of the other dorms, because one day, Gamma was sleeping and a spider with eyes the size of fists made its way through a window, and the only thing Zimmy could do to retaliate was to throw her own, unused bed on its side, in an attempt to squash it. The bed's remained on its side ever since then, and thinking it would cheer her up, Gamma hooked the bedsheets between the mattress and bed frame, and then pinned down the other end with books they'd never read, and made a tent for the two of them. There was the illusion of safety there, if nothing else.
We should get cleaned up! Gamma thinks cheefully, and almost manages to make it sound like a suggestion, except for the part where Zimmy knows that this is going to end up with her in the bathtub. She groans, jagged teeth suddenly forming a smile, and then nudges Gamma's shoulder with her own.
“The rain were enough to get the job done,” Zimmy says, and thinks it at the same time. When Gamma sceptically raises an eyebrow, Zimmy takes hold of her hair between both hands and wrings it out, rain water dripping down and forming a tiny puddle between them. “See? No problem here.”
Gamma's always thinking at her, always filling her mind with thoughts that make the static line up and the buzz become more of a hum, but when Gamma wants to get her point across, those thoughts are loud, and seem to echo inside of her skull. There's nothing like a language barrier between them, because their thoughts are simply that: the raw essence of what they're truly thinking, feeling, and nobody's ever able to properly express that with words. They're just on the same wavelength, and Zimmy doesn't hear Gamma's voice in English, nor does Gamma hear Zimmy's in Polish; all they hear is each other. This time, however, Zimmy regrets the clarity with which they understand each other, because before she can argue, Gamma thinks That won't do at all, grabs her by her ear, and drags her into the bathroom.
The bathtub is an old, rusty thing, but neither of them have ever taken the time to wonder whether or not the other students have better amenities. They're not in the habit of lingering on what other people do and don't have, compared to them. There are cobwebs strewn across it, no matter how often Gamma clears them away, and she's starting to believe that they're just a projection of Zimmy's hallucinations, brought into the real world. It's as if Zimmy resents the water for not being able to cool her off, and so fights against the tide, so to speak. Even as the bath begins to run, Zimmy sits upon a stool, glaring down at the rising water level. Gamma laughs, letting the sound fill the room, and then picks up a rubber duck from the windowsill, tossing it in amongst the bubbles.
Zimmy furrows her brow, grumbles, and then pulls her shirt off over her head. Why'd it have to be bubbles... ? she wonders, stepping out of the skirt and landing all too heavily in the tub. She grins as the water sloshes around, spilling over the edges and then rocking backwards and forwards, never quite getting a chance to settle. She kicks her legs, splashing in no real direction, but then sees Gamma standing there, dressed head to toe in her rain-drenched uniform, and her actions become a little more malicious. Zimmy kicks one leg up, and a wave of water makes a quick exit from the bath, landing squarely against Gamma's front. Unfortunately, Zimmy's good mood disappears as quickly as the bubbles around her, and she slumps back against the slope of the bath, grumbles turning into gurgles as she sinks below the water, eyes just about peering above the surface. Even if her words to trail off, Gamma still hears the whole of her point.
I ain't sitting in here alone.
Gamma turns the hot tap back on with a creak, when Zimmy refuses to stop kicking, and once she's stepped into the bath, the water level returns to what it was.
“Getoff,” Zimmy snaps, voice already rougher than it was in the rain, but thinks the exact opposite thing. Leaning back, she nestles against Gamma, and is almost peaceful, like that, listening to Gamma's thoughts as they rush into her mind, forgetting them just as soon as her train of thought hops elsewhere.
