Disclaimer: Don't own it.

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Repulsive Lump

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"Eliza, go away. You're obviously not of any help and you're doing a fine job of putting us behind schedule," Mackwell commanded, rubbing his temples for the nth time that day. Not only did the sight of so many repulsive lumps (aptly named by Eliza) make him want to retch, their creator's presence was not doing wonders for his mood.

The blonde alchemist flinched at the gray-haired man's sharp order. "But Master Fayt…" she began weakly, withering under Mackwell's cold gaze. Swallowing her discomfort, she tried again. "Master Fayt said that all of us needed to work together. We're never going to catch Mister Ansala's eye if we just sit here and argue!"

"I'm not arguing with you," Mackwell informed her flatly, crossing his arms and sighing in exasperation. "I'm telling you. I had predicted that we would be finished by lunch, yet here we are, half past noon and nothing new to show for our efforts."

To prove his point, he swept his arm out dramatically. Eliza followed his hand to take in the sight of their chaotic work area. Homunculi fluttered about Lear's head as she held her hands out to them, patting their cherubic heads and quietly laughing to herself while a fire homunculus braided a lock of silver hair that had escaped her purple hood. At Mackwell's feet sat an impressive pile of gemstones—emeralds, diamonds, sapphires among them. He looked at her rather smugly when he saw her big blue eyes widen, for he knew she had seen the rainbow diamond that was nestled comfortably in a bed of rubies near the top of the sparkling mound.

Tearing her eyes away from the multi-colored gemstone, Eliza allowed her gaze to fall to her own feet and noticing that, much to her chagrin, all that was there to greet her was a cloudy grey rock atop a sea of the most repulsive red lumps she had ever conceived. "This air gem is new…" she offered meekly, pointing at the dull rock with her leather boot.

"Yes, but it is hardly what I would call innovative. It's just fancier glass, and just as useless. Continuing in this fashion would be a waste of both time and money," the male alchemist snapped, sliding his chair out from under their table.

"But Fayt…"

"Although I am very appreciative of the rare book I received upon accepting his contract, I am by no means bound to slave away here—especially with a bumbling tyro such as you." He rose to his full height and looked down his nose at the clumsy girl. "Some of us," he began with nearly uncharacteristic acid, "have schedules to keep." He kicked one of the lumps across the workshop as he made an unnecessarily grandiose exit, his two long hair wraps swinging dramatically behind him as he slammed the wooden door.

The scene drew the eyes of Evia and Lias, who were seated in the corner and talking in hushed tones over cider and steamed dumplings. Evia's daughter, a flaxen haired girl named Aqua, was amusing herself with an ornate poppet Stanice had made not too far away. The lump came to rest against her side, but the little girl took no notice of it, as if it was not worth her acknowledgement.

Eliza blushed and muttered an apology, not really sure if the whisper carried across the stone room, the crackling of the fire pounding in her ears in the oppressive silence. She turned away quickly and lowered her head, idly bumping her feet against the pile of lumps on the floor.

Before she had too long to dwell upon her own shortcomings—which she almost never did, as her positive outlook always managed to keep her mind from straying down that path—the screeching of wood on stone broke her contemplation. She looked up as Lear scooted closer, the homunculi moving to orbit them both as the ageless woman closed the gap between them. "Perhaps we should call it a day," the silver-haired woman suggested softly, gently smiling at Eliza. "We were here all morning, and I am feeling rather hungry myself. Aren't you?"

Eliza's stomach answered before she could, a muffled growl reaching her ears just as she opened her mouth. "Err… Yeah. I am."

The homunculi giggled and one was even so bold as to point. The blonde alchemist gave it a tired glare, but there was no real malice behind it. The courageous creature stuck its tongue out and flew to hide behind Lear's hood.

"Forgive her," Lear said, surprising the younger girl with the use of a gender-specific pronoun in reference to the soulless creature. She smiled that mysterious smile of hers. "So like children, they are…"

"Miss Lear? I mean, uh, Misty Lear," Eliza inquired, correcting herself. The woman's eyes looked so far away, lachrymose and deep.

"Lear is just fine, my dear," she said, making Eliza jump at her sudden change in disposition. The seasoned alchemist chuckled at the rhyme. Behind her, a homunculus laughed. "Do not fret over what that young man may think about you," she told the other alchemist, suddenly switching topics.

