It was as if heaven itself opened its gates to allow the angels to spread the echoes of their fine voices all across the land. However, the melodious sounds were not spread over a distance nor gifted to several individuals. It seemed that heaven itself came from the throat of Isaac, the piano man.

Or, at least that's what Mia thought as she let the warmth of her blankets dull her senses. His performance earlier had been astounding, and she couldn't believe the voice Isaac was in possession of. Without a doubt, he was the finest singer she had ever heard in her life, and he was not truly famous for it, nor did he seem to care. Away from his piano, he certainly was the quiet and highly reserved person Jenna had painted him to be. He hardly spoke outside his interlude, but rather he seemed to subtlety communicate with his eyes and movement. Mia had no idea what Isaac was saying through this ulterior form of communication, but she could sense that both Jenna and Felix could. Thus, Isaac remained enigmatic to the newcomer, much as he was before she even met him.

That said, Mia did learn something about the obscure piano player that night. Through his melodious and full voice was a strange kind of melancholy. She couldn't place what exactly it was as opposed to Jenna's explanation. Jenna's take seemed plausible, but she thought there might have been more to it then the loss of his parents.

Loss of parents; Mia sure knew what that felt like now. With her mother long gone and her father now deceased, she understood that side of Isaac's demeanor, albeit not completely. However, the thought of her own father crossing her mind brought her back to tears. No matter how hard she tried, she could never hold back when she was in private and her father came to mind. In public, she was barely able to hold a vigil, and the will reading was the toughest test of her strength yet. After she stormed out, what little strength she had left failed her and she wept in private for several minutes. No doubt the coming days would be equally taxing and probably more so. She rolled over in her bed. How she desired nothing more than her father to be alive. The demons that haunted her would be gone and she could continue being happy. James Calvin had always found a way to make something right no matter what.

Though. . . what could make things right now? The only respite she enjoyed was in the presence of the piano player. Naturally, the piano player would not always be there, nor would he likely play especially for her ever again. But, what other methods were there in truth? She had already tried drowning her sorrows in fiction, but all the works of authors of days past did was cause her to long for her father even more. After all, he got those scriptures for her. She tried the newspaper, but she soon discovered that reporters were predators for the unfortunate. Mia then tried to express her feelings through art, but the feeling the pen produced on the paper was not the emotions she was trying to convey. Not a thing she tried in the past two weeks worked at all. Her eyes had a constant dry feeling to them that she hated deeply; always dry and almost as frequently red. These same swollen eyes soon found their way closed and she drifted off into a light sleep.

However, sometimes respite cannot be found even in slumber.

*********************************

The young man named Ivan aimlessly wandered around the bar, making sure everything was in its place. This is what he found himself doing every day lately. The job hunts were becoming more and more fruitless, and both Isaac and Garet told him to stop trying. The young Jupiter Adept was prone to argue, but Garet's hard head and Isaac's quiet persistence were unyielding, so he decided to not press the issue. Not hunting for a job bored him to no end, but it didn't bother him nearly so much as it would've Garet or Isaac. Garet would inevitably try to sneak out and Isaac would've just outright left whether anyone tried to stop him or not. But, it was this sort of obedience that set the young man apart from his older peers at the bar.

Ivan turned his purple eyes onto the only other person in the bar at the time. Her name, was Sheba. She was the youngest in the employ of the bar by a year, but she was probably the wisest aside from Felix. Her light emerald eyes were fixated on a piece of paper she was writing on pensively. The young woman was definitely lost in thought, and this put Ivan's mind at a strange sort of ease. At least Sheba had something to whittle the time away with until the busy hours.

Ivan very well knew that Sheba spent most of her time plying the pen. In fact, he was mildly envious of this. While they both could read and write, which was a very rare quality of the time, it was Sheba who could put the writing to good use. She always had a creative mind, which was something Ivan lacked. While Ivan himself was a clever individual, gifted with some amazing logic, he never was able to express himself freely. Sheba, on the other hand, was found constantly writing either poetry or some work of fiction, set in a world far away during far better times.

Her dream, of course, was to become a famous novelist. Her writing skills were always improving, and she was always trying to invent new styles for herself to toy with. Already her skills surpassed anyone her age, and she was steadily getting more and more dynamic with her writing. She had started off in writing simple short stories and some short poems, but now she was actually working on a work of fiction which she hoped would someday be published.

