Chapter 12: Heartbreaker Haze (Part 2!)

“That was awesome! Do-do that again!” Vega loved the feeling the song provided in ample supply.

“Thanks buddy.” Florato appreciated her audience, even if she was talkative at times. The scarecrow reached out for the ocarina.

“Can-can I try?” Vega asked.

“Sure, try it, but be careful. It means a lot to me.” Florato helped place Vega’s fingers in the right position. Vega looked to her for confirmation that she was doing it right, and Florato nodded. Lacking lungs, Vega pantomimed the act of taking a breath, and then blew into the instrument. No sound came out.

“Ah. Darn.” Vega handed back the ocarina, now scratching the ground in disappointment. “I can’t spit song-song like ya do Florato. Shame.”

“That’s ok. Here, let me look for something you can use.” The actress had filed multiple instruments in her bag. She pulled out a pipe tied to a bow, leather pouches with copper string connecting them, and then finally, a guitar.

It was of vampiric origin, gloomy and gothic. The image of Vega holding it was almost comical to the actress, but she knew she would make it her own.

“What’s this?” Vega queried.

“That’s yours.” Florato was proud of the gift, finally Vega would have a hobby to occupy her. Outside of doodling and babysitting of course.

“No it's not. This is yours.”

“Vega, I know this might be hard to get through your skull.”

“Maybe. But I don’t got-got one of those.”

“Listen! I’m giving this to you. So you can keep it. Alright?” Florato leaned over her in order to get her understanding.

“Ok. What do I do with it?” Florato got behind the scarecrow, and began to instruct.

“Well, you put your fingers on it. And you pluck the strings, softly, but with power.” Vega’s glove brushed against the metal wires. She didn’t want to risk hurting this wonderful tool.

“Don’t worry. It’s alright if you mess up. I made plenty of mistakes my first time and look at me.” Florato reassured her and smiled.

“You’re very pretty?”

“Exactly. Now, start, don’t be shy.” Vega closed her eyes, summoning all of her memories of melody and mania. She flicked her thumb across the wires, and six waves of shaking metal came out. Admiring the electric sound, Vega closed her eyes and absorbed it.

“Nice. Do you like this Vega?” Florato patted the scarecrow’s back.

“Yes…” Holding her hands against the smoothened surface of the guitar, she loved how it was. She then tried to play a replica of Florato’s song, only managing to make uncoordinated noise.

“Hold on Vega. You can’t just swing your hands and make a song. I was just going to practice, but how about I keep teaching you for tonight?” Florato offered, as Vega was happy to receive.

“It’s been a while-while since I learned something! Please!” Florato smiled.

“Alright, we can practice till morning. If it ever does come.” Throughout the night, the duo took turns on the instrument. The actress ensured that Vega wouldn’t forget the lesson by forcing her to write them down. She couldn’t check for if she actually recorded her teaching, but she trusted Vega enough.

From the name of each string, how to tune, and eventually a strumming pattern, Vega took to understanding it. Over the course of night Vega was becoming a musician. Well, a better term would be ‘sub-musician’. All she could really do was strum the first two strings on repeat. Which was good progress for her, but disappointing for anyone else.

Vega too was frustrated. It wasn’t like swinging her pickaxe or accomplishing a task. It required continuous practice and routine. When it came to things like reading and writing, she could tell she was making progress visually. But in times of hearing her improvement, she had difficulty. A thought plagued her as she studied. How could nature create melody so easily? How do the trees and the sea join together so seamlessly? Why do they cooperate when her very fingers could not?

The scarecrow at her best could only produce a sour copy of Florato’s work.

As the wind screeched outside, Skaldi rose from his bedroll. Amir and Valiato were already awake, while Bolato wasn’t. He looked around and saw that the actress and the scarecrow weren’t there.

“Good, glad I can have some peace and quiet.” He decided to go outside, it had been a while since he prayed. Skaldi wasn’t much of a religious man out of fear of the afterlife, it was far less personal. His relation to the spirits was borne out of mutual respect and community.

