By the time Roman arrived back at Wildebeast Ink the night had almost fully consumed Vale, as it had taken much longer to start back from the Golden Rose than he had initially anticipated. The streets growing dark were the least of his problems, as he was used to slinking around at night. However, as dark had fallen, so too had the amount of pedestrians to hide amongst as they made for their homes.
The Atlesian vodka had also hit his out-of-practice alcohol tolerance harder than he was used to, and the walk several miles back through the city, while carrying the box with the umbrella inside it he did not possess a permit for, had seemed like it was never going to end.
So when he walked, or rather, stumbled to the door of Folly's shop, relief flooded his tired, buzzing muscles when he found it unlocked.
He stepped inside the shop, and immediately he knew he was being watched. The observer was making no effort to hide herself, as Roman found out when he turned to the waiting room table and found Folly Rosenwood eyeing him from above a can of beer at her lips.
"Folly!" Roman attempted to sound enthusiastic, but it came out sounding more like an exasperated sigh of relief, "I didn't know you drank in your own shop."
Folly put down her bottle, and just from her movements Roman could tell that he was not the only one slightly intoxicated in the room.
"Why didn't you text me?" Folly demanded with a slur, "Did you get your scrolls or whatever? Are they in that box?"
Well, maybe more than slightly.
"Oh this?" Roman laughed, "No no that's different; it, uh... didn't really go as planned-"
"So you didn't get them?"
"No I did! I just have to set them up in the morning, I'm sorry, Folly I have had a day, let me tell you…"
Folly's eyes narrowed as she examined Roman with an almost comical level of drunken scrutiny.
"Are you drunk…?" she wondered, lips curling into a grin.
Roman chuckled, "Probably not as much as you are."
"Ha! You're drunk too!"
Folly got up from behind the table, finished her beer in one swig and proceeded to balance her way to her shop's door.
"I guess I'm just like, glad that you're back," she explained as she fumbled with a pair of keys in her pocket, "I got really worried for a little b-Wait! Did you go the bar!?"
"Um, no; I got the scrolls-"
"Roman Torchwick!" her face stretched wide in a toothy smile, "You should have brought me too if you were going to the bar!"
"I…" Roman paused as he gathered his thoughts, "It's a long story. Folly, how many have you had?"
"Not that many, actually," Folly held up a finger and pushed gently on Roman's chest, "I went out and bought some of that whiskey you like, and when you didn't come back I tried some but it was really strong, so I chased it with a Schnee Ice, or two…"
"You have Amberwood whiskey…?" Roman shook his head, "Wait, wait where's Neo? Is she-"
"She!" Folly held up both hands, "Is fine. She's asleep, I told her you were fine and she was just so tired; the poor thing couldn't even hold her head up, and her wound starting really hurting, so I gave her some meds. She's in the guest room, sleeping."
Roman exhaled in relief, "Oh, good."
"What? Were you worried I would eat her or something?"
Folly cackled as if she had made the funniest joke in all of Remnant.
"Well no, I just wanted to-"
"You can go check on her; it's so cute that you care about her so much," she smiled before putting her hand on Roman's shoulder.
"But! After that you should come drink with me, and tell me all about that long story of yours; that whiskey isn't going to drink itself, y'know!"
He had been craving some Amberwood all day.
Truth be told, Roman couldn't tell why he was hesitating at all, even slightly; what better way was there to unwind, after multiple near-death experiences in the 48 hours since escaping The Maw, then getting wasted off of quality liquor while in good company?
"Sounds like a plan," he grinned at a similarly excited Folly, "Let me just drop this off and check on Neo."
"I'll pour the drinks!"
Folly took the stairs up to her apartment as quickly as her inebriated nerves would allow her to as Roman followed closely behind. They split off after entering the apartment; he watched her teeter to her refrigerator and retrieve the bottle of golden liquor on top of it before he went to the guest room. He was gentle as he opened the door, entering quietly and closing it behind him in the darkness only split by the muted window light.
Immediately he saw Neo on the bed, lying on her side beneath the sheets with small hands beside her face. Roman only noticed he was smiling as he slipped off his shoes and approached the bed; she looked so peaceful, her newly dyed hair splayed across the pillow like a blanket of fluffy, Neapolitan clouds.
He didn't touch her for fear of waking her, for he knew how little she slept, but he knelt by her side and took in the sight for a few moments longer before he slipped the box underneath their bed.
He had thought about what to do with the exquisite weapon while on the way back, but even from the moment he had received it, his mind had already been made up. With weapons on the mind, he briefly took note of Melodic Cudgel's location leaned against the table: exactly where he had left it.
Making effort to be quiet, the only sounds in the room were Neo's rhythmic breaths as he shed his coat, gloves and hat and changed into the shirt Folly had lent him before leaving the girl to her rest and joining the tattoo artist in the living room.
