Diplomatically / Divided ~ PPAU Quest

    Hen and Plover had returned from Reverie for a few months before Hen dropped the question. They were sitting in the Nimble Spire, trying to go through a mock-diplomatic conference training session (read trying), when Hen squirmed in her seat. Her mouth popped open and closed a few times before she began. 

    “Plover?”

    “Yes?”

    Again, Hen sat there for a while before continuing. “Is everything alright?” 

    Plover blinked, feeling the louse twitch in their mouth as they sighed. Eventually, the piercing picked out an answer for them. “No, not everything in the world is alright.” 

    “You know that’s not what I mean,” Hen huffed, rolling her single eye as she fixed Plover with a half-hearted look that quickly slipped into a smile.

    “Well, you should be more specific.”

    Hen’s tusks worried at her lips as she sighed, setting her clipboard on the table. “I know talking diplomacy can be a bit boring. But–”

    “It’s not boring; it’s just not something I’m good at,” Plover scoffed, half-heartedly gesturing towards their snout while resting their chin in their other hand. “It’s got so many little rules, and you need to lie to people constantly while everyone’s lying to you, and that was never going to work out with me.”

    “You don’t need to lie to people; you just need to treat them nicely,” Hen huffed, folding in on herself, looking much smaller than the eighty-year-old giant she was. If Plover hadn’t known better, they could’ve mistaken her for an overgrown dragonet. 

    Plover snorted, rolling their eyes. “Yeah, no, that’s lying. I will treat people exactly how they deserve.” 

    “Baby bird…”

    And Plover looked up to meet that single orange eye, now big and sad in the dumbest puppy-dog expression that Plover refused to let affect them. 

    They refused.

    They lasted two seconds.

    “Listen–” Plover hissed and didn’t sulk, they did not sulk– “I treat people well! I just don’t treat them nicely.” 

    Hen nodded, but as much as Plover wanted and prayed for this to end the conversation, it wasn’t. “That’s alright– you’ve got a lot of courage telling people how it is,” Hen said, and Plover could sense the but coming. 

    “But maybe you could do it with some subtly?” 

    “I can be subtle! I can be so subtle–” Plover huffed, crossing their arms over their chest angrily– not to keep themself from turtling into their scarf. After a moment, Plover smirked, cocking their head to the side. “You still don’t know what I’m getting you for your hatching month, do you?”

    “Well, what are you getting me?”

    “I bought you a tea set I found at the market. It’s flower teas, a cup, and a pot with roses painted on it.” Plover sat there, blinking as Hen smiled, shaking her head with an ‘oh you’ expression. If it were anyone else, Plover would’ve slapped it off them. “Oh, that’s cheating.” 

    Hen just smiled, ever so patient. “See what I mean?”

    “Yes,” Plover sulked, and they could admit to it this time. “That doesn’t mean it’s not still cheating.” 

    Plover stopped sulking and glanced up, only to be met with Hen’s soft and sad frown.

    She sat there, fiddling with her claws, before nodding to herself. “Well, here’s a suggestion: I’m bad at keeping secrets too. Maybe this is something we could work on together.” 

    And Plover paused, blinking. 

    They hummed, cocking their head to the side. 

    …Should Plover say something? Should they say that their entire traineeship under Hen was an exercise in secrecy? Because Hen was so fragile– she’d crack so easily. She had cracked in front of Plover before leaving them to watch her pick up the pieces. 

    And that was the problem. 

    Because Plover had watched Hen pick up those pieces with her bare hands, watched her cut herself open all over again and pretend everything was back to normal. And Plover had watched– sat back and watched. Because Hen was sharp in her fragility, sharp in places that would cut Plover too, reopen old scars.

    So did they want to start saying something now? Could they say anything?

    Or would that conversation only break Hen again?

    Eventually, Plover shook their head with a quiet laugh. Either way, this wasn’t the time for that conversation. “You want our training to be lying to each other? I didn’t know you were taking a page from the Whisperling’s metaphorical books?”

    Hen ducked her gaze, orange scales going dark brown with a blush.

    Plover blinked before grinning. “A certain Whisperling’s metaphorical book?”

    “Well– A trainee’s equation should be well-rounded–” Hen coughed into her claws as if bringing her hand to her face would hide her stupidly-in-love expression. “We don’t know where the orb will sort you; each order’s skills can help you get wherever you want.”

    “Also, you want to hang out with Wolfchaser.”

    After a round of sputtering, Hen ran her hand down her face before snapping her claws. “Ah– see! There’s our first lesson– hiding ulterior motives.”

    “Oh joy,” Plover huffed, rolling their eyes. Indeed, Hen was a master of subtlety. “We’re learning so much already.” 

