It was a soft sound; barely audible to even the most silent of
environments. This sound was an enigma in dead silence and a phantom in
quiet still. It was a shadow in the noise, it was but a specter to the
ear. Though the sound was enigmatic, it was undoubtedly a sound of sorrow,
a resonance of despair. While it was in no more than a single fleeting
moment, it said everything at once.
The mysterious tone, was that of a single tear hitting the soft and carpeted floor beneath her. Her eyes were red with sadness, and the tears flowed freely from within. Her face was thin and beautiful, eyes as blue as the sea. Her hair was almost the same color, pulled back into a ponytail with a fancy hair band. She wore a cobalt blue dress with matching shoes and earrings; it was obvious to any viewer that she was not of working class. Even through her immense sorrow, she was still attractive. Her name, Mia.
At least, that was the name that Alex wrote down in his notepad as he took her story down. It was apparent that her father had passed away the night before, and the cause of death was yet unknown. This was the first time Alex was on a case like this, and it felt odd taking questions when he hardly ever spoke himself. Nevertheless, Alex knew it was his job and did it anyway. Mia was obviously broken up about the loss; not surprising. What did startle Alex was a passing resemblance he saw in her of his younger sister. Perhaps that was why Alex was willing to ask questions as well.
Among the information he picked up was the fact that Mia's father had been the owner of a major steel producing factory; big business in the high classes of Tolbi. He was rich and well off, but Mia was his only offspring and his wife had disappeared long ago. According to Mia, she had just up and left them both one night. The police officer wasn't much for back stories anyway. What Mia was saying meant little to him personally, but he made sure to note what she said carefully in a small notebook.
"When was the last time you saw your father alive?" Alex asked, in his normal tone, which was stone cold and serious.
"Last night, just after dinner. Father said he was going to bed early because he wasn't feeling well. I said good night to him and I turned in as well. When the morning came, I found him. . ." Her voice broke and tears began flowing from her eyes again. Alex sighed inwardly. He wasn't going to get anything out of her at this rate. Then again, he considered the circumstances and certainly didn't blame her. "dead." She finished finally. The officer nodded.
"Was there anyone who had a grudge against your father, miss Mia?" Alex inquired in the same voice.
"Not that I know of, officer. My father. . ." She sniffed. "Was a good man." Again, Alex gave the stern nod.
"Thank you for your time, miss." He said, looking over his shoulder at other officers removing the body from the residence. He turned and prepared to leave, but even then something caught itself in the depths of Alex's conscience and he turned around. "Take care." Was all he said as he turned back and walked out.
Picard, who was helping with the body, stood agape at the entire scene. He knew police work was not going to be easy business, but this was almost too much for him. Seeing the man, lifeless yet peaceful, left an impression on him. Seeing the man's daughter so distraught also made him feel depressed. He wasn't expecting his first case to be something shaping up like a murder. Nonetheless, this environment did nothing but strengthen his silent resolve from within to do well. It strengthened because he wanted to help both the man and his daughter find some solstice in life. He shifted his weight as he ran off to catch up with Alex.
With the last officer, a man resembling the man who questioned her, leaving, Mia walked over and shut and bolted the front door of her abode. It was not a house, but rather an apartment on such a scale. The walls were painted a soft blue color; almost matching the hair on her head. The decor was lavish and rich, something you'd expect from the middle class. The apartment she lived in was not huge necessarily, but it was far bigger than any of the rooms or apartments the working class lived in. She walked into the main sitting room and seated herself on a beige overstuffed chair and continued to weep strongly. She had loved her father very much, there was no doubt about that. The thought of living on alone without him was overwhelming.
The room about her was so empty feeling it felt haunted. Though the room had a coffee table in front of the chair in which she sat, several bookcases and a ticking cuckoo clock on the wall above the carefully carved fireplace mantle, it still seemed to be filled with emptiness. The oil paintings on the walls seemed to watch Mia with a strange curiosity; both with a sort of eerie sadness and an even more disturbing look of quasi- contempt.
Once again, the enigmas and phantoms of sounds coursed through the room, melding only with the sobs of the girl creating them. After awhile, she looked up and studied the room about her. It had bookcases and tables with all sorts of little luxuries around, but she scoffed at it all. What good was it anymore? What good were any of these material possessions if one couldn't enjoy them? Nothing seemed to have a purpose anymore to her. With no father, no one to love or care for, what good would secular joy bring her? None. She was even disgusted at the dress she wore. It was beautiful, certainly, but it was just another thing. Another luxury. . . and another reminder. She continued to weep after that, letting the tones of despair echo through the now otherwise empty apartment. She rose and walked into her own room, stumbling over her own feet on her way in, but instead of allowing herself to catch her own balance, she allowed herself to fall onto her own bed, where she allowed her tears to soak the soft fabric on her pillowcase. Here she remained for many minutes, hours.
