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Thaelasan

The Nights and The Days

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((Y'all got such text walls. I've got to step up my game.))

 

Sol -- Randall

 

From his spot within the shadows of the halls surrounding the main ballroom area, Randall could see a lot of things he wasn't particularly interested in. He scanned the faces of the crowd for people he knew or might have seen the year before at this annual grand ball where anyone dressed nice enough could attend at their leisure. He spotted Shawn in his white suit -- his little bro had picked it himself so he could stand out from the rest. He saw him approach a girl in a short but plain white dress, chattering and laughing enthusiastically, bowing as he took her hand. Only sixteen, and he was already learning the ropes of the courts of nobility. Randall had been first brought to these balls when he was sixteen as well, though he preferred to hover near his parents, acting like an ornament rather than going out and mingling with strangers. Shawn was much more forward, almost like it was second nature. He guessed that initiative was one of the things that set them apart and made them so different.

Randall just wished that they would have been closer. Separated by six years and three sisters, he found it frustrating that he couldn't get through to his little brother sometimes. Not that he was a bad kid! He helped out when he needed to, and they talked about boy things when they were younger. It was just that… Little bro had different values and all. He didn't care about crop rotations no matter how enthusiastically Randall explained it to him. He seemed more at ease in nobleman's parties than he did tending to the fields and getting his hands dirty. He had many tomes of art and philosophy -- all of which made Randall's head spin -- that kept piling up in the house and nobody had any idea where they were coming from. It became such a problem that he had to help him build a bookshelf to properly store all the books. After that moment, two years ago, they had decided they had completely different values.

Shawn Knight wanted to leave his family and move to the city.

It would be hard to see him grow, but Randall thought it was probably for the best. The city was where many went to try and find change, and it was where the greatest minds tended to gather. He wasn't entirely sure what he would do once he settled down. Perhaps become a scholar and study under some great institution. Or maybe even become an inventor's apprentice. It was bright in his mind. It was everything he couldn't obtain.

Randall shook his head. The kid was delusional, but as a big brother he was torn between telling him to follow his dreams and telling him the harsh reality. He would soon learn that the big city isn't always sunshine all the time, unfortunately.

 

A sharp clicking noise snapped the young man out of his thoughts. It was a sound he had heard quite a few times in the past. He began to panic. His mother had finally caught him, and that was really bad. She strode over, her heels making that noise as they struck the floor. Randall wanted to cower into a corner or behind an ornate pillar, but he chewed his lip and stayed put. She was his mom, after all. If there was anyone who he had to listen to without question, it was her. It was a habit ingrained into every one of her children. No one wanted to disobey her in her face, lest they face a powerful aura of anger and disappointment that crushed everything in its path. Even if he was a full adult of twenty-two years, he still felt reduced to a toddler in her presence -- and he was sure his siblings felt the same way.

She wore a brilliant red dress that he dared say -- in his mind, that is -- would have been meant for someone much more youthful from the way it exposed the skin underneath on the front and on the neck. Though, she had much of the kind of light and flowing veil-like fabric draped across her shoulders to provide some kind of modesty, and her gown nearly reached the floor, unlike some of the more risqué pieces he had seen that day.

The small woman bore a frown, deepening the wrinkles around her colored lips. Even if she barely reached his collar bone when she wore high shoes, he still wanted to shrink back and hold his hands up to protect his head. It was not an experience that was readily describable: it was an instinctive fear that chilled him to the bone and rocked his very soul. She took a step forward; Randall took an equal step back. The people around him had mostly cleared the area, or was it he that had backed into an empty hall? The ceiling above him was only half as high as the one of the main hall, as well as only half as well-lit.

He felt his back hit a pillar of cold stone and an equally cold sweat forming on his face. Seeing that he was unable to back away any more, she sprung on him like a tiger, long clawed fingers buttoning his shirt and tightening his cravat until it nearly choked him.

She was as fussy as any mother would be, forcefully straightening the uneven collar of his suit with a few sharp tugs and flattening his lapels. The garment still felt much too restrictive on him and might even had been a little small, according to him, from how the sleeve ends barely reached his wrists and exposed the cuffs of the dress shirt underneath, but he had been assured that yes, that was the way to wear it.

"Honestly," scolded the woman, her words as sharp as daggers as she dusted off the collection of crumbs his clothing had begun to accumulate. The guilty party was most definitely his trip to the snack table. "Do you not recall that there is habitually a dinner feast following the afternoon dances?"

Randall tried not to meet her green-eyed gaze by looking slightly to the side and focusing on a gold-painted pillar behind her. "Yes, mother."

"And that we are here to have a good time without causing too much of a fuss?"

"Yes, mother."

"I trust that you will avoid any blunders that will throw us out of favor."

"Mom," Randall sighed, "I'm not as useless socially as you think I am."

She touched his cheek with a gloved hand. Silk, from the feel of it. She put on her best garments for the day; she had high expectations for her children and for the people they would meet. "I trust you." The words came out as a whisper.

Randall nodded and let out a small smile as she turned around and left. She looked back for a moment, then went on to join the happy, chattering gathering.

The young man's smile turned into a frown once she was out of his line of sight. How was he going to pull it off? She wouldn't be off his tail until she saw visual confirmation that he was indeed trying to mingle with someone other than the ham blocks and the bread at the snack table. There were plenty of women to talk to here, though meeting them in the eye made his knees weak and palms sweaty. Maybe it had something to do with growing up with three younger sisters -- two of which were present at the ball, the third having already left home before her twenty years -- girls still made him a little nervous, even though he was too old to carry an irrational fear of the fairer sex. Courting and marrying upwards seemed to be incredibly important to the peasantry, though he himself had his heart convinced that he would wait until he had found the one.

Though that decision didn't stop the lectures about finding a nice wife and settling down with his own plot of land. Couldn't he just take the land without the woman? One field to plow was more than enough for him.

Besides, the older few of his little sisters were already dead-set on trying to court the men of the nobility. He stepped back into the light of the main hall, scanning the dancers and spectators for the familiar gowns he was fortunate enough to take a peek of earlier that day. Anything to latch onto someone he knew so he would feel less exposed.

One of them found him first. At the sound of her tinkling voice, he was ready to turn around and stand by the snacks again. Perhaps anyone but her. "Randy! Oh, poor Big Bro!"

"…Sheila," he said after a pause. Trinity, the only sensible one with whom he could have an honest heart-to-heart, had left the coop with her fiancé, and left him with Ester and Sheila who were both clever weasels in their own right. He had no one to turn to for help; not even Shawn, that damn teenage Cassanova, surrounded by girls his age and talking and laughing in his own corner a twice a dozen steps away.

 

Sheila was a piece of work. Her flowery dress had cost a fortune, if Randall remembered correctly. It was a buttery yellow (and when he told her it looked like butter, she rebuked in a frightening outburst that it was supposed to be the shade of yellow roses) and threaded with enough lace and frills to satisfy a queen. Her honey-golden locks were done up in an updo with nice curls falling around her round face, although there were many strands shaken loose by her excitable personality. Why mother never picked on her looks was a mystery. At her neck was a fine filigree necklace, though not the one he had gifted her a few years back (and maybe that was for the best. His handiwork still needed much improvement) along with matching silvery earrings. Those were definitely not part of their mother's stash. Did she purchase them recently or were they gifts?

"Randy, come on! Mom's right that you're a frowny-face all the time when it comes to balls and the finer things of life. All you think about is work, work, work!"

"I don't--" Randall tried to cut in. He felt heat rise to his cheeks.

Seeing him flustered, Sheila simply laughed. "Ahaha! Say no more! Your actions speak volumes when your words cannot. You're actually not a very good speaker, but nobody wants to admit that to you."

"But you just--"

"Uh-uh! Say! No! More!" She put a finger to his lips in a gesture of silence. The young man frowned, defeated. "Now that we got that settled, I'm going to help you this time around!"

Randall scrunched his eyebrows, pleading with his eyes. Sheila shook her head. "Come on, be a man for once!"

He was about to protest that he was already as much of a man as a man could be, but she had him by the hand and dragged him through a part of the crowd. He let out a few stray apologies as they bumped into people.

"Come on already!" Sheila was ready to jump out of her shoes. She was really eager to show him…something. Or rather, show him to someone. So excited that her steps had led her astray, and she crashed into a little girl. Neither of them fell, but the girl's pocketwatch flew out of her hand. Randall immediately leapt into action, throwing himself to the floor and sliding forward, reaching his arm out to snatch the timepiece out of the air before it could hit the ground and shatter.

It all happened so fast that he didn't even have a moment to breathe until he got back onto his feet, dusting off his clothing. He knelt down and gave the object back to its rightful owner.

"Thank you, young man!" said a nearby gentleman. "We just had the watch fixed not too long ago. It was an incredible stroke of fortune that you were there where you were!"

Randall gave a sincere smile. If he weren't there, this mess wouldn't have happened in the first place. "No problem. It was my pleasure. Now, if you will excuse us…" He took Sheila's arm and waltzed forward.

"Gee, you gotta be more careful," he sighed. His sister rolled her eyes. "You're just going around wrecking everyone's watches."

They stopped walking. Sheila's dark expression brightened again after a few heartbeats. "This is the part where I leave you alone to fend for yourself," she beamed. "Toodles!"

She slipped out of his grasp. He lost sight of her not too long after that.

 

He felt betrayed, in a way. Left in the middle of the hall, alone and surrounded by strangers. He would have never ventured there alone, oh no. He was never comfortable in crowds anyway. Too many people to keep track of. Even if someone introduced themselves, he would soon forget their name. The music of the orchestra shifted to a slow ballad. He suddenly felt too hot in his clothing.

A hand rested on his shoulder and he nearly leapt out of his skin. "Oh, hey--" He spun around, and met her in the eyes.

She was as tall as he was, thanks to the little bit of height that her shoes added. She wore a dress of a minty green, with the fabric pulled up on one side so the skirt was longer on the right side than the left. Her paler skin indicated she wasn't an outside laborer like he was -- a definite city-dweller who was probably content staying inside grand mansions like these. With dark hair adored with green ribbons and left loose, he was sure that she wouldn't go outside without a parasol anyway.

Before he could say anything more, she reached behind him and put a hand on his back and pulled him close, her other hand grabbing his. She didn't seem to mind that it was sweaty. The lady smiled with her full lips. "Mind if a steal a dance?"

Randall was unsure what he should say. Anxiety kept the words in his throat and made his movements stiff and awkward. He forced himself to relax and smile back. It was just one little dance.

"Good. Follow my lead."

His steps fell into place after hers. He found himself mostly stepping backwards and sometimes getting pulled forwards to avoid crashing into couples behind him. She was trying her best to signal to him what she was going to do, and so as long as he could at least interpret what was going on, he could stay in control of the situation--

With a sudden lurch, his body weight shifted and he felt himself bending backwards, supported only by the woman's arms. His head nearly hit the floor and he could have sworn the tips of his hair swept the stone tiles before she pulled him back up into a dizzying twirl. She was really strong too. His feet left the ground as she lifted him up -- a feat he thought impossible -- in a jump and set him down on her other side.

He did begin to catch on eventually, though, trying his best to follow her skips and jumps, letting go when he needed to and joining again when she signalled. The music seemed to fade into the background, as fixated as he was on the moves of his partner. Her bright brown eyes showed hints of what she was about to do next, but most of the language came from her shoulders and hips, letting him predict her moves. It was not unlike some of the battle training he had done in the past. Was it about the music at all? Maybe. She had a clear intention of hitting the beat regardless of his blunders.

When she finally let him go, Randall found himself breathless. Their eyes met again, perhaps for the last time, as she broke the embrace. He watched her fade into the crowd, which began to talk among itself now that their little improvised number was over.

"Bro, that was amazing!" shouted Sheila as she went up to him, wiping some of his sweat with a handkerchief she had acquired from someplace or other. "Though don't think I didn't see you take the traditionally female role. It's just kind of weird to see the girl with her hand on top."

"Who… was she?" He could only get three words out, too dazed to argue about gender roles.

His sister shrugged, making her jewellery tinkle. "Dunno. She's got some wicked moves, though!"

Randall furrowed his brow. If Sheila didn't send her, then why…? How…?

"Anyway," she said, "I think the banquet's going to start soon. I'll see you there?"

She didn't wait for an answer; the girl in the yellow dress just left after handing him the kerchief. Even with the promise of free food, Randall didn't really feel hungry anymore. Some of the nausea from all the spinning was catching up to him.

One shaky step at a time he dragged himself back into the shadows flanking the main hall, head bowed and making sure that no one had the intention to latch onto him before he removed himself from the main party. He breathed out a sign of relief when he touched one of the marble pillars he had begun to become familiar with, putting his overheated face on its cool surface.

"First another girl, then a pillar? You wound me. Just because a lady arrives fashionably late to a party does not mean she should be ignored…!"

Pink ribbons and white boots? That was all he saw until he lifted his gaze. The new girl, who claimed to know him, was a few inches shorter than he was. Her russet hair was frizzy and was adored with pink, while her dress was short in the front and low in the back in successive layers of white and light red. Randall blinked. "I'm sorry, miss, do we know each other?"

"Get a clue!" she shouted. The young man took a step backwards to give her space for her mild explosion. "We met last year, remember? My name is Bella-Claire Braxton, if that will jog your memory."

The young man pretended to recall the moment, nodding his head vigorously and repeating her name over and over in his mind to drill it into his brain. It was an entire year ago, last year at this ball (or was it another?), and a lot had happened since then. Was it really his fault that he thought about other, higher priority things than this city girl pining for him? He rubbed his temples with one hand. "I can't seem to remember, sorry. Could you, perchance, remind me of what exactly happened during our previous encounter?"

Seeing that she wouldn't get a confession out of him, Bella-Claire made a long step towards him and began her story. "It was the usual thing, you know. I know you spend your time hiding away during social gatherings (which is such a pain, since you rarely attend them anyway you poor bum). I found you alone right outside the main hall, although in hindsight you weren't quite alone because you had your mountain of snacks swiped from the table, brooding as if this were some sort of punishment rather than a joyous social occasion! Well, you ticked my fancy, being not as well dressed as the other young men (pardon me if I sound offensive), so I approached and we had a rather entertaining discussion on what exactly what we wish to do with our lives."

Randall tilted his head, trying to keep his expression absolutely neutral. None of it came back to him, and even if he did, the aforementioned 'discussions' would be this girl rambling on and on about the expectations of her family. Wait, was that it? "Yeah, how your parents expect you to find someone who is not a peasant, a criminal, or a bum? You have come to the wrong person, then."

"On the contrary," said Bella-Claire. "You are here in the noble's court. That counts for something, and I like people who are different in spirit."

He was pretty sure that if she wanted a country boy, she could have just travelled ten miles outside of town. Didn't need to follow him at all. She took another step forward, pinning him to the pillar. He wished he could just fall through the stone and vanish through the floor. "You don't understand how much I've missed you! I think we saw each other the year before that, but that has been even longer ago! I couldn't bear it if you went and never came back, so this time you will have to promise me you'll return the year after -- or better yet--"

The trill of bell signalling the beginning of the banquet had sounded. Randall freed himself from Bella-Claire's arms and walked away at a brisk pace, knowing she would follow, but hoping that he would lose her before they sat down.

Edited by TehUltimateMage

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(Wall of text party, anyone?)

 

Though she had attended countless balls before in her childhood and during her time at Hildegard, under her husband's care, Kestrel still could not fathom why on earth anyone would want to wear such tight clothing. Granted, Kestrel had specifically ordered her gown to be looser than the standard dress—much to the horror of the seamstress she commissioned from and the delight of her crew—she still felt as though cobalt silk was gripping her waist far too tightly. Yes, she look absolutely ravishing in her strikingly blue dress but breathing without fiddling with the golden strings on her chest dress was impossibly, the long sleeves made her hands invisible, and the structure of the garment made it so that Kestrel had to spend a minute or two propping her dress up if she wanted to move at a rate faster than molasses or move her legs more than a few inches apart.

Least to say, despite how uncomfortable Kestrel was with the tightness of her gown, she could easily conclude by the stray looks some of the other nobles had given her that she was perhaps the most under-dressed patron at the ball. For one, her dress covered only what it had to when it came to her chest. The top half of her bosom was wide open and out for display to the horror, and delight, to the other attendants of the party. Kestrel was completely fine with lord such and such not keeping her gaze on Kestrel's visage while they were talking, but lady whatnot would sooner or later remind lord such and such that the widow's eyes were on her face and not her chest. On one occasion, a young spitfire, around eighteen or so, started to hurl some flirtatious comments Kestrel's way before being dragged off by her brother. The same girl had managed to escape her brother's grasp at least five times to create mischief by either flirting with someone's wife or using words far vulgar enough to make her brother's head spin. Kestrel quite wished to see the girl again after the ball in their own time. Kestrel could think of a plethora of exciting things they could do to irritate the nobles.

Standing around and mocking the people of the party was not why Kestrel had attended the party though it was something the people of her crew would gladly do. She herself was a noble and, much to her dismay, had received an array of regards ranging from, "I heard about your husband's demise, my condolences," to, "Ah, my poor Lady Slavica! I am dreadfully sorry to hear about your husband! You have my prayers." Kestrel didn't even recognize half of the people who expressed their sympathy for her sorry excuse for a husband, most of whom gave her back-handed comments or only expressed interest so she could take their, or someone in their family, hand in marriage. Any truly worrying aggression was non-existent and Kestrel knew she was probably twisting their words in her mind to fabricate some reason or another to distance herself from the nobility and label herself as different from them but that fact didn't matter. Kestrel didn't come to the ball just to mingle with the nobility. She had a much more profitably goal in mind.

