The forty-third floor bathroom, like the rest of the Arrow building, was a work of art. A wall-to-wall mirror in front of the sink, a self-rewinding gramophone playing cello pieces. The hand-painted tiles, the impractically high ceiling, none of it could distract Valerie from the truth: she was terrified.
Her shift was over in five minutes. Her impossibly hot manager wanted to take her shopping after work, most likely at a place where she could barely afford the paper the bill would be printed on. She was supposed to feel excited about it. This was beyond her wildest fantasies about him, and pretty tame compared to them at the same time. She felt like running away.
Her second attempt at fixing her lipstick ended in a smudge again, courtesy of her trembling hands. "Come on, Val," she said, scolding her reflection in the mirror. "Get it together, girl! He's just being nice. You're going to reject him anyway."
That was the other reason why she couldn't stop panicking: Val had to tell him no. Saying no to anyone about anything was already no easy feat. Saying no to her intimidating manager who she had the hots for: mission impossible. But she had to.
It wasn't just the matter of shopping in Upper, even though it did play a part. But beyond that, if she didn't leave on time, she would get stuck on the wrong side of the Upper East gate again. This time, without a summon to wave her through, she could end up in custody. She had heard stories of how middlers caught trespassing beyond their commuting hours were treated: it wasn't pretty. She had to decline.
She took a minute to complain to Jeanet, sending them a full rant about her date and asking if they could go out for drinks. Then she had to stop procrastinating.
She rubbed off the rest of her lipstick with a paper towel and threw it down the chrome bin. "It's so unfair," she whispered, pouting. Surprisingly, removing her lipstick gave her back a bit of confidence. She squared her shoulders. Her jacket and shirt were still filthy, anyway. No romantic outing should have to start with one of you smelling swampy. She picked a rotten leaf she hadn't spotted before.
"Well, time to turn down the the best catch of my life, I guess".
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Mr. White's office was almost impressive as the bathroom, which was a bit funny when Val thought about it. Clear wooden panels engraved with leaves gave a solemn but comforting impression. An abstract painting, hanging beside the curtained window, looked disturbingly like a human brain. Or maybe a really juicy apple. Val was standing near the door, waiting. Damian White kept reading his report, undisturbed. Silence stretched between them.
After almost a solid minute, he raised his head and looked straight at her.
"I've kept you waiting. Are you done with your tasks?"
Valerie nodded. "Yes sir."
Mr. White rose from his seat, leaving the folder where it was. "Very well," he said, "let us be off."
Val fidgeted, embarrassed. "Sir, if I may…"
He stopped, halfway through the process of putting his overcoat on. Evenings still cooled quickly this time of year. "Yes?", he asked.
"Sir, I'm very sorry," Val said, "my work visa only extends for half an hour more, and even if I could stay longer…" Val flushed a deep brown, embarrassed. "I'm afraid most of the boutiques in Upper might be beyond my means."
Mr. White finished dressing up, adjusting his tie with the help of a standing mirror in a corner. He looked back at Val. "You don't need to worry about any of that."
He exited his office at a brisk pace and keeping up was all Val could do. He didn't add a word on the way down. Outside, a chill was settling on the gardens, and some of the shops in the make-believe town were already closed for the evening. Mr. White took the lead confidently, leading Val through parts of Upper she never had the opportunity to visit. Here, an obsidian statue with too many edges was spitting water into a large pond populated by colorful fishes. There, a gentle slope led to an extensive view of the lower tiers, the fog over Lower and a part of Middle turning a lurid orange in the setting sun. It would have been an enchanting moment if her manager was not walking so fast. As it was, he had found another way of making her heart beat.
He turned around at last, waiting for Val to catch up. "You're terribly out of shape, Ms. Marredine," he commented as she caught her breath.
"Some say it's the life the tiers, sir," replied Val, mouthing the words over labored breathing. "The fog from the factories is bad for the lungs."
Mr. White looked surprised, but not shocked. "I suppose it makes sense," he said, and resumed walking. Val followed, quickly noticing that his pace had slowed.
He waited for me, she thought. As it stood, it was unclear whether it was out of kindness or to avoid the annoyance of a medical emergency, but still. Once again, an almost overwhelming sense of trust built up in her chest and she picked up the pace.
Their first visit was to a tailor, who Mr. White seemed to know personally. Not listening to her objections, her manager ordered four suits on his tab, requesting a color that would compliment her eyes. Now that she looked a bit closer, Damian White's tie and cuffs did match his eyes. He had such an attention to detail. He didn't take being pretty for granted, now did he?
After the old Mr Deguenne from Deguenne & Sons had taken her precise measurements, he got started on an alteration for a ready-made suit, as the completion of the order would take a few days. Val tried her best to avoid looking like a deer in the headlights every time the old man offered something extra. The luxury made no sense. For her? Even less.
