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The soft, constant droning of technology he couldn't begin to fathom roused him from slumber. A'chago rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stared at the blurry walls of the dorms until his vision focused. By the dryness of his mouth and the pounding of his head, he'd only been able to sleep for a few bells. The harsh fluorescent lights that Solution Nine was so very fond of beat down from the ceiling and made a playground of his circadian rhythm.
The dormitory of the Backrooms was as militant and futuristic as the rest of Solution Nine: rows of silver-framed bunk beds were stacked against the chrome walls. Each boasted posture-correcting, sweat-wicking, and advanced-cooling mattresses made of sleek black fabric. A single grey pillow and thin blanket was parceled out to each bunk. There was no need for more or less: the pillows kept their shape through an intriguing textile called memory foam, and the blanket was just enough to stay comfortable in the climate-controlled space.
A'chago had once made camp on the side of an active volcano in the Ruby Sea. The ash got into everything and rocks poked through his sleeping mat. He genuinely preferred it to his current accommodations, mostly because at least it was dark when night fell and bright when the sun rose.
He squinted at the bright lights recessed into the ceiling. The Alexandrians must have adapted to not mind them.
Pulling himself out of bed was difficult when his limbs refused to cooperate. His grasp on the metallic bed frame slipped twice and his legs seemed to lag behind the rest of his body. A deep growl from his stomach harmonized with the droning in the background.
Food. Coffee. Nobody better come asking for any world-saving efforts, because A'chago Tia wasn't going to answer them. He blindly groped for a shirt to throw on and yawned his way to the break room.
Despite their advanced living conditions, Oblivion wasn't very wealthy, at least not by Alexandrian standards. That didn't stop their doodads and gizmos from feeling luxurious, especially when A'chago could press a button on their magical drink dispenser and get a perfectly crafted latte, a customizable smoothie, or a crisp soda made from any exotic fruit he wished. He smiled to himself. Maybe today he'd put a juice in the coffee, just for the hell of it. Coffee worked in smoothies, and there was fruit in a smoothie, so...?
All his plans were dashed when he arrived in the break room and found the sink full of dirty cups. Annoying, but fine, he'd just clean one.
Except there weren't any sponges.
And he couldn't find the soap.
A'chago closed the lower cabinets with a grimace and rocked back on his heels. He couldn't read the labels if he wanted to: all of them were in Alexandrian and the Echo was stubbornly refusing to kick in. There was no rhyme nor reason for when it granted him the ability to understand the written word, and for the remainder of the time, he was illiterate.
Illiterate and cup-less. No caffeine in sight. He could stick his head under the spout and dispense coffee directly into his mouth, but...a quick glance to the machine struck that idea down. There was no way to easily maneuver his head in there without putting his mouth directly on the spout, and A'chago was uncultured, not unmannered. He wouldn't subject the rest of Oblivion to his saliva.
He could use a bowl. A sly and horrible voice reminded him that it wouldn't be the first time. The memory seeped in before he had the chance to stop it and he cringed at the sudden bad taste in his mouth. No, he wouldn't use a bowl if he didn't have to. No one could make him do that ever again.
There was a different option. A riskier option. An option that would definitely get him in trouble, but once it landed in his head he was instantly sold.
It was entirely too easy to get the lid off of the key. That was more evidence that if he wasn't meant to use the goblet-shaped artifact as a goblet, then he shouldn't have been able to pop the top off as easy as snapping a button. The small, twisted white stone inside glowed faintly. A'chago ignored it. Magical artifacts always glowed, it probably didn't mean anything.
The glass cup and electrope stem that encased the stone was what he was truly after. He wasn't quite sure what was the key and what wasn't, or if all of it was the key, but it didn't matter. He didn't need to mess with it anymore than was necessary.
After that, procuring the necessary nutrients to start his morning (ahem, afternoon) was simple. He tipped the goblet under the spout of the dispenser and filled it halfway with drip coffee, then the rest of the way with Solution Nine's energy tonic. Juice, on second thought, seemed a bit extreme. The energy tonic had a mildly herbaceous, almost floral taste that he figured would compliment the coffee much better.
Once filled, and stirred, the bright neon green of the energy tonic had been dulled to an unappetizingly muddy olive by the coffee. A'chago leaned in and tentatively took a whiff. It smelled like electrolytes and dirt. It shimmered in an unsettling way.
With a bracing exhale between his teeth, he sampled his concoction.
