studious creatures
Chapter 01: flamingo style #1: red flamii
Chapter 02: flamingo style #2: pink flamii
Chapter 03: raccoon style #1: pink hox
Chapter 04: raccoon style #2: bright hox
Iona just had to know: had Astelle always been like this? Had there really never been a time when she wasn't so bright and knowledge-consuming?
Without doing the math on her rate of speed in coursing through every book in the Tantalese royal library, Iona wasn't quite sure she could say. And that, of course, was why she'd sought to ask KOS-MOS about it.
Astelle was standing right there, actually, but once she'd determined that Iona was engaging in small talk of little relevant concern to her, she let the two aside to converse.
KOS-MOS did not bow her head to commune with Iona, but instead kept her gaze leveled straight ahead.
"So...if someone is eight or nine years old, they've been able to read for about three years, right?"
"Astelle," KOS-MOS intoned, "has been able to read since the age of two."
"Okay, that's another three years, so twice that. Now we have to think about how long it takes to read one book."
While Iona frowned and furrowed, KOS-MOS went silent and still. Then she began again: "I have prepared a matrix of possible variables for this problem. Taken together, the median time during which Astelle read the entire contents of Theosoir's library is 1.7 years."
"Iona!!"
Iona turned, cheeks aflush, to face the scornful brow of Astelle.
"You can't just be asking KOS-MOS to randomly do math! I haven't optimized her for that!"
"I thought she was plenty optimal," murmured Iona. "But whatever you say..."
Maybe Zeke would know. He had to have some kind of insight about it, at least, for Astelle to have already been so comfortable with him as her older brother, or even her uncle.
Indeed, his face did light up when he saw that Iona had come to seek his worldly wisdom, though she hardly took notice of it.
"Um, Mr. Zeke," (she really didn't need to address him, nearly panting and chomping at the bit was he to respond to the call), "has Astelle always been like that?"
An invisible camera panned both of their fields of vision toward where Astelle was stood, a handful of peds away, staring up at an undetermined point on the wall and fiercely repeating a phrase to herself under her breath. In fact, her right hand, out of view, was furiously working its nails against its palm, as Astelle muttered, "My external appearance is down five percent. I need to be cleaned."
"What's up, kiddo? Don't you do that?"
"No," said Iona, as she involuntarily twitched her nose.
Leaning close and arching conspiratorial, Zeke whispered, "If you ever do start, I'll be sure to let you know."
As if he himself didn't vocal stim.
"Well...thank you. That's very kind," finished Iona stiffly - not because she didn't mean it!
"Of course!" replied Zeke, very nearly clamping down his hand over the crown of Iona's head but then stopping short and just hovering there instead. "Any chum of my chum's a chum of mine."
Maybe Grandpa? He could assume, anyway, though he usually gently chided Iona never to do such a thing, seeing as it never made anyone involved look good, in the end.
"I have to wonder why you're so concerned with it, Iona," he rumbled, hand on her shoulder and a knowing look in his near-side eye. "You understand that Astelle's different. Isn't that enough for you?"
Different. Like Grandpa was different than most grandpas? Like Rex was different than most Drivers? No, more than that.
"I want to be a good friend for her," said Iona. "And, and, to do anything well, you have to understand how and why you're-re doing it. Isn't that what you told me?"
Cole, of course, could immediately tell by the disjointed rhythm of Iona's speech that this had become terribly important to her.
"Well, the how is going to visit her, talking with her, listening when she talks, isn't it?"
Iona nodded, yet wobbly.
"And the why is because you like her, plain and simple, end of story."
Iona didn't nod, here, and instead began to fidget in place.
It wasn't that he didn't want Iona to see herself in Astelle; rather, he didn't want the two of them to become isolated, a miniature manners-based enclave against the world.
"Let me put it another way," said Cole (Iona could be quite receptive to this, as opposed to a blanket steamroll of her personal cognition). "You are the perfect friend to Astelle, just as you are."
When all those other routes failed, Iona at least knew she could rely upon Pandoria to provide some type of helpful, unclumsy advice. A proverbial lightbulb, you know?
"This is what they call big feelings, right?" Pandoria scratched her head just behind the incandescent hat.
Well, sort of. In Iona's experience, big feelings was what they called it when you had a meltdown and disrupted the class. They didn't pay all that much attention to what the children were thinking, otherwise. And if you were quiet, that was just always how it would stay.
"I feel" - and they always said to start with an I statement, which Iona found easy to remember - "like I'm...missing something."
Pandoria stepped back, looked her over. "Someone yank out your tail? You look like you're all accounted for, to me!"
Even if Iona's smile, lips to teeth, was awkward, unpracticed, it held so much joy. How could she be "missing" anything?
"I'm gonna say something that might sound kinda really weird," Pandoria said, to give a warning and let Iona open up a little pathway along this thought to ride. "You don't really know that many people, right? So how could you possibly compare yourself?"
"So, when I get older..."
Ah. Oops! "When you get older," Pandy hastily adjoined, "you'll know more about yourself and more about everyone else. But right now, you're just as curious as you need to be."
Not as curious as Astelle, though - which was okay! That sounded so tiring.
general assortment: iona unspecified speech impediment(s) + learning difficulties w/ some sensory & social issues, more "typically" ordered ways of thinking, versus astelle obsessions + tics w/ incredibly direct personality & stubbornness, more "divergently" ordered ways of thinking