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yomogi-mogi-mochi · 2 years ago

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Pygmalion (II)

Pairings: Rook/ (Pygmalion) MC // Idia/MC (Platonic)

Summary: You were frequently told that your career as a renowned sculptor did not match your dull and less than colorful personality. With your cybernetic hands, you carve the lives and deaths of those long gone‒ producing pieces which have been held in both technical and emotional high regard, dubbing you with the title “Pygm.AI.lion” despite your human heart and brain. When you accidentally still the usually flamboyant archer into silence after he comes across you working in your atelier‒ you find that you’ve become a victim to one of his ceaseless stalkings. Though, you’ve been prey long enough to know how hunt the huntsman himself.

Notes: Formatting shit on Tumblr literally makes me want to blow my brains out :)

Anyways here's another chapter, explaining some backstory as well as more interactions and a more internal look into Rook's thoughts. I appreciate the kudos‒ please leave your comments, I love reading and responding to them! I’m very chatty online lol don’t be shy

CW: Slight mentions of self harm in this one? And human experimentation and implied grooming.

Part 1 // Part 2 (Here) // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6

AO3 Link Here.

Masterlist

——————————————————

You were back in your old atelier, the one back in your homeland‒ the City of Flowers, before it was given such a name. Head in your hands, you pulled on the root of your hair to put this pain somewhere, anywhere, besides your fragile, human heart.

She‒ now a quiet statue‒ lay still, her face delicately graced with silent death. You transferred your iron grip onto her wrist, shaking, feeling its stillness, the cold, hardened stone. There was no warmth that kissed your flesh, soaking into your body like before‒ when she was moving, alive. You had brought her alive before, why couldn't you bring her alive again? What use did your magic have if it could not sustain life, merely create it? In a fit of violence‒ you threw her body down, watching her through blurry eyes as her form crumbled into a million pieces. You staggered down with it, your fists shaking on the floor. What use did these hands have?

From the corner of your vision, you caught a glimpse of your hammer. Reaching towards it, you steadied your other hand on the floor, feeling the shattered pieces of her digging into your arm like a thousand needles. Hot coppery blood pounded in your eardrums‒ a slow drumming that rumbled louder and louder and louder‒ you were sure it would explode if you didn’t do something, anything‒ to rid yourself of useless parts, dead flesh in your eyes. These hands, once deemed a blessing by many, were now a curse. You didn't ask for it, you didn't ask for any of this.

You swung with all of your mortal might.

"My, my. What a bad child you are, using such tools of creation for destruction." A strong hand snaked around your own, pausing the hammer right above your hand. You glowered through your tangled hair at the figure.

There stood a slender, pale man, leaning against a shepherd's staff decorated with a ram's head, his lips twisted into an impish smile, reaching to his pointed ears. The narrow slits on his face, pushed up by the raised corners of his mouth, bore into you like two crimson crescent moons. His indigo curls bounced as he leaned forward in slurry movements, coiling his fingers up from your arm, into your hand, twisting the hammer out of your grasp. He carelessly threw it behind him, before searching his hip for something. When he found it, he rammed it into the ground, cracking the old wood of the atelier.

"If you're going to dismember your hands, you'd better do so with a knife." He raised himself with the help of his staff, turning away to walk the other direction. "Trust me, I'm a doctor."

You blankly stared at Kopis knife*, wedged between the hard wood, barely missing your finger. Briefly, you imagined it slicing skin, tearing muscle, cutting through to the marrow of your bone. Perhaps it's burn would be less painful than the one smothering your heart. But all you could do was stare, squeezing and gasping air into your lungs.

Pausing his feet, he turned his head upwards, and towards you, his sharp teeth gleaming in the lantern light. You caught the scent of his cloak, smelling of bleach and sterile death as he swiveled his feet and crouched down at your level once more. With a sharp smile, he grabbed the knife and intertwined your trembling fingers around the handle. “Here, allow me to help you, my sweet child.”

The knife shook in your hands, as he drew the blade closer and closer to your wrist which he held in his fierce hands with an iron grip. Your skin pursed open at the slight contact of the sharp metal, dripping hot blood onto the floor covered in her remains. The man’s raspy voice rang in your ears. “Go on, or,” He brought his leathery palm up to your cheek, caressing your jaw to bring you closer into his crimson hues. “Shall I do it for you?”

You swallowed thickly, with it the rising bile burning your throat. The bitterness still lurched in your chest, coming out as gasping breaths as he drew the knife closer, and closer into you. Flickering your eyes into his gaze, you were momentarily stuck with a force of pandemonium which roared in your blood, before you ripped your eyes from him and caught glimpse of her head, rolling on the floor with cracked marble falling from her neck. You pushed the man back, stifling your clamoring nausea with a frantic hand over your mouth, mixing cold sweat with coppery saliva.

