[ open ] kaveh's permanent catch-all

[fussiest]

WHO: kaveh (fussiest) & y'all!
WHAT: this is a perpetual catch-all for kaveh because i'm too lazy to make a new one every month. this is for closed starters, tag-ins, visits to kaveh's workshop and the like! be wild! be bold! be free!
WHERE: all around the city, and especially at kaveh's workshop, the pairidaeza architectural design studio in district 1
WHEN: everywhere! everywhen! all at once!
WARNINGS: bickering, probably - everything else will be warned for on a thread-by-thread basis

Comments

[wordchain]

[ The Pairidaeza Architectural Design Studio is an eye-catching addition to this city, wholly unlike its numerous featureless businesses. The name alone is unique, the decorative sign certainly the product of a creative mind and skilled hands combined, and even from the entrance, the workshop's interior reveals the same. It's unlikely that any part of it aside from the building's skeleton structure was already fully constructed for someone to discover; no doubt what stands here now took shape over time, the results of a human being's innovation and labor, from the space itself to the machinery within it.

All of it beckons. The workshop appears to be open to the public, so Yesod assumes — otherwise, he imagines that measures would have been taken to forestall curious visitors. Recognizing the distracted note in the acknowledgement offered in response to the bell announcing his presence, he is content to wait. It is enough, for now, to take in the existence of a place that breathes life into a corner of this city, defying soulless convenience. ]

My visit isn't urgent. I haven't come to interrupt your work.

[ And he stays where he is, quiet, arms crossed as if to indicate that he won't touch anything. He listens to the sounds of the craftsman absorbed in his task. He lets his gaze roam, noting the diagrams on the walls, the works in progress awaiting their creator's attention. These are glimpses of a gradual process, and the workshop is staffed by a single person, it seems.

It also defies the discouraging circumstances that people face in this city, Yesod thinks. ]

[fussiest]

[ you know that thing where you tell yourself one more minute, and then suddenly you blink and your entire evening's gone in a flash? that's kaveh on an existential level. one day he'd been lugging stone across campus in a wagon for a class on basic masonry principles, and the next, he'd blinked and found himself standing on the precipice upon which he would carve the palace of the alcazarzaray into its molten facade. today, there had been an excellent batch of fresh naan and hummus for breakfast, and suddenly, kaveh's staring down the flipped and well-oiled quick-release lever that had jumped from imagination to reality between his fingers, all the while wondering what is it that's the little niggling feeling in the back of his mind that reminds him he's missed something.

i haven't come to interrupt your work, something from the general void had said, in the quiet tones of something studious and gentle. kaveh shoots up from his chair. the mad scramble goes a little like this - sawdust raining from a sweep of his heavy-duty work apron like summer snow, a hand haphazardously tugging at the red clips that have slipped their way down his neck from the wild bird's nest of his hair, a muffled curse as he walks into the edge of a table for his troubles, and the sound of something metallic being put down onto a workbench because kaveh belatedly realises that he ought not greet someone with a screwdriver in hand, lest they think he's about to fix them into the wall.

kaveh emerges from the doorway with much the verve of a waterlogged bird. there's apology there tucked away in the pinch of his lips as he spots the man still waiting in the front room. ]

I apologise for the wait; I really am! I was working on a quick-release lever, and one thing just led to another - no, that's no excuse. [ apparently it's possible to cringe with your entire body. kaveh wipes his hand nervously along the lining of his apron, sending down another shower of sawdust. ] Um. I am sorry, you must've waited for some time, even though I quite honestly have very little idea as to how long that must've been.

[wordchain]

[ The busy craftsman comes into view, at least reasonably intact even after the series of mildly troubling noises past the doorway to his workshop proper, and Yesod's attention focuses on the person behind this collection of constructive endeavors. The picture in front of him is that of someone brilliant, but likely scatterbrained where certain things land in his mind's blind spots, his concentration firmly fixed upon its target. Visiting his workshop without arranging an appointment beforehand, rattling him out of his thoughts, feels vaguely like walking in on him in the middle of getting dressed, ill-timed.

In the wake of the workshop owner's anxious movements, Yesod watches specks of sawdust drift to the floor. He lifts his gaze again, all the way up to the man's crimson eyes. These are unnecessary apologies — besides, he hasn't kept track of the time himself. Simply stopping here to study the space around him for a while was not unlike watching Netzach paint, he realizes suddenly. His own mind, preoccupied with dead ends, feels calmer for it. ]

You had no reason to expect me. Why should you adjust your plans at such short notice?

[ Particularly when the quick-release lever is a definite objective to achieve, already underway with a clear outcome in sight, making it a perfectly valid excuse, whereas nothing about this unplanned visit demands immediate attention. It could easily be postponed. ]

In any case, how much free time do you have at the moment?

[fussiest]

[ you had no reason to expect me, why should you adjust your plans at such a small notice? the man says this the same way one might assert that the sky is blue and water is wet, because what other answer could be more obvious in this world? the logic rapidly presents itself like this: because there is no reason to expect the individual, then there is no reason to apologise for not having changed your plans to suit. it's, in essence, the man's way of absolving kaveh of all responsibility. it's a kindness.

kaveh, who is looking at the prim, tucked, well-dressed countenance of a man who looks like he's walked fresh off the pages of a magazine advertising the latest line of fontainian suits, allows his look to morph into an outright, startled stare, because that is possibly the most alhaitham thing kaveh's heard from someone who evidently isn't alhaitham. ]

Um. [ wait a minute, something in kaveh's expression says. this isn't a test, is it? alhaitham hasn't body-swapped into someone and this is the gotcha moment that's supposed to reveal it, is it? then, the rest of kaveh's brain catches up, and he is met with the knowledge that if this were truly alhaitham in a weird body-swap scenario, he wouldn't have asked if kaveh had free time, he would have just assumed all of kaveh's time could be made into free time on his whim.

comparing this man to alhaitham is doing this man a disservice, kaveh decides. his shoulders relax imperceptibly as this thought settles into place. ] Oh! Well, I've a tendency to fill that free time with whatever projects I can get my hands on. If there's something I can help you with, I'll gladly make the time for it. Sorry for the delayed introduction - welcome to the Pairidaeza Architectural Studio. I'm Kaveh.

