Hiding behind a vendor's silk curtain, a young boy watched the crowd. The Bazaar was packed full of customers moving from shop to shop. Colored sheets were hung between the buildings providing the streets below a multihued shade. The dense jumble of streets that made up the Bazaar formed the pulsing heart of the Trade District. People came in one way and after coursing through the Bazaar's many veins were eventually pumped out another.
In the middle of a market intersection was a quintet of teenagers. Siblings, judging by their matching sandy blonde hair. They formed a small stage out of leftover wooden crates from local fruit vendors. On that raised dais they jammed in a world of their own. The music was blaring and catchy. The oldest of the group took centerstage stomping her feet to the rhythm while playing her baritone saxophone. Her oversized baggy slacks, held up by suspenders, swayed with every enthusiastic kick. Streaks of fire and lightning painted the sides of the saxophone's custom bow. The beast of an instrument was just as big as she was yet she moved as if it weighed nothing.
The Boy listened for a while, taken as he was with the new sound. They weren't the first street performers he's ever heard but they were the best so far. Not because they were the most skilled musicians, there were plenty of those here in the city of Refuge. What set these siblings apart was there synchronized flow and above all, their passion. Thanks in no small part to the grooving saxophone girl. Her energy oozed out from the stage turning their street band into a real performance. Enough to draw a crowd. The Boy knew they'd have a patron in no time. Then they'd trade in the crate stage for a place in the Flower District's most prestigious clubs. Such was the way of things.
Enough time had passed enjoying the siblings. The Boy's eyes, a royal shade of purple, shifted from the small band to track the guards on patrol. The City Guard were easy to pick out amongst the rabble, thanks to their uniforms and visor helmets. They moved in their typical patterns, the ones the Boy already had memorized. After a moment's hesitation, he stepped out from behind the curtain and was instantly swept up in the current of the Trade District.
The Bazaar wasn't a place for unaccompanied children. They could be trampled underfoot by the stampede of tourists. But this boy, who stood eye level with most others' belt buckle, glided through the throng. He slipped through thin openings in the tangle of legs, ducked underneath swaying arms and bags. However, not every leg could be so easily passed through. He couldn't dodge every annoyed kick at him as he scurried about. Shoved by a man in a rush, the Boy fell just once and only for a second before bouncing up once again. He ignored the sting on his knees and continued on.
Vendors cried out in a chaotic chorus, each one proclaiming their product the best in Remnant. They either praised their own wares or that of the passing customers in hopes of flattering them into buying something. The honeyed words of the vendors, foot-tapping swing of the band, and the rustling of feet created the ambiance of the Bazaar. A difficult thing to navigate through even for an adult. The Boy couldn't see anything past five feet in front of him. He had only his sense of direction to guide him. The mental map he constructed in his head was mostly just to calm himself. A trick of his own devising to allow him the confidence needed to put one foot in front of the other.
The pain in the Boy's knees cried out to be noticed, making each step harder than the last. Something warm trickled down from the source of the pain and despite his best efforts, the Boy stopped. He didn't even have time to look down before someone's shopping bag collided with his face. The scrawny boy was knocked to the side where he was met by a swinging leg that sent him flying back in the other direction. He toppled to the ground, scraping his chin against the stone tiled floor. There were gasps and hushed voices as people noticed him. The band of siblings squeaked to a stop, their crate stage not ten feet away. Shaking, the ragged boy pushed himself halfway up when he noticed that the contents of the bag that clocked him in the head had spilled out before him. Juicy fruits, freshly made breads, and wheels of cheese. A banquet.
From the encircling crowd a hand reached out and a voice asked if he was all right. The Boy slapped the hand away and sprang for the food, gathering up as much as he could. He lifted his threadbare shirt, using it as an impromptu bag. With his shirt stuffed to bursting, the boy crammed an apple into his mouth and took off like a frightened rabbit. As if taking up his cue the band of siblings picked up once more, their jumpy beat matching the Boy's flight. Miraculously, the crowd parted for him and so he rushed on through. Little did the Boy know that the crowd wasn't parting for him, but merely getting out of the way of the guard charging after him. The Boy raced out of the Bazaar, oblivious to the fact that he was even being chased. Pain and excitement muffled his hearing. It was impossible for him to make out the bellowing shouts of the City Guardsman behind him.
Outside the Bazaar the crowd thinned out. The Boy took to the alleys between banks and auction houses that stitched the rest of the Trade District together. The City Guardsman, continued his pursuit. Only one of them was aware that the chase was even happening. The Boy couldn't hear anything past his own beating heart. His small ribcage threatened to explode from the inside. Bare mud caked feet slapped against the stone ground, but they were used to such treatment and therefore hardened like leather. It was his knees that had the Boy worried. They were like jelly. Any moment he expected them to buckle under his own weight.