 

Within just a few yards of so of Kestrel's position was a well-dressed man. His onyx colored suit was rather fine with cream ruffles where his cuffs were. His shoes were so well-polished that Kestrel could of sworn she could see his reflection upon them. As expensive as his clothing was, Kestrel was sure that she snatching his clothes off in public, while sure to cause an amusing uproar, would not end in her favor. What caught Kestrel's attention was the shinning glint she saw emitting from the man's pocket watch. Though she could not see the entire object, Kestrel could tell that it was not any ordinary pocket watch.

Kestrel was adamant about stealing the watch from the man.

Sure, robbing from the rich to pay for expensiveness for her ship, The Red Lust, and whatever her crew desperately needed probably wasn't going to put her in the good graces of her fellow nobles, but why did that matter? She had neglected her family ever since her husband died and she couldn't funnel money from a house she had been avoiding from years. Besides, her respect for the nobility was at a bare minimum, she didn't feel the need to bow down to someone just because they were born with silver spoons in their mouth. As such, Kestrel didn't expect others to scramble to get on her good side just because she had a noble name. That's just what she believed which was quite unlucky for the man with the pocket watch. He would soon find himself without a certain marvelous trinket and, even if he did find the culprit, his precious accessory would be long gone, least he did not catch Kestrel before she could pass the watch on.

Taking a moment to push her long, curly hair upward, Kestrel gave herself a small smile and began to walk towards the man. She noted that the man was watching a young girl, most likely his daughter, niece, or baby sister, converse rather loudly with a small collection of other girls around her age. The man's soft gaze was diverted away from Kestrel and fixated completely upon the young girl dressed in a bright yellow gown with ribbons intertwining its surface. He had no idea that Kestrel was heading straight for him.

Clumsily, Kestrel bumped into the man, letting out a quiet gasp in the process. The man recoiled back in bewilderment with his eyes wide with surprise.

"Oh goodness gracious, I am terribly sorry!" Kestrel exclaimed, grasping the man's wrist as she steadied herself. "I hadn't the slightest clue you were there, good ser."

"Oh, there is no need to apologize, my lady," the man added as gripped Kestrel's shoulders as to help her gain her composure. An amiable smile crossed his lips as he helped Kestrel straighten herself. The little girl glanced in the two's direction with curiosity dancing in her eyes. The man caught her gaze and gave her a short wave. Her nose scrunched up in defiance but soon after she continued her conversation with the other girls. The man looked back at Kestrel with a bright smile still on his lips. His eyes were upon Kestrel's face, though were prone to glance down every moment and again, and not upon her hands which were slowly inching her way towards his pocket.

"Are you sure you're already, my lady?" the man inquired, raising his eyebrows in the process.

"I'd reckon so, ser," Kestrel replied. She managed to get her hand around the man's waist, trying her best not to make herself seem suspicious.

"A woman such as yourself shouldn't be running around such a crowded ball," the man began as he slid his hand down Kestrel's right arm. "Especially a woman as... well-endowed as yourself," the man added after a moment of thought. Kestrel restrained herself from gritting her teeth together. Of course the man was some sleazy fool! If Kestrel wanted that watch, she'd have endure several minutes of harassment from this so called gentleman. Oh the perils she would face for her beautiful ship.

 

"I am more than capable of taking care of myself, ser," Kestrel giggled as she lowered her gaze and glanced over at where her hand was. The pocket watch was within reach and, in just mere seconds, it would be hers. Stretching her prolonged fingers, she reached forward, her hand grasping against the chain of the watch. Her arm was suddenly lifted up and a shock shot through Kestrel's body. The man, with a distasteful look upon his face, was holding Kestrel's arm by her wrist and displaying it in front of both of them. Kestrel had barely managed to shove the pocket watch down her long sleeves before the man grabbed her arm.

"My, my, what were you trying to accomplish, my fair lady?" the man asked, tilting his head to an angle. Kestrel gave him a sheepish smile and let out a nervous chuckle.

"Ah, well, you see, good ser," she began, searching for some sort of excuse she could flimsily throw out to save her hide. Before she could say anything, the man propped up a finger to silence Kestrel.

"You needn't say a word," the man replied, clenching Kestrel's arm more firmly than before. "My poor little girl lost her mother a while back; I just wonder how well you'll do."

"Sister, where have you been?"

Both Kestrel and the man turned their eyes towards the newcomer who strolled up leisurely towards them. The new arrival was a man who was dressed with a less expensive taste the one who was holding onto Kestrel's arm. His blond hair was fixed into a puffy pompadour with a long ponytail sticking out from behind. He appeared rather young, around twenty or so with long, lanky limbs; an unusually long face that matched is exceptionally long nose, and a small thin mouth to get with his tiny, blue eyes.

"I'd much appreciate it if you would unhand my sister, ser," the man barked, his arms folded and aggravation drawn upon his face. The stranger let go immediately and his eyes darted away from the other man and towards his daughter.

"My apologizes," he began, his voice shaking. "I did not think-"

"That someone would catch you as you hounded my sister?" Kestrel's so-called brother finished for the other man. "I can't quite find my fancy with men who paw at her just because she's a widow. Don't you have better things to do than attempt to court someone who has no desire to be courted?" The other man opened his mouth but no words came forth. Kestrel's brother shook his head disappointingly.

"Keep your distance good ser and I'll keep mine," he finished off before grasping Kestrel's arm gently before dragging her off. The two headed off into the crowd and both the man and his daughter soon vanished from sight.

 

The two supposed siblings made their way through the building, offering quick apologizes to those they bumped into. The man led Kestrel into a dimly lit hallway where no other participants of the party lingered. The man let go of Kestrel's arm, searched their surroundings to make sure there was no one around to eavesdrop, and then let out a great sigh of relief.

"Are you well, capt'?" the man asked, his exquisite vocabulary suddenly vanishing.

"I was ten seconds away from punching him in the throat," Kestrel hissed as she wiped herself down. She could still feel the creep's fingers brushing against her arm. "Thanks for the save, Anders, I'd probably would have gotten us kicked out if it weren't for you." The pirate scratched his stubble, his face cheeks turning a bright crimson.

"Aw shucks, don't mention it captain," he said with a grateful grin plastered upon his face. "He must of have somethin' valuable on him if you allowed him to touch ya like that. What did he have on him?" A wild smirk appeared on Kestrel's face. She reached into bra and procured the pocket watch out of it. Anders whistled as he examined the pocket watch.

"How did you-" Anders began before Kestrel cut him off.

"Put it in my bra?"

"Yeah, I thought you pulled the watch up your sleeve,"

"I stuffed it in there while we were going through the crowd; people are less likely to shove their hands between my breasts than check my sleeves for any misdeeds."

Anders let out a hoot of laughter, covering his mouth so his laughter wouldn't be heard by any passerby. He gently took it from Kestrel and began to look it over; twisting it in his hands so he can could see every angle of it.

"This is some fancy handiwork on this," Anders commented in admiration. He tapped the glass of the watch and cocked his head to the side with a look of fascination. "I'd reckon whoever made this knew exactly what they were doing. This is state-of-art stuff, capt'. We should be able to get a new sail with the kind of money this gadget will give us."

"Good," Kestrel purred. "I'd hope that I wouldn't risk my dignity for some cheap knock-off."

"There is, uh, one tiny little issue, captain," Anders added with his brows furrowed in worry. "The little girl that was with the man, she gave him this watch." Anders looked up with worry etched into his features. "I think this watch belonged to the young lass, not her father." Kestrel formed her mouth into a line. She was more than happy with snatching the watch from the perverted man, but the girl? She had done nothing wrong; it wasn't her fault that her father was a shameless pig.

"Do you know how I can up and give the watch back to them without getting questioned?" Kestrel questioned with her hands upon her hips. Anders looked at her in puzzlement before realizing her meaning.

"Ah, I..." Anders looked down at the ground, fiddling with the gadget in his hands absentmindedly. Kestrel shook her head at Anders' lack of a response. He was far too cordial for his own good. Of course he wanted to give the watch back to girl, that's what his scruples commanded him to do. He knew there was no way for them to return the watch without raising suspicion, but that wouldn't keep him from desiring to.

 

The high-pitched shrill echoed through the building. Kestrel looked over her shoulder and noted that most of the other patrons were collectively moving towards the dining tables.

"That's the banquet bell," Kestrel said as she turned back to Anders. "Take the watch and get out of here. That or pass it on to Arthas, whichever floats your boat. Just try to avoid the man and his daughter, alright? I'd rather not have to bust you out of jail again for petty theft."

"Aye, capt'," Anders chimed. "I'll be out of here quicker than a mistress caught red handed by the lady for the manor."

"Why the lady of the manor?" Kestrel asked as she turned her back to Anders and began walking away. "Can't the lord find the lady writing in infidelity?"

"Aye, that would be much more intriguing, would it not?" Anders chuckled as he pocketed the watch and walked out of the hallway in a different direction from which Kestrel strolled. Within mere moments, the two were no longer in sight of one another. It wasn't hard to find the banquet. The great mass of lords and ladies were all streaming down to a single area. Even if Kestrel wished to leave the ball, she most likely would not be able to push her way through the horde of people gathering towards the banquet. As Kestrel moved in closer, she could catch a glimpse of where everyone would be eating. There were exceedingly long dining tables that seemed to fill a quarter of the room. Across the lengthy collection of tables draped in a frilly white cloth was mounds of plates filled with every type of food imaginable piled into massive heaps. Candles and plates were placed where every foot or so away from each other and there were very few utensils. The sheer number of the amount food that was on the tables was astounding. Everything from great mounds of meat to tiny pastries was offered. How many courses were everyone expected to consume? Most balls had more than one course so just how much food was there? Kestrel could already imagine some lords and ladies leaving their sheets to retch upon the grass their first course only to return to try their hands at the second. Kestrel almost forgot how privileged the life of a noble was. Getting closer to the tables, Kestrel could make out the different varieties of food she would soon taste.

In a collection of head-sized plates—Kestrel was confident that she knock a man cold if she hit him with one of the plates, something she hoped to try in the near future—were a multitude of vegetables of every shape of color that had been preserved in sticky, glistening honey that let off a sweet aroma that tickled Kestrel’s nose. Minus the army of delectable pies and tarts filled to the brim with soft, mushy vegetables, no other dish on the tables had any earthy greens within them. To make up for the lack of greens, the caterers decided that a hefty amount of roasted wild game that was covered in a heavy enough coating of spices. Over half of the plates on the tables had some form of meat on them ranging from every shape and size. Everything from cameline meat brewet with a dash of cinnamon to a whole roasted pig dripping with grease was upon the tables. More unusual courses such as lampreys drenched in a rich hot sauce and briny eels soaking in

a thick, spicy puree were also available. No doubt sweet fruity tarts, finely dusted cakes, and jellies of all sorts were soon make their own appearance in a following course.

The attraction of the bouquet was a soltetie mimicking the shape of a boar's head. The work upon it was absolutely astounding. The sugar had been molded in such a way that the boar's head looked almost life like. Everything from the pours on its skin to the fur pricking outwards in an uncombed fashion was present. It was a stunning display and Kestrel was sure she had heard several gasps of surprise from some of the other impressed guests. Finding an open seat, Kestrel sat herself down and observed the banquet warily. She caught a glimpse of the man and his daughter for a moment but they soon vanished into the crowd. She could not locate Anders, much to her relief. A content sigh escaped Kestrel as she relaxed herself. There was nothing to worry about, all she had to do was sit and wait for the ball to end. Tomorrow, she'd get the repairs The Red Lust needed and by the end of the week she and her crew would be sailing off into the great blue yonder as they should be. Hopefully, no one would try to get in her way before the ball ended.

Edited by Doctortear

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(( Absolutely gorgeous. ))

 

According to the manuals written in the Council's Guidelines for Patents, section 13, paragraph 4:

"...The invention must have a certain use, be of a particular flavour, have its own unique blend of abilities/uses besides the intended one (they may be recreational), and must have the signature of the inventor inscribed upon a necessary piece somewhere within its workings (or have another form of identification equally convincing, as to prevent perjury). It must be functional when brought in. Theories that wish to be patented or schematics should be taken to the Council of Inventor's Theory, Schematic, or Idiom Patenting Offices rather than those of the Invention Patent. Failure to claim a patent for a device makes the Council of Inventors non-responsible for any future neglect or misuse, or theft of the invention..."

The Starlight Spider, as judged by our panel:

- Has multiple uses, including, but not limited to:

a. Small, basic tasks, such as sewing at an amateur level, entertainment through dancing and small noises that sound pleasurable to the ear, and heating up a small area to a comfortable degree as to cause a pleasant temperature.

b. Can understand further tasks up to a saved maximum. Tasks may be deleted but - for future reference - Bartholomew has asked that users of his device refrain from deleting tasks as, per quote: "They're known to get depressed when their jobs are taken away."

c. Remarkably, possesses some sentience, allowing it to adapt to an environment. It still only possesses minor "reason" however, and - as such - cannot be classified as having full intelligence. However, like some canine companion, the Starlight Spider does follow its owner around loyally and only obey tasks given to it by a set number of people - up to three.

- It does follow our codes of manufacture and does not break any codes pertaining to environmental or public hazards (as it is now) and does meet the requirements to be called a "Sophisticated Machine."

- It is extremely endearing, making it very easy to distribute and accept among the populace.

As such...

 

----

 

"...by the Council of Inventors here to witness, and by the Sun above us, the Starlight Spider is proclaimed patented by one Bartholomew Starlight, is his by right, and should anyone wish to debate this claim, they will be considered an enemy of all the Council. By right of the Sun, may this be so."

"May it be so." the rest of the Council echoed, folding up their papers and adjusting each of their glasses respectively. A few of them took a drink.

"So you do plan to mass produce, these, correct?" one of the younger Council members - Reginald Farmnorth - asked. He was roughly of Bartholomew's age, only a year his younger.

"Of course, though each of them must be produced a certain way. I never want to see so many of them as to ruin their value." Bear said, rubbing the Spider's head affectionately. "As such, I've already-"

"Oh no. Please." Reginald leaned forward over his podium. "Allow me to be a personal part of this endeavor. My machines have been idle for too long. I already have the necessary machinery to begin mass assembly, should you wish it."

"Well well! I'm happy to hear it." Bear replied, hands on his hips.

"It is no problem at all, when something like this is involved. To think, one of the first automatons, almost capable of thought..." Reginald looked up at the ceiling in wonder.

"Yes, yes." one of the older Council members and Bartholomew's father, Theodore Starlight, replied. "I'm sure it's very, VERY enthralling. However, Bear, you have neglected to remember one thing."

"Yes, father?" Bear turned, his eyes alighting upon the familiar face of his patron.

Theodore's large form was a bit smaller than his son now, but still intimidating. His glasses were resting comfortably upon a strong nose, which overlooked a mustache and goatee that made him look like a wisened old man, though he was still far from it.

It is also worth mentioning, however sentimentally, that Theodore has long stated that "Though I have made many fascinating things in my lifetime, my greatest design was my son."

"Did I not ask you to attend today's celebratory ball for the marriage of Prince Nathaniel?" Theodore sighed, rubbing his glasses. "You need to remember to socialize, before your love for machines makes you forget to carry on the line."

"But father.." Bear protested, sighing. "All of those women talk incessantly about status and rumor.. All they do is gossip and it distracts me from my work."

"Your mother was once like that, and look who she gave birth to." Theodore said, as the rest of the Council began to file out of the room. Their work for the day was done, and the office was closing for the day.

"Yes, but she's an actually intelligent and glorious woman, and had a good husband." Bear complimented.

"FLATTERY shall not help you avoid this." Theodore said, grinning. "But I would appreciate if you actually went out every now and then and actually got to know people. I know you worry that people will want you just for your status. We've spoken about this before. But I wouldn't let you marry someone who I thought was like that. I am here for you. But I need you to be there for me, you understand?"

Bear rubbed his chin, reluctant. He didn't really enjoy these kind of social gatherings. Too many people, not enough thoughts that went above "Did you hear?" and "Oh that's shocking!" However...

"Well, I suppose it'd be a good chance to show off the Spider.." Bear thought for a moment, smiling slightly. "And if it would please you.."

"It would." Theodore assured.

"...then I suppose there's nothing for it." Bear sighed again, victory belonging to his father in this one. "Very well. I'll go. But I cannot guarantee anyone there will catch my eye."

"I know that, boy." Theodore said, stepping down from his podium. "But you should damn well try. And make sure you straighten yourself up before you go. Your mother is already there, mingling with the Thompsons and the Wests."

"She's STILL friends with the Wests? After the incident with the pottery?"

"They paid her back and she forgave them, though she doesn't lend them things anymore." Theodore said, wiping off his son's clothes with the scrutiny of a parent. "But it doesn't matter. The Thompsons DO have a daughter though.. one you used to play with when you were young, if I recall."

"Layla?" Bear said suddenly, confused. "I thought she was already married off."

"...Oh. Right." Theodore replied, stroking his beard. "You're right about that. My mistake. An honest mistake, I'm sure you can understand."

After he finished checking Bear's clothes over, he tsked for a moment before waving his hand dismissively.

"Pass by the Alfred's Tailoring before you head down there. You still have a few hours before the Prince reveals himself, so you better get some better clothes. You do have money on you, right?"

"Of course." Bear nodded.

"Then go and hope they don't have a line, on the day of a ball." Theodore pointed at the door. "And make sure the clothes look at LEAST adequate for such a social gathering. Don't wear those workshop clothes to that."

"Of course, father." Bear waved as he left the Offices.

"Oh! And the invention WAS good, son. I AM proud of you!" Theodore yelled after him, waving. "Never forget that!"

"I won't!" Bear responded back, the Spider waving behind him as he continued out of the building. He went down two flights of stairs, past the other Offices which were regulated by the monarchy. The sounds of paper being folded accompanied quiet chatter as they finished up their own work. All of them except for the Office of Security and Affairs, which was always open, run in the morning by the old man Winchester and run in the evening by one of Bear's old friends, William, and Old Man Winchester's son.

