Post by Hail on Mar 11, 2009 17:54:28 GMT -5
I really don't want to copy this all over again. ;_;
Let's put it this way: no, you can't sign up, but I usually throw in whoever comments frequently and actually reads. x3
Let's put it this way: no, you can't sign up, but I usually throw in whoever comments frequently and actually reads. x3
xx-- . {{ proLOGUE
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound seemed muffled in the darkness. But the sound was purposeful; there was a determination to it. The sound of human footsteps.
The footsteps slowed as a dim glow came into view. Seeming reproachful of the light, the shadow spoke. Or perhaps it thought. Its voice didn’t quite seem solid. Ethereal, or perhaps mechanic.
Activate.
A subtle hum. A turquoise screen flickered and lit up the immediate surrounding. The light did not reach the stranger, still cloaked in shadow.
Summarize the city.
Words began to dart across the screen, typed by an invisible hand. [The city of Wish is the most prosperous metropolis in the world. The city is populated by a mysterious power that draws 10-year-old children from their homes to this alternate universe. The Wish calendar has 10 days in a week, exactly 40 days in a month. There are 12 months in a year. The city is governed by Blizzardclaw Blitzslaw and the Elite Warriors.]
The voice of the shadow, neither man nor woman, young nor old, malevolent nor benevolent, seemed to ponder this information.
Tell me more about these… “abductions.”
The screen wiped itself of all text, paused, then more letters skipped across the blue-green gradient.
[Children at the age of ten years old are analyzed without their knowledge by an unknown power. If they meet certain standards, they are taken from their families to live in the city. They start at the rank of Kitty-pet, and mature as they move up in the social hierarchy of Wish. The analyzing force is not run by Blitzslaw.]
A small shuffling of material suggested the shadow has moved. Its tone of voice made it clear it had crossed its arms.
Very well. Tell me about these ranks.
[10 ranks exist in the society of Wish. Kitty-pet, Kit, Apprentice, Warrior, Senior Warrior, Mentor, Elder, StarClanner, Deputy and Leader. The Kitty-pets are youngest at 10 years of age. The StarClanners and above are 20 years of age or older, yet none appear to be older than 20, physically. Once a Senior Warrior, a citizen must choose a “bloodline” and study it. A Mentor will profess in the ways of their chosen line. Kitty-pets through Warriors have unsuccessful, mundane jobs and are poor. StarClanners are wealthy and have professions looked well upon.]
The words reflected on a pair of large, dark aviator sunglasses. Interesting. What’s this “bloodline” business?
[The Deputies and Elite Warriors of Wish have different last names from one another, whereas the other Wishians have the same last names as one of the Deputies. They also have unusual talents in three fields of education, whether it be medicine, environment, technology or another of the diverse fields of professions. A Senior Warrior chooses a “bloodline” based on different personal factors. It is mandatory to select one. The Elites’ names and profession are only dubbed “bloodlines.” Very few Wishians are actually related through shared blood.]
The dark figure’s head shifted, casting lustrous darkness into the lens of its shades. And who are these Elite Warriors?
[Current Deputies:
Name: Master Sunneth Ayasato
Endowments: precognition/telepathy; necromancy; ghost-shifting
Professions: law, history, imports
Name: Chief Squirrelflight Buchanon
Endowments: telekinesis, enhanced senses, earth-manipulator
Professions: law, environment, town maintenance
Name: Maestro Ripplepelt Kimora
Endowments: photographic memory/all-perspectives vision, gravity-manipulator, lion-shifting
Professions: arts, news, finance
Name: Commander Pinefur Whitholm
Endowments: time, lycanthropy, aura
Professions: law, medicine, fitness
All jobs are ultimately looked over by the Prime Leader.]
You only gave me the current Deputies, the voice noted coolly, seeming mildly enraged. You did not provide me with adequate information.
For what would be an uncomfortable period of silence between two humans, the computer did not respond, as if frozen. Slowly, angular letters appeared hesitantly on the screen. The words were mirrored on the lens of the glasses – RETIRED – RETIRED – RETIRED… the list went on. It came to the last word of the file, and the computer seemed to stop. Then, one word dashed across the bottom of the Deputy’s profile.
[UNKNOWN.]
Without another word, the figure melted into the darkness, the soft thud of boots the only thing betraying its receding presence.
[/blockquote][/spoiler]The sound seemed muffled in the darkness. But the sound was purposeful; there was a determination to it. The sound of human footsteps.
The footsteps slowed as a dim glow came into view. Seeming reproachful of the light, the shadow spoke. Or perhaps it thought. Its voice didn’t quite seem solid. Ethereal, or perhaps mechanic.
Activate.
A subtle hum. A turquoise screen flickered and lit up the immediate surrounding. The light did not reach the stranger, still cloaked in shadow.
Summarize the city.
Words began to dart across the screen, typed by an invisible hand. [The city of Wish is the most prosperous metropolis in the world. The city is populated by a mysterious power that draws 10-year-old children from their homes to this alternate universe. The Wish calendar has 10 days in a week, exactly 40 days in a month. There are 12 months in a year. The city is governed by Blizzardclaw Blitzslaw and the Elite Warriors.]
The voice of the shadow, neither man nor woman, young nor old, malevolent nor benevolent, seemed to ponder this information.
Tell me more about these… “abductions.”
The screen wiped itself of all text, paused, then more letters skipped across the blue-green gradient.
[Children at the age of ten years old are analyzed without their knowledge by an unknown power. If they meet certain standards, they are taken from their families to live in the city. They start at the rank of Kitty-pet, and mature as they move up in the social hierarchy of Wish. The analyzing force is not run by Blitzslaw.]
A small shuffling of material suggested the shadow has moved. Its tone of voice made it clear it had crossed its arms.
Very well. Tell me about these ranks.
