Rocillo Theorem
Genres: Drama, Humor
Summary: For a man who intended to spend his life studying the practice of thinking, it was an odd gesture that he should find a situation that seemed to render it absent. / AU Gameshipping, Duke x fem!Yami
A/N: Written for the YGO Fanfiction Contest Season 9, Round Three—the pairing is Gameshipping (Yami x Duke) and takes place in a fictionalized version of 1900's Europe, where Yami is a woman pretending to be a man to attend university and the lectures on biosophy otherwise unavailable to them. I'm using Duke's dub name because it suits the AU better. I hope you enjoy!
Rocillo Theorem
From behind the podium, the guest lecturer straightened his glasses and took a deep breath, speaking more to the polished wood that lodged a small stack of handwritten notes than to the crowded hall full of academics and students of the university.
"Biosophy…is the science and art of intelligent living based on the awareness and practice of spiritual values, ethical-social principles and character qualities essential to individual freedom and social harmony," Peter Henriksen began, shuffling in place as he stretched his collar with one hand. "First, our way of thinking encourages…"
From his place in an aisle seat near the back, Duke Devlin was already regretting coming. The lecture was well-advertised, and he was getting credit with his philosophy professor for attending, but then again his professor was a little man who couldn't tell the difference between Schopenhauer and Schweitzer. The room was hot and muggy from the crowds, and Duke shrugged his coat from his shoulders, hating that he already felt sweat sticking his shirt to his skin. He liked to blame it on causal determinism—the room was hot, therefore he would sweat, therefore his mood would turn as sour as a grape, cause and effect—but the fact still stood that there was little he could do about it until the lecture ended, so he might as well pay attention.
The man beside him was scribbling down every word with a fervor foreign to him, but Duke leaned back in his wooden chair, preferring to absorb the lecture with his eyes every bit as much as his ears.
"—for the goal is peace, my friends! The objective, for an understanding of life and the synthesis of many systems you might find conflicting, from religion to science to philosophy, all in accord—"
It wasn't that Duke disagreed with Henriksen's theories, but he found the premise ridiculous. He'd read some of his papers, finding that the early ones had a tendency towards nihilism, and the absence of some of the more meaningful aspects of life to Duke yielded one not worth living. Which was in itself a paradox of sorts.
Duke was so lost in thought he'd missed the most recent points of the lecture, and leaned over to glance at his neighbor's half-filled note-pad to catch up.
"I would like to take some time for questions," Henriksen said, extending both arms towards the audience. "Ask me anything you like. But first, anyone who wishes to pose a question must state a word—a single word—that most strongly references the principles of biosophy. I ask this in each lecture I give, and I get different answers every time." He laughed, and an arm rose in the very front row, too far to the right for Duke to see their face.
"Yes, you—"
They stood, a fringe of yellow and black hair partially obscuring their face, but Duke could see as much of the determined curve of their jaw, the upturned smile. "You say in one of your articles that biosophy is defined by equality. Please, I would be interested in hearing your theories on how this applies to disparities in gender and social classes? And my word is truth."
Henriksen turned to regard him, looking down from the top of the podium. "You speak of wanting to equalize the social classes, yet it is that very advantage that allows you to be here today, at this most prestigious university, listening to lectures such as mine! As far as gender, is it really ethical to place women into environments that lead to emotional and physical stresses which they are not able to bear?"
"—But you have theorized that a fellowship, an amalgamation of individuals, can only be—"
Duke stood, leaning his hands on the back of the chair in front of him as he spoke. "This course of discussion is all well and good, but it doesn't answer the true question."
"Which is?" Henriksen prompted, and from the front row the prior speaker glowered.
"Biosophy is too selfless. What person in this room would truly put the collective needs above their own personal desires? I would be interested in hearing how your theories can be reconciled with psychological egoism and psychological hedonism. It's natural for us to seek pleasure—it is not, however, so to cultivate humanity's advancement in the way you describe, so my word will be unnatural." He stepped back, watching the eyes of those in the lecture hall swivel back from him to Henriksen. Before the philosopher could get a word in, the man in the front spoke up.
"Of course it is altruistic, none of us are disputing that. It is only that I cannot accept your claim that all of humanity is as spineless as you say. The line is drawn at seeking their own good at the expense of others—one person's search for personal fulfillment does not impede another's search for biosophical wisdom!"
"You hold up these values?" Duke scoffed at the very thought, so it was easy enough to scoff at any opposing words. "You are not so selfless, I would bet. I would go as far to say as there is not a man in this room who has in the past, and will in the future, pursue their own interests in way that aligns more with egoism than with your philosophies. I make no such claims to the reverse." He grinned then, drinking in the laughter that peppered the auditorium.