[ the pat of his hands together dusts them, and kaveh holds out with hopeful verve his callused, lumber-scarred hands for a craftsman's handshake. ] Who are you? And what can I do for you?

cw: minor vague past self-harm and hallucination mentions... projmoons.....

[wordchain]

[ It's a rather odd reaction to observe, initially — as this is their first meeting, that bewilderment naturally isn't brought on by the expectation that Yesod has some rebuke at the ready. He concludes that it may be the reflexive contrite trepidation of a man accustomed to unreasonable clients. But when it passes, and every piece to connect clicks into place with the workshop owner's identity confirmed, something in Yesod's expression softens subtly, smoothing away its sharper edges. A great deal has happened in the weeks since he awoke on the train here, but he has some recollection of the exchanges he came across while reading through the network not long after his arrival. Kaveh the architect contributed to the discussion regarding hobbies and other interests. A conversation about art took place between him and Netzach. He encouraged Netzach's aspirations, Netzach's freedom away from their City and the shadow of their responsibilities, like concentrated light radiating from a single person's soul.

Yesod remembers his own conversation with Netzach, too, on Netzach's birthday. Without a doubt, Kaveh has made a lasting impression, illuminating a bleak world, brightening it with color. They knew someone similar, long ago, but one can only hope that the similarities end there, not in tragedy.

Yesod's eyes lower to Kaveh's proffered hands. The man's scars and calluses are like lines of text filling the pages of a book: the stories they tell speak of perseverance, determined efforts. Kaveh, Yesod surmises, generously gives of himself and only himself.

There are many things that Yesod might like to ask, but now isn't the time. He accepts the handshake, though these gestures are still rare. They make him too aware of his body at times, flesh and blood again instead of metal, but entirely unblemished; there are never traces of the battles in the Library, nor does anything reveal what he (no, Gabriel) did to himself in the distant past. Nothing reflects what his mind once conjured into existence, the true source of anything festering. It's an ordinary human body, but it perceives some experiences too acutely — his inexpert attempts to reassure Netzach in the mall, for instance. Most direct sensations, different textures against bare skin, only leave faint imprints in his thoughts, at least.

His palm presses against Kaveh's. He adjusts his grip to complete the handshake. ]

I am Yesod, one of Netzach's colleagues. He has spoken of you.

[ When the handshake ends, Yesod returns his arms to their former position, folded across his chest. An idea's outline has begun to grow more distinct. ]

I appreciate your making the time, then. Truthfully, I was primarily interested in learning of your projects first, completed or in progress. However, if you're accepting clients and have a form of compensation in mind, there was some recent discussion to address the need for a print shop.

catching up after moving an entire house this month... ty for the patience ;u;

[fussiest]

[ the man looks at kaveh. the amurta reference would go like this: it is like a sprout pushing its minute green from loam. the kshahrewar reference would go like this: it is like a single mosaic tile catching the light at an oblique angle, the flutter of a change in colour the rippling quality of a shifting tide. but the haravatat reference would go like this: it is like the shift in dialect, a moment where the spoken word of a culture becomes communication to another. kaveh looks. this man and alhaitham, kaveh thinks, would have been cut from a similar cloth, or derived from the same branch of root languages. his expression shifts in increments, and from there, the entire contour of his face seems to shift with it. the sharp lines of the man's face softens. it changes it, the shape of him. for a moment, kaveh gets the distinct and instinctive impression that the man is smiling.

the moment lingers. the man offers his hand in return. kaveh brightens the way of a wayward sunbeam: ]

Oh, Netzach. [ the warmth in kaveh's tone seeps. ] You're Netzach's colleague. It's a pleasure, Yesod. You must also be from the library, then.

[ yesod's hand is light in kaveh's. his grip adjusts. kaveh adjusts with him, and completes the handshake. it strikes kaveh as someone who isn't used to shaking hands, or at least not used to this sort of handshake, and it reminds kaveh a little of the things netzach has said. for a moment, kaveh's expression is thoughtful as he looks to yesod. if netzach and yesod are from the same place, then it follows that yesod must have experienced similar things. but that isn't his place to say, even if the echo of it has kaveh's heart suddenly ache for it.

his expression gentles. kaveh lets yesod's hand go, and bobs his head with a grin. ]

Well, I'd be happy to walk you through some of things I've been working on. It's not much, and it's not the usual work I take on - but I find myself to be an architect in a city where very little needs building, and I've idle hands that need to be kept busy lest I forget how to use them at all.

[ kaveh smoothes his apron one last time, and gestures for yesod to follow. ] But I'm far more interested, of course, in your proposal. I always have time, or can make time. This city is good at dispensing it. I'm happy to take on your request. When you say print shop, do you mean one with a printing press? I was thinking that could be a good alternative to relying on the technology of this city, but I haven't any concrete thoughts on it. Please, sit - [ the little sitting area has a pair of couches that have been reworked to resemble divans. cushions hand-sewing with a cheery sunflower pattern have been added to the seat. on the low coffee table, kaveh pushes forward a bowl of oranges and pomegranates, and takes a seat across from yesod. ] what were your thoughts on your print shop? Let's start there.