***************************
Her reddened eyes snapped open suddenly, realizing she had drifted into a soft and restless sleep. She sat forward in her bed, her eyes completely dry and tired. Mia cupped a hand to her forehead as she tried to gather what rational thought she had left. Many moments passed before she finally realized: she needed to get out and get air. She nodded once in resolution to herself and stood on wobbly legs. Unsure if her legs would support her, she leaned against her nightstand, supporting her weight while trying to build inner strength. She finally mustered enough moments later and stood up. She decided in a moment's time to change into something a little more plain before venturing out.
***************************
Jenna sighed to herself as she turned the page in her novel. It was the umpteenth time she read it, and she would likely read it umpteen more times. This was life; you had to treasure what you had, and this novel was one of the few things Jenna owned for herself, and she was more than obliged to make good use of it. And yet, in its opening passage, it said an infinite amount; both for the time it represented and the time that was now. Jenna smiled as she read the opening lines of the book to herself once more:
"Perhaps there was an age when people understood one another. Perhaps there was an age when understanding was commonplace and common law rather than a seemingly meaningless insert into the chaotic monotony of society. Although men are considered social, are they truly? Man slaughters one another for the sake of land, in the name of a divine spirit, or just because they can. Is it not the true nature of a society to come together as one to aid for the common good? Perhaps there was that age, many eons ago, but in the burning daylight hours of mankind's stupidity, there is no such thing. Unity is deemed for the fools, and the fools never live long. They are either shot by the self-proclaimed wise, or they are destined to fail with mankind's stupidity hanging about their heads. The 'wise' are no better. In fact, they are worse off than the fools. They believe society is fine the way it exists, but there is no society to speak of. Not when every man on the streets is fending for only himself and his loved ones. . ."
Jenna sighed again as she closed the book. The author's sharp tongue was a little too much to read now; not when she thought about Garet looking so hard for work to help support everyone. Though the argument was about society, she knew it hit too close to home for her. The Mars Adept stood behind the bar, the closed book on the wooden surface in front of her. She put her head down on the book and let herself fall into deep thought.
Perhaps there WAS an age when people understood one another. Whatever age that was, it must have been the golden age of humanity. A Utopia. Perhaps the age never did exist, and perhaps such a thought was for the fools to consider. Whichever the case, Jenna pondered to herself secretly the writings of this author and lost herself. The story was certainly not an accurate historical reference of any kind, but rather a story that took place a hundred years before their present time, and it was thought- provoking to say the least. At last, she picked her head up and decided to continue reading.
"There is little a single fool can do to change anything. Only an army of fools can produce enough wisdom to move anywhere close to a society. How can fools produce wisdom? Ah, this is how the universe works in the strangest of ways. The wise are never the ones to make change, for they fear it. The fools are the ones ready to change, and change is inevitable. Perhaps the fools are not so foolish and perhaps the wise are not so wise. Perhaps it is the other way around. However, our ancestor's legacy is in the answer and it is not the place of any man, fool or wise, to make a firm statement one way or the other.
Is it the wise, the ones who oppose the change, who pay the price when change happens to touch them like the finger of the angel of Death? Never. The wise remain unharmed and usually affected in only a good way by the pass of change. The fools never seem to find the solace in the change and are usually the ones receiving the reality end of it. The fools are the men trampled in the stampede and wave; it is the fools injured by the sudden strike; it is the fools who sit dumbfounded, pondering how the wise benefit and how they must continue to seek the very thing that smacks them in the visage every time alongside cold, hard, reality."
Jenna stood back for a moment. No matter how many times she read this, it always seemed to mystify her into deep thought every time. She rested her head into one of her slender hands and let the gears turn inside her head. It was not so much trying to understand what the man was saying, but rather to comprehend the world itself. The sheer amount of thought here was amazing, and the amount of thinking she had already done would astonish even her fiancée and older brother. Jenna was indeed a brilliant woman, but she didn't want to always let it show. It was always more fun to let the men of the universities jabber about moot points while thinking her a complete airhead, and then her coming out with the perfect refute point. She stunned many a man that way, and that's how Kraden actually became a regular to the Tavern. Jenna's brown eyes looked up as the front door of the Tavern opened and a stranger walked in. She closed her book instantly and looked up.