Walking out into the snow, over a hill, he started to place red stones in a circle. He knew Iozians would be fearful of a tribal's practice, so he seeked isolation. Within the circle, he placed a fetish inside. It was the rib of a deceased spirit. Obsidian like in its edge but feathery in touch, the fetish stood out in the snow. Now chanting in his native tongue, Skaldi spoke words of kindness and idolatry.

He had known the spirit personally. It was a wounded war spirit, suffering a mortal borne disease. Skaldi’s family had taken care of the being but it sadly succumbed to its wounds. He attempted to send the body to its realm but his family commanded him not to. It was tradition that spirits were to be buried across the continent if they were to pass in mortal lands.

When leaving the tribe, Skaldi carried packs of the spirit's remains. Again, not out of great respect for religion, though he did have that. In the Galtian’s tribe's last stand, they had seemingly forgotten about the spirits and traded their spirituality for survival.

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Skaldi knew that survival wasn’t in their hands. Especially if those hands carried a spear. The only ones that could have determined a positive fate for the tribe were the Oligarchs.

Sadly that is the fate for many outsiders. To rely on the empathy of the oppressor. Although I wasn’t exactly disadvantaged, I knew of their plight. The codes of hate they received. Having to play the game by the rules of the majority, those in power. It is frustrating for them. Yet, when the oppressor finally contacts and interacts with the outsider on their field, love starts.

Common wisdom promotes that hatred is inevitable. It’s only inevitable when positive interaction with enemies isn’t possible. It is hard to hate an outsider when they are your friends or work in the same place. To understand and share their pain, it is harder to make victims and easier to care for them.

However, in this town, the team is in for a rude awakening. Lonely parts of the world often don’t have a chance to meet the enemy. Only alone with the commands of society and given an order of truculence.

“~Rest well Hartuian. Rest well and may your body protect our lands.~” Skaldi finished his prayer, as the stone and the fetish faded away into small stars. All around the circle, grew a patch of ripe breaker fruit and seeds. He bowed to the patch and walked back to the apartment.

“~I swear, when I rob those bastard Oligarchs, I will give you a proper burial.~”

Over his seven year long leave, Skaldi had done these rituals many times. In fact, if he were to really go back north, he would be complete. One elf, burying one spirit, he thought. He never believed he could never do it alone. He was correct.

Upon entering the room again, the actress and the scarecrow were present. Although the actress seemed to be napping, Vega was doodling again on her papers. She had borrowed a few crayons from Valiato, and enjoyed them thoroughly.

Skaldi half expected her to be outside, standing. Or whatever scarecrows do. It was still early in the day, there were shenanigans to be had, if the redhead allowed it.

“Hey sweet pea. How’s the tea going?”

“Good. Amir is cooking it with breaker fruit because breaker fruit is cool and it tastes good.” Valiato blankly spoke out her liking for the odd fruit. Skaldi looked at the pot, seeing the natural squares blob in the pool. It gave off a spicy acid smell, catching the elf off guard.

“I see. Well, can you ask Amir if we can hang out? We could use some practice.” Valiato got giddily and hopped onto her feet.

“~Ari, can me and Ska hang out? We’ll be quick!~” She adorably pleaded, and Amir rolled his eyes.

“~Remember. Tighten your gloves. That is all.~”

“Alright, let’s go Ska!” She grabbed her sling and went out with the elf. Skaldi took a look at the scarecrow over his shoulder.

“Here’s hoping that she doesn’t screw this up for us.” The pair strolled down the main street of the town. He could tell the town was going through a crisis. Iozians, aside from their reds and golds, love their roads. Who can blame them? The avenue to transverse the world with ease is a common theme in their storytelling. All their roads meant something to them.

