- Flashback: In the streets of Blacklight
For a clockmaker, Baltis Verano had a notable disregard for time. True, he usually showed up at work within five minutes of the opening bell, but this was often just due to sheer dumb luck, or his sister Ravne battering down his door every morning to get him out of bed. He never carried a pocket watch, though he did own one (it could be found, with the knob clicked out to stop it from keeping time, in the drawer of his bedside table, next to a sorely under-read copy of The Consolations of Prayer.) His only distinction of what day it was revolved around whether it was a weekday or not and, therefore, whether he would be going to work or not. In fact, the only indicator of time he abided by was the toll of six on the clock post on the street corner – that toll which marked the end of his work day.
The city of Blacklight did not bode well with the after-work rush. The streets of Civic District were thick with weary, grim-faced people who had just completed whatever odd profession they were forced into by their dismal excuses for lives, Baltis observed as he pushed through the crowd. With the work day done, they were gracing the street with their apathetic presence. Baltis felt quite out of place – though he didn't much enjoy his work, the boredom that it entailed was left behind that heavy wooden door to the clockmaker's shop, as it swung shut with a heavy clachunk. Outside on the street, he was a fresh elf, with ears that looked sharper than everyone else's, but not too sharp. Smart ears, his father would say. He couldn't wait to get back to his home – the city streets were full of fog and wasted lives. It began to drizzle.
As he passed under the archway into Ermine Square (which was the posh governmental district) in order to avoid a seedy journey through the slums of St. Rilms's District, he felt the rain dripping from the tips of his rust-colored hair. It was falling steadily all over the city. The streets were becoming devoid of people, as many deemed it prudent to wait out the rainfall inside a tavern or sit reading under one of the awnings around the city center, but Baltis wished to be out of the rain and sitting in front of his own hearth. It was a quick shortcut and a few reliable alleyways later that he passed through a side route onto his street in the venerable March District. The light through the resin panes lining the way seemed to wax as he approached. The light from his own home cut through the dusk most of all, like a welcoming glow of familiarity.
Some of the windows of his home were dim, others flickering with the orange light from resin lamps, and one of them was lit in rich red with the light from Ravne's antiques, and lined with shadowy curtains. Their home was a suitable address, very fine – his father was a lawyer, and could afford it. Thankfully, despite his chosen profession, Udo Verano wasn't like the other men and mer at the law offices. They were prim and starched, fond for playing games of nine holes at the taverns in Ermine Square until the wee hours of the morning, and attending the theatre (the nicer one, in the Chorus District) to see the latest shows on opening night. Most of them lived in March District, too. East Side, of course.
Baltis unlatched the door and ducked inside, pulling it shut behind him with a thwunk. Immediately he met the warm smell of cooking. There were very few doors within the Verano household, save for those leading to the bedrooms upstairs, so any smell could easily fill the house - in this case, the delicious aroma of sizzling guar meat slathered with scuttle and saltrice crumbs (which was undoubtedly what was cooking.) The rain flecking against the resin windows almost sounded like popping fat - it made him even hungrier.
Kicking his shoes off into a wide wicker basket, and feeling the warmth of the hot-lacquered redware tiles that floored the house beneath his feet, Baltis padded his way down the hall, around a corner and down a short flight of stairs; around another corner at the bottom and then down a longer flight of stairs, moving at a brisk pace as he neared the kitchen. He was below the city streets by then, and the sound of rainfall was replaced by the actual sounds of crackling guar fat from within the next room.
"Is everyone eating tonight?" Baltis said, walking beneath the kitchen doorframe. His sister Ravne was busying herself by seamlessly doing three different tasks - flipping the guar meat on the counter griddle with a long, two-pronged fork, stewing a mash of saltrice and crab meat, and brushing thick wedges of grey meadow rye bread with olive oil. Her black hair whisked behind her as she bustled around the kitchen with an acrobat's step.
"Hardly," she responded breathily, "Just you and me tonight, brother. Hand me those plates."
Baltis obliged and passed her two ceramic plates that had been set on the counter. Ravne took them and hastily said "Thank you," and transferred sizzling guar meat onto each of them with the long fork. The bread was shuffled onto the plates, and gloppy saltrice mash was poured over them with a gnarled wooden ladle. It smelled delicious.
The dining room was around the corner and down the hall. Baltis carried his high-piled plate with careful balance as he followed his sister to the table.
He was hungry, and began to eat not seconds after his plate clinked on the tabletop.
"So where is everybody else?" Baltis said behind a bite of bread and mash, with his hand up to shield his mouth.
"Dad's late at work, mum is at ladies' meet, Hurkys and Iver are shopping at Red Ives," she said briskly. "M'Jingo is reading up on my bed, said we shouldn't wait for him. I figure he'll just come down and cook something up at two in the morn, like he always does."
Baltis nodded and went back to his food. Ravne picked at hers.
"Are you alright?" Baltis asked, "You seem odd."
Ravne sighed and made a face.
"No, I'm fine," she said, "My mind is still at work, is all. Hold on." She shook her head, black hair swirling, and then smiled with it in her face. "I'm good, now," she said, "Just politics, that's all."
Baltis nodded and smiled back, slightly weaker. Ravne was an aid to the Redoran Councilor Gorsvis Helas, who was a rugged but respectable mer, and through him she had heard rumblings of conflict across the border, in Cyrodiil. Helas was concerned, which made Ravne even more concerned, due to Helas' normally calm attitude. But there had been talk, of Banden Indarys, a Redoran soldier and head of the Indarys clan, speaking of revolution – a freedom from the Empire. Word had arrived from Cyrodiil that Banden Indarys' brother, Andel, had been named Count of Cheydinhal, and the city was erupting with anti-Imperial protests by the local Dunmer population.
It was no surprise that, amidst the stresses and tensions of the world, Baltis and Ravne settled into the Flin cabinet after dinner, leaving the plates to fester on the dining room table, and relaxing in front of the crackling hearth that was the central feature of their Redoran home. When Hurkys and his best friend Iver Rindo returned later in the evening, love-drunk and smelling of the exotic perfumes worn by two attractive Bosmer shop clerks, they quickly joined in.
"To… alcohol!" slurred Iver, taking a wallop of brandy into his cheeks and swallowing hard. The room was warm with fire and booze, and full of merriment. Better company could not be found and, for a brief moment, things were good for Baltis Verano.
But as fate would have it, in just a short month he would be on his hands and knees, staring at the stone floor of the Imperial City prison cell he had just been tossed into, with nothing but rags to keep him warm.
A/N: Just a friendly reminder to REVIEW, please! I'm really curious to hear some feedback about what I'm writing, and I figure now that the story and the characters are getting a bit more developed (or at least I hope so), it should be a bit easier to review. Also, I'm planning to get updates out a lot faster, so I hope I can keep to that plan. Anyway, thanks for reading!