"Heading to the Ball then?" William asked, leaning over the counter as Bear walked to the exit.

"Oh. You know my father." Bear smirked. "I'm surprised you're not going too."

"I would but my father's feeling sick, so he can't take over my shift, and someone has to run it." William shrugged. "I've been here since around eight this morning."

"Damn.." Bear patted his friend's shoulder. "Well, you can do it, Will. You used to stay up for days on end back in the study."

"Absolutely!" Will saluted mockingly. "But if you get something, bring me back some of that royal cake - it's divine! - or some coffee, if you would."

"I'll make an attempt." Bear promised. He checked himself out using the clipboard Will handed him and headed down the front stairs of Apollo's Governmental Departments, or the AGD, as it was known by laymen. The great building that housed the Council of Inventors and other important figures was seated on the west side of the city, held in high esteem by most of the public and the monarchy. Some said it had been around since the worlds split long ago, if people still spoke of that old legend. Whatever the case, the building was a beautiful piece of architecture.

Sprawling columns, dictating four individuals - two men and two women - held up the main vault that stood at the entrance of the building. The four individuals were:

- A man, seated, reading some form of archaic text, with glasses from a time long forgotten.

- A woman, blinded, holding a pair of scales in one hand, the other holding a papyrus with rules upon it.

- A man, studying the sky with a professional gaze, the stars his target.

- A woman, holding the symbol of healing in one hand and the Arrow of Apollo in the other.

Each of them were made to face the great castle of Apollo in some fashion, as a testament to the sanctity of the monarchy. They were well known symbols of Literature, Law, Logistics, and Longevity, and were followed as the four paths of successes. But within the building, it was even more beautiful.

More pillars, depicting the same four individuals, lifted up each floor. Linoleum, which was covered in symbols of the monarchy and a great array of colors, made up the base floor. All in all, it gave off an imposing presence, though supposedly it was nothing compared to the castle of Apollo.

Bear had never really visited the castle, save for the first floor when he was younger, and his father had gone there to meet with a noble. He had just never considered it important to visit. To him, a castle was just a large house. It may have had a lot of history and work put into it, and he would have loved to see some of the architecture and engineering, but it wasn't metal or steam, so he wasn't as interested as most.

However, that wasn't on his mind as the focus as he left the AGD and headed on the roads. From what his father had told him, the ball would be held in a manor near the castle. He knew a good path to get there that still allowed him to pass by the Tailoring shop his father had also mentioned, but he wondered if he'd be able to actually get in there today.

He couldn't have been the only man needing clothes for such an event. He sighed, hopeful that he'd get lucky about it, while gazing upon the sights of the streets of Sol.

A person from the land of the Moon would have been awestruck and confused. Unlike the large, majestic skyscrapers and neon lights of Luna, Sol was more rustic and simplistic, the town built for basic needs and nothing more. Manors made up the inner ring of Sol, but they weren't much larger than the normal houses of the commonwealth. There was a higher, middle, and lower class, but since most people of Sol felt no need to discriminate or feel above someone else, these were never really enforced. The buildings which Bear saw now were shops of the commercial area, with vendors closing up so they could attend the ball as well. He waved at a few of them, knowing them by name after years of passing by here. In fact, he liked to think he knew 50% of the people of the city by heart, either by them having visited for assistance at his shop, or just by meeting them in the streets.

Many of them waved back, then returned to cleaning up. He wished he had time to help them. His large size made it easy to move things around.

"Ah, Bear!"

He had finally reached the tailoring shop, owned by the Alfreds - Frederick and Alphonse. There was no man named Alfred who ran the store, it was just a shortened version of their combined names. They had opened it with Bear's father's help, and the assistance of other people in the community, after their talent for working with cloth was recognized. They had been good friends of Bear since his younger years, though they were a bit of a handful when together.

Alphonse Maverick, the older of the twins (or so he stated firmly), the one who met him at the door. He was normally the greeter, enjoying talking to people more than his brother. He was wearing his signature blue overcoat with golden buttons, his hair tied in a ponytail, his brown eyes appraising Bear's clothes - already trying to come up with a good outfit.

"Let me guess. Don't tell me, of course." Alphonse waved his finger, doing a small spin. "You need clothes for this ball, yes?"

Bear nodded, the man clapping eagerly.

"Luckily for you, not many people came by today, which was odd. Better yet, we may actually have something in your size, for once, that should do perfectly." Alphonse grinned. "Admittedly, your father came in two days ago to leave an order for a celebratory outfit."

"How convenient." Bear rolled his eyes. They both knew his father's ways. As they headed to the back, Alphonse gave him a delightful story about how a man had come earlier that day hoping to buy a dress, and how a woman had been so well-endowed that a dress had actually ripped around her chest when she had tried to put it on. The fabric tearing had driven Alphonse to tears, though the other men in the building had been focused on something else.

"...That's... fascinating." Bear said, utterly unshaken. He was looking around the room, enjoying the sights of the many types of clothing which decorated the building.

It had definitely grown from when it had first been built. It now had two floors worth of clothing, one floor for expensive garments, and the other for the cheaper, quickly made ones. They were currently going to the second floor. Bear facepalmed mentally.

"How much.. exactly.. did he commission you for..?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you, as per your father's orders." Alphonse gave him a slight glance.

"So it WAS over one thousand Solars." Bear rubbed his eyes, exasperated. "I told him I don't need to him to spend that much anymore... And he asked me if I had money on me too... Dammit.."

"Well, he is... quite wealthy." Alphonse shrugged. "And it IS his money to spend. You should just be glad that he loves you so much."

"I am but... Gods.."

The spider on Bear's arm rubbed against his face, as though hoping to relieve a bit of his stress. It worked, Bear smiling a bit as he patted it affectionately.

"And.. I've been meaning to ask. Just WHAT is that?" Alphonse cocked his head, tapping it slightly. "Some form of new device?"

"An automaton. The Starlight Spider. I just had it patented today, this afternoon." Bear said proudly, pointing a thumb at himself.

"Marvelous! I assume that's something of a great leap forward?" Alphonse said, reaching into the racks for Bear's outfit.

"A GIANT one, perhaps the size of the Sun itself." Bear crossed his arms. "And... oh my Gods."

The outfit that had been chosen for him looked quite extravagant. Golden seams decorated an overcoat which had a long trail behind it, almost like a cloak. A collar that could stand up or sit down, depending on the person's preference, sat in solid black over the dark blue fabric. Small, white buttons dotted the rest of the ensemble, giving the appearance of..

"It's like... Stars." Bear blinked.

They both knew the value of stars. No one had seen stars in centuries. Starlight was a noble name because it meant unique, lost to the ages. But for something to try to bring back the image of that beautiful night sky...

"You did... very well... If only we could still see something like that over our heads." Bear said, accepting it with a great amount of care. "I.. will put it on immediately."

"I did you the favor of making it comfortable enough to work in as well, thin enough to make sure you don't get too hot if you decide to work in steamy conditions as well. Aren't I kind?" Alphonse said, gesturing.

"I was the one who stitched the fabrics together and came up with the button idea, as well as the cloth.."

Frederick emerged from a doorway nearby, his eyes obviously tired. He yawned, stretching.

"Ah! You're still awake?" Alphonse asked, concerned. "I thought you went to bed much earlier! I was about to close up shop."

"You can still do that... But I don't know if I'll be able to sleep at all... So much stitching.. so much..." Frederick said, leaning against him. "There was so much cloth... I can see it in my dreams.."

"Come now. Get back to bed."

"I can't... I have to give Bear.. the thing.. the.." he yawned again, reaching into his coat pocket. Unlike Alphonse, his coat was red, with silver lining, meant to make it easier to differentiate the two. His hair was allowed to flow freely.

He procured a small, golden device, covered in intricate symbols and designed to look like a sun on the reverse side.

"What.. is that?" Bear asked, confused.

"It's.. it's a medal... It goes on... the coat.." Frederick said, trying to pin it on Bear himself, but failing miserably. Alphonse, frowning, took it from him gently and put it on Bear's jacket the correct way. Bear removed his current overcoat (which was covered in smudges and grime from the workshop) and placed the new one on instead, adjusting it slightly.

"Glorious!" Alphonse said, clapping. "How does it feel?"

"...Great!" Bear said happily. "It feels great!"

"That's all I needed to hear. Now, Frederick, head on to bed. I'll be going to sleep soon too."

"You're not going to the ball?.." Bear asked, vexed.

"Heavens no. I've seen enough dresses and suits to last a lifetime in the past two days. People have been ordering their clothes for weeks for this.. I don't know why this Prince is so important but we've made enough profit to take off for a month."

"Damn..." Bear whistled. "Well then enjoy that as much as you can."

"We...will..." Frederick said, heading back to his room. "Probably..."

"Don't worry about him. He'll be fine." Alphonse said uncertainly as Frederick fell into the doorway. "I think."

"If you need any help, let me know." Bear said, hugging Alphonse once before bowing. "I hope you know I'm always here for you both, and I owe you for this."

"Think nothing of it. I'm just happy to see it worn. Now hurry, before you miss more of the ball than you already have." Alphonse began to shoo him out, then headed to the back room.

Smiling pleasantly, Bear headed down the stairs and out the door, looking far better than he did before, his old clothes in a bag at his side. He'd drop them off at his workshop on his way to the celebrations.

 

-----

 

And now, here he was, sitting at one of the tables, drinking something (non-alcoholic) as he stared at the rest of the festivities. It had been thirty minutes since he had arrived, after locking up his workshop. Where he was seated had allowed him to watch some very entertaining occurrences:

A young man, seemingly uncomfortable with the noble life, getting chided by his mother as he tried in vain to mingle with people, only to be approached by a woman he seemingly did not want to be around.

Then, a quite busty woman, beautiful - even Bear had to admit - but sneaky. To many with an untrained eye, she had bumped into a man, been accosted, and snuck away thanks to her brother. But to him, who had been a tinkerer for most of his life, and knew how to look for small things, had noticed her reaching for the man's watch. After being caught, he didn't know where she had placed it, but he could wager a guess. She then disappeared into the crowd, though he was sure he could find her if he wanted.

But did he? He wasn't really desiring any interaction with anyone. He had shown up merely to please his father and nothing more.

Did he want to deal with that man, who could probably use a bit of support and guidance from an man like him who most likely shared his views, or did he want to meet with his potentially interesting woman and her "brother?"

For a second, he mulled over it.

Wait, that was Kestrel.

The thought suddenly hit him as he sat there, drinking, his large form moving slightly with surprise.

That was Captain Kestrel, of the... of the Red Lust, right? The ship? The pirate?

That was her.

Right?

Yeah that had to be her. Of course that was her. Bear knew faces. He hadn't seen her in years (and, to be honest, she probably wouldn't recognize him at the start, for they had barely met only once in the street) but she HAD to have SOMETHING interesting to talk about.

And - if all else failed - he could at least speak to her about stolen property. But where the hell had she gone off to?

Dammit, socializing was a difficult choice. Standing to his full height, he poked his spider and nodded.

"Forward, to victory." he whispered, which caused the little bug to jiggle with anxiety and excitement.

When he had first walked in to the ball, he had been spoken to by two guards (who'd been, understandably, unnerved by the creature on Bear's shoulder) and then gotten the attention of quite a few nobles who had been absolutely enthralled by the little thing. After managing to disperse them, he'd finally gotten time to himself, but he was secretly pleased with its popularity.

Soon.. very soon.. the Starlight Spider would be a household name!

He smiled mentally at the thought.

But where had that woman gone off to? He pushed past a few dancers, apologizing as he did so. He also placed a few Solars into the hand of the man who'd had his watch stolen, patting his shoulder and refusing to tell him why. If he couldn't get the watch back, at least the man was a BIT recompensed.

But Captain Kestrel wasn't a FAMOUS woman, she was merely notorious in a few sects. She'd managed to keep under the radar of nobles for years. Bear had known her when she was working on her first ship, trying hard to meet the expectations of the male sailors who kept whistling at her for her looks. He wondered how many she had kicked in the groin after getting fed up with them.

He had no interest in her romantically of course. For one, he didn't like older women. For another, he still wasn't sure about his own marriage desires. But, she could probably help him with that, as a female. He needed SOME advice.

Although his mother was here, and he had spoken to her for a good ten minutes before managing to escape, she was only a bit of advice. He wanted other viewpoints.

Finally, he saw a glimpse of the color of dress she had been wearing, the gold of the threads that supported that blue dress of hers helping him to find her. He walked up, nonchalantly, after pushing aside a few more people, one of which looked at the Spider on his shoulder with confusion.

"Lavellan, right? Lavellan Kestrel? Or is it Captain, now?" Bear bowed, approaching her with as much formality as possible. "And still as slick-handed as ever, though we don't have to discuss that if you don't want to. I just thought it'd be nice to catch up."

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Antoinette had stared at herself for a long time before she came to the ball. Her aunt had arranged a marriage for her, and she was to meet him tonight, but already she felt as if she had ruined her chances. Hours before she had been told by her aunt there was no dress ordered for her, as they found out the tailor would only accept a lot more payment than originally planned. She simply could not have a new gown. She would have to wear something of her mother's, and that was moth ridden and plain.

 

Her eyes had lit up at this, and she simply pleased and nodded. Her father and aunt had thought she would take this a lot harsher, and were surprised at her reaction. A quiet excuse was given, and she headed up to her room and locked the door. They had assumed she was upset and left her alone, but she in fact was working diligently. Antoinette had a set of gathered and abandoned clockwork her father had brought home as playthings for her, and she had an impressive talent of construction. By the age of nine she had made metal animals that moved about of their own accord. Now she had integrated several gear and metal systems in her room, and had even made her own tailoring device. Her closet worked on gears and pulleys, making a conveyor belt that could select matching and coordinating items based on a lens that detected hues. She used this now, and pulled out bits of old petticoats stained with berries and oil from her work and let the device choose what matched. But first there had to be an input...

 

She looked to the old cedar dowry chest that was her mother's before she passed, and delicately approached it. She rarely opened it, and that probably attributed to the moth problem years before. Moths craved darkness and resided every chance they could, so when she was younger and had left it cracked a few must have crawled in. Before she had opened it again they had wrecked havok on her mother's few silk and expensive materials. Her father was upset, but not as upset as she was at herself. She couldn't be consoled for days. Now she delicately picked through the materials, though she already had learned them all. There was a red cotton dress for tea or meal banquets, which was too causal, a lavender and silk one that was probably more for use for the ball, and had much too many holes for her to wear. It had originally been long sleeved, but the moths had made it too holed for that. The underskirt was ruined too. There was a black dress that had appeared stunning on her mother, but was much too large for her.

 

And with that inspiration struck. She grabbed the lavender and the black and headed to her automated closet, letting it scan the color of the lavender and the measurements of the bustle from the black. It selected ribbon and a corset and she began to work.