As soon as he sat down at the table he was joined by both Folly and a glass of sweet-smelling whiskey she had poured for him, three ice cubes clinking against the glass within a column of golden liquid.
"Hope you like ice."
Folly collapsed into the chair across from him, a can of Schnee Ice in hand that she swigged with gusto.
He didn't respond immediately, instead washing down the stresses of the day with a mighty draught of his glass; the taste of his favorite liquor was tart, with accents of honey and syrup.
"Ah, I needed this," he sighed, squinting as the alcohol pleasantly scorched his throat, "There was a moment there, in The Maw, where I almost forgot what liquor tasted like."
Folly was silent for a moment as she took a gulp from her beer, but she quickly followed it up with laughter.
"I still can't believe you escaped," she said, "You badass."
"Hey," Roman spread his hands, "It comes naturally when you're just this good."
"So, how did you do it? You know, when you say something is a long story, it just makes people wanna hear it."
Roman swilled his glass; he was already just about on the edge of tipsy, and despite sleeping the entire day away, the events of late had left him craving a bed. Still, considering it was Folly's bed he was currently utilizing free of charge, he decided to indulge her at least until he finished his glass.
"Well," he took a drink, exhaling, "Get ready for a story…"
"I almost threw up…!"
Roman slammed back another glass; he had lost count of how many had come before, as Folly reached for breath somewhere between laughter and disbelief.
"The guy thought it was funny or something!"
Without thinking Roman reached for the bottle of whiskey, and drunkenly poured himself an additional glass; Folly didn't notice as he spilled some on her table.
"I still haven't got past the part where you escaped a Grimm!" Folly exclaimed, "I've never seen a real one!"
Roman continued as if he hadn't heard.
"Marcus just like, hands me this heap, that looks half rotted, and is just, like, have fun! You'll be jumping! No landing strategy or anything, fucking seriously…"
Folly placed another can of beer on the table, next to several, shaking her head as Roman continued to rant.
"By this point!" he announced, louder than was necessary, "I've almost been killed so many times death doesn't even fucking scare me anymore! I ran away from a Nevermore! So for fuck's sake, I just jump out of the damned thing because I don't even care anymore, and if I don't? Well, then we die anyway, and that just means I breathed rust in for three months for no reason! So how the fuck could it get any worse, right? So out the door we go, and then you know the rest."
He finished the drink he had just poured himself as Folly laughed in disbelief, her cheeks crimson and a hand on her forehead.
"It must have been horrible," she finally said, "No food, no privacy… no booze!"
"You're telling me!" Roman sighed, exasperated.
Folly traced a fingernail around the rim of a beer can, meeting Roman's bloodshot eyes. Both of them had matching, rosy cheeks and lopsided grins.
"No women, either…"
Roman held up a finger, "Actually there were a few, but most were faunus."
Folly rolled her eyes.
"Not what I meant, genius! You probably haven't been laid in months!"
Roman blinked before moving to pour himself another glass.
"Well… It wasn't really a big concern of mine!" he said, "But now that I'm back in town I'll start playing the field again."
"Gonna be a little harder as a single dad," Folly said with a wink.
Roman felt his cheeks flush, and not from the alcohol.
"Hey she's not my daughter! It's… it's more like having… a sister."
Folly allowed herself a laugh at his expense, rolling her eyes as he took another drink.
"I know, Roman," she said, quickly following with a yawn, "Thanks for the tale, but I'm wasted, it's late, and I have a client at twelve."
Roman nodded, drunkenly waving away the apology in her voice.
"Go! Sleep, Folly! I might drink a little more…"
"Dude there's… barely any whiskey left…"
Roman squinted at the bottle. His vision was blurred, and he couldn't tell exactly how much liquor remained; it wasn't very substantial, that much was clear.
"Oh…" he said, "Guess I got a little… carried away?"
He cringed melodramatically as Folly laughed, covering her mouth with a purple rose-marked hand.
"I don't blame you, man! The Maw was the stuff of nightmares! Help yourself to some beer if you need to."
"I think I might do that."
Folly tottered across the room to her bedroom door; it might have been the booze, but it looked to Roman like she was attempting to sway her hips.
"I'll leave my door open, though," she turned to him, "Just in case you get scared."
With a wink, the artist proceeded into her room and, true to her word, neglected to close the door behind her.
Roman Torchwick may have been completely wasted, but he was not a fool; in fact, the main thing that had kept him alive this long was his intuition. Even with the copious dose of alcohol diluting his blood, he watched through the noticeable gap in Folly's door as her shirt was tossed onto the floor; her long, bare legs as she crawled onto her bed. Her hip twisted and the light dimmed, but did not go dark, and he could have sworn she was inviting him into her room.
She was right: he hadn't been laid in months, and after everything he'd been through, maybe all the built-up adrenaline could be put to use in more mutually beneficial ways than just staying awake all night killing every beer in Folly's well-stocked fridge.
