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infrasound-su · 3 months ago

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pilot episode

I didn't say it was going to just be Steven's perspective, did I?

Connie tiptoed lightly along the edge of the lapping, foamy ocean waves. Seasalt itched her nose. The sand was warm, but it really did manage to wiggle itself everywhere. Her hair, the spines of her books, the rim of her glasses, in her shoes and socks. Everywhere. She hadn't been sure how to feel when they moved all the way out here.

She was even less sure now.

Her boots sunk comfortably into the grainy stuff, leaving footprints trailing out behind her as she walked. Seashells and strands of seaweed seemed rather sparse here despite the docks down the road. Clean. Untrodden. Kind of peaceful, if you ignored the frequent flocks of seagulls overhead yammering about.

A bright blue crab caught her attention as it skittered past her on some determined crab-mission destiny. One claw was much bigger than the other and caused it to wobble a bit in its gait. Something invisible seemed to be drawing the crab in like a moth to flame in a soggy dune further up the beach. The little animal stopped, approached, stopped, approached; eyeing the source of it warily. The bigger claw clipped together in some sort of crab code.

“What are you looking for?” Connie asked, mouth curling into a smile. “A seashell?”

The crab didn't react to the human girl’s presence. It merely trudged forward with Connie following behind like a gosling. Connie squinted against the glaring sunset glow, spots forming in the corners of her vision. She didn’t see anything particularly interesting about the sand glob it was climbing toward. Perhaps crabs could see better than she could, though that wasn’t saying much. A finger lightly tapped the frame of her glasses. They would surely have to be cleaned off later.

Teeny-tiny crab footsteps became braided with her own. Whatever the little creature was doing, it seemed interesting enough, and more so than just identifying the same five boats over and over again.

When she got closer to the sand dune, she could see a small, glittery something beneath the hues of yellows, tans, and browns. The crab halted just at the base, as did its large claw. Something metallic was buried in the freshly dampened sand dunes, glittering meekly under what was surely ages worth of barnacles, seaweed, and salt rust.

The brief, excited thought of pirate treasure flashed in her mind. Don't be ridiculous.

Connie tentatively reached out, grabbed the edge, and pulled. Hard.

Sand spilled, yielding whatever treasure it was holding into her hands like an offering. The crab bolted some distance away from the sudden onslaught of activity, animalistic instincts reacting to shifting sands. The dune unhanded the object with little hesitation and a cold handle settled directly into her palm.

It was a mirror.

What on earth is this doing here? Connie wondered, mystified.

The glass looked positively ancient. It was miraculously unharmed underneath the crust of long-dead barnacles encrusted to the surface; hollow and sharp. The seams of the glass had a hazy, yellowish hue from untold time being underwater, but there were no missing pieces or visible cracks along it. Seaweed was wrapped around like a fishing net caught on coral.

Connie brushed the tangled seaweed off of it, recoiling at the unpleasant, slimy texture of the stuff. Most of it fell away in a massive knot into the sand below. The crab had taken to other crabby duties elsewhere, lest he become the victim of being buried alive. She didn’t notice.

She weighed it in her hands tentatively. Whatever metal it was made of, it was surprisingly light for its size. The circumference of the mirror was bigger than her hand, akin to a dinner plate. Her reflection blinked at her before she flipped it over to inspect the back of it.

Blue. Right in the center of coiling, unfamiliar, ornate markings was a teardrop stone.

“Oh,” she muttered, observing the large fracture that ran down the centerpiece stone. What was surely once jagged edges in the crack had worn to smooth ridges. Unlike the front, there seemed to be a severe lack of sea creature debris in this area. Whatever invisible seams that held the centerpiece on looked almost brand-new. Tiny gold flecks reflected from the cracks in the sunset as she rotated it side to side.

Maybe it really was a pirate treasure.

“Connie!”

Connie whipped her head around to see the semi-distant shape of her father. She clutched the mirror to her chest, out of sight. It was really warm to the touch for something that’s been washed up in the cold ocean.

“Yes?” She called back.

“Time to head home kiddo! Parade cleanup is a wrap!” Her father called, waving a hand above his head in a beckoning motion.

Connie quickly tucked the mirror inside her jacket, snug in the pocket seam. It was far too nice looking to just be left as beach garbage, even by crab standards. She could probably even restore it back to what it looked like originally if she tried. And if it was really the sole survivor of forgotten pirate treasure, surely she would have to get to the bottom of its origins.