 

~~~~~~

 

It was almost an hour until the ball, and Antoinette's door opened. Her aunt was working on dinner, thinking she was going to eat with them. Instead the girl walked down in a beautiful gown, and the largest smile on her face. Her aunt turned to see the sound and her jaw dropped. "Antoinette! How did you get this? Did you spend your savings on this?! I thought you were to wear yo-" "My mother's dresses? It is." She turned and let her see. "Do you think it's alright? I do hope so. I used my favorite set of pink material for the ribbons and bows, and the corset in the back is much too open, but I ran out of material from the lavender dress to cover it! It would be better if I had-"

 

"It's perfect." Her aunt smiled. "It's beautiful." The blue eyes of Antoinette looked up to meet her aunt's and saw they were full of tears. "You look just like your mother. Only better." She laughed a little, choking back tears. "Any man would be lucky to have you. You'll have to knock the suitors away with a stick after tonight!" She hugged her, and Antoinette felt the strings tug. It wasn't very high quality. "Go! Finish getting ready so we can surprise your father."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Now Antoinette looked like true nobility, her lineage very clear now that she was dressed up. She was a relative of the royal family, though now being so far removed due to an unruly relative she no longer even had a last name. Her aunt had said her fiancé would be there, and Antoinette was excited to see him for the first time. She arrived late of course, and hurried to join in with the crowd. Maybe her fiancé had given up on meeting her, and had already left. She felt her blonde curled hair bounce on the way up the stairs to the palace, and fixed herself before she walked into the main room. Upon entry she noticed several people staring at her dress, and also noticed it was a little different. Hers was simple in design, but extravagant in detail, and clearly from a different maker than the style that was popular. She wasn't sure if this was good or bad.

Edited by lycrawaterz14

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(( Well, I'm gonna give it my best to keep zis up, sers. ))

 

Raven dropped the cigar from his lips, then promptly breathed out the smoke that had built up in his airways. It had been a few minutes since he had sent the message, and by now, the roll of tobacco was drawing to its end. The embers from the end of the small white cylinder flew off, their trajectory manipulated by the drafts of air that moved through the narrow streets, and then either fell to the ground or faded into the dark surrounding him.

Deciding that the cigar was used up by now, Valerian lifted up his hand and used his two fingers to grasp it. After taking it out of his mouth, he promptly dropped his hand down and squeezed it, the flame that still lingered being momentarily smothered by the pressure applied from his tight grasp. The amber-colored filter was the only thing left from the cigarette, and soon, it found its resting ground on the ground in front of the shop.

After dropping the small piece and making sure his hands were clear of the ashes, the young man softly exhaled, the chill in the air causing his breath to appear as a burst of white smoke within the dark air. He shrugged softly, having decided that he'd been waiting outside for long enough, then turned around.

Slowly, he took the step on the sign on the floor. The sensor on the ground detected his presence and the servos went into action. With a loud creak, the panel swung open again and the aroma and heat from within rushed out to greet him. Grasping the edge of the doorway, he lifted one leg and then promptly pulled himself into the room. After getting in deep enough, he gave the side of the door a small bash, causing it to ignore the usual automatic closer's struggle and instead immediately swing shut with a loud sound.

"Where the heck is that guy..." Raven softly spoke to himself as he walked forward through the middle of the room and reached the counter. He carefully sat down back on the stool he'd been using and turned around to the bar itself, then took one of the glasses lined in front of him, lifted it to his lips and emptied it in his mouth.

After chaining a couple of glasses, the door behind him swung open. He set down the one he was currently holding and turned around to check who was the newcomer. His eyebrows rose as he stared at the group that had come inside.

It was a young couple, apparently. The young man was the one that was more confident from the two, as he was the one helping her get inside with his light touch. After assisting her, he turned around to stare at the two at the bar and offered them a small smile.

The man seemed a bit plain, but still gave off a feeling of friendliness. He was a bit shorter than Raven and had a light, lithe build with wiry muscles. He had dark blue eyes that were set back in their sockets and black, slightly curly hair, formed to fall down to his ears and curl somewhere along the line of his eyes. His facial features were soft, with a small nose, thin eyebrows and round chin. His clothes were simple, but definitely looked comfortable. The dark red sweater on his upper body clung tightly to it and emphasised his long neckline with an intricate raised collar, whilst the azure jeans he wore were slightly baggy. His get-up, overall, was mostly casual.

The young lady next to him was the literal embodiment of softness. Her body was frail and could be described as weak, whilst her height was a tiny bit lower than her partner's. She had soft, purple eyes that were filled with natural curiosity and ebony black hair that flowed down to her upper back and was seperated above her right eye on the front. Her face was one that befitted a princess, with a small button nose, softly curved eyebrows, slightly sharp chin and thin, pursed lips. She wore an intricate, white and light purple dress that covered her shoulders, went down to the elbows on her arms and fell to around her lower hips. The rest of her legs was covered by white thigh high socks and ended in a pair of soft, creamy white high boots.

The two uncertainly stepped forward, but held their hands together. Valerian couldn't help but turn around quickly, then simply raise another glass to his lips and drink it down in order to dull his senses. He didn't want to be judgemental, now. The two seemed nice together, anyways, so he wouldn't ruin their time.

"What can I do for you?" Fallea asked as she pushed herself off the counter and leaned softly on the wall behind her, her hands crossed over her chest and a small smile spread along her lips.

"Erm..." The young man began, slightly unnerved by the appearance of the man next to them. However, he swallowed and continued on nevertheless.

"W-we'd like to get a table, please." He spoke out, his hand slightly tightening around his partner's own but then momentarily letting go so she wouldn't be hurt. The woman behind the counter offered a soft laugh as she watched the two, but calmed down soon and pushed herself off the wall. Her hand went out to point at one of the free tables to the right.

"Take a seat, I'll be there in a moment." She replied, earning a nod from the guy, who then moved with the young woman and went to take a seat. Slowly, she leaned over in front of Raven, who was currently busy with his drinks but averted his gaze to look at her instead.

"These two... so sweet..." Leah commented with a soft smile, attempting to not swoon out loud in front of the two that were now quietly conversing. The man in front of her sighed and leaned forward, then patted her shoulder to get her attention.

"Just serve them some pastries." He suggested, earning a slight nod from the woman. After he had resumed drinking, she turned to the right and walked off, then walked into the back to prepare some cake for the two.

Valerian took the moment to silently stare at the reflections in his glasses and the bottles on the wall. After all, he was curious about such things.

The two were talking to one another and had sit across eachother, so they would always face the other during conversation. From time to time, they would extend their arms and take hold of the other's hand. At other moments, the two would share a laugh together, after which the boy would softly smile and earn a smile from the girl.

Just what made them this happy?

Was it memories of the time before, or was it something else?

Could one truly be this happy because of someone simply... being there at the right time?

He didn't think it could work, but apparently it really was up to the people that wished to spend time together.

Two individuals, devoted enough to one another, could easily pass time like how they were.

Maybe he'd have a taste of this emotion... someday.

 

----------

 

Minutes had flown by as Valerian had continued to drink the alcohol that he had been served. The spirits that Leah offered were of a good quality, unlike most of the generic off-shoot brands that made the fakes down here and proclaimed they were genuine. His gaze had calmly followed the red-haired woman as she worked at the bar and went around to serve others. There were a few newcomers that had snuck in whilst he was busy staring down at the counter and the glasses, filled with liquids of many colors that ultimately shared a close smell. He had checked them, of course, and thankfully, none seemed related to the thug bunch that had come through earlier. So, for a while, he had been left to his own.

It did not matter that much to him. He was slightly shaken already, and his vision was soft, just like his tired eyes. His face was a tiny bit flushed, his pale cheeks having turned rosy in vision, but he was fully in control of his body... even if he couldn't do a lot with it because it ached and begged him to rest soon. Tolerance to such beverages, built up over many drinks shared with the soft light of the moon, meant that he rarely got drunk. However, he was still quite tired, so he wouldn't be going somewhere after finishing all these drinks.

Taking a look at the remaining three shots, Valerian moved his hand forward and grasped one of them. It was filled halfway to the brim and the color of what was inside was a transparent lime green. It smelled faintly of mint, but the kick of the alcohol that had been mixed with it had overpowered the herb's effect. Silently, he raised the green glass and placed it on his lips, then downed it in one go. His mouth burned for a moment, stinging softly around his tongue's skin, then turned cold and all... minty.

Shaking his head softly to clear the new flood of sensations, he placed the glass down and assessed the next one in line. This one was interesting, really. It was plain, good ol' whiskey. The smell of the thick, tree sap-colored liquid moved into his airways, its effect already becoming present on him. Eyes slightly blinking away the strong aroma of the alcohol, he moved his hand, took the glass and lifted it to his lips. His lips parted and he downed it gradually and slowly. The taste of the whiskey burned at his throat roughly, but soon dispersed and left him with a soft warmth that spread through his head and down his chest. His head called out after a few seconds, but for now, he ignored its pleas.

Sighing in relief after the good kick of the time-worn drink, he set down the second glass and nodded softly to himself. It was time to end it all. The last shot left in front of him after his rapid session of drinking was of a liquid with no color and of clear transparency. It had an even sharper smell than whiskey, however. Some had described this to him as specially made spirits. After a period of fermenting that could go for half a year, one would take this and then run it through a special contraption that would cause the first mix to boil and then condense into a purified form. That, however, was quite a long time ago. He took a look at the intricate, short shot glass. It was kind of spherical in shape and was shorter than average. The glass on the walls was shaped to have smooth curves and details that were quite pleasing to both look at and hold in one's hand. Taking the glass softly into his hand, Raven raised it to his lips and downed the clear liquid in one go. The nameless liquor proved quite strong as it gave him both a great burning sensation that rushed through the entirety of his body and a hard kick to his head. He shook his head and coughed softly after putting the glass down. This was probably a relic of the past. Alcohol only became this refined after going on for ages.

Just seconds after putting down his last glass, Valerian rose up from his seat. Shakily, he stepped around the side of the counter and got to the other side. He carefully put away the glasses for washing, making sure to be extra wary when handling the more... exotic glasses that had been used. Then, he took off the coat and put it down on the stool behind the bar. Taking off the gauntlets from his hands by slipping them over his gloves, he also placed them on the stool. Finally, after removing the gloves and exposing his worn, bright white hands, he started to wash the alcohol-covered glasses. The hot water ran along his arms and made them turn slightly crimson, but he ignored the weak heat, for it was nothing that could harm skin. He seemed experinced, as he could still wash the small shot glasses well without being bothered by his tiredness.

Finally, after a couple of minutes, he was finished. Having left everything to dry off, he replaced the accessories back on his body and then promptly circled back to his seat. His figure quietly settled down on the chair, then momentarily leaned down softly on the counter. A beep resonated through the room and pulled the attention of the people inside to it, which quickly turned to check the ones that were currently entering - all except Raven, that is. Alcohol having dulled his senses and tiredness now washing over him, he was at a loss of... reality, one could say.

"Yo." He softly mouthed without bothering to turn as he immediately recognized Hallea's walking pace and the already familiar click her shoes produced when they collided with the floor. The girl's sister reappeared from the back of the shop and emerged at the counter, then softly leaned on the counter and waved lightly. Her eyebrows rose as she stared at the new boy that had come with Hallea. Who was this - her boyfriend, some lass in trouble, or just a random boy?

Valerian had slightly turned by the time the other Leah had gotten to his side. With one arm leaned on the counter and the other lying on his lap, he stared back at her - or, at least, tried to, as he was tired and a bit drunk.

The claws that dug into his bulletproof vest were filled with true harming intent, and he knew that the only thing saving him from getting an actual wound then and there was the kevlar piece on his chest. Hallea was prone to being problematic, but his reasoning would never listen to her, especially when he couldn't feel his brain.

"Hallea..." He slightly slurred, which was more because of the fact he was tired than the amount of liquor he'd consumed. "I told you not to take care of it if you didn't wish to. I've also barely had any sleep in three days and, if you could meet the NSSF guy that I had spoken with, you'd know I was this close to blowing a gas bomb and killing myself in the process. I do NOT need harsh words right now, especially from you."

Valerian knew his reply was harsh, but that was what he truly thought about this. Her misconception of him as a deviant that was of such a wild side pissed him off to no end. It had happened once, quite a while back, and... back then, things weren't even as rosy as now. Yet, even now that he had changed for the better, she continued pestering him. He gritted his teeth softly as Hallea walked off, not even affected by the touch of the woman behind him.

At the moment he heard the other voice, however, Raven went wide-eyed. He swung around fully to stare at the entrance.

"No!" He mouthed, eyes filled with shock, as he fumbled around. His body rushed off the stool and pushed up tightly against the counter. He was shaking really bad.

"It can't be you! I-I left you there!" The man continued, panic evident in his tone. His mind became a chaotic mess as he sought to make sense of what he could see. The stress managed to turn his weak, alcohol-induced headache into a maelstrom of pain that shredded deep in his head.

He had to do something.

Immediately, Raven pushed himself off of the counter and rushed forward, the cloak barely managing to follow his sudden dash. With a burst of speed that even he hadn't expected from his drunken self, he got to the young man, grasped his neck with his left hand and looped around him. Once he was properly behind him, the elder man's right hand went to his belt and then promptly drew a blade. Shaking it quickly, he started a chemical reaction that rapidly warmed the edge of the knife. The air around it shimmered as it heated until it turned an orange-red color. The man raised it to the neck of the NSSF soldier, but made sure not to get it in contact with the boy's neck.

"You..." He began, but his eyes momentarily dropped their narrow and serious look. He finally managed to understand what he had been told by the youngster, and it had all suddenly hit him like a truck.

Quietly, the man coughed once, then pressed a switch on the handle of the blade. Suprisingly, it stopped the chemical reaction that had started a few seconds ago, and allowed the blade to cool down to a room-level temperature in a matter of a couple minutes.

"Nothing to see here!" Valerian said as he drew back the knife, shoved it into his belt pocket and then offered the bewildered spectators around him a soft smile. Not waiting for them to respond, he grasped the boy's hand and roughly pulled him until they went outside of the shop.

The two wandered out quickly and swerved to the left, where they dove into a small, dark alley next to the establishment. Raven shoved Garas gently to one side, whilst he took his spot on the other side of the pathway.

He sighed softly and shook his head, then grasped one sleeve with his opposite hand and promptly took off the entire coat. After throwing it at the boy so he would put it on, his hands went into his pockets and procured the old pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

Hands slightly shaking, Valerian pulled out one roll of tobacco and then placed the pack back in his pocket. He raised the paper to his lips, clutched it with them and then lit it on fire with both his hands. Taking a quick whiff, he took the tube down from his mouth and exhaled into the dark, cold air.

"Garas. Garas Barold. If I am to trust your words, former NSSF... and, apparently, a thief from the high class. That medallion... where did you get it, boy?" He began his series of question as he watched the smoke fade into nothingness.

"Let's continue. Why did you follow me? I might know something about that locket, but... it could be far more personal than you think." He continued, hands slightly shaking as he raised up the cigarette and took another inhale. The crimson end of the roll burned away and turned into ashes that were quickly swept by the draft of air in the narrow passageway. Dropping it from his lips, Valerian coughed softly, then shook his head and leaned back on the wall.

"Lastly. What keeps me from killing you? For all I know, you can be playing 'double agent', and your claim that you left the NSSF is still to be proven. Plus, you own property that is not yours and obviously belonged to someone else... someone special for me, to be exact."

Edited by KuroKishi

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Garas hadn't expected this sort of reaction. Though his military training made him immediately reach for the butt of his pistol the minute Raven drew the knife and had him in the lock, he thought better of it. But that familiar fear of dying gripped him and he despised it.

It was a feeling one could not .. fully explain. It was the realization of the finite nature of life, and it was worse for people who could live for millenia if they so chose. Life was extremely important to them, not as short and easily thrown away. As such, the young Garas, who had yet to even use his first injection, was even more afraid of Raven's blade as it came close to his throat.

That his life could be taken so easily... It frustrated him. He had been trained for this. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to shoot or harm this man. The smell of alcohol that permeated his breath as he spoke told the whole story. He wasn't thinking. This wasn't his true mentality.

Garas waited almost an eternity, stuck in this stalemate, his hand reaching closer for the gun. Hallea gave them both a glance haphazardly as Raven finally sighed and put the knife away.

Garas let out of a sigh of relief. He wasn't wearing his armor right now either. All that he had on was an undershirt and his military pants, which honestly didn't look out of place down here. But it DID mean that he had barely any protection against outside threats - especially knives to the throat or bullets to the abdomen.

He didn't resist as he was dragged outside. Placed against the wall, he drew his gun from his belt and held it aloft, for Raven to inspect it.

"I still had the safety on. You left yourself open, in your drunken state, for me to stun you. But I did not. Because it would serve no purpose. I do not serve the NSSF, and I do not know how to prove it to you." Garas stated, holding there for a long while.

He was breathing deeply right now, the adrenaline subsiding. He realized now just how afraid he had been, in that one - brief - moment. In the span of a second, his life could have been taken away...

He shook his head. There was no reason to consider it now. He put the gun back at his side, then reached for the pendant on his chest as he listened to Raven's words. The man seemed a bit more sobered now. But Garas wasn't going to lower his guard, not yet.

The smoke in the air was distracting, and Garas honestly despised the smell. The higher class wasn't normally around it. The only rule in the Higher Class establishments - no smoking, as the ventilation systems couldn't handle it. After all, all of the air in Luna was artificially made. It was actually considered a crime to smoke anything more than electronic cigarettes, so most in the Higher Class never made the habit of it. But it wasn't unheard of for those in the Lower Class to find themselves down on their luck and turn to such... archaic habits.

He covered his mouth with one hand. The smoke was seriously burning his lungs. That, and the air of the Lower Class smelled differently - felt differently - anyway. It was ... thinner? And strong with the smell of smoke like Raven's. How in the world could they breathe this at all? He would have gotten sick of it by now..

Wait.. They probably were, he finally realized, with a bit of sadness.

In any case, it wasn't important. What WAS important was being honest here. He had the chance to discover things about his past, and why he felt these things. Sighing, he released the pendant and leaned against the wall, his other hand still covering his mouth.

"The pendant.. I received it from my mother, Mirrah Barold. She made it for me, as a gift. She did not steal it. Nobody stole it. It's mine. My initials - and hers - are on it. I can prove that much."

He held it aloft, showing a small, worn engraving of the letters "M.B." and "G.B." as well as a tiny message saying, "With my love."

He flushed a bit with embarrassment, which he didn't understand, as he showed the endearing message from his mother to this strange, Lower Class man. But he decided it was the best proof he had, of that claim at least.

He returned it to his chest, then scratched the back of his head, coughing a bit from the smoke.

"I followed you because you called me by name." he said sincerely, sighing. "It is funny, is it not? But the only other person to treat me like more than a number was my own mother. But I also followed you because you seemed to know about this... and maybe you could tell me why I cry when I hold it or look at it."

Even now, as he stood there, it seemed tears were forming in his eyes.

"It is.. It is like there is a memory there, a fragmented feeling.. It is like I am forced to feel something I do not understand, and it is not pleasant. It feels stuck in my throat. And it feels like I do not want to face some... some dark truth. It is so ... so DAMN painful..."

He grabbed his arms, as though to warm himself, shaking slightly.

"I do not wish to serve anyone any longer. I know my mother would not want me to kill innocent people just for wanting to live, shooting them like dogs in their own homes. She would want me to help them. I cannot feel good about myself doing what I have done. I just want to start over again, understand what I feel and why I feel it... I just want to live..."

His tone was monotone, but his emotions were clear - depression, and anxiety.

"And if you wish to kill me for such a simple desire, then do it." Garas said, sliding down the wall until he was finally curled in a ball. "I do not belong here or anywhere else. I am an exile. I mean nothing any longer."