He rose from the table, and his head swayed, as if halfway filled with liquid cement. The walk to Folly's room was challenging in his current state, but he managed with effort to maintain his balance all the way to her open door. He nudged it aside carefully and with as deliberate a motion as he could manage; if indeed the alcohol was planting false perception in his head, Folly would have ample time to notice his intrusion and send him on his way.
And she did notice him; Roman leaned against the doorframe mere feet away from a reclined, smirking Folly, one manicured nail placed tantalizingly between her lips. Her svelte body, fully tattooed with stylized, colorful visages of wildlife and flora from the arches of her feet to the antlers of the signature wildebeest on her throat, was on full-display before his eyes covered only by her lace-accented underwear as she lay with her head tilted on her pillow.
Roman's shirt joined the mounds of clothing on the floor. His drunken disrobing was less graceful than the situation typically would have called for, but the similarly inebriated tattoo artist was understanding. They shared a mutual, carefree laugh before Folly held out her hand. She turned her palm upward, one of the only patches of undecorated flesh on her body, and beckoned with a deliberate curl of one lithe finger.
Like a moth to flame Roman descended; his lips crashed against Folly's waiting mouth, and from then until sleep claimed them they bucked and rocked like the tides. His hands, his tongue roamed the tapestry of her flesh; ascended her peaks and traversed her valleys. The demons that plagued him were silent, drowned in an ocean of lust, whiskey, and sweat, and on his journey, lost among the peaks, for a moment he forgot the stench of misery as he inhaled her.
Vale, Day 17
"Here, take a look."
The hairdresser passed a mirror into Roman's gloved, waiting hand, and after a brief inspection, he whistled at the results of his makeover at the young stag faunus' labor. Initially he had been more than hesitant to let a faunus cut his hair, but the way she had teased, layered, and trimmed the mess of split ends that had been his fiery mane into a clean, voluminous swoop over the right side of his face brought out his jawline in a way he found very aesthetically pleasing. She had even waxed his brows and left his lined eye uncovered, further emphasizing the asymmetry he preferred; truth be told…
"Not bad, deerie!"
He passed the mirror back and rose from his seat, returning his hat to his head and retrieving Melodic Cudgel from beside him.
"Here," he handed the stunned hairdresser a handful of lien bills that amounted to more than the cost they had agreed upon, "Go… get your antlers oiled, or whatever you faunus do to treat yourselves; you earned it."
He exited the salon, back into the crowds of Vale's sprawling underground mall and stretched; two weeks in Vale and just now were they getting around to that shopping trip. Even living in the kingdom his whole life he had never visited the mall before now, and even though he had never had a reason to he was almost regretting not having done so. The mall was one of the most modern additions to Vale, with multiple entrances around the city, three levels with a variety of stores from hair salons and clothing outlets to weapon shops, and cutting edge holographic maps placed every few feet; he only wished he had more money to spend.
"Hey! Roman!"
He turned at the sound of Folly's voice; the artist and Neo were walking through the crowd of shoppers, both women smiling jovially as they approached.
"Ladies!" he acknowledged them with a tip of his hat, "Did some clothes shopping, did we?"
Neo nodded, wearing one of the dresses Folly had procured for her from the thrift store two weeks prior; it was a decent find, plain and colored navy. The artist carried a bag of clothes stamped with a logo, and Roman took note of the short, fur-collared green jacket she was wearing that he'd never seen before now.
"Looks good," he said.
"Says the guy with a sharp new haircut!" she replied, "You look like the singer from Panic On The Dance Floor."
Roman raised an eyebrow, "I… hate that band."
"Ugh, whatever; you just stick to your jazz, then."
"I have refined musical tastes, Folly."
"Neo," Folly looked beside her, "Whose music do you like better?"
Neo was standing on the tips of her toes, attempting to raise her head above the banister overlooking the two lower floors of the mall. She did not abandon her task, but reached a finger back to Roman, causing Folly to gasp in shock as she gripped her heart.
"Neo, how could you!? I feel betrayed!"
She whined as Roman shook his head and laughed.
"Atta girl," he grinned smugly as Neo offered him a thumbs-up.
Folly crossed her arms and snorted.
"Seriously? The two of you wouldn't know good music if it tackled you in a mosh pit."
Neo turned from the banister, rolling her eyes above an entertained smirk. When both adults turned their attention to her she didn't hesitate to point urgently to her feet; while her dress was functional, her shoes were another story, as all Folly had managed to find small enough for her tiny feet had been an aged pair of child's sneakers that had clearly seen better days.
"Right! Next on the list is to get miss Neo some new shoes," Folly said, "It's gonna be a challenge though; they hardly make anything in her size."
"Have you already looked?" Roman asked Neo directly. A nod and a shrug was his answer.
"There's a specialty shoe store on the bottom level," Folly explained, "At the very least we could commission some custom shoes for her, but that'll be a pretty penny."