“I-I merely‒ I c-couldn’t‒ I-I didn’t‒“ you said between shaking fingers, gulping in air with such fervor you were beginning to see purple dots in your vision‒ suddenly‒ clarity within your hoarse voice, “I didn’t ask to be this way.”

The man molded a saccharine smile onto his lips. “No one asks for a curse, child. But,” he cupped his rough hands around your feverish face. “You can certainly ask to be forgiven for it.” He pushed himself up with his horned cane, lifting himself into the moon glow that cast a halo around his sturdy figure.

“Come with me, young one.”

You're still not sure if you regret following Dr.Krios that night, but it was certain that you had replaced a human part of you with something else, something artificial, when something dragged your body up, and walked behind him. He smothered you in his grasp, forming a dark womb in which you emerged when he crouched down to your figure, sinking the sharpness of his eyes into you.

“Your old name is not your god, my child. I rename you‒ our everything. Welcome, (Name) Jupiter.”

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒

Your eyes fluttered open, finding yourself to be surrounded by the liquid in your charging pod. The liquid slowly drained, letting out a gust of air from the pressurized container when it's glass doors opened. You had these dreams now and then, it was strange, since your systems had an abolishment protocol to conserve energy during sleep. There was a bit of time before classes were to begin‒ maybe it was time to visit your dorm leader, who had been entrusted with your maintenance as stated in Dr.Krios’ will. It had been so long since you had seen him, you now stood at his door, wondering what he looked like now. Undoubtedly a lot older, though, you were sure Ortho hadn’t changed. Rapping your metal knuckles against the smoothed surface, you hoped it wasn’t too early to intrude.

“Mn…It’s too early in the morning for this…” A disheveled mass of flaming cyan hair framed the tired face of Idia Shroud, who widened his eyes when they focused on your form.

“Who is it, big brother?” Ortho’s voice called behind him.

“It’s nice to see you again, Master Idia, Master Ortho.” A rare smile creeped up on your lips, nodding your head forward in a small, respectful bow.

“(Name)!” The younger Shroud brother leaped into your arms, clinging his mechanical arms to your neck as you spun him around, attempting to displace the force in which he threw his body into yours. The elder stood, face frozen in stunned silence.

“(N-Name)…But, S.T.Y.X…”

“You didn’t really think they could keep the likes of me in that lab forever, did you?” A playful tone bubbling in your voice. You noticed Idia was a lot taller, hair a lot longer since the last time you saw him during his adolescence before the Jupiter Family took you away for their affairs.

“…shut up…don’t call me that name weirdo, we’re friends.” He said with a bashful smile on his lips, covering it poorly with a slender hand. “It’s strange seeing you here of all places…” The door was held open for you, Ortho took your hand excitedly, pulling you inside.

“A carriage arrived after Dr.Krios died, and now I’m here. Honestly I’m just as surprised with the late enrollment as you are.” Idia offered you a seat at his desk, which you took. “But fate, as always, is a sly bastard. I’m just glad you two remember me.” In the face of eternity, you had forgotten what it felt like to leave an imprint on humans, but then again, your relationship with the Shroud brothers was a bit special, resulting from your time with Dr.Krios at the S.T.Y.X labs. A small smile appeared on your face, glad that you were able to revisit a friendship before time had taken them away as it always had.

“Of course we do. You were the only interesting person in that lab after all.” Idia mumbled. “Everyone else was either a weirdo or couldn’t keep up with my speed.” A crooked smile twisted onto his lips, just as you remembered.

——————————————

You trailed behind Dr.Krios, who parted the employees of S.T.Y.X swimming in the hallways with his crippled, but still imposing presence. Though his aging body kept him from his lively energy like when you had first begun to work with him, he still held himself with sprightly footsteps, aided by his bionic organs and enhancements he had implemented centuries ago. Used to the curious glances and whispers directed at your cybernetic forms, you kept your dried gaze forward, boring into the doctor’s white lab coat. Finally reaching the lab you usually reserved, you stood in silence as your superior peaked into the window, groaning a bit when he realized there was a figure already inside.

“I thought I reserved this lab…” He grumbled. “Stay put. I’ll be quick.” The door opened with a swoosh, leaving you outside the hall with nothing to do. You closed your eyes, hoping to conserve some energy for the tests today.

A quiet moment passed, before you felt a tug on your canvas apron. Trailing your eyes to the perpetrator, you were slightly amused at the sight of two children, each with their own set of flaming, cyan hair, their golden eyes looking at you with curiosity. Ah, must be a new addition to the Shroud family, you thought, observing the dancing fire. But even with centuries of observing humans passing through various developmental stages, dealing with children was not one of your fortes. As times changed, so did their interests, you never knew what the latest “thing” was enough to converse with them.

