We've been having fires around our area, and today the sky was overcast with smoke and a light dusting of ash peppered everything outside. The sun was a red orange color through the smoke, and I thought "what would it be like if someone lived every day in a world like this." And Ashes was born. This is a one shot OC-centric fic that exists in the world of Remnant as close to canonically as can be achieved, though far removed from the canon storyline.
Argillite is a grayish-hued rock that is used in hearths and fireplaces.
Beryllium is a gray metal, though when combined with other elements it becomes beryl, a green stone. It is the lightest metal in existence.
Abronia is a perennial flower that is usually purple in hue and grows in hot dry sandy areas. It grows as a cluster of flowers.
Bery woke up in the semi-darkness that was Argillite's constant hue during the day. She had learned in school once that the sky was blue, but it had never been anything but a hazy brown, courtesy of the smoke constantly pouring out of the Schnee refinery just a mere block away from her humble abode. Blue sky was a legend, as far as she was concerned. A myth parents told their children of days that had existed long ago, when all the desert wasteland had been green and plentiful.
A gleam of orange sunlight cast its meager light into the room, revealing a small mattress barely big enough for her parents and the cot on which she was currently laying. The bed was made. Dad's at work already. Not that that was unexpected; shifts in the factory started before the sun was up and persisted well into the night.
Finally, the smell of something cooking roused her. Groaning, she rolled out of bed and shrugged into her uniform: a brown skirt the color (and texture) of sackcloth, and a sage-colored cotton shirt that looked gray when not under the sun. She headed straight for the kitchen so that she'd be ready when the food was. Every Argillian learned quickly to be punctual, even early, for all meals, lest the food be scattered with what they called Argillian pepper (ash) on top of the local spice (sand).
"Morning Mom!"
"Morning Ber," Mom smiled warmly. "You sleep alright?"
The wasting winds had been louder than usual last night, but Bery knew better than to mention it. "Well enough. What's for breakfast?"
"Three guesses."
"Mole crab cake." Her mom gave her a are-you-serious-you-guess-that-every-day look, to which Bery simply shrugged playfully. "Doesn't hurt to ask."
Her mom rolled her eyes, but smiled and gave her usual response. "You know we can't afford that. Guess again."
"Gecko cake?" She'd tried some once. One of Dad's close coworkers had died suddenly of a heart attack. It had been shortly after pay day, so the company couldn't take back any lien despite the loss of a worker. His family had generously given Dad a small sum of lien in thanks for the times he helped him out. Dad coincidentally had some business in Vacuo that weekend and came home with a small bit of the treat. He'd insisted it on sharing it with the family of his deceased coworker, so she'd only gotten a morsel. But she had never tasted anything so light, fluffy or delicious in her life.
"You know that's only in Vacuo, Ber." Despite her serious tone, Bery knew that her mom was teasing. It was a game they played every morning. Bery would guess something outlandish and Mom would gently refute it. The reality was that Bery could already see what was in the pan, which was the usual bit of flatbread. A small clay jar of ground crevice worm was already on the table to sprinkle on the flatbread. It gave the bread a strong flavor and also helped to disguise the taste and texture of the local spice.
Still, third time's the charm. Bery usually gave up after guess number two, but today she was feeling particularly rebellious. Maybe it was the headache from her lack of sleep as she'd tossed and turned last night, the howling wind haunting her dreams. Maybe it was some internal exhaustion of days without number under a red-orange sun. Or possibly a subconscious cry against the poverty and subjugation of her family and community. But being only eight years of age, Bery couldn't have articulated anything beyond a small chance to go against the grain and get away with it.
"Mmm, I think I see cave beetle stew!" Bery grinned openly.
"Beryllium Abronia! Shut your mouth and eat your flatbread." Again, Bery knew her mom was just bark and not bite at the moment. Perhaps an outsider would have found it difficult to tell, but Vacuan natives were conditioned to read emotions well from a young age. Simply put, large displays of emotion were thought to bring Grimm clawing to their camps, and with the stress of already scarce resources, Grimm often decimated entire communities. Thus, Vacuans quickly learned to conceal emotion, lest the monsters destroy the meager semblance of living they fondly called home.