"We're not gonna find anything if we don't look," Roman was undeterred, "And we're not leaving until Neo finds shoes she likes; come on!"
They started off for the nearest escalator even as Folly continued to be the voice of reason.
"Seriously Roman, she deserves to have shoes she likes but hunting for her size is no joke; every store so far hasn't even carried it."
Nothing could dampen his spirits; the two weeks or so since arriving in Vale, after narrowly escaping with his life from the Hong Zhao, had progressed more splendidly than he could have ever imagined possible in The Maw. While Neo's leg wound had healed Folly had let them stay at her apartment free of charge, and even after she could walk without pain no terms had been discussed. Not only did the roof over their head cost Roman nothing, but the drunken tryst he and Folly had shared hadn't been an isolated event; on several different occasions the two adults had mutually, and physically, negotiated their needs, and nothing had changed between them outside of the bed sheets.
Roman preferred it that way; the vigorous activity had helped his body to forget his time in The Maw and clear his thoughts so he could focus on his plan of action for the future. On multiple occasions he had attempted to scout the current state of local Black Circle activity, but the intel Junior Xiong had shared with him had been accurate: the Circle was much harder to find as of late. To further complicate matters, even though he knew where several key Circle operations were located, he was wary of getting too close were he to reveal himself and give away whatever traces of the element of surprise he still possessed, or reveal that Folly was harboring him; the Circle's operatives still came in to her shop regularly to get tattooed, and he would either leave the apartment or remain upstairs during their visits. Though Folly said she would share anything they revealed to her, every operative thus far had kept their mouths shut about anything involving Giovane; most believed he had fled Vale entirely.
The mix of factors had made progress in locating the walrus faunus difficult, but in the meantime, he'd had ample opportunities to observe Neo and her behavior outside of The Maw; she still didn't sleep for very long, when she did, but the steady consumption of meals on a more frequent basis had led to her malnourished, frail figure gradually blossoming into that of a healthy young woman. At first her fuller cheeks and thicker thighs had appeared to be the intake of essential nutrients she had been deprived of for so long, but after the first week when her hips and bust had begun to fill out he had had been forced to re-estimate her apparent age; she was perhaps further along in adolescence than he had initially been led to believe.
This was also apparent in her behavior: though Neo rarely displayed anger or frustration, her mood was quick to shift. Sometimes she would be visibly happy and social, actively seeking out Roman or Folly and assisting them with cooking, cleaning, or observing the former's tattooing. When she wasn't familiar with the task she was eager to learn, and would pickup whatever it was quickly and efficiently.
Other times, in a short span of a few seconds, she would become distant and withdrawn. Roman would often find her in the guest room, either practicing her illusory semblance or simply resting with her eyes to the ceiling. Concerned for the effect prolonged isolation could have on her mind, Roman had frequently invited her out of the guestroom to take part in activities with he or Folly, but most of the time she would calmly decline. Folly had suggested that perhaps periods of isolation was more familiar to Neo, and therefore more comfortable than maintained socialization, and so Roman had left her alone. Eventually she would always return, smiling, and sometimes even mischievously sneaky; Folly had received more than a handful of surprises at the mercy of Neo's semblance and silent feet.
Though she apparently remembered how to read, she seemed uncomfortable with scroll communication. Initially Roman had hoped that text messaging her would result in a clearer exchange of information between them, but he inferred quickly from her curt, vague answers that Neo was actually more comfortable, perhaps more adapted, to simply using body language and facial nuance to get her points across. She was also a perfectionist, and would display this tendency most commonly at dinner, where she would always meticulously arrange her cutlery into perfectly parallel layouts, or while doing any other household chore such as folding clothes into flawlessly pressed piles, or scrubbing a surface until even miniscule specks of filth had been eradicated. On one occasion, she had even waited until Folly had finished with the dishes before washing them all again herself. Twice.
While on one of his reconnaissance forays Roman had located an abandoned warehouse that the Circle no longer occupied, and he planned to show Neo, and present her with the exquisitely-crafted weaponized parasol he now possessed, when he next had the chance; now that her leg had healed, leaving only a discolored bruise with the assistance of a constantly maintained aura, he was eager to return to combat training with her.
He was ripped from his thoughts when Neo, maintaining a constant pace ahead of him in the mall, broke formation and pressed herself to a shop window. A glance showed her gazing longingly at a pair of white, equestrian riding boots; they were tall, knee-high with arching, high heels carved from wood and inlayed with ornate buttons.
"Whoa, someone's got fashion sense," Folly remarked, leaning down to look at the boots from over Neo's small, transfixed head. Roman glanced at the sign for the store; while lost in thought they had arrived at Cedar's Specialty Footwear Boutique.
Neo was in awe; her cheeks flushed as she beheld the boots, mouth agape.
"Not bad, Neo," Roman commented, "Those are some pretty high heels though; you sure you'll be able to walk in those?"