No one told her, of course, that she would probably never be published while she was still alive. Books were not exactly selling well and very few people would be willing to spend money that could be used on food to use on leisure. Sheba, although a somewhat wise individual, was naïve to this. She believed that if her creative soul could soothe some, it could soothe many more and that others would realize it. This line of thought, by many of her time, would be considered stupid, foolish, and even selfish. However, the ones she was closest with thought she should pursue her dreams with all of her might.

In her mind, she didn't want to be famous for the sake of riches or wealth. Really, she wouldn't know what to do with them, nor did she really care about them. The young Jupiter Adept honestly believed that money sapped the creative spirit and only decayed the person from the inside out. To an extent, she was right. Wealth had never shown any spiritual bonus to her, or to many others for that matter. So, she figured there was little to be gained with money. What she wanted to be famous for was her style, and the emotions that she invoked with it.

Sheba's habit was a moderately expensive one; that was for sure. Paper, graphite, and ink didn't come cheap in the streets of Tolbi, and they could be hard to find from time to time. Despite the expense, Felix usually accommodated for the cost. Where he came up with the money was of suspect to Jenna sometimes, but when she confronted him, Isaac stepped in. The piano player had told Felix to put his tip money towards Sheba's writing supplies, and swore Jenna to secrecy about it. This move was both unexpected and somehow appropriate for the golden-haired Venus Adept. Jenna kept her word, and Sheba knew nothing about it.

Ivan walked over behind her and studied the work the female scribe was in progress on. When Sheba became self-aware, which was only a moment later, she turned around to face him.

"Can I help you?" She asked, mildly irritated, her green eyes laced with a mild venom.

"What? I was just seeing what you were working so hard on."

"I've told you before, Ivan! No hints or sneak peeks. You'll have to wait until I finish the whole book."

"And how long will that take you?" The male Adept inquired, his purple eyes glinting with a catlike curiosity. Sheba smiled pensively and turned back around.

"Maybe in a year or so." She replied softly and with a bit of sarcastic pride.

"What?! That's an awful long time, Sheba!"

"Well, maybe I'll let you take a peek at a chapter or two some other time, Ivan." She rose, papers in her arms. Ivan looked remarkably disappointed, and Sheba's eyes sparkled lightly. "I was just playing, Ivan. I'll let you see some of it, and actually, I'll read it to you all when I get to a point where I feel as though I could stop well."

"That's something to look forward to." Ivan replied, after his eyes brightened. "When?" Sheba laughed.

"Whenever I feel like it," she mused, "and not a moment before." The author looked back at Ivan. She knew him very well, to the point where she could predict him down to the very word. Unfortunately, the road ran both ways and Ivan often was able to take Sheba off guard; almost as often as she got the better of him.

Ivan was much like her, but he was different enough that they were distinct from each other. The male Jupiter Adept was considerably more streetwise than his female counterpart, and was therefore more suited to the kind of environment they lived in. As well, the young man was remarkably more philosophical than Sheba. Ivan was certainly a strange combination of thought patterns. Very few men were capable of thinking rationally in a real world setting while having amazingly philosophical thoughts.

Isaac himself once commented on the Jupiter Adept's nature and while he refused to admit it, was impressed at the young man's mental versatility. However, when it came to writing or anything creative, this is where the boy's mind fell completely flat. He didn't like to discuss this weakness, because it was his dream to actually learn to become creative. He didn't care to be rich; he didn't care to be a famous philosopher, thinker, or psychologist. He wanted to be able to create massive worlds and dream like Sheba could.

Of course, he never admitted to this. It was obvious that Ivan was not the creative one among the lot of the tavern, and he never let on how much that really bothered him. He admired Sheba for her ability to express such deep emotion through words, and he envied Isaac for his ability to write his own music and stir up the emotions of dozens at a time. While he never felt ire towards either, he wished on a daily basis he could do the things they did half as well. Ivan tried constantly to think of ways to become creative, but every time he failed and came up short.