“Coming!” She said, trotting back the way she came. The foamy waves took little time to wipe away the trail of human and crab footsteps– as though they had never been there in the first place.

The first time that the mirror’s reflection was wrong was several weeks later.

Six months was plenty of time to settle into her new routine. Six months was plenty of time to set up a new room. Her books were organized, her alarms were set. Both of her parents were out on late night shifts in their positions; her mother caring for the sick and her father patrolling the local amusement park. They trusted that their daughter could take care of herself during the dark hours, and were thus unaware of the startled shriek followed by a thump of the mirror hitting the carpeted floor.

Connie’s eyes narrowed at the offending thing, watching the glass for any evil doubles crawling out.

“Okay,” she said warily, forcing ease back into her muscles. “Maybe I do need to get more sleep.”

Maybe the weird ripples had been a trick of the light. She wasn’t sure how that worked, but it was the only reasonable answer.

The mirror had landed without incident. She picked it up, inspecting for any damage. Upon seeing none, she sighed in relief.

Nothing had happened. Nothing was wrong with her reflection.

Connie exhaled loudly. I guess I did imagine it after all.

“Thank goodness I didn’t break it.” She whispered aloud, filling the too-quiet space in her room. Cleaning up broken glass out of shag carpet seemed like the least enticing task to do before bed. She tapped the glass with a pointer finger. It was cool, smooth.

Her blood followed suit a moment later, freezing her in place. Ripples in the glass emerged under her finger as though touching water.

“Ok-ay… O-kay-y.”

The mirror briefly caught air as Connie nearly dropped it again, scrambling to keep it from hitting the ground and losing its lucky streak of being unharmed. Her own voice had crackled from the mirror like a broken record player, despite the horrified expression on the reflection’s face perfectly matching Connie’s own. I didn’t say that. That’s not possible.

She yanked her free hand away from the glass. Did I actually find a magical pirate treasure chest mirror? With her luck, it was a cursed mirror, and she would be dead in a month. Maybe it would drain her life force, or wipe out the entire town with the sea. My voice came from it. Mirrors can’t–

Connie's head was spinning. She sunk down to the floor, holding the mirror out in front of her like it was going to bite her. Mirrors can't record things. Mirrors certainly weren't capable of playing things back to you. Especially not your own voice.

There was no explanation. She had looked at the mirror almost every day since finding it on the beach, memorizing the craftsmanship and scraping off old barnacles from the metal alloy for hours. Not once before had the glass curled in on itself like that. Not once had it ever made a sound. Not once had she ever stumbled across even the most rudimentary recording technology anywhere near the thing; it was just a pretty mirror. And simple mirrors did not repeat your own voice back to you.

Connie's eyes narrowed at her reflection.

“Are you haunted?” She asked.

The mirror did nothing but reflect. As they do. As they were supposed to.

Groaning, she tossed the mirror onto the bed she rested against. It made a quiet thump against her quilted bedcovers. Connie dropped her head into her knees, curling her arms around them tight to her chest. She had to be losing it. Maybe the stress of moving was still having an affect on her. Besides, it was late, she was tired. There was no way that that had actually happened.

Maybe she should go to bed. Sleep was a great way to settle nerves.

Her eyes drifted to her bookshelf. Or she could do that.

Less than a minute later, Connie was contently curled under her quilt with the first novel in The Unfamiliar Familiar series snug in her grasp, a small flashlight held in the other. It had been a while since restarting the series.

She eyed the mirror next to her on the nightstand.

“If you're haunted,” she said suspiciously, “you might as well hear this too. It’s really good.”

She flipped to the first page and started to read aloud to the empty room.

The second time the mirror repeated her was two weeks later.

Connie had gotten home late, yawning from the day's activity and desiring nothing more than to flop onto her floor. Carpet fibers were tickling her as she laid face down, groaning.

The mirror– now living propped on her bookshelf– crackled to life after a beat of Connie's floor time.

“Okay? Okay?”

Connie’s head shot up from the floor, propping herself half-up on her elbows. She hadn't spoken a word since entering the room. It talked.

Her mind flashed with memories of the strange night beforehand. That's the same thing I heard last time. But there was an uptick in the repetition this time, a new warble in the birdsong that made it different from the last. It wasn’t a repeated statement.

It sounded more like a question.

Wide eyes locked squarely onto the nefarious object, Connie approached the shelf.

“You are haunted.” She hissed, nose scrunching at her own reflection. “Haunted mirror.”

“Okay?” It repeated; a hazy image of Connie, perched on her bed, reading aloud appearing in the glass.