[10 ranks exist in the society of Wish. Kitty-pet, Kit, Apprentice, Warrior, Senior Warrior, Mentor, Elder, StarClanner, Deputy and Leader. The Kitty-pets are youngest at 10 years of age. The StarClanners and above are 20 years of age or older, yet none appear to be older than 20, physically. Once a Senior Warrior, a citizen must choose a “bloodline” and study it. A Mentor will profess in the ways of their chosen line. Kitty-pets through Warriors have unsuccessful, mundane jobs and are poor. StarClanners are wealthy and have professions looked well upon.]
The words reflected on a pair of large, dark aviator sunglasses. Interesting. What’s this “bloodline” business?
[The Deputies and Elite Warriors of Wish have different last names from one another, whereas the other Wishians have the same last names as one of the Deputies. They also have unusual talents in three fields of education, whether it be medicine, environment, technology or another of the diverse fields of professions. A Senior Warrior chooses a “bloodline” based on different personal factors. It is mandatory to select one. The Elites’ names and profession are only dubbed “bloodlines.” Very few Wishians are actually related through shared blood.]
The dark figure’s head shifted, casting lustrous darkness into the lens of its shades. And who are these Elite Warriors?
[Current Deputies:
Name: Master Sunneth Ayasato
Endowments: precognition/telepathy; necromancy; ghost-shifting
Professions: law, history, imports
Name: Chief Squirrelflight Buchanon
Endowments: telekinesis, enhanced senses, earth-manipulator
Professions: law, environment, town maintenance
Name: Maestro Ripplepelt Kimora
Endowments: photographic memory/all-perspectives vision, gravity-manipulator, lion-shifting
Professions: arts, news, finance
Name: Commander Pinefur Whitholm
Endowments: time, lycanthropy, aura
Professions: law, medicine, fitness
All jobs are ultimately looked over by the Prime Leader.]
You only gave me the current Deputies, the voice noted coolly, seeming mildly enraged. You did not provide me with adequate information.
For what would be an uncomfortable period of silence between two humans, the computer did not respond, as if frozen. Slowly, angular letters appeared hesitantly on the screen. The words were mirrored on the lens of the glasses – RETIRED – RETIRED – RETIRED… the list went on. It came to the last word of the file, and the computer seemed to stop. Then, one word dashed across the bottom of the Deputy’s profile.
[UNKNOWN.]
Without another word, the figure melted into the darkness, the soft thud of boots the only thing betraying its receding presence.
xx--. {{ nothing HEARD;; nothingSAiD
Cloud twisted the hem of her lab coat in her hands. She scuffed her foot back and forth, her stomach all tied in a knot. The smell of disinfectant which had become so familiar it seemed to remind Cloud of home now filled her lungs; constricted her throat; stung her nose. The calm atmosphere around the halls of the hospital seemed chokingly quiet to the Senior Warrior.
“…S- sis…?” she mewled quietly, unable to push any more noise out of her chest. “Sis, please…please don’t make me…” Cloud’s voice broke in the last part of her sentence.
Cloud heard swift footsteps behind her. She whipped around. “S-sis!” she squeaked, spotting the Whitholm logo embroidered on a custom-made snow-white lab coat. She threw her arms around the taller doctor. “Sis, please, don’t make me…”
“Whoa, what’s the big deal?” “Sis” untangled Cloud’s arms from around her neck and bent down to make eye contact with the childish 15-year-old. “You’ve read the text. You know the procedure by heart. And you’re getting Wish’s best surgeons to help you out! Why are you so scared?”
Cloud looked down at her feet, a lock of blonde hair drifting in front of her eyes. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I just have that nervous feeling, you know?”
The dark-haired surgeon stood up and chuckled. “Actually, I do. But what were the words of my mentor? …Ah, yes. ‘Suck it up, buttercup.’ I used to get nervous a few days before surgeries, trials and such. She always made me laugh.”
The Senior Warrior turned big green eyes up to meet her mentor’s even brown ones. “What else did your mentor do when you got nervous?”
The brunette chuckled. “She’d saunter after me, one hand shoved in her pocket, sip her coffee and laugh at me.”
The younger girl frowned. “That’s mean! What kind of mentor does that?!”
“Sis” laughed yet again, eyes shining with amusement. “A very good one. She taught me well. Her attitude was kind of a tough-love thing during training. I realized after a while that just because she was my mentor didn’t mean she was going to hold my hand through every little thing I did.”
Cloud felt her cheeks alight with shame.
“It’s your first time doing this procedure,” her senior said hurriedly. “That’s okay.”
“Who was your mentor, Sis?”
“Remember Hailstorm Whitholm?”
Cloud blinked. Of course she knew Hail! Hail had founded the Whitholm bloodline, which had grown quite successful under its current head, Pinefur Whitholm. Hail had been a renowned law and medicine scholar and a hardcore athlete. She had had the ability to manipulate the weather as well. Cloud had heard several different accounts of the Major’s death, but the one that had burned into her mind was the story her sister had told her. The Deputy had been on the brink of death, and Pine herself was the only one capable of performing such a complicated surgery in an attempt to revive the head Whitholm.
She had failed. Hail had died, thirteen years ago.
“Sis, was it true Major Whitholm was even older than Master Ayasato?”
Her sister nodded. “She didn’t have as much Deputy experience, but she was a bit older, yes.”
Cloud’s eye boggled. “Wow.” She didn’t know how old Sunneth Ayasato was, but she knew the Deputy’s bloodline had been around since long before she was born. She had thought her sister to be immortal and all-knowing when the older woman picked up a half-dead 10-year-old Cloud off the streets of the working-class district of Wish and took her in, treating her as a younger sibling.
“Commander? Doctor Starri is prepared for the surgery. Are you and Doctor Cloud ready? The surgery will start promptly.”