The pursuing City Guardsman fared no better than the boy. The man's gut normally dripped over his belt buckle. It was only thanks to the tight uniform that his ample mass was contained. He chased the Boy far beyond reason, wheezing and sweating puddles in his armor. Any other guard would've given up the chase long ago, but not this one. This was personal for him. The strawberry blonde urchin he chased had vexed him one to many times in the past. It cost him humiliation among his fellow guard. Nothing spurned a man like Guardsman Webb worse than the wounding of his pride. His cracked ego twisted his face into something bloodthirsty. He didn't mean to just catch the boy. No, he's had months to work up the dark fantasies that swirled in his head. Feeding it like a starved dog chained to a pole. On and on it circled, chains wrapping tight. Now it was free and wanted nothing more than to feel the snap of the Boy's bones.
He was close now. So very close. The Boy's run was almost casual as if he viewed Webb as no real threat to him and that fanned the fire in the man's large belly more than anything. Lost in his malicious thoughts Guardsman Webb had no time to react to the two construction workers carrying a newly made window pane across the street. Webb could only yelp before smashing through the glass. The ground shook with his fall. Some onlookers would later joke in a bar that the man's weight crushed the glass back into sand. The gossip would spread until it reached the precinct where it would shatter Webb's ego just like he did with the glass. But that was later, for now the City Guardsman simply laid still on the sidewalk, face kissing the ground. His whole body ached and the shouts of outrage around him made the throbbing even worse.
As for the Boy, he didn't even hear the crash not far behind him. Apple juice seeped into his mouth from where his teeth punctured the fruit. His taste buds danced with glee, the sensation enough to dull the pain of his legs. He skipped along, heading for home. He was not the greatest thief in the city, but he had luck. Even if he didn't know it.
The sun dwindled by the time the Boy reached the Buffer, a thin strip of the city populated by government owned warehouses. The Buffer stood wedged between the Mud District and the Craft District but belonged to neither. City Guard were on a constant patrol here, more so than any single district. One couldn't get through any of the five lanes without their approval. This didn't stop the Boy. He had found a spot where the number of large cargo containers left about provided him with the means to scale the warehouse walls. With one arm cradling his goods the Boy carefully made his way to the roof where the cover of night hid him from the guards below. The stretch of warehouses leading to the Mud District only allowed for small alley width gaps between them. By this point the Boy had grown familiar with this route back into the Mud District and so made the leaps with just enough effort needed. Nothing more, nothing less. He couldn't afford to waste what little strength he had. Exhaustion slowly ate away at even his youthful abundance of energy.
The Buffer wasn't hard to get across. It stretched long but not deep. One could stand on one end of the cobbled road and stare out across and see the other end. The Mud District and the Craft District. Two worlds within sight separated by three hundred yards of warehouses.
Reaching the Buffer's edge, the Boy slid down a broken streetlight and landed with a splat in the Mud District. It's not a difficult thing to find out why it was so named. Unlike the rest of the city of Refuge, the Mud District had no paved roads or sidewalks. Everything rested on top of a layer of mud that coated the naked feet of the Boy. He traced the edge of the district, taking a longer route but the safer one as well. He moved with even more stealth than he did before. After all, he cradled a treasure in his arms that other residents of the Mud District would set upon with envious eyes.
Flickering candles and the glow of the shattered moon was all there was to shed light on the unfortunate district. Time had stood still in the Mud District. The benefits of the new world technologies and innovations had been denied to them for reasons they didn't even know. Despite these hardships the people living there survived all the same. They are humans after all. They've shown a knack for adapting to their environment. The Boy was no different.
There were no City Guards in the Mud District. Nothing worth guarding so they say. Instead, the local thugs roamed the streets eager to prey on their fellow victims of fate. Even at such a tender age the Boy knew of these thugs. The Mudslingers people called them, but never to their faces. The majority of them he knew before they were recruited into the gang. Former bullies who loved picking on him. It seemed like tryouts because as soon as the gang noticed they were brought into the fold and moved on to bigger more terrible things. Such were the imaginings conjured by the Boy's mind as he trudged through the mud from one dilapidated building to the next.
He stopped to poke his head out from around the corner and peer down the street. There they were, a whole pack of them just standing about doing nothing. That was their primary job. The truth was that this gang of ruffians who hoped to assert their dominance over the Mud District were children one and all. Teenagers and younger with no better opportunities to hope for so they banded together and turned on the very district that raised them.
The Boy narrowed his focus on their leader, the one he most despised. Only six years between them, but oh what a difference six years can make. The Mudslinger's leader was larger than most men already. He was easily seven feet tall. A full head and shoulders taller than anyone else in his gang. Truly a giant in the making. The Boy waited until none looked his way then he bolted into the street. Just halfway across his foot got stuck in the mud and he slid, almost falling face first. A couple of bright fruits fell from his shirt sack. The Boy made to retrieve the fallen citrus and froze. The leader of the gang was staring straight at him just fifty feet away. None of the others took note of the slip up except the giant leader who locked eyes with the Boy.
