A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) / Chapter originally written on 04.21.2004. Re-polished on 01.12.2006 for the arowrites dot net archives.
Review-replies can be found now on arowrites dot net.
Formatting repaired on 04.13.2010 -- thanks, ffnet, for eating all my scene-dividers sometime in the last four years!
05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. Please just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.
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Requiem for the Dream
( entry 03: of hourglasses and chairs )
"Hey, who's the new guy?"
A head was jerked his direction.
"Dunno, he just kinda wandered in about a week ago."
"Huh."
The man in question swiped an errant lock of silky black hair out of his face, taking a moment to tuck it behind his ear before he continued working. Assembly line, in the new order you had to work to earn your rations, especially if you happened to live in a city that was not favored. The city of Esperanza, rebel-infested rat hole that it was, was put under some of the more intensive lines of work.
"Wonder why anyone would choose to move here anymore."
"Dunno, guy must have an interesting story though, to wind up here. No one comes here because they want to anymore, unless they're..."
"Maybe so, but I don't like him."
A chuckle from further yet along the line.
"Yeh jus don like 'um cause yer wife wus eyeballin' de poor fella yes'erday!"
"No, he just gives me the creeps. Look at him--when I first saw his face I thought a new woman had moved to town!"
The dark-haired stranger's hand tightened on his worn screwdriver--pale knuckles going white--as the commentary continued. He said nothing, however, not even when the discussion took a more insulting turn.
"Mehbe he's one of thems thet likes de -men-."
"Ah lay off, you're just jealous 'cause he's prettier than your girl."
Laughter, which was quickly stifled as a soldier walked down the line, eyeing the job each worker was doing in turn.
"You're new, as of last week." said the soldier, stopping next to the dark-haired man and watching him a moment. The young man nodded, silently, and continued working--wondering idly why it had taken the soldier a week to comment if it was indeed comment-worthy.
"What's your name then?"
"James." came the quiet voice. A while longer passed, the guard's eyes boring into his back as James set down his screwdriver and lifted the heavy lid to the object he was building. The steel was sharp on the edges of the half-drum construct... and he had to be careful where he grasped.
Feeling slightly over-balanced, he set the lid in place and proceeded to pop the hinge pins into the aligned slots with already-practiced ease. The soldier continued to stare with narrowed eyes, his focus more on James' hands than anything else. Specifically the strong, callused fingers on his right hand.
"What did you do before coming here, then?" the suspicious soldier questioned, finally, eyeing the obviously advanced sword calluses. Piracy was dealt with by death, and it was clear that the young man was not in the military even though he moved with professionalism. Few else had a use for knowing how to wield a sword--and while James carried no such weapon, it was clear that the calluses had not faded over any time.
"I was a bounty hunter." the worker replied, in that same quiet voice, and carefully opened the lid up by the front edge to insert the wire through the inner ends of the pins. This would keep them from coming back out and sending the heavy lid crashing as it moved down the line. "Until just recently, I hunted pirates for my ration chits."
Bounty hunters were perfectly legal, so long as they answered to the new order--and only to the new order. Most of the hunters had become soldiers, and very few new ones had sprung up without the promise of gold to tempt them.
"Right, a bounty hunter." the soldier repeated distrustfully, watched him for a few more moments before finally moving on. James ignored the man's behavior and continued working steadily, re-checking the bolts and screws to make sure they were tight. Finally, he sent his 'portable cooking stove' down the line on its caster wheels and turned to take the next from up the line.
"End of the day, finish up!" came the call, and it wasn't long before the entire factory full of workers were in line accepting their ration chits and then going home to their houses. Or--as in most of their cases--government assigned housing. James did the same, managing to leave fairly early for the size of the line, and he took the route for home that he always did.
But this time he found he wasn't alone.
"Hey, new guy!" came the shout, and the former bounty hunter paused at the call--waiting as one from the same group who had been loudly discussing him caught up.
"'Lo, I'm Ben." said the stranger as he reached him, grinning. This was the one that had told the others to lay off. James nodded politely and took his proffered hand, turning it when something just under the worn overall cuff caught his eye.
"Interesting tattoo." James remarked coldly, nodding to the back of Ben's right wrist before letting go.