"Oh, I wasn't!" Eliza chirped, although the memory of the disgust he expressed at her failure was fresh on her mind, waiting to ambush her when she could no longer occupy herself. "Mackwell's just a big ol' meanie," she said decisively, giving Lear a lopsided smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "He just… can't appreciate the aesthetic value of such an underappreciated product!" she claimed, picking one up and holding it to her face, rubbing a flushed cheek against it. "Isn't it cute?" she asked, cringing at the way the rubbery object made her skin crawl with goose bumps.

"If you say so," Lear said, humoring the girl who looked just about ready to cry.

Meanwhile, the homunculi occupied themselves at Eliza's feet, picking up the lumps that nearly dwarfed them and absentmindedly tossing the red blobs around. Lear bent down to pick up the air gem that was left untouched next to the blonde girl's chair. She pressed it between her palms and closed her eyes, light escaping through the openings between her elegant fingers. Moments later, her hands opened like a book and she presented them to Eliza.

"It's gone!" the girl exclaimed, looking almost offended that the older woman would just zap her hard work out of existence, as useless as it might have been.

"No, no," Lear corrected quickly, "It isn't. Hold out your hands."

Although incredulous, Eliza did as she was told, cupping her palms together and holding them forward as she did when her mother would offer her a treat. Lear held her hands over the younger alchemist's and opened them, allowing what she was supposedly holding to fall.

Eliza felt a feather-light weight fall onto her skin. She pressed it between her hands—it was very smooth and it fit perfectly between her palms. Opening her hands, she tried in vain to get a good look at it; however, the diaphanous substance cast no shadow. Still, it was a solid presence against her flesh. "What did you do? Is this a new gem?"

"No, it is still your creation. I merely wore down the edges and flushed out the impurities. It's lovely, isn't it?"

"Lovely?" Eliza asked, frowning. "I can't even see it!"

"Do you really need to?"

"Isn't that how one goes evaluating beauty?" Eliza snapped a little too childishly, not really liking the way in which Lear went about coaxing answers out of people. The Socratic Method, she had once heard Fayt call it. Suddenly, Mackwell's words came back to her. "Well, isn't it? Isn't it how we have to evaluate everything like beauty, power, worth… use!" Her hands clasped around the air gem, and she sandwiched it with all of her might, pretending it was Mackwell's inflated head she was crushing. However, the gossamer stone did not break under the pressure, and instead nestled itself between her palms, making round, rose-colored dents that throbbed with a dull ache.

Lear placed her hand upon Eliza's clasped fists, the gentle touch willing the younger girl stop for a moment. "A stone of air," she began ominously, "rather an oxymoron, don't you think?" the older alchemist quipped, dissipating the solemn atmosphere with which she had started. Though Eliza said nothing, Lear felt the girl's grip relax under her extended hand. "Alchemy is all about opposing forces, a positive and a negative. A thing," she paused and brought her hands up to open Eliza's hands, which were clasped like a prayer around the gem, "…and a no thing."

Eliza looked at her hands, the lines on her palms slightly distorted due to the gem's presence. She knew Lear was implying something profound, yet she could not quite grasp the significance of her elder's words. She hated herself for that; her untrained mind, the mark of a child that had not yet vanished, despite the circumstances of war that had made her into an adult.

"What you have there," Lear explained for the girl, "is a physical manifestation of alchemy. So simple, yet it personifies our art. Perhaps it may not have a use, but what it represents is something deeper than a mere rock. Or, in your case," she offered, smiling, "something much deeper than flashy rocks."

The blonde alchemist blushed, embarrassed that the older woman had caught her looking rather envious of Mackwell's recent magnum opus. It had been the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and she longed for the day when she, too, could create such a work of art. When she was little, her mother would allow her to sit nearby while she worked, and Eliza would always remember how her small hands would barely fit around the sparkling gemstones, how she would play with them before her mother synthesized them and claim that they were the prettiest things on the planet. How her mother would correct her, saying that she—and later, her baby brother—were Mommy and Daddy's prettiest creations.

However, Mommy and Daddy were gone now, and she accepted that she would never be able to hold such jewels again until she made them herself. Lear's words comforted her, although she could not quite articulate why. Perhaps it was because the woman's words were a genuine compliment, as opposed to one that Eliza would purposely misinterpret to spare her own ego.

"Thank you!" Eliza exclaimed before she could think to make it quieter.