Neo's head whipped to him as she nodded vigorously, her pink and brown eyes set in fearless determination.
"I'll take that as a yes?"
"She'll be fine; walking in heels isn't hard, just keep your shoulders back, and think murder."
Folly imparted her wisdom before examining the specifications next to the boots on display.
"Oh they have your size!" she announced excitedly as Neo's eyes bulged with yearning, "It's the smallest size they carry! Now, where's the price… oh, Dust…"
Roman raised an eyebrow, "Oh Dust? Come on, don't leave us hanging, Folly."
Folly turned to Roman with a disappointed grimace.
"Two thousand, five hundred lien."
There was a moment of uncertain, aghast silence. In the background, a group of high-school aged girls chatting and giggling amongst themselves, as well as a vexed parent scolding their small child, were uncomfortably audible.
"…Alright," Roman said, glancing at Neo's devastated face; she looked like she genuinely didn't understand why there was a problem; only that she would have to leave her boots behind.
"When I make some money, I'll pay you back for them."
"What!?" Folly shook her head, rising from the display window, "Roman, I don't have that kind of money; that's a months' rent!"
"Well…"
He looked desperately past Neo's pouting expression, to the display looking for the most favorable outcome possible.
"Look," Folly pointed to the display, "Those are the luxury edition boots, hand-made with high-quality materials, but the factory standard, are still two-fifty! It's-"
"Wait," Roman held up a hand, "…Really?"
"Yeah," Folly said, irritable at being interrupted, "They're way cheaper, but I've heard bad things about this brand online; they say the luxury models last for years, but the factory ones are hit-or-miss. I don't know about you, but two-fifty is a lot to pay for a pair of boots that have the heel literally glued to the sole by faunus in a sweat-shop somewhere…"
Folly actually continued to rationalize further, but Roman had stopped listening. One look at Neo's heartbroken expression, and the gears of his criminal clockwork had already started turning. He glanced around the entrance to the boutique: there were no customers, and only one cashier was behind the desk: a young man, probably a teenager, playing on his scroll. The standard security measures were in effect: One camera behind the desk, and a barcode scanner at the entrance. He eyed the equestrian boots, the luxury ones that had caught Neo's multi-chromatic eyes, and a confident grin spread across his face even as Folly continued to tell his deaf ears that it wasn't viable.
"…And I've already over-budgeted since you guys started staying with me; not that I'm blaming you, I chose this, but we have really got to start thinking about how much we're willing to spend here…"
"You willing to spend one-twenty-five?" Roman asked, "...For the luxury boots? We'll split them, fifty-fifty."
"Um, the luxury boots are off the table!" Folly exclaimed incredulously, "If you really want to spend that money for the… wait…"
Neo looked curious as Folly studied the winning smile on Roman's face, squinting suspiciously.
"Neo," Roman announced, "We're getting those boots, but Folly: I'm gonna need your help."
"Roman…" she said slowly, "Just what are you planning to do, exactly?"
"What I do best."
Roman winked at a smiling Neo as Folly's eyebrows knitted in anger.
"Wait, what? No! Absolutely not; we are not going to steal a two-and-a-half-thousand lien pair of boots!"
"Shhhh! Not so loud."
Despite the warning, Roman's smirk did not waver, "I've got a plan, Folly, and I can't do it without you. You with me?"
Folly grasped for words where she had none before looking aside, crossing her arms, and resting two fingers indignantly upon her brow.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," Roman soothed, "I'm a professional, remember?"
Folly didn't look convinced. Nonetheless, she sighed heavily in apparent resignation.
"…Let's hear it, Roman."
The young cashier was still playing on his scroll when Folly swung her hips into Cedar's Boutique.
"Oh-Hi! Welcome to Ceda-"
"Yeah, I have a few questions!? I'm birthday shopping for my kid brother and he is. The. Worst!"
Folly approached the checkout counter, announcing her intentions more aggressively than necessary as she leaned both elbows on the surface and stared, firmly but not unkindly at the cashier, who quickly put away his scroll.
"Of course! What sort of q-"
"Ugh! Boys' shoes," Folly exclaimed, "I know nothing about them and he wants these… these…."
She gestured with a tattooed hand, "These aeroshock sneakers or whatever; can you show me the different models?"
"Yes! Certainly ma'am, right this way!"
The cashier led Folly to the men and boys' section on the right side of the small boutique. It was at this moment that Roman and Neo entered, immediately proceeding to the women and girl's section on the left.
"Alright," Roman whispered, "Grab one size above yours in the factory standard version."
Neo set upon her task with the same determination she had displayed slaying her way to freedom in The Maw; she scoured the boxes neatly aligned on the shelves as Roman did the same. It didn't take them long, but still luck was necessary for their success: There was only one set of luxury boots left in size six, and one pair of size seven for the factory standard set.