Still, like all other Schnee facilities, Argillite had been built to last. Well, maybe not to last, but at least to last longer than the usual nomadic tribe. Instead of tents, people lived in hastily constructed homes made of rock, wood, and steel. The very fact that most of the homes possessed doors and windows was already a sign of permanence. There was even a general goods store, a tailor shop, a workshop, and a town hall that served as headquarters for the bank, post office, and police force.
Not that there was much in the way of police. They had a local Deputy Sheriff, but it was primarily a title and nothing more. The real power lay with the Director of the Argillite Schnee Refinery, an Atlesian hired by the SDC who basically ran the city. Nearly everyone in Argillite was employed by Atlas, and the few who weren't relied on the company for their survival. After all, the refinery was the only source of Dust for miles around.
"Ber, hurry up! You're going to be late!" A quick glance at the clocktower Atlas had insisted on setting up in the middle of the village told Bery her mother was right. Quickly scarfing down the last morsel, she grabbed her satchel and sprinted out the door.
The school was a shanty rackshack sort of thing, crammed between the town hall and the general store. Its doors and windows were white once upon a time, but years under the Argillian sky had tinted it a dull ash gray. Bery pulled up to the door, huffing and puffing, and entered just as the clock struck the last chime of eight o'clock.
"Just in time, Bery!" Mrs. Clay was as intimidating in Bery's mind as the name sounded. Which is to say, not intimidating at all. Of all the characteristics that could describe a teacher, Mrs. Clay could best be summed up by the word "mother". She was just as much their mother as their own mothers, only she spent more time with them because their mothers were just as busy mining in the Schnee refinery as their fathers. Bery's was a rare exception; her mom was one of three people in the village who could read, so she worked at the post office.
"Indeed, you are considered tardy by Atlesian standards." Mr. Quartz frowned. Now he was as intimidating in Bery's mind as his name was sharp. She had only seen him a couple times, and suffice it to say those times had not been pleasant. Today, he was dressed in a black suit with polished black dress shoes and a silver tie. His dark hair remained slicked back in spite of the wind, giving him a sort of sharp, squarish look. "Such petulance would not be tolerated on the mainland. I shudder to think how Atlas would function under the labor of such...miscreants." He looked pointedly at the top of Bery's head before continuing. Bery clasped her hands behind her back and stared at Mr. Quartz's shoes. Please...please don't...
"Mr. Quartz, if I may-" Mr. Quartz held up a hand which immediately silenced Mrs. Clay. He regarded Bery again with a cold eye.
"What do you have to say for yourself, girl?"
Bery mumbled something. "Speak up when your betters are talking to you!" Mr. Quartz yelled harshly.
Bery cowed back, then straightened and clasped her trembling hands behind her back. "It-it won't happen again."
"It won't happen again? You're missing something."
"It won't happen again, sir."
"Wrong again."
Bery continued to stare at the floor, clenching her teeth to keep her emotions in check. It wouldn't due to cry in front of anyone, much less this tall scary man. It wasn't worth the Grimm that would inevitably arrive. Bery focused on breathing in and out just like Mom had taught her. It was a few agonizing seconds of silence that none dared to interrupt before Mr. Quartz continued.
"I suppose I can't expect you Vacuan lowlifes to know who I am." He sighed. "You will address me as Mr. Quartz."
"Yes sir."
"What was that?"
"Yes, Mr. Quartz."
Mr. Quartz smiled slightly, though somehow the smile made him look even less agreeable. "Better. Now, what were you saying earlier?"
"It won't happen again, Mr. Quartz."
"Very good!" Mr. Quartz had the expression of a master whose kicked puppy finally stopped barking. "Perhaps you lot can learn something, after all." He turned to address the rest of the classroom. "Under normal circumstances, such a blatant disrespect of time would have warranted significant punishment." He paused for dramatic effect, and Bery squirmed inside. Please...don't...
"However, as this is a first offense, I have seen it fit to exercise the virtue of mercy. Do not fail me again." He addressed the last part to Bery, who had exhaled internally at hearing the word "mercy".