The darker-haired surgeon glanced at Cloud, who nodded. “We’re ready, nurse.”
The nurse nodded and led them through the steel double doors. Cloud slipped her hand into her sister’s, her stomach doing more leaps and flips than she did during fitness training days. Her adopted sister squeezed her hand reassuringly.
They met Starri, a dark-haired tall surgeon with warm coffee-brown eyes. Even though Cloud should’ve told herself she’d acquire that height and stature one day, she was paralyzed by utter awe. She rarely saw StarClanners, working on one of the lower floors of all three jobs. Even though Starri and Cloud’s sister looked like very close friends, as soon as they started discussing medicine a subtle look of both pity and respect entered the former’s eyes.
And that’s the reason I don’t ever call Sis by her first name, Cloud thought bitterly. She twirled a lock of flat-ironed hair delicately between two fingers. “Is the patient ready?”
Starri grinned, “You’re the head surgeon for this op. The patient’s ready when you are.”
The petite Senior Warrior felt another bolt of unease crumple her insides into balls. First the anaesthetic, then the insertion of the trocar- no, wait, administer the heparin, make then incision, then insert and secure the trocar if needed. Goodness, how had she messed up the order of the procedure in her head?
Anxiety filled her mind; her knees felt weak; the room drifting out of focus.
A sturdy hand clamped onto her shoulder. Cloud looked up into her sister’s reassuring dark eyes. “Breathe, Cloud. You’ll do great.” Her lips pulled into a small half-smile. Cloud just turned away to stare down the hallway, drumming her fingers on her four identification pins. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, like she had learned in yoga and similar activities.
“Let’s just get this over with,” she choked out, attempting and failing to sound confident.
Starri pushed the door to Cardiac Surgery Room B11. “After you,” she sniffed, doing an impersonation of a snooty butler, bowing stiffly as Cloud passed her. The youngest of the trio heard copious amounts of giggling behind her and felt slightly enraged and jealous that her elder could fool around when she was a bundle of nerves.
The patient, a man of about 30, although he didn’t look it, was sitting on the operating table propped up on his hands. He looked up as Cloud cam in.
“I was shot while patrolling with some other members of the force. Kind of in the chest area…” He tapped the area just below his left collarbone. “Somewhere around here.”
“An X-ray reveals the bullet grazed the left atrium of the heart and is lodged near it. It’s a miracle you’re still alive, sir,” “Sis” explained.
The man nodded. “Stitch me up good, doc,” he said to Cloud.
The young surgeon was suddenly filed with an overwhelming sense of both guilt and courage. This man didn’t know she was only in training. He thought she was a genuine qualified professional.
Cloud straightened up. She could do this. Her training flooded back into her mind.
“I’m going to have you lie down – yes, just like that. Perfect. Sis, could you get the anaesthetic and heparin for me, please? Both intravenous. Starri, please get me an absorbent patch of gauze. Oh, thanks, Sis. I just need the anaesthetic right now. Thanks.”
Cloud placed her cold, small fingers on the man’s arm, and he flinched away from her.
“Sorry,” he chuckled nervously. “Your hands are cold.”
Cloud balled her hands into fists to warm her fingers on her palm, then found the vein she was searching for. The needle always slid in smoothly, like putting an earring in. The teen was glad she didn’t have to press hard to puncture the skin – that force applied to the soft flesh and veins underneath would cause major internal damage.
She saw the officer’s tensed frame soften and fall limp. She handed the used syringe to the senior surgeon in exchange for the one with heparin, to stop blood from clotting and blocking vital feeds to the body. Starri pressed a soft patch of gauze into Cloud’s hand, and she tore it in two to clot the holes where the IVs had entered.
As if the room wasn’t cold and dark enough already, they turned the heat down more. A colder body had a slower heartbeat, which was what they needed to work with.
To Cloud it seemed like despair had only been held at bay by the warmth of the surgery table light, because all her nerves came back and hit her like a Deputy’s high-velocity motorcycle. The room spinning; her stomach twisted in a knot; she doubled over and staggered backwards, nearly toppling the wheeled surgery side table. Said table chose to idly wheel slowly away until it hit the wall with a quiet thud.
Something jabbed her in the back, and she leapt into the air with a loud yelp.
“Calm down!” Starri hissed. “You make so much noise you could bring Hail back from the dead!”
“I always knew she was half-Ayasato,” the eldest muttered joking from where she fiddled with the thermostat.
Cloud felt her face warm with shame at letting her emotions get the better of her. Blinking back tears, she robotically maneuvered the table to its original position and went to sanitize the surgical tools.
“Do you want me to induce hypothermia while you’re doing that?” Starri asked.
“Sure, Cloud replied, brushing wheat-hued hair out of her eyes as she held up the instruments to drip sanitizer.
“Sis” lay the blue surgery sheet over the patient, with a gaping hole over the chest area. A few more tweaks and adjustments, and a trembling Cloud fearfully clutched a scalpel in her hand. Her adopted sister’s warm hand curled comfortingly over hers and guided her hand through the motion of slitting the thoracic skin.
Starri gently applied clamps around the skin the keep it held back as Cloud worked. The Senior Warrior was glad of her strong stomach as she poked, pushed and prodded through a glistening red swamp.
Her metal instruments made a soft pinging noise.
“The bone,” Cloud murmured. “Th-the ribcage. It’s in the way.” She hadn’t ever considered that the ribcage would be protecting the soft, thumping organ behind it.
Starri handed her a bigger, heavier tool. “This is used to cut through bone. I’ll help you out if need be.”
Cloud put down her scalpel and tweezers, feeling light-headed. The beeps of the machine that sucked blood from the heart and transferred it to other parts of the body echoed in her skull as she grated the knife across bone. She hesitated once she came to the last little bit of bone.
