Avioke's ρost-style testiηɡ ♠

[Avioke]

I should adopt a morning routine, Teox thought to herself as she kneaded her temples and stared dumbly at the cobblestones next to the corpse.

The presence of dead bodies usually put her on alert. A message from her underlings that there had been a suspected murder in her district of the city often had the same effect. It sparked what she liked to call her Not In My House response, and rage won over hunger, over soreness, over fatigue or distraction. Rage was Teox's friend. It was her tool. One moment of rage could cure a hangover. If there were enough dead bodies or mistreated women in the workplace or she heard a story about her ex, Teox could cure herself of anything.

But she'd been up late last night, had indulged in three glasses of wine a little too late in the evening, and had eaten two pieces of cake. The result was a stomach that felt like lead, severe bloating, an incredible headache, and a bleariness that even the sight of a mangled corpse - worse, the corpse of a woman - couldn't fix just yet.

If anyone asked, she'd tell the truth about half the wine, leaving out the information about the cake. It had been a gift from a former governess, a month-late congratulations on her promotion to Lieutenant. In the company of her previous coworkers, it was well known: Teox can't eat cake. Bread made her stomach ache a little. Milk or cream in any form sent her to the toilet for hours. She didn't need her underlings, who hadn't known her before, to know all that personal information.

And she would also claim her reason for staying up so late was reports and studying. Which was true, to a point. She had been up late with a few files. Mostly they had to do with boring things having to do with the state of her district, things she didn't realize a Lieutenant would have to deal with. But once she had put those aside, she had picked up her romance novel and spent the next four hours finishing it. There had been a singular good stopping point, but she had made the mistake of flipping the page just to get a peek at the next scene and it had been a promising beginning to perhaps the steamiest, blush-inducing scene she had ever read and she couldn't put it down.

Sleep had begun when the book closed. That was about... Teox looked up at the sky, the medium blue of early, early morning. Three hours ago?

She looked like hell and she knew it. She hadn't taken her makeup off the night before and now she looked like a cross between a rabid raccoon and a porcupine, with her hair sticking out the way it was. To her utter embarassment, it was also a bit greasy. And if she dared check her armpits, they probably smelled.

I did this to myself, Teox reminded herself reasonably. Lessons learned. It didn't make her feel better.

The particulars of the murder were not clear yet. Teox had to pinch herself while people were interviewed, while the guards under her described the situation and the proceedings. They were practiced and they were good. Teox knew their job better than her own, at this point. They had brought her here because they had to, but they didn't need her. So Teox stayed for the appropriate amount of time, delegating when she had to, investigating when she felt it necessary. But it would be an insult to stick her hands into everything. She had gotten to know these men (why weren't there women on her team?) for a month, and they were good, smart men, and they didn't need babysitting.

So as much as Teox often wanted to, she tried not to do their job. Lieutenant just wasn't as hands on. God, Teox missed her previous station. Not the previous pay, but the work.

It was proper dawn when Teox felt it was appropriate to leave the situation. Somebody told her to get back to sleep, that work would be at the offices no matter when she got to it. She gave that man a stern glare, but she was planning to do exactly as he advised. Just a few more hours of sleep and some proper food.


It was slightly concerning that when Teox next woke up, she couldn't really remember getting home. But here she was, safe and sound, and clearly had not been carried. She doubted anybody in her unit could carry her up here anyway. She was nearly six feet tall, with arms and legs that could kill a man and an a** that she was quite proud of. It would be no easy feat to throw her over a shoulder and climb uphill an hour and then a few sets of stairs to her apartment.

Bath, check. Teox fluffed out her hair with a towel until it was a dry, huge, ratty mess. Just how she liked it. She fondly twisted the dyed silver ends. Her one bit of fun, besides the dark makeup she put around her eyes. She had sacrificed a nice figure for this job - she could indulge in a little flashiness if she wanted.

Food. Raw vegetables and fruit and a little meat to try and clear out the mess she had eaten the day before. A lot of water to aid in that process, and reluctantly a steaming cup of green tea. She gagged as she downed it.

It was verging on late morning when she put on her clothes, which was a mixture of armor, enchanted cloth for the practicality (she wasn't going to wear an impressive amount of armor around for twelve hours just for the sake of being impressive), and a bit of fashion. Not a lot, but Teox had her vanity, and that vanity was in her small waist and nice butt. So tight pants, damn the consequences. And, just to warn off wandering eyes, she also wore no sleeves. Just to remind them she could punch them so hard they'd never fully recover.

