#glass hanging from his tent (there's no sun but the decoration itself is a promise of a pretty sighs when the rays of the sun hit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quintlilian · 4 years

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intro (cont.)

intro (cont.) || meeting Damon || hospital rides || the price of loyalty || answers || kantharis || the next step || whispers || fugitives of the law || escape

Sunrise in Bersai was at about four. Scarlett walked out the door of Rod’s half an hour after that. Change of shift was slow and stumbling. The guy replacing Scarlett looked no more enthused than she was to leave. All the buildings in this part of Bersai were of the same brown brick, littered with windows across all four edges. They never had any corners, an architectural feature which drove Scarlett insane. She used the familiar path to count her steps towards home, looking for the cracks across the concrete and the little tufts of dandelions that were starting to sprout. The street lamps hanging off the buildings were still on, giving Scarlett that little bit more light she needed before hitting the station.

The first trains of the day had started to run. Similar souls such as herself, bleary-eyed hospos squinting at the sun, clambered on board and tried not to make eye contact. As they neared the CBD other grinless faces joined them, office workers in the same brown and blue suits were just starting their day. Scarlett was left squished between two people. The lack of personal space used to terrify and disgust her when she first came to Bersai. She was too tired to care about it now, but did wish this guy’s armpit would remove itself from her nose.

The central business district was the basis for Bersai’s architecture. Red-brown buildings stretched towards the sky, decorated with spirals and towers. Arched walkways connected most buildings to save pedestrians from the congested streets below. Scarlett had been in a lot of these looking for jobs. Sometimes the centre was hollowed out to make way for parks or fountains. Any non-skystretchers were only a few of storeys in height. They had slanted roofs that matched the dark pathways on the ground, and had wide windows on all floors. Often there would be a large circular window taking up one or two of the floors, decorated with carved symmetrical designs. Inside the stain glass would cast rainbows to the ground. These smaller buildings were slotted together in chunks throughout the city, and served as a welcome reprieve from the daunting height of the skystretchers. Scarlett lost sight of the sky as the train was engulfed by the city. There were three stops before Central. Half a dozen more people squeezed onto Scarlett’s carriage, destroying the last sanctified air molecules of space she had.

“Now arriving at… Central.” The automated voice promised a reprieve. Most of the carriage emptied here. The streams of people moved in all directions, moving up and down the multiple levels of Central. Bersai’s night workers replaced them. Bartenders came in with their patrons, avoiding the cleaners that always smelled too much like wax and bleach. The cleaners avoided the bartenders, who were always too loud, assault of the smell of spirits was like a slap in the face to anyone that got within a two metre radius. Scarlett also avoided the bartenders. She spied a seat and went to move for it as the same time as an older man. He was wearing a janitor’s uniform with a large company logo on the front and stepped forward with a limp. Their eyes met for a moment and he smiled under a wide moustache. Scarlett flipped a small smile back, as big as her state of exhaustion would allow, and nodded her head slightly so he could sit down. Scarlett shuffled her sore feet and once again looked for a spot of sky on the horizon. The train pulled out of the station and continued on its route, winding its way around major hubs of the city.

Soon the skystrechers faded to be replaced by houses of the same colour and style. Scarlett watched people walking their pets or running through the streets. The train made another eight stops, with each stop moving further and further away from the city. The houses became smaller and sparser. The train was almost empty by the time Scarlett got off. The rising sun started to bring the waves of humidity that swamped the region. Her house was a small, square block wedged between two others. The red tiled roof peeked over the top of two unruly rows of hedges. Every day Scarlett promised herself she’d do something about them, tomorrow. It was easier to push the guilt aside than deal with it, especially when she always imagined her mother horrified at the sight of the garden. Scarlett barely bothered to stare at them this morning, but paused a few moments to wait for a familiar sound, the loud, impatient mews of a scruffy cat.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” Scarlett mumbled.

The cat, unnamed as far as she knew but affectionately nicknamed ‘Freeloader’, stared at her. Bits of matted hair along his forehead gave the impression of large, bushy eyebrows. Scarlett started forward through the hedges, Freeloader close at her heels. He tried nipping at the bag hanging from her fingers. Before she could do anything he slipped in through the crack in the door, padded to the kitchen, and jumped up on the bench.

“This isn’t your house, you know,” Scarlett chided. “Unless you want to start paying the rent.”

Freeloader mewed, eyes pointed towards the bag. While Scarlett started retrieving plates he started pawing at the bag.