Paralyzed in the mud, the Boy imagined how delicious he must have looked. Like a succulent pig just there for the taking. He already had an apple stuffed in his mouth and everything. Chasing him down and taking all he had would be a milk run for that giant and yet the large gang leader simply turned back around, ignoring the Boy as if he never even saw him. With that gaze no longer locking him in place, the Boy gathered himself back up and scampered out of there before anything worse happened. He raced home as fast as he could. Relief flushed his cheeks when he saw the orange glow of the candle light coming from the windows.
The Boy approached, stopping when he noticed the huddled figure occupying the porch of the neighboring house. He slowed to a stop in front of the person who lifted their weathered face. Both her eyelids were closed like they always were. Without saying a word the boy took out a fruit from his supply and handed it out towards the old woman who plucked it from his grasp. She caressed the fruit, feelings its shape before bringing it to her nose and sniffing.
"Clementine." She rasped.
The boy giggled, "How did you know?"
The old hag scraped what few teeth she had against the apple's skin. "Gifts of juicy sweets and cherry company. Who else is so nice to Blind Shan? No one, no one, but young Clementine." She paused in her searching of the apple upon discovering the chunk missing from it. "What's this?"
"Sorry about that. In my rush I kinda chomped down on it."
Blind Shan cackled, "So sweet you are, my Clementine. But I do not deserve to steal from your hard-earned plunder. A trade I'll offer you instead." Blind Shan rummaged through her tattered bag and pulled out a hardcovered book, which she handed to Clementine.
The book was as wrinkled as she was and rough to the touch. The archaic cover had no title. Whatever image was painted onto its surface had long since faded. Clementine flipped the book open with his thumb. The yellowed pages moved past his eyes, their images, words and general format familiar to him.
"Fairy Tales?" he asked in disbelief, "They're children's stories."
"And here I conjured you, a child." She cackled to herself before shrugging, "I never understood one's insistence that they are older than they actually are. Who wants to grow old and decrepit? Regardless, these are no fairy tales. They're real. The Maidens of the Seasons. The tale of the two brothers. All of it."
Clementine eyed the book with renewed interest, "If it's as you say then I can't accept it. This is an unfair trade."
"What are books to the blind? Nothing but paperweights and kindle!" Her long-nailed fingers started peeling away the apple's skin, "Our gifts are not equal, aye. You part with something you can use, I part with something useless."
"But your wrong," pouted Clementine, "this is worth more to me than any apple."
She paused in her peeling and looked Clementine straight in the face. Her wrinkled eyelids tensed and creased as she somehow focused in on him. Her stare made Clementine fidget. "Yes," she said at last, "I can see that it does."
"How?"
She didn't answer at first, but instead turned to study the sky. Whatever she saw in her sightless gaze caused her shoulders to sag. "Go, run home. Your sister is worried about you."
"But how can you know if you can't see?"
Blind Shan cracked a grin, but the gesture seemed devoid of any real humor. "She's been pacing all night, shouting her frustrations. I can hear it all just fine sitting here. Risa works hard for you both. Though it may not always seem like it, she loves you very much. You would do right to appreciate her as much as you can." She shooed him away, "Go, go, before you get caught in this storm."
"What storm?" asked Clementine.
Her patience had burned dangerously close to the end of its fuse by the time the front door creaked open. Risa Clementine stood waiting in the kitchen for her little brother to poke his head in as he so often did when he knew he was in trouble. The floorboards groaned underneath his weight as he crept to the edge of the doorway. His breathing was loud enough to reach Risa's ears.
"You're not mad are you?" His voice trembled like a frightened mouse.
"I was mad the first time," said Risa, her voice hard but smooth as paved stone. "How do you think I feel now?"
At last Augustus Clementine, her little brother, stepped into view. Scrawny arms cradled the upturned shirt, which held whatever he stole that day. Tears welled in his eyes and his bloodied knees shook uncontrollably. "I'm sorry." He sniffled.
Risa's authoritative façade cracked and she rushed towards her brother who fell into her embrace. She lifted him with troubling ease. He turned to putty in her arms and as she carried him to the table the many fruits of his labor tumbled out onto the floor. "What happened?" she whispered.
His eyes brightened, "I was in the Bazaar. There was music and people. So many. I walked amongst them. Risa, you should've seen it. I walked amongst them!" He burst into a giggle.
She dabbed his scraped chin with her sleeve, "But what happened to your knees and face?"
"Opportunity hit me over the head." He slid from her arms and gathered up the food. "Look what I got this time. Have you ever seen a bigger piece of cheese?" He held it up for her to see. "Why do they make them into wheels? Why not triangles? I would love a cheese triangle the size of my head. I've got breads too. Fresh ones. Without spots in them. And fruits. So many I don't know what kind they are! Round and soft. Curved and soft. They're all soft really except for apples. I had an apple, but I gave it to Blind Shan."
"Enough!" her voice was harsher than she intended and it damn near shattered Augustus. Seeing that look on his face was like a lash across Risa's back. "None of it matters. Not if you get hurt. You understand me?"
He cocked his head, "But if I get hurt, then you won't."