One stop in the front of the mirror. She stood in front of her reflection, checking her usual poses: crossed arms and a scowl, leaning on one hip. Hands on hips and an incredulous look. Threatening finger point. Yes, she looked her usual. A little attractive, but mostly kind of scary. A bit like she was trying to overcompensate for being a woman, but she sort of was.

"Could I have been a real looker, had I been a talented Magi instead? Maybe," Teox said conversationally to her reflection with a pained smile. "But I'm not talented, so I'm not beautiful. But I can still kick a**. Yeah." The last word she growled, trying to inspire that Not In My House feeling to get herself pumped for the day.

First stop, a god's house. Not a god - that's blasphemous, Teox - just a brilliant, brilliant man. Teox felt her usual anxiety popping up. She didn't get nervous about much, but meeting with the Witch Hunter was one of those things that set her heart beating fast. Was it beating fast because she was nervous, or because she was obsessive? Teox claimed the former, not matter how deep her blush got or how weak her knees became. He's just. A man. In charge of her, no less! And a legend. This is just a reaction to him being a legend and perhaps the most intimidating person that Teox had ever known except her own mother.

Besides, the Witch Hunter wasn't interested in women. Or men, actually. He was interested in power and knowledge and justice and being a selfless man and a great leader and doing his righteous duty -

She was there already. Teox found herself in front of his door, fists clenched tight enough that it hurt, lip trapped between her teeth, and eyebrows down furiously enough to not be a very good look for her. She glanced around to make sure nobody was watching her in front of his house. People were. God damn it. Teox shook out her arms a little, bending her knees a fraction a few times. "Come on, he's just a man. Loosen up. He's your boss and you have a murder to report. In, then out. It's business, it's natural, it's your right- no, it's your duty to be here. It's your goddamn job, so just do it. Good morning, sir. There's been another murder in my district, third one in as many days, doesn't look like necromancer work but there was definitely magic involved, we're already investigating to see if these murders are connected, so far there are a few similarities. I'll report on our findings as soon as we figure it out, thanks have a great day." She had practiced that in her head at least a few times while getting ready.

Teox approached the door. Easy. So easy. She resisted the urge to check her hair - it was messy, what else was it going to be? And then she knocked. The first rap was too quiet, so she put some force behind the next two. They were perhaps a little too aggressive. She thought she heard the wall next to the door creak under the force. Then she waited.

Should she smile? No, probably not. The Witch Hunter had never smiled at her. And she didn't like it when her underlings smiled and went through pleasantries. She wanted them to say what they needed to say with military precision and efficiency and then get the hell out. And that's what she would do.

The door opened. There he was. For just half a second, Teox couldn't breathe. She tried to keep her face calm and collected but she was sure a vein was twitching and her skin, however tan, was starting to go a little red. She nodded. "Good morning, Captain. I'll only take a moment of your time, I just need to report a - who the hell are you?" Teox blurted as her heart palpitated at seeing an odd but extremely pretty young woman within view of the door.

Then horror. Holy s**t, this was none of her business! She made the mistake of glancing between the woman and the captain and then blushed furiously. "My apologies," she said with no distinction between the words, actually a little pained at how hoarse her voice had become. She cleared her throat, staring directly at the Witch Hunter and pouring out her practiced speech, complete with another 'good morning': "Good morning, sir. There's been another murder in my district, third one in as many days, doesn't look like necromancer work but there was definitely magic involved, we're already investigating to see if these murders are connected, so far there are a few similarities. I'll report on our findings as soon as we figure it out, thanks have a great day." Then she saluted.

Mortified. She was absolutely mortified. She almost turned on her heel and walked away but she hadn't been dismissed yet. She needed to keep some semblence of professionalism. Oh, shoot, she had said nothing to the woman, who probably thought she was the rudest thing on the planet. But she wasn't standing within easy talking distance, just easy viewing distance. Would it be ruder to acknowledge her and bring her into a conversation between a subordinate and her commanding officer or would it be ruder to ignore her?

God, smite me now. Right here on the porch.

[Avioke]

Ouida had very meticulously braided her hair. Three strands always, down the middle, very tight. She left the braid long down her back so she couldn't see it or any of its imperfections. She had more important things to think about than her braid when at work. Such a long time spent on making that braid perfect, and now the end was dyed red, stark against the white that she preferred.