Breathing a quick sigh of relief, Roman signaled for the both of them, each in possession of a box of boots, to proceed to the next phase of the plan. It may have seemed counter-intuitive to their success to deliberately approach the sole cashier in the store, but that was what separated Roman Torchwick from the dozens of petty thieves prowling Vale's streets: he knew that the best hiding spot was not in the shadows, but in plain view.
He approached the cashier, who had his back turned while being lectured by a rambling Folly, and cleared his throat.
"Excuse me," Roman announced as the cashier turned to him, "My niece and I are just going to see which size fits her in the dressing room, then we'll be out to pay."
"Oh! Certainly!" The cashier confirmed, "Would you like any hel-"
"Hey!" Folly stomped her foot on the paneled floor, scowling, "I was in the middle of a sentence!? I have a half a mind to call your manager!"
"Oh I-I'm t-terribly sorry ma'am!" The besieged cashier swung his attention back to the furious Folly, "It's been a long day."
"Whatever," the artist dismissed, "I have questions about the mark three model versus the mark four."
The lone employee's attention completely ensnared, the two would-be-thieves proceeded casually into one of two fitting booths in the back of the boutique. They closed the door quietly, set the boxes down on the bench carefully, and pilfered their contents. They worked quickly, efficiently; theirs was a partnership built on planning, communicating, and then executing those plans as economically as possible. Although they wasted nary a second, Roman took a moment as he worked to smile knowingly at his young protégé, a gesture she returned before they returned to their tasks with renewed focus.
Up close, the differences between the factory stock boots and the handmade luxury models were readily apparent; precise stitching held the genuine, white leather together on the luxury boots, every anomaly no matter how subtle a testament to the personality of the item, where the machine stitching on the standard boots made no statement beyond predictability. Roman relocated the footwear, placing the luxury boots in the box for the standard model and vice versa, and as he did so he marveled at the strength of the scrupulously sculpted heels, genuine finished leather, and detailed buttons on the boots that would soon belong to Neo; these were shoes that were made to last.
They waited for a few moments, the amount of time it would realistically take for Neo to try on two different pairs of boots, of course, before they wordlessly exited the booth. Roman carried the box for the factory standard boots, which contained the handcrafted luxury footwear while Neo carried the cheaper boots in the virtually identical box made for the luxury pair.
She deposited the box in the appropriate section on the wall as Roman approached the counter. On the right side of the boutique Folly was in the midst of concluding her act.
"At this point, I just don't know!" she exclaimed, "Maybe my brother would be happy with a cheaper pair; maybe he won't be able to tell the difference."
"Well, that's… up to you, ma'am."
"You know what? I think I'm done here," she sighed exasperatedly, "You were a big help but I think I need to make a call to my mom; I'm just very out of my element right now and if I get him the wrong shoes, there will be hell to pay for me."
"Alright well…" the cashier quickly took note of the relaxed man standing at the counter, and his adorably petite niece, and smiled in relief.
"Just come back if you change your mind."
"Of course!" Folly threw a hasty wave over her shoulder as she exited the boutique, "Bye for now."
Though the cashier attempted to disguise it, his sigh of relief was long and deep as he returned to his position behind the counter.
"Long day?" Roman smiled pleasantly.
"Oh, Dust," the cashier shook his head, laughing, "I'm just glad that's over."
"I worked at a Cedar's when I was a kid, too," Roman lied, "She's not even the worst I've ever seen!"
The two men shared smiles as the cashier scanned the box with only the briefest of glances. He looked to Neo, leaning over the counter to see her.
"Fit okay?" he asked, "These boots are beautiful! My sister wanted a pair, but she had her eyes set on the handmade edition; she rides, you see, so-"
"I hear the standard edition is decent too," Roman interjected.
"Oh! Oh yes; the factory boots will still hold up, as Perionne is one of our most widely respected brands. Anyway, that will be two-hundred-and-fifty lien, sir, plus import tax."
"Here," Roman had the bills presented before the cashier had finished his sentence.
"Perfect!" The boy answered, "While you're here, would you like to sign up for a Cedar's credit card and receive two-percent off this order?"
"Not today," Roman shook his head.
"Okay, how about our free rewards program?"
"No, thank you."
"Are you sure? Every fifty lien spent gets you-"
"No."
Roman's countenance alone put an end to any further pitching. He received the receipt, and with a final, not unpleasant goodbye to the cashier, exited the boutique, Neo in tow. In his arms he carried a box containing handcrafted boots worth thousands of lien, a receipt for one-tenth that price, and on his face, he barely managed to repress a victorious smirk.
He was a professional, after all.
"Never make me do that again."