Risa flinched at his words, "No, that-that's not how it works, Augustus. The world isn't that simple. Seeing you hurt, hurts me even more."
She watched her words sink into him. They weighed him down to the floor where he curled up and began to weep. Risa cursed herself and moved to comfort her little brother. Had she been this way when she was his age? So naïve? So, prone to emotion? Those times were blurry to her. It seemed that their roles were always fixed like this. With her mothering over him and failing at every turn. She blamed herself, but it wasn't her fault. How can one who grew up absent a mother have any indication on what it meant to be one? They were alone now in this crooked house too big for the two children living in it. Risa understood why little Augustus did the things he did. It was all for her. Always and completely. She was all he had. It made her feel guilty when she couldn't say the same. But secrets took their time in revealing themselves.
Risa let Augustus tire himself out. It didn't take long before his breathing fell into the slow rhythmic pattern of sleep. She bandaged up his knees and collected the food he had scavenged. How he managed to get all that was beyond her understanding. Augustus continuously surprised her in what he was capable off. Still, an arm's load of fruit, bread, and cheese wasn't something to risk his life for. Risa leaned out the window careful not to knock over her collection of plants that lined the windowsill. Thunder rumbled in the sky above and a single raindrop splashed against her cheek. Like a solitary tear, it trickled down her face.
"Can you hear me?" she asked, "If you're listening I want you to know that he's back, safe and sound." More rain drizzled down. Risa held out her hand and let the droplets collect in her palm. "Looks like a bad one. Be safe out there, will you? You listening? You better be listening." She closed her eyes and began to hum a soft toon.
A child's imagination is a beautiful thing. Most lose it over time and can only dream of retaining their past wonders. If left unchecked a child's imagination can grow wild. So strong are these fantasies that they can cement themselves into the reality of a child's mind. That is what took place in young Clementine's head. He sat that night enraptured by a book gifted to him by a blind old woman. Engrossed by the stories of heroes, monsters, and maidens of the seasons. Stories that the general public viewed as just that, stories. Mere fantasy to entertain and teach the young and childish. However, without the check of an adult a child can grow to view these fantasies as true historical tales. There is nothing wrong with that in the slightest. In this grim world of Remnant who has it in their heart to deny a child's perception of a better world? Not the sister, nor the giant, and certainly not the blind woman responsible for filling the child's head with such wonder knowing full well the risks entwined with knowing the truth of things. Who's to say her motivation for such a thing? Blind Shan saw so many possibilities with young Clementine. Only thing left to do was wait and see.
But enough of that, Clementine finished reading for now. Even as a child he understood what it meant to savor something. So, he slipped the book away in his secret hiding place below the floorboards of his bed, where he stored all his personal treasures. He did his best to keep quiet else risk waking his sister sleeping in the next room. Blind Shan was right, Risa worried so much over him and deserved her rest.
The house yawned this time of night as if still settling in the mud. Rain battered relentlessly upon the roof. Streams of it seeped through the cracks and trickled down into bowls scattered in multiple places throughout the house. Clementine scratched at the bandages wrapped about his knees. On these nights, the usual stench of the Mud District was temporarily washed away with the freshness of the rain. That clean air filled the young boy's lungs. He just couldn't resist. Employing the stealth of a thief he checked on Risa just to make sure she still slept before creeping up the ladder to the attic.
Risa had known about her brother's odd habits for some time now so when she heard the pitter-patter of his feet move to check on her, she feigned sleep. He wasn't nearly as sneaky as he thought he was. It's what frightened her the most. How he's survived so far in the city without getting caught was a miracle. After waiting an appropriate amount of time Risa followed her little brother where she knew he'd be, the attic. She had told him again and again not to go up there. The window had been shattered along with a good portion of the wall, leaving the attic exposed to the elements.
Of course it was there she found him, silhouetted by the flashes of lightning. He stood firmly in place just a few feet from the edge, legs shoulder width apart. All the shakiness in his knees from just a few hours, gone. The rain pelted him, soaking through his clothes but he didn't care. Stretching out before him was the entirety of the Mud District and beyond that, the rest of Refuge. The streets below had turned into a mudslide. Risa watched from the top rung of the attic ladder, her lilac eyes wide.
The storm raged in the night sky. Young Clementine's arms flew about him. Lightning streaked in the dark clouds and with the flick of his wrist came the answering boom of thunder. His movements matched in time with the storm or perhaps the storm matched with him. It was too close for Risa to tell. She told herself it was the former not the latter. And yet her mind wondered.
Augustus Clementine, her little brother of ten years old, a conductor of a tempest.
