[SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots

[SHIVERS]

Feedback - 2020
Rin + Shivers, High gods
No content warnings.
Wax stumbles into a project.

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Teraphim is busy.
Bringing it all to life.

Smaller scale is better. More personal. Less drastic for this one. 
Neon floor. Pink. No, purple. Tones of red, but blue to make it friendlier. More inviting.
Color appears where you step, radiates out slowly. Gently, like pond ripples.
Mirror walls. 
Low ceiling, pitch black. 
Entrance? Automatic sliding door. Gentle. Slow.
Waterfalls over the mirror walls. Thin, quiet. Still see-through. Reflection visible, but slight distortion.
But not disarming.
Calm.
Reflective.

They don't look up, unable to hear the quiet door opening while they work.

Wax steps in cautiously, nearly jumping out of his skin as the floor beneath him changes color. He falls with a thud, barely able to catch himself from going flat on his back. Teraphim turns their head back calmly, eyes glancing over Wax momentarily before they get back to their work.

"Careful."

"S-sorry, I- I was just wandering..." He scoots onto his knees, looking around the room. "I'd never seen a door like that before."

"It's new. You don't need to apologize." They put one arm across their torso, using it to prop their other hand up to their mouth. 

Teraphim stares at a nearby wall, thinking out loud. "...Need an exit. But it could throw off the simplicity of the room, having two doors. Putting it to the side wall could help, but then it wouldn't be symmetrical..."

"Does it need to be symm-" He shakes his head, immediately apologetic. "Sorry, I shouldn't intrude when we barely know each other..."

Teraphim turns their head to him, really looking at him for the first time since he'd entered. "Why apologize? I'm welcome to input. It doesn't have to be symmetrical, I just think symmetry would suit the room."

They turn back to the wall opposite the door. "I have an idea."

They step forward, and the waterfall parts slowly in front of them. The section of the mirror wall, now uncovered, slides open vertically, revealing a void behind it. "A quick-fix, but it works. Now..." The door slides down shut once more.

"I was thinking of this room as the interior of a building. This panel would open to a room with large windows showing the outside. A cityscape drenched in orange sunrise, lighting up the whole room and casting deep shadows came to mind for me. But I've done that before. And recently.

So,"

They turn entirely to face Wax.
"What should be behind the door?"

"This is...I'm no good at cities, really- I've tried and all, using concepts and thoughts that float around, but it’s hard when they're not real, when nobody's figured out how to make them yet..." He shakes his head again, holding up his hands. "Rambling, sorry, sorry… Why not… a garden?"

They’re quick to respond, and blunt. "Could work, more details.

What kind of garden? Give me colors. Lighting. If it's fitting to this room, then the mood should match; serene and reflective. But it could be dissonant as well. Maybe this door isn't known about to most. How does it feel to be in this garden?"

Wax blinks, taken aback. "Are you really sure you want this much input from me?"

"Collaborating provides inspiration, and it strengthens anything that's created. People working only by themselves can miss things. I have many times. I'd like the input, always. If you're willing.

Beyond that, you can decide for yourself."

"Blue, then. The garden could be blue."

"How does it feel?"

"Like I just suggested a silly idea."

"I meant the garden."

"Oh."

“How does it feel to be in the garden? Think about what someone might want for it. Someone in a place like this." They gesture to the rest of the room.

"It'd feel clean, even if nature itself is well... dirty. Artificial, even. But not in a fake way… like it was crafted deliberately."

"Tidy, then?" They look back at the door. "I'd say the person who owns it feels as if they have everything in order in the garden. Everything is neat. Everything is clean. There are no problems. Nothing to worry about that isn't already under control.

Everything is safe. The garden is safe." They breathe quietly, caught in the moment. "What do you think?"

“I don't know… it's not quite that, I don't think."

"You'd take it in a different direction, then? Hm." They’re invested, hanging onto his words. "Tell me, then:  What is the garden for this person? What does it mean to them? How does it feel?"

"It's a project. They… they come in here to work on it, in little pieces. It's clean because they take their time and don't rush, and always finish what they started."

"So it's a work of theirs, then? A passion project. Something they care deeply about. It's not just a location, but a part of them. Something to be cared for. And someday they'll finish it. There's an end goal. A point where it'll be perfect.

Am I on the right track now?"

"Yes, more along those lines… That's not silly, is it?"

"Tell me what's silly about creating."

"I mean… it's kind of inherently silly, isn't it? You're making something that doesn't exist, can't exist because we don't have ways to make it real, not yet… I guess silly might be bad word choice, though."

Their tone becomes just a little more firm. "I think calling your works - or especially creation as a whole - 'silly,' undermines it.