He lay there for a long while, shivering.

"It is so cold.. down here... in this place.." he whispered, as though confused. "Why is it so cold?"

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Mina had grown bored, walking through the streets of the lower district, pondering whether she would meet with her next target immediately or wait until the fuss of her last playmate began dying down and the NSSF backed off on their 'chase.' It was a typical game now, where Mina would play with someone, NSSF would get upset, chase her around, realize it was pointless as she did kill someone of little use, then they'd return to whatever silly matters they had to attend. Sometimes, a few members would continue hounding her, the one's that had more fortitude and resilience in regards to her 'messages.' These were the ones Mina truly wanted to play with, their solid mentality and expressionless visage. Oh, how Mina wanted to see them broken.

Deciding the repercussions weren't worth a little enjoyment, the young woman casually banked into the nearest alley, whistling to herself as she strode down the dimly lit walkway.

Typically, this was not a place one could simply enter and not expect some 'formal' greeting from the various patrons that awaited in the darkness. They sought various things from those who incidentally wandered in, ranging from Years, to standard currency, and if they appealed to the patrons... something a little more explicit. Mostly, they were common thugs waiting to rob the unfortunate. A year and a half ago, while Mina was still serving under the NSSF, she had wandered in and became one of their targets... to their misfortune.

 

------

 

It had been this very alley, where four rather outlandish individuals had been lying in wait. Of course, upon initial entry, only one of them had made his presence known. Within one hand, he held a stun pistol, pointing it in Mina's general direction and the other was outstretched, anticipating that regardless of who had wandered in they would give up whatever this guy asked for. Needless to say, Mina was unimpressed.

"Hey, little missy. Just hand over anything valuable ya got and ya won't get hurt, okay?"

Mina's eyebrows raised as she looked the man over. Slender build, tall frame and a couple scars on his arms where skin was exposed. With her arms behind her back, Mina took a few steps forward and tilted her head to the side, looking past the man and deeper into the alley.

"And if I refuse? What then? Stun me, take what I have and probably do something that you'd only regret later? I bet that's exactly what you want to do."

Brows furrowing, the man stepped forward, pressing the pistol against Mina's head. Smirking, he leaned in close to where Mina could smell how atrocious the man's breath was. Raw fish, probably hadn't brushed in weeks, likely the source had come from the dumpsters. So, he was an underdog, disposable and unlikely to be missed if he suddenly disappeared.

"That's only if ya don't comply, missy. Of course, we're all for having a little fun. So, since ya mentioned it, why pass up the opportunity."

"We're? So, there are others here, but unless you have a troop of NSSF units, I'm afraid the only one who'll be having any fun is myself. I'd suggest stepping aside and letting me go my own way before you lost dogs get hurt."

Beginning to move past the man and deeper into the alley, Mina was halted when he grabbed onto her arm with his free hand and was beginning to swing his armed hand around when Mina's heel introduced itself to the man's cheek, effectively knocking him into the wall. That initiated the chain and the other patrons stepped out. Meanwhile, he was trying to regain his composure, rubbing his cheek that had already began swelling up.

"Ooohhh, you done it now, little missy."

"I like it when there's a challenge, so this is exactly what I was hoping for."

Two of the men did their best to charge her, brandishing their weapons above their heads like fools. Taking a brief moment to dwindle the numbers down, Mina swept the legs out from under the first man she had encountered, following up with a heel to the side of his head with just enough force to knock him unconscious. By this point, the huskier of the two men was now within her reach. Side stepping, Mina avoided the piece of pipe he was using as a weapon and as he was drawing back once more, she rushed forward and kneed him in the gut. As the husky man doubled back, trying to regain his breath, Mina's foot had just touched the ground again when a short yet brawny man started swinging haymakers in whichever direction. No control, defenses were wide open, but his attacks were sporadic and frankly, Mina didn't feel like getting hit.

Sighing, Mina continued to sidestep, turn and lunge back until the man either seemed to be getting tired or was thinking about changing tactics. Whichever it was, as soon as there was an opening, Mina took full advantage of it. Lurching forward, rolling and propelling herself forward, wrapping her legs around the man's head and using the momentum to bring him down. Just before hitting the ground, Mina released her grip and instead used her body weight to slam the man's head into the ground.

"Oh! Well, that's two down, what's left? Two more or three?"

By this point, the husky man had regained himself and was charging forward, but to Mina he was a complete joke. A sad excuse for a male, even compared to the other two who had already fallen to her. When he got within reasonable distance, Mina flipped forward onto her hands and twisted, swinging her legs into the side of the husky man's head and taking him out of the fight.

As she landed on her feet, the final man stepped forward, clapping his hands together and practically cheering her on.

"Good, good, young lady. Now, before you go swinging those slender legs of yours at my face, I'm just gonna say I have no intention of fighting against you. No doubt I would find myself in a similar... situation as those other three. Anyway, allow me to properly introduce myself. I'm Zandith, Zan to most, and I'm the unfortunate leader of these guys."

"And with that in mind, what's holding me back from smashing in your face?"

"Nothing. I'll be blunt, I doubt my skills even compare to what you can actually do, but I'm also not as weak as those three buffoons. Let me guess, you're NSSF, are you not? Heading to the Underground?"

Mina simply shrugged, casually stepping closer to the man and around him, to which he obligingly held up his arms.

"I might be, but something is holding me back."

"Oh, well, pardon me then. Anyway, I have a proposition for you. How about you join our clan and I'll ensure none of my boys cause you anymore problems."

As she came to stop in front of Zan, Mina tilted her head somewhat befuddled and stepped closer to the man, pressing a hand against his chest and smirking.

"How about instead, if I ever run into any trouble from any of your boys again," leaning in close, she whispered something into to his ear, simultaneously committing an act that caused him to start cringing in discomfort.

"Yeah, that's a promise, sir. So, from here I'll go my way and you go yours and there'll be no more problems, hmm?"

After releasing the man, he stepped back and crouched, doing what he could to relieve himself of the uncomfortable pressure that he had just experienced. While comforting himself, he looked into Mina's eyes, seeing no trace of hesitation in them. Rather, they seemed more thrilled, as if it was something she was actually holding herself back from doing this very moment.

"Yeah... yeah. That sounds just fine. Just fine. Well, I'll attend to my boys and... well, let's hope we don't meet on a negative note in the future."

"Superb! You take care Zanny, I look forward to seeing you again on a more... positive note."

Just the way she said that sent a chill down Zandith's spine and he watched as she proceeded down the alley and into the stairwell that led to the Underground from this section.

 

------

 

After reminiscing on the past events that led to her... mutual partnership with the alley thugs of the lower district, Mina had stopped by to find herself standing outside the bar she was oh so fond of, Leah's Café. Hopefully, some of Mina's favored guests were already there, but even if they weren't there was always Leah herself and Mina had no qualms with that. Just as she neared the entrance, Raven quickly rushed out with some boy in tow and Mina's curiosity got the better of her.

Silently, she followed after them, peering down into the alley and remaining silent as they spoke. So, this boy was NSSF? Prior? No, he hadn't been through all the necessary procedures to break his ties. Was he in the process? Then he began crying. Wonderful. If he was showing these kinds of emotions, Mina wanted to see if she might be able to draw out more from him. Anger, hatred, joy, lust, fear.

Dipping back behind the corner, she pondered whether or not to enter the alley. What would be the repercussions? Raven getting mad because this was supposed to be private? Hah! She mentally laughed. There was nothing that would suffice as a 'good' reason to keep her nose out of whatever business they had with each other. Taking a step around the corner, Mina paused in mid stride, acting surprised, and smiled at the two while emphatically waving her hand above her head.

"Hey there, Raven, who's the fresh meat? Haven't seen him around these parts before, looks a bit high tier to be in the slums. What, royal family kick you out cause you weren't good enough? Don't fret, it happens a bit more than you think."

Smirking at the lad, she returned her gaze to Raven, one of the lights reflecting off her eyes revealing the deep red hue for a brief moment until it faded back into a dark brown. Taking a few exaggerated steps closer to the two, she interlaced her fingers behind her back once again and tilted her head to the side, quite puppy-like as a pleading expression spanned across her facial features.

"Would either of you gentleman be so kind as to buy me a drink? It's been a long day and I need something to rile me up for the night. I'm sure it'd be a rather spectacular transgression and there might be something a little more."

Looking at Raven, she winked at the man, indicating she was merely teasing about the second part. If anything, she'd more than likely hit on Leah rather than purely associate with these two. Spinning on her heel, she started to walk back out of the alley, stopping at the corner to look back at the two. Sighing, she shrugged and turned back to face them.

"Fine, I'll buy the first round, but that's my only treat. Anything beyond that is from one of you two... wait... are you even old enough? No? Then Raven treats us."

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Sol -- Randall

 

The banquet hall itself was as glamorous as the ballroom. The buildings of the city never ceased to amaze Randall, who was much more intent on staring at the high ceiling with his nose in the air and mouth agape rather than enjoying the festivities in front of him. When he was approaching the city, the spire of the castle of Apollo was the first thing that rose up from the horizons, signalling that the city was near. It acted like a shining beacon gleaming in the sunlight, drawing in people from far and wide. Despite the small divide between peasantry and nobility, humble people such as he never got the opportunity to visit the grander portions of the capital of Apollo, but there was already plenty to see and do in the merchant and artisan districts. His sisters, with mischievous twinkles in their eyes, simply went crazy with whatever spare soleils they had whenever they came to town. At the end of the day, it was he who had to carry the product of all their shopping whims. After so many years, he knew their styles. Sheila had an eye for dresses and various wooded trinkets she would insist were cute, even though he personally found their hollowed expressions a bit unnerving. Ester had a love for finely crafted metal work, including intricately carved blades only meant for display and not practical use. Shawn could always be found at the book dealer's. Trinity (the second eldest after him), if she took some time off to meet them on the market, was as level-headed and as stingy as he was even though her fiancé was more than wealthy enough to buy her an entire hat shop. She never left home without a nice cap, yet rarely bought any new ones. She and Randall would chat for hours, while the others scampered away to spend their own pocket change. It wasn't that he disliked shopping. It was just because he usually saved his coins to buy things for his other even younger siblings who were still too young to be let loose on the town. (He was thankful that his mother didn't put him in charge of Abigail and Damien, who were absolute devils to deal with at the same time. He had enough of babysitting children to last a lifetime.) It wasn't uncommon for him to make trips over without being accompanied by mother or father. He was an adult, after all!

Though he himself did not feel too different as the seasons passed. He felt much the same as he was three years ago, at the strapping age of nineteen. Even the face in Sheila's small handheld mirror had remained the same through the years, save for a bit more stubble he had been forced to shave off the day before the ball.

It was no wonder Bella-Claire recognized him from three leagues away. Perhaps he would try to grow more facial hair before the next event, and perhaps learn to disguise his voice. He scanned the table at which he was about to sit down. There was a girl with a peachy red dress a few seats beside him which he mistook for her from the corner of his eye. It gave him heart palpitations. Most of those who sat around him in his immediate vicinity were older men and women, save for the girl in a dress of gloomy blue and purple hues who sat right across him, and Sheila who quickly claimed the spot to his right by swinging her gown around and plopping herself onto the seat which was now buried in yellow ruffles.

No frilly pink dress in sight.

Randall let out a breath of relief he didn't know he was holding.

 

While he was distracted by many other things such as the elaborate architecture of the palace, it wasn't to say that the banquet itself -- as well as all the people who took the day to attend, he had to admit -- wasn't marvellous. Far from it. Brilliant candles, burning with a slight flowery scent, lit the long tables even though ample daylight filtered in from the tall glass windows of the hall. A little bit on the wasteful side, according to him who saved them up for particularly dark nights (which were rare), but then again, nobles were known for their decadent lifestyle. The food set before them was proof enough. Only during banquets had he seen so much meat gathered in one place. Nobles were not too fond of vegetables, he noticed from the massive washbowl-sided plates set across the hall. All the greens present were slathered in honey, wine or spices; the strong sauces spoiled their natural flavors in a way that made Randall actively avoid them as if they were a crime to food. He was not feeling the meats much either: seeing so much in one place, cooked and carved in various ways, had him a little overwhelmed. There were too many colors and smells that mixed up his senses, and the loud chatter of the dining area was simply confusing. He himself was not too hungry at the moment. It was most definitely just him, though: others seemed to be enjoying the dishes and the dinner just fine.

The meat looked nice, but he had to get his digestion going. Sipping a little ale and gathering some soft cheese, he began to nibble, savoring the strong and distinctive taste of goat's milk paired with the light bubbles of the drink that warmed his core.

He felt a jab in his right side. Sheila nodded her head in the direction of the far side of the room, her blonde curls bouncing, trying to nudge his attention to the happenings of one of the head tables.

"Don't you see him?" she finally whispered. Her brother couldn't seem to see what exactly was so intriguing over there, so she had to point it out to him without taking her eyes off of the person she was looking at. "The really tall guy in the glittering dressy suit. It's by far one of the prettiest ensembles I've seen around today!" She put her hands to her reddening cheeks and shrunk back into her chair in a futile attempt to hide her excitement. "What a wonderful fabric! Imagine what kind of garments we could make…!"

"Probably cost a fortune," Randall cut in with his own whispering, shattering her fantasies. "Don't even think about it until you somehow come into possession of a million solars."

"That is Sir Bartholomew Starlight," the girl in the blue dress interrupted, turning both siblings' attention to her. Randall could plainly see from her pursed lips and slight frown that she was rather irritated by their bout of hushed whispering . "A fitting name for such a man. His tailor must have done some good work to evoke his surname, though I doubt that degenerates like you would know what stars would look like."

Sheila stood up in a brisk motion, pushing her chair back and pressing her hands on the table hard enough to tilt the liquid in some cups. Her brother didn't even have the time to stop her from jumping to her feet, but after half a second she sat back down, maintaining a facade of calm (save for a slight tremble of the upper lip Randall could see from his angle) in front of the lady with the sharp tongue. She seemed much too satisfied with how her comment was getting to the nerves of the younger girl, and Randall was tempted to get up and find another place to sit with his little sister.

"Sir Starlight?" he repeated. "Isn't he one of the most wealthy and influential members of Apollo?"

"Brilliant inventors as well, both Sr. and Jr. Their family owns the rights to the zeppelin -- those large egg-like flying objects, if you find yourself so ignorant." She patted her dark brown locks, as if playing with them. Sheila fixed her with a death glare -- complete with nostrils flared like an angry bull -- which she happily ignored. "He fixes a plethora of gadgets free of charge, and rumor has it that he has been toiling over a rather secretive project for the past year."

Randall squinted, trying to get a better look at the large man. He was sure that Shawn had mentioned his name once or twice with awe. He seemed like a big name in the world of inventors, at least. He wasn't angry at the lady for assuming his ignorance, because he did admit on a fundamental level that he was ignorant of many things in the city. There seemed to be something on the shoulder of his stunning suit (which made his own traditional dark brown garments look as if they were dug up from the ground even if they were charming in their own right and worn totally wrong), but the young man could not tell from such a distance. "I wonder what it is. The project, I mean. Maybe we'll get a peek of it today."

"Perhaps," answered the lady in blue. Randall saw from his side of the table that his sister was prepared for another degrading remark, from the way she gripped the bottom edge of her seat. Even with the amicable atmosphere set up for them and the expectations that nobility respect the peasantry as much as they would each other, there were still quite a few people who just didn't like the way they looked or the way they talked. It was a minor difference, but it was enough of a difference to be laughed about. He hoped that Gloomy Blue was just toying with them, so that they wouldn't end up kicked out because Sheila couldn't control her fists. Even if he didn't want to be here, he had to keep up appearances.

So he quickly scanned the crowd with a more dedicated eye this time. The bright colors of womens' and girls' gowns and the food dominated his vision, but he tried to focus on where people were looking, with an extra eye out for the whereabouts of obsessive Bella-Claire. Nevertheless, seeing many other people eat made him terribly self-conscious of the food on his own plate which he had barely touched. The noblewoman sitting across him was silently offering her judgement through her stare as she daintily gnawed into a turkey leg.

 

People were looking at Sir Starlight, that was for sure. Not only were his garments positively shimmering, there was something really interesting on him that people couldn't seem to ignore. Randall wanted to get up and go see, though he thought it could wait a little bit longer. He was on a mission to distract his sister, who wasn't too keen on looking at the inventor after the earlier biting remark about stars.

There was, strangely enough, another center of attention of the party who was -- surprisingly -- not the prince. Randall hadn't a clue where his majesty himself was stationed, though his arrival would most likely be heralded with a grand announcement with trumpets and many servants. This other lady, who wasn't too far from where he sat though he had to look behind him to see her, seemed to turn heads wherever she went simply because her gown was one of the most extravagant and unique things he had seen. The fabric was of varying shades of purple, running the gamut from mulberry to lavender as if it were a seamless patchwork. Randall found it hard to believe that such a job would have been done by hand. The way patches of black were interwoven into the main dress seemed like the work of a tailor much ahead of his time; while the style and expressive use of contrast might be heavily criticized for being different from the current styles of coherent glamor, it could equally be celebrated for the same reasons.

He himself liked it because it reminded him a little bit of the patchwork quilts he made when he had some extra time on his hands.

She seemed like she was around Sheila's age, and he kicked one of the front legs of her chair to get her attention.

"What?" Sheila yelped a little too loud, earning a snort from the noble on the other side of the table. Ralph simply looked at the girl in the black and purple dress, and his sister followed his gaze accordingly. Her jaw dropped in astonishment before her expression beamed into a smile. Randall smiled as well, lips closed. Seeing her happy made him happy.

 

He wasn't sure if his sister ever felt degrees of envy, though in this case, whatever jealousy that might have bloomed in her heart was currently replaced by amazement.

"Please excuse me for a moment," she said, getting up and pushing her chair back into place as if in a trance, even leaving her plate of half-eaten food behind. She had to get a closer look at how it was made. The fabrics themselves didn't seem too special when separated, but it was the tasteful -- nay, masterful way they were put together that really attracted her to it. That was not even touching on the level of detail she could see as she went in for a closer look. The shape of the dress itself was somewhat similar to her own yellowy bouquet of roses, but the similarities ended there. It was very precise with its lace ornaments, as opposed to Sheila's excessive flower-like decorations, and had no sleeves or back. Very charming, very beautiful.

Randall muttered his apology as well, and got up to follow her. He could have sworn that the noblewoman seemed a little disappointed as she let him go, but it must have been his imagination. 'I will be back', he wanted to leave as a promise, but now that they were away from her it was unlikely that Sheila would want to sit back over there.

He found her positively bouncing over, shaking with excitement with her hands at her cheeks. "It's even prettier up close…!" she whispered. She was still behind a bunch of other people who were giving this girl their compliments, but she seemed too shy to approach on her own. So, as her plan, she would send her big bro in first! He would saunter in, say some happy words to the girl, probably stop his little sister from asking too many questions in rapid succession, and if they did it right, they could be friends! And, since it seemed that the dress was one of a kind, maybe, just maybe she could teach her a few pointers, provided that the girl tailored her gown herself.

Stepping to the side and swinging right around Randall with a flourish of her skirt, Sheila gave him a push on his back. He stumbled forward, bumping right into the lady in the lavender dress.

"Oh! Uh…! Sorry!" The young man immediately took a step back, a blush of embarrassment heating up his face. Why did these things keep happening to him? His hand had grabbed her bare arm to stop her from falling, but he sheepishly let go so she wouldn't get the wrong idea.

Sheila stepped out from behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, my big bro's so clumsy!" She followed the apology with a nervous laugh. "I-I…!" She didn't know what to say, now that she was in the moment. It was all too embarrassing, even if she wasn't the one who crashed into her. She hid her face in her hands, too self-concious to look this girl in the eye.

Seeing that she couldn't get her words out, her brother helped her out, sacrificing his own dignity for her sake. He always had to play savior when she got herself caught in moments like these. "What my lil' sis wants to say is that, she loves your dress, miss."

 

 