Not far from the Clementine household a young man trudged out into the mud. He leaned into the heavy winds, brute forcing his way forward. His long braids of hair whipped out behind him like a tattered cape. Most other boys his age would've been beaten down by this monster of a storm, but not him. He stood firm as if rooted to the ground while all around him buildings quaked. The howling wind and pelting rain made it difficult to hear much of anything. But he could hear it, the resounding echo of something like thunder but not quite rolling over the Spine and down into the valley. The leader of the Mudslingers lifted his head. His gaze held on a distant home with a caved in attic before reluctantly looking past it. The sky above and beyond the Spine distorted in flashes of red and green, colors not naturally found in a storm. With each luminous flare there was that sound, so very much like thunder but somehow more destructive in nature. Numbed by the cold the young man shivered with each burgeoning detonation.
Eager to begin his day, young Clementine skipped down the steps and found his breakfast prepared and waiting for him on the table. An assortment of yesterday's acquired breads and cheeses were elegantly displayed on a plain napkin. Risa had a pretty way of doing things. It showed in just about everything she did, her collection of plants being the most obvious example. Even mundane tasks such as breakfast had their own grace. However, the seat where his sister usually sat was empty. She no doubt left in the early hours of the morning to work. Clementine disliked eating alone so he wolfed down the food and scampered out the door.
Everything had a way of shining the morning after rain. The wooden district gleamed as if coated with a new oil. Even the mud shimmered for a time. Without any treasures to protect, Clementine allowed himself to take a leisurely pace through the Mud District.
It was a day like any other. It could rain fire and the people of the Mud District would still come crawling out of their homes the next morning to begin their day. Already wooden beams were being hammered down, connecting paths across the swampy street. A few houses down Clementine spotted a group of children around his age. They chased each other, giggling all the while. He knew them of course. Former classmates heading to Mr. Greenberg's school for the day. Well, as close to a school as anyone knew in the Mud District, but in truth it was more of a daycare. A place for adults to leave their kids while they worked. To keep them out of trouble. Clementine waited for them to pass before continuing on his way. He had stopped going to Mr. Greenberg's weeks ago. Greenberg was a kind man, but Clementine thought he learned all he could from him already. Besides, he preferred being on his own rather than with that rambunctious lot of kids.
From beam to beam he went, moving through the Mud District. Along the way he passed others he recognized including Old Gran who gifted him with a warm smile. The storm had done some damage to her potato farm, but there were already others helping to fix it. As far as Clementine knew she was the closest thing to a guardian this district had. She knew everyone and everyone knew her. Old Gran took care of this community. If you needed food, she'd scrape some up. Clothes? She has something to keep you warm. Company? Her door was open to everyone. That's why it was no surprise to see the people helping to restore her place back to normal.
Clementine waved before passing by. He tippy toed his way across a rather skinny wooden plank, eyes fixed on his footing. Halfway across a harsh laugh stopped him in his place.
"Playing hooky again?" asked the older boy waiting on the other end of the plank.
"You're one to talk. What do you want, Naz? I'm busy today."
Naz snarled, showing his yellowed teeth. "How do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"I know you have a way through the Buffer. How else you get past the guards?" he stomped one foot onto the plank, "Tell me."
"Or what?"
Naz paused then as if he didn't consider past his initial threat. "Or I'll make you tell me."
"Only if you can catch me!"
Letting out a growl, Naz started marching his way across the thin plank. Clementine slowly backed away, step by step. When Naz reached the center of the plank Clementine leapt forward. The older boy hadn't expected that at all judging by the sheer panic in his eyes. Clementine landed on Naz's shoulders. The thin plank splintered and snapped underneath the bully's feet. Naz fell, crumpling to his knees before falling face first into the wet mud. Standing on his back, Clementine kicked off and landed on the remaining half of the plank. With hands and feet, he scrambled up to the porch of the building across the street and hurried on his way. Naz's rage filled cries swallowed the street behind him. That bully hated everyone it seemed, but he held a special place in his stunted heart for Clementine. Clementine had no idea why Naz hated him so much. Or why any bully hated him for that matter. But he hated them in return and that hatred filled him with a sly satisfaction in listening to Naz's outrage.
After putting some distance between them, Clementine secreted himself into an empty street that for as long as he could remember had been abandoned. A sinkhole had emerged here once before he was born. Things like that aren't uncommon in the Mud District, but one of this scale was something else entirely. The whole street was tossed about as if put through a mixing bowl with a hungry child holding the spoon. All the buildings either sunk or were damaged beyond recognition in the sinkhole's churning. Since then no one dared live here or even so much as approach for a taboo it had become. This made it easy for Clementine to disappear without anyone taking notice.
While the Buffer was easy enough to slip through at night, the same could not be said when the sun was out. Lucky enough for him when that sinkhole destroyed this street, in the process it also revealed a secret passage. A tunnel that goes underneath the Buffer with an exit that allowed Clementine to pop up right in the middle of the city. As far as Clementine knew, it was his secret alone and he had no intention of sharing such a prize over to someone like Naz. A safe route in and out of the Mud District was not something the Mudslingers should have access to.
After pushing the old cart hiding the tunnel's entrance, Clementine slipped inside and began to crawl. Wooden ribs maintained the tunnel's cavernous shape. The only disturbance being the occasional city pipe, which Clementine had to either duck under or crawl over.