“What are you?” The taller one asked, poking the exposed metallic skeleton of your arm.

“I am a sculptor.” You answered simply.

The younger copied who you assumed was his brother, looking into your eyes with ones gleaming with boyish joy. “Are you a robot sculptor??”

“No Ortho, they’re an A.I. Robots can only do what they’re told, A.I’s replicate the human brain.”

“Eh..? But big brother, they totally look like one of those robots in Rebel Spacefighter…”

“I am not a robot, or an A.I.” The taller one huffs in frustration of your stony tone, the flame on his head flaring slightly in a sunny hue. Hm, cute, you decide.

“Then what are you?”

“I am a cyborg. The most advanced one yet. But I am a sculptor first and foremost.”

“Hm…” The older one inspected your arm with a skeptical gaze. “Prove it. Prove that you’re the most advanced cyborg!”

You paused, thinking, before nodding. “Okay.”

Taking your hand out of his grasp, you raised it to the base of your opposite arm. Getting a good grip on it, you focused all of your energy into that hand. With a deep breath in, your felt your hand burst with energy, digging into your shoulder and tearing your arm off, bits of metal sprinkling the floor below you. You turned slowly to the children, eyes and mouths gaping wide open, before dropping it onto the floor with a heavy thud. Their enlarged eyes followed the severed arm to the floor, which spurt viscous black liquid, twitching slightly with energy. When glassy eyes snapped back at you, the dullness in your eyes blew up into panic.

“I…I-I didn’t..” The elder one spurted, his mouth trembling a bit as he struggled to form a sentence.

“A-ah‒ wait‒ no, no, no. L-look!” You picked up your arm, bringing it back to the nub on your shoulder. The black liquid began to form around it, mending the gap with dark webs. It melted into the metal of your skeleton, leaving the same smoothed surface as before. You chuckled nervously, bringing your arms up and palms forward in a jovial manner to reassure them. “The Orpheus* system is the most advanced bionic program at this current time‒ s-see? Good as new.”

The children let out a sniffle, the taller one carefully examining the surface of your arm. The liquid of his eyes never dried, which worried you, especially since these were children of the Shroud family. No doubt you would be turned to scrap metal if the current head found out, no matter how much Dr.Krios would likely try to convince the esteemed family that this was all for them. There was truth in that statement, you had exchanged the possibility of extinguishing your unique magic, your curse‒ for the advancement of research in blot infused cybernetics to rid the family of their own curse. However, with the encounters you had in the past with the current head of the family, no matter how young, you couldn't shake off the same ravenous glint in his eyes that reminded you of your doctor's crimson hues. You were panicking internally, you weren't allowed any of your materials before the tests were done for the day, so you didn't have any small carvings of anything on hand that you could marvel them with. Oh gods, what do children like again? What do they do for fun? Create wax figures? Go down to the quarry and find the finest marble?? No, that's definitely not it. Maybe you should just start asking random questions adults had always asked you when you were a child. You searched back in your memories centuries before, during your apprenticeship with your master in the city of flowers.

"Ah…so. What…what do you want to be when you grow up?" You punched yourself mentally. How was that supposed to calm them?? That question never ceased to tick you off as a child, toiling long, hard hours at the studio. Such frivolous, wonderful things like dreams had no space within a life you had struggled to survive at first. Even now, you weren’t really sure what you wanted, or if you wanted anything‒ your purpose was chosen at all points of your life‒ apprentice, sculptor, and now a project for Jupiter Enterprises and S.T.Y.X. Did people even have dreams anymore??? Oh gods, help thy stupid soul, you prayed

You let out a relieved sigh when the tears of the younger dried quickly, as he began to shuffle through his clothes for something. The elder seemed a little stunned by your question, before looking at his feet. Ortho revealed a crumpled up drawing, proudly spreading in front of your face as he pointed to two of the figures crudely scribbled onto the worn paper.

"Big brother and I are going to be heroes‒ like in Rebel Spacefighter! Look, like here, big brother is going to make a bunch of robots because he's a genius! And here's the cool armor he made me so I can protect him!"

Your chest tightened, the reminder that most humans begin like this‒ naive, fragile, brimming with the secret colors and beauty of the world‒ solidifying in your chest. It's been so long since you've touched humanity so closely, so purely‒ and it welled a fresh feeling inside you that you dared to delight in. Swallowing the heaviness down, you took the paper preciously into your hands, examining it with a ghostly smile. “Is this true? You’re a genius like your brother claims?“ You looked down at the elder.

He hid his bashful smile behind his sleeve. "I guess…" He mumbled. "...but I won't be able to be a hero like Ortho said."

"Oh?"

"Father says I have to run the company since I'm the eldest. So…I won't be able to be a hero." His solemn, but knowing tone made you raise that pressure in your chest into the creases that formed in your eyes, wincing from the heartache. You leveled your eyes with his.