~~~~~

 

 

Luna -- Claris

 

Shadow realm. Hm. By delinquents (to the plural), he probably just meant himself. It was nigh possible that only he himself called it the Shadow Realm; to Claris it sounded like a rather childish name for such a dark place, where the sordid slept and the violent prowled. The whole city itself was not a nice place, at least not for someone like her who regularly passed between the bright side and the… less bright side. What a silly kid he was, to think he knew everything. Heck, even Claris herself admitted there was a lot she had yet to discover, even as she tread the fine line of the law where any little surprise can make her tip and fall onto either side. Either you anticipate it and leap over it when it threatens to knock you off, or you regain your footing just as you are about to fall.

"Hah. Maybe I did," she simply replied to Tulvir when he asked about the mural. The kid had good intuition. He wasn't wrong on that account, and it probably meant that she herself would have to do a better job hiding her tracks from borderline psychics.

A second person had approached the scene. Their steps were confident, each one deliberate, as if they knew where they were going. Claris could see the matte finish of some armor, but also something else.

It was a rather slow night. The moon above still stared down, her single eye unblinking even in the face of all the horrors she might have observed.

The grey forms floating lightly behind the new visitor reflected the light of the moon, and it took Claris half a minute of staring to discern their strange texture. Feathers. Another one of those fancy gene-enhanced people who had the money, parents, or influence to get it done without resorting to some shady alleyway doc trying to forcibly graft animal parts on people. Though that was an interesting thought. Dozens of tiny bird wings stitched along one's spine.

She took another breath of her cigarette, holding the smoke in her mouth for a moment before blowing it out in a thin stream. Some glowing embers dropped to the ground like spots of orange paint before fading to a dull ash invisible among the dark asphalt. A compelling reminder that all flames, large or small, eventually burn out, like the flames in the hearts of people. Including herself. Years meant nothing in the cosmic sense; no matter how hard they tried to fight death, there was an inevitable end for everyone. Sometimes she wondered how she would die. Would it be at the end of a soldier's -- NSSF or otherwise -- barrel? Shanked in the streets and left to rot? Her influence was meagre, and her less than stellar test results would not be missed. Perhaps the underground artist community, however small they were, would fall apart without her leadership. Maybe not. Her anonymity meant that she would never be famous in the 'bright' world, that she would never be known as the one who sparked rebellion in the hearts of the masses. And maybe it was better that way.

 

The form stopped. Still somewhat cloaked in shadows save for a pair of folded wings, it resembled a punishing angel from ancient mythology; Claris remembered reading descriptions of terrifying winged humanoids descending from the skies, passing judgement on mortals by pursuing them relentlessly or by bringing forth plagues from the earth. Books on the subject of those past religions were forbidden, but she had her ways with forbidden scriptures. And it was silly to be afraid of something based on information only she knew about.

So why was she so nervous all of a sudden?

The winged figure turned around, moonlight momentarily falling on their human face. The young woman wasn't sure what she was expecting to see. Human hybrids were not an uncommon sight, with some people choosing to become a little bit beastly, and they were always engineered to be as aesthetically pleasing as possible. No fur patches of fur in strange places, nor any unsightly scales where one could see them. None of the grotesque she sometimes represented on her murals, of failed products and a mish-mash of parts never meant to be pasted together. Neck to leg. Back to back. Rows of serrated teeth in places where mouths should not exist. It was a mad science. She was mad. They were all mad.

The butt of her cigarette dropped out of her mouth as the flame reached the end. She snubbed it by crushing it with her heel.

"Right as rain we are," said Claris when the stranger asked them if they were okay. She answered with a slightly archaic expression not many people understood unless they were somewhat versed in classical literature.

She leaned against the wall behind her, partly to seem nonchalant, but mostly to steady herself on a firm surface as the herbs took effect and gave her a sense of light-headedness. The wall itself -- when it didn't feel like it was undulating under her -- was like many others: blackened by soot and grime, cold and rough to the touch.

Just like life.

Edited by TehUltimateMage

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"Do you see those, son? Those large, flying behemoths which soar across the skies?"

"Yes, Daddy! What are they?"

"Those are our pride and joy, the greatest creation of the Starlight family line - the Zeppelin - as it stands. Nothing created yet has trumped them, which allow such smooth travel from our city to others."

"You mean you can... leave the town?"

"Why yes! If you were so keen." the older man lifted the young man upon his shoulders. "However, I hope you'll wait a while to leave yet."

"I don't want to leave Apollo! Mommy and Daddy are here." the boy said, wrapping his hands gently around the man's neck.

"I'm glad to hear it... You are, after all, my greatest design, no matter what I build." the old man replied, patting the boy's head while gazing into the distance. "But I'm absolutely sure of one thing.."

"What's that?" the boy asked.

"That you will invent something far better than the Zeppelin, better than anything seen yet. You're going to be a legend, son. I just know it... I just feel it.. Call it a father's intuition."

"I'll try!" Bear responded, gazing up at the sky with renewed fervor. "I'll do it, and then I'll show you what I made!"

"I'll be waiting to see it." Theodore said quietly, his eyes following his son's as the two of them stared at one of the great, flying machines which dotted Apollo's skies...

 

-----

 

Bear took another drink, undaunted, as he gazed about the place. After introducing himself to Kestrel, he had awaited her response - she was busy talking to some other men - so he stood there, slightly awkwardly, as he looked about the room.

The boy from earlier was staring at him. Bear blinked, confused, as he responded with a questioning glance. But then the boy looked away, turning to speak to his... sister? Friend? He didn't know. But they looked slightly similar, so he assumed sibling.

But who was the third girl with them? She was wearing an azure dress, but her face looked familiar....

"Sister?" he whispered, concerned. Of course, Bear was the only boy in his family, and his father's pride and joy as a result, but he had a younger and older sister. Intrigued, he beckoned her over. She gave him a dismissive glance, then returned to ...causing discomfort with both the boy and his sister. Bear snorted.

"Thallea, if you don't stop insulting people..." he began, grunting between clenched teeth.

Unlike himself, who had grown up slightly spoiled on his father's pride, Thallea was the youngest daughter, and a bit more spoiled and rude thanks to his mother's intervention. She despised the lower class areas because she said they "smelled poorly" and was always quite rude to those who even resembled lower class members. She was - thankfully - a special case, as most people of the city were not as rude or discriminatory as her, but it was enough. Even Theodore had once mentioned to Bear that he regretted having allowed Marina - Bartholomew's mother - to spoil her as she pleased.

But normally Marina Starlight was somewhere around to keep an eye on Thallea... Just what had she ended up doing? Worse, now Thallea was making that sister almost take hostile action. Bear actually would have - admittedly - paid to see Thallea earn a backhand for her actions. But, as her older brother.. She took priority. Sighing, he was about to move over there, giving a polite "farewell, Kestrel, for now" to the Captain, but it seemed the boy had the same idea. The pair now seemed infatuated with a younger, new arrival that had just appeared in a purple dress.

Bear stepped with calculated movements past more nobles as he headed back to the table where his sister was sitting, drinking something certainly alcoholic. He could smell it from across the table where he sat down, his hands folded over the other.

She said nothing, unconcerned, as she took another drink, ignoring his appearance.

"Thallea." Bear said once, his face grave.

She waved him away, taking another drink, as though to get drunk enough to blind her eyes of him.

"Thallea..." Bear said again, more firmly.

She placed the glass down roughly and Bear feared it would break. She was obviously slightly tipsy, though still conscious. She placed a hand on the table to steady herself, sighing.

"You're not old enough to drink yet, sister. The legal age is 20-"

"Don't you dare start waggling a finger at me,... Gods. I'm just trying to have a bit of fun at a dance. Don't get so damn high-and-mighty."

"What did you say to those two?" Bear pointed in the direction where he'd last seen the boy and his sister heading.

"Nothing that wasn't true." she giggled. "They were gawking at you like peasants seeing a king for the first time. It was positively entertaining, top notch. Especially that sister. She has absolutely no tolerance for a bit of sass. She was fun."

"Father would be-"

"Father isn't here!" she placed both hands on the table. "And Mother's walked off to go spend time with her 'good ****ing friends' that are more important than me.. She just WALKED off while I was sitting here talking to her and gave me a little pat on the shoulder. And then she has the NERVE to tell the son of one of those men that it's okay to come over and basically grope me! Do you see what happened to my dress? That was him!"

"Woah, woah, Thallea..." Bear held up both hands in surrender. "I'm not saying anything like that. I'm sorry. I didn't know.."

"And NOW you're sorry. You're so easy to push over, Bear." Thallea took another drink, grinning.

Bear stared at her for a moment, frowning.

"Was that.. all a lie?"

"Not about the friends Mother has. She walked off a few moments ago, before Sister Mister and his Stupid Sibling arrived and sat down. Hey, you may actually have a chance with the sister! She looked like she may have bedded you at any-"

"THALLEA." Bear slammed both hands on the table. Nobles nearby stared in surprise, going silent. The massive form of Bear was intimidating now, the spider on his shoulder clicking and clacking as though to try and calm him down.

His sister gazed at him, bored, and uninterested. She spat, turning away.

"Perhaps you would have preferred the BOY then?" she asked, to spite him.

Bear reached over the table, grabbing his sister by the collar and yanking her easily over it so that she was forced to sit in the chair by him. He then grabbed her chin, forcing her to face him.

"You are drunk. You are being rude. You are making a joke of the family line. You are hurting the feelings of the people around you."

"AND?" Thallea tried to wriggle free of his grasp, actually unnerved by his actions.

"I am sick and tired of watching you act this way around people when your actions reflect not just on yourself, but on the Starlight name. If you were just another woman, I would leave it alone, but you're my own damn sister, and I can no longer stand by and let you do as you will. We're leaving."

"LEAVING?" Thallea laughed. "So that's it! I'm an excuse for you to leave! That's all I am!"

"No. YOU'RE leaving, and I'm making sure of it."

"Why is she leaving?"

Bear turned backward, knowing who he would see.

It has long been a subject of speculation just how the young, dainty Marina ever managed to survive a night with the large, beastly Theodore. But she had done it apparently three times, and from her had come three children over the course of six years. She was shorter than her own daughters, their height coming from their father. She had long, brown hair, tied up in two braids that went down her backside. A dress - almost as beautiful as Bear's own overcoat - was clasped about her shoulder. Her hands were on her hips, her face irritated. But the most important thing was that she was only 5'3", her own son dwarfing her, but she stared him down all the same.

"Mother, I-" Bear began, but she silenced him with a glance, grabbing his arm and pulling it away from Thallea as gently as a mother can.

"Alright, I can see that this has gotten out of hand. You scared off quite a few people, my Bear." Marina said, hand on her head, exasperated.

"Mother!" Thallea said, tears in her eyes. "I thought you left me behind! I had to deal with this awful pair of people, and now Bear is hurting me-"

"Silence, daughter." Marina frowned. "I'm not that foolish. I left to get food, and that's all. But in the five minutes I was gone, you somehow managed to rile up Bear and a few others, AGAIN. How many times have I told you to keep that sharp tongue of yours within your mouth?"

"But Motheeeeerrr...." Thallea whined. Marina ignored her.

"Bear dear." Marina said, smiling.

"....Yes.. Mother?" Bear was obviously afraid.

"You cracked the table with your outburst."

"I'm sorry."

"You scared quite a few people away."

"That was my bad."

"Your collar is undone."

"I'll fix it."

"My goodness, your hair has become a mess, hasn't it?"

"Has it?"

"You didn't change shoes, did you?"

"Oh. Did I forget?"

"But at least your suit looks divine. The Alfreds did a very nice job."

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew. I was the one who told your father to put in the order, after all."

"I should have assumed."

"Have you talked to any women tonight?"

"MOTHER."

"That's a no, then."

"I TRIED TO TALK TO ONE,... and then I noticed Thallea."

"You can't marry Thallea, Bear."

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT."

"She is pretty though."

"THALLEA?"

"You don't agree?"

"Yes but.. Mother this isn't ..."

"Ah. Right." Marina adjusted her dress slightly, sighing. She took a deep breath.

"You two need to apologize to each other, and then... IF you can act civil... you may stay here."

"But MOTHER..." Thallea protested. Marina slapped her lightly.

"Can you do that?" she asked, cocking her head.

"....Fine." Thallea pouted, frowning. Marina turned to Bartholomew, who nodded.

"Good. Then it's settled." Marina smiled. "Bear, you can go about your business. I'll keep on eye on Thallea. If you need anything, we'll be over here."

Thallea's mouth was agape as Bear bowed to his mother and then turned, walking away, his large form almost making the nobles pass like a sea as he headed to...

Wait, where did he want to go now? Another sea of people had formed around Kestrel, and it was almost time for the next round of dances. She'd probably get asked. He sighed...

He was moving haphazardly, walking along the linoleum floor with his spider leaping from shoulder to shoulder. He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the boy and the sister from earlier. Scratching the back of his head, he decided on what he would do.

He approached them, sort of sheepishly, coming to a stop behind the sister, seeing as the boy was talking to someone.

"Uh... yes... can I have a moment?" he asked, hoping she'd hear him. "It's about my sister's actions.. I'd like you to know I'm - WE'RE - very sorry..."

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Antoinette was overwhelmed with people ogling over her dress, and she had at first thought people were making fun of her. Several people had approached her, as apparently it was custom to discuss fashion choices.

 

"Could you twirl?" A a burgundy dressed woman had asked. Antoinette looked sheepish and hid behind her curls for a moment, and twirled surprisingly well for a commoner. There were comments and murmurs about its movement. A couple of women made small talk, and then as the crowd grew another question arose.

 

"If you don't mind, darling, how the underpinnings go together if you said you had no help?" A snootier, older lady asked. She simply lifted to her knees, and showed how the ribbons could be self tied from above. "How quaint for someone who can afford no help. Now everyone can have accessible fashions." Someone else commented. More people were attracted to the group like moths to darkness.

 

"How was it made to look gradated? From light purple to darker purple I mean?" Another asked. Antoinette suddenly was shy. "Machine oriented color and saturation affection calculations. I own a device that uses lens refractin and set data points to assign a numerical value to the hue and brightness... I am not the most adept at matching colors." She admitted. A few people were shocked, and her rich and noble status was confirmed. Several people were coming in to see her now. Antoinette fixed her hair once more, and as her arm was up a young man ran into her.

 

"Oh! Uh…! Sorry!" The young man immediately took a step back, a blush of embarrassment heating up his face. His hand had grabbed her bare arm to stop her from falling, and she very much appreciated it. A younger girl stepped out from behind him. "I'm so sorry, my big bro's so clumsy!" She followed the apology with a nervous laugh. "I-I…!" The daffodil colored girl hid her face in her hands, too self-concious to look this girl in the eye. Seeing that she couldn't get her words out, her brother helped her out, sacrificing his own dignity for her sake. Antoinette was not only impressed, but also a little hopeful. Maybe he had fought through the crowd because he had recognized his bride. His clothes, though obviously couldn't contain him were withered and still handsome, reminding her of her mother's dresses. His tanned face gave him away as a worker. "What my lil' sis wants to say is that, she loves your dress, miss." Antoinette's face blushed, and he looked into her eyes and made her heart flutter a bit. He wasn't the first to do so, but she especially was appreciative of this one. "Well thank you." She flashed a million-solar smile to the girl. "I love yours. And your brother isn't half bad either." She said coyly. At this point she felt like the whole world was looking at her.

 

A very extravagantly dressed man approached them, sort of sheepishly, coming to a stop behind the sister, seeing as the boy was talking to someone. "Uh... yes... can I have a moment?" he asked, hoping she'd hear him. "It's about my sister's actions.. I'd like you to know I'm - WE'RE - very sorry..." Antoinette tuned them out and let them go about their buisness. And finally someone asked the question.

 

"Who is the designer? I have never seen a dress like this." She grew nervous, and paled. For the first time she had hope of blending in with nobles, and now she was to be found out if she said she had made it. But she could not lie to them. Besides, she knew no designers. She was quiet and people had started to smirk at her reaction. Not out of meanness, but of knowing the emotion she had.

 

"It... it's... machine made." She stammered out. There was a ripple across the crowd, as some laughed and some were just confused. "What do you mean?" A man asked, and if she had known the Council of Inventors she would have recognized him. "Machines don't have a mind of their own. Someone has to tell it what to do." He smiled at her. She blushed once more.

