Dissertation
It's six o'clock in Miriel's Burner, a popular cafe in the heart of Zaun's uptown. I know it's six o'clock not because of a clock hanging on a wall. There's a young man with timepieces all over his brown trench coat, absolutely everywhere, in all manner of shapes and sizes and metals. He's sitting at the counter, talking with the bartender. As I sit here with my strangely powdery mocha, I can't help but look him over long enough to make sure they're all in synch.
Swain definitely has an ulterior motive in motivating me to find Sona in Zaun. While on the way to claim my tickets, a crow landed on my shoulder with exactly enough money to foot the bill. I won't probe the question.
Zaun is a place of ultimate freedom, some say. If freedom is supposed to smell like burning hair, all the more sweeter. You can feel the freedom melting your eyebrows as you walk the bustling streets. Among the maze of pipes, shacks and small stores, of which no map can emulate, people work to their own dreams and little else. Being so occupied wouldn't give them much time to dwell on what looks to be like a gigantic shimmering orange-gray vortex in the sky. That color one would associate with a dying sunset. However, there was no sun and it was four in the afternoon when I touched down today.
As I was walking out of the airship port, I passed a bronze statue of Singed, standing tall in full armor as champion of the league in the middle of a small square. His expression let on no emotion as he looked toward a nonexistent horizon. I smiled and greeted him. It would be wrong to say I hate Singed. He gave me direction through my first years of summoning. Together, or I should say under him summoning was maddeningly fun. So rarely do I hear the word 'fun' around the Institute, it's sad. If my mental fortitude were stronger, I think I would have been gone so much farther in my career. Really though, thats not saying I condone his crimes during the war. Every emotional failsafe in my brain exclaims me to hate him and his home. But I came to pass feeling hatred. It was just after I met Sona.
A damn good thing I got rid of any hateful sentiment toward Zaun, because otherwise I'd hate the shit out of it right now.
Even here in the uptown, Zaun's "shimmer" problem is no secret. Anti-shimmer posters appear every two blocks or so. So far I've spotted five people in this cafe with strips of atrophied body tissue somewhere on them. Still, Zaunites are as proud of their problems as much as their successes. Both are signs of progress, essential for experimentation, evolution and forward motion.
The objective of my experimenting with Sona was to enrich my own life. I was being selfish, to put it bluntly. In forwarding that line of thinking, I outright abandoned her right when our relationship was about to go somewhere. My purpose now is to repair my feelings for her and hers for me. So that's that. I'll need more caffeine for this job.
There's a poster advertising Sona's concert, or rather, Pentakill's concert right outside the cafe. This metal band sings the dirges and marches of Zaun's rebellious youth. I don't know what they're rebelling against, it could be any number of things. Parents, the Zaunite aristocracy, the world itself?
What cause does Sona have to join their mob? I guess there's much ground to cover between us. So much left unsolved. By me. Asking questions to a mute is tricky business.
I remember early on, most of our conversations were very one-sided. Sona would strum a tune for me, telling of a day's progression through notes alone. Tempo and measure was sort of thrown to the wayside as melodies were constantly picked up and dropped. She could allude to material objects almost as if miming. Thanks to her, I know what a blooming flower sounds like. Most of these stories were mundane happenings like gardening and private lessons.
Sona lives alone without even a single servant to keep her company. Her vast wealth is never really apparent unless she's to show before a crowd. Otherwise it appears out of nowhere, suddenly footing the bill for her entire party at restaurants and lending money to close friends, then insisting they not pay her back. Still, these expenditures are always somewhat under the table, which sanctions the deplorable rumor that she's a serious miser.
The locket Sona gave me looks valuable enough. It would set any budget back some large amount. What photo to set inside?
If I knew my parents, this would be the place to put their faces. I don't know any of my family. Now it's a little late to start elaborating a biography on myself. I smell smoke coming through an adjacent window, and I think the others can too.