[PRP] Bon Mot [Ever x Harvard]

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This wasn't the ideal working scenario for recovery. The snow packed in against the walls of the building, turning the building into an icy tomb, where Life techs sat hunched under the weight of their coats, struggling to use pens with their fingers turned into fat, mitten-encased sausages. Ever, with zero percent body fat, looked particularly miserable: bundled in about eight worn out sweaters under his fresh hunter coat, a heavy wool cap pulled down over his ears, scarf up over and around his chin.

It ruined routine. It made the words on the page swim and waver, made focusing -- already no easy task -- that much more difficult.

He only had a handful of pages from his mission in Massachusetts left, and for some reason, those made his head ache, a dull hammer against his temple. Instead, he'd set those aside to focus on something less...personal, less emotional, less of a minefield. The horseman runes.

But he had trouble with those, too. So when someone mentioned the new guy [only kind of new at this point] Ever was only too happy to take a break, dragging the bundle under the weight of his coat and belting everything in tight around himself to go hunting for a Professor.

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The professor was only looking partly professor-like - the look could only be completed with a jacket with tweed elbow patches, glasses, the mussed look of too little sleep and too much research. Instead, Harvard looked rather refreshed, staring intently at the book in his hands. For lack of anything better to do, he'd decided to give himself a crash course on runics. Uruz was the basic rune: mind over matter. It made sense, of course, given that uruz runes were placed via concentration and essentially willed power into things. Harvard wondered what would happen if someone tried to create a runestone with fehu or ihwaz. Both were certainly more fatalistic, but they fit the job. He flicked to a clean page in his notebook and jotted down a line to look into the other runes afterwards.

Then he leaned back in his chair and turned the page. It had been so long since he'd had a cubicle, of sorts. Harvard supposed the better term would be 'workstation', but he was used to his own office, small though it was. At least there was a small name placard with the proper listing of his doctorate as well. Flickers of movement around him were almost dangerously distracting. As it was, he looked up each time someone passed and Ever was no exception. Skinny, pale-haired - not his usual type. Oh, who was he kidding, he thought. Harvard didn't really have a type anymore. Brown eyes stared intently at Ever before dismissing him and returning to his book.

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[and be blue]

Ever went past twice before it seemed to register, so Harvard get a chance to look him over multiple times before he finally settled, leaning against the corner of the cubical, to squint at the nametag on Harvard's desk. It would have been easier to read, perhaps, if he'd dropped the cheap reading glasses from their position on the top of his head to rest on his oversized nose, instead -- as it was, he had to linger just a moment before refocusing on Harvard's face, instead.

"Dr. Falls?" It was quizzical, but not surprised. To him, the man looked like the definition of a profession -- to such a degree that it made him smile, all at once, sudden and wide like he couldn't help it.

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Harvard took advantage of each time Ever passed to glance up at him curiously. There was something strange about him, besides the constant coasting back and forth, of course. It was on the third pass that he had figured it out. Ever had to be wearing enough layers of clothing to be-sweater an army.It was a look Harvard should have been more than familiar with; the college students had layered up and up and up in that eventful month back home. He was a little more tolerant of cold, had been told by many that he exuded heat like a furnace during the winter and luckily did not during the summer. He liked to chalk it up to some sort of advance bodily temperature control, even if that was ore than likely to be bullshit.

Finally, the lost Ever came round and leaned near Harvard, seeming to take an extra length of time to read his name tag. It was a plan thing, and one of these days Harvard swore he'd have a proper metal pyramid for his desk with his name etched deeply into it. His desk in a real office. But, he reminded himself, in new jobs an employee starts out as the small fish.

"Yes, I'm Dr. Falls," he said gravely. "And you are?" Ever's sudden grin might have been disarming in normal circumstances, but with his many layers, it was rather like have a pile of shopping bags smile at him, Harvard thought. He wondered what Ever really looked like. Carefully, he placed a bookmark between the pages of his current read, snapped it shut, and set it on his desk.

"If you need them, your glasses are on the top of you head." Maybe the pale-haired man was simply lost and needed directions to 'learning to look up which way you're ******** going'-ville. It was truly a mystery.

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"Ah. Yes." He reached up to touch them, once, as if remembering their place, and then raised one shoulder in the briefest of shrugs. It was entirely possible Ever had forgotten they were there, but at this point, the job was done. It made him smile again, briefer this time, as he extended that hand to Harvard instead.

"Ever Ambrodiel. I've been working on Horseman alphabet stuff for the better part of the year, but, uh. I had a...that is..." He had to pause again, thoughts in order, hunt and peck for the right word. It didn't come to him [not in English, at least] so he closed his eyes for a moment, the smile wiped away and his eyebrows twitching downward as he dug.

"...I have trouble. I thought you could maybe help?" He cracked his eyes, giving up on the explanation. "I've got a couple projects I'm working on."

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Harvard took his hand ans shook it, as was expected, noting that even on an island like this, Ever was pale enough that his skin was almost translucent. How pretty, in an odd way. "Pleasure to meet you." He watched Ever stumble with his words, wondering what needed such concentration. His interest was immediately piqued by the subject, of course; he'd read bits about it, but didn't have time yet to explore it further.