"Mana crystal," she whispered. She need not speak loudly - the room was dead silent. She could not stand noise when she worked. A mana crystal was placed in her open palm by her assistant, Stefanos. He was only allowed to see everything that she did because he was mute. He was a slave, unbeknownst to everyone. He had literally sold himself to her for life. How utterly devoted he was.

Bending to get even closer to the incison, Ouida held the scalpel out. It was taken from her with no hesitation. Ouida took the small sliver of mana crystal, imbued with as much magic as it could hold by the power of alchemy and evocation, and inserted it into the wound, careful not to cut any more flesh than she already had. She held out her hand again, wordless this time. A needle, already threaded, was put there.

She stitched the wound carefully. Oud could feel the blood on her braid. She could smell it. It made her skin shiver and crawl, to know her perfection was marred. Gooseflesh raised on her arms, and the urge to run out of the room to wash it out was nearly overwhelming. Finish the work, Oud told herself.

Her heart started racing. Her hands shook while she found the alcohol. It was fine - it was nearly over. The wound just had to be cleaned and kept clean for a stable environment. No heat of infection for this experiment. The mana of the crystal needed to be absorbed into the body, and if the body detected an abnormality and caused an infection to get rid of it, it might never work. These inani were so delicate, so weak. He would need all the help that he could get.

The wound was clean. Oud tossed her rag away and turned to pace. She had to distract herself from the feeling of her braid. Blood was under one nail too. She shivered and stuck her finger in her mouth, trying to get it out. Stefanos knew what she needed before she ever said a word - he carefully turned the subject's body over. It was a male inani, in fine physical form. Oud looked at him, appreciating his perfect physique. It calmed her. Except his nose had been broken once in his life and was left a little crooked. She turned away and paced faster.

When the subject was covered with his blanket up to his waist and his restraints were secure, Ouida went to him again, leaning over him to feel his face. Her braid fell over her shoulder, dangling over his body. Red at the tip - Oud nearly vomited. Disorder, a smear of blood here and there. Her hand shook as she took it away. "Come," she told Stefanos. She left the room and locked the door. She checked the handle three times, then began to walk down the hall. "Clean that room later. Make sure it's perfect. I need to visit him later tonight. I will check on his brother early tomorrow morning."

Stefanos nodded, his hands clasped behind his back, his walk straight, his shoulders even. He was tall, he was handsome, he was nearly perfect. He had a faint freckle on one side of his face, which drove Ouida mad. But he had started covering it up. Anticipating her needs before she ever voiced them. Perfect. Oud calmed looking at him. He looked dead ahead, knowing she was finding comfort in his perfection and unwilling to break it for her.

They passed two of her other servants - hired guards. Orphans with no family, no allegiance. Ouida had had them for nearly ten years. She liked her people loyal and few. They separated as Ouida and Stefanos approached, one standing on one side of the hall and the other standing exactly the same on the other. They were identical twins and truly looked the same. Oud could not tell them apart. They had trained themselves to look the same, to act the same, to speak the same. They were merely the Brothers.

They passed, and the Brothers resumed their journey down the hall to guard the subjects. She didn't like them to be outside the door while she was working. Only Stefanos could be near.

The braid, the braid, the braid. Ouida clenched her hands into fists and stopped. Stefanos went on, quickening his pace. He knew what she needed.

Imperfection is weakness, but so is your handicap, she told herself for the thousandth time. 'You are crippled by your need. Forget your needs. Overcome them. Be better than them.' She breathed. In and out, slowly. Again. Again. She forgot about the braid. Her shaking stilled, and she was herself again. Still work to do.

Stefanos had been gathering water from the well for her bath. He had run off, she knew, because it would take him exactly twenty minutes to bring up ten buckets of water to fill her bathtub. It would take ten minutes for the enchanted tub to heat the water to the temperature that she liked. Oud had half an hour, and she would fill it with research.

Her manor had a library and a librarian. Ouida went to her, gave her a list of the books that she needed, and then went to her study. The room was perfectly symmetrical, all in tones of gray so that nothing seemed out of place. Color too often did not match, or changed with light. In shades of gray, there was safety. Other rooms of her home were meant to make others comfortable, but her study was for her. She had to be able to focus, so she indulged every single quirk of her brain so that she could. Everything was in threes, or there was one. Three windows, books were grouped in sixes, there were twelve or six shelves on the walls. The left wall mirrored the back wall perfectly, and nothing graced the wall with the door besides three mirrors cut exactly to the size of the windows on the opposite wall to reflect light better. The desk was in perfect order, three fountain pens to one side and twenty-four pages of blank paper on the other for sudden ideas. One gaslamp in the middle, three drawers on each side with equal dimensions.