"The alteration will be done in half an hour, young master Damian," said Deguenne, proud as a peacock when it came to his skill. Given how fast he was sewing, there was a possibility he was a fabrication-oriented Cyber. The cost of an hour of his time would be staggering, not even counting the other suits. Yet they had avoided the topic, as if money wasn't worth talking about. Valerie suddenly had the feeling that Mr. White might not even know how much he was spending. He probably didn't care.
They waited at a nearby cafe, one of those with the Flare-built spring bubble. As they stepped into the climate-controlled field, the smell of jasmine and the surrounding warmth infused Val with a profound sense of peace. No season ruled here. Only the Flare who had helped set up the device. It was an engraved stone, spinning slowly four or five meters above the outdoor tables, an arcing shimmer acting like an umbrella against the encroaching night. Val did a double-take: had so much time passed already? She consulted her pager, vibrating sequentially to indicate a vocal. Shit! Jeanet was probably waiting, and worried. Val cleared her throat.
"Sir, I'm afraid to ask, but… how am I supposed to get back home?"
Mr. White looked up from his herbal tea. "I told you, you have nothing to worry about."
Oh. Well, it kind of made sense. He was visibly an important man. How had the old tailor called him? Young master? Yes, surely a man like that could make the gate guards bow and offer a gold pass with a ribbon tied to it. It was very reassuring to know he seemed to have the situation under control. Jeanet would have to wait a little bit more, that was all.
They collected the suit, which Mr. White asked her to wear immediately, and on his recommandation she handed off her old, slimy suit to Deguenne for disposal. Soon after, Val realized they were just getting started. Mr. White took her to three more boutiques, matching accessories, shoes and dresses along with more professional attire. He had good taste, even if he didn't ask for her opinion often. Or at all. She started feeling like a doll he was playing dress-up with more than anything else.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The situation was very confusing for Val. No matter how he phrased it, this was clearly becoming a date. There was nothing professional about looking for the best evening gown and diamond earrings to match. But if so, why wasn't he paying more attention to her? As the night settled, she noticed he was more often looking past her than at her. She was flattered by the gifts, overwhelmed even, but the more things went on, the more his attention felt… off. Not like someone trying to flirt.
The realization stung, but Val also felt relief: maybe dating her manager was still off the table. Good. She wasn't ready to start an office romance with her boss while surrounded by hostile colleagues. Ms. Lagothian was probably intent on bagging the man herself. She had the means.
But the fact that he was probably just going out of his way to help her didn't make Damian White any less mysterious. If anything, it just added another layer to the very opaque man. What is he thinking? wondered Val, as a skilled seamstress added a ruffle at her shoulders directly on her. Maybe he was just that bad at expressing his feelings. Valerie didn't have enough experience with men to know. She didn't have much dating experience at all.
The end of the shopping spree was fast approaching, and Damian offered to accompany Val to the Eastern gate. She agreed, grateful. Mr. White was true to his word. Indeed, just a wave of his Upper resident pass and the guard stepped aside. Now or never, thought Val.
"Sir," she started, "thank you so much for how much you've done for me tonight. It might be nothing for you b-but it means a lot to me. Would you let me gift you something back?" This was as brave as she would get.
Damian scanned Val with an appraising look. "Surprise me," he replied.
She led him a small Qani bazar near the East gate, nothing as big as the South Market, but enough that Val would be able to find something. Her courage receded like a wave when she thought of the daunting prospect of choosing a gift for an Upper citizen with a seemingly infinite amount of money. What could she possibly offer him that he couldn't have gotten himself?
The old brick street was thankfully not as packed as it would have been on a week-end. Stalls painted in bright colors took half the walking space, packed with flower arrangements, colorful scarves, antiques and toy artefacts. As Val was started to think nothing on display would be good enough for him, she spotted an embroidered handkerchief the exact color of his hair. Color-matching was something he was into, without a doubt. She negotiated for it as he waited in between two stalls, keeping a distance from the crowd. She led him out and back to the gate.
Val gave Mr. White the handkerchief neatly folded, holding it in both hands. "Here it is, sir, nothing much, just a small thank-you gift. I hope you will like it," she added, her throat tightening up.
Damian White took the offering without a comment. He took his time examining the make, then re-folded it and put it in his breast pocket. He focused on her. "Well then, Ms. Marredine, I'll be expecting you on time tomorrow."
She gulped audibly. "Always, sir."
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Joanna was on her second lap of the Green Strip. She probably had pushed herself a lot further than a mundane human would have been able to. She couldn't bring herself to care.
The rage she had felt as she left the League building had long simmered down, leaving acrid bitterness sticking to the bottom of her stomach. She was done, couldn't think anymore. She just let her feet carry her further, and further, and further on the battered lawn, hoping they found the way out she was failing to see.
Joanna let her mind drift in a meditation-like state as she ran next to the Ring tracks.There was such a peace in unthinking. Her stomach took some time un-knotting itself. She was starting to relax from the endorphins and sheer exhaustion when her guts twisted themselves right back. A face in the thinning crowd of the late evening. A face like a bad dream.
She slowed down and backtracked quietly. There. At the Upper East gate. No doubt about it: that was the fucking heir of the Blanciel, Damian. What the hell was he doing in middle?