This discouraged the young man, but he could never allow his disappointment to show; others looked to him as the sort of stability the bar needed. Felix aside, sometimes he was the only one who could keep a sort of order in the bar because of his wisdom. However, Ivan was not proud of this skill he had. The wisdom of the world he held on his shoulders did nothing but burden his soul with worry and constantly distracted him from his dream. Suffice to say, he'd trade his wisdom for Sheba's naivety any day.

Nevertheless, the Jupiter Adept kept his façade up and never truly revealed himself, not even to Sheba.

Sheba, however, was not so naive to be fooled by this mask. She knew he quietly suffered every day from hidebound. Teaching Ivan was not a simple task; most of the time he had been out looking for a job, and when he wasn't, he was too tired to learn. Now with him forced to stay back in the bar, she might have time, but teaching creativity was not as simple as teaching something like advanced calculus. The stuff of originality had to come from within; from the very soul of the person. While she had no doubt Ivan had the ability to become what he wished every day for, she knew it would be nearly impossible to break the barrier. However, once it was broken, it would never have to be breached again. Despite her knowledge of Ivan's true colors, she kept quiet to him about it, and was even more elusive to the other people of the tavern.

"You're always teasing everyone, Sheba." Ivan said. "Do you think that one day you will have your own material thrown back at you?"

"I'll deal with that if it ever comes . . . which I doubt." She replied, with an amused smile. Before Ivan could refute her, they both heard the door to the bar open up, and the raven haired Venus Adept stepped in.

"Felix!" Ivan said. "How'd your job hunt go?"

"No luck, as usual. Although I could've gotten five jobs if I wasn't an Adept."

"What is it with people and us Adepts anyway?! Do they think we're not fit for the job or what?!" Sheba exclaimed.

"No, that's not it." Ivan replied. "They feel as though that because we are Adepts that we would either pose a threat to the owners, managers, and foremen, and that we would demand higher wages because of our abilities. You see, because we can do so many things is why we are considered liabilities to companies."

"Why is that? I would think that they would want versatility in the workforce."

"And pay more to do it? Of course not. They would rather stick some inexperienced kid armed with only a wrench against an entire broken down assembly line than have an Adept work more than one job." Ivan sighed. "This is the sign of the times, I suppose."

"What if you say you're not an Adept, and then not use your powers on the job?"

"It would be giving the employer false information. That would get you thrown in prison. And as much of a Hell as it can be out there now, prison is ten times worse." Ivan lamented. "It's a lose-lose situation, really." Ivan paused before he continued. "It is hard to believe they fear us. Your average Adept these days can't even throw a single Psynergy spell, except maybe Move or Catch. Very few can do anything more advanced. I guess they really do believe the rumors that Jupiter Adepts can read minds."

"That is rather silly." Sheba replied. "Reading minds? What's next? Seeing things that aren't really there?"

"It is absurd, most definitely." Felix replied. "Well, I suppose there could be worse things than being an Adept."

"Like what?" Sheba questioned.

"Being dead." Felix replied. Sheba and Ivan exchanged a quick glance and then nodded to the elder Adept. "Come on then. Let's get the bar set up for tonight. Isaac and Garet should be home almost any time now. Jenna won't be far behind either."

"Right." Ivan said, catching a cloth rag thrown to him by Felix. Sheba had already made her way upstairs to store her writing supplies before going to work.

*****************************

"Do we have anything further on the Calvin case yet, Alex?" The golden eyed Mercury Adept asked his comrade. Alex, who was sitting at his stuffy desk scribbling through endless stacks of mostly completed paperwork, shook his head. Picard gave off a bit of a sigh. "Alex, tell me the truth. Does this job bother you at all?" The other Mercury Adept laid his pen down, clasped his hands together, folded them, closed his eyes, and gave off a silent sigh.

"Sometimes." Was his only reply.

"Can you give me a little more of an answer than that?"

"I'd prefer not to. Time is short, and the time where justice can strike back is even shorter." Alex replied, picking his pen back up and starting back on the paperwork.

It was like this, day in, day out for the ice-hearted Alex. He felt as though he had no soul most of the time, and yet he paid that feeling no heed. Souls were cheap in the world anyway. A soul was worthless, more like it. A soul couldn't feed you when you were hungry. A soul couldn't quench your thirst when you were parched. A soul couldn't keep you warm in the winter, nor could it protect you from your enemies, nor could it soothe the scars of time. Alex didn't care one way or the other if he had a soul or not. And considering the one thing his heart would want was vengeance, he probably didn't have much of one anyway.