Lear's gaze softened, and there was a twinkle in her typically hollow eyes. "It was not a problem. Despite whatever reasons Mackwell might have had, he was being, as you so eloquently put it, a 'meanie'. I could not allow you to sink into a foul mood. You were both frustrated and hungry. I do believe we should continue tomorrow morning, when we are all rested, fed, and in better humor." She stood up slowly, and Eliza could hear the joints in her back and legs popping from hours of disuse. "Now," she said, offering her hand to the younger girl, "Perhaps we can convince those gentlemen over there to lead us to wherever they acquired their meal."

In a considerably better mood than she was when Mackwell stormed out, Eliza took hold of Lear's proffered hand, immediately noticing how smooth and cold it was, like marble against her own warm and sweaty palms. The woman then pulled her up and Eliza instantly felt like sitting down again, both of her legs tingling with the sensation of pins and needles. "H-hold on a second," she stuttered out, a mix between a laugh and a squeak of pain. "My feet are asleep," she admitted sheepishly.

Lear stood there for a moment, watching the girl helplessly shake her legs around in an attempt to restore the blood flow. Although the older alchemist would not deny that Eliza was most definitely a novice, she found the girl's determination endearing. Lear knew that even if she had not offered Eliza those words of comfort, the blonde alchemist would have been back on her proverbial feet in no time, using Mackwell's discouraging words to fuel her desire to succeed. Briefly, she wondered how her daughter would have been at Eliza's age. Would She have been just as pretty and full of life?

As if sensing their creator's encroaching sadness, the homunculi dropped their repulsive playthings and flew to her, swirling around her in a whirlwind of light and fluttering wings. Lear allowed her free hand to wander to the satchel she kept tied securely to her sash and hidden under the elongated sides of her headdress. The spirit stone Fayt had so kindly offered to her rested in that simple leather bag. She felt its solid presence with her hand, the restoration it promised pulsating beneath her fingertips, calling to her. Soon, she told herself, looking at the homunculi apologetically, for she knew that they knew—knew that, though they all resembled Her in some way, they could never truly be her daughter. The soulless children merely smiled back, content to distract her from a pain that constantly plagued her, however futile.

"What's gotten into them?" Eliza asked, letting go of Lear's hand.

"Oh, nothing," Lear answered with a sigh, though the curious look on the girl's face clearly illustrated that she thought otherwise. "Shall we?" the silver-haired woman suggested, titling her head in the direction of the workshop's other occupants.

OOOOO

Evia had declined to join them, for he could not bear leave his daughter. When Lias suggested that she could come along, the long-haired man had scoffed—if they were outside for that long, then his precious Aqua would surely fall ill! Not quite in the mood to soothe Evia's fatherly histrionics, Lias had offered to escort the two alchemists to Aire's Blessing all by himself. Evia sure knew how to overreact, as the store in question was barely a stone's throw away from the workshop.

The foreign blacksmith waved to the alchemists as he left their company, fulfilling his duty to safely accompany the women to their destination. Although he felt rather silly, as such chivalry was not needed in the pristine haven of Aquios, the conditions in his own country were not as secure for women, especially ones as attractive has the good lady alchemists. Even if the distance was so paltry that, at most, the danger of tripping over an uneven cobblestone was all it had to offer.

"What a nice young man," Lear commented, opening the door for Eliza and ushering her into the outfitter.

"Unlike some young man we know," Eliza grumbled. Absentmindedly, she fiddled with the air gem that was cupped in her palms, looking at it lovingly. She knew now that whenever she became discouraged she would always be able to recall Lear's kind words. Carefully, as to not drop the gem (simply because it would take her forever to find again), she slipped her hand into the leather pouch fashioned to her belt and, once she knew her fist was safely within the confines of the bag, allowed the nearly weightless stone to slip through her fingers and into its new home.

"Although I disapprove of Mackwell's earlier behavior," Lear said, coming to walk abreast with Eliza, "I must ask that you not be so judgmental. As the old dictum goes, two wrongs do not make a right."

"That may be so," Eliza sang, "But isn't it true that two negatives, on occasion, may make a positive? An exception to the rule?"

"Clever girl," Lear said, her smile reaching her dark eyes. "However, this may not be the case."

"Oh, but it is," Eliza went on, her eyebrows furrowing. "I'm just surprised I never noticed before!"

The older alchemist opened her mouth to say something, but Eliza did not give her the opportunity to interrupt her oncoming diatribe against the gray-haired man.