“I can’t do it.”
“Sure you can,” Starri replied. “But the tricky part is getting through without accidentally stabbing anything vital underneath. Never mind, I’ll show you.”
Two delicate strokes severed the bone from its fellows, and Starri gently lifted it out. She placed it nearby.
Cloud could see the delicate tubework the senior surgeons had inserted to stop the heart and transfer the blood elsewhere to keep the man living. An icy shiver stole up her spine up watching the contents of the tube glide upward in some sort of sticky, slick train. She shook her head briskly and concentrated on her assigned task.
Oddly formed, slightly blackened flesh caught the young surgeon’s eye. The bullet – it must be in the proximity. She gently probed, well aware this was right beside the fragile heart.
The glint of iron shone under the surgery light. Filled with relief that her job was half done, Cloud eased the tweezers in and tugged at it. A few crimson strands of flesh were attached to it. Cloud severed them with a minute stroke. Smiling, she turned around to place the bullet on the tray.
“Uh.”
Starri’s grunt whipped Cloud’s head around with concern. The normally calm surgeon’s dark face was ghost white; the perfect image of panic.
Cloud rushed over, uninstinctively shoving Starri aside. She leant over the table.
A dark liquid was filling up the hole that the bullet had been in.
“No…”
Cloud desperately looked around for something, anything to stem the threatening flow.
“No.”
She grabbed a roll of gauze and yanked. Realizing quickly that that wasn’t going to work on an internal wound, she dropped it, nearly tripped and ran towards a machine that cleaned up blood – no, that wouldn’t work, it’d suck the patient dry.
“No!”
The heparin allowed the blood to flow much more freely than it should have. Starri was nowhere to be seen – she must have exited the room to get help or a bag for a transfusion. But her sister had the strangest, most haunting expression on her face, one that burned into Cloud’s mind forever – mouth agape; face drained of all color; eyes wide open with a haunted, horrified expression. They were glazed over, more beige than coffee brown as if macabre mementos were actually what she was seeing. Unbreathing, unmoving, she stood paralyzed to the floor.
Cloud tore her gaze away and plunged her hands into the warm, viscous liquid soaking the surgery sheet and dripping off the edges of the table, trying futilely to find the source and stem the flow.
“No, no, no! NOOOO!”
Cloud’s vision was burred over with tears as she hunched over Starri’s kitchen table. For the umpteenth time, Starri patted her gently on the back and said, “There’s nothing any of us could’ve done.”
It was dark outside, matching the atmosphere inside well. An artery had been tangled around the bullet, reports revealed, and the patient would’ve died eventually of artery constriction anyway.
“Better later than sooner,” Cloud whispered to herself, voice garbled by tears.
Starri sipped half-heartedly at her hot chocolate. A thick cloth of silence hung over the table. Cloud’s sister slouched at the end of the table. Head hung, her hair drooped over her unreadable expression.
“I’ll never get promoted. Ever. I‘m such a h-h-h-horrible pers-son!” she wailed.
“That’s not true,” Starri soothed. “It was a difficult procedure. No one could have carried it out properly, given the circumstances. Not me, not your sister. Just you wait, she knows you didn’t make a silly mistake. She-”
“She’s a horrible leader,” “Sis” rasped, voice barely audible. “I’m a horrible leader. Same sort of surgery, different wounds. And I stood there like an idiot instead of helping you. I can’t lead. I’m the same fool I was thirteen years ago.”
“…S- sis…?” she mewled quietly, unable to push any more noise out of her chest. “Sis, please…please don’t make me…” Cloud’s voice broke in the last part of her sentence.
Cloud heard swift footsteps behind her. She whipped around. “S-sis!” she squeaked, spotting the Whitholm logo embroidered on a custom-made snow-white lab coat. She threw her arms around the taller doctor. “Sis, please, don’t make me…”
“Whoa, what’s the big deal?” “Sis” untangled Cloud’s arms from around her neck and bent down to make eye contact with the childish 15-year-old. “You’ve read the text. You know the procedure by heart. And you’re getting Wish’s best surgeons to help you out! Why are you so scared?”
Cloud looked down at her feet, a lock of blonde hair drifting in front of her eyes. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I just have that nervous feeling, you know?”
The dark-haired surgeon stood up and chuckled. “Actually, I do. But what were the words of my mentor? …Ah, yes. ‘Suck it up, buttercup.’ I used to get nervous a few days before surgeries, trials and such. She always made me laugh.”
The Senior Warrior turned big green eyes up to meet her mentor’s even brown ones. “What else did your mentor do when you got nervous?”
The brunette chuckled. “She’d saunter after me, one hand shoved in her pocket, sip her coffee and laugh at me.”
The younger girl frowned. “That’s mean! What kind of mentor does that?!”
“Sis” laughed yet again, eyes shining with amusement. “A very good one. She taught me well. Her attitude was kind of a tough-love thing during training. I realized after a while that just because she was my mentor didn’t mean she was going to hold my hand through every little thing I did.”
Cloud felt her cheeks alight with shame.
“It’s your first time doing this procedure,” her senior said hurriedly. “That’s okay.”
“Who was your mentor, Sis?”
“Remember Hailstorm Whitholm?”
Cloud blinked. Of course she knew Hail! Hail had founded the Whitholm bloodline, which had grown quite successful under its current head, Pinefur Whitholm. Hail had been a renowned law and medicine scholar and a hardcore athlete. She had had the ability to manipulate the weather as well. Cloud had heard several different accounts of the Major’s death, but the one that had burned into her mind was the story her sister had told her. The Deputy had been on the brink of death, and Pine herself was the only one capable of performing such a complicated surgery in an attempt to revive the head Whitholm.
She had failed. Hail had died, thirteen years ago.