It took hours to reach the exit and the whole way he couldn't help but think of the reason, why. Why must he go through so much trouble just to enter a city he was already a part of? His presence in the main districts was somehow an offence to those living there. One he has been told was punishable. It didn't make much sense to his young mind. He's walked the thief's road of the city rooftops and seen all that's below. Children play about freely in the city. The only difference between them and him as far as he could tell was the clothes they wore. The four other districts still had their poor, their waifs. Like those street performing siblings the other day. Yet they aren't treated nearly as badly as those found with mud on their feet. This notion gnawed at him even then.
Dark thoughts scratched at the wall he put up to keep them at bay. Crawling in that tunnel half blind, those thoughts thrived. They hammered against that mental wall, chipping it away piece by piece. With each visit into the city they grew stronger. Still, young Clementine dared not let them out where the light could touch them. Where Risa could see them. She'd cry, he knew she would. Cry for him…because of him. So he held on with both hands. They festered in their restraints, forming a pit the size of an acorn in his gut that left him numb. The world was a nightmare, an illusion he could not wake from. He clawed his way through the tunnel now with fevered desperation as if he were trying to escape.
Not far ahead there came a sliver of light. A simple ray that for the moment personified everything Clementine dreamed about. Upon reaching the light he thrust his smeared face underneath it like a starving child might for some trickling source of water. The sun's warm glow was a touch of life that burned away the sickening numbness. From its warmth he could tell the day was still here. Hard to keep track of time in the tunnel where it's always night. Rising onto his haunches, Clementine pressed his palms against the tunnel roof and pushed with all his might. After a brief second's resistance the layer gave way.
Clementine poked his head out like a gopher and spun around to make sure the coast was clear before climbing all the way out. The alley where he emerged was usually empty. After all, it was just a small crevasse between two buildings. It was home only to a family of rats he'd grown fond of. He slid the chunk of cement that covered the makeshift manhole back into place before edging towards the alley's mouth. Peering out from behind a couple of trash cans he watched a traffic of people flow past without so much as glancing into the indistinct alleyway. Just a couple of more steps out into the street and he would be right in the heart of the Flower District, home to Refuge's extravagance. Tourists from all over Mistral visited to get a taste of its nightlife. There was but one place that held such an attraction in Clementine's eyes. Like strings laced into his heart his desire tugged him forward, into the bustling street.
Like a needle weaving through fabric Clementine danced through the crowd, using their mass of bodies to hide himself from their very sight. How dangerous it would be for the young boy if people simply looked down every once and awhile to see what slipped past their feet. Luckily for him, the glamour of the Flower District compelled the people to keep their gazes upward.
Free of any disruptions, Clementine made good time. Wasn't long until his destination was before him. The World Theatre wasn't all that grand in comparison to the rest of the Flower District. It didn't have the same glow that resonated from the clubs, casinos, and raves that dominated the district. Not to mention the poor state in which the theatre was in. It was an old place looked to be held together by duct tape. Perhaps it was that damaged look to it that first grabbed Clementine's attention.
Instead of entering through the front revolving door, Clementine moved around the back of the theatre. There by a propped open backdoor were two women in burlesque sharing a smoke and gossip. In their costumes, which they wore most of the time they could've been anywhere from twenty-eight to fifty-eight years old. The first to catch sight of Clementine nearly choked on her cigarette.
"Oh dear," she exclaimed, "why is it you always appear so caked in filth."
Clementine examined himself. He was covered in grime with dirt buried in his fingernails so deep as to make them look black. "I'm used to it, Monnie." Said the boy with a shy smile.
The second woman, Merri, knelt until she was eyelevel with Clementine and ran her hand through his hair, squeezing out the mud like one might expel water from a wet towel. "It should be a crime to hide such a beautiful shade."
"Am I too late?" he asked.
"You made it by the skin of your teeth. The show is about to begin. You know you could use the front door like everyone else? People here won't mind."
"But then I won't see you two, will I? Now that should be a crime."
The two women exchanged a startled look before bursting into laughter. "You're too sweet. And a gentlemen to boot. I fear for any girl who tries her charms on you. They'll surrender their hearts before they even know what happened."
Merri licked her fingers and fiddled with his hair before backing up in satisfaction of her work. "Hurry along inside now, before you're truly late."
Clementine hurried inside. An unbelievable amount of costumes and props littered the World Theatre's backstage. The cases of musical instruments lined the walls like an armory. No one paid him any mind, they were too busy running back and forth with their own tasks. Performers fluttered about either stretching their limbs or vocal chords. Stagehands hoisted the ropes, raising the curtain, which was met by a pitiful amount of applause. The show was underway. Clementine rushed for the side ladder, barreling through racks of dresses. Up he went, all the way to the top, then across the catwalk where Adriane worked the lights that lit up the stage. The girl, his own age, shot him a glare before returning her attention to the lights. She didn't bother him as long as Clementine got out of her way when she came marching past.