"No." You took his hands, so, so small, you noted‒ folding the drawing into them. Even without your synthetic skin, you felt a tiny pulse vibrate within small hands, beating into your metallic skeleton, making you yield in his flushed gaze. "You are a human. Death comes quicker than you can ever fathom…keep what’s important to you in your heart. Don’t let people guide your desires, your dreams‒ or you’ll end up living and dying a life that isn’t even your own.” You wove your heavy hand into the flames flickering on his head, giving it a loving ruffle. “You’ll become a hero if you want to, you’re a genius, are you not?”

He beamed, leaning into your touch. “Of course I am!”

“Hm. You must see to it to prove it to me one day.”

The flames on his head arose a bit, as he tipped his head up with a prideful grin. “You’ll see. I’ll even build a better model than you are!”

“I don’t doubt that one bit. Ask Dr.Krios and he’ll probably let you even take a look inside me.”

“Won’t it hurt? To be taken apart like that?” Ortho jumped in, concern adorning his face.

“Being opened up is nothing. I’d be glad to support your brother’s research.”

Idia circled around you in excitement. “You don’t feel pain? You don’t seem to have synthetic skin…hm…”

“No little flame, I am not a robot and I still have my heart and brain‒ so I do still feel pain." You opened the compartment in your chest, revealing your human heart encased in glass, pumping synthetic blood throughout your body. "And the pain of a human heart is greater than anything in this world.”

The door from the lab swiftly opened, revealing Dr.Krios, and another figure that you recognized which made you immediately snap your chest cavity closed. Despite missing the organs to properly feel nausea, you felt yourself spin under his scrutinizing gaze, fearing that you might be devoured by it.

“Father!” Ortho clung onto his knees, stuffing his face in the fabric of his father’s tunic.

“Ah, children.” He briefly flickered his gaze towards the youngest, patting him on the back before returning his spiraling hues on you. “I hope Dr.Krios’ toy here has kept you company?”

“Yeah!” Their father hummed in response.

Dr.Krios spoke up, a crescent moon grin stretching his lips. “You’ll have to excuse us, young masters. The tests are about to begin.”

“Sorry, little flame. You can take me apart another day.”

Idia, you later learned was his name, waved his hand as the door shut behind you. You waved back, hoping to see them again.

——————————————

"Well, you are weird though, no doubt about that." Idia says with a fond smile as he clicks through your body's program. "Traumatizing innocent children by dismembering yourself‒ imagine if our parents found out. I thought I was going to die.”

"I'd reckon I would be taken apart and put back together again, but this time with a smarter, metal brain that didn't go around scaring little flaming children to death."

Ortho chuckled fondly at your words. "I'm so glad you're here though, (Name)."

"Yeah. It's nice to see you out of that lab finally. And without that creepy old doctor stalking you like a hawk."

"I agree." You nodded. "Though, it does seem like I have a stalker here already…" Rook's face appeared in your mind, reminding you of the strange events that happened yesterday, and the fact that you had to see him today. “How is the maintenance coming along?”

Idia’s eyes didn’t leave the computer, as he wore a bored expression on his face that juxtaposed the rapid movements of his fingers gliding across the keyboard. “Huh? Oh yeah‒ this is low level stuff, especially cause I based some of Ortho’s coding from yours. But you know, obviously I made it better.” A lazy grin appeared on his face. “Alright. Ephesius* protocol is active again. It should be alright but it’s a fickle since it’s connected through carbon neuron implants in your brain, so let me know if I need to tweak it again.”

You hummed in agreement. “The implants are an older model, so that might be why. But thank you.”

“I can give you ones with better stats if you’d like…” Idia let out a yawn, clearly not accustomed to waking up so early in the morning.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, little flame,” you ruffled his mess of cyan inferno, not used to his tall height despite the slouch in his seated form. “But I think I’m getting a bit too old to be taken apart and put back together so often now.”

Idia’s eyes twitched a bit, remembering the tests done back at the S.T.YX lab, before contorting into false annoyance.“U-ugh you’re such an old geezer. It’s a miracle you’re not crumbling to dust as we speak with that clumsy handiwork by that creepy doctor.”

You shrugged. “It’s more of a hassle trying to implant all my human parts back into another body. Besides,” you remembered the months preceding your meeting with Dr.Krios when you had begun to replace parts of your human body. “Transferring the human soul is painful and takes a lot of energy.” You huffed, exhausted by the mere thought of experiencing that again.

“Ugh you artists are too poetic…” The older rolled his eyes, while his younger brother laughed.

“(Name), it’s almost time for class, we should get going soon.” Ortho mentioned. You glanced at the clock.

“Ah, time flies in good company.” Brushing off the creases in your uniform, you stood. “Idia? You’re not joining us?”

