When I Realize It, It's You

Hunched over a machine

Nimble fingers deftly

Twist my heart to spark

Pascal scrunched her nose as she read the short poem scribbled with calligraphic flourish in one of her notes. Who wrote this? The problem of before vanished as she crossed her legs and held the sheet up to the ceiling, as though the face of the writer would appear. She turned the paper around in different angles. She'd never seen that script before. The letters held a refined aura, like that of a prince, and the words both ignited and engulfed in their intensity. Simple words, simple phrases, yet they held a pregnant meaning.

She smiled and grabbed a pair of scissors to snip the note out. What a pleasant surprise in this long day! It gave her mind a chance to slow down and recharge. A sigh left her lips as she placed it inside an empty folder. The jumble of scrap metal and cryas became a puzzle, and she quickly connected the dots to their correct order. Smiling, she grabbed a wrench and set to work.

The clock struck twelve. She wiped the sweat from her brow, glaring at the mountain of junk. She hoped to use the machine to introduce energy to the cryas fragment to induce a fission of the static energy, but it failed to reach critical mass. She walked back to her pile of notes and grabbed a pen and began scribbling down solutions to the problem. A knock on her door startled her and her pen streaked across the paper. She sighed and rose to answer the door.

Hubert stood in front of her, holding a tray with tea, sliced bananas, and nuts. "You can't subsist on bananas alone," he explained, scanning for a place to put it down, "And I'd hate for your research to be hindered by malnutrition." Unable to find a clear spot, he created one by swiping his arm and knocking several scattered sheets of paper onto the floor. She wouldn't mind, it would blend with the sea of notes on the floor. "How did it go today?"

She shrugged, "The twinkie-dink didn't go with the pa-donk and squibble together like I hoped."

His eyes softened, "I see." Pascal spoke in a language of her own. He walked over to her labor and inspected the results. To build a machine as complex as this in one day represented her genius. What sort of things went on in that mind of hers?

Pascal popped the slices of bananas in her mouth one after another until her cheeks could hold no more. "Thanksh for the food, Little Bro!"

"Hubert," he whispered, leaning into the machine and pretending to brush off dust. "It's not a problem. As I said, I'd hate for your research to be hampered by malnutrition."

She giggled and walked away. He glanced at the tray, "Pascal," he said as a Mother would a child. An impish smile appeared on her face. "You can't eat bananas alone!" He grabbed the bowl of nuts and stomped to her.

A grunt escaped her lips as she bolted for the door. "No," she cried. As Hubert lunged after her, she slipped on a note and fell flat on her face.

"Are you okay," he asked, dropping to his knees and reaching out to her shoulder for support.

She rubbed her temple, "Yeah, I think so."

"I'll go find Cheria."

"There's no need. She's sleeping now anyway."

"Nonsense," he replied, and from his tone she knew he would not accept any opposition. He handed her the bowl of nuts and exited the room. She sighed and walked to her bed and sat, absently sticking nuts in her mouth.

A moment later Cheria opened the door, looking rather perturbed that her rest was interrupted. "Hubert said you needed healing," she asked with a yawn.

"I told him I would be fine," she replied, "But you know how Little Bro likes to lollylog and pollywonk."

"Yeah," she replied in that tone she used when she didn't quite understand her meaning but didn't want to push the subject further.

She carefully stepped to the bed. Pascal grabbed the folder with the note and placed it beside her. Cheria arched an eyebrow. She'd never seen Pascal take initiative like that. "What's in the folder?"

"A surprise," she said simply.

"A surprise?"

She opened it and handed her the note. Cheria's jaw dropped. "Pascal, this is a love poem!"

"A what," she laughed, "No, it's an ode to my machines."

Cheria pursed her lips. "No, it's an ode to you. The person is saying they're in love with you!"

"Love," she echoed.

Something like that would never cross Pascal's mind. Cheria sighed. "Who do you think left this for you?"

"I'm not sure. Lots of people come and go from this lab."

A small part of Cheria pitied Hubert and his uphill battle. Still, the idea struck her as rather romantic. "I think you should try and find out who it is." Pascal shrugged. Cheria sighed and held her hand to her forehead, muttering a quick spell. The warm light soothed and made her eyelids heavy. She looked to Cheria, knowing she slipped a sleeping spell but was unable to fight the drowsiness. "Sorry, that was a favor," she said, and her eyelids dropped before she could retort.

Cheria placed the folder on the nightstand. "I hope you have more of these up your sleeve, because she's not going to notice any time soon."

When Pascal woke that morning, the scattered papers were stacked in neat piles aside from a sheet that lay on the floor of her bed. She picked it up and her eyes widened. Another note!

Crackling Bolts

Shatter the Sky

My Heart Stalls

"Hm," she mused, "This is a love poem? For me?" Even though Cheria saw it that way, she couldn't see how it applied to love. This one must be about the monsters she kills! She placed it inside the folder with the first and sauntered to the machine. "Time to make you a new man," she exclaimed, grabbing a wrench and dismantling the parts.