erratic, unknown, pattern, contortion
Drops of rain trailed down the windows, moving erratically, without rhyme or reason. A fine mist of droplets left the outside world obscured, especially when viewed through blurry eyes, as it was today. All those blurry eyes saw was a single billboard posted above the Proctor's Hall. It was simple black text on a white background, so big even those blurry eyes could read it.
DISCOMFORT, THE ONLY TRUE EVIL
The racer slowed to a halt, opening its door to the Post Office. Pillars of white held up that most hallowed hall, the place where all information went, and eventually left. Along with the three other passengers, Erin stepped off the racer. Ze took a deep breath, ending it in a soft sigh, so soft it might as well have never happened. Ze paused, and looked back, but the racer had already departed, leaving only the track it moved on. Erin could feel the rain seeping through the material, right down to hir scalp. Erin wished this weren't so, but there wasn't much to be done. At the time however, ze felt something that our reader would call a sense of foreboding, and Erin would have used that term if ze actually knew it. As it stood, ze was left going about hir business, almost completely ignoring this foreboding. This does not discount its effect, merely its existence.
Inside the Post Office, Erin adjusted hir cloak. The black, silky material was hanging a little heavier due to the rain, and if it were any wetter, it would have pressed to what Erin would have called hir figure, which would have been what Erin would have considered problematic. These two words were not used, however, but for different reasons, the former for its unclean connotation, and the latter through a quick unconscious calculation which led to Erin deciding that such a term was discomforting, which in itself was problematic. Suffice it to say, Erin’s unknown figure would not be displayed today.
Other similarly dressed people walked past a great many corridors, corresponding to each Sector that needed mail delivered or taken back to the Post Office. Erin noted a person walking a bit too fast, as so their cloak ran behind them. This made the front hug the curves of hir torso and legs. To those who are reading this, it’s important to note that this particular person was what we would call female, and a rather voluptuous one at that. To be fair, ze was barely aware of this, and any part of hir that would be impossible to deny with a cloak ze did so with inner repetition of common mantra. However, the fact remained that ze was revealing hir, Erin shuddered in disgust, figure, and someone needed to correct this. However, acknowledgement of a problem was a crime, which in itself was knowledge of crimes existing, and thus a crime as well, so that was left to Rumer. Erin moved along, mind kept distracted by constant repeats of information, always stopping before it can get too far.
Exactly five minutes later, Erin collected the mail ready for delivery in Sector 1 from whom Erin believed to be Emerson, but could not be sure. Ze was afraid to bring attention to hir confusion, as doing so would suggest a problem, and problems were rather problematic in themselves, so what would ze be doing bringing attention to something like this, seeding discomfort? Erin didn’t realize ze was making this deduction, made everything just a little easier.
“Weather’s different,” ‘Emerson’ said from behind the desk. The voice was definitely similar, but that was hardly a reason to point it out. Besides, it wasn't really necessary, or was it? It was so difficult to tell these days.
“Yeah, though now it’s just a drizzle,” Erin mused. It made others uncomfortable to point out preference of climate. One of the only words Erin knew concerning conflict was uncomfortable. A mantra from birth until death, it was the only problem in the world.
“Maybe it’ll clear up in an hour,” ‘Emerson’ responded. Erin almost flinched, but stopped. Was 'Emerson' demonstrating preference? If so, this conversation had become dangerous. If not, to leave it would be infinitely more dangerous. Erin had no answer, no solution, but this was the time when ze needed one the most.
“Thank you for the chat,” Erin forced out in as neutral a voice as possible. Risk was never something ze had been formally introduced to, but somehow ze had mastered the concept.
“It added to both our pleasures,” the other responded in kind, just as Erin exited the room.
Erin had no words to describe what had happened in that room, to have any words for it would be problematic. Hir unnamed terror pressed, contorted, even as ze left the Post Office. So deep was hir fear that ze missed an unknown person being forced out by Proctors for correctable behavior. Additionally, as it would only happen fifteen minutes later, ze would also miss Emerson, for it was indeed Emerson ze was talking to, being taken away as well. This, however, was not the problem. It never was the problem. Erin was the problem. In this perfect world, this world that everyone moved in like clockwork, Erin was the broken piece, a gear clogging every other system. Ze was the only one unable to live here, and ze was making everything worse by existing.
Perhaps, in that weird way things work out, Rumer had missed someone today.