“Less stress taking classes online.” He leaned back in his chair.

“The privileges of being a natural-born genius I guess…”

“Says yourself.” The brothers said in unison. A ghostly smile appeared on your lips. It really was good to see them again.

—————————————-

Rook flipped his body over in the bed once more, his satin sheets a mess from turning and twisting himself in his fruitless attempts to drift into blissful sleep. Vil’s voice rang in his head, warning him of the demerits caused by sleep deprivation‒ but how could he, after he had seen that carving of yours? Glancing at the clock reading 6:12, he let out a stifled groan, turning his body again to inspect his wall decorated with photographs of your statues he had taken in various galleries and museums. How different the grand marble and gleaming ivory statues were from that formless, disembodied, fleshy mass he saw last night.

His gaze turned upward, to the various postcards of paintings he had on his wall. He particularly favored Vermeer, for his early prototype of the camera that could be felt in the delicately proportioned composition and detached precision of his paintings. Dutch Golden age painters were his favorite in this way‒ you could clearly observe, touch the beauty through various observable rules like color theory, composition, and form. Rook often delighted in the sensory pleasures and decadence he could taste on his tongue and feel between his fingers upon looking at these paintings‒ it was playful, tricky, exciting in the pleasures of life‒ similar to himself. It could be said with certainty that the meticulous formulation of the paintings not only shined with beauty in their formal qualities, but the time, skill, and passion that could be felt within each invisible brushstroke. Truth, to him, was beauty‒ and this was the truth of life at its finest, full of charm and vigor that catches the eye instantly.

This was the core, the truth to his way of living‒ and to stray from this principle of beauty felt like he was submitting parts of himself that he desperately kept together with practiced spontaneity and comfortable distance. To hunt was his nature, through his narrow, hungry gaze that greedily ravished his prey. He sought to do that with you, carving you open and devouring you until his teeth fell on soft marrow‒ leaving to track the next beautiful creature when his fickle mind smelled the scent of a greater, more inspiring hunt. But for the very first time in his life, he felt like he was the one being hunted. He felt it was unacceptable, even more so when he cherished that feeling in his chest, rolling it around his flesh like a rough pearl, gleaming with unknown colors. He felt bewitched by that ugly beast you had molded into existence, feeling something inside him, which he could hold, but could not truly touch. The feeling was eating away into his mind, like you had released an infestation into his soul that replaced his certainty‒ his truth‒ with something much too grotesque, but shimmered splendidly with all of the colors of the world.

Rook truly didn’t know what he felt, but he felt it deeply. An easier feeling, anger‒ greed perhaps‒ simmered his thrashing blood, trying with all of his might to recluse into the clear picture of beauty he had been painting for the years he had lived dedicated to beauty. He faced the ceiling now, boring his eyes tiredly to the dark wall. The phone on his bedside table vibrated, letting him know it was time to begin his morning routine. He sighed, feeling the heaviness of his body with slight irritation, before walking to his dresser to tidy up. Vil would surely scold him for the bags under his eyes.

—————————————-

You caught up with most of your classes with ease, thanking that your years of living had finally given you a tangible advantage. You lived through the history of magic, have seen mighty sages in action, and science was basically potion making‒ you had never had an issue picking things up quickly, so classes shouldn’t impede on your studio time. Though, it did seem like you were getting quite the attention not only as a honor student, but as Pygm.AI.lion‒ you ignored any calls of students directing that name towards you, differentiating yourself from the version of yourself that had been fabricated into emptiness by the Jupiter businessmen and scientists. Not my name, not my problem, you thought boredly, heading to the art studio for your next class.

When you opened the heavyset doors, you were greeted with stares and whispers‒ nothing unusual, but nonetheless annoying. The teacher looked up from their desk, their face sprouting with excitement when you gazed back with dull eyes. “Ah! Mx.(Name)! Please, have a seat, we’re honored to have the esteemed Pygm.AI.lion in this humble class!” You silently leaned into an empty seat, a bit perturbed to find Rook sitting across from you, sending you a wave with a fox-like grin. Gazing far out the window, you rested your head on your hand, only half listening to the teacher’s instructions for today.

“Since we have such a special guest joining us for their first day‒ I thought I’d propose a critique at the end of class after today’s prompt!” On the board in chalk, the prompt was spelled out in round handwriting: ‘Depict your perception of the world!’

With a huff, you headed towards the corner of the room with marble situated in it. No wax, or plaster in sight‒ you decided you wouldn't be needing it this time. Taking a slab of marble into your hands, you let the charcoal between your fingers glide across the glossy stone‒ entering your body into a deep trance as you traced the divine image in your mind. In practiced movements, your body began to chip away at the stone, carving the vision which descended down to you with musical movements. The splintering by cold metal into the pearly boulder rang like a thundering heartbeat between your metallic hands. Time passed quickly this way, even more so than usual in the face of eternity.