"Yeah, thanks--I just like hourglasses. It's from before... you know." Ben rubbed the back of his wrist before quickly changing the subject, "Say, you have sword calluses! Are you any good?"
"I... suppose."
"Think you'd be willing to teach me some moves?" Ben asked, grinning. James, meanwhile, took a moment to analyze the other worker.
The man in question had messy brown hair and red-brown eyes... James figured he was likely a few years younger then himself, at perhaps nineteen or twenty. He'd have been a young teenager when the new order had come about--at which point sword lessons outside of the military had become unnecessary. Not illegal, so far, but unnecessary.
Interesting, then, that the younger man had some small sword-placed calluses of his own. Self taught, or maybe a mentor? Learning the use of a sword had never been banned, because sometimes future soldiers learned their swordsmanship from retired soldiers or family members. Perhaps Ben was one of those.
"...Perhaps." James finally answered, well aware that his long pause had begun to make his companion fidget nervously.
"Awesome! Hey, this is awkward timing--but do you want to come to the bar with me?"
"The... bar?" Selling things -was- illegal in the new order, including loqua and... services.
"Yeah, there's only water there... but it's a good place to chat anyway."
"To chat."
"Are you going to stop repeating me and just answer already?" Ben verbally prodded, grinning roguishly.
"...Yes."
"To the talk or to--"
"I'll go with you to the bar," James sighed, clearly quite irritated, "lead the way."
"I see, so that was her goal then, as I expected." Lord Galcian's voice echoed slightly in the room, easily reaching Ramirez, who waited silently from where he knelt before the throne dias. His report had been given in painstaking detail, as was only to be expected.
The woman--Lena--had dared to shout things as she'd been led away, some of which he had even thought himself on occasion... but had always quickly stifled. Mostly the question of what use was he to his Lord, just standing at his side from day to day, watching the proceedings as though he were the Lord instead of the servant.
"And so? What are your thoughts on this, Ramirez?"
"I..." he took a deep breath and continued staring at the floor, his head bowed respectfully, "While the rest of what the woman said was utter lunacy, I agree that I am not serving you acceptably while waiting idly in the palace, Lord Galcian." the Silvite swallowed, his throat dry.
"Hmm." the older man sounded as though he'd expected as much, and Ramirez dared to glance up, briefly. There was a calculating gleam present in the older man's eyes, which only punctuated his lack of surprise. Lord Galcian always seemed to know what cards were in everyone else's hand, so to speak, and it didn't surprise the Silvite at all if he had known his frustration from the start.
Ramirez cast his eyes back to the floor, reminded thoroughly of why he followed this man, and this man only.
"Well then," the most powerful man in the world said, finally, "as you are volunteering... I do have a mission for you."
"Woah, wait a second." Ben stopped as another man ran up to them, at the entrance to the so-called bar. James stopped as well, his hand on the rough-hewn plank door as he tried to hear what the new stranger said in a hurried whisper to his companion. Unfortunately, it was drowned completely out by the steady supply of voices just inside the building.
"Er, go on in there James--" said the friendly assembly worker with a small push to his back, and through the door the ex-bounty hunter staggered. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was vaguely surprised at how easily the door had opened, but he shoved it from his thoughts. "--and I'll be right in!"
There was a tiny lull in conversation near the door as a few looked up to see if he was of import. But, upon finding just another faceless stranger, the room surged back into full force bantering and muttering. James immediately moved away from the entrance, finding the brief scrutiny unnerving, and sat down at the first empty table he could find.
The furniture in this place was odd, there were chairs everywhere--some not even associated with tables, and one had to wind though them to get anywhere. The chairs themselves ranged from short stools to high-backed affairs with the tops of their backs nearly at James' eye level when standing. It made for an interesting forest of furniture when one was seated, as he discovered shortly.
"--the kids doing?" "Eh... they're alright I guess. Lori's worried about our youngest though--"
James lifted the glass of water someone poured for him and sipped, listening in on the snippets of conversation that drifted his way from all directions.
"--they need to up the rations, is what they need to do. Jon and Lori can't even feed their own kids these days and they both work at the plant full time!" "They're afraid we'll start using them as currency, you know that." "Well soon they won't have to worry about it will they? We're dropping in the streets--"
James frowned, trying to tune out the ration-related conversations on one end of the room, but his attention kept drifting back as though drawn in.