Folly stared sternly at him from above her pistachio milkshake as Roman grinned, a greasy chicken tender halfway to his mouth. The sounds of dining and conversation surrounded them in the mall's food court, where they rested their feet and satisfied their palettes after the days' haul of new possessions. Neo didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to the adults' conversation; perhaps she was no longer concerned with how they had acquired the beautiful high-heeled boots that now adorned her feet, but only happy that they made her several inches taller. Roman had to admit, he had been initially surprised at the girl's skill in walking in heels; the holding of her small hand had been unnecessary after the first few minutes.
"I didn't make you do anything," Roman told the scowling tattoo artist, "Come on, it's fun to put on an act! You're a natural, you know."
Folly's mouth fell agape as Roman and Neo both consumed the fresh basket of chicken tenders, both of them temporarily speechless as they reveled in the greasy, rich taste of the fried fowl.
"A… natural?" Folly shook her head, "A natural at acting like a complete bitch? Wow, thanks; you're too kind."
"Hey, not what I meant!" Roman denied through a mouthful of calories, "You're a natural actress, in general."
Folly cocked a brow.
"You're a great artist as well," Roman elaborated, "You just have natural talent as an actress too. You're a… multitalented individual, Folly."
Folly looked away, sipping on her milkshake and shrugging.
"Well," she said, "I guess I do make a pretty good schoolgirl."
Roman's cheeks burned crimson.
"No comment," he laughed uncomfortably before dropping his voice to a murmur, "Not in front of Neo."
"…She's not even here anymore."
Folly pointed over Roman's shoulder, and he twisted to look across the food court. Amongst the tables, chairs, and greasy food, the grand piano set against the far wall next to the fountain looked out of place, in the same way that a bouquet of roses would stand out in a dive bar. The instrument was unattended, and Neo was approaching it having already weaved her way through the various other mall-goers feasting at the tables that lined the food court.
In a way the sight reminded Roman of The Maw, watching his protégé move unnoticed as a whisper among the sounds of plastic cutlery and moving teeth. Quickly, he shook the comparison from his mind.
"Here, let's go get her," he rose from the table, carrying a spare tender between gloved fingers even as Folly looked quizzically between he and the adventurous Neo.
The girl in question had now reached the piano and, with some difficulty, mounted its bench; the population of the food court paid her no mind, even as she struck a single, clear note that sounded across the tables.
Roman winced and approached carefully; Neo looked unusually focused and relaxed as she listened intently to the single note resound, but it wouldn't be long before the entire food court would take notice of the tiny girl with the multi-colored hair playing random, clearly audible notes on what he was sure was a pristinely maintained piano that was off-limits to the public. Neo herself refrained from striking another note at first, instead manually lowering the height of the bench that seated her to its most compact position before straightening her back, placing her toes on the pedals, and splaying her slender fingers across the keys.
"Yeah, it's a nice piano, huh?" Roman said, stopping several feet away from the seated, concentrated Neo.
Her response was barely perceptible; a distant, distracted bobbing of her head as she counted the keys, white and black both, highest to lowest with one index finger.
Folly joined Roman's side as he debated what the best way to subtly shuffle Neo away from the instrument was.
"You didn't tell me she could play," the artist whispered.
"She can't," Roman instantly denied, "I don't know what's gotten into her, but I'm sure it's just curiosity; she has been locked up for a while, after…"
The words were stolen from his mouth as a series of notes melodically sounded forth from the piano, each complimentary in frequency and harmony. The passage was quiet, almost hesitant, with each note pressed at varying volumes, but the timing, the melody, were both too deliberate to be a simple slip of Neo's fingers. In the momentary pause that followed the food court's population had grown noticeably quieter. Several mothers, fathers, and children turned in the direction of the instrument, but only a minority spared more than a few, fleeting seconds before refocusing on their food and conversation.
The pianist herself seemed displeased; Neo's brow knitted as she relocated her hands by several keys in either direction. Still apparently not satisfied, she glanced at the keys to her right once more before applying minute adjustments to her fingers' positions.
Roman became acutely aware of the attention, however negligible, upon Neo as she sat at the piano too absorbed to notice it; under any other circumstances he would have been wont to interrupt her curiosity, particularly while she was so absorbed, but attention of any kind was never an advantage, in any situation.
"Hey, Neo," he started quietly with a single step in her direction, "It's getting late; we should head back-"
The next notes to sound from the grand instrument at Neo's behest were different from the ones that had come before, the tones louder, but still soft, and shaped as rainwater against concrete. There was a brief rest before her small fingers brought forth another succession of notes, and this time Roman felt his heart's beat stolen forth from his control, the breath rise in his chest, suspended like a bird with the breeze beneath its wings.
A melody soon followed, and it emerged as dawn from the shadow of night; at first it was subtle and meandering, before becoming bold and deliberate. Roman could have moved, had he really wanted to; he could have sprung forth and whisked Neo away from the piano even as she played, even as her audience grew by the note, as one-by-one the occupants of the food court were reached by the sequence she called forth from the grand instrument. He could have, but something stilled his feet; it was like Neo's song was asking him, pleading with him to trust its course and let it conclude on its own terms before he did what he would.