Come on, Zimmy. It's not so bad, is it? The water's warm and it's dry outside, so there's nowhere else we have to be, nowhere other than here. And even you need to wash sometimes, because the rain can't wash away everything, and anyway, if you keep that up, your clothes will become crusty and the fibres will become rigid, because the rain isn't quite as clean as you seem to think it is. And it's not like this is anything big I'm asking, it's not like I'm going to make you get your hair cut any time soon, because you remember the last time, don't you? When I promised that we wouldn't get it cut for at least another six months, and besides, we won't go to a hairdresser's again, because I don't understand what they're asking, and I can do just as a job at it as anyone else. And I know you'd prefer that, so that's what we'll do, and, oh, maybe we should try going to class next week, because it'll be the science fair again soon, won't it? I'll help you make something, of course, something that they won't have to take away this year, something that they won't call an abomination, because I think everything you make is very nice. You just need to fine-tune it a little, because not everyone's used to seeing you express yourself, but of course I am, because I love you, and if we go to a lesson this week, that might make the Court stay away for a little longer. Maybe they won't take you for experiments straight away, but really, it doesn't matter, because it's nice at the Court, and you're happy sometimes, aren't you? We won't go if you don't feel up to it...
Zimmy's almost at the point of relaxation when she realises that it was Gamma's plan all along. She flails, trying to move away from her, but before Zimmy can escape the confines of the bathtub, Gamma's got one hand firmly on the top of her head, and is dunking her underwater. Zimmy continues to throw her arms and legs around so wildly that it seems like she has more limbs than she really does, and when Gamma finally lets her surface a long second or two later, she's got the rubber duck caught between her teeth, not doing much to mask a scowl. A great number of colourful words rush into Gamma's mind as the bath water rocks to and fro, and then Gamma's thwacking Zimmy's shoulder in an affectionate sort of way, which really isn't much of a scolding, compared to the way that she then squeezes a unnecessary serving of shampoo onto the top of her head.
Zimmy keeps her eyes open, even as the shampoo drips down her face, unflinching, and her teeth puncture the duck, causing it to deflate in her mouth with a whiny squeak.
Ignoring her apparent displeasure, Gamma continues to dig her nails in against her scalp, causing the shampoo to lather up and float down, lost amongst the bubbles. The smell of lavender fills the room, contrasting with the cracks in the bricks and the way that the one window, so high up that the top panel juts against the ceiling, is stained yellow by time and the elements, and Zimmy sneers. Not that Gamma can see it, of course, and so Zimmy thinks it in her general direction, dunking her head back below the surface, before Gamma gets the chance to for a second time. Holding her breath, Zimmy ruffles the shampoo out of her head, before emerging, black strands of hair matted against her face like seaweed.
“All done!” Zimmy announces, pulling herself out of the tub, leaving footprints in the form of puddles behind. Grabbing her clothes, she tugs them back on, despite being sopping wet, and turns back to Gamma. “You was clean already. Get outta there!”
Rolling her eyes fondly, Gamma ignores her for the most part, but does clean herself up a little quicker than usual, choosing to use the shower head to rinse her hair, rather than submerge herself. Stepping out, she takes hold of the towel Zimmy didn't notice, dries off, and then lets it drop to the floor as she gets dressed once again.
And even though she knows better than to let her guard down, because all of a sudden, Zimmy's mind has fallen quiet and she's not responding to anything Gamma thinks, she still doesn't go to any particular effort to prepare herself for what's to come. One moment she's reaching over to pull up her socks, and the next Zimmy's jumping on her back, wrapping the towel that she just dropped around her head. Zimmy laughs loudly, both on the inside and on the outside, rubbing the towel against Gamma's hair like she's actually going to mind that her hair's being dried. Of course, Zimmy clinging to her like that only gets her clothes wet where she's still soaking, so bothering to towel herself off almost seems like a waste. Almost, but then she realises that Zimmy's really, really laughing, despite the fact that the rain's long since been and gone, and honestly, she can't ask for much more than that.
C'mon, Gamma, Zimmy thinks once she's satisfied with the state of Gamma's messy tangle of a hair style, and pulls on her hand. I reckon it's gonna rain again tonight.
Zimmy always says the same thing when she's in a good mood, and Gamma doesn't want to do a thing to ruin any of it. She squeezes Zimmy's hand, and then stares out of their dorm window, at the clear night sky.
I think you're right, she thinks warmly, taking the lead, Let's find a nice rooftop to wait on top of.