Whatever heart he did have, died the same day his sister did.

"Well then, Alex. . ." Picard started. "When we get more information on the Calvin case, be sure to let me know about it."

"What interests you so much in that case, anyway?" Alex grumbled.

"Alex. . . did you not see how his daughter was?" Picard asked. "She was in shambles about her father's death. More than likely she is searching for answers, and we're the only ones who can probably give them to her!" The sight of seeing Calvin's daughter in such a state had a profound effect on the officer. The sorrowful tears that she had wept touched the deepest parts of his consciousness, breaking his former wide-eyed view of the world open.

"You're letting your emotions get to you." Alex replied, grimly. "That's not the way to do the job."

"Then what is the right way?" Picard asked, irritated.

"Keeping your cool and keeping your head." Alex sternly responded, going back to his work. Picard gave Alex a glare that he chose to ignore. Sighing in resignation, the golden-eyed Mercury Adept sat back at his desk and started filling out the ever-present misdemeanor reports. Even with the grueling amounts of paperwork he had in front of him, the young officer couldn't shake the need to work on the Calvin case. Something just didn't seem right about it; he was sure of it. Picard had convinced himself it wasn't a natural death; Alex, of course thought him foolish for this.

An hour passed, and the thoughts still would not escape his mind, even with Alex silently shoving Picard to continue his work. Eventually, Picard set his pen down and sat back in his chair, thinking. Of course, knowing how Murphy and his law worked, this would have to be the time when the Captain of the precinct would happen to walk in.

"Is something wrong?" Captain Iodem asked Picard, stern voice and all. The officer jumped noticeably as his thought train was derailed. He quickly picked back up his pen and began his work again, secretly hoping Iodem would leave. Again, Murphy dictated that he wouldn't. "I better not catch you slacking off again, private."

"I'm sorry sir. It won't happen again."

"What were you thinking about exactly, anyway, private?" Iodem asked, giving a commanding glare to Picard. The Mercury Adept swallowed hard, trying to think of an excuse, but then deciding it would be easier to go with the truth.

"Uh. . . the Calvin case, sir."

"That's right. You were one of the officers who investigated the scene, weren't you?"

"Yes sir!" He replied. Iodem silently regarded him, eying him carefully.

"That was. . .your first case of that nature?"

"Yes sir." The captain then sighed again.

"You'll get over it. All grunts get that feeling the first time they're on a death case. It's a matter of getting used to how things work in this city, son. You'll be fine next time. Just don't let it distract you. By the looks of it, you've got enough to do already." He said, glancing at Picard's inbox.

"Sir, may I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"Could you let me know when any more info on the Calvin case comes in? I want to help in any way possible."

"You can help by finishing those reports. Now get to it!" Iodem ordered, walking away. Picard sighed and looked at his overflowing inbox. It was going to be a very long day; and there was no way he was going to get this all done by the end of his shift, so he'd have to work overtime. And of course, overtime was never a paid experience. Why would it be? That would be convenient and at the same time, compassionate. No, these were not the symbols of the time.

Compassion . . . now that was a weakness if ever there was one. Everyone knew that those who were kind to their neighbors would be the first to be trampled by the masses. Show kindness to others? Why bother? It was pretty pointless to try. There were far too many people to help and there was far too little any one person could do. Besides, a man had to look out for himself above all others; what good would it be if you let your neighbor live with your gift of food while you die of starvation? Helping people . . . compassion . . . love. All were worthless to the whole; they were now extinct. The only thing that mattered was that you beat him by any means necessary.

It was then Alex rose from his seat and walked over to Picard's desk.

"Please don't you start too. . ." Picard grumbled as Alex's icy stare penetrated his eyes. Without a word, Alex picked up half of the papers in Picard's inbox, and walked back over to his desk. He then slipped the stack into his own, and formerly empty, inbox and started working once more. "Alex?" He asked, puzzled. The other Mercury Adept made no move, save for pointing the tip of his pen at Picard, and the motion for him to get back to work.

A smile crossed Picard's face. Perhaps compassion wasn't as extinct as it seemed.