“Alright.” Scarlett took out a can advertising delicious canned tuna and some other unnatural concoction. Freeloader started pawing at that instead, threatening to knock it off the table. Scarlett had forsaken table manners when it came to this cat months ago. She caught the can as he took one final, destructive swipe and knocked the can off the bench, then dumped its contents into a small bowl. She, however, couldn’t forsake table manners, even if she was eating the greasy scraps from the end of her shift, and retrieved appropriate utensils. The only proper table in her house was just next to the kitchen and under a window. Although she had a non-existent garden and her view was mostly of the back of another house, this was Scarlett’s favourite view. On the windowsill was Scarlett’s only reminders of home; a collection of small plants and growing herbs, and the only thing that survived the move to this apartment; a small, gilded knife. Red and purple flowers stretched towards the promise of the sun. Scarlett reached forward, taking the knife to cut at the stems of some of the herbs. She had decided to believe long ago that it made the grease-covered food taste better, but that was more of a hope than a promise. Scarlett stared at the plate below and felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. The depressing-looking omelette would serve better as a pillow if she just willed to put her head down for only a moment. Freeloader had finished his tuna and had started rubbing against Scarlett’s leg. His purrs were the only sound throughout the entire house. Scarlett reached down to pet him but he deftly avoided her hand, contorting his spine in seemingly impossible ways, and jumped up on the table. He went straight for the food. Scarlett saved it just in time and scowled at the mess of fluff.

“Not. Yours.”

Freeloader’s pseudo-eyebrows frowned at her straight back. Of course it’s mine, he seemed to be saying. You let me in to this house, everything is now mine. Still, he relented and sniffed at the flowers instead. He did not pull away when Scarlett’s fingers played amongst his fur, and the purring started again. Scarlett did not survive the exhaustion for long. She did not eat much, and put the omelette in the small fridge again for lunch. Scarlett sank into a couch on the other side of the thin kitchen wall. It was one of two, both old and made of worn, fake leather. Her head felt like it had a bowling ball attached, forcing her head down and down again, and it was harder to keep it up. Freeloader had jumped up on the other couch and was staring at Scarlett. Scarlett nodded towards him as well before letting her eyes close and slipped into unconsciousness.

The first thing Scarlett heard in her dream was the crash. Next came the sirens. The crash brought Scarlett to a sudden moment of lucidity. Still half-asleep she wondered what had broken, or what Freeloader had broken, and how much that was going to cost. But as the sleepy fog crowding her mind slowly dissipated she realised what was going on. The crash came from the bathroom. There was somebody inside the house. Jolts of panic and adrenaline shot through her stomach and into her legs. She sat bolt upright and strained to see if she could hear anything else. Her own breathing, shallow and almost panting, sounded deafening to her in the still environment. Freeloader, awakened from his nap, scanned the room with a lazy expression and rolled over to go back to sleep. Scarlett cursed the uselessness of that cat.

She got to her feet as quietly as possible, and desperately searched for something to protect herself. Groans from the bathroom sent another sting of panic through Scarlett. It was a man. She crept to the kitchen and grabbed the first thing she could find. A butter knife. She grasped it until her knuckles were white and took the first few tentative steps towards the origin of the sound. The corridor, normally short and cramped, seemed to stretch on forever. The dark made everything worse. Suddenly there was another crash and Scarlett almost screamed. She brandished the knife in front of her for a few seconds but nothing presented itself. She could hear wind whistling from where there was an open window. The bathroom had a light switch just outside the door.

Scarlett wrestled with her thoughts. She wanted to just run out the front door, but who knows if she could get there before him. There could be more outside. But whoever this couldn’t get through a window quietly. If Scarlett ran in there shouting she could scare him off. She didn’t wait another second for her brain to recognise that was a stupid plan. Scarlett held the butter knife up a little higher, reached forward, and turned on the light. It took a moment, flickered once or twice. A figure below Scarlett’s line of sight came into view. The shower had a bit of a funny door, and the wrong kind of pressure could send you through straight to the floor. In a heap lay Scarlett’s would-be invader. Drops of blood seeping from pre-existing wounds dotted the walls around his figure. Scarlett’s heart was in her throat, but she held the knife steady. She was counting her breaths in the stillness. For a second she thought the guy might be dead. That wouldn’t be the worst thing. The worst thing would be Scarlett recognising the body in the shower.

And she did.

The body in the shower stirred and groaned. Between a throbbing head and a spinning world, he realised Scarlett’s figure was standing next to him. “Scarlett?” The knife barely faltered in Scarlett’s hand. The body tried to steady himself against the wall of the shower. He struggled to find a handhold among the sweat and blood lining the walls. “So… this is weird.”

#marsel and jones #mine

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