The teacher eventually began to gather the students near a wall, with it their artworks with a label on each. There were a cluster of various paintings, sculptures, photography, and pencil drawings with white title cards on each of them. Your thoughts were interrupted by two claps that echoed from the teacher’s hands, announcing the critique was about to begin. Sitting on a stool near the side of the classroom, you noticed people parted where you stood, giving you a conscious amount of space between themselves and your body‒ better than weird business men and reporters grabbing and prodding your body without your consent, you thought.

“So, let’s begin with our photography pieces.” A hand was pointed towards the top most photo.

Silence ran throughout the room, an invisible pressure staring into your unrelenting gaze shifting to the floor.

“Perhaps our very own Pygm.AI.lion would like to give an example?” That question seemed more like a twist of your hand, which you accepted with an exasperated raise of your eyebrows. How long has it been since you’ve participated in a group critique like this? You gazed at the photo he pointed to‒ slightly amused to find a photo of one of your sculptures‒ a baroque Venus you had carved centuries ago, towards the end of your master’s life when he entrusted you with his studio. The focus was softened to an angelic glow, with splotches of washed out color seeping into the thin material in an airy manner‒ it made you feel like your shoulders were being lifted into their sky like clouds, a floating feeling at the bottom of your feet. However, you grounded yourself with a pointed gaze.

“Though I find the choice in subject…interesting, to say the least‒ I can’t say it’s within the theme of the prompt. Casting someone else’s image as your own is part of photography, but I can’t help to feel a disconnect between the intended essence of this photo, and what I’m seeing in front of me. I’m not versed in the delicate balancing act that is photography, however, I find this angle and effect a little redundant.”

“A-ah. We try to stay as civil and neutral as we can with our critiques in this classroom.”

You made a face. “I am. I am merely stating what I am seeing.”

“Maybe your sensors are a bit too sensitive to the formal intricacies of the photo?” He suggested, opening his palms to gather the agreement of the rest of the class. Some nodded, some looked away. "Try looking it through a more human eye."

“I am." I am human. A pause. "My sensors are still connected to my human brain. Would you like to see?” You would tear yourself apart in a blurry mess right now to prove that your statements are true. His throat bobbed with thick movement. “Besides, how does one stay neutral with a portrait of the artist’s face staring into you when you observe their work? I would love an explanation of how objectivity seems to work in this studio.”

“…Maybe we should just ask the artist for their opinion.” He turned to a feathered head. “Rook?”

A smile bent onto Rook’s lips. “I can’t say I’m disappointed in hearing my work is…redundant. But I take that as inspiration for my next work." A beat of silence. "Thank you."

You nodded. "It is however," the words were paused on your lips, your eyes gazing far beyond the photo. "rather, delightfully human. There's a grotesque beauty in that. Perhaps it's better your way."

Rook felt a ghostly color bloom onto his cheeks. It was as if you were looking right into him with a crystallized gaze, reaching into his heart and squeezing it. He had tried to capture something enchanting on the school grounds today, but his tired mind still gravitated towards the dismembered statue of yours, fogging the usual sharpness of his mind and steady hand. While looking through his portfolio hoping for the divine inspiration that you seemed to bask in, his eyes trailed to that magnificent baroque Venus displayed in a retrospective gallery for you a few years ago. He tried to avoid using any of his photos taken of your sculptures, intending to push that feeling away with his fickle mind‒ but his eyes wandered back to that portrait of your vision. You were, much to his current dismay, a part of the clear picture of beauty he painted in his mind. He felt the glossy paper between his fingers, and he sought to reveal something within it.

Some noise came out of your mouth, but he was too distant to hear. "Pardon?" He asked.

"You used different chemicals when you developed the picture?"

"Ah, no, I used a potion to reverse the development process, then added the effects after it with different chemicals." The smile returned to his lips. "We Pomefiore students pride ourselves in our talents in potion making."

"Hm. Interesting, I've learned something new."

Pride swelled in his chest at that, moistening his palms with salty sweet sweat, erupting into a chuckle that came from deep inside his stomach. "I'm glad." He echoes the voice in his heart, rather than his chest.

The rest of the critique went smoothly, perhaps attributed to the teacher's reluctance to initiate your keen sensibility once more. The last sculpture remained, none other than your own. Clocks of every size, gathered together like a hive to form one larger clock‒ the back of the sculpture revealing intricately carved gears and screws, all made of hard marble. It hung like a lonely chandelier above the wooden studio floors.

"This requires something from me." You pulled the glove between your teeth, infusing your touch into the stone. The clocks began to move in sync. However, a few seconds passed, a few slowed, ticking off beat. "My Aphrodite's Kiss allows me to animate my carvings. The larger the structure, the more time it has."