“Sis, was it true Major Whitholm was even older than Master Ayasato?”
Her sister nodded. “She didn’t have as much Deputy experience, but she was a bit older, yes.”
Cloud’s eye boggled. “Wow.” She didn’t know how old Sunneth Ayasato was, but she knew the Deputy’s bloodline had been around since long before she was born. She had thought her sister to be immortal and all-knowing when the older woman picked up a half-dead 10-year-old Cloud off the streets of the working-class district of Wish and took her in, treating her as a younger sibling.
“Commander? Doctor Starri is prepared for the surgery. Are you and Doctor Cloud ready? The surgery will start promptly.”
The darker-haired surgeon glanced at Cloud, who nodded. “We’re ready, nurse.”
The nurse nodded and led them through the steel double doors. Cloud slipped her hand into her sister’s, her stomach doing more leaps and flips than she did during fitness training days. Her adopted sister squeezed her hand reassuringly.
They met Starri, a dark-haired tall surgeon with warm coffee-brown eyes. Even though Cloud should’ve told herself she’d acquire that height and stature one day, she was paralyzed by utter awe. She rarely saw StarClanners, working on one of the lower floors of all three jobs. Even though Starri and Cloud’s sister looked like very close friends, as soon as they started discussing medicine a subtle look of both pity and respect entered the former’s eyes.
And that’s the reason I don’t ever call Sis by her first name, Cloud thought bitterly. She twirled a lock of flat-ironed hair delicately between two fingers. “Is the patient ready?”
Starri grinned, “You’re the head surgeon for this op. The patient’s ready when you are.”
The petite Senior Warrior felt another bolt of unease crumple her insides into balls. First the anaesthetic, then the insertion of the trocar- no, wait, administer the heparin, make then incision, then insert and secure the trocar if needed. Goodness, how had she messed up the order of the procedure in her head?
Anxiety filled her mind; her knees felt weak; the room drifting out of focus.
A sturdy hand clamped onto her shoulder. Cloud looked up into her sister’s reassuring dark eyes. “Breathe, Cloud. You’ll do great.” Her lips pulled into a small half-smile. Cloud just turned away to stare down the hallway, drumming her fingers on her four identification pins. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, like she had learned in yoga and similar activities.
“Let’s just get this over with,” she choked out, attempting and failing to sound confident.
Starri pushed the door to Cardiac Surgery Room B11. “After you,” she sniffed, doing an impersonation of a snooty butler, bowing stiffly as Cloud passed her. The youngest of the trio heard copious amounts of giggling behind her and felt slightly enraged and jealous that her elder could fool around when she was a bundle of nerves.
The patient, a man of about 30, although he didn’t look it, was sitting on the operating table propped up on his hands. He looked up as Cloud cam in.
“I was shot while patrolling with some other members of the force. Kind of in the chest area…” He tapped the area just below his left collarbone. “Somewhere around here.”
“An X-ray reveals the bullet grazed the left atrium of the heart and is lodged near it. It’s a miracle you’re still alive, sir,” “Sis” explained.
The man nodded. “Stitch me up good, doc,” he said to Cloud.
The young surgeon was suddenly filed with an overwhelming sense of both guilt and courage. This man didn’t know she was only in training. He thought she was a genuine qualified professional.
Cloud straightened up. She could do this. Her training flooded back into her mind.
“I’m going to have you lie down – yes, just like that. Perfect. Sis, could you get the anaesthetic and heparin for me, please? Both intravenous. Starri, please get me an absorbent patch of gauze. Oh, thanks, Sis. I just need the anaesthetic right now. Thanks.”
Cloud placed her cold, small fingers on the man’s arm, and he flinched away from her.
“Sorry,” he chuckled nervously. “Your hands are cold.”
Cloud balled her hands into fists to warm her fingers on her palm, then found the vein she was searching for. The needle always slid in smoothly, like putting an earring in. The teen was glad she didn’t have to press hard to puncture the skin – that force applied to the soft flesh and veins underneath would cause major internal damage.
She saw the officer’s tensed frame soften and fall limp. She handed the used syringe to the senior surgeon in exchange for the one with heparin, to stop blood from clotting and blocking vital feeds to the body. Starri pressed a soft patch of gauze into Cloud’s hand, and she tore it in two to clot the holes where the IVs had entered.
As if the room wasn’t cold and dark enough already, they turned the heat down more. A colder body had a slower heartbeat, which was what they needed to work with.
To Cloud it seemed like despair had only been held at bay by the warmth of the surgery table light, because all her nerves came back and hit her like a Deputy’s high-velocity motorcycle. The room spinning; her stomach twisted in a knot; she doubled over and staggered backwards, nearly toppling the wheeled surgery side table. Said table chose to idly wheel slowly away until it hit the wall with a quiet thud.
Something jabbed her in the back, and she leapt into the air with a loud yelp.
“Calm down!” Starri hissed. “You make so much noise you could bring Hail back from the dead!”
“I always knew she was half-Ayasato,” the eldest muttered joking from where she fiddled with the thermostat.
Cloud felt her face warm with shame at letting her emotions get the better of her. Blinking back tears, she robotically maneuvered the table to its original position and went to sanitize the surgical tools.
“Do you want me to induce hypothermia while you’re doing that?” Starri asked.
“Sure, Cloud replied, brushing wheat-hued hair out of her eyes as she held up the instruments to drip sanitizer.
“Sis” lay the blue surgery sheet over the patient, with a gaping hole over the chest area. A few more tweaks and adjustments, and a trembling Cloud fearfully clutched a scalpel in her hand. Her adopted sister’s warm hand curled comfortingly over hers and guided her hand through the motion of slitting the thoracic skin.
Starri gently applied clamps around the skin the keep it held back as Cloud worked. The Senior Warrior was glad of her strong stomach as she poked, pushed and prodded through a glistening red swamp.
