Mocha Pearl
Pearl spots it as she walks through the busy construction hub, trailing behind her master, just out of the corner of her eye. Something small. Something shiny.
It's lying in the shadow of a half-constructed escape pod. Pearl does not know what it is.
But she wants it.
That want is sudden, and intense, and dizzying, but before she can even analyse it, she's already moving forward. Walk fast. Cross the floor. Hold head high, ooze fake confidence. Don't let anyone question. Duck. Something cold and jagged in her hand. She hides it in her palm. Straightens. Returns to her spot, a few strides behind her owner, acting as if she never left.
Her master, Rutile Topaz, is carrying forward, not having noticed a thing.
Pearl takes a few surreptitious looks around. The hub swarming with technicians, mechanics, builders, supervisors. None seem to have noticed what she did. Or, if they have, they have decided that it is not worth their trouble.
Good. Pearl continues forward, trying to pretend that it doesn't feel as if the illicit object is burning in her hand.
It is a busy cycle, and there is a long time before her next rest period. It is a small miracle that not once does Rutile Topaz demand of her anything that requires the use of both her hands. Anything that would reveal what she took. As it is, Pearl manages to conceal the strange object until finally she is left alone for a brief snatch of time. She sags with relief— and, at last, has the chance to admire her secret treasure.
It seems to be a piece of broken debris, made of some kind of modern construction material. It is in the shape of a rough scalene triangle— almost like a knife, Pearl thinks, and the thought is so illicit it makes her shiver. She nearly drops it. It is not a knife, she tells herself, although the two sides are so sharp and jagged that perhaps it could serve that purpose. It does not have the heft that Pearl would expect of a knife, however. It is light, thin, smooth on one side, rougher on the other. It is pale metallic green, but if she tilts it, other colours seem to shimmer under the surface. Blues, pinks, purples, reds, oranges, silvers…
The colours dance brightly against the brown skin of her hand, as she turns it to-and-fro.
Pearl has always liked her brown tone. She has always appreciated how it matches the brown veins of colour that streak across her master's otherwise white skin. It is a very satisfying shade. It feels very grounded. Warm.
But everything about her is brown. Brown skin. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Brown top. Brown dress. Brown shoes. Everything— brown.
It's the same with everyone, of course. Nobody bears more than a few colours or shades. Even the Diamonds dress only in tones of a single colour.
But this— this thing. It's rainbow. It is every colour, at all once.
Her fingers clench tight around it.
She doesn't have much time. It would be folly to keep this in the open much longer. Rutile Topaz could return any moment.
On her throat, Pearl's gem begins to glow, casting a bronze light. She raises the object to it, intending to store it inside. That's what other pearls do, she knows. Most pearls carry objects for their masters, but she is not the first one who has found some trinket or other, and stored it in their gemstone for hiding. She's spotted them, sometimes, when it is only pearls together. Taken their tokens out, furtive, admiring.
That is what she should do, if she has any sense. A pearl found with a possession of their own— even just a piece of trash— would be instantly shattered.
But she hesitates. Something inside of her feels hot, fierce.
She doesn't want to hide it away. It is too pretty for that.
She can't carry it in the open, of course. But maybe she doesn't need to stow it away completely.
Pearl looks down at herself, and her outfit. She is very glad now, for the ruffled skirt that her master insisted on, last regeneration. There are so many folds that nobody will notice if she wraps her treasure in a tight knot of fabric, and hides it in there, just at her hip. So that's exactly what she does, with quick, deft hands.
The piece is very light of course. Light enough to build a spaceship. But somehow, she still manages to feel the weight there. It feeds that fire inside of her. She will not snuff it out.
oOo
Author's Note: Thanks for all the wonderful feedback, everyone. Seems that Matte Green really struck a chord, which I appreciate... she's probably my fave I've come up with yet. (And I've got like ten of these things already in first draft, so there's a few). But seriously, the comments are all wonderfully encouraging 3