"If you are not a biosophist, what are you even doing here?" The man in the front made to take a few steps closer to the aisle before realizing what he was doing, and stopped. "Did you come only to mock our beliefs?"
The unspoken just yours lingered on his tongue, but Duke responded only with another indulgent smile. "On the contrary, I am fascinated by your philosophy." Suddenly the bells began to ring the hour, and the clanging seemed to echo all around them, mixing with the sounds of over a hundred academics packing up their coats and bags.
"But, regrettably, I am equally fascinated by lunch." Duke slid into the aisle and turned on his heel, walking the length of the worn, smooth wooden steps and hearing their creaking every bit as loudly as the bells.
Behind him, another noise interrupted his thoughts. "Hey, you! Hold up!"
Duke turned, growing more amused by the second as the earlier speaker was pushing through the crowd, struggling to reach him. It seemed his resentment was still out in full force, and Duke slowed down his pace as he walked; he enjoyed a good debate, especially in philosophy, it always helped him work up a tremendous appetite.
The other man was shorter than Duke would have thought, but not by much, his hair alone adding a significant amount of bulk. He had tucked a scarf around his neck, and fiddled with it as the two walked outside.
"So, I take it you are a devout supporter of Henriksen's theories?" Duke began lightly.
"One does not have to be a follower of an individual philosopher to follow the ideas inherent in their teachings," he said, sticking slim hands into slanted coat pockets. "Henriksen is giving a different lecture every day for the rest of the week, and I intend to be at every single one. One hears…such interesting things—"
"Oh, yes," Duke agreed, "they'll let just about anybody into these lectures, these days."
The other seemed to take offense at this, but shrugged it off with a flippant, "you're proof enough of that, I suppose."
Duke stopped at a crossroads in the paths; to the left led the pathway towards his favorite dining hall, to the right led a path towards additional academic buildings and dormitories. "This is where we part ways—lunch is calling. Unless you'd like to lose two debates today."
"I can never understand people like you," he replied. "And I do try. Do you care for no one but yourself? Have you ever had to?"
"Educate me, then," Duke mocked. "It's so difficult to discuss philosophy with someone so self-righteous and noble. It doesn't matter what I say, you would always take the moral high ground, wouldn't you? All the fun just vanishes, and all because of men like you."
"There are no men like me."
He turned, and walked away, the edges of his bangs catching the breeze and fluttering by his ear. He was so fastidious, from the checked edges of his plaid scarf to the sharp edges of his thin coat, stretched tight across his retreating shoulders. Duke wasn't quite sure he'd won that debate after all.
And that was how he'd gained his respect.
"It was such a good day today," Yami addressed the cat, curled up on a cushioned seat in the corner. Standing before the mirror, Yami unwound her scarf, draping it over the top hook of the coat-rack by the door. She shrugged out of the coat next, hanging it up neatly. She straightened her hair, fingertips lingering at the shorn edges before brushing it back into place.
She had left the mail on a table, and flipped through it, watching the cat lazily flick its tail. "The lecture was marvelous—one of the better ones I've attended this year. I am lucky the philosophy department here hosts so many, there are quite a few chances to converse with the lecturers themselves!" She thought of Henriksen, frowning as she recalled his words. Emotional and physical stresses which they are not able to bear. What complete nonsense.
She paused, resting an arm against a flier advertising the lecture, one she'd managed to snag from a cork-board on the way in. "I should have asked that random man the same question." She laughed. The cat yawned widely, showing all its teeth.
"I bet I already know the answer. Asking would have been unnecessary."
Lunch was simple, followed by plain coffee, and the cat weaved around her feet, lured more by the hope of food than the promise of company. Yami supposed cats weren't really cut out to practice something like collectivism or biosophy—no, they were more hedonistic creatures. Very much like the gentleman who thought himself able at discourse.
The latest letter was a university rejection notice; while Yami could pass as a man in any setting, as a woman she would still have needed permission to attend the lectures she so easily gained access to in disguise, and could not have acquired a degree from any college, not even Newnham. If she was going to put in the work, she would have something to show for it, and so instead of subjecting herself to ridicule she had cut her hair and dressed as a man, and had so far fooled everyone surprisingly well.
"They see what they want to see." She scratched the cat behind one ear; it purred appreciatively. "They do not see what they don't."
Tomorrow's lecture would see Henriksen presenting a recently-published paper. Yami planned to be in the front row again, in the very same seat, if possible. It would be hers for the remainder of the week.
Yami discussed the lecture at great length to her cat, and to her credit the animal only fell asleep for a portion of the review. She'd asked additional questions, and received predictably unsatisfying answers.
To her credit, she only glanced back at the audience once, half-hoping to see the same brash, black-haired man, finding that same row occupied by a series of aged professors in tweed, clutching leather satchels close to their was uneventful and boring—someone might have joked, but that's philosophy, although to Yami, the practice of thinking was so much more than that.