The stranger walking in was a strikingly attractive girl about her own age, with flowing blue hair pulled up into a ponytail. She moved much like many did, a hidden expression of sorrow beneath her fair skin. The young woman pulled up a stool at the bar and remained silent. She was wearing a plain white blouse with a dark blue dress; certainly not an unusual combination, but there seemed something different about her than most women.
"Hello, may I get you anything?" Jenna asked, with a smile. The woman didn't respond right away, but as Jenna prepared to speak again, she turned.
"Huh? Oh, nothing, thanks." She half-smiled with a sigh. Jenna's mind instantly went skeptical.
"You look as though something is troubling you. You seem highly distracted. If there's something the matter, don't hesitate to talk. There's no trouble here." She said, keeping a smile. The woman looked back at her and remained silent for a few moments. "Tell you what? How about I make you some tea? On the house." She asked.
"Thank you kindly." The woman replied. Jenna nodded and began preparing the tea behind the bar.
"By the way, my name is Jenna, miss. . ."
"Mia."
"Right, Mia."
"And. . . you were right about my being troubled. Not. . . many things have gone well as of late."
"Care to talk about it?"
"Yes." She said, as Jenna handed her a cup of hot tea. She sipped it carefully, and quickly discovered it wasn't the same quality she was used to, but given the fact she was in a different neighborhood than the one she normally dwelled, it didn't bother her. The tea, however, was still good. "Well, miss Jenna. . . my father died last night." Jenna's expression darkened.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't know." Jenna apologized.
"Don't apologize for something you couldn't have known." Mia replied; her voice wasn't sharp or harsh, but she still conveyed a sense of order to it. "The police are not sure what he died of." She sighed. "And I think my father had other troubles that he never told me about. I just have no idea what they are."
"I see."
"You seem to know your way about troubles, miss Jenna. Have you had many?"
"Please, it's just Jenna." She said, the smile fading away from her face. "Yes, I do know trouble, and I know it well. However, I also do know great joy. My troubles come from the fact that we can barely produce enough to support ourselves; that and remembering my parents dying of influenza and pneumonia. They worked so hard to keep me and my brother well and they ended up weakening themselves in the process. I remember that my father would always give more food to my brother and me than he would take for himself. My mother was much the same way. She gave us the best water while she and my father will willing to drink water far less clean. . . not that ours was very clean to begin with. They did so much for us and sacrificed everything too. . . I truly understand your loss, miss Mia."
"If I call you Jenna, you must call me Mia." She said. "So. . . we aren't unlike." Mia sighed. "My father was the same way to me. Always wanted the best for me no matter what it took." She smiled weakly as she looked around the bar. "This is a nice place." She said, considering that most bars in the city were dives and were not half as clean.
"Thanks. My brother owns this bar and me makes sure everything and everything is kept in order."
"Pardon me for bouncing back and forth, but you also mentioned you knew great joy. What did you mean?"
Jenna smiled. "Well, I've got the greatest older brother in the world. He's so kind and compassionate; he reminds me of father. I'm engaged to a wonderful but sometimes dunderheaded headed oaf whom I love with all my heart. And I live with the greatest friends one could ever know."
"Really? Sounds nice." Mia replied. She never knew any of those things. She had no siblings to lean on, she had no one she could say who she loved, let alone liked, and she had no real friends. The only people she knew were the people that her father did business with, and she would hardly put herself in that arena. Mia was in fact, alone most of the time. Her father was the only person she really felt comfortable around and therefore helped forge her personality into a reserved and quiet one. She had already told Jenna much more than she had said to anyone else, mostly because she felt a strange aura of trust about her and the very tavern she sat in. As the thoughts ran through Mia's head, she considered why she even decided to set foot in this bar. It struck her a moment later. She remembered one of her father's business friends saying this bar was great for forgetting about troubles; mostly because the skill of the piano player. She studied the bar again and took note of the piano, but also noticed the photographs on the wall behind her. She rose slowly and walked over to them and began looking. The one that caught her eye was a simple monochrome picture of the front of the bar, where a total of half a dozen people stood.
Each person stood side to side, in no particular order. On the far left was a girl, fair haired and obviously younger than Jenna. She looked wise and yet still having a youthful charge about her. Next on the left was a boy who looked noticeably similar, with roughly the same hair color. He had an instant look of intelligence beaming in his bright eyes, yet that same enthusiasm seemed to emanate a sorrow of sorts. The man next to him was raven-haired, and he was tied for being the tallest person in the photo. His facial expression was calm and relaxing, and his eyes were kind and inviting. The slight smile he wore on his face conflicted with itself; it showed a sort of somber happiness that was unusual, even for happiness' sake. The next in line was Jenna, who shared an uncanny resemblance to the previous person. Mia assumed that the tall, raven haired man was her brother. To the right of Jenna stood a man as tall as her brother, but with an odd color hair that stood straight up on end. He was big and obviously strong, but he truly looked as gentle as a tiny field mouse. His grin showed he could smile through any hardship and endure any trial. He looked like a person who could stay truly happy with what he had and didn't need anything else. The last person, however, appeared as an enigma to her. The last person in the photo was a young man, a few inches shorter than the previous man with erratic light hair. His eyes were deep and soulful, yet. . . they revealed nothing about him. His expression was totally objective, and nothing more could be found from him.