As she closed in, Joanna realized he was accompanied by a woman, dressed in a smart and visibly expensive suit. She shivered and though back to her cousin. This outfit had Damian's touch all over it. Not again.
Before she could decide on a course of action, the couple separated at the gate, Damian crossing the gate to Upper. She decided to follow the woman.
Tailing her was easy. The sharp-dressed woman was obviously mundane and not particularly careful. The muted clack of the heels on pavement led Joanna to a modest apartment complex in Outer Middle. Her bad feeling intensified. If this was truly where she lived, the woman could have fed herself for a month by just selling her jacket. The pattern was holding up in an ugly way.
She waited until she saw a light flicker on the third floor and made a mental note of the window.
Then she thought back to Fran.
Fran Vesperael was a poster girl for the Founders values: petite, meek and fair-haired. Her melodious voice was rarely heard. She would sit with her hands crossed and usually waited for someone to address her. Joanna had found her irritating at first, lacking any of the backbone she valued yet praised as a role model by her own parents. But it was hard to truly hate the girl.
As kids, whenever they hung out together, Fran would usually sit on the porch while Joanna demonstrated her mid-air tricks in uncle Varna's garden. The adults usually called her crude for using her Gift that way. Joanna's own parents forbade it at home. But Fran sat there with a look of quiet admiration as her cousin spun around and bounced against invisible obstacles. In return, Joanna didn't force her to speak up or participate. Hearing her chuckle and quietly cheer was enough. That was how they bonded.
As they grew into their teenage years, Fran started to get a lot of attention, all of it unwanted. Joanna got her fair share of stares and creeps, but somehow the fact that she could terminate someone's family line with one well-aimed kick kept most of them at bay. Fran's doll-like features did the opposite.
Fran's family started to shield her more than she already was. Getting an afternoon to amuse her cousin with her latest tricks got difficult. Joanna understood, as she was feeling more than a little protective of the girl as well. She would never admit to it, but she had grown a little sweet on Fran. Thankfully, she wasn't into that kind of forbidden love, so she nipped those flowers in the bud. It wasn't much of a loss: she had learned much about her sexuality in the process. Later, when she came out as a lesbian to her elder brother, he stared at her for a few seconds before shouting "You didn't know?"
Joanna chuckled. She missed Ambrun.
The girls had drifted apart over the years, as they had wildly different interests. Fran took to painting, Joanna dominated athletic competitions until she was banned for "unfair advantage". Around the time she was getting into vigilantism, a rumor appeared: Fran Vesperael had found a partner.
Joanna thought it was a good time as any to reconnect with her cousin and childhood friend, but after a few letters went unanswered, she had to admit that she was most likely being ignored. Was Fran upset with her? Was her new crush making her oblivious to the rest of the world? Or was something more sinister at play? It didn't help that the rumored partner was one of those stuck-up Blanciel she had never gotten along with.
Spying on a Vesperael manor was a step-up from her usual cat rescues, but so what? Joanna was fourteen. She knew she could do it. One warm summer day, she scaled the front of the manor where Fran resided for what was now in Joanna's mind a full-on rescue mission. She imagined servant with muskets firing at her while she dodged behind antique statues and suits of armor. The Blanciel kid had probably taken her friend hostage, and was threatening to blow up the mansion with an secret evil Gift if they didn't marry them right on the spot.
The actual situation was very different, of course. From her rooftop point of view, all that could be seen of the private teatime she was sneaking into was the delicate white gazebo she used to climb on. It was occupied by the lovebirds, sitting respectfully apart. Fran wore a beautiful dress Joanna hadn't seen before, perfectly coordinated to her golden lock and her pale red eyes. She was sitting upright instead of her usual shy slouching. She still looked tiny.
Jumping down, Joanna approached the pair from the outside. She hugged the ground, crawling on all fours. She felt a bit conflicted. Should she really interrupt what seemed to be a pretty sweet date? Should she just jump and prank them? She wanted to hear Fran's little scream of surprise, but given how thoroughly she had been ignored, maybe the respectful thing would be to leave her alone.
She reached the gazebo's fence before she could solve that internal struggle and noticed something strange. They weren't talking at all. Was Fran still intimidated by the boy? Peering over the fence, it looked like the boy was just reading. Fran, on the other hand, was looking into the distance, lost in her own thoughts. Both of them were pretty still.
Boring, thought Joanna. The more I see men in relationships, the more I understand why I like girls. There also didn't seem to be much love there, which was curious. Just because Fran was usually quiet didn't mean she was absent. If anything, she tended to focus hard on the things that caught her interest. He should have been reading out loud to her at the very least.
The boy spoke. "Refill my cup, please." Fran gave him a vacant smile, got up and served him tea. She sat back down in the exact same posture after she was done. All her movements were a little janky. Joanna lowered her hed slowly and crouched to the ground, gripped by terror.
A Jack. The Blanciel heir was a Jack, and Fran was in his grasp.