    Plover stared at their math notes for an hour before Professor Crake dropped the question. At least, they assumed it was an hour– time had gotten blurry somewhere along the way. When they blinked and rubbed at their eyes, they stung and ached.

    It took a solid few blinks (ow, ow, ow) to get their vision back, only to find Professor Crake standing in front of their desk with… something in their expression. 

    “Plover,” they said, their brow furrowing. “The bell went off five minutes ago.”

    They blinked again, instead of swearing, cocking their head to the side. “It did?” 

    Professor Crake paused, leaning down to rest on the edge of Plover’s desk. Their magenta eyes flicked up and down, looking Plover over before nodding. “Yes, it did. Is everything alright?” 

    “No,” Plover huffed, dropping their gaze to trace the wood grain beneath their fingers. “Not everything in the world is alright.” 

    By now, having been asked that question many times by everyone, they’d expected that response from the louse and the following confusion and annoyance from people. They could recite how this conversation would go in their sleep, so they didn’t even look up at Crake’s sigh.

    “That’s not the question I asked.”

    “No, but it’s the one you said,” Plover replied with a click of their tongue, cutting through the awkward silence. But it quickly resettled, heavy and thick, before Plover broke underneath it. They sighed, “I’ve just been thinking– rather not be, but I am.”

    Professor Crake didn’t say anything, only arching a brow when Plover glanced up at them, waiting for Plover to continue.

    But Plover didn’t.

    After another pause, they shrugged. “It’s– I like math. It’s got answers. Nice clean answers– until you get to physics.” And that got them a quiet snort, and Plover smiled. “It’s nice to have a clean way to see the world. I like it. But it’s– questions are hard.” 

    Questions were hard– strange too. 

    Plover could answer questions. Plover had to answer questions. But they couldn’t answer their own questions. 

    If Professor Crake had handed them a worksheet, Plover would’ve answered it in five minutes, even with an ‘I don’t know.’ But they’d been working on their own for an hour and… nada. 

    They sighed, sliding over their sheet to Crake.

    Professor Crake grabbed it, holding it up while readjusting their glasses. A pause and Crake’s brow furrowed again, setting the sheet back down on the table. “Plover…” they said before pausing and again leaning forward to meet Plover’s gaze. “I’ve seen you solve worksheets like this in half an hour or less.” 

    “I know,” Plover hissed, ducking their head.

    This sheet was their worksheet. Plover chose the questions, and they already knew the answers. This piece was supposed to be a review.

    But…

    What’s the formula for how quickly a body cools after death? How does this formula change for Seawings or Icewings? Create a sample situation and solve for x. 

    “Plover…” Crake said again, but Plover just ducked further in on themself.

    “I know. I know…”

    How quickly does blood congeal after leaving the body? How does this change for Icewings, Hivewings, or Seawings? Create a sample situation and solve for x. 

    “I’ve been,” Plover sighed, rubbing at their eyes (oh good, they were stinging again). They cleared their throat, continuing. “I’ve been having a tough time. Everything’s been busy and– fast. I’m having trouble recovering from the metaphorical whiplash, you know?” 

    How quickly do both situations change when you insert a scavenger in the dragon’s place? Create a sample situation and solve for x. 

    Professor Crake nodded slowly. “I know. This year has been a busy one.” 

    Plover nodded along with a shrug, dropping their claws to stop themself from exacerbating their eye situation. But again, while Professor Crake waited for them to respond, Plover didn’t give them anything beyond a ducked head.

    “And it hasn’t been a kind one,” the professor sighed, and again silence fell. Plover squirmed in their seat under its weight, worrying at their tongue, before Crake broke it. “Plover, you’re a good student, but even good students can have bad days.” 

    “Sorry.” 

    “You don’t need to apologize.” 

    “Sorry–” Plover’s mouth clicked shut, their snout going dark, as they gave up any sense of decorum and buried their head into their scarf. “‘Imma shut up now.” 

    Plover had curled up into their nice new life in their scarf, accepting their fate, when Professor Crake put a hand on their shoulder. (They didn’t jump– they’d gotten good at not jumping when startling, instead going statue-still as they waited for whatever would happen next.) 

    But nothing came. 

    After a moment, Plover poked their snout back out, glancing up to meet Professor Crake’s worried gaze. The professor nodded, their hand laying heavy, not doing anything but keeping Plover’s attention.

    It still itched like crazy, though.

    “Plover, everyone can have a bad day. All I need to know is–” Crake’s claws twitched on their shoulder. Plover still didn’t do anything but keep their gaze. “Are you safe?” 

    “Yes, I’m safe,” Plover confessed, the damnation hanging over them like a guillotine.

    But the professor didn’t do anything– didn’t call them on it; nobody called them on it– except remove their hand from Plover’s shoulder with a nod. 

    “Then take all the time you need to recover.”

    “...Thank you, Professor.”