Her metal instruments made a soft pinging noise.
“The bone,” Cloud murmured. “Th-the ribcage. It’s in the way.” She hadn’t ever considered that the ribcage would be protecting the soft, thumping organ behind it.
Starri handed her a bigger, heavier tool. “This is used to cut through bone. I’ll help you out if need be.”
Cloud put down her scalpel and tweezers, feeling light-headed. The beeps of the machine that sucked blood from the heart and transferred it to other parts of the body echoed in her skull as she grated the knife across bone. She hesitated once she came to the last little bit of bone.
“I can’t do it.”
“Sure you can,” Starri replied. “But the tricky part is getting through without accidentally stabbing anything vital underneath. Never mind, I’ll show you.”
Two delicate strokes severed the bone from its fellows, and Starri gently lifted it out. She placed it nearby.
Cloud could see the delicate tubework the senior surgeons had inserted to stop the heart and transfer the blood elsewhere to keep the man living. An icy shiver stole up her spine up watching the contents of the tube glide upward in some sort of sticky, slick train. She shook her head briskly and concentrated on her assigned task.
Oddly formed, slightly blackened flesh caught the young surgeon’s eye. The bullet – it must be in the proximity. She gently probed, well aware this was right beside the fragile heart.
The glint of iron shone under the surgery light. Filled with relief that her job was half done, Cloud eased the tweezers in and tugged at it. A few crimson strands of flesh were attached to it. Cloud severed them with a minute stroke. Smiling, she turned around to place the bullet on the tray.
“Uh.”
Starri’s grunt whipped Cloud’s head around with concern. The normally calm surgeon’s dark face was ghost white; the perfect image of panic.
Cloud rushed over, uninstinctively shoving Starri aside. She leant over the table.
A dark liquid was filling up the hole that the bullet had been in.
“No…”
Cloud desperately looked around for something, anything to stem the threatening flow.
“No.”
She grabbed a roll of gauze and yanked. Realizing quickly that that wasn’t going to work on an internal wound, she dropped it, nearly tripped and ran towards a machine that cleaned up blood – no, that wouldn’t work, it’d suck the patient dry.
“No!”
The heparin allowed the blood to flow much more freely than it should have. Starri was nowhere to be seen – she must have exited the room to get help or a bag for a transfusion. But her sister had the strangest, most haunting expression on her face, one that burned into Cloud’s mind forever – mouth agape; face drained of all color; eyes wide open with a haunted, horrified expression. They were glazed over, more beige than coffee brown as if macabre mementos were actually what she was seeing. Unbreathing, unmoving, she stood paralyzed to the floor.
Cloud tore her gaze away and plunged her hands into the warm, viscous liquid soaking the surgery sheet and dripping off the edges of the table, trying futilely to find the source and stem the flow.
“No, no, no! NOOOO!”
xx--. }}
Cloud’s vision was burred over with tears as she hunched over Starri’s kitchen table. For the umpteenth time, Starri patted her gently on the back and said, “There’s nothing any of us could’ve done.”
It was dark outside, matching the atmosphere inside well. An artery had been tangled around the bullet, reports revealed, and the patient would’ve died eventually of artery constriction anyway.
“Better later than sooner,” Cloud whispered to herself, voice garbled by tears.
Starri sipped half-heartedly at her hot chocolate. A thick cloth of silence hung over the table. Cloud’s sister slouched at the end of the table. Head hung, her hair drooped over her unreadable expression.
“I’ll never get promoted. Ever. I‘m such a h-h-h-horrible pers-son!” she wailed.
“That’s not true,” Starri soothed. “It was a difficult procedure. No one could have carried it out properly, given the circumstances. Not me, not your sister. Just you wait, she knows you didn’t make a silly mistake. She-”
“She’s a horrible leader,” “Sis” rasped, voice barely audible. “I’m a horrible leader. Same sort of surgery, different wounds. And I stood there like an idiot instead of helping you. I can’t lead. I’m the same fool I was thirteen years ago.”
xx--. {{sliceofLiFE;;
Hail sighed as she fought to jam the keys in the socket of the glass door. The task was only made harder as pitch-dark night had already settled over Wish. The weather-controller remembered her earlier conversation with her friends Sunneth, Pinefur and Starri.
“I’m not locking up tonight!” Sunneth piped cheerfully. “Shadow and I are going to play video games together starting at seven. Can’t be missed!” The head Ayasato looked pleased with this explanation, and sat back in her high-backed chair, steepled her fingers and smirked smugly.
Starri, on the other hand, looked glum. “Got papers to do at the hospital.” Her shoulders slumped dejectedly. “No celebrating Wishmas Eve for me. At least the celebration spans fourteen days…”
The room was silent. No one wanted papers to do on Wishmas Eve. Finally, Hail spoke up, seeing that no one else was going to.
“Leave the paper until after the break,” the Deputy said, waving a hand casually.
“But they’re urg-”
“That’s an order,” Hail smiled. “Tell whoever you’re filing for that they’ll have to deal with me if they’re not happy with the extended deadline. No one’s working over Wishmas. Wow, I just ordered someone not to work. I win.”
Pinefur shot Hail an incredulous look as the Whitholm line founder giggled at herself. “I’ll help you out, if you want. What kind of files are they?”
Wish’s head surgeon under Hail pondered for a second. “Er, filing the diagnosis of a patient who has a fractured fibia, I think.”
Pinefur smiled. “As lieutenant executive for the Whitholm bloodline, you are excused of any duties until after Wishmas.”
“Way to be formal, Pinuuuuhhhh,” a sardonic voice complained. The young official whirled around to see her mentor slouched in her chair, limbs sprawled haphazardly around her, head tilted to the ceiling. She looked asleep.