"I see you've met our family." Jenna smiled, walking up to her. "There's Sheba, and that's Ivan." She said, pointing from left to right. "That's my big brother, Felix, the guy next to me there is my fiancée, Garet, and the man on the end is our piano player, Isaac."
"So he's the piano player I heard about once." She said, almost surprised such a seemingly faceless person could do such a thing.
"Oh yes. . . he is really amazing. You should come to hear him play some day. You'll understand why everyone says he's the best."
"What is everyone like?"
"Well, Ivan and Sheba are so similar it can be kind of scary. They're both extremely smart and both are pretty quiet most of the time. It's like they don't have to communicate with words to one another, like they always know what the other is thinking. Felix there is a very kind man. He's the reason why everyone lives here. He went out of his way to help people in need, and that's why he takes pride in running this bar. . . he gives a safe haven to people who normally don't have one. Garet. . . well, I could go on for hours about the big lug. He's really sweet and do anything for his friends. And Isaac. . . he's very quiet and very reserved. Strange that he produces such incredible songs that always bring a smile to the faces out of the people or a tear to the same people's eyes and never smiles himself."
"He never smiles?"
"Rarely. It is like he's perpetually in a state of depression."
"Why is that?"
"I'm not sure. I think it's because he doesn't feel like he does enough for everyone. He has been unable to find a job after countless months trying his hardest." Mia nodded slowly.
"I should like to meet the rest of your family someday. Perhaps I will come back soon."
"And maybe you'll be lucky enough to hear Isaac play his piano."
"That would be very nice. I look forward to it." She said, finishing the last of her tea. "Thank you so very much for your kindness, Jenna. I hope we shall meet again soon." She said, preparing to leave.
"It was great to meet you too, Mia. Please. . . come back any time. Our door's always open." She smiled. Mia replied with a nod and a smile, as she exited the bar, leaving Jenna alone once more with her book.
***************************
It was some hours later before Isaac returned to the bar. Everyone else had been home for two hours, and they were all at their places prepping for the coming evening rush. Isaac hung his cap on the hat rack and leaned against his piano. His trademark bags under his eyes were more obvious than usual tonight. Garet walked up to him and pointed the obvious fact out. Isaac didn't reply but with a sharp glare, giving the impression he didn't want to hear about it. The Venus Adept sat on the stool in front of his piano and laid his head down on the covering of the keys. Soon after, Jenna leaned against Isaac's piano, and his head promptly lifted.
"Yes, Jenna?" He asked.
"You know, I want to know something. Why don't you smile more?"
"I have no reason to." Isaac replied, his eyes as usual, doing more talking.
"It wouldn't hurt you to show a little emotion now and then."
"Again, I don't have a reason to." Jenna sighed and decided to drop the argument. She was never going to get anywhere with it anyway.
"We had a new visitor into the bar this afternoon while you were out." Jenna began.
"What, another down on his luck high-rolling stock broker?" Isaac asked, coldly.
"No. Actually it was a woman." Isaac made no reply, nor did he look in the least surprised. He also didn't look like he particularly cared. "She was a really nice girl, too. Soft spoken, quiet, and pretty shy. I'd say she was your type, Isaac." She said. "She was cute too. I think you two would get along well."
"I've no interest in romance, Jenna." He replied. "It's just another thing to get in the way and another mouth to feed, and I'm still without a job. Besides, no one comes into this bar without some sort of reason. What was hers?" Isaac was in an unusually bad mood tonight. While his tone was even, steady, and far from angry sounding, Jenna had learn to pick up the subtleties of Isaac's personality. She was sure that he had a terrible day and was likely rejected far less kindly than he should've been. Jenna's expression darkened as she continued.
"Her father died last night, Isaac. He was the only family she had, and from the sounds of her grief, she doesn't have many friends to speak of." She replied. Isaac's eyes changed from being cobalt ice into pools of cobalt blue sea. It was plain as day to even the blindest of men that the pianist had regretted his attitude towards someone he was yet to meet.
"That's terrible." Isaac said, his eyes appearing to be watering, but his tone still neutral. "I hope all goes well for her, then."
