Post by Deleted on Mar 15, 2014 23:54:11 GMT -8
of freedom and of pleasure
nothing ever lasts forever
everybody wants to rule the world
Every time Laura closed her eyes, numbers danced before her. Greek letters, Arabic numerals, and operation signs wove their unique patterns behind her eyelids. Her hands smelled like chalk, like old ink, and like too much time spent scrawling equations ad nausea. A plethora of chalkboards, all covered with mathematical notations, translated themselves to transparent blueprints. With her fingers covered in sweat, Laura did her best not to touch her reference pages.
It was by far the most complex working she had ever tried, even more complicated than Dummy. Her first autonomous automaton had no vocal cords, and could only move within certain parameters. He was linked to the chest that held her small collection of battered comic books. On the streets, those books had been her inspiration to wake up and survive every morning, because if Tony Stark could come back from alcoholism and torture, Laura Alesi could certainly make a better life for herself. (It had eventually taken a dream that led her to the Wolf House for her fortunes to improve, but Laura had been on the street for years. The fact that she lived long enough to be sent to Lupa was a fact amazing in and of itself.)
Right now, she was crafting the vocal cords of her project, using thin wire and long-nosed needle pliers. It was halfway between a speaker and a computer, collectively shrunk to the size of her palm. She had spent several hours previously crafting the housing, tiny over-lapping scales designed to protect the delicate working. Children of the Forge - whether Vulcan or Hephaestus, Svarog or Brigit - found it just as easy to make an elaborate, detailed piece as it was to make something simple. For Laura, who ran bright and fast, the more detail she added to her work, the better the work turned out. (Her least favorite project was the first thing any smith learned to make - nails. The simplicity of the process lent itself to mistakes far more easily, especially for someone as easily distracted as a demigod.)
When sweat dripped off her face onto her hands, Laura sat back. Her muscles protested at the change in position, little spasms working through half-cramps. The forge was too hot a place to be working on this, but Laura was most at home here, among her siblings. The roar of the fire provided a constant point of reference, comforting in its predictability.
Ensemble
Word Count 403