Chapter Text
Setting off down the ramp towards his house, Alhaitham mentally reviews the preparations that need to be done.
The paperwork won’t be an issue. As much as his coworkers may complain about it, Academia paperwork is more tedious than time consuming. Doing it by hand may slow him down slightly, but it shouldn’t take more than half an hour.
Gathering supplies for his impromptu assignment won’t be difficult either. Having gone on numerous personal research trips, Alhaitham is well supplied with travelling supplies. Collapsible tent, ground cover, sleeping bag, campfire starting kit…all reside in the lightweight duffel bag hanging in his closet. Not that he bothers with using them most of the time.
Actually, there is no reason for him to bring most of it. If he leaves some of the bulkier items behind, there should be plenty of room for hiding…other things. The only one likely to notice he has left anything behind is his roommate. As vexing as Kaveh may be, he won’t rat Alhaitham out to anyone. If only because that would require revealing where the Light of Kshahrewar was currently living.
Travel rations shouldn’t be an issue. The Scribe had gone shopping only two days prior. Provided Kaveh hadn’t started handing out their food supply to strangers on the street, it should be possible to acquire all necessary supplies from his own home.
Though it might leave Kaveh short on food for the week. Which, with Alhaitham gone, would mean the architect would have to buy his own groceries.
There was a reason Alhaitham is the one in charge of grocery shopping. With his roommate’s propensity to fall for every sob story someone spins, leaving the grocery shopping to Kaveh sometimes doubles the amount of mora being spent.
Arriving at the first landing platform on his path, Alhaitham angles towards the edge. Going grocery shopping after rescuing Lesser Lord Kusanali is a bad idea in general. Grocery shopping now would be safer, but might take up too much time. If the market is empty enough, maybe…
Glancing down at the main market square from the excellent view offered by the platform, Alhaitham blinked. Blinked again. Shoved his curiosity firmly out of his mind.
As intriguing of a mystery as it may be, Alhaitham currently doesn’t have the spare time or energy needed to solve it. Someone else can figure out what is going on with the market.
Kaveh will have to do his own grocery shopping. It isn’t as if Alhaitham doesn’t have enough mora to burn.
Let the extrovert deal with shopping lines so long you can’t see their end. Alhaitham is not getting involved in that mess.
Shutting his front door behind him, Alhaitham pulled down his headphones. As useful as they were, the constant pressure on his ears gets painful without regular breaks. Thankfully, the soundproofing in his house is good enough to make wearing his headphones unnecessary.
For sounds originating from outside the house, at least.
From the sound of clanking dishes and muttered curses coming from the kitchen, Alhaitham’s roommate is home.
Contrary to popular opinion, Alhaitham doesn’t dislike Kaveh. He never would have invited his former friend to live with him if he did.
However, if asked to describe his roommate in one word, Alhaitham, Haravatat graduate and speaker of over twenty languages, would be left with a single option: loud.
From his voice to his clothing to his opinions, everything about Kaveh is deafeningly loud.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Alhaitham calculated his options. The Light of Kshahrewar, while incredibly unlikely to side with the Sages, is almost as unlikely to trust Alhaitham’s assessment of the situation. The architect doesn’t even believe the Aranara exist. Telling him about an invisible race of childlike plant creatures who Alhaitham is on good terms with need help going against the Sages would be counterproductive.
Alhaitham can’t help the Lesser Lord Kusanali from the inside of a padded cell, after all.
Standing up straight and relaxing his shoulders, Alhaitham approaches the source of the noise. Standing at the sink, scrubbing a particularly stubborn scrap of food, Kaveh doesn’t notice the Scribe enter the kitchen.
Opening the fridge, Alhaitham retrieves the ingredients to make a quick Fatteh for two. The architect likely returned home for lunch; it stands to reason that the fastest way to get him out of the house is to provide said lunch.
Entertainingly, Alhaitham’s roommate doesn’t notice his presence until he is holding out a plate of Fatteh. Snorting as Kaveh drops a plate, Alhaitham sets the dish out on the counter next to the sink.
As the architect clutches his chest in surprise, Alhaitham down at the kitchen table. Picking up his own fork he states flatly, “The structural stability of the city far outweighs household chores in importance. Eat your lunch and get back to making sure we don’t all die due to structural collapse.”
Piece said, the Scribe begins eating with one hand, using the other to pull out the paperwork he needs to review. Rescue mission or not, he is still leaving town, and he would like to minimize the amount of work piled up when he gets back.
The architect glowers at his roommate, hands coming down to cross in front of his chest. “If you cleaned up after yourself, I would already be back at work. Instead I walk into the kitchen and what do I find? A stack of dirty dishes waiting in the sink! What do you have to say for yourself?”
Rolling his eyes, Alhaitham doesn’t look up from his work. “Your own inability to prioritize is not my problem.”
No one will die if the dishes are not immediately cleaned. Many people will die if the Divine Tree crashes to the ground. There is a clear order of importance between these things. Besides, Alhaitham left those dishes in a sink full of water. Has Kaveh never heard of leaving dishes to soak?
Flipping over a page, Alhaitham continues reviewing a funding application. Not outright terrible, but rather mediocre overall. As important as medical research is, Eleazar is almost impossible to treat, and the proposed treatment has not proven promising so far.
Moving the proposal to the “unlikely to be approved” pile, Alhaitham sees Kaveh throw his hands up in exasperation out of the corner of his eye.
“That isn’t the point! Leaving dirty dishes around for other people to deal with is rude! It attracts pests! It’s bad enough you keep leaving trash laying around! Stop turning our home into a pigsty!”