The professor looked down at his clipboard, through some notes he had been taking during class. "I thought your unique magic allowed you to bring your work to life?"

You watched as the smaller clocks begin to yield to their limits, eventually stopping after a few lethargic ticks at the end. "Something which gives cold flesh purpose is not life?”

“W-well‒ “ The man lowered his clipboard in defeat. "...I'm having trouble interpreting the 'essence' of your sculpture as you criticized Rook for. Can you explain a bit about this work?"

"We all project ourselves onto others and their work when we view them. Interpret however you want."

“But could you explain‒ “

“Art is not knowledge. It’s not as flimsy as that.” You felt like spitting those words out into the teacher's face, eye twitching when you barely withheld from it. “You feel it. Feel it, as it feels you.”

Slowly, quiet claps rang around the room‒ you could hear the hollowness in them, just like the ones ringing in the spacious galleries. Your ears were accustomed to the slight ache that followed after hearing it, clenching it with your porcelain teeth with nearly invisible movement. Though the eyes of many were on you‒ you felt them look through you, onto a reflection of themselves projected onto your metallic body that was more grand, more beautiful than what they were. In all the years you’ve lived, producing such lifeless creations, no one truly loved you for it, or what you made. They just loved the version of themselves that did‒ clapping, crying, hyperventilating at the sight of themselves in you when you clasped their hand back in a diplomatic handshake. The striking of their hand onto their own was truly only for themselves, you were just hearing the echoes of the sound which rang inside their hollow bodies. You yielded to the numbness that ended the feeling‒ closing that feeling inside a tender fist.

However, from the corner of your blurred gaze‒ you caught glimpse of Rook, sitting still with his lips resting delicately on his slender fingers in deep thought while he observed the last ticks on the large clock. Though his green eyes were not on you, you felt his gaze, taking in your words with a welcome embrace, inspecting them with great care. You quickly averted your eyes, a shaky breath squeezing its way out of your lungs. Had you been holding your breath? It felt heavy, deep in the synthetic flesh that trailed from your stomach, deep inside your throat, to the back of your eyes.

"Magnifique. My interpretation of it is only its beauty." He turned his whole body to you, you soaked your eyes in his entire color. "With my human eyes, that's all I can see." Though you had no iron clad blood left in your body, you felt hot blood reach to the metallic taste in your tongue, seeping out from the teeth that bit into it. The class was dismissed a bit early that day, allowing yourself to snake your way out of your classroom, away from the warmth of his eyes.

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Notes:

Hey when I promise slowburn I'm going to give you guys slowburn

Designated the City of Flowers (which is likely referring to Paris since it's where Nobel Bell College is, which is based off of the Hunchback of Notre Dame that takes place in Paris) as the reader's hometown since it has a strong connection to Carolingian dynasty which has its roots on Charlemagne, which has its roots on the Roman Empire (Charlemagne), which caused the fall of Ancient Greece. I imagine reader's master fled ancient Greece before it fell and infiltrated into Rome in order to succeed as a carver, passing down both Roman and Greek sculpting techniques. Or I'm overthinking the lore per usual lmao

Heavily implied that Krios is part fae and a descendant close to the Shroud family‒ hence his pointed ears and indigo hair. He also carries a shepherding staff as a self proclaimed symbol of his divine leadership (also reflective of his desire to play god)

I wanted to explore Idia’s and your relationship since I think it’s vital to your connection with STYX and why you were “reborn” into a cyborg in the first place. Definitely just making stuff up as I go lol (also younger Shroud siblings are cute, even when you’re traumatizing them lmao)

Uhh huge disclaimer I have no idea truly if any of the cybernetic information is correct. I did a bit of research but I’m an Art History major and gay lol I am actually genetically incapable of doing math or sciences

Kopis is a ritual slaughter/sacrificial knife from Ancient Greece‒ usually for cutting meat (considered a low-status/impure trade), or for animal sacrifice. Also sort of connects with the whole ram imagery since rams/lambs/goats were often sacrificed in at least Jesus times, I think maybe also in Greek times. Also, would make sense if Krios thought of himself as a god to carry it around since the whole Abraham almost sacrificing his son thing before Christian God was like just like jk lmao! Just kill a ram for me instead. He's twisting that tale of divine sacrifice into one which reclaims power by playing God

The Orpheus system obviously named after Orpheus, who was a renowned poet who was torn to pieces for not honoring Dionysius as a god. However even in his death, his head still sung mournful songs, drifting down the river of Hebrus into the sea, funnily enough to the island of Lesbos. Orphic cult/mysteries also center their rituals around dismemberment and rebirth (as it is connected to Dionysus who originally had a lot of connections to rebirth in his early Mycenaean characterization predating the pantheon we all know that's from the hellenistic period), so I thought it was perfect for a system which could continuously but its body back together, especially for an artist type that carves the lives and deaths of others. Also, I just have an obsession with Dionysus and the cults surrounding his characterization lol