“Are you… trying to talk to me?” She whispered, heart jumping into her throat. Magical echoes were one thing, but talking to her was an entirely new ballpark of weird.

“Okay?”

Realization shot Connie in the chest. “Oh! Yes. I'm okay… thanks for asking?”

The mirror's glass wobbled; colors swirling together in a sickly spinning before another shot of Connie reading appeared, this time with her lamp on, room dark, favorite yellow socks on.

“We should tell them a story.” “She” said in the glass.

Connie knew that dialogue. It was from a cave campsite part of the first chapter, where the leaflings were discussing what to do with the protagonist stumbling into their territory. She had read it that first weird night under her blankets.

It really had been listening.

She didn't respond, transfixed by the image of herself freezing at the end of the sentence. The mirror was talking. To her. With her own voice.

“Story?” Repeated the mirror-Connie.

“Um…. you want me to read more of the book?” Connie questioned. Talking back to the magical mirror felt almost as weird as watching it replay her life. The glass whirled again. Was that a yes?

Her legs suddenly felt like lead. She stumbled, mirror in hand, to the edge of her mattress. This was unreal.

A massive, toothy grin spread over her face like an infection.

Magical destiny.

“I can do that.” Her voice felt like a whisper as she set the mirror down on the bedside table, glass facing down. Thanks to the fancy backside, the thing really struggled balancing with the glass facing up. She reached for the novel left waiting just beside it. “We had just gotten to chapter five I think, which is a really good one.”

The glass had settled back down into normal, non-swirling glass. Nothing happened again as she read.

Connie's new life was very, very strange.

Firstly, she had a talking mirror that really liked The Unfamiliar Familiar. It never made a magical peep if anyone else was home, though, so she could never manage to get a second opinion on the matter. When she had shown her dad the cleaning project for it he had admired the thing with no more interest than a parent does at a child’s art project. Secondly, on top of the magic mirror, magical boys that could chase down giant sea creatures were also a thing that existed here.

She twirled the glow stick bracelet on her wrist with her dominant hand. Pink.

“The whole dock crashed down!” She said, “It was genius! I’m not sure what it was, but it turned into a cloud of mist after it got pinned. I guess it liked my bracelet– it looked like it's food source. Anyways. His family showed up after and they're definitely witches of some kind. Nice ones though.”

The mirror said nothing, as mirrors do. Connie paused, cocking her head at it. Surely the tale of fellow magical things would prompt a response?

“I want to go visit them again soon. I think they’re his moms? One of them had a big pearl on her forehead, kinda like your stone.” Her fingers snapped in realization. “Maybe they can help me figure out what you are!”

“No.” Whirled the mirror. Her brown eyes locked on a sickly clone of themselves in the glass.

“...no?” She echoed, baffled.

“No. Danger.”

“Danger? They don’t seem dangerous.” She insisted. That was a new word. The bookshelf seemed to rattle as the mirror’s reflection turned into an ugly, twirling mess that warped her face and bedroom.

“Gems. No. Danger.” It said, a broken copy of Connie’s voice straining with some imperceptible effort. “Gems. No. Danger.”

“Gems?” Connie asked, backing away from the offending thing in her house. “What do you–”

“ Gems. No. Danger. Home. Home. Home. Home–”

The glass buckled from the ferocity of the mirror voice, colors twirling madly into a dizzying tripping. It kept getting louder, voice crackling under the pressure. Vowels bounced and ducked in horrible pitching cries– she wanted to cover her ears to block it out.

Instead, Connie leapt forward and grabbed it, securing the sides tightly with her palms as though it would jump out of them of its own volition. “Okay! Okay! It’s okay! I understand!”

The spiral ballet slowed, still potent with ugly, half mixed colors. The howling mirror-voice snapped away as quickly as it came, leaving an unsettling memory of where it hung in the air prior. Her palms felt unnaturally warm touching what should be dull metal.

….Gems? Isn't that what Steven called them?

The mirror didn't talk for days after that.

Connie and her new friend Steven chattered on the phone more and more frequently in the fallout of the docks incident, keeping the former out of her room– away from it.

“So they all have a magical room on the cliffside?” Connie asked, phone snug between her skull and shoulder. She perched against the side of the kitchen counter, pencil in hand drawing circles as she listened to her friend’s bizarre tales.

“Kind of!” Steven's voice crackled back. “The Temple is its own magical thing. I don't really know how it works, but we all have a room. Pearl said that–”

“You have one too?” Connie interrupted, pencil in her hand halting.