"Have you seen how he treats those poor women? You know, the ones who crowd around the workshop sometimes and wait for him to leave? He leaves bombs for them! Sure, it must be annoying to have that giggling claque follow him wherever he goes, but tossing smoke bombs and other nasty things? How rude! I bet he doesn't even have any friends. He's probably just a misanthrope, and when those dashing good looks of his fade, he'll have nothing left—not even those women." Eliza paused to catch her breath, but she was far from finished.

"Dashing good looks?" Lear inquired.

The pigtailed girl jumped slightly, the sudden realization of what she just said dawning upon her. "Well, yeah," she answered smoothly, yet she could not stop her cheeks from warming, "That must be what those women are after, because it certainly isn't his personality!"

"And not his alchemical prowess?" the older woman questioned, for she knew that one of the many allures to the art was the creation of precious stones—one that she knew appealed to women everywhere, especially those who desired nothing more than an engagement ring worth more Fol than they would make in their entire lives.

"And the way he views alchemy bothers me," Eliza continued. "I think he looks at those gems not as a creation from his own hand, but something he has done to better himself. Something to sell, something to use to get ahead. Although those women would not take note of that arrogance, it would drive me batty just to be in the same house as him."

"So, you have thought about sharing a home with him?"

Eliza froze. "No! You stop that! That… Oh, what did Fayt call it? That Cracktic Method!" Flustered, the girl whirled around and stomped over to the counter to buy her lunch, effectively ending the conversation.

Lear chuckled, the laugh barely audible to even herself. That girl was far too amusing, a startling contrast to her life up in the Barr Mountains, where, instead of Eliza's colorful spectrum of vocalizations, there was the drab and ever-present sound of the wind whistling through the bones of the dragons that had once lived there, evoking memories of past sin. Sauntering across the room to stand behind Eliza, Lear reached over the girl's shoulder and paid for the younger alchemist's spring rolls along with her own order. "Two steamed buns for me, please."

The energetic girl behind the counter nodded and disappeared into the tiny kitchen which had obviously not been used much prior to Fayt's sudden introduction to the Craftsman's Guild, him and his companions stirring up powerful flames of competition between the cooks in these recent weeks. During her brief stay in Peterny, Lear had seen this vicious contest firsthand—the seemingly sweet and placid Mayu had thrown a fit when Damda Mooda beat her to patenting the Brass Demon Cider, nearly bludgeoning the poor sot to death with her frying pan. Fortunately, Boyd had been there to effortlessly pull the irate little cook off of the portly man before she did any irreversible damage.

"You didn't have to pay for me, you know," Eliza said, looking anywhere but directly at Lear. Although she was most grateful for the grant she received from Fayt—which, she finally admitted to herself, was far too great a price for her level of talent—she did not particularly like being the recipient of such pity. She was far from rich, but she managed, and she was proud of it, too!

"I know," Lear answered, taking the buns from the clerk and smiling her thanks. "So," she began as the both turned to exit the store, "what will you do for the rest of the afternoon? I'm going back to the workshop to refine a few gems and you're more than welcome to join me."

Eliza valued the older alchemist's skills—truly, she did. However, she did not think her already bruised ego could take the thrashing it would receive while watching the dark robed woman effortlessly process the minerals to their zenith. All she needed right now was a few hours in her tiny lab at home, tinkering with the fine art of alchemy one step at a time, having her frustrations dissipate as the chemicals fizzed. "No, but thanks. I think I'm just going to pick up Ezra and call it a day."

"Oh. All right," Lear said, somewhat disappointed. She was honestly starting to enjoy the lively girl's company.

They parted at the exit nearest to the workshop, Lear turning right to return to work and Eliza going left with the intention of retrieving her baby brother.

As she approached the main path that cut Aquios in two, she heard the jingling of bells. Before she could contemplate the encroaching sound, a black cat scampered across her path, startling her with its rattling and disappearing as quickly as it came. Clutching at her chest with her right hand, she paused to regain the breath she didn't remember losing. Shrugging, she continued to walk along in the shadows of the buildings lining the path to the main road, forgetting about the cat almost immediately. Not a moment later she was knocked to the ground by a rather solid form, her grip on her spring rolls tightening as she rolled to the side, clutching them to her chest protectively.

Sitting up and preparing to apologize for being in this person's way, Eliza dusted off her rear and began to stand. "Uh, sor…" she began, looking up only to see Mackwell. Swallowing her apology, as he was most certainly in the wrong, she furrowed her brows. "Watch where you're going!" she exclaimed, eyes widening slightly at how mean she sounded. Although it certainly did not suit her to be so nasty, Mackwell deserved nothing nicer than that today.