 

"Well, as I said before, I have a lens refraction machine that can shine natural sunlight onto the device and using lenses determine saturation, hue, color, undertones... and to an extent material from refraction, as well as another that can take my programmed measurements and use area, derivatives, and spatial configurations to make wire and fabric pinnings. From there it can blind stitch from the measurements of the materials provided into an automated pattern, for example drapings here, up and down the length of the skirt. The sleeves were the only thing it had left, and once the corset was prepared it was simply sown in as well." She would tell from the crowd most of them didn't understand what she was saying, and grew nervous because of it. "The only thing I did was provide material, and fill it with thread. And the corset came from another dress, the pink ribbons and the bustle was all self tied and all I did was let the machin-"

 

"How did you obtain this technology?" Another member of the Council of Inventors asked, but this time was an older one, and had a glimmer in his eye. This was more revolutionary in the industrial field than anything noticed before, and out of the mouth of a girl he had never met. Antoinette paled, as she noticed his near predatory look.

 

"I... I-I..." She stammered. Now was not the time to lie either.What she said next caused both the inventors to look not only amazed, but like they had just found a million solars lying on the ground.

 

"...I made it."

Edited by lycrawaterz14

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Sol -- Sheila

 

In that short moment she was torn between the strange purple dress and the starry suit. On one side of her there was the marvellous and awe-strikingly pretty dress the girl over there wore, its color gradations amazing everyone near her, including Sheila herself. She heard snippets of conversation going on between the nobles fawning over her as well. Where did it come from? they would ask. Who made it? How was it possible? Again and again, she was humble with her words, and whenever she tried to explain how she did it, it made Sheila's head spin. Lens refraction…? Data points…? The quizzical look on her face told most people that she was lost in the explanations, and wouldn't have minded a simpler explanation. Perhaps she would ask her for an explanation in easier terms once there were less people, and once her big bro managed to get close to her the matter would be as simple as sewing on a lost button. She could wait.

Startled by the call for her attention, Shelia turned around briskly and to her surprise, she saw Sir Bartholomew Starlight, the greatest living inventor in Apollo, looking a bit awkward and manytimes apologetic, but no less awe-striking in his impeccable garments. Shawn might have done anything to be standing where she was now, and the crazy part was the fact that she would not have let him take her place. He and his clothing were simply astounding up close. Now she could see and appreciate how the dark blue -- nearly black -- fabric seemed to shine on its own when aided with the reflective qualities of the white beads painstakingly sewn onto his ensemble. She kept her hands on her face, flustered. The entire garment was trimmed with embroidery of golden thread, echoing the medallion hanging from his breast and rendering another dimension to an otherwise traditional cut. He must've asked for something not very fancy, the humble man, and whoever made the suit definitely had the intention of surprising him.

And there was the strange mechanical device with many brass legs which flew from shoulder to shoulder. Perhaps the girl in the purple gown, with her talk of lenses and machines and calculations, might have more interest in the odd bundle of gears Sir Starlight had on his person. Shawn might have fawned over it, and heck, even Randall might have made an amazed fuss over it (though she would have to see in a few minutes if that would be the case). She herself found small machinery -- and machinery in general -- sort of out of her league.

But since Sir Bartholomew now personality arrived to greet her, ushering an apology that seemed to come from nowhere in particular, she had no choice but to face him out of politeness rather than gawking at his suit for an eternity. The tall man easily towered over her and had shoulders that were nearly twice as wide as hers. She had to look up to talk to him, and she felt that she could only meet him in the eye if she stood on a chair.

"What sister?" Sheila asked, puzzled for a moment. She had talked to many women during the ball, some of them complimenting her rather expensive dress (which was probably only middle-range in pricing for many of the inhabitants of Apollo), others sneering at the way she carried herself or the way she spoke -- more because she acted like a child bouncing around in a candy store rather than them directly attacking her status. And she didn't mind be called immature -- some people liked that kind of trait in girls. It made her seem cute.

Come to think of it, the only woman who had wronged her (and there were several men using this occasion to be less than gentlemanly with girls). It was the girl who still sat at their table, now looking rather displeased but was still making faces at her from a distance in a vile attempt to rile her up. It was one thing to attack one's behaviour, but another to attack one's origins. "That's your sister?" Sheila managed to stammer to Sir Starlight, her expression first astonished, then deadpan with a slight frown on her lips. That woman in the blue dress…! That good for nothing noble trash who thought she was above everyone else, was related to this man? Sheila would have thought that she would have taken the opportunity early to her family relations all over their faces. Why didn't she?

And what was she supposed to say to this man who probably dealt with the spot of measles on a daily basis? 'Sorry that you're related to a foul-mouthed wench?' That didn't sound appropriate for the occasion. Neither did 'Sorry I was about to backhand that beslubbering foot-licker?' If she didn't have the power to forcibly remove them from the banquet, she would have readily flung even nastier gibes about her hideous face, unpleasant disposition, or sexual promiscuity. She sure hoped that the inventor did not inherit her nasty nature.

"Apology accepted, Sir Bartholomew!" she finally decided to say, a little louder than she wanted. She looked at him straight on. "Though really I -- we, me and my brother -- should be apologizing to you for causing you trouble!"

 

~~

 

Sol -- Randall

 

Randall didn't quite understand what the girl was talking about either, but he got the part where the dress was spun out by machine. How amazing! It might as well had been magic that produced it, rather than thin and delicate metal limbs and gears. She must have been some top notch inventor who used her fancy gadgets for everthing: from creating and fixing her garments, to sweeping the house, and to heating food to the perfect temperature for consumption. The people of Apollo had such great minds among them, and had machines to do everything! One day the inventing bug might spread to his small town, and the crops of his fields would be harvested by metal horses or some other similarly absurd idea. He hoped it would be long time before that would happen -- while machines were effective, from what he had seen in the past in this city, they had no match for the heart, soul, and love poured into work created by human hands.

At least, that was what he thought until he saw the brilliant stitchwork of this young woman. The young lady seemed too flustered by all these compliments; the red that colored her cheeks seemed much more than just makeup. Even if one ignored the gown and her astounding genius, Randal thought she was beautiful, with her bronzed curls falling around her face and bare shoulders.

A few others were exclusively interested in her abilities, though. Some men came over, the lead one in a suit striped minutely with brown, with whitening hair covered by a cap and a monocle on one eye, came to inquire on her invention. It might have been his imagination, but he felt they were up to no good.

He stood between the older man and the young lady, arms extended to shield her from the questioning. "Pardon me interrupting, sir, but can't you see the missus is a little uncomfortable with your prying?"

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((

))

 

Bear was absolutely pleased that Sheila accepted his apology so readily. He had half-expected her to speak ill of his sister, and would not have bared animosity against her for it. After all, his sister sort of deserved the ridicule after her actions.

Now his attention was on the girl in front of him, with the purple dress. Arthur and Denmark were currently trying to get her attention and an explanation of her invention. At the words that she had "Made it herself", Bartholomew looked at her with a newfound fascination. He began to walk over to her, to get the Council to move aside, when a voice broke through the crowd nearby.

"That's enough of that. My goodness!"

Soon, the familiar, wizened, old face of Theodore Starlight came bursting between two nobles, waving his hands exasperatedly. He pushed away a few of the Inventors and wiped his hands on his suit. It appeared he had had a bit of wine spilt on him, but not enough to change the look of his attire.

"Father, what happened to you, and what are you doing here?" Bear asked, drawing his handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his father's suit. His father sighed, adjusting his glasses slightly.

"I came to see if you were ACTUALLY here... and to dance with your mother, I suppose." he blushed slightly, checking his watch and ignoring Bear's other question. "After all, I haven't had the chance to attend one of these things in Apollo knows how many years. My, my, they really went the extra mile for this, did they not? Quite the extravagant event! Marvelous."

He bowed before the people gathered there slightly - as Bear made it difficult, since he was still drying his father's coat off - and smiled whimsically.

"Can we not ask the poor girl about this or that invention when we're supposed to be enjoying ourselves here? Please. Let her patent it or bring it to light when she desires." he said, patting her shoulder lightly so as to not offend. "I apologize for the actions of my fellow Council members, young lady. But it was quite intriguing, to say the least. However, I am sure you are here to dance, and nothing more.."

Suddenly, an idea seemed to hit him. He gave Bear a small glance, and a small smile crept along his lips.

Bear did not like where this was going. The Spider gave him a look, confused.

"Why.. milady, if it would not insult you to do so..."

Bear stood silently as he knew exactly what was about to happen.

"Then would you do my son and myself the honor of having a dance with him?" Theodore bowed again, grinning.

"Father,..." Bear began, ashamed. But then thought against it. Sighing, he shrugged, adjusting his coat. A few of the women in earshot seemed extremely interested now in what he was doing. His face felt very hot now, and he couldn't help it.

"M-milady.." Bear coughed, knowing this would be the best course of action (and MIGHT get his father off his case for a few weeks!), and then bowed. "If... if it would please you, I would be more than happy to accompany you. I have not danced in a while.. however, so I hope I do not offend.."

He did not raise his head as of yet. He hadn't asked any woman for a dance in his life, besides his sisters and mother when the situation called for it. But interactions with the opposite sex beyond that were just fixing things for them or giving them a slight smile when they passed by. In fact, he sort of hated the attention. He knew it was rude to hate it, and he should accept it, but so many people seemed to only like him for his name.

"Ah!" the thought hit him, and he stood to his full height, almost at attention. "I am terribly sorry. Where are my m-manners... Uh... My.. my name is St-... Bartholomew Starlight.. But.. but you can call me Bear, please..."

He was fumbling now. Normally, when it came to inventions and building, he was confident, well-spoken. But here,... his mind was a mess. A few of the women and men nearby laughed quietly. Were they laughing at him? Apollo, he hoped not.

The Spider on his shoulder calmed him slightly. This was still a reality in which he did have some merit.

"So what may I call you, besides beautiful?" Bear said confidently, smoothly.

Theodore seemed slightly impressed, waving a farewell as he disappeared back into the crowd to find Thallea and Marina.

Edited by Thaelasan

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"Antoinette." She said simply. Surely he wouldn't mention her lack of last name. She took his hand and began to walk through the crowd to where most people were dancing. He wasn't half bad, but of course he was a spoiled rotten noble just from his clothes and his father hand-picking dance partners. She quickly chided herself for being judgmental to the man. Aunt would have her hide if she knew how she was behaving to this nice man whose last name was Starlight. Then again, if she was to be married Aunt would probably not care too much at all if she was being distant with men. She kept her eye on the spider that occasionally moved, watching how the gears intertwined on the compact thing. The gears were much too specialized for her to even attempt to copy, much less try to obtain. It was simply designed for that device only.

 

"You said your name was Bear, yes?" She turned to him once they had reached the dancing area. He still looked nervous, and she felt guilty. "I feel compelled to tell you, now that we are away from your father that clearly wants you to associate with me, I'm engaged. Well... kind of. My Aunt said she had arranged it. I know not to whom though. Not that that's bad, surely I have run into them at some point. I know its obviously not someone of your status, but-... Not that I meant anything by that! It's just that I'm not... of your standing. You know, not a noble. Not too good for you! I mean... ugh I just keep messing this up." Her face was bright red.

 

"I'm from Solies Grove." She admitted in a near whisper. It was the exiled area, where many of the descendants of criminals went to make better lives. No one judged them for their status, and in fact they were applauded for trying to make better lives for themselves instead of following their ancestor's paths. It was just a poor area, and no noble would ever me there on a normal circumstance. And an inventress would be unheard of. It was a grove, an agricultural area. No machines unless it was communal.

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Bear actually felt crestfallen at hearing the word "Engaged."

For once, a woman who understood his inventions - from how she seemed to gaze with curiosity at the little device on his shoulder - and .. of course, she was out of his reach. Taken. Grasped from him and held in the hands of another.

Ah well. It was only his luck, after all. He could not fault her for it. She probably had had no say in it.

"Well, to be honest, I'm only dancing with you to calm my father's intentions, for a time." he admitted. "So let us both simply enjoy an innocent, little dance together before you are finally to be married off. I care not for your status.. but I do care about how well you can dance."

His smile was sincere as he bowed at her to begin the dance. Of course, he had to hope the man who was engaged to her would treat her properly. He had not known this woman for long, nor did he believe he would know her for much longer. But, for some reason, he felt as though he should hope for her best wishes.

After all, a mind such as hers should be cared for, not suffocated. After all, she seemed like a genius in her mentality.

He wondered... for a moment.. if he could convince the fiancee to cut the engagement...

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"Afraid I'm going to disappoint you in that too as well." she smiled a bit. She watched the little automaton on his shoulder, waiting for it to move again.

 

"Did you use an alternating bipedal system to control the movement of multiple legs? Or is each limb independent?" She asked, straight faced. She assumed the man had created it judging from his pride in making it enough to bring it to a dance. Speaking of the dance, she was performing horribly. Her feet weren't very good at copying the other women, and she had come very close to stepping on him several times.

 

There was a move where she was to be spun around, and him move clockwise to accommodate it. It moved once more to adjust for the movement in the dance and she smirked. "Alternating bipedal. Clever. Probably helps with independent spacial observation as well, and keeps it balancing on the curves instead of flat surfaces alone. The extra pressure sensors on the 'ankle' of the leg probably helps. Independent limbs couldn't do that, the calculations would be off since it has a suspended body and the joint pressures would cause it to fall apart." She then promptly stepped on his foot, and she winced. "Sorry." she mumbled, and then continued.

 

"Have you thought about instead of making two sets of four attached to the abdomen adding four sets of two and add another internal joint? It should add more lift, almost making it like the jumping spiders I've seen out in the trees. Plus if it's steam powered you should add a pressurized piston, and you could probably get about 250 psi on each of the joints if you did that. It would fly much higher." She nodded simply, then looked at his face.

 

Her face turned red. "I'm rambling about again. Sorry. I'm not acting like a lady."

Edited by lycrawaterz14

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((

 

Bartholomew immediately swung her around, absolutely enthralled now. Though her dancing left something to be desired, her genius did not. Had his father anticipated this? He finished the first routine, the music slowing to allow people to swap partners.

On the sidelines, a few women waved at him, hopeful. But he paid them no heed. Instead, he stopped for a moment, slightly tired, and held her close.

"The legs move independently, on the front and back. It's the MIDDLE ones which alternate, in order to keep balance. But you were correct about the rest..." he commented, pleased. "As for the idea for a jumping version... Well, one, which could jump higher than Sprocket here, ...I'd love to see that in practice."

He was positively infatuated now. This woman, who had devised the manner of how his contraption worked, who had danced with him though she was engaged, and who seemed slightly rebellious despite her appearances, had captivated him. Whoever had her hand betrothed to them.. He envied them. In fact, he hated them. For once, he coveted something beyond his grasp, something forsaken to him, and it was a woman - of all things! - not a gadget or an invention.

Never before had he met such a free-willed woman so interested in engineering and technology. Not even his sisters shared his infatuation for construction and creation. They had long simply sat idly by, waiting to be married, unwilling to touch things which would "dirty their hands." He had been taught by his father, his father's pride and joy due to his interest in schematics and blueprints.

"In fact... I shall make you a deal..." Bartholomew said wryly. "You have yet to meet this fiancee of yours, but you have met me.. Should we part ways here, I will never bother you again... Unless you will it... But.."

He took her hand in his.

"Should you desire to leave with me here, tonight, and come to my workshop.. I will be more than happy to explain the things you have asked of me, listen to your ideas.. and should your fiancee grow irate, or your family be displeased, I will use whatever resources I have available to make you mine. For I must."

He was confident now, the women standing nearby absolutely appalled.

"No other woman of Sol has spoken to me in such a manner, or been so curious as to what I have constructed.. You are more than a simple woman. You are above that. And I shudder to think that you could fall into the hands of another man who would not respect that as much as I.."

He sighed for a moment.

"But.. but... should he be of my ilk, and be a man who would appreciate that mind of yours, then I would be completely willing to see you off myself... You have my word." he swore, releasing her hand. "But please, consider my proposal.."

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She was watching the automaton move as he explained it, and she had more questions than answers, but as she tried to word them he had already moved on. Her heart lept of the idea of a workshop, though she didn't know of the versatility of the pieces within. He obviously had so much money he could tinker away all day without any care of his land or how he was to eat, his mind was occupied with other more valuable processes. He quickly said something that made her take a step back. No one had ever persued her, as her family had often had to ask the boys from farms over because she was the odd one. No one wanted a wife that locked herself up in her room and toiled away with copper and oil, but instead wanted one for companionship and children. Her eyes grew wide in mixed fear and unfamiliarity, and she was quiet for a few moments.

 

If she said yes, at worst she would be married to someone who barely knew her aside from her ramblings. She risked being only used as a source, and then his money and power only being furthered. A benefit would be unaltered access to money, supplies, and someone as interested in the mundane as her. How would her family take it? They would be sick with worry if she didn't return home. They had paid a lot of money for a carriage to bring her back. And what would they think of her running off with a man she had merely had a dance with? Of course as soon as money was mentioned they would understand. Her Aunt would be happy to marry her into money again, but her father wanted her close. If she said no she risked jilting this man into something, though she knew him not. That was another thing! For all she knew he could be ready to charm her and her turn out to not be enchanted by him at all.

 

She dipped her head in a mini bow. "Sir, I mean you no ill will, but if you would kindly, another time would be best to get me back into sorts. One ball attended and one dance under my belt is hardly enough to be one of nobility. Your workshop will remain until morning, yes? If you would let me speak to my family and try to meet with my engaged to discuss things I would much more be willing to make such standings in a deal. I could find a way to meet you, and you to me. If the deal stands until morning, I would be honored," she said quietly. "Until then, presence as a collegue would be much appreciated."

Edited by lycrawaterz14

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Of course. Of course! How could he have been so impulsive as to make such an assumption?