“Oh! Yeah! I forgot to tell you. I guess it's technically my mom's? It's got pink clouds and stuff and can make whatever I want out of them.”

“Huh.”

The pencil kicked up steam again in her fresh, college-ruled notebook. At the top of the paper read ‘MAGICAL STUFF NOTES’, followed by the subtitle of ‘STEVEN’ with two underlines. Underneath that, she wrote ‘magical temple dimension rooms’ with no less than four question marks. Normally this would have seemed completely improbable– but Steven was anything but a liar thus far. And she had a weird talking mirror stashed away in her room. She had no room to doubt.

“Anyways– Pearl said that the rooms cater to the personality of their gems. Hers has a bunch of water fountains and swords. Amethyst's room looks like a big cave.”

“And yours has pink clouds!” Connie concluded proudly. Steven giggled on the other end of the line.

She had taken a few notes about his family too. They were more guardians than anything else from what she could gather, though he did have a dad. A human one.

After being trapped in a pink bubble all afternoon, she hadn’t even really blinked when she was told later that the three of them were aliens. They looked human enough the one time she had seen them up close, but their colors were wild; “They can shapeshift. They don’t like to scare people.” Steven had added when Connie began to ask what they were like.

There were three of them. Pearl was the one Connie had remembered having, well, a pearl on her forehead. Which turned out to just be part of her body. Pearl was tall and thin and polite to Connie. Garnet was really tall, and a lot quieter than the other two. Amethyst was bright purple and seemed friendly. Steven called them the Crystal Gems, that they were super kind, and that they (and he) protected all of humanity as their life sworn duty.

Apparently his mom had been one of them, too. They didn’t like to talk much about it, at least not to her.

Steven continued to recount the events of the past week or so involving magic and the Gems, chipper voice resonating in the phone speaker. There was a huge spire out in the middle of the ocean that he visited, the Gems could meld together into “giant women” (in his words, though Connie didn’t quite understand what that meant), there were shard-things capable of possessing food, and there were shard-things capable of possessing things.

“Wait wait wait,” Connie stammered, snapped to hyper attention. “Gem magic can possess objects, too?”

“Well it was mostly clothes…” he trailed off, “but I guess that funky strawberry field temple had a gemstone powering it.”

Connie leaned against the doorframe. That’s it. Her mirror wasn't some mystical mermaid salon discard. Her mirror had to be something connected to Steven's strange family and their powers. It was so obvious!

…So why did it react that way when I talked about them?

Before she could ask him to elaborate on the shard-things, Steven offered a rushed goodbye as the barely audible voice of Garnet called him off in the background. Connie mumbled hers back, letting the phone slip off of her shoulder and to the countertop.

Gem magic. That made so much sense. She had seen with her own eyes the strange things they could do and strange things they dealt with. For thousands of years humans had told stories of great beasts and heroes. Maybe they had all just been Gems. Maybe they had all just been Steven’s family, at that!

Connie placed the phone to the receiver and promptly bolted up the staircase to her bedroom, flinging the door aside. She had to talk to the mirror.

Like an expectant guard dog on a porch, the mirror reflected the light from the hallway as she entered and shut the door behind her. For all intents and purposes it looked just like a non magical, normal, human mirror. When the door clicked into place behind her, the girl hesitantly approached the bookshelf, her gaze locked on her reflection in the ancient– and definitely alien– glass.

“You’re not haunted.”

She had intended this to be a confident announcement, like a parent busting their child for sneaking into the candy jar after hours. However, her voice trickled out hoarsely as the proximity dwindled. The mirror did nothing. Connie hoped it was listening. It had to be listening. It had always been listening, hadn't it?

“You’re a Gem thing aren't you?” She whispered.

The silver metal felt light in her nervous hands as Connie picked it up from its place on the shelf. There was an eerie lack of dust where it was. She flipped it; the bright blue stone on the backside did nothing in protest. Nor did the glass do anything in reply to her pleas.

Of course it was a Gem magic thing. How had she never thought of it sooner? Source of magic? Lived on the beach? The fact that her mystery mirror book buddy had a giant stone stuck on it?

Connie shook her head in disbelief and spun the glass to face her again. Her brows were dug into determination above dark brown eyes. It was her real reflection this time.

She was going to figure this out.

The mirror did nothing.

#infrasound fic #steven universe #steven universe au #su au #su fanfic #connie maheswaran #su connie #fic tag #mirror lapis #is!su

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