"Well, she said one day she may come back. She also wants to hear you play."
"Then I shall play my piano for her when we meet."
Jenna's face lit up somewhat before she gave her final response. "Good."
The mysterious tone, was that of a single tear hitting the soft and carpeted floor beneath her. Her eyes were red with sadness, and the tears flowed freely from within. Her face was thin and beautiful, eyes as blue as the sea. Her hair was almost the same color, pulled back into a ponytail with a fancy hair band. She wore a cobalt blue dress with matching shoes and earrings; it was obvious to any viewer that she was not of working class. Even through her immense sorrow, she was still attractive. Her name, Mia.
At least, that was the name that Alex wrote down in his notepad as he took her story down. It was apparent that her father had passed away the night before, and the cause of death was yet unknown. This was the first time Alex was on a case like this, and it felt odd taking questions when he hardly ever spoke himself. Nevertheless, Alex knew it was his job and did it anyway. Mia was obviously broken up about the loss; not surprising. What did startle Alex was a passing resemblance he saw in her of his younger sister. Perhaps that was why Alex was willing to ask questions as well.
Among the information he picked up was the fact that Mia's father had been the owner of a major steel producing factory; big business in the high classes of Tolbi. He was rich and well off, but Mia was his only offspring and his wife had disappeared long ago. According to Mia, she had just up and left them both one night. The police officer wasn't much for back stories anyway. What Mia was saying meant little to him personally, but he made sure to note what she said carefully in a small notebook.
"When was the last time you saw your father alive?" Alex asked, in his normal tone, which was stone cold and serious.
"Last night, just after dinner. Father said he was going to bed early because he wasn't feeling well. I said good night to him and I turned in as well. When the morning came, I found him. . ." Her voice broke and tears began flowing from her eyes again. Alex sighed inwardly. He wasn't going to get anything out of her at this rate. Then again, he considered the circumstances and certainly didn't blame her. "dead." She finished finally. The officer nodded.
"Was there anyone who had a grudge against your father, miss Mia?" Alex inquired in the same voice.
"Not that I know of, officer. My father. . ." She sniffed. "Was a good man." Again, Alex gave the stern nod.
"Thank you for your time, miss." He said, looking over his shoulder at other officers removing the body from the residence. He turned and prepared to leave, but even then something caught itself in the depths of Alex's conscience and he turned around. "Take care." Was all he said as he turned back and walked out.
Picard, who was helping with the body, stood agape at the entire scene. He knew police work was not going to be easy business, but this was almost too much for him. Seeing the man, lifeless yet peaceful, left an impression on him. Seeing the man's daughter so distraught also made him feel depressed. He wasn't expecting his first case to be something shaping up like a murder. Nonetheless, this environment did nothing but strengthen his silent resolve from within to do well. It strengthened because he wanted to help both the man and his daughter find some solstice in life. He shifted his weight as he ran off to catch up with Alex.
With the last officer, a man resembling the man who questioned her, leaving, Mia walked over and shut and bolted the front door of her abode. It was not a house, but rather an apartment on such a scale. The walls were painted a soft blue color; almost matching the hair on her head. The decor was lavish and rich, something you'd expect from the middle class. The apartment she lived in was not huge necessarily, but it was far bigger than any of the rooms or apartments the working class lived in. She walked into the main sitting room and seated herself on a beige overstuffed chair and continued to weep strongly. She had loved her father very much, there was no doubt about that. The thought of living on alone without him was overwhelming.
The room about her was so empty feeling it felt haunted. Though the room had a coffee table in front of the chair in which she sat, several bookcases and a ticking cuckoo clock on the wall above the carefully carved fireplace mantle, it still seemed to be filled with emptiness. The oil paintings on the walls seemed to watch Mia with a strange curiosity; both with a sort of eerie sadness and an even more disturbing look of quasi- contempt.
Once again, the enigmas and phantoms of sounds coursed through the room, melding only with the sobs of the girl creating them. After awhile, she looked up and studied the room about her. It had bookcases and tables with all sorts of little luxuries around, but she scoffed at it all. What good was it anymore? What good were any of these material possessions if one couldn't enjoy them? Nothing seemed to have a purpose anymore to her. With no father, no one to love or care for, what good would secular joy bring her? None. She was even disgusted at the dress she wore. It was beautiful, certainly, but it was just another thing. Another luxury. . . and another reminder. She continued to weep after that, letting the tones of despair echo through the now otherwise empty apartment. She rose and walked into her own room, stumbling over her own feet on her way in, but instead of allowing herself to catch her own balance, she allowed herself to fall onto her own bed, where she allowed her tears to soak the soft fabric on her pillowcase. Here she remained for many minutes, hours.