While the third lecture of the week was taking place, Duke made a habit of strolling by the lecture hall, an umbrella clutched tightly under one arm. It looked like rain, but so far the clouds hadn't even threatened to so much as spit on their heads. No class credit was worth sitting through another of those, but he slowed down his pace, hoping to catch the tail end of a debate or find some fresh undergraduate he could put in his place.
Luck was not on his side at all that day, as he found neither by the benches outside the hall, and a quick glance inside showed Henriksen doddering away, grasping the edges of the podium with both hands. Now, if Duke were to ever speak before an audience of more than a handful, he would take full advantage of the situation. He would take his time, milk every word, meet the eyes of every man in the room. They would be all but forced to listen to him, anyway, and he would not let the opportunity pass.
He found lunch at his favorite stop, and just a few minutes in noticed the rain splattering against the windows. It didn't bother him much, but after, as he walked back across campus, the combination of wind and rain made it difficult to keep his umbrella in line, and he'd barely made it a few blocks before his shoes and socks were wet from a collision with a puddle and blots from raindrops scattered his back and shoulders.
He happened to glance up to see the edges of the lecture hall, and noticed a familiar face waiting beneath the overhang. If anything, the rain was fiercer now, and he took shelter beneath it, shaking out the umbrella and staring into the face of the strange-haired man from before.
"Fancy meeting you here!" he called.
"I told you I would be at every lecture. It's clearly not a coincidence at all."
From the way he stared glumly at the rain, Duke laughed. "It's just water," he said. "It won't kill you."
"It can," he answered. "Water kills countless numbers of people. Drowning, primarily, although hitting a surface of water from a high distance can do great damage—"
"Hey." Duke cut him off, his laughter weakened as he studied the curtain of rain. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"So your words shouldn't be analyzed at all times, only when it's convenient for you? Says the so-called philosopher." The man hung back as a gust of wind blew water over their feet. Duke ignored it; his were already cold enough, a little more water wouldn't make much of a difference.
"You have a sharp mind." It took more than he cared to admit to acknowledge it, but it was the truth, and according to the man before him, he valued truth quite highly.
"An astute conclusion." His grin was easygoing, then, and Duke was surprised at how quickly his face could adapt to different emotions, moving from anger and annoyance to shrewd and satisfied. Perhaps he experienced them all at once, and it was only the dominant expression he was witnessing? The matter bore further thought.
"In all seriousness, though, what are you still doing here?" Duke asked. "You can't mean to wait out the rain."
"Patience is a virtue."
"Yeah, and so is idiocy. You seem to be cultivating it in spades." Duke glanced at his umbrella, then back to the other man. He couldn't believe he was even considering giving it away. "What, do you have a long way to walk?"
"That's one reason—"
He protested as Duke yanked his arm, pulling the two of them out into the rain, snapping his umbrella up to shield the worst of it. "Come on then, we can share."
"I do not…hey!" He latched on to the umbrella, clutching the handle above Duke's hand. Duke set a strong path, and didn't seem to care about avoiding puddles or walking on paths. He led them straight across the grass, back towards the dormitories.
"I live in town," he tried to explain, pointing with his free hand. The moment it left the safety of the umbrella, rain splattered his coat sleeve.
"Well then, you're out of luck." With a grin, Duke pulled the umbrella free, watching the other's shocked face as the rain instantly covered him, sticking his hair to his face, raindrops dripping off his nose and chin.
"Give me that back-!" He surged forward, grabbing the umbrella and pulling it back, staring defiantly at Duke as he struggled to follow why exactly the other seemed to think it was his umbrella.
"You look…" Duke couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something odd about the way he looked. "Strange."
"Thanks for the compliment," he answered. "I have a sharp mind, but the casing's a little out of shape."
"Not what I meant," he repeated, the words automatic. Absently, he brushed a wet lock of hair from his face, staring at it as though it provided the answer. "Strange." He said it again, finally noticing how uncomfortable the other looked, standing in a puddle, his arm brushing against Duke's.
"You can borrow that." He stepped out from under the umbrella, wondering the entire time why he was doing it. "I'll pick it up tomorrow." He inclined his head—wondering why he was doing that—and wandered off, half-blind in the downpour.
He had said it without thinking; he had done a lot without thinking recently, now that he thought about it. For a man who intended to spend his life studying the practice of thinking, it was an odd gesture that he should find a situation that seemed to render it absent. He felt surprisingly lightheaded, and could recall no other instance that produced the same effect. He paused, feeling the cold rain slither across the back of his neck. Well, there was that one time…
Perhaps he could weasel the answer out of that other man. For the first time, Duke realized that he didn't even know his name, nor did the other know his.
And that was how he gained his interest.