Her desk had once driven her crazy, until she shaved off a little bit of the excess sides to make it exactly 120 centimeters.

She sat down, not resting her back against the chair. White cushions, blood in her hair - if she had to get used to another chair Oud would not be comfortable in here for a long time, and Oud had a lot of work to do these days. She could not spare one moment of focus.

Three knocks on the door. Stefanos opened the door without waiting for her reply - only he was asked to do this. He waited by the door, which he closed directly behind him. Oud finished her essay, taking another few minutes to do so. She did not like to leave things unfinished. Then she closed it, set it neatly on one side of the desk mirroring her blank pages, the top page now being filled with notes that she had taken. She straightened everything, got up from her chair and pushed it in, then went to the door. Stefanos opened it for her and followed her to her chambers.

The bath was steaming. Stefanos closed the door behind him and unlaced the back of her dress, not moving her braid to do so so she didn't have to look at it. Ouida hummed at the warmth of his hands - he even warmed up his hands before he ever touched her. But his touch never lingered. It had once, when they were younger. The punishment had been severe. Oud trusted Stefanos. She loved him more than she loved anyone else, including her own parents. But he was not for her, and she was not for him, and for him to betray that was the only immoral thing that Ouida knew. He was barely a mage. He was near-perfect physically, near-perfect mentally, and yet imperfect. Powerless. Anything that came out of relations between them would be an abomination to everything that she had worked for.

Stefanos folded her dress neatly while she entered the tub. He helped her wash, combing oils through her hair, filing her toenails down just a little - he did the same to her fingernails in the evenings. File just a little every day, so they were always the same length and never chipped. He washed her back, massaged her shoulders for a few minutes, and then he held up her towel. She did not mind him looking at her, but for years he had only ever looked straight ahead when she got out of the bath, face passive. Ouida frowned as she wrapped the towel around herself, then reached out to stroke his face. "Almost perfect," she hummed, grazing her fingers over his jaw. "Almost." She smiled, and he returned her smile with real warmth. His smile was even, too. It hadn't always been. She knew he had practiced it in the mirror years ago to make sure it was never crooked.

Ouida smiled wider and kissed his cheek gently. Then she moved past. He then helped her dress again. It was a simple, wide-necked dress in heavy and expensive cloth. Her collarbones and chest were shown off nicely. She added simple earrings for decoration and let her hair dry into a glossy white curtain. Since she could not control when people called on her and they did not take her requests to send a message a week in advance seriously, Ouida had all visitors declined unless it was after three o'clock in the afternoon.

At three-thirty, she had tea. She had no visitor for tea today, but she did have a meeting with a glass-blower about making enough product for her potions. She ordered several different shapes of bottles in bulk, paying a significant amount extra just so he would spend the extra time in making sure each one of them was perfectly symmetrical. As she bade goodbye to him at the door, smiling a pretty smile, she reminded him, "Please remember, keep any odd-looking bottles for yourself. I will not accept them." He was all too happy for her generous business, and promised to take his time. He would get a few sample bottles to her tomorrow, which was just in time. She needed potions for Elias and the festival.

Dinner, she ate with all the servants. She didn't bother in separation of rank when it came to sustenance - they were all equally dependent on food. There was an even number at her long table - twenty-four in all, at all times. If one left, she needed notice so she could hire another to take their place the exact day that they left, before dinnertime. They ate a healthy meal, always, and only water. No need to poison one's body.

Ouida left the dinnertable first always, going to her study to research. Endless, endless research. Mornings were for potions, evenings for research unless she had a deadline.

[Avioke]

Ziv felt exposed when the "day" lights were on. The beams of light illuminating the swirling dust moving with the air currents overhead seemed to him like accusatory fingers, pointing at him wherever he went. A spotlight on a criminal. Drug dealer, they said, saying it loud so that everyone would know. Drug dealer, liar, thief, murderer. Ziv didn't like to operate during "daylight", despite the lack of law enforcement. Despite the fact that the only people he needed to watch out for already knew who he was and what he looked like. Whenever there was a change in leadership in a gang, other streetlords were informed. Business owners, drug makers and dealers all needed to know who to watch out for. The face of the new streetlord was cycled through and passed around.