Extra bonus‒ Orpheus also traveled with Jason and the Argonauts in search of the Golden Fleece‒ the rams of which have a connection to Ancient Greek’s interpretation of Aries‒ so another cool connection with Dr.Krios since he symbolizes/named after a ram. Wow I really hit the symbolic jackpot with this one

Ephesius (also known as Artemidorus) is an Ancient Greek diviner who wrote about dream interpretation in 2nd century A.D. I originally had the idea of calling it the Baku protocol since Baku is a creature I am familiar with that eats dreams‒ but I decided to keep the Ancient Greek theme since the in game lore does too lol. But if you know an Ancient Greek creature who eats dreams please infodump

I think Rook's perspective of beauty is interesting. The “truth of beauty” for him is something he can see, something he can touch. He seems like someone who systematically disassembles what he considers beautiful (which is why I think he is moving towards the field of archaeologist‒ they're uncovering the truths of civilizations and artifacts) viewing its aesthetics with an objective eye‒ I feel that in his art courses, he’s extremely mathematic with his color theory, composition, and form, and thus I think artists like Vermeer, and any other Dutch Golden Age artists fit him well, especially as the era emphasizes the idea of “looking” and sight, sensory pleasures that can be felt on the tongue, nose, and eyes much more than something that can be felt in your heart. It’s playful, and it delights in the delectable pleasures of life‒ much like how I imagine Rook does (I mean his favorite food is liver pate), and I think that’s very beautiful in it’s own way. But above all it attempts to create truth‒ a lot of sensory components (especially sight) are needed to "evidence" beauty (he probably wouldn't like movements like Dada or Abstract Expressionism). Granted most art does this, however I believe during the Dutch Golden Age it becomes a fixation as the power of the merchant class rises, and people begin to discuss sight and science above Christian/Catholic truth, taking truth into their own hands. The Dutch were also Protestants, which allowed them to dissect human bodies (see The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp by Rembrandt), which furthered scientific pursuits leading into the Enlightenment, the art of the period focusing on technical skill showing the wonders of technology and human achievement much like the Dutch Golden Age. Artists like Vermeer and Rembrandt and other still life artists also valued very technical aspects such as the ability to replicate color and texture, the balance of light, compositional melody, which pulls from the Renaissance and its precision in balance, perspective, etc. I think in a similar way to Rook complimenting the RSA students on the passion he felt during their performance, he would praise artists like Vermeer and Rembrandt for their own passion because of the observable technical skill for them. Passion and love for him breeches on obsession, on perfection. So I do think he may have a hard time understanding movements like say les nabis and Tachisme, which are a lot more abstract and rely on an imperfect, unfinished, or generally distorted and aesthetically “ugly” but are there to elicit a very strong emotional and vestibular response.

In the same sense I also think he’s very good at deciphering observable behavior with his sharp eye, but has trouble identifying internal affairs. He almost reads neurodivergent to me this way?? But maybe I’m projecting lol but I feel like his eccentricity + sharp observation skills (pattern recognition) + trouble identifying internal thoughts and emotions of himself and others + need for spontaneity/stimulation makes sense for some type of neurodivergent (which I’m sure the Pomefiore dorm is full of)

The Pearl bit was inspired by our lord and savior Mitski (once again)

I’m actually so fucking bad at understanding photography on its own. I think photography in the contemporary context sometimes makes us exclusively consume reality through it but I think it can be touching?? Like I understand it's doesn't really "capture reality" rather presents a perfected version of someone's perception of the world just like painting but god it's so hard for me to consider when it's not within a political or sociological context please info dump if you're knowledgeable lol

Your sculpture is based off of Felix Gonzales-Torres' "Untitled" (perfect lovers). Though the sculpture I described depicts a clock made of clocks, which is vastly different from the two analog clocks featured in Gonzales-Torres' installation‒ it came from a similar inspiration. The artist's gay lover had been dying of AIDS when he made this artwork‒ and he had to watch his lover whither away into nothingness as he stood helpless‒ reflected in the fact that eventually, the clocks will fall out of sync (because they are human made) causing one to stop before the other without proper maintenance, alluding to the political as well as physical/personal ramifications of homophobia during the AIDS crisis. I liked this idea of "falling out of sync", eventually realizing you are on a different speed, different point on the timeline of demise despite being made of the same thing. Also though clocks are mechanical (a robot basically, designed to do a task with given instruction), they are a product of a human made concept (time) also another interesting parallel boy am I on a roll

Sorry for the super long notes! Hopefully I can crank this next chapter out quicker

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