"Thank you, Mr. Quartz."
"No more tardiness. Am I understood?'
"Yes, Mr. Quartz."
"Good." He turned now to Mrs. Clay. "I expect the quota will still be filled on time. Do not be mistaken; this lesson in tardiness applies to you as well."
Mrs. Clay dipped her head. "It will be done as you say, Mr. Quartz."
"Very well." He regarded the children one more time before turning sharply and striding out the door, slamming it shut on his way out without so much as a "farewell". The moment his footsteps had faded, the air in the room relaxed, though hardly a change could be seen on the stoic faces of the children.
"Right, my dears. You all did wonderfully." Mrs. Clay beamed at them, and some of the children's faces cracked into a small smile. "Especially you, Bery."
"I'm sorry I brought all this trouble, Mrs. Clay."
"No, sweetheart." Mrs. Clay laid a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Mistakes happen, and we all learn to grow from them."
"I still messed up. He could have...could have..." Bery could not say it.
"Shhh. You're okay, little one." Mrs. Clay knelt in front of her. "Nothing's going to happen."
"I...I was so s-scared-"
"And you were very brave, Bery." Mrs. Clay smiled. "If everyone was as brave as you, there wouldn't be so much trouble. Now, I need to you to keep being brave. Can you do that for me?'
"I-I'll try."
"Good." Mrs. Clay straightened up. "Right. Today class, we will be practicing our counting."
The class (the scary man forgotten), let out a collective groan.
"Again?"
"All we've been doing is counting!"
"Why can't we do something different?"
"Now now children, practicing your numbers is important."
"It's only Mr. Quartz who thinks all we can do is count," someone muttered, but his name had an immediate quieting effect on the room. A few of the others shushed the child, and Mrs. Clay smiled tightly.
"Mr. Quartz has been very kind to let you all practice your counting. I am sure he wishes the best for all of you." Bery could tell Mrs. Clay was lying through her teeth, but after her incident this morning, she wasn't in the mood to point it out.
"Everyone grab an empty sack from the corner. If we finish in time, maybe we can practice something else."
She always says that, but it never happens, thought Bery. The faces on a few of the older children told her they thought the same thing, but the rest of the children brightened as they ran to grab their sacks. Sighing internally, Bery slid in line and grabbed her sack, then took her usual position in the corner of the room.
"Very good, children!" Mrs Clay beamed brightly. "You all know how this goes. Today, we're going to count in groups of ten."
"Ten is booring," one child called out.
"Well, Mr. Quartz would like the dust crystals packed in sets of 100. Do you have a different suggestion?"
At first no one responded. Finally, one dark-haired boy spoke up quietly. "We...we could do counts of 11. That would bring us up to 99, and then we can just add one crystal at the end of nine sets."
Mrs. Clay furrowed her brows in thought for a moment as she contemplated the suggestion. It was definitely risky. They would have to make sure they did exactly nine sets, then added the one at the right time. If they lost count, it would mean extra work for everyone involved, which could potentially harm their quota. Counting by 11 definitely made for a much more exciting class though. Even she had begun to tire of tens.
"I don't know, Geo..." Mrs. Clay mused.
"One person could be in charge of keeping track of each set on the chalkboard, " one of the older blonde girls piped up before Mrs. Clay could shoot down the idea completely. "And instead of counting separately, we can count together to make sure everyone is on the same page."
"That's...not a bad idea Sandy." Mrs. Clay's smile returned. "Very well, let us begin counts of eleven."
Cheers erupted throughout the room. Mrs. Clay assigned Sandy the responsibility of tracking sets, and Sandy beamed, her fawn ears flicking in anticipation.
"Alright children!" Mrs. Clay called out. "Let us begin."
"One," everyone droned in sync. Each child carefully picked up a Dust crystal and placed it into their sack. Sandy made a mark on the chalkboard while Mrs. Clay filled a sack to take Sandy's place.
"Two." Another crystal was carefully moved. Sacks rustled, chalk scraped against the board.
"Three...four..."
That's a wrap on this for now. If you'd like to see more of this, leave a review, and if I get enough reviews I'll continue on.