When choosing the victim of their next petty crime, smarter thieves would not often choose on the basis of which wallet looked to be the fattest, but rather if the owner of said wallet was easy pickings or not. Someone with a hunched posture, quick stride and avoidant gaze would enter the sights of a thief in their attempts to avoid the sights of the public. Inversely, someone with immaculate posture and a confident gaze who strode through crowds like self-proclaimed gods amongst men were the most likely to cause a ruckus the moment they became aware of their predicament.
Evalyn Hardridge's posture, gaze and stride suggested to any potential wrongdoers that they'd be hunted down, beaten, and have their wallets stolen instead. Wherever she went, Evalyn Hardridge drew attention and deterred any passerby, her peculiar aura commanding respect and demanding a clear path forward through any crowd she found herself in. Even if not for the confident stride and unwavering forward-facing gaze, the bolt action rifle on her back and the handgun holstered on her shoulder were more than enough to convince the average civilian to steer clear.
Underneath the strap of her rifle, she wore a dark green field jacket; a military uniform with no clear insignia but a myriad of pockets. When taking into account her already visible armaments, it was easy for the imagination to run amock, taking a guess at whatever she hid in them. Below her waist was a similar story; baggy, long, drab, and tucked into a pair of military boots that clacked against the pavement with every well-articulated step she took. The only things that stood in stark contrast to such a brooding figure were above the neckline of her plain white singlet. Her hair was a fiery orange she kept pulled back in a ponytail at all times, letting whatever was left haphazardly fall across her face in a careless yet charming way. On her left cheek was a marking, the image of a golden whale diving under her left eye, its shade not too dissimilar from her hair albeit much tamer.
It was the combination of such physical features and habits of walking that left her as half soldier, half runway model wherever she went, turning heads and raising eyebrows much to her indifference.
Though no matter how bizarre her appearance or how threatening her armaments, nothing seemed to brighten the streets of the city she waded through. A city of grey concrete, cookie-cutter buildings and a sore lack of character. Sidos city, her home city she had left for greener pastures, the city she equated to a scar. Where cities to her understanding were epicentres of population, history and culture, Sidos had swathes of the first, had erased the second on a regular basis, and had never had time to develop the third. War had marred its growth, continuous civil war for hundreds of years had seen it flattened, rebuilt and flattened countless times over. A need for quick recovery and reconstruction had resulted in samey buildings and repetitive structures that could be rebuilt efficiently. The city would heal, but the scars would forever remain.
A banner across the roof of a storefront advertising a sale caught her eye, the year rather than the price. 1938, ten years after the end of the civil war between Sidos's Humans and their Spirits, and the city had only just begun to change.
In a backdrop of grey uncertainty, where the memories of conflict still hung heavy in the air, people had begun to poke their heads out of the ground and embrace the newfound era. Evalyn had never bothered to notice, but the seamstress her butler had fitted her dresses from had renovated, relishing a new coat of paint and a classy air befitting of their wares. The florist her maids had bought Evalyn's weekly bedside bouquet from had also enjoyed a breath of fresh air, their wares sprawling out of their storefront and into miniature street stalls. The fish market her chef had bought his seafood from had graduated from a musky indoor affair to an open air, open stall exhibition of sorts, the salty smell clearing the synapses as she now walked past them. Even if Evalyn bothered to notice, she would not care. She was no longer that person anymore. She had changed before the city had, outgrown its constrictive ways and the constrictive life she led in it.
She had moved on to greener pastures, strapped a rifle to her back and taken matters into her own hands. Not just matters that could be dealt with by maids, butlers and chefs, but by soldiers, diplomats and generals. Being a private detective was only her day job. After all, private detectives did not usually brandish guns in broad daylight. She was something greater than that, much greater. She was an absolute power.
But even absolute powers had to make ends meet.
She exited the fish market and was greeted by the local district's main hub of foodstuffs. Grocers, butchers and delis lined each side of the street, advertising their wares to the continuing flow of morning commuters. The entire street as a collective had been one of Evalyn's steady clients for the past three or so years, catching onto her knack for chasing down shoplifters after she had given them one job for free. By now, every petty crime they witnessed would culminate in an immediate phone call back to her desk, often resulting in Evalyn crossing the border to tell off one or two children for stealing a few coins worth of candy. She was paid, however, and could consider it easy money. It always seemed to be a coordinated effort by the whole precinct to scrape together all their loose change to pay her, even though any single store was more than well off enough to shoulder the charge.
"Patricia's Deli...sounds familar," Evalyn muttered as she scanned over the stores one by one, peering over the scalps of nameless, almost faceless commuters that avoided her without a single thought. She spotted the place, the owner's name painted rather neatly to the oversized sign hanging above the storefront. Evalyn waded through the crowd, arriving at the Deli not long after.
The bell hanging above the door chimed pleasantly as Evalyn entered the quaint establishment. She spotted the owner, Patricia, manning the front counter.
"Oh, do put that dreaded thing away," Patricia scolded as she spotted Evalyn's rifle. A common occurrence with many of the shop owners she served. Guns weren't good for drawing customers.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
"This thing stays with me ma'am, company policy," Evalyn smiled back, moving through the store and up to the counter. "What seems to be the problem this time? Any more details at all?"
"Nothing!" Patricia exclaimed from behind the register. "Absolutely nothing. I have been watching this store like a hawk for the past three days, I'll turn away for a few seconds at most and a whole swathe of product from the shelves will be missing."
"How many exactly?" Evalyn asked.
"Oh, maybe six or seven? Enough for one person to carry at least but never anything more."