***************************
Her reddened eyes snapped open suddenly, realizing she had drifted into a soft and restless sleep. She sat forward in her bed, her eyes completely dry and tired. Mia cupped a hand to her forehead as she tried to gather what rational thought she had left. Many moments passed before she finally realized: she needed to get out and get air. She nodded once in resolution to herself and stood on wobbly legs. Unsure if her legs would support her, she leaned against her nightstand, supporting her weight while trying to build inner strength. She finally mustered enough moments later and stood up. She decided in a moment's time to change into something a little more plain before venturing out.
***************************
Jenna sighed to herself as she turned the page in her novel. It was the umpteenth time she read it, and she would likely read it umpteen more times. This was life; you had to treasure what you had, and this novel was one of the few things Jenna owned for herself, and she was more than obliged to make good use of it. And yet, in its opening passage, it said an infinite amount; both for the time it represented and the time that was now. Jenna smiled as she read the opening lines of the book to herself once more:
"Perhaps there was an age when people understood one another. Perhaps there was an age when understanding was commonplace and common law rather than a seemingly meaningless insert into the chaotic monotony of society. Although men are considered social, are they truly? Man slaughters one another for the sake of land, in the name of a divine spirit, or just because they can. Is it not the true nature of a society to come together as one to aid for the common good? Perhaps there was that age, many eons ago, but in the burning daylight hours of mankind's stupidity, there is no such thing. Unity is deemed for the fools, and the fools never live long. They are either shot by the self-proclaimed wise, or they are destined to fail with mankind's stupidity hanging about their heads. The 'wise' are no better. In fact, they are worse off than the fools. They believe society is fine the way it exists, but there is no society to speak of. Not when every man on the streets is fending for only himself and his loved ones. . ."
Jenna sighed again as she closed the book. The author's sharp tongue was a little too much to read now; not when she thought about Garet looking so hard for work to help support everyone. Though the argument was about society, she knew it hit too close to home for her. The Mars Adept stood behind the bar, the closed book on the wooden surface in front of her. She put her head down on the book and let herself fall into deep thought.
Perhaps there WAS an age when people understood one another. Whatever age that was, it must have been the golden age of humanity. A Utopia. Perhaps the age never did exist, and perhaps such a thought was for the fools to consider. Whichever the case, Jenna pondered to herself secretly the writings of this author and lost herself. The story was certainly not an accurate historical reference of any kind, but rather a story that took place a hundred years before their present time, and it was thought- provoking to say the least. At last, she picked her head up and decided to continue reading.
"There is little a single fool can do to change anything. Only an army of fools can produce enough wisdom to move anywhere close to a society. How can fools produce wisdom? Ah, this is how the universe works in the strangest of ways. The wise are never the ones to make change, for they fear it. The fools are the ones ready to change, and change is inevitable. Perhaps the fools are not so foolish and perhaps the wise are not so wise. Perhaps it is the other way around. However, our ancestor's legacy is in the answer and it is not the place of any man, fool or wise, to make a firm statement one way or the other.
Is it the wise, the ones who oppose the change, who pay the price when change happens to touch them like the finger of the angel of Death? Never. The wise remain unharmed and usually affected in only a good way by the pass of change. The fools never seem to find the solace in the change and are usually the ones receiving the reality end of it. The fools are the men trampled in the stampede and wave; it is the fools injured by the sudden strike; it is the fools who sit dumbfounded, pondering how the wise benefit and how they must continue to seek the very thing that smacks them in the visage every time alongside cold, hard, reality."
Jenna stood back for a moment. No matter how many times she read this, it always seemed to mystify her into deep thought every time. She rested her head into one of her slender hands and let the gears turn inside her head. It was not so much trying to understand what the man was saying, but rather to comprehend the world itself. The sheer amount of thought here was amazing, and the amount of thinking she had already done would astonish even her fiancée and older brother. Jenna was indeed a brilliant woman, but she didn't want to always let it show. It was always more fun to let the men of the universities jabber about moot points while thinking her a complete airhead, and then her coming out with the perfect refute point. She stunned many a man that way, and that's how Kraden actually became a regular to the Tavern. Jenna's brown eyes looked up as the front door of the Tavern opened and a stranger walked in. She closed her book instantly and looked up.
The stranger walking in was a strikingly attractive girl about her own age, with flowing blue hair pulled up into a ponytail. She moved much like many did, a hidden expression of sorrow beneath her fair skin. The young woman pulled up a stool at the bar and remained silent. She was wearing a plain white blouse with a dark blue dress; certainly not an unusual combination, but there seemed something different about her than most women.
