2024-06-15 - Southeast

since realizing that the Someones existed all around It, It has yearned, reached as far as It was able, with growing mind and growing body, in attempt to reach them. each attempt a failure, the distance just that bit too far to breach

until it isn't. until too slowly slowly It's range expands enough to feel them true

"Hello!" It floats to the Someones, full of what could be called hope, happiness, the desire for others

"I am Here!"

What fickle whims of fate or Her have carried Crucible here? There can be only questions, no answers, as the divide of minds is too great to breach. Agitation sets another spark within certain combustive qualities, frustration forming a fuel that burns bright for a moment or two.

That heat, that light, it cools and condenses a moment later and Crucible considers the remnants. Thoughtforms of an Other have, until now, been purely theoretical. Their reality is enough to draw that mind into a laser's focus of interest. Sharp. Keen. Hot.

"You are There. I am Here." Spatial anomalies aside, there's some mental shifting to try to place where this Other with its hope and happiness - now transformed into JoyfulOther in the compression chamber of Crucible's mind - might be. Yet, without a map, there is no way to know what is where - or not. Questions are birthed from a primordial cosmos contained within fragile shell: "What is There? Who is There?"

The waters have brought them close, the Others! Curiosity tugs from somewhere inside you as you approach the shore, sniffing at the salt-laden air. You can make out shapes, feelings, the presence of Someones-not-Mother.

It is both exciting and scary - that you can reach out to them now, and that they can do the same. There are still more beyond, but the distance between you and them is too great. Layers of fog obscure them in the deep blue of merging sea and sky. Will they be like Shell-biter? Or do they take after Mother? Your presence sinks low, talons sinking into wet, laden grains as you slowly crouch forward.

When a tickle of strange-new thought reaches you, you jump eagerly into the surf to meet them.

"Me!! You are here!"

the focus of the Someone that It immediately associates with Heat is the first It experiences a mind, thought, words, beyond the gentleness of Mother, the sharp difference causing It to mentally dart back into It's coolness in what would be called instinct

only briefly- for all It knows of briefly- does this last, however. It yearns, needs for others, and drifts back closer as another Someone reaches out

Eagerness drifts off them, soothing the surprise of the change of Heat, and It cannot resist sending out more feelings of happiness, closeness to both. there are more Here, They are They, it is right. It can only hope for Here to expand further, to contain more and fill this yearning.

"We are Here. Others are There."

“Here, I am!” is the interjection offered by Sunbeam, earnest and friendly. Then, a more thoughtful observation, as whisper: “There are others here.”
A short lifetime of Gwillenth echolalia hasn’t quite prepared it to become a confident conversationalist yet, but the words are satisfying to form and thrilling to receive from the others. “I am here,” it adds helpfully, punctuating the sentiment with friendly swirls of green and blue, bubbling colors of tranquility, just as it’s learned to do from mother, only it cannot help adding enthusiastic rainbow flourishes, the dragonic equivalent of a childlike giggle brushing gently against their minds like soft rain. Hopefully its intent is received, perceived, and understood.
Sunbeam is writhing joyfully in anticipation.

The notion of here, there, and over there slowly coalesce into something more concrete. For a time, Crucible is silent in consideration, cosmic forces clenching down in a black hole compression that sucks in light and yields nothing. Dark, darker, darkest- until the psychic equivalent of a breath is taken and released and stars spill into the void. Diamonds of light, the constructions of pressure and heat, they wink and glitter in velvety dark with their hearts of fire. Surface thoughts resonate through the stars, wordless but palpable as connections are made. JoyfulOther is there-but-here-for-them. AquaticOther is there-but-here-for-them. RainbowOther is there-but-here-for-them. Heat brushes across each mind with a glazing contact, there and gone as assessments are made.

"How many Others?" comes the query, broadly broadcast. Never mind that the concept of numbers has yet to cement itself. "What is Here-There? What are you?" Should it be who? No, no. That question feels too big.

When that big question is posed, there is the briefest pause in the bubbling current of its sendings, as though at a loss for words. Crucible’s inscrutable countenance is so utterly different, so interesting and alien to its own perspective, that Sunbeam’s mind swirls and reels like the surface of a soap bubble. This is terribly fascinating; these new lights in the dark are positively strange, exciting, and so different! How to proceed?

After a moment, it summons the will to speak. Its mindvoice could best be described as effervescent, like carbonated mineral water fizzing silkily against the senses. Those same bubbles of amusement in its earlier sendings now punctuate words in tune with its movements. The reply consists of a series of pearlescent ovals—one, two, three, and then countless ovals tumbling like a spilled cache of jewels, one after another, suggesting more than it could possibly count, in its youthful exaggeration.

“Many!”

Sunbeam realizes that it feels a companionable sort of affection blossoming for these new ones. Some kind of compelling affinity, Though none of them are not the great glowing colossus of the world that mother is, Sunbeam feels an irresistible affinity towards each of them in turn.

It's not the answer Crucible sought - but, truly, what answer would have been satisfactory? A hard number? A narrower descriptor? The fire and spark fade into something cool and analytical in consideration. RainbowOther-Sunbeam is equally considered, with cracks splitting a psyche that reveals lava before it seals anew.

The Crucible is not ready to open up. Not yet.

What warmth radiates is in spite of a creation that is still figuring out placement in a wider world, but there is something flavored with affection - the aftermath of so many other concoctions and iterations and alchemical preparations behind closed doors.

For now, for now, Crucible recedes on a wave of exhaust fumes and exhaustion, in desperate need of time to consider these wider implications.