“Hey!” Pinefur picked up a document and smacked Hail with it. Said victim responded with a lazy groan. “I wouldn’t be talking. The way you’re sitting makes you look like a hobo!”
“That’s my Hayul for you,” Sunneth giggled.
“I think you should lock up tonight,” Pinefur addressed the lazy Major now half-asleep in her chair.
Hail responded with a slurred mumble that sounded like “I think you should.”
“I say Hayul locks up tonight,” Sunneth agreed. Hail shot her a betrayed look. The spirit-channeler shrugged. “When it comes to this stuff, it’s every girl for herself,” Sunneth defended.
“Agreed,” Starri chimed in. “Look at it this way, my 8 – it’s the last time in two weeks you’ll have to lock up.”
“I guess,” Hail muttered relunctantly. “Now get out of my office, you silly poodles.”
“Our office. No can do,” Sunneth corrected cheerfully.
“Shut up.”
“I’m not locking up tonight!” Sunneth piped cheerfully. “Shadow and I are going to play video games together starting at seven. Can’t be missed!” The head Ayasato looked pleased with this explanation, and sat back in her high-backed chair, steepled her fingers and smirked smugly.
Starri, on the other hand, looked glum. “Got papers to do at the hospital.” Her shoulders slumped dejectedly. “No celebrating Wishmas Eve for me. At least the celebration spans fourteen days…”
The room was silent. No one wanted papers to do on Wishmas Eve. Finally, Hail spoke up, seeing that no one else was going to.
“Leave the paper until after the break,” the Deputy said, waving a hand casually.
“But they’re urg-”
“That’s an order,” Hail smiled. “Tell whoever you’re filing for that they’ll have to deal with me if they’re not happy with the extended deadline. No one’s working over Wishmas. Wow, I just ordered someone not to work. I win.”
Pinefur shot Hail an incredulous look as the Whitholm line founder giggled at herself. “I’ll help you out, if you want. What kind of files are they?”
Wish’s head surgeon under Hail pondered for a second. “Er, filing the diagnosis of a patient who has a fractured fibia, I think.”
Pinefur smiled. “As lieutenant executive for the Whitholm bloodline, you are excused of any duties until after Wishmas.”
“Way to be formal, Pinuuuuhhhh,” a sardonic voice complained. The young official whirled around to see her mentor slouched in her chair, limbs sprawled haphazardly around her, head tilted to the ceiling. She looked asleep.
“Hey!” Pinefur picked up a document and smacked Hail with it. Said victim responded with a lazy groan. “I wouldn’t be talking. The way you’re sitting makes you look like a hobo!”
“That’s my Hayul for you,” Sunneth giggled.
“I think you should lock up tonight,” Pinefur addressed the lazy Major now half-asleep in her chair.
Hail responded with a slurred mumble that sounded like “I think you should.”
“I say Hayul locks up tonight,” Sunneth agreed. Hail shot her a betrayed look. The spirit-channeler shrugged. “When it comes to this stuff, it’s every girl for herself,” Sunneth defended.
“Agreed,” Starri chimed in. “Look at it this way, my 8 – it’s the last time in two weeks you’ll have to lock up.”
“I guess,” Hail muttered relunctantly. “Now get out of my office, you silly poodles.”
“Our office. No can do,” Sunneth corrected cheerfully.
“Shut up.”
xx--. {{ on theBACKof a HURRICANE
Pinefur adjusted the pin on the lapel of her black overcoat that signified she was a Warrior as she slowly pulled out her chair and made herself comfortable at her office cubicle. She scanned the papers stacked neatly in her inbox, then picked up the top paper.
3rd Floor Livelihood Insurance Building Payroll.
Pinefur sighed, slumping back in her chair. She hated calculating payrolls.
Warrior Shadow Wolf – Attendance: 360/440 possible workdays. Pay: $24,897.60.
“Yeah, because a yearly income of less than thirty grand can support any of us. Job sucks, pay sucks, why bother going to work?” Pinefur muttered venomously. She figured out if Shadow Wolf’s income was the sum of her daily pay, then moved on. The Kitty-Pets, Kits and Apprentices got paid even less, if that was even possible without becoming a hobo. Pinefur remembered her first year or so in Wish. Sometimes she’d scrape past paying her rent with only ten bucks left, and survive on peanut butter, crackers and tap water until she got mid-month surplus.
After completing a few pages of payroll, she went to get some water from the cooler down the hall. There she met a fellow Warrior, Flames. Her Warrior pin gleamed under the halogen lights; Pinefur guessed she was newly promoted. The younger Wishian jumped when she noticed Pinefur staring at her.
“Oh! Pinefur!” Flames dropped her cup of water. “You scared me!”
Pinefur filled a cup of her own with water and took a small sip. “Morning.”
Flames shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Have you picked out a bloodline yet?”
Pinefur chuckled. “I’ve got a while yet. Actually, you know Hail? The author of that really popular column in the newspaper? Well, I’ve heard there’s talk among the higher-ups – Gorsecloud, Blackheart, Autumn, Firestar and Firestorm, Nagini, ForceStar, even Sunneth – that she’s going to be promoted after the autumn solstice, and Gorsecloud, Blackheart, Autumn and Nagini are going to officially retire.”
“Wow, really? Well, Autumn and Blackheart had their best industrial factories burn to the ground. It’d be best for them to retire and save themselves a lot of stress and money. Nagini just wants to retire after all this time, and… after that happened… I don’t blame them all for wanting to retire…”
The two fell silent. There had been a revolution against the city government a few years back. Those at the center of the tempest and turmoil of emotions and weapons had walked away different people.
“Better get back to work,” Flames said quietly. She threw her cup away. “See you.”
Pinefur noisily gulped the last of her water and walked back to her cubicle. She’d rather be working at her computer, but today was paperwork day.