"Hello, may I get you anything?" Jenna asked, with a smile. The woman didn't respond right away, but as Jenna prepared to speak again, she turned.
"Huh? Oh, nothing, thanks." She half-smiled with a sigh. Jenna's mind instantly went skeptical.
"You look as though something is troubling you. You seem highly distracted. If there's something the matter, don't hesitate to talk. There's no trouble here." She said, keeping a smile. The woman looked back at her and remained silent for a few moments. "Tell you what? How about I make you some tea? On the house." She asked.
"Thank you kindly." The woman replied. Jenna nodded and began preparing the tea behind the bar.
"By the way, my name is Jenna, miss. . ."
"Mia."
"Right, Mia."
"And. . . you were right about my being troubled. Not. . . many things have gone well as of late."
"Care to talk about it?"
"Yes." She said, as Jenna handed her a cup of hot tea. She sipped it carefully, and quickly discovered it wasn't the same quality she was used to, but given the fact she was in a different neighborhood than the one she normally dwelled, it didn't bother her. The tea, however, was still good. "Well, miss Jenna. . . my father died last night." Jenna's expression darkened.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't know." Jenna apologized.
"Don't apologize for something you couldn't have known." Mia replied; her voice wasn't sharp or harsh, but she still conveyed a sense of order to it. "The police are not sure what he died of." She sighed. "And I think my father had other troubles that he never told me about. I just have no idea what they are."
"I see."
"You seem to know your way about troubles, miss Jenna. Have you had many?"
"Please, it's just Jenna." She said, the smile fading away from her face. "Yes, I do know trouble, and I know it well. However, I also do know great joy. My troubles come from the fact that we can barely produce enough to support ourselves; that and remembering my parents dying of influenza and pneumonia. They worked so hard to keep me and my brother well and they ended up weakening themselves in the process. I remember that my father would always give more food to my brother and me than he would take for himself. My mother was much the same way. She gave us the best water while she and my father will willing to drink water far less clean. . . not that ours was very clean to begin with. They did so much for us and sacrificed everything too. . . I truly understand your loss, miss Mia."
"If I call you Jenna, you must call me Mia." She said. "So. . . we aren't unlike." Mia sighed. "My father was the same way to me. Always wanted the best for me no matter what it took." She smiled weakly as she looked around the bar. "This is a nice place." She said, considering that most bars in the city were dives and were not half as clean.
"Thanks. My brother owns this bar and me makes sure everything and everything is kept in order."
"Pardon me for bouncing back and forth, but you also mentioned you knew great joy. What did you mean?"
Jenna smiled. "Well, I've got the greatest older brother in the world. He's so kind and compassionate; he reminds me of father. I'm engaged to a wonderful but sometimes dunderheaded headed oaf whom I love with all my heart. And I live with the greatest friends one could ever know."
"Really? Sounds nice." Mia replied. She never knew any of those things. She had no siblings to lean on, she had no one she could say who she loved, let alone liked, and she had no real friends. The only people she knew were the people that her father did business with, and she would hardly put herself in that arena. Mia was in fact, alone most of the time. Her father was the only person she really felt comfortable around and therefore helped forge her personality into a reserved and quiet one. She had already told Jenna much more than she had said to anyone else, mostly because she felt a strange aura of trust about her and the very tavern she sat in. As the thoughts ran through Mia's head, she considered why she even decided to set foot in this bar. It struck her a moment later. She remembered one of her father's business friends saying this bar was great for forgetting about troubles; mostly because the skill of the piano player. She studied the bar again and took note of the piano, but also noticed the photographs on the wall behind her. She rose slowly and walked over to them and began looking. The one that caught her eye was a simple monochrome picture of the front of the bar, where a total of half a dozen people stood.
Each person stood side to side, in no particular order. On the far left was a girl, fair haired and obviously younger than Jenna. She looked wise and yet still having a youthful charge about her. Next on the left was a boy who looked noticeably similar, with roughly the same hair color. He had an instant look of intelligence beaming in his bright eyes, yet that same enthusiasm seemed to emanate a sorrow of sorts. The man next to him was raven-haired, and he was tied for being the tallest person in the photo. His facial expression was calm and relaxing, and his eyes were kind and inviting. The slight smile he wore on his face conflicted with itself; it showed a sort of somber happiness that was unusual, even for happiness' sake. The next in line was Jenna, who shared an uncanny resemblance to the previous person. Mia assumed that the tall, raven haired man was her brother. To the right of Jenna stood a man as tall as her brother, but with an odd color hair that stood straight up on end. He was big and obviously strong, but he truly looked as gentle as a tiny field mouse. His grin showed he could smile through any hardship and endure any trial. He looked like a person who could stay truly happy with what he had and didn't need anything else. The last person, however, appeared as an enigma to her. The last person in the photo was a young man, a few inches shorter than the previous man with erratic light hair. His eyes were deep and soulful, yet. . . they revealed nothing about him. His expression was totally objective, and nothing more could be found from him.