The pause was lengthy. Ramirez felt as though he could reach out a gloved hand and touch the very tension in the air around him as he waited for his Lord to continue. A mission? Just now, after this... interview with the traitor woman? Was Lord Galcian toying with him now?
"Yes, a mission. Esperanza, do you know of it?"
"Yes, Lord Galcian--it is the Dark Rift town."
"Correct, do you know its current state?"
"Yes, most of its original inhabitants were executed as air pirates, Lord Galcian, and since then it has become a... refugee city and doubled in size. Our military's control over the city is feeble, but the situation has not called for further action yet."
Lord Galcian watched the Silvite for another long, ponderous moment. Ramirez could feel the other man's eyes boring into the top of his bowed head.
"Ramirez, you are the most trustworthy of my Armada... and you are the only one who's judgement I would trust as my own. Do not think I would assign you this out of pity for your... frustration."
"Sir." Ramirez replied as needed, feeling immediately guilty for ever doubting.
"I need you to go to Esperanza. We will discuss the details before you leave."
"Yes, Lord Galcian."
"--don't know what to do anymore, the government has been watching my house--" "--shh!" "I haven't done anything though! It's that damn group running around at night!" "I know--"
"--Lori isn't looking too good herself lately, I keep trying to convince her to eat more but she refuses to..."
"--I just don't know what use all those portable stoves are, I don't know anyone who has one but we keep building them over at the factory--"
"--Lori and I give them all of our rations, we only use enough to keep going ourselves... I just wish we hadn't had so many children before the Change came about--"
Someone drew near the dark-haired man, but he didn't notice, taking another sip of his water. His focus was spread out, snippets from conversations all over the tightly-packed room reaching his ears as he picked one voice out and then another from the mass. This was apparently a well-known establishment to have so many show up directly after the day shift.
"Well now..." the nearby voice interrupted his eavesdropping, as well as did the arm curling around his shoulders--startling him into spilling some of his water as he came back to himself, "ain't -you- a pretty one."
James sat still in shock for a moment as the large man settled in the chair next to him. Right... next to him. Then sense took over and he moved to shove the beefy arm off of his shoulders.
"Excuse me?"
"Kind 'o flat in the chest--but I ain't picky." the hand gripped the shoulder it was resting on as its match suddenly grasped James' chin and turned the ex hunter's head towards a flushed, dirty face and breath that smelled of alcohol.
"I'm not a woman."
"Sur you ain't. Bet I could make you one, eh?" and the large drunk guffawed loudly at his comment. No one in the room seemed to be willing to stop him--though several eyes were on the situation and conversation had pretty much died all around the room. The silence that descended was deafening compared to the rumbling chatter of before.
"Get your hands off of me." James' quiet voice held a deadly tone, as he calmly set down his water glass. Unfortunately it was utterly lost on the drunk, who stood back up--shakily--and proceeded to lift an again-shocked James over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
"What the -hell- do you think you're doing?" the ex bounty hunter put both hands on the broad back of his captor and shoved, trying to get out of the drunk's surprisingly-firm grip. Oh, for a sword in this situation! James would have made use of a butter knife if he'd had one on him at this point...
He snagged a chair in passing, one of the high-backed sort that was the only kind tall enough for him to reach from this position. The drunk began stomping for the exit, no one moving to stop him and not many even watching any further.
"C'mon girly, I'm gonna make a woman outta you--" James twisted his back up and to the side--bringing the solid bit of furniture across the back of his captor's head with both hands in a satisfying crack of splintering wood.
The world lurched, the resourceful ex hunter squirmed free of the beefy arm's loosening grasp just before impact. He still landed on his face, ungraceful and quite painful, but it was much better than the alternative of being landed on by the now-unconscious drunk. Blood sprayed from his nose immediately after impact, and James hurriedly pulled a cloth from his factory issue overalls to press to it even before he scrambled to his feet.
No one else had moved an inch, they just stared at him as he glared at all of them from over a wad of rapidly-darkening cloth. None of them looked surprised, none of them...
"Oh -hells-." Ben's voice drifted from the just-opened plank door, before he hurried over. "I see you've met Todd..."
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Skies of Arcadia Legends belongs to someone else.
All here that is not found in the canon... is mine.
Never steal if you value your spleen.