Ziv was considerably taller now than he had been when he'd become streetlord. He hadn't shot up until he was fifteen years old. Now he was at his man height, had almost started to need shaving more than once every couple of weeks, and was looking more lean than scrappy these days. There was no mistaking him, though. The tattoos, piercings, and haircut were the same, as well as the round eyes rimmed with thick lashes. The tattoos and piercings were supposed to counteract the natural innocence to his eyes. It helped a little, but Ziv was still mistaken for some doe-eyed youth now and again.

When I'm a man, they'll think different, he thought again. He'd been thinking that for about ten years now.

Now it was dusk, which meant he was going out to play. He'd slept nearly all day at the hideout, waking when his favorite centurion crawled into his bed, exhausted. "Good night," Enyo murmured into his pillow, face-down next to him.

Ziv poked her in the ribs, making her squeak and nearly fall off the bed. She scowled at him. "Nothing to report, sir," she clipped.

"You're getting comfortable," he observed, sitting up. "Sure, no - please, take my bed. Wasn't using it anymore anyways." He climbed over her out of the corner she had trapped him in, then placed his feet on the cold floor. It was always cold down here, but these last few days more so than usual. In his district, ventilation had been an issue for years. Ziv could remember a few times in his childhood when he had felt dizzy and out of sorts for a week at a time. It was always because a cave-in had blocked a vent somewhere, and suddenly oxygen was scarce.

His district was tunneled below the main chamber, cut into several hollows for big areas and series of caves with doors in residential areas. Ziv knew the twisting and turning of the area like the back of his hand by now, but for most it was too complicated, too dark, too dangerous. Cave-ins weren't common, per say, with the metal reinforcements along many of the walls. But their area was simply too poor to properly protect themselves. Enough deaths happened that visitors were seldom.

Because of all the different, small chambers, connected by low tunnels, carbon dioxide could get trapped if even a single vent closed. Ziv sometimes wondered if it was done on purpose, in order to rid Ancorum of its most vulnerable district. Almost the poorest, cheapest district, it had plenty of homeless and crippled ex-miners who were considered useless. Ziv wouldn't be surprised if those above found them a strain on resources and decided to cull the whole district by shutting down the vents and collapsing tunnels one day.

Recently, though, it seemed there were more vents. It was colder, and there was always a breeze. Ziv's theory about Caelum trying to kill off the invalids of Ancorum went out the window, for the most part.

There was just a flash of a memory as he walked through the barracks, the hideout for his Reds. A couple of his centurions, what he called his officers, were milling about, talking about their raids or plans. He didn't speak to anyone as he passed by. He stared ahead, trying to hold onto this memory. Something about a vent, and what he thought had been natural light. A desire to climb up and climb through. He had been small enough to, at that age.

But he had been young, and he didn't remember if it had even been real. He hadn't seen a vent that close to the ground except in this memory or dream. Caelum wouldn't be stupid enough to build escape routes, not even ones children could fit through. Caelum didn't want Ancorum mixing in with them in their lofty paradise of sunshine.

Ziv had a stop to make before he started with business. He pulled up the hood on his loose, asymmetrical shamble of a jacket, keeping his head low. Usually when he walked around the streets he swaggered and smirked, all confidence. His streetface, or rather the streetface of Reaver.

But it was still dusk, and Reaver wasn't out yet. Ziv had an errand.

The tiller at the bank had mussed hair and looked unhappy that anyone would come in so close to closing time. Ziv sat down in front of her, tossing back his hood. The bank was one of the only secure areas. No real money was kept here, so it wasn't really a target for robbery. But monetary theft was often on an electronic level, and cameras were leveled to watch closely for foolery with the system. "I need a transfer," he said, folding his arms.

The tiller tried to hide her scowl as she swiped and tapped on her touchpad, solid in the back to keep anyone from seeing delicate information. Ziv moved his jaw around impatiently as he waited. "Finger," she finally demanded. Ziv put his left forefinger on the touchpad in front of him. It was scanned, and he was sure his information and credit accounts popped up on her screen. She kept her thoughts about his surprising amount of money saved a secret, her already thin lips disappearing completely for a moment.

It wasn't as if Ziv needed to lie. Yeah, I stole all that. Stealing is hard - almost as hard as working the mines. He sniffed, making his impatience known. "How much?"

"Half of what's in my first account," Ziv answered. He didn't want spoken numbers on recording, not about his money. Call him paranoid.

"Account number?"