"I see you've met our family." Jenna smiled, walking up to her. "There's Sheba, and that's Ivan." She said, pointing from left to right. "That's my big brother, Felix, the guy next to me there is my fiancée, Garet, and the man on the end is our piano player, Isaac."
"So he's the piano player I heard about once." She said, almost surprised such a seemingly faceless person could do such a thing.
"Oh yes. . . he is really amazing. You should come to hear him play some day. You'll understand why everyone says he's the best."
"What is everyone like?"
"Well, Ivan and Sheba are so similar it can be kind of scary. They're both extremely smart and both are pretty quiet most of the time. It's like they don't have to communicate with words to one another, like they always know what the other is thinking. Felix there is a very kind man. He's the reason why everyone lives here. He went out of his way to help people in need, and that's why he takes pride in running this bar. . . he gives a safe haven to people who normally don't have one. Garet. . . well, I could go on for hours about the big lug. He's really sweet and do anything for his friends. And Isaac. . . he's very quiet and very reserved. Strange that he produces such incredible songs that always bring a smile to the faces out of the people or a tear to the same people's eyes and never smiles himself."
"He never smiles?"
"Rarely. It is like he's perpetually in a state of depression."
"Why is that?"
"I'm not sure. I think it's because he doesn't feel like he does enough for everyone. He has been unable to find a job after countless months trying his hardest." Mia nodded slowly.
"I should like to meet the rest of your family someday. Perhaps I will come back soon."
"And maybe you'll be lucky enough to hear Isaac play his piano."
"That would be very nice. I look forward to it." She said, finishing the last of her tea. "Thank you so very much for your kindness, Jenna. I hope we shall meet again soon." She said, preparing to leave.
"It was great to meet you too, Mia. Please. . . come back any time. Our door's always open." She smiled. Mia replied with a nod and a smile, as she exited the bar, leaving Jenna alone once more with her book.
***************************
It was some hours later before Isaac returned to the bar. Everyone else had been home for two hours, and they were all at their places prepping for the coming evening rush. Isaac hung his cap on the hat rack and leaned against his piano. His trademark bags under his eyes were more obvious than usual tonight. Garet walked up to him and pointed the obvious fact out. Isaac didn't reply but with a sharp glare, giving the impression he didn't want to hear about it. The Venus Adept sat on the stool in front of his piano and laid his head down on the covering of the keys. Soon after, Jenna leaned against Isaac's piano, and his head promptly lifted.
"Yes, Jenna?" He asked.
"You know, I want to know something. Why don't you smile more?"
"I have no reason to." Isaac replied, his eyes as usual, doing more talking.
"It wouldn't hurt you to show a little emotion now and then."
"Again, I don't have a reason to." Jenna sighed and decided to drop the argument. She was never going to get anywhere with it anyway.
"We had a new visitor into the bar this afternoon while you were out." Jenna began.
"What, another down on his luck high-rolling stock broker?" Isaac asked, coldly.
"No. Actually it was a woman." Isaac made no reply, nor did he look in the least surprised. He also didn't look like he particularly cared. "She was a really nice girl, too. Soft spoken, quiet, and pretty shy. I'd say she was your type, Isaac." She said. "She was cute too. I think you two would get along well."
"I've no interest in romance, Jenna." He replied. "It's just another thing to get in the way and another mouth to feed, and I'm still without a job. Besides, no one comes into this bar without some sort of reason. What was hers?" Isaac was in an unusually bad mood tonight. While his tone was even, steady, and far from angry sounding, Jenna had learn to pick up the subtleties of Isaac's personality. She was sure that he had a terrible day and was likely rejected far less kindly than he should've been. Jenna's expression darkened as she continued.
"Her father died last night, Isaac. He was the only family she had, and from the sounds of her grief, she doesn't have many friends to speak of." She replied. Isaac's eyes changed from being cobalt ice into pools of cobalt blue sea. It was plain as day to even the blindest of men that the pianist had regretted his attitude towards someone he was yet to meet.
"That's terrible." Isaac said, his eyes appearing to be watering, but his tone still neutral. "I hope all goes well for her, then."
"Well, she said one day she may come back. She also wants to hear you play."
"Then I shall play my piano for her when we meet."
Jenna's face lit up somewhat before she gave her final response. "Good."