"I apologize. I am not used to... feelings such as these." he admitted. "Yes.. Yes it will be there tomorrow. And the deal shall always stand. But I fear of your betrothed whisking you away, to another land, where I would never see you again."

He nodded understandingly at her words. She was a woman from the outskirts. Soleil, she had said. Yes, he knew well of the place. His sister - Lani's - husband had come from around those parts of the outskirts of Apollo. Of course, the reputation of the place was tarnished by its history, but like a rusted coin, it had flipped to show a different side.

To think, such a young, intelligent woman could have come from such a place... He sighed.

"Presence as a colleague?" he asked, confused. Did she mean... meeting her fiancee? Meeting the man who was fully in his right to steal her away?

He did ask himself - for a good moment - why he was so absolutely enthralled by this young woman as to throw away all regard for ethics and codes and simply leave into the night with her? It was because, for once, something was on a girl's mind other than rumors and gossip. He could practically see the golden gears of her mind turning, scrutinizing the world and trying to discern its intricacies. It was familiar to him, for it was the same mindset he and his father shared. And it was the most beautiful part of her, her appearance notwithstanding.

"Why.. yes.. I would be more than happy to accompany you... But I feel that I should not intrude. My presence could cause a stir, if the man knew who I was, and he may become jealous - though I am far more jealous of he. No. I shall stay behind.. perhaps dance a few more times... But none of them will have the beauty that ours had... No, I think I shall sit back down with my family until you may call for me. And, if this night ends, and we do not speak again..."

He handed her a small letter - a business card, it seemed - and smiled.

"This holds my address... the address of my workshop. The doors are always open, especially for you. So whether or not this engagement is pleasurable to you.. or if you simply wish to talk, do not hesitate to visit me."

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Her smaller hands folded over the card, and she smiled a bit. She dipped her head once more, her face continued to burn red as she looked to the ground and put a curl back into place behind her ear. "That is very generous of you. Thank you, sincerely."

 

At this point another dance was about to begin, and other women that were not as plain faced as she wished to dance with him. She moved out of the way as one approached, and gave him a small wave. Now to find who she was betrothed to? Surely he would be looking for her, as of now. Or worse, what if he had seen her and decided against it? What if she had done something wrong? Her mind raced of worse case scenarios, wondering who it was. Oh if only he had left a card so she could find him!

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(( Operation: Necromancer is a go! ))

 

"You'd be damn near stupid to try and stun - or worse, murder me - in the middle of a bar like that. Though Hallea isn't truly on good terms with me, she'd more than likely kill you for causing a commotion in her home." Raven retorted bluntly, knowing that his drunken state was more prone to mistakes, but could still definitely handle itself during a fight. His mind was hazy, but he was already well-experienced in the art of being useful under the effect of alcohol, so he could, in fact, do much more than the younger man was thinking he could. However, he gave the younger man a soft nod soon afterward, after thinking through what the gesture entailed.

"Still, the fact you did not try it earns you some favor." He continued, quietly mulling over something as he stared at the man opposite of him. His hand rose to his lips, placed the cigar once again between them and then took a quick puff from the burning plant. Anther soft cough resonated from the older man as he cleared his lungs from the smoke, but soon repeated his own action a couple more times before finally letting his arm drop back down to his side.

The reaction of the youngster's body to the cigarette made Valerian slightly narrow his eyes. At first, it had been only a bother. However, slowly, it irked him. His new persona was supposed to not be a problem for others, and now he was troubling him, even if indirectly and unwillingly. His eyebrows twitched as he softly cursed under his breath. He sighed loudly, as if in protest, then promptly moved the hand holding the cigarette and drove the roll of paper into the wall, crushing it against the rough stone surface and extinguishing it in one go. The ash ran down between his fingers, then fell onto the ground as a rain of dark. He was higher class, which meant that he had probably never felt true tobacco smoke. After all, up there, one could only smoke using 'pricy', highly altered, electronic knock-offs and at special, gas-clearing establishments that would run the air from within through a seperate filter and would only then feed it to the central supply.

Narcotics were strictly forbbiden in the elite districts, so the quality of breathable air was kept at a moderately high level. The same couldn't be said for the slums, though. With countless factories made here so as to not bother the 'better' citizens that would spew out tons of vile fumes into the air, half the population was a victim of respiratory diseases - even 'natural' carbon poisoning, were one to live close enough to an exhaust port. Those that smoked, took drugs, drank or simply worked near something dirty were off even worse than the other residents of the underground. He was one of them... but he hadn't really found a reason to live, so he only kept his health at an average level. Anything lower, and he would be bothered during missions, which would prove bad or even fatal. Anything higher... and he'd think it a waste of time.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Raven turned to observe Garas. His eyes followed the boy's hand as it went to his neck, then drew out a peculiar trinket from under his shirt. The older man threw a look at the necklace he'd noticed earlier, which had now been released from its confinement under the boy's shirt. That was the start of it all, really. This was what had caught his attention and had made him wonder. It was quite ornate and certainly befitted one with a higher standart of life, such as this NSSF outcast.

However, the man's eyes widened at the mention of his mother's name. He almost dug his eyes into the trinket as Garas held it up and allowed him to spot the tiny engravings. Slowly, he backed away, confusion spread across his expression.

"...bull****." Valerian said, obviously unnerved by something. It did truly say "M.B" and "G.B", and there was the special message right under the abbreviations, but... That was not his necklace. That was not his mother's necklace. This guy was a liar... or... was he?

Somehow, this stranger was causing him to doubt himself. In a world where everyone was a possible source of issues, he could only trust himself. However, now... even his own self felt like it was against him.

The conflict of emotions within the older man sent his strong headache into overdrive, causing him to bend his head down and groan in pain. He clutched his head with both hands, attempting to calm the raging storm of pain. He struggled to make sense of things, but his concious wouldn't allow something like this now. The denial that was occuring in his brain was about to send him into a breakdown. What resurfaced first, however... was pure anger.

"Garas... you higher class always treat eachother like that. Soldiers are only numbers for one another. Citizens are often referred to by the codename given to them by the system, too!" Raven spat out as he lifted his head up, a vile feeling becoming evident in his voice. It wasn't right, for him to burst out on the boy like this... but it was this, or a mental breakdown.

"If I wanted to know your damn number, I could just throw a look at the badge on your uniform - like I did when we first met." He continued, the irritation surfacing at random. He moved forward and jabbed his finger into the boy's chest with each next sentence, the weight of his words sinking in even farther becaues of the physical gesture.

"You're not a damn numerical, you hear me? I'd rather die than let myself be named a stupid code!" The man finished his outburst, then silently pulled back and leaned on the wall once again. He balled his hand into a fist and struggled to keep calm, his nerves still on edge... then, finally, he turned around and threw a random punch at the wall. Pain resonated through his arm as the impact caused some dust to crumble off the wall and drop silently to the ground. Relieved, the man turned back to face the other person in the alley.

After a moment of silence, he gestured with his other hand and let Garas continue. His brain still felt as if it was being shredded within his head, but he bit back the pain and continued to listen to the boy. At the moment he turned to speak about the necklace, his entire visage changed. From embarassment and uncertain bravery, he now seemed... sorrowful, depressed and outright sad.

Somehow... Raven couldn't help but feel empathetic. Though his reason to follow a completely unknown man was, well, unnatural, the older man could understand it.

The lower levels were just like the upper, especially in one aspect - trust.

No matter where you were, you would always have trouble trusting people. Lower districts were often filled with troublemakers, ready to make a shady deal with someone, lead him to a darker fate or simply murder him with the intent of profit or simple joy. Higher districts were full of high-placed, pompous people that would often not associate themselves with anyone of 'lower life'. Of course, one could find a comrade or two up there, as it wasn't a man-eat-man world, but the chance of betrayal often hung in the air. Your elaborate plan to overthrow someone or steal something could easily crumble because of the words of a man you trusted. It came as no suprise that Garas clinged to anyone that showed him even a hint of warmth.

Quietly, the man listened to the words, having left his thoughts moments ago. The words that he used to describe what he felt everytime he gazed at the trinket sent a chill down Raven's spine and momentarily subsided his boiling blood and his pounding headache. He observed the man as he finished his words and slid down the wall, the last words coming from him being only a barely audible whisper...

 

"...Don't be stupid. We have a lot to talk about..." Valerian suddenly replied, destroying the serenity that had washed over them.

At first... it hadn't really made sense. His mother was Mirrah Barold, and Raven's was Mirrah Remington. A coincidence in first names, yes, but nothing one could take very far. Plus, the latter had lost his mother, where the former was together with her until he split off and joined the NSSF. Considering the fact that he was the bigger one, Raven concluded that his dead mother couldn't also take care of another child, since, well, she was dead. Even if she could, she would only manage to look after him until he was 10 at most. That meant that the other boy would be left to fend for itself far earlier than him. And, well, a lone kid living alone could never get into a higher district and join NSSF naturally, on its own.

It was only actually linked together when he had decided to ignore that and had thrown another proper look at the necklace.

A keyhole.

Of course, for every other observer, it was one of the gaps within the intricate design on the surface. After all, its shape was just like the other grooves in the shiny plating.

However... his key was shaped the same way. A slim, S-like head, which was elongated and almost turned into a C. What told him it was different was the slight width in the center, made so a cylindrical object of small size could fit within and turn freely.

Now he knew... why he had been in denial. The anger that had coursed through him moments ago was clear proof of that. He denied the 'fact' that his mother had watched over another boy, just like him. He denied the 'fact' that she had faked her demise so she could split off from him. He denied the 'fact' that there was another child of Mirrah, which had grown far better than him.

But... after seeing the other side of Garas, and remembering his mother's words when she had first given him the blue trinket... Valerian found the truth. He gazed down at his own gift as it barely appeared from the end of his shirt, dangling around and shining with a light azure color. It was...

The key to another life.

The key to another boy.

The key to the other side of the coin.

"...brother." The man suddenly finished, his voice barely audible, but went completely silent shortly afterward as he noticed a noise coming from the entrance to the alleyway. He pushed himself off the wall, seemingly unnerved by the sudden commotion. His gaze shifted toward the left rapidly, trying to make sure nobody had been spying on them.

Sure enough, a familiar shape emerged from around the corner and came forward. With a wave, a well-known female approached the two. It was Mina, the ex-NSSF agent.

"I'm suprised you guessed correctly that he is higher class than us two. I mean, he isn't even dressed to the occasion. Only thing you could differentiate him from is, say... the lack of grime, the well-made hair, the trademark pistol on his hip - which I'm sure you know very well - and the pure uncertainty in him." Raven shot back at her, their gaze interlocking for a moment as he leaned back on the wall. A light from the street reflected off his eyes as he leaned on the wall, making the azure color of his iris flirt with the deep red hue of hers. Soon, the shine faded away and the man's eyes returned to their concealed, almost black look.

"Yeah, you almost caught me there, with that second part..." Valerian replied to her second statement, his lips turning into a soft smirk to indicate he was also joking. Of course, he knew that she wouldn't really go for either of them. Still, she was good company during drinking... but, right now, the man was not only well intoxicated, but he also had a special dialogue to make. So, slowly, he pushed himself off the wall and walked with Mina. The two came to a stop at the corner, and he waited for her to turn to face him. As soon as she did, he grasped her shoulder and gazed into her eyes.

"Look, I've got to talk with the kid. There's something strange afoot... and it's quite personal. Now, I know perfectly well that I just risked a ton by telling you that... but I think being honest with you will lead to bigger chances of you not eavesdropping on us, as opposed to outright lying." The Nevermore spoke to her, his breath bearing an aroma that would certainly be of liking to a fellow alcoholic, but not for another person. Silently, he dropped his hand and let it dig into his pocket, from which he drew a few spare bills. He used both his hands to place them in one of her own.

"Here. Treat yourself to whatever you like, and buy me a couple of drinks. I'll try to keep it short." Valerian said to her, then gave her a short pat on the side of her arm. With a soft nod, he turned around, entrusting his instincts to this act of honesty. Slowly, he returned to the point inside of the alleyway and approached Garas.

"Alright, here goes nothing..." Valerian said as he took a moment to gaze at the end of the alleyway. Once he was sure that Mina was gone, he dropped down next to the boy. Silently, he turned his body toward Garas and extended his arms forward.

"Eh, 'scuse me..." The man spoke out as he grabbed the edge of the chain from around the soldier's neck, then drew it back until the necklace piece came out. Silently, he drew out the heat blade from before and slammed it softly into the wall, causing the heat reaction to start anew.

As soon as the color of the edge turned white, he moved it up to the trinket. Acting quickly, he swung the knife down, seperating the chain link and thus freeing the pear-shaped object shortly afterward.

Taking the weapon away as soon as the process was done so as to not unnerve Garas any further, Valerian placed the piece in his lap and then dug under his own shirt. Drawing out the dark blue key, he cut off the chain and pulled off the trinket.

"Now... here goes nothing..." Raven said as he shut the knife down and then placed it in his heat-worn pouch. Slowly, he grasped both elements with his hands, then moved them toward eachother. Heart pounding, he inserted the key into the special groove... and turned.

A click resonated through the alleyway, piercing through the silence. The panel swung open, servos coming to life to reveal its contents and playing a tiny tune on an intricate piece of machinery.

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((

))

A lone, older woman coughed as she sat at a small, but well-tended, piano. Her fingers moved along the keys with grace that someone of her age normally couldn't attain. Another cough escaped her lips as she almost missed a key. A long, forlorn sigh escaped her lips as she finished the tune, closing the piano with an obvious reluctance.

She sat there for a long moment, leaning upon the wood of the piano, her eyes filled with tears.

A young man behind her stared at her with equal melancholy, his face almost emotionless.

He didn't understand the feeling he felt at that moment. Regret? Anger? Or... simple sadness? Longing?

Nothing really made sense to him as he clutched the pendant in his hand firmly, unable to release it.

"I'm... sorry that I wasn't able... to see your graduation.." the woman muttered, coughing softly. "I... I could barely move over here.. to play.."

"It is fine."

"Did they... did you sign up for the... the NSSF?" the woman asked quietly.

"I did."

"I never... wanted that.. for you... but... It is the only way.. you can go on..." the woman sighed, her face invisible to him, her back facing him.

"I shall be strong, as you taught me."

"That's... that's all I ever wanted.." the woman coughed. "All I ever desired... was for you.. to be happy.."

The two sat in silence for a long while. Finally, the woman turned.

Her face was ragged, and tear-stricken. Bags under her eyes revealed the sleeplessness. A once radiant, youthful face was marred by premature wrinkles. Yet her eyes still held a love for the boy in front of her, who she had raised from infancy.

"I will... die soon, Garas..." the woman said, the words weighing heavily on them both.

"I know this."

"You will have to... Do things yourself.." the woman added.

"..I understand.."

"But make me one promise.. after all this..." the woman said, standing softly to her feet. The boy walked over to help her immediately. Her full weight leaned upon him,.. which admittedly, wasn't much now.

"Yes, mother?" Garas asked.

"Never forget.. the song..." she stated, smiling and pointing to the piano. "Even when I am gone... Don't forget the song.."

 

Perhaps it was the feelings which shrouded his thoughts following her passing, or perhaps it had been repressed by other stimuli.. but the boy had forgotten the song, after his mother's passing.

But.. but now...

 

------

 

Garas stood slowly to his feet, the sounds of the melody echoing through the alley. They were unmistakably played by his mother, recorded when he was younger. Each tone was elegant, loving, warm. It was as if the song itself was a hug from a doting parent, embracing their beloved child and protecting them from the cold and the rain.

A few people outside the alley stopped, confused, as the tones reached their ears. They were played, beautifully, gloriously, with no stop, no reprieve, but without haste or rush. They were... played. And they were brought to life.

Each tone brought to mind visions of a forgotten memory, long hidden within the blanket of consciousness, either repressed or simply allowed to be fleeting. Yet, it recaptured it, almost using some form of net, and bringing it back to the surface. A few people cried slightly, their tears mixing with the rain of the street.

All Garas could do was stand, bewildered and stunned, as the familiar notes of his matron filled him with an irreplaceable warmth and comfort.

He held out his hand. He had tried before to stop the man from taking the pendant from him but hadn't. For some reason, he felt as though this was the right thing. He had been carrying this pendant for so long so that he could give it to this man, who had called him brother.

Garas gently took the pendant back from the man, coveting it more than ever, as he gazed at the image which lay before him.

Two pictures, of two young boys, filled the sides of the pendant. One, a young, naive-looking child gazing at the stars, wearing the outfit of the nearby school at the time. It looked slightly too large for him. His white hair was blowing gently in an unseen breeze.

But the other boy had a colder demeanor, more pragmatic appearing. His hair was not white, and he resembled the other boy only slightly. But the two of them seemed represented equally.

"... That's you.." Garas whispered, after a long moment. Indeed, it was most certainly Raven. His eyes were the same as the picture. The silence was audible, and tangible.

"You're... you're my brother?" Garas cocked his head. It wasn't a bad thought, and if it was true...

He stepped towards the man and immediately embraced him, tears flowing freely from his eyes now.

"I have.. I have a brother...!" Garas said, coughing. "A brother! I have a brother!"

The comment from the woman from earlier didn't phase him, though it touched him slightly. She was apparently ex-NSSF, but now - like him - she was down here in the Lower Class.

Well, if she could manage to survive.. he hoped he could as well. He had no idea of her true intentions. To him, she was just another person living down here.

But her question as to whether he was kicked out still lingered in his mind. But she had been sent away with the money for drinks, not waiting for a response.

Truthfully, now, he would have forgone giving her one. He was too emotionally stressed right now to answer simple queries.

Edited by Thaelasan

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(( I did a necro on this, and gods be damned, I will see it through. I also support lycra's notion. ))

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