He looked at Ever critically. At best, this would be wildly interesting, at worst a minimal waste of time. Harvard stood and moved away from his desk, gesturing at it. "Show me. Unless you'd rather we go to your own desk?"

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[and be blue]

Ever's eyes swept over the work on Harvard's desk, taking in what all he had -- then he gestured, vaguely, and took a few steps back. His own workspace was likely smaller, not out of a lack of seniority or work but simply because of his tendency not to push or complain.

Plus the several month absence. That probably contributed.

"I, uh. I mostly work on paper." He made a writing gesture in the air as they walked. "I can use the computer some, now, but it's still not my favorite."

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Harvard quirked an eyebrow at Ever's nonverbal dismissal of his own desk. Most people were marginally more eloquent for sake of clarity, if nothing else. He walked alongside Ever regardless - it had not been terribly hard to infer his intentions, after all.

"I understand the appeal of paper; most keyboards aren't readily equipped for differing languages, especially in script or runic format. Computers are excellent for storage, however." He wondered if Ever was just bad with technology, the thought amused him enough that he almost chuckled. "You should get an assistant, then." There was an implied offer that Harvard might be willing to assist should things prove interesting. It had been quite some time since he'd worked with anyone on a project. He tended to prefer solo research.

It could be ever fun. "What sort of projects with the Horseman language, exactly?"

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"Mostly I'm...working with what we have and I'm trying to figure out the basic syntax, because without that we can't do a whole lot of actual, meaningful translation." Maybe he was bad with tech, but this lit him up a bit: left him more comfortable talking about it, one shoulder hiked in a shrug as he looked back to Harvard. It was a bit of a hike back to the work space he'd made his own, a cluttered cubicle with purloined notebooks and artifacts as claimed from Deus's collection covering every usable inch.

"We have a lot of things with glyphs on them, so it's not impossible to figure out what individual symbols mean, from cross-referencing. Other people have done some of that. But when we find snippets of stories or myths, I'm much more into it." Ever'd grab his chair and pull it out some, so that the pair of them could cram around what he had open, if Harvard was interested: his own catalog of words matched to glyphs, things that had been figured out and hadn't.

"There's a surprising amount of truth in myths, I think. In ours, definitely, so maybe in theirs too."

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"So it's definitely ideographic and not alpha? As expected, really." He shouldered in beside Ever - it was possibly a little close for comfort, but Harvard was more focused on the papers than anything else.

He scanned the catalog quickly, wishing he had some sort of a photographic memory. While his was good, it certainly wasn't eidetic. "Using stories and myths as a translationary springboard lets you know their culture as well as the language. Might as well kill two birds with one stone." He scratched his beard absently.

"Don't they bring back horsemen occasionally for testing? Would it be possible to coerce one into translation?"

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It was a simple solution, such a straightforward one -- and yet, for some reason, it made Ever's expression go glossy, blank and a little bit confused. It was obviously in just that split second that not only hadn't he tried it, but the idea hadn't even occurred to him. It hadn't slipped into his mind. His eyes came back into focus to stare at Harvard for a long moment.

"...but..." He had to put himself back together, which was harder these days than it used to be. "Okay. So say we did, ah, waylay one. Then what?"

He licked his lips, quickly, and leaned in just a little. "Are you up to the torture?"

In the back of Ever's mind, Amory made it perfectly clear that he was.

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[The Semblance of Unity]

He watched Ever closely. A moment ago, he'd been intent on the pages, but Ever was perhaps just as interesting. Although he didn't know how Ever acted normally, it was becoming clear he was a little distracted. Or maybe Harvard was over-thinking it. The way the thought finally clicked into place interested him and he leaned closer to Ever too, mimicking the intrusion of personal space. Harvard's mouth kilted up on one side. When he spoke , he took a leap and spoke in French. Someone working with languages would surely know that.

"I'm up for anything - are you?" He spoke like it was a challenge, turning to face Ever without giving up any of the space he'd overtaken.

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[and be blue]

Harvard liked putting people off-balance, clearly, and here he succeeded too well. Ever opened his mouth to answer, then closed it, blinking a couple times. At least he was focused now -- on Harvard and not much else. But the thread of conversation, that was gone.

"I'm sorry. Did you just speak to me in French, or is my head more scrambled than I thought?" It was asked carefully. At least Ever didn't lean away either.

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[The Semblance of Unity]

"That's a cute look on you," he said idly. The owlish blinking made him seem delightfully befuddled, even when he was focused on Harvard. Which is honestly how Harvard preferred things.

Head scrambling? That was an odd phrase, and Harvard tucked it away for later, along with everything else. "Yes, I did," he said in French, before continuing in English. "Did you not understand me? I can repeat it in something else, if you want."

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When Ever replied in French, it wasn't with the crisp consonants and clear vowels of Paris, but instead dipped and blurred into the warmer sounds of the south. Marseilles touched his French heavily, a Provencal background clear as day.

"No, I've just had...problems, recently." He spoke it as easily as English, too, easier than any other language, waving Harvard off and trying to put his head in the right place. "I forgot the question."

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