He insisted on typing in the number of his mother's account. She couldn't work much anymore, and she was starting to get sick in the lungs from her years in the mines, and the poor air quality of their district. With herself and Nox, Ziv's half-sister, to take care of, Ma was could to need all the financial assistance she could get. Especially if Ziv was going to keep persuading her to stay away from SunnyD and spend the extra money on the proper Pill.

When the transfer was done, Ziv paused outside the building. He usually went to go see Ma and Nox right afterwards to let them know they had the funds for more Pills and extra food, plus services for anything they needed fixing. Ziv didn't live at home anymore. Streetlords had a target painted on their backs, and that target extended to anyone close to them. As little affection was between him and Ma, Ziv didn't want anything bad to happen to her. Or little Nox.

This time, though, he headed back to the barracks for a quick change. Less inconspicuous clothes: Streetlords didn't want to look like they wanted to blend in. It was all confidence. Even strolling through the barracks, Ziv played up the cockiness. He walked liesurely, pausing to laugh at a joke or a conversation he overheard. Not their friend, not quite. Never their friend. That would put him on their level. But there, alive, breathing, invested in them.

Then out on the streets. He had a few business runs to make. Reaver was famed for killings his victims with their own weapons after he stole them. But there were things that made ripping weapons away easier. Like electricity. This wasn't the first time he had thought of using shock to momentarily incapacitate his enemies, but it was the first time he had had enough cushion in his bank account to spend it on something a little extra. Besides tattoos. Image was so important.

Reaver sniffed, trying to ready himself to keep his patience as his pride was battered by probably the most volatile and unimpressed female that he knew. A man with a metal leg limped away, shoulders round with the effect that Mika Wyrick had on most people. Maybe being Reaver here wasn't so good an idea, Ziv thought after a moment. He sighed, braced himself, and knocked, then opened the door without waiting for an answer. Whoops, there's Reaver.

She had her back turned. Her hair was awry, as it usually was. She either did it on purpose or worked so much that it was pointless to try to fix it. A mess of materials surrounded her, on worktables and on the floor, scattered in some sort of order that Ziv himself couldn't recognize.

After a moment, he closed the door behind him, loud enough that she could hear. "Too busy to make a few credits?" he asked. Small talk didn't work on Mika, nor did demands. Offer of money made her consider, just like anybody else down here. Credits were everything. Credits and sunshine. "I saw a girl the other day with a metal arm spasming and shocking periodically. Caused her a lot of pain. Gave me an idea." The crooked smile was back.

[Avioke]

This conversation was getting her nowhere. Wylo was thankfully trained keep her straight face in frustration. Patience, smiles, but hard questions and a direct voice. Eye contact. She used every interview technique she knew, from schooling and personal experience and advice received from her betters. But the governor of Caelum was sidestepping everything. He questioned why the hell she cared, finally. Three interviews later he was finally getting frustrated instead of just sitting and smiling prettily.

"At this point in time," he said, voice struggling to keep its composure, "Trying to visit Ancorum is like trying to visit a country we're at war with. There are delicate matters. We are working towards solving these problems, but these things take time." He kept emphasizing certain words like she was stupid. He certain was talking down to her.

I'm young, but I can tell you're hiding something, Wylo thought stubbornly.

"Except, Mr. Governor, that journalists still go to war-torn countries. That's what journalists do. Report information." She held her tongue - she was so tempted to call him out. But that would only bring more attention on herself. She had already gotten fired. If Wylo had stumbled upon a conspiracy big enough that he really was lying about all of this, it would be a simple matter to have her killed. Or threaten her family.

"You're not a journalist anymore, Harp. You call yourself a freelance journalist, but you haven't had work in weeks. No one is willing to do business with you because of this whole mess," the governor said, waving his hand at her as he said 'mess'. Wylo's lips thinned. "Don't dig yourself a bigger hole. You're young - your career is still salvageable. I hate to see young talent go to waste on issues that aren't there."

"If there's no issue, can you explain to me why no one has ever met a miner before?" she demanded. "Or why no one up here has ever gone down there except the military force?"

"I told you, it's a delicate situation. We are still sorting out trade between cities, much less travel. You have to understand, Vita Nova is new. And one city atop another is doubly new. Several things have to be worked out, and before civilians or journalists are able to set foot down there we need to clearly define the rules and regulations."

