therookery | crystal

( Behold, a new voice on the crystals. Soft, good-humoured, with an accent that sounds Scandinavian / relative equivalent. The crystal catches a quiet breath of laughter before she speaks. )

I don’t know if you’re really lucky to have an engineer turn up, or if I’m really unlucky that I need to figure out the machinery.

I mean, learning about the infrastructure of a city in a whole different world isn’t even a “once in a lifetime” kind of opportunity, and pretending I’m some sort of genius at kinetic motion just because I know some mechanisms from home would be pretty fun, but…

Wow.

( Maybe that sounds a little weightier than her first "wow.")

Oh, I'm Abella. Riftwatch, you’re gonna have to have a lot more ramps by the time I’m done with you. Somewhere has to accommodate wheelchair users, even if it’s some kind of fairy tale world.

( Hmmm. )

Wait, can you just make them float, here? (More softly, ) Flying wheelchairs would explain the lack of ramps. I mean, this crystal thing is remarkable, so... let me know if I don't need to think about the ramps.

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( He gets a quiet laugh out of her. )

True. Thank you.

( For the understated reassurance, of sorts, and the information. )

Are you a-- uh, a Rifter, as well?

I am.

[But enough about him—]

If you'd care for some reading material, I can provide a list of relevant recommendations. The library here is comprehensive, and, ehh... quarantine tends to go by a little faster if you sprinkle some books on it.

I would really appreciate that. Anything I can get hold of to help me be more useful.

I'm sorry to pry, and I can stop asking if you prefer-- are you from Bohemia, by any chance? Your accent reminds me of some friends.

[Oh no, that's sweet. Not the kind of thing he can simply pass over without feeling a little guilty for it. (Not in his present mood, anyway.)]

Ah... I'm afraid not. The last place I lived was called Piltover.

[It sounds very ordinary, phrased that way—too plain to snag on sentiment. Ideal.

After a short pause,]

We did have ramps there. And wheelchairs. Not the flying kind.

Oh.

( There's a weight to it that is not disappointed, per se, but betrays the hopefulness that accompanied the question all the same. She makes an admirable effort to bounce back, and it's probably more evident that she's trying to make sure her down mood doesn't impact him, rather than her actually being Great. All things considered, though, who is doing super great during wars that cross entire continents and nations?

Quietly, )

It's still lovely to hear a voice that brings them to mind.

( Quite a few voices here are reminiscent of accents from home, truthfully. Marina and Levi are simply those in Prehevil she had spent the most time with, who were so terribly effected by the hell brought down on their hometown and, if she's being honest, are the ones she cares for most amongst the thirteen others, alongside Olivia.

Well. Twelve, after the other day.

It was for the best that this stranger was not of Bohemia, or the Eastern Union. Then she would have to break the news of the horror unfolding there.

At least when she speaks again now, her tone's more convincingly recovered. )

I'd bet there's a town called Piltover somewhere in Europa, but I'm not personally familiar. I don't think a flying wheelchair would be viable at home for a while, but it'd be fun to try and make an all-terrain prototype, using the same principles as tanks.

( A beat. ) Are you familiar with tanks?

[The little pauses, the quiet and recovery, they say plenty without making it plain. She's clearly determined to remain optimistic, or at least to appear so—is she unwilling to reveal so much to strangers, or to admit something to herself? Hard to tell from so short an exchange, easy to project one's own self on its surface. He ought not think on it too deeply—but it's hard not to do that, too, when a little pain comes through in the voice.

A question-shaped escape hatch appears:]

You mean track propulsion.

[He's only met treads firsthand, not the vehicle she surely means to invoke—but rifters share plenty with one another. Conversations wander, the Fade plays show-and-tell.]

That could be an interesting build. [After a moment's pause,] A stabilizing gyroscopic system would assist with inclines.

( And she will gladly take that escape hatch. )

Exactly. Much of my work has centered on infrastructure from necessity, but mechanisms were what got me into engineering. Understanding how they are needed and applied to construction has been critical, but getting to create something like that from scratch? That'd be amazing.

Propulsion would be a potential issue. The benefit of wheels is the user being able to generate speed by hand, and track propulsion would inhibit that, unless you... I don't know, created a crank mechanism, perhaps placed in front, like a steering wheel.

( She sounds dubious. ) It'd be so easy to place the wheel awkwardly and cause muscle strain.

Yes, [sounds breathy, almost approaching a laugh.] Either way, the occupant would need impressive upper body strength to move such large treads. A motorized device would be better. If fuel is a concern, you could even attempt a wind-up mechanism... though the spring tension would be incredibly high, and rough terrain would challenge its run time.

[Belatedly, amid the whirring of his thoughts: a ping.]

Have you... never built a machine of your own?

I'd been trying to think around a need for fuel or engines, in the case that they be needed here, or simply due to the cost and limited availability of fuel at home. It'd present a further challenge for mobility if the user wasn't able to power it themselves, by some means.

( She hums, thinking. )

I've done extensive repairs and restoration of machines. The mechanisms I've created have been weapons, rather than complex vehicles, but that's my passion. I've developed designs, but that was for my own enjoyment, the work I've had to do has been more focused on maintaining and adapting existing machines for civil projects.

[It's probably good that Abella is spared seeing what Viktor's face does when she says all she's created is weapons, as she's had plenty of disapproval today already. Thus far it sounds like she comes from a troubled place, and in such places, as he knows very well, people do as needs must. But this is more than merely a sore spot—it's raw, neglected, slowly festering under its wraps.

Nonetheless, there's no unkindness in his voice as he replies, though its character has changed; that tentative spark of enthusiasm has been chased away.]

Yes... well...

[A pause, a little recalibration,]

Here you have the opportunity to achieve something new. Much of what we do will, in some ways, be very different from what you're accustomed to working on, but most of the fundamental principles still apply. If you're interested in learning, that alert system I mentioned earlier may be a good place to start—it takes frequent maintenance to remain precise.

crystal

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