Snatching a fork, the architect waves it around in emphasis with a glare before digging into his food.
Returning the glare with an impassive look, Alhaitham doesn’t allow his irritation to show on his face. The Aranara’s gifts are not trash, no matter what his roommate says. Even if they were, what right does Kaveh have to tell Alhaitham how he can decorate his own house? For someone who hates how the Academia treats the arts, Kaveh has certainly internalized the idea that educated individuals are allowed to police what other people are allowed to like.
That reminds him of something. Reaching into his pocket, Alhaitham pulls out what the Aranara gave him that morning.
At first glance, it is nothing more than an oddly shaped twig. Having somehow grown doubled back on itself, it was shaped in an incomplete figure eight. Turning the twig over in his hand, Alhaitham studies the twig more closely. Upon closer examination, a tiny spark of electro sits sequestered in the center of the wood.
Delighted by this, Alhaitham starts to figure out where best to display it. Laying it in one of the bookcases might work, but maybe in one of the glass cups-
“That had better not be what I think it is,” Kaveh’s uncharacteristically flat voice cut in. Startled out of his musings, Alhaitham turns his attention towards his roommate.
Less emotion on his face than Alhaitham has ever seen, Kaveh is staring at Alhaitham’s twig with a remarkably flat stare. Fork lowering to his plate, food still attached, Kaveh’s face grows impossibly more blank as Alhaitham stands up.
Disregarding his roommate’s odd behavior, Alhaitham returns to the living room. Deciding on the perfect place for his new present, he approaches one of the bookcases and reaches inside.
While mostly filled with books, there were small knicknacks interspersed on the shelves. The small shotglass on the shelf already held several. A remarkably sparkly bit of quartz he received for helping an Aranara with its head stuck in a pot, the funny shaped dry leaf from giving dendro energy to an injured Aranara, a heart shaped piece of bark for opening a window an Aranara needed help with…
And now, a twig in reward for helping two Aranara infiltrate the Academia.
“Are you kidding me?” Kaveh’ voice rings out with audible annoyance. Glancing at his roommate, the corners of Alhaitham’s lips twitch upwards.
Leaning against the kitchen doorframe, the architect is glaring at Alhaitham’s new twig with personal offense.
“Of all the things you could decide to drag home, you pick a piece of wood so worthless even the plant it grew from didn’t want it? Really?” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kaveh exhales heavily, as if enduring torments no human should have to undergo. “I don’t have time for your shenanigans right now.”
Snapping his eyes open, he spins in place and stalks back into the kitchen. A moment later he bursts back out, a hodgepodge collection of papers in hand and Mehrak in tow.
On the way out the door, the architect’s haphazard whirl of motion pauses just long enough to glower at his roommate. “There had better not be a pile of dirty dishes when I get home, or so help me…”
With that vague threat, the architect storms out, a whirlwind of color vanishing with the slam of a door.
Unphased by his roommate’s dramatics, Alhaitham finishes adjusting his new keepsake how he best likes it. A heartfelt gift and a way to piss off his roommate all in one. What’s not to like?
Perhaps one day his self-aggrandizing roommate will get off his high horse about how other people decorate their homes. Or perhaps not.
For someone who hates how the Academia treats the Arts, the Light of Kshahrewar has deeply internalized the idea that authorities in a field are allowed to police what other people are allowed to like.
Twelve research proposals, twenty funding applications and eight resource requests later, Alhaitham can finally get started on his personal paperwork.
The leave request is simple enough. As many times as he has gone on personal research expeditions, the Scribe is no stranger to writing out his own leave requests. Given that he has yet to go on one this year, the Sages would be hard pressed to deny him, even disregarding this morning’s meeting.
His second application is a bit more…complex. Starting a major public works project without going through the Council of Sages is…difficult. Most would, justifiably, declare it to be impossible.
Having served as the Scribe of the Academia for the past several years, Alhaitham would disagree. Starting a major public works project without Council approval is not impossible. Incredibly complex, skirting the spirit of the law and generally pointless, sure, but not impossible.
As Alhaitham is putting the finishing touches on the most carefully worded document he has written since graduation, there is a knock at the door.
The raps of the door are rapid, but not to the point of panic. Ararika must not have had trouble finding Aranara willing to help.
Putting his papers aside, Alhaitham stretches before heading towards the door.
Depending on how many Aranara Ararika has recruited, Alhaitham might need to modify his plan. Ideally speaking he would like to have at least ten of the forest folk to pull this off, but that might be setting his expectations too high. With how shy the Dendro Archon’s familiars were, expecting that many to be willing to follow the directions of a human they have never spoken to before may be expecting too much.
Still, if fewer than five of the invisible plant people are willing to play along, Alhaitham will need to resort to plan B. Plan B won’t get Lesser Lord Kusanali out of her prison, but will hopefully buy her some time.
Bracing himself for disappointment, Alhaitham opens the front door. Pauses. And stares.
There is an unfathomable number of Aranara on his front porch.
A rotund Aranara in a green hat who likes to sing near the city gates is curiously studying Alhaitham’s front windows.
The tall, slender Aranara with a hat covering its eyes who keeps getting lost in the city is holding hands with an Aranara he has never seen before.
An Aranara in a particularly dark shade of brown, who once got its head stuck in a fence, is struggling not to fall off his front step.
Alongside many, many more. More Aranara than he could have imagined in his wildest, non-existent dreams.
At the front of this small army stood Ararika, puffed up in pride and all but wiggling in excitement.
“Hi Silver Nara! Ararika found all the Aranara in the city! What does Ararika need to do next?”