The lecture ended as the bell-tower rang the hour, and Duke waited, sporting a sullen frown like some would sport a new hat. Of course, as soon as he caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd—and it was easy, with his distinctive hair—he turned the scowl full-force towards him.
"You're clearly upset," he said, picking up on it immediately.
"I think I'm coming down with something," he said. "All because of you. I can't think straight."
"Ah." He handed the umbrella back to Duke, who tucked it back under his left elbow. "Is that the only symptom?"
"I'm sure there are others. I couldn't sleep, either," he added. "Are you happy?"
"No," he answered, his voice steady. "Not at all. Biosophy is such an interesting subject, but the emphasis is on the lectures and not on discussion—"
"So discuss it with me." Duke followed Yami as he crossed campus, both hands shoved in his pockets like before. "In all seriousness, I'd like to know what you see in it."
"I see a world that not only advertises equality, but employs it as well. I see a world that has overcome prejudice of all kinds, full of peace and education and understanding. I see a world where the individual has freedom. Logically, it makes no sense to me that certain groups are always disparaged and certain groups are elevated."
"Sure." He could concede that easy enough. "But a different kind of logic will show you the exact opposite. It's a nice dream, though."
"But what do you think?" He seemed to find this point oddly important, and Duke remembered his reaction to Henriksen's answer.
"I think anyone should be allowed to do whatever they want, whatever is in their own self-interest. Doesn't matter who they are. Sure, you've got to earn money to buy food, but it's not my business what you choose to eat."
He glanced back at Duke, his mouth lifting in the slightest of smiles. "You're right about that, at least—it is a dream. Sometimes, I don't know why I bother."
"Ah, the eternal problem. Philosophers have struggled with it for centuries."
"I would like to continue discussing this with you." There was no hesitation in his voice, but Duke was used to reading people's eyes, and he saw it there. "There are some cafés, in town…"
"And they're all loud, and all filled with people who will intrude on our discussion and claim I'm wrong." Duke shook his head, brushing a loose strand of hair behind one ear. "You said you lived in town? Don't tell me you're out of coffee. I hypothesized that it didn't matter what one spent on food, but I will judge you if you have no coffee. That would make me think you didn't often have guests."
"Right this way." He led them down an alleyway off the main street, pulling a set of keys from his pocket and stopping at the third door on the right. The buildings were all tightly spaced, constructions of stone and painted plaster, and Duke was surprised to see that the entire apartment seemed to be his.
It was dark inside, and Duke looked around while the other turned on all the lights. He sifted through a stack of mail, eyebrows raising when he spotted the differing addressees, listing both a Ms. Yami Mutou as well as a Mr.
"I would have thought you lived alone," he said.
"Well, there's my cat." Duke spotted the animal lurking against the stairs.
"Strange…" He said it again, moving closer towards the mantel. The other seemed to realize it at the same time, turning a few of the framed photos down, but Duke had snatched one before he got the chance.
"Your grandfather?" he surmised, staring at the grainy photograph. "And…your sister?"
His face fell, and he took the frame back from Duke with surprising delicacy. "I am an only child."
"Then…" He tried to work it out in his mind. "Your…cousin?"
"My regard for your own mind is falling by the second," he said. "It's me. I look like this so I can attend the university lectures."
"You?" He reached for additional photos, re-righting the frames and trying to place Yami's face with what he saw before him. "Yami, is it, then? Strange name."
"To go with my strange face." The comment was offhand, but Duke's face crumpled in apology.
"Your face is striking," he insisted. "So, you're…not a man?"
"No." The response was quick, and the more he thought about it, the more Duke was pleased by the answer.
"That's…great!"
Yami sighed, abandoning her place at the mantel. "So…about that coffee?"
The room was only half-filled for the final lecture; apparently word had gotten out that Henriksen was not the most gifted of speakers, but even so Duke refused to sit in the front row, claiming that he couldn't see the room as well.
Yami had claimed that it wasn't the room he should care about, but he disagreed. Watching the audience's reaction to any information absorption was every bit as interesting, so he took up his old seat in a row towards the back, no matter the fact that there were at least four empty rows between him and the next students.
Yami asked most of the questions, but Duke managed to sneak one in at the end. As always, Henriksen asked them to relate a word to biosophy. Truth was already taken.
"Freedom, then." He meant every word.
End.
Notes:
1) The title? Means absolutely nothing. It's a captcha I got and liked the sound of it. Think on that, philosophers! Sometimes, things really do mean nothing. xD
2) Newnham refers to Newnham College, a college for women in name only at the time it was established at Cambridge University in 1880.
3) Peter Henriksen is a fictional representation of Peter Wessel Zapffe, one of the leading theorists in biosophy. The opening line of dialogue is a quote by Frederick Kettner.
4) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your reviews.
~Jess