Legends of Mirandis Academy

Chapter 21: The Mechanic

The show was a mere two weeks away from its opening night, so Iridia was hard at work everyday after school. Kelam was more than enthusiastic to join her, especially after Luna's confirmation to what was both his suspicion and his hope. He would take her advice though, and he wouldn't push it. Despite how much he desperately wanted to.

So here he was again, slipping into the theatre after school just like he'd been doing most days since. He'd missed several art club gatherings thus far, but that was fine with him. He was painting something much better in much better company. An immovable smile was on his face as he entered the amphitheater, the well-lit interior and stunning set embracing him.

Sounds of a circular saw and bass-heavy music could be heard in the back loud enough to cloud any shouting he might do to catch Iridia's attention—because who else would it be back there? Instead he decided to wait on the stage; he clambered up and patiently looked over the relatively clean workspace before him. A few rolls of painter's tape littered the floor, dull blue X's crossing out locations for larger iconic props, but otherwise the stage was empty of tools he could use. Further towards the back wall, there was a plastic folding table holding a bin of screws in varying sizes and a drill next to, surprisingly, Iridia's toolbelt.

It was strange, to see her tool belt all on its own and not hanging on her hips. As Kelam got closer, he realized that there were pens and papers strewn across the table. Some of the papers were folded, others simply crumpled; many bore angular drawings or calculations. The saw in the back continued whirring with no sign of halting.

It was safe to assume they were lists or designs of some degree—and god, how he wanted to be useful to her—so he took what looked to be one of the more recent papers, with fresher smears of graphite that always accompanied left-handed writing.

He unfolded the loose sheet expecting to find some isometric sketches of set pieces or concept sketches for the end goal appearance, something to help him get started, but instead he found messy words scrawled in all capital, crooked letters. The paper had a small title at the top of Draft #5, "Iridia T." up in the left corner, and the date. Today. Kelam involuntarily sucked in a breath.

I once was broken, parts askew

They crafted me to something new.

Everything my engine cried

All disappeared in their blue eyes.

I'm only made to build machines

Smeared with grease and never clean

But they like me with my grime,

Stains they see as sanctified

I think of them, I hardly breathe

I close my eyes, they're all I see.

Wash and rinse and then repeat,

There's gears where my heart should be.

He read it again and again, but the words stayed the same. His heart might as well have been shocked with a defibrillator as he saw in small print at the bottom: "I think this is the one :)"

He had complimented her confidence. "I wish everyone would forget it," she'd said, but never disagreed with his comments regarding her bravery—hearing it must have been validating to her. He adored the mess she was, how she didn't care at all about the dirt on her. He'd said so plenty. He called her brilliant with her craft a million times because she simply was.