"Have you seen…" the gray-haired man began, ignoring her previous comment.

"Seen what?" she snapped, putting her hands on her hips as she crushed a spring roll between each of her palms.

Glowering at her attitude, Mackwell muttered a "never mind" and grumbled something about rotten little girls as swept past her, the ends his hair wraps brushing against her cheek.

As if those soft gray hairs tickling her face were the trigger to some mechanism inside of her, Eliza whipped around, her pigtails whirling to follow her sudden movement. "Rotten, huh? Well, a lot of good things are rotten!" she yelled at his retreating back. "Like, like…" she trailed off, losing steam as quickly as she had received it. Undaunted, Mackwell made no move to turn around and argue with her, his form making a sharp right into an alleyway.

"Like you," she hissed softly, frowning at her own unwelcome affections. Huffing indignantly, she swirled around on one foot and continued on her way.

The blonde girl's so-called infatuation with Mackwell had started long before she even knew what the Craftsman's Guild was. It had been a beautiful day in the capital, a rare warm and sunny afternoon during the rainy season. Eliza remembered it very clearly. She sat in a bed of grass to the side of the palace, playing alchemist with the rocks she found under the bushes, a six-year-old Mishell lying down not too far away from her, absorbed in a book. However, unlike the picture books that most children his age enjoyed reading (Eliza, who was then almost twice his age, also enjoyed them), the colorful illustrations that should have been present on the paper were instead ousted by page upon page of drab text, although that seemed to excite the platinum-haired boy much more than a picture ever could.

She had been carrying on as usual, tossing the pebbles into a nearby puddle—her cauldron, just like her mother's. After saying the magic words and adding the super secret ingredients (weeds that she had torn to pieces after she made Mishell promise he wouldn't peek), she then plunged her hands into the shallow pool of water, digging her fingers into the mud as she retrieved the product of all of her hard labor.

"Ta-da!" she yelled, opening her muddy hands and presenting her creation to Mishell. The pebble was wet and slightly cleaner than her hands and tiny bits of grass stuck to it, giving it the appearance of some kind of ugly underground creature.

"Eliza, that's gross," the precocious boy said, wrinkling his nose.

"What do you mean?" she responded incredulously. "This is the super rare Philosopher's Stone! Do you know how good an alchemist has to be to make one? Really talented! Like, the best of the best! And she just happens to be sitting right in front of you!"

Mishell rolled his eyes. Fortunately for him, the glare of the bright sunlight on his glasses hid that gesture from the energetic girl, for she probably would have throttled him if she had seen it. "I'm honored," he drawled, going back to his book.

"Hey, who's that?" Eliza questioned after a moment of deliberation, pointing past Mishell to a figure approaching the palace via the main path that fed into the palace gate. "I don't think I've ever seen her before."

Mishell marked his page and closed his book, sitting up and turning around to get a good look at whomever Eliza was indicating. "That's a he, Eliza," the child prodigy corrected as the young man drew nearer.

"But she's wearing earrings!" Eliza argued, dropping her precious Philosopher's Stone to point at the golden loops going through the woman's ears.

"Don't be silly. Boys can wear earrings, too," Mishell informed her, quickly growing bored with the newcomer and picking up his book, thumbing through the pages until he found his place again.

Eliza, however, watched this man approach the palace with interest, her eyes resting on him as he stopped to speak with the guards. From where she sat, she had a nice view of his handsome profile and his unique (and obviously foreign) raiment. He seemed flustered for a moment, but he quickly pulled out an important looking document, shoving it into the guards' faces. The blonde girl saw their eyes widen and they immediately stepped out of the way, allowing the man (who indignantly turned up his nose) to pass.

"He must be a new researcher. From the looks of him, probably an alchemist," Mishell mused, breaking Eliza out of a trance she didn't even realize she was in.

"An alchemist? Mommy's an alchemist, but she doesn't dress like that!" Eliza said. "I say he's a runologist. I saw some tattoos on his hands."

"He could be both, you know."

"Hmm. Maybe."

Not feeling that that was an answer worth responding to, the little boy went back to his book. However, Eliza allowed her eyes to return to where the foreign man once stood, a blush coming to her cheeks. He was like something out of a fairy tale; a mysterious red-robed man from a country far, far away. She idly wondered what it would be like to walk next to him, for he seemed rather tall and imposing, almost scary. Would he shorten his stride and allow her to keep up? Hold her hand? Carry her? Was he a prince, too? He certainly carried himself like one, so proud and composed. When he walked, his hair wraps trailed majestically behind him, like servants. She brought her hands up to her cheeks as if they could quell burning there.