Flavors burst on his tongue: burnt grass, vibrant mulch, and an overwhelmingly powerful artificial sweetness, likely from the tonic. He swallowed it down before he could spit it out and was rewarded with a rush of energy so potent it could rival the most powerful phoenix down.
"Sharlayan would love this," he said to himself.
"What are you doing?"
A'chago snapped his head in the direction of the voice. In the doorway, arms still at her sides, and jaw agape, stood Y'shtola. Her blind eyes traced the air around the key.
"Shtola, try this," A'chago said, thrusting the goblet toward her. She jerked backward.
"Is that the key? Were you drinking out of the key that can open the rift?" Her voice strengthened in both volume and force toward the end of her sentence.
A'chago quickly took the key back and put it behind his back. "Um, no. It's just a normal glass with a very distinct aether signature. New crafting technique. Put boatloads of aether into everyday objects. It's very popular in Tuliyollal."
"It is not," Y'shtola said hotly, "and I can see it behind your back. Your soul is no longer so suffused with light that you can hide things from me." She crossed her arms and held her hand out. "Key. Now."
Just then, G'raha Tia entered the room. "Y'shtola, he wasn't in the dorms. Did you have any—Chago, what's behind your back?"
"Nothing," A'chago insisted, but his words were clearly dismissed by whatever scenario his loving boyfriend had already decided was true.
"He's used the key as a coffee cup," Y'shtola said disparagingly. Her eyes narrowed. "And won't relinquish it."
A'chago turned to address G'raha. "Raha, I've created an amazing drink that the scholars in Sharlayan will love. You can try it, but you can't get mad."
"Did you put it in the key? You used the key for a cup? Chago, we barely know how it works, and you're wrecking the scientific method by introducing variables no reasonable scholar would ever conceive of—" despite his lecture, G'raha took the key when it was offered and raised it to his lips to drink, much to Y'shtola's ongoing dismay.
"Good thing you have me," A'chago said as G'raha drank deeply of the cup. "To think of things outside the box. I'm going to call it the Gateway Elixir. Because it opens a gateway to levels of energy you've never experienced before."
"Do not drink that--!"
"My word," G'raha said, staring at the key with wide eyes. "I feel incredible. I feel as though I could battle a hundred Endless Sphenes at once." He swirled it like a sommelier and A'chago watched as his pupils dilated.
Y'shtola made a disgruntled noise and snatched it from his hands. "You two invite disaster," she accused. Then, she strode over to the sink.
"Wait!" G'raha exclaimed. "Just try it. Were you not just stating how you wished the energy tonics here were more potent?"
Y'shtola poured the concoction down the sink as she glared at them both. "G'raha Tia," she addressed him first, "I am an Archon. You are a fool if you think I have not already combined and imbibed every available source of caffeine."
The faucet turned on, and she gingerly rinsed out any remaining liquid. "And you," she said over her to shoulder to A'chago, "are very lucky that a rift didn't explode in your small intestine."
A'chago clutched his stomach. Come to think of it, maybe it wasn't just the caffeine telling him to use the restroom...
Y'shtola wiped out the goblet with a towel and carefully extracted the stone. After a moment of inspection, she hummed and placed it back in its setting. Still clutching the key around its stem, she turned to face them. "A'chago Tia, your mind is a confounding and frightening place. Please, next time, just use a cup."
"I couldn't find the soap," A'chago whined.
Y'shtola's lips puckered. A'chago gloated at her discomfort. He could not read the labels on the bottles, and there wasn't enough aspected aether in the soap or the bottles for Y'shtola to see them. It was the blind leading the blind.
"Then ask me, my love," G'raha said smoothly. He brushed a hand against A'chago's elbow as he passed him and knelt by the sink. "Ah. Here we are."
Upon standing, he held out a dark green bottle with a yellow cap. A'chago made a mental note of the color combination.
"I didn't know you could read Alexandrian," he said as he crossed the room.
G'raha smiled cheekily. "I can't." And then, he turned the bottle on its other side, revealing an image of a sponge scrubbing a plate. Silence filled the room.
"I'm not a morning person," A'chago began, but G'raha laughed and silenced him with a flick on his forehead.
"Save it. Now, Y'shtola and I intend to run more experiments on the key with Shale. We'll let you know if we learn anything. And...you may want to inform us of any side effects you experience." He looked A'chago up and down. "I'd be quite upset if you opened a rift in your stomach."
A'chago remembered the churning in his gut. "I'll...let you know," he promised, then left to the bathrooms as quickly as possible.
Waking up was not his strong suit.