Neo was as much captivated by her melody as her onlookers; her eyes were closed even as her fingers conjured the very tune that ensnared her. They glided seemingly unguided as air across the keys of the piano, only striking a note too hard, or slightly too softly often enough to remind the impromptu audience that the music was constructed from the practiced will of a human being and her dexterity.
But if one passage were to be rewritten, a single note played higher or lower, shifted even seemingly, trivially in any direction the entire song would veer astray like a ship lost at sea. The notes journeyed in branching directions pale and stormcast, bright and somber, but always shifting with the grace of the seasons. Neo's eyes opened to orient her hands, but closed as soon as her need of them receded. Her ears were responsible for charting the course of her song, perhaps her memories as well, and her hands were only the puppets dancing to her edict.
Once during the performance, Roman gathered himself enough to turn to Folly, and he saw she was as transfixed as he with her eyes open and her lips parted in the center, hands folded and still across her waist poised but without tension.
"…I didn't know she could-"
"Shhh."
Their exchange was as terse as it was whispered, silent and quickly lost in the encompassing melody. Still, it was only a few moments longer before Neo concluded her piece. Her chords grew quieter, her notes further wandered, until her song whispered its last breath to a crowd of silent beholders.
Only then did the girl take in her surroundings, at first with an aloof, swiveled survey of the room, with hands folded daintily across her lap. The first clap must have brought Neo back from whatever shore she had crossed to, because as more pairs of hands belonging to her previously silent audience struck in rapid succession, the more her eyes widened, and the more her shoulders shrunk as she sat at the bench receiving her applause like a blinded deer in a pair of headlights.
Roman simply stood motionless; it took him several seconds to return to himself, as if he had temporarily walked through another world, and as soon as he did he saw Folly join in the applause, her face splitting into a jubilant beam.
Still, now was his chance to remove Neo from the spotlight. Her song had concluded and she was visibly uncomfortable from all the just-noticed attention she was receiving. His head was still not quite his own, spinning from all the implications of what he had just witnessed, but for now he had to remove her from the spotlight as gracefully and nonchalantly as possible, for both their sakes. He steeled himself, and being already the closest member of the audience to the stunned Neo, he stepped for her.
But in that instant, something in her features changed. Her panicked pupils she blinked, and the pursed grimace she wore became a humble smile. She hopped down from the piano bench, and her new, heeled boots clicked on the polished ground. She crossed one foot behind the other, bent her knees and curtsied, and the applause from the crowd only rose in intensity and volume.
"This…"
Roman turned to Folly's voice within the applause.
"This is…" she shook her head even as she clapped her hands, "I've seen a lot of concerts, and this is one of the most amazing thing I've ever seen; did you not know about this…?"
He listened to the continuous ovation around him.
"No," he started, "She didn't... She couldn't tell me."
They emerged onto the streets of Vale mid-nightfall. High in the sky, above the buildings, the shattered fragments of Remnant's moon were just beginning to come into view. Roman's feet ached as he climbed the steps from the underground mall onto the lamp-lit cobblestone of the commercial district, carrying the majority of the day's purchases in his arms whether they belonged to him or not.
They still had to walk a few blocks to the nearest bus station, but despite having the longest legs of their trio Folly was taking the longest to traverse the distance.
"I thought I heard some parts in there that sounded a little like the Tale of the Four Maidens!" she gushed to a smiling Neo, "My parents took me to see it as a girl. You know when the Spring maiden goes on stage? For the second time, following her encounter with the wolf?"
Neo nodded, and Folly only grew livelier.
"I knew it! There were two or three parts that sounded like it in there, I knew you'd seen it!"
Neo held up two fingers, and Folly gasped.
"Two times?"
Nodding followed.
"It's such a classic!" the artist squealed, "Roman! Let's break out some beer and watch the film when we get home!"
"Sure; it is a classic, after all," Roman agreed with a grin. As he carried their bags Folly continued to dote on Neo, asking after the condition of her recently-healed leg walking back in brand new heels, even as the girl silently insisted on her capability.
And above them, seated under the umbrella of a streetside veranda, long, thin fingers circled the rim of a half-full glass of gin. The opposite hand, tattooed with the image of a sneering, black half of a king Taijitu, raised a ringing scroll to its owner's ear within a mass of bunned, greasy midnight hair.
"Hello?"
A curt voice sounded from the scroll. A slim, forked tongue slicked dry lips with saliva in swift, darting motions before speaking.
"Gelb, this is Collette," the snake-tongued woman spoke, her voice arid. On the street below a small girl with multi-colored hair, Circle-contracted tattoo artist Folly Rosenwood, and Roman Torchwick, back from the dead it would seem, disappeared from view as they rounded the corner of an apartment building.
"Get me the boss," she hissed, once more licking her peeling, pale lips, "We've got a problem."