on a lark

[alicornucopia]

She combs and combs the world aside and there is another world, just ahead, and she steps in.

The combed-away hole closes behind her. She puts her comb in her pocket.

Thanjen (Unbitwise)

Blueberry (kappa)

Hivers (Rockeye)

Comments

[alicornucopia]

She starts writing out simple algebra problems and solving them. Scratch, scratch.

[wind_on_my_face]

He quietly watches how she is using the pencil.

(Oh, hey, there's that material on teaching basic life skills why is he having to do this he asked for. What does it say?)

He's still just watching, but now he knows what he's looking for.

(This is an unprecedented situation, but there ought to be something she will be able to notice and improve directly after at most twenty minutes more, and likely less if she's good at focusing on the work. He'd say so, but that would be a distraction.)

[alicornucopia]

Algebra. Some of a poem. Some of a book report. Scratch scratch.

[wind_on_my_face]

There's what he's looking for. He waits a couple more minutes to make sure she won't just lose it when interrupted, then:

“Take a look at your pencil.”

It doesn't look any different, but without a firm grip she should notice it being lightly stuck to her hand.

[alicornucopia]

She looks at her pencil.

"It's... supposed to do that, then?"

[wind_on_my_face]

“Yes, you’ve started to claim your pencil. You've probably got just the paint on the outside, but not any of the wood yet. You should be able to move it around a bit. Think of it like trying to move a finger you didn't have before.”

[alicornucopia]

She smiles, like she thought of something funny. The pencil twitches. She turns her hand over and the pencil turns with it, only partially.

[wind_on_my_face]

“Now try to feel something with it. Tap the side of the pencil against the desk, or your other hand. Your sense of touch and temperature should extend through the pencil.”

[alicornucopia]

She prods the pencil with her other hand. Gingerly, lest she get stuck to it.

[wind_on_my_face]

The pencil is not sticky at all, but it feels different than pencils usually do, like touching your other hand is different from touching someone else's hand.

[alicornucopia]

Well, if it's not going to stick then she can investigate it more thoroughly. Poke pinch prod.

[wind_on_my_face]

Pencils are much more tolerant of lots of pinching than fingers. She can feel the pressure, but it doesn't hurt.

[alicornucopia]

How interesting. And if she presses a fingernail into it, the least bitten one...?

[wind_on_my_face]

She can feel the new dent in the pencil's paint. The rest of its shape is there too, now that she's paying attention.

She can't feel the lead or the wood this way; it's like an object she's carrying rather than part of her.

[alicornucopia]

What if she pulls on it, how stuck is it?

[wind_on_my_face]

She can feel it being pulled away. She can do something about that. It's exactly as stuck as she wants it to be.

[alicornucopia]

Huh. She experiments with amounts of stuckness, then plucks it off her right hand and holds it in her left.

[wind_on_my_face]

Only her right hand seems to have the ability to stick to pencils.

“Right now you can only use your right hand, because you started with it. There's some other things you should practice first, for safety, before you start claiming more than one body part.”

[alicornucopia]

"Could you say more about what exactly it is I did?"

[wind_on_my_face]

“You claimed the outside of your pencil, and your right hand. The writing exercise let you focus on having the pencil move as you needed rather than moving the pencil using the grip of your hand.”

[alicornucopia]

"But I still don't really know what you're talking about. I'm not used to this being something that happens."

[wind_on_my_face]

“No one must have shown you before, then, and that's really weird.”

(Don't press. Move on. Teaching is more important.)

“Everything in the universe is somebody's, or nobody's. All this," a wave at the glass desk and the birds, “is mine, and the pencil is yours now, and this island is probably nobody's.”

[alicornucopia]

Slow nod.

[wind_on_my_face]

“If it's yours, then you can move it,” — the sun-shade wobbles a bit — “reshape it,” — a blob of glass rises up and turns into a pair of disks, one floating above the other — “and forcepattern it.” He presses down on the top disk, then lets go and it flies up into the air. When it comes back down, it stops in its original position relative to the first disk without any bounce or noise.

[alicornucopia]

"What is forcepatterning? Besides 'that thing you just did'."