Bullshit. Bullshit, all of it! How do they get light? How are they getting sufficient air down there? People, human beings, can only spend so long underground. There hasn't been enough time for any evolution - they're humans with lungs and bodies that need sunlight. Good ventilation or no, being trapped in what was essentially a mining colony couldn't be good. "Can you ensure that these workers, the people who made Caelum possible, are properly cared for?" she said, eyebrows down and eyes on fire. "Can you promise that when travel is opened and contact between cities is established that there won't be complaints about the living arrangements, the quality of life down there? How can you ensure - "

"I have answered all these question before, Ms. Harp," the governor interrupted, standing abruptly. Wylo clamped her mouth shut, schooling her features into a cold gaze of indifference. "I will indulge you no longer. You have your recordings, I'm sure - reference them for my answer to that question. Should have been about five minutes ago. If you will please excuse me."

As he left the conference room, one of his attendants opening the door, Wylo stood and called, loud enough for the hallway to hear: "For the sake of your career and reputation, I hope what you say is true." A bold threat, since he could have her hushed up one way or another a lot easier and a lot sooner than she could do anything.

That's not true, Wylo reasoned, gathering her notebook and recorder and grabbing her jacket. She stalked out of there, her heels making furious clicking sounds as she went down the hall. The governor's building had a marvelous view of the whole city, great gardens both inside and out on the terraces. The sky was blue, the sun shining, the city gleaming and clean. It was a paradise. Wylo wondered what Ancorum looked like.

When she had first learned of it, she had pictured something quite like Caelum, only with a great cavern as the sky, arching up delicately, lined with lights. Maybe she imagined screens that created a fake but lovely sky, complete with moving clouds and a sun that went from east to west. Maybe even birds. Maybe fireworks, for popular festivals and celebrations.

Now, she wasn't so sure about any of that. Now she knew better. How middle-class workers were treated in the histories of earth, how the quality of life for miners was. How they were locked from the surface.

I will find them, she thought. I will bring them to the surface. Literally and figuratively - all of Vita Nova would know, good or bad, what had happened. If it was good, if life was great down there, Wylo would shut up about it forever and pick another profession before somebody had her killed for spreading wild rumors. But if it was true, she was going to turn Caelum upside down and start a goddamn revolution.

She ordered takeout on the way home. Chinese food - earth cultures hadn't yet diminished. Roots were too strong, food was too good, cultures too rich. Plus, Vita Nova didn't have any cultures of its own yet, besides "luxurious". Cultures would develop her after hundreds if not thousands of years, after more cities were established, after people didn't think of their once-home earth anymore.

Her apartment she kept simple, thought it was also plush. She likes simple whites with various light, calming colors to help keep her focused. She had a balcony sheltered from most of the wind by invisible tempered glass, and there she ate, flipping through her previous notes on her data pad. Out of work, this investigation was literally the only thing she had to do. She would publish another article tonight or tomorrow, updating her very few followers one the follow-up meeting she had with the governor.

And tomorrow... Wylo had no plans. No more interviews. The people of the government were flat-out refusing to see her. They didn't have time to play games, to listen to her conspiracy theories, to appease the spoiled daughter who never had to work a day in her life but had to find something to give herself meaning. They accused her of a lot, being bratty and sullen the least of them.

So what next? Wylo had felt like she was at a dead end for months now. She tapped her pad-pen on the table, scowling miserably at the horizon.

The gleam of sunlight on windows. They were still constructing across the river. What, though? Maybe that would be an interesting story in the meantime.

Or maybe... Wylo gazed, still tapping her chin. The only remotely secretive, off-limits place besides the military compound was across the river. For the public's safety, of course. Construction sites were dangerous. But perhaps there were clues over there for Wylo's current case. Ventilation shafts, doors, elevators. Anything. Or any evidence of any Ancorumite life. Could she possibly gain access? She didn't have a lot of friends or contacts. Wylo wrote down a note for herself for later, then settled into her chinese food.

[Avioke]

Cin knew something was going on in the mines, but it wasn't really his business. He could see a figure working on something, a small crowd of people who were supposed to be working semi-helping or just watching useless. Cin had his headphones on and was humming to himself, a little dance-like bounce in his step as he slide on through the crowd to get to work.

It was only half an hour later that his drill stopped. Just stopped. Cin, generally good-natured, took this as a chance to have a paid break. His friend, Timan, noticed the drill go dark and sighed. "The ******** equipment they give us down here," he muttered.

"They just like us so much," Cin said cheerfully as he pulled out one headphone, voice booming through the small cave they had created. He had few talents. One was projecting his voice. A talent he didn't have was being quiet. "They miss us up there. Why else would they give us s**t equipment?"