Creations always have merit. They can be fun, whimsical; and there's nothing wrong with that. But they can also be sad. Tiring. Difficult to make, and difficult to look at. Or exhilarating. They can be anything. And all of it is worth making. Worth showing pieces of yourself. Creating a narrative, or just a setting.

Making things is worthwhile. And when we have the tools to make it real, I know I'll be ready. I won't stop. But for now, this is my canvas." 

The door slides open once more, deep blue light pouring in. 

The meticulously clean garden is now in view.

Clean. Still.

But unfinished. Some pots without plants. Some plants not fully grown.

A work still in progress, but well underway.

Wax sees Teraphim smile for the first time.

"And it can be yours, too."

"I can't- I can't take something like that from you, though, your canvas- if it really does mean all those things you say it does, then I'd be mucking it up with my work-" He pauses, caught up in the beauty of the garden.

Teraphim steps inside with Wax. "Does it seem like you've mucked it up?"

"I suppose not..."

"Then don't say that you are.

Besides, there's plenty of room in godspace. We don't have to collaborate on every project. You can create your own works, too."

"I don't know if I'm cut out for that- I mean, it's kind of ironic, honestly, considering my domains."

"It's not required. But, if you want to create, then you shouldn't be afraid to." Teraphim starts shifting their focus to the small details of the room now. The plants' posture, the tiles of the wall and floor, the tint of the blue lights.

"I do, and I have a lot of ideas, but what if I can't pull them off? I can't just dive in."

"What are you afraid of?"

"It's one thing to make things here, where it can be erased and started anew, but the idea of making things in the real world scares me… No one's really been able to make anything yet, aside from plants and mountains and oceans… but we have all these ideas bouncing around, flooding in from god knows where, images and visions of other worlds that are well… I don't want to say better than ours, but more fleshed out, and it's so easy to want to make all of it for ourselves- But what if we can't? What if I can't?"

"If you can't, then you'll always have this canvas here. This still matters, Wax."

"We were put here with a purpose, though. We know that we must make things, that it's some kind of duty to, and eventually I'll have to get up and do it myself… It's scary."

"Then start planning your creations now. You can practice here, and get input when you want it. That's what I'm doing.

Then you can be ready when the time comes."

"I don't know if I’ll ever be ready." He sits down on a bench, looking around the garden. 

"Do you have to be ready?"

"I mean, yes! At the very least, I do."

"Tell me why."

"One of my domains is imagination- I get all these ideas, they flood into my head, an incessant stream… I can't just do anything that pops in. I can't sit down and brainstorm like other people, I have to sift through all these ideas that come to me without me ever asking them to. If I were to use any random idea that passes by, it could be disastrous."

"You act as if you have to do it alone." Teraphim had crouched over in the corner, but now stands back up, and walks over to Wax. "Asking for feedback is a simple solution."

"I mean, I have feedback- My friend Wane, they try to encourage me all the time."

"Then why are you still worried?"

"I don't know, really."

They sit down next to Wax, looking over the garden. "Do you believe it'll be bad - no matter what - because you made it?"

"A little, yeah."

"Make something here." They point to one of the empty flower pots in front of the two.
"Think about what you want to see. Make it right there."

He hesitates before concentrating, a butterfly-like creature resting upon the dirt. Its wings are iridescent, casting beautiful light onto the dirt around it. "Sorry, it's not a plant..."

Teraphim gets up and makes their way to the creature. "Stand up."

He stands, approaching slowly. The creature does not stir, flapping its wings slowly.

"Hold your hand out."

He does so, the creature taking lift and landing upon it. Wax freezes up entirely, glancing over at Teraphim with a nervous look.

"Look closely at it."

He leans in, just enough to get a better look.

"Now tell me..."  They look Wax in the eyes. "What, exactly, is so wrong with this creature?"

"Nothing, really… though I suppose I worry about how fragile it is."

"Is it a mistake, Wax? That's what I'm asking."

"No, I wouldn't call it that."

"Then don't believe nothing you create has value, just because you made it." With the most gentle of touches, Teraphim nudges a claw under the bug-like creature, allowing it to perch atop.

They look over it, taking in everything about it. "This creature is beautiful. Fragility is not a flaw. There is nothing wrong with it.

It's perfect. Exactly the way it is."

The creature takes flight once again, its delicate wings glistening magnificently in the deep blue of the room, reflecting tiny fragments of colorful light all over.
It rests atop Wax's hand once more. 

"Just as you are.
Don't doubt yourself."

"I suppose you have a point, there..."

"Then you don't need to be afraid."

He would have smiled if he had a mouth, watching the creature gently flap its wings.

"Feel free to keep going as you'd like. I want to rest."
With that, Teraphim sits back down on the bench.

They watch, curiosity piqued, as Wax begins creating.