"…Why are you smearing mud on your face?" Mishell asked, although he really had come to expect such behavior from Eliza in the short time he had known the older girl.

"Huh? Oh! Eww!" she exclaimed, snapping out of her reverie and rubbing her hands on the grass. "Mishell! Why didn't you stop me? What if he sees?" she questioned, flustered, as she tried in futility to wipe away the mud on her face with the backs of her hands.

Eliza smiled at the memory. Oh, Mackwell was most certainly not a prince. It would be years later when her dreams of the two of them running off to an enchanted kingdom would come to a crashing halt. His scathing comments and anal retentiveness had worn her feelings for him down rather quickly. Yet, now that she thought about it, she could not deny that, out of all the men she knew, he still had the most attractive face. To think she spent the majority of her adolescence pining over that cantankerous killjoy. She snorted at the thought. Yes, there had been a series of other crushes: Ronaldo, Nicholas, Ruddle, and, most recently, Master Fayt. But at the same time there had always been Mackwell in the back of her mind, sulking in a corner and screaming "pay attention to me!" as if he knew he was the first and her only prince.

It would be so like him, too, she thought. She did not know if it was the fact that he was obviously a foreigner, but he always managed to draw the attention of those surrounding him. Of course, it was almost always unwanted attention, but that did not change the fact that people stopped and looked—really looked—at him. Maybe it was the red cape.

With her mental tirade losing steam, Eliza shook her head, clearing the barrage of negative thoughts. Yes, the gray-haired alchemist was not the nicest person in Aquaria, but he wasn't the meanest either. She had seen him be decent on more than one occasion, and she found herself rather jealous of Lear, for she regularly saw them in the workshop just as she arrived, already settled into work and talking in hushed tones, probably discussing the arcane secrets and forbidden practices of alchemy. She shook her head again, her pigtails flapping violently against her face.

Determined to forget all of the negative feelings she had bottled up over the past few hours, she allowed her mind to wander to her baby brother. To add to her distraction, she began to eat her rather abused spring rolls.

Ezra was a lively kid, as far as nearly two-year-olds went. Combined with the fact that he was now learning key toddler jargon—specifically, "mine" and "no"—he was turning into quite the handful. He, like most young children, possessed an affinity for shiny things, and would more often than not be crusading for his older sister's misconceived creations, which she had learned to keep high out of his reach. He was sneaky though, and when Eliza would leave her makeshift lab for a few minutes to start dinner, she would often return to find him climbing onto her desk while using her abandoned chair as a platform and reaching for an occupied vial with a very, very determined look on his face. Determined and hungry, as Eliza recalled. It scared her to think of the day when her brother would finally succeed in his quest to inadvertently poison himself.

Finishing her quick lunch and opening the door to Solon's Guidance, Eliza stepped in and was welcomed by a rather thin man at the reception counter. Mr. Steno was a friend of her late mother's and was more than willing to assist his friend's daughter when she would receive a summons to the workshop. "You're back awfully early, Eliza," he said.

"Yeah," she answered. "Creative roadblock." That was an understatement, she mused.

"Oh, that's too bad," the man said sincerely. "Better luck tomorrow. Hey, Ezra," he called, bending down behind the counter only to return with a boy in his arms. "Look who's here!"

"Iza!" the boy squealed, reaching his chubby arms out to his sister.

"Hello there, you little goober," she cooed to him, taking him out of Mr. Steno's arms.

They exchanged their daily pleasantries as Ezra became increasingly impatient, whining about home into Eliza's shoulder. She gave her guardian an embarrassed smile before dismissing herself and wishing him a good day.

Ezra absentmindedly pulled on his sister's pigtails, balling their ends between his tiny fists and sometimes chewing on them. Eliza sighed. As she strolled down the cobblestone path to their home, she briefly wondered how Mackwell would respond to having his tails tugged and gnawed on.

OOOOO

Comments: Yeah. I'm convinced that Lias is the "former king's brother" that Adray mentions to the queen.

Upon further research, I found that Eliza can't even make an air gem and only Ansala can make rainbow diamonds. I apologize if that actually annoys anybody.

Well, this is my first foray into the SO section. Rather silly of me to start out with such minor characters, but whatever. If you've got the time, please review.