"Because they don't give a s**t about us," Timan answered dryly, in no mood to be happy. He didn't seem like he ever wanted to be happy. He also didn't seem like he appreciated the fact that Cin was always happy. "Because they don't want to invest in good equipment for us because in the end it costs less to repair s**t when it breaks down than it does to get high-quality stuff. Should I go on?"

"People say 'should I go on?' mostly when they ran out of things to say, so how about I save you the trouble of trying to think of another reason and say... no." Cin smiled. "Let's go tell our masters what - oh, damn, good song. Want a listen?" Cin asked, offering a headphone. Timan was shorter than him - Cin was 6'7", most people were shorter than him - but Cin had to stoop through most of the tunnels anyway.

"Wireless headphones exist, my friend. No, I'm not sharing."

Cin took out both headphones and offered them with a smile. Timan just stared at him. Cin shrugged big shoulders and replaced his earbuds. "It's a good song," he said defensively. "And relevant." Timan wasn't going to ask what it was about. As they started walking up the steep climb, Cin shot him a sidelong glance, a barely-contained smile on his mouth. Timan was staring straight ahead stubbornly. "You want to know what it is?"

"No, Cin," Timan said, voice low.

"I work all night, I work all day to pay the bills I have to pay," Cin said conversationally as if they weren't the lyrics. Timan was listening only because he had no idea that Cin was quoting lyrics at him already. "And still there never seems to be a single penny left for me."

"Don't I know it," Timan muttered.

"In my dreams, I have a plan," Cin said wistfully. Timan looked at him curiously, now beginning to sense that something wasn't right. "If I got me a wealthy man - " his voice rose to almost a sing-song and Timan realized he'd been quoting the song the whole time and made a noise of frustration. "I wouldn't have to work at all, I'd fool around and have a ballll," Cin added, stopping to extend his hand dramatically.

"God damn it, Cin, can we - "

Songs wait for no man. "Money, money, money! Must be sunny! In a rich man's world!" And he continued singing, even though Timan was yelling at him to stop through the entire chorus and sighing morosely through the next verse. When it was over, Cin sighed happily as if he'd just had a good meal. "You know, if you had a little music in your life you'd be a lot happier," Cin said.

"I don't want to hear your voice ever again," Timan said sourly.

"Oh, that's so dramatic - lo!" Cin gasped. They had been walking through the edge of the crowd, and time almost slowed as Cin saw her. An angel with goggles and a kerchief over the lower half of her face. How did he know she was beautiful? Because she was welding, barking orders, toned as a swimmer and absolutely filthy. She told someone to get a bucket. "Timan, go report our faulty drill. I'm going to save a princess."

Timan paled. "Cin. As your... friend. Can I warn you that she's - Cin!" Timan shouted as Cin moved away, clapping him hard on the back.

The next song on his playlist was so appropriate that Cin almost dropped onto his knees and thanked God for the blessing of music for the second time that day. He placed his fist against his mouth, catching the man that had moved to get a bucket. "Don't worry about it - I got this." The man was confused, but Cin didn't get argued with. One side of his face was scarred - a freak accident on a motorcycle just under six years ago. It made him look terrifying. Oh, and the height. Oh, and the fact that he was built like a viking.

The bucket was found. He brought it back within a minute, taking a moment to do what he did rarely; impose himself in a frightening way. He liked imposing pleasantly usually. He pushed himself through the crowd and then faced them, making sure they all got a good view. "Why are you standing around, being useless? You're crowding the area. Get to work," he said with his best grimace, which he had practiced a lot. Working for the Weekend came up next, which was appropriate, but it wasn't a song that fit a talk with a princess. He skipped until Rhiannon came on. Perfect.

People were still standing. Cin broke out his yell, gesturing wildly at the woman still doing her job like the dream she was behind him. "Stop gawking at this moonbeam and get to work, I don't have time to carry you all back to your stations. NOW, gang!" As the crowd dispersed, except those designated to help and, of course, Cin, he turned around and broke into a beam as he looked at her. The goggles and bandana still obscured her, but she was a dream no matter what her face held.

Wasting no time, he got on his knees and put the bucket where it needed to go, catching the leaking liquid with several plunks. "Starshine, what would you have of me? I cannot believe a woman with your stature and presence needs help, but I would be grieved if I didn't offer," he said, voice intoned with both passion and cheer. And while he waited for a verbal answer, not at all looking at her face or reading her mood, he hummed his song.

[Avioke]

Bla bla

[Avioke]

Bla bla bla "Bla bla bla."