From up here he had a view of everything. The stage where the actors were giving their performance. The rows of red seats where a paltry audience watched with mild enthusiasm. In the middle of them both was the pit where the band played, giving the performance a live soundtrack. Clementine perched himself on the railing of the catwalk. His legs dangled in the air, kicking up and down in rhythm with the music. Below him several performers emerged in suits of black fur to represent creatures of Grimm. They attacked the heroic protagonists of whatever story the play was telling. Clementine rarely understood the story. He didn't have to. He just followed along with the music. It conveyed everything he needed to know in order to understand what was happening. Even without a human voice the music sang to him in a way that no words could ever reach.
He laughed, he cried, he cheered when his two shapely friends came sauntering out onto the stage. It was a magical performance. One that stretched through the day, each play stitched together with improv, much like a book of short stories failing to point out when one ended and the next began. Nothing less than what he expected from the World Theatre. To Clementine, the true crime here was the lack of a proper audience. One that they surely deserved, but never seemed to have. The injustices of living in the Mud District were as nothing compared to this. Young Clementine didn't even recognize his way of life as an injustice, not yet anyway. But with each visit into the city he learned a little more.
Dark thoughts for dark places.
The succession of performances lasted all day and by the end of it Clementine had moved off the catwalk and onto the stage itself. No one had bothered lowering the curtain. What few spectators remained in the auditorium were passed out and probably drunk. Clementine stalked towards the stage's edge where he peered over into the pit. The conductor of the band, an old man with withering gray hair, was too busy rifling through sheets of music to notice the boy. When the conductor gathered the rest of his things a piece of the music stand came with them, specifically the head of the stand. It simply popped off, leaving the pole behind. With a grumble the conductor jammed the head back onto the pole which in turn caused the whole stand to fall off the podium. Row upon row of music stands fell like dominoes, spreading out from the conductor's podium.
Clementine was too slow to stifle his giggle, which drew the old man's gaze. His imploding rage dissipated upon setting his gentle eyes on the boy.
"This place is falling apart!" Complained the conductor.
"It holds together."
"It's been holding together for years now. I'm worried one unlucky sneeze would topple the whole thing."
"Don't even joke." Clementine hopped down into the pit and assisted the old man in righting the fallen music stands.
"Monnie and Merri told me you were here."
"How? You were in the pit all day."
He chuckled, "They kept glancing upwards while on stage. They didn't say a word, but they told me all I needed to know nonetheless. So, I take it you enjoyed the shows today?"
"Do you even need to ask, Spool? If you can tell that much from where a person looks then you can guess what I thought of the show."
"My powers of perception are both a gift and a curse." Spool narrowed his bushy brows at Clementine, "Something is bothering you."
Clementine startled back almost undoing all they fixed so far, "What makes you say that?"
"Your head droops more than usual and you stare distractedly at your feet for some time before your eyes dart around as if waking up. Tell me, what's on your mind."
"Nothing." Snapped Clementine.
"Ohhh, nothing eh? Doesn't sound like nothing to me."
"You won't like it."
"Perhaps, but we will never know until you say."
Clementine was slow to speak, "Spool, can you tell me why the city hates me?"
Spool started as if slapped across the face, "I don't hate you, boy."
"No," admitted Clementine with a smile, "you don't. You, Monnie, Merri…the only friendly faces I've met outside the Mud District."
"What about Adriane?" asked Spool.
Clementine resisted the urge to glance up at the catwalk. "She scares me."
Spool chuckled, "That's because she is a girl."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Nothing, nothing. Go on, Clementine. What is it you're trying to say?"
"The Mud District…We're secluded from the rest of Refuge. I see no obvious difference between us and yet we're treated like pests. Please tell me why. Risa won't answer me. No one ever gives me a straight answer. They act as if it's a secret I should already know about."
Spool eased himself into a seat next to Clementine. "You know, people forget that the Mud District was were the city of Refuge was born. Generations ago our ancestors stood there, backs against the Spine and ankle deep in the muck. Their last stand against a horde of Grimm. They fought and they won…Settled where they stood. Everything else branched out from there."
He sighed, "Times change. With the natural defense of the Spine encircling the valley coupled with the growing population, the threat of the Grimm decreased. Without a common enemy, humans and faunus alike turn on each other. Over such petty things. Take the Great War for example. Look at us today. We've expanded, but we haven't grown. Do you understand what I mean?"
"I think so." Clementine's throat was dry causing his voice to squeak. "But how does that have to do with the Mud District now?"
"You're asking dangerous questions, Clementine. Best you go home before it gets too dark."
Clementine stood, his tiny hands balled into fists. "No, you haven't answered my question. All you've done is give me a history lesson."
"I have given you the knowledge to answer that question for yourself. If you want to know why the present is how it is, then you must study the past. Things have a tendency to repeat themselves. Simply put, I don't know why things are the way they are. It is what it is. And for the most part people are content to leave it that way."
"No, you're wrong. Nothing happens for no reason. Someone is making things the way they are."