One person. Stealing for themselves or stealing for fun? Anything organised was immediately out of the question considering the wares being stolen. Then again, who stole an armful of product for fun? One or two items maybe, but an armful?
"I'd have to stake it out for longer considering how little I have on the suspect, but in the near future if you can provide more details..."
She had been speaking her thoughts out loud and had mindlessly turned around while doing so. But there they were, the hands of a small child grasping a swathe of product with their entire arms width. Large, jewel-like purple eyes stared back at her, still processing what the unexpected eye contact meant. Evalyn stared back, half in disbelief and half enthralled by the eyes she found herself caught in. Swirling, ethereal purple, the sort of beauty you could not find in any human, the kind only afforded to Spirits. Was this child one? This distinctly human child?
The distinctly human child began to bolt, flying through the doors with the pattering of bare feet, leaving dropped cans of meat and bread rolls in their wake. Evalyn gave chase not long after, reaching the door before it finished its swing. She looked around the crowd, thinner than it had been earlier but still much too thick for a manhunt. Left to right and everywhere in between she scanned for even a silhouette of the child she had locked eyes with only moments prior. A human child with the eyes of a Spirit...there was a chance, even though Evalyn prayed that she was mistaken.
She closed herself, disconnecting every other sense and homing in purely on the movement of Aether, the formless energy that gave Spirits life, that gave them magic, that made her the absolute power she was. In a city like Sidos where everyone and everything was human, lacking magic whatsoever, a being like that child would stick out like a sore thumb. And they did. The child was indeed another absolute power.
Evalyn dashed left, sprinting past the crowd and barging through when necessary. She re-entered the fish market, the salt making her nose crinkle as her eyes focused in on the hem of a woman's dress, or rather what was in front of it. She caught glimpses; tattered rags, small frame and flowing, silver hair, yet no matter how close she got, it seemed as though the child was moving just as fast. Evalyn pressed forward, breaking out of the market and back into clear air.
The crowd had all but subsided and it seemed as though the child was just as aware of that fact as Evalyn was. She focused again, scouring the Aether for that one signature she had pinpointed before. It was distinct and powerful which made it all the more simple. She looked up and found the child pulling itself over the roof of a stout building by purple tendrils. No, tendrils weren't the right words...they were shapes, barely formed pieces of matter that seemed to comprise her magic. Evalyn pursued, hell-bent on chasing down her target now more than ever.
She reached the side of the building, scaling it with her hands and feet instead of any supernatural method, and briskly cleared the rooftop without breaking so much as a sweat. She spotted the child again, this time determined to not let them out of her sight as she bolted forward. The child ran, dropping cans and bread rolls as they went, eventually resorting to more barely formed limbs when their legs began to fail. The ends of their silver hair would dissipate and reform into abstract shapes that pulled them forward, across rooftops and over alleyways. Evalyn pursued, her legs being more than enough to keep up, and eventually the child caught on. They gave up on flight and turned their attention to fight, reshaping their formless tendrils into lengthy purple blades, slicing through the air, concrete and metal framework alike. Evalyn dodged, confident in the child's inaccuracy and lack of control over their own magic. She grew wary but did not let that stop her.
The child, so adamant in staving away Evalyn with her blades that she had forgotten to maintain her footing. Evalyn watched as the child's foot caught the edge of a rooftop and her body swung forward into an alleyway below. Evalyn cursed, praying the drop was insubstantial or the child had been able to use magic to break her fall. She reached the edge of the roof as quick as she could and dropped down, landing on her feet and feeling her knees chatter as the impact travelled through her bones. She stood upright and found the child in front of her, clutching her arm and cowering in Evalyn's shadow. The alley only travelled one way, and Evalyn was blocking the only exit.
She steadied her breathing as the chatter and commotion seemed to fade into obscurity, creating a pocket world where only her and the child existed. Behind her was an ignorant public, a world of many nations that wanted anything but their citizens to be privy to people...abominations like her and the child, people who thought like humans yet wielded magic, who had both gifts of ingenuity and sheer power, who suffered both the greed of humans and pride of Spirits. The child could not be allowed to enter that public so freely ever again, they would have to live in the shadow of it, stay behind the curtains while being put to work in the only ways their powers would allow.
And as Evalyn stared into the swirling purple eyes of the child in front of her, the thought of it racked her with pain. The child was female, the most beautiful little girl she had ever laid eyes on. Messy silver hair that could do with a wash, skin bruised and cut from a life of exposure, yet the purple eyes shimmered with a fire to live, to survive despite fight and flight both failing her. Such a sweet, fragile girl. If only that was all she was.
Evalyn inched forward as the child backed into the wall, a silent look of terror on her face as she did so. She pressed her body as far back as she could, and Evalyn squatted in front of her. Perhaps the eyes had enchanted her or the silver hair had wrapped her in some sort of spell. Perhaps it was some dormant maternal instinct finally awakening after years of suppression. She could not pinpoint why, but for a moment, Evalyn stopped working her nine-to-five. She stopped being the private detective, the soldier, the absolute power. She became Evalyn Hardridge, the girl who remembered and accepted her bitter past, who recalled the maids with love, the butler with respect and the chef with adoration. The twenty-eight year old girl once disillusioned with her life and now doing anything and everything to make up for so many years lost.
She brushed the little girl's cheek with her thumb, wary that she might bite it at any moment, but no such pain came. Instead, a warmth spread through her body, starting at her fingertips and working her way up her arm. The type of warmth she'd feel in autumn, when she was cosy in her own clothing while the cold wind whistled past her only milimetres away from her skin. And by the look of the little girl's eyes, that warmth was contagious.
"You look like your name would be Iris."