A pathway in the sea of social relationships. Where all people’s cross, and where all will go. There is a saying among these Iozians, one that is a belief yet I can’t help to say is a truth. ‘A road with no direction is no road. If there is no goal, no place to go, no family to get to, you are simply going nowhere’.

Skaldi in his travels knew the signs of disorder started small, seemingly insignificant. There were mild inconveniences, things that worked but not as well as they should. A chipped offering plate. An unfilled club house. And a road, in its dull form, missing maintenance.

Like how a model’s last thing to let go in their pursuits is their looks, if a town fails to maintain its roads, something is sinister. These dents in the fabric of a society formed holes and wounds, spreading outward. From the buildings, onto the people. First, insults, then mobs, and so on and so on. He knew he was an outsider to this place, but all he wanted was to enjoy Valiato. Afterall, she would have nothing to fear in this plane of prejudice. Right?

He turned the corner and saw a sign for a shop. It had a symbol for general goods and a script unknown to the elf. Skaldi was ready to get the kid a gift. The pair entered the shop, seeing a couple shelves and crates.

“Hey sweet pea, do you see anything you like?” He kneeled down, waving his hand to the shelves. Her eyes took a bit to find an object, but she eventually found her prize. She saw a set of firecrackers, along with some bags of black powder. Skaldi’s face turned to horror. He saw the soldiers inside the store he thought he was in. Skaldi accidentally entered an Armory.

The elf should have noticed. It’s thick clay bricks, the banners including a Recor eye. Since he was already there, he did note that there was a clerk. It wasn’t uncommon for Armory to have military surplus sections in them, but it didn’t mean anyone could go in.

Typically only soldiers were let in. There would be no reason for the average person to enter, as carrying self defense arms and their practice varied from province.

Still, he noted that he hadn’t been kicked out. Valiato looked up at the explosives, and Skaldi’s judgment weighed. His kindness won out, as he went up to the shelf.

“Okay sweetpea, now, do you want anything else?” He tried to nudge her into the direction of leaving.

“Can I Ska?” Skaldi’s kindness won out, again.

“Sure Valiato, but only one more.” He picked up the black powder. Despite being light it felt like he was holding the world in his hands. As the pair walked around, the soldiers kept their eyes on them, noting every sudden jolt or move. Her eyes caught a series of comic books, resembling a Tripolian style of art.

“Are you sure you want those sweetpea?” Skaldi’s forehead was purple with fear. Valiato either didn’t care or choose not to care.

“Yes!” She scooped up the stack and began to walk towards the register. Skaldi got to the desk and craned his head up to the clerk. He was wrinkly, with one cock eye and brown dots on his body.

“What do you want, knife ear?” He spoke in a bitter accent.

“I just want to get some gifts, that’s all.” Skaldi hated these situations. He knew what would come. The inevitable pain. The inevitable insecurity.

“Sure. And what would an effeminate foreigner like to buy?” The clerk filed his nails, waiting for Skaldi to summon his strength. He would endure this, so that the kid wouldn’t, he thought.

“A stack of magazines and some firecrackers. That’s all.” The clerk leaned forward, looking up and down at the elf, in heavy disapproval. He brought out a clipboard, and muttered an insult to himself.

“That will be ten gold. Think you can do that tribal?” Jacking up the prices was a thing he was used to. Skaldi much preferred that over any insult. He’d rather liked the hate of the state. It wasn’t personal, it was the orders of a distant government. But when face to face with someone who holds no empathy, that’s the real oppression.

“I t-think.” Skaldi knew the act, spent a minute acting like you don’t have enough, then brought out an approximate amount. It worked, and gave the clerk the suffering that he wanted. The pair exitted, Valiato reassured and Skaldi insecure.

“Hey Valiato.”

“Yes Ska?”

“...You’re a good kid, and don’t forget that. You got it?” The kid couldn’t know the pain the elf went through. But she could imagine, as she tucked on her gloves.

“I won’t forget it.” She placed his words into a vault of wise treasures.

“Alright sweetpea. Now let's have some fun!”