Work Text:
“Adjustable wrench,” Sandrone said, holding her palm out to the side.
Before her was some scrap of junk one of her coworkers had brought back from an expedition. This was an often occurrence, reminiscent of the way family members would bring back sweets or souvenirs after traveling abroad.
Unfortunately her coworkers were profoundly stupid, and had little sense for what was valuable or not when it came to mechanical—
A long metal object was placed atop her open hand, and Sandrone spared it a single glance before turning to the woman beside her.
“Hm?” Columbina tilted her head, perhaps sensing that Sandrone’s attention had shifted to her. “Is it the wrong one?”
“Hand,” she said flatly.
Columbina proffered her hand and Sandrone gingerly took hold, guiding them such that her fingers touched the surface of the wrench right below the jaw.
“How is the texture?”
“Mm. Smooth,” she said.
Sandrone grunted in affirmation. “This is a combination wrench.”
She set the tool aside, then leaned over to grab the actual adjustable wrench. And like before, she placed Columbina’s fingers just below the jaw.
“How about now?” she asked. “Texture?”
“Ridges.” She ran her thumb across the surface. “Coiled, like a screw.”
“Very good. This is the adjustable wrench, and you can tell by that piece.”
“What is it called?”
“Hm?” Sandrone blinked. “Eh, it has a few names. Knurl, adjustable knob, worm gear… so on and so forth.”
“Worm…” Columbina tapped a finger to her chin. Though her eyes were covered by the cloth latticework, the curiosity in her expression was plain to see. “Isn’t there one called a monkey wrench, too?”
“Indeed.”
“How fascinating. Do you ever wonder how they came to have those names?”
“No.”
Columbina pouted. “Not even a little? I find etymology rather interesting, you know.”
“The origin of words?” Sandrone began tinkering with the metal in front of her, idly continuing the conversation as she worked. “You should enroll in the Akademiya, then.”
“Oh, but don’t you know? Etymology is banned in the land of dying grass. It is one of their great cardinal sins.”
“What? Isn’t there a whole Darshan dedicated to linguistics?”
“Yes,” Columbina said. “But they can only research the history of words up to a certain point, after which it becomes forbidden.”
“…I find that strange.” Even as she worked, it prickled at her mind. “What are they hoping to hide by banning that?”
“Who can say?” Columbina picked up the socket wrench and began playing with it, despite being told not to repeatedly. “There’s power in names, though. Understanding their origin is part of that.”
“Ah, yes. You and the Jester have a like mind in regards to that.”
He had a strong insistence that everyone refer to each other by title, rank, or codename. And for the most part, everyone was rather strict in following that.
Though there were exceptions, of course.
The Knave and Fair Lady knew each other’s real names. The Doctor’s was very easily guessable due to his academic record, and as mayor the Rooster could hardly hide his. Balladeer’s situation was notably complicated, but he had several aliases.
Except for Columbina, no one’s name was a true secret, just an unspoken one.
“You seem like you’re thinking hard about something,” Columbina said.
“How can you tell?”
“You’re quiet. That means you’re busy in your head.”
Sandrone snorted. “Are you speaking from experience, colombette? Are you secretly having complicated thoughts while you sit there in silence?”
“Yes,” she said plainly, to which Sandrone felt a hint of surprise. “Sa souvraya niende misain ye.”
Sandrone paused mid-work. “Pardon?”
“You are excused,” Columbina said.
“Tch. What language was that? I didn’t know you spoke another one.”
“Did you think you were the only one capable of being multilingual, Marionette?” She wagged her finger as if chiding her. “Narcissism is a sin, you know.”
Leaning in, she whispered conspiratorially.
“But don’t you worry, I won’t tell.”
Sandrone shook her head. “Forget that. What did the phrase mean?”
“Mm, you’ll have to ask someone who speaks the language.”
“I am.” She felt her eye twitch. “At least tell me the name of the language.”
Columbina smiled. “No.”
Now, Sandrone was very aware that the other woman was irritating her for her own amusement. But that did little to change the fact that she wanted to know the answer. There was little on this earth that annoyed her more than an unanswered question.
“If you tell me I’ll teach you Fontanois,” Sandrone said, electing to bargain.
“You have little leverage.” Columbina shook her head. “I can go to many people to learn your language, you can only go to me for mine.”
“What?” She raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re the only speaker?”
A second of silence passed, or perhaps even less. But in that split-second there was something odd about Columbina’s expression. Some microscopic twitch of her facial muscles that Sandrone only barely picked up on, and had no idea how to interpret.
“Yes,” she said softly.
Sandrone faltered, wondering if she was pushing a boundary that shouldn’t be pushed. Did such things even exist in regards to Damselette?
But since she had already come this far, she decided to push just a little further. Perhaps it was callous of her to do so, though it hardly mattered. She had done far worse in her life than say some insensitive words.
“Well if you teach me, it’ll bring the number of speakers up to two,” she said. “That’s double the amount. A hundred-percent increase.”
“Your argument is logically sound.” Columbina took a deep breath. “Thus, I reject it.”
“Why?” she asked. “You just said it was a rational argument.”
“Exactly. And that’s not the kind of reasoning I’m looking for.”
“And what is?”
“Hmm.” She rubbed her chin. “Give me an honest reason, and I’ll consider it.”
Sandrone set her jaw, feeling her blood pressure rise. “I want you to tell me because if you don’t it’s going to aggravate me. That’s it. That’s the only—“
“Very good!” Columbina clapped. “I’m very proud of you, Marionette. Honesty is a virtue.”
“My ticket to heaven, I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes. “Now come on.”
Columbina laughed. “Very well.”
She leaned in, cupped her hand to Sandrone’s ear, and whispered the answer.
In response Sandrone pulled back, delivering the other woman an uncertain look. Gooseflesh had prickled across her arms.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked. “A joke? Or an idiom?”
But Columbina ignored her, returning her attention to the socket wrench as she fiddled with it.
Sandrone’s gaze lingered for a second, then she tore it away and forced herself to return to her work.
Yes, it must have been some joke of hers. Or a figure of speech.
Though with her of all people…
She gave Columbina a sidelong glance, an uncomfortable feeling settling in her stomach.
…who could really say?