Spool leaned back in the chair, "Life isn't a play, Clementine. Things don't always have a purpose or a lesson though some philosophers would tell you otherwise."
Seeing Spool so weary melted the tension from Clementine's bones. "I'm sorry, this is why I didn't want to ask."
"No, it's my fault for pushing. You're not wrong in thinking this way. Many others share similar thoughts."
"Then how come I never hear of them?"
"It's because they hide within themselves, hoping to forget."
Spool glanced up, his attention drawn by a growing number of voices. Some kind of commotion started a racket backstage. The murmuring came to a peak when Merri appeared at the edge of the stage, panic twisting her face. Her frantic eyes pierced straight through Clementine.
"What is it?" asked Spool as he jumped to his feet.
Merri managed to tear her gaze away from Clementine. "You have to see this. Now."
After a moment's frightful confusion, they ascended from the pit and followed Merri out the back to where a crowd of performers had gathered. One and all staring out into the distance. Clementine followed their gaze over and beyond the roofs of Refuge where a great light burned. A fire so enflamed its light reached them even this far out. There was no warmth found in its touch. Only a chill that turned Clementine's blood into ice. That dark pit that had formed in his gut splintered and grew tendrils that wormed its way through him.
Voices from behind sounded far distant. A hand on his shoulder recoiled as if it too felt that cold. Clementine ran, ignoring the shouts chasing after him. In his chilled mind burned a thought that thawed his limbs lose, allowing him to run.
A fire, the Mud District is on fire.
The heat baked his flesh, making his sweat like icicles slithering down his skin. The fire consumed the night in an orange glow. The air was hard to breathe even for the Craft District, but not because of smoke, but because of Clementine's exhaustion. He had sprinted nonstop from the recesses of the Flower District straight to the Buffer. Still, the fire blazed.
Clementine shoved past guards just standing there doing nothing but watching. He had not taken his typical route up onto the warehouse roofs. There was no time for it. He slipped past one shadowed guard, which made a grab at him. The guardsman caught him by the wrist and yanked him back so hard it almost pulled Clementine's arm right out of its socket. Clementine kicked about, but he could not wrench his arm free. He was dragged across the pavement like a doll, eventually being thrown hard against a wall. His head whip-lashed, jaw shutting tight on his tongue. A swell of blood filled his mouth as he landed on the ground. A high pitched white noise filled Clementine's skull. His first attempt to get up was met with a kick to his ribs. The second time a boot was brought down on his calf. There was no third attempt to rise but the assault continued anyways.
He had him, the little strawberry haired thief. Tried to slip right past him, but no he was too quick for him. Yes, to quick and clever. Justice at long last for the many insults inflicted onto him by this brat. The incident the other day left Guardsman Webb with more than just embarrassment, but a demotion as well. Stuck on patrol duty at the Buffer of all places. How Webb writhed in his bed that night, unable to sleep. Now look what he caught. Luck was smiling down on him this night.
The boy struggled against him, but he was nothing compared to Webb's black rage. Funny enough, the boy didn't try to fight him. He only wished to rush to his home. How fitting then that this humble City Guardsman was here to stop him from entering that inferno. The fat man laughed when he threw the boy against the warehouse wall. He had dragged him away enough as to not be bothered by any of the other guard. The thunk of the boy's head as it snapped against the wall was the most satisfying noise the Guardsman ever heard. He kicked him to keep the boy down.
"Relax kid, I'm saving your life…probably."
The boy tried to rise again so the guardsman stomped on his leg, bone snapped beneath his boot. The boy didn't scream, which was disappointing. He instead started to crawl towards the burning district. Enraged, the guardsman attacked again and again. Kicking and stomping on him like he was some kind of insect. The boy instinctively curled up into a ball in an attempt to shield himself. One well-placed heel into the boy's temple broke that ball and the boy went limp.
Out of breath and wheezing for air Webb left the boy for dead. Outside the secluded alley, he leaned his ample weight against the warehouse and watched the Mud District burn. This up close it was quite a sight to behold. A recruit came rushing up to him like a startled sheep.
"Sir, what should we do?"
"Do, you say? Nothing. We do nothing. Just keep the fire from spreading into here."
"But what about the people in there?"
"Let the place burn to ashes. Save us the trouble."
The Recruit just stood there at attention, dumbstruck. "What did I just say?" growled the senior guardsman, "Go see to it that it doesn't spread and if you decide to help those in the Mud District, then do us all a favor and stay there." The Recruit's jaw clenched and he took off without saying another word. When he was gone the Guardsman turned his attention back onto the flames.
"Burn…let it all burn."
Back in the alley Clementine writhed in pain, but even that faded to the wet cold that took over like a sickness. Blood pooled into his left eye, staining his vision red. He blinked, but when he opened his eye the world had darkened. From the alley mouth a figure approached. Hunched over, the stranger scooped him up with wiry muscled arms and carried him away. Smoke filled the sky bigger than any cloud. Ashes rained down along with smoldering embers. The cold ushered him into blackness where dark thoughts roamed free.