Endless hours of sifting through papers, tapping buttons on a calculator, stamping sheets ACCURATE or INACCURATE, glancing pleadingly at the clock and eye-rubbing led to a much dwindled pile of IN and a large stack of OUT papers. Finally, Pinefur grabbed her coat and bag and staggered outside, exhausted. The moon hung high in the inky cobalt sky, bright fluorescent stars dotting the dark blanket. Pinefur unlocked her electric scooter. She was one of the few working class citizens who owned a electric-powered vehicle. She turned down a small side street to avoid the omnipresent stream of the StarClanners’ huge luxury vehicles on the main streets.
She putted along, past closed boutiques with lit displays; dim-lit, contemporary restaurants, idle chatter leaking from partially open windows; and, eventually, the harsh, grimy bulbs lighting the stairwells of low-end condominiums. Summoning up the remains of her strength, Pinefur folded the collapsible scooter and hauled it up to her second-floor apartment. She laid it by the door to fumble with the keys.
Her apartment was nice for the working class. No wires or bare lightbulbs, cracks in the walls or floor tiles and she kept it clean as a whistle. Leaning the scooter against the wall, she went to the fridge to satisfy her growling stomach. Half a quart of milk, two expired yogurt cups, cheese with a suspicious greenish fuzz growing on the corners, a near-empty bag of baby carrots and a white box of leftover Chinese food.
“Um. Gross.” Pinefur check her other cupboards for something good to eat, to no avail. She opened the fridge again.
“Warrior Pinefur chooses noodles,” she muttered to herself, giggling at her inside joke. Throwing the box in the microwave, she stabbed the Express Heat button and slumped in her sole kitchen chair. Once the noodles were heated, she scarfed them down, then shuffled to her room. She fell on the bed without hesitation, falling into the dark realm of dreamless sleep before her head hit the pillow.
Pinefur groaned, rubbing her head. An incessant pounding rocketed around the inside of her skull, proving this wasn’t going to be a good week.
When she realized the pounding was actually someone at the door, she hastened out of bed, stumbling over a box of takeout pizza before opening the door a crack. It was one of the newest citizens of Wish; a Kitty-Pet named Lightingstreak. She didn’t have the disheveled, homeless look of the lowest-ranking class in the city yet. She started upon meeting Pinefur’s gaze.
I guess seeing a cranky, overworked fourteen-year-old is enough to startle a ten-year-old for the rest of their week.
“P-Pinefur! I hope I didn’t wake you!” she stammered, fumbling with something in her hands.
“Then you wouldn’t have been knocking so loud,” the Warrior growled under her breath.
If Lightningstreak had heard her, she gave no indication. “Do you know what day it is?”
Pinefur rolled her eyes. It was the middle of a 1st Day morning. This kid was brave. “No, I don’t know what day it is. Tell me.”
“The first day of the Autumn Solstice! You’re getting promoted to Senior Warrior and Hail is getting promoted to Deputy!” She gave a little jump and handed Pinefur the small package she was holding. The receiver of the parcel tore it open to find a shiny, detailed pin signifying Senior Warrior status. The newly promoted teen couldn’t help but smile. She guessed this newcomer delivered pins for a living. The Kitty-Pet in question stood in her doorway, shuffling her feet, looking sheepish.
“Um…” she started, suddenly finding her feet quite interesting. “I… don’t have a TV… and Hail’s ceremony is going to be broadcasted right away…” She looked at Pinefur beseechingly. “Can I watch on your TV?”
The senior Wishian raised her eyebrows. So the rumors about Hail’s promotion had indeed been true. She didn’t often get company, being pretty quiet and shy. “Sure.” She stepped aside and Lightningstreak bounded in, suddenly a ball of excitement. She plunked down on Pinefur’s couch, staring excitedly at the TV. The Senior Warrior turned it to the Wish news station. A crowd had gathered in front of the Royal Administrative Embassy building, murmuring with excitement. Blizz, in all her purple-streaked, emo-cut hair and unique clothing glory, stood in front of the monolith holding a microphone and grinning. She cleared her throat, and the crowd settled instantly.
“Citizens of Wish!” Her voice rang out, happy and strong. “I’d like to welcome the newest member to our Elite team – Hailstorm Whitholm!” A tall, dark-haired girl emerged from the front of the crowd, cheeks burning with embarrassment and happiness. She smiled modestly and gave a small wave. Blizz handed her the microphone. The flushed Elite cleared her throat, then spoke.
“Thanks so much, guys! I know I’m not as popular as the other candidates for the position, but I’ll try my very best! Thanks so much!” She handed the microphone back to Blizz, her dark blush creeping to her neck.
“As you heard just now, Hail chose Whitholm as her last name. She’s going to be working in the fields of law, medicine and fitness. Let’s give her another round of applause.”
The new Elite Warrior blushed even more and scratched the back of her head, grinning humbly. Blizz rewarded her with five new pins; a Deputy; the newest pin fabricated, the Whitholm bloodline crest; and law, medicine and fitness pins. Hail accepted them with childish delight and pinned them to the lapels of her coat.
At that point Lightningstreak mashed the “off” button on the remote. “Wow! Wasn’t that neat to see? I really like the name Whitholm. I bet Hail’ll do a good job. Are you going to choose Hail’s bloodline as yours?”
“I’m still thinking.” Pinefur hadn’t actually given her decision any thought at all. But since most of the Deputies were retiring, and with Firestorm and Firestar semi-retired… she only really had two choices. There was confident, popular, funny Sunneth, or thoughtful, hard-working Hail. Each was extremely intelligent and talented, and Pine liked both of them for different reason.
“Yeah, I guess you gotta stand the pros and cons up against each other, eh?” Lightningstreak jumped to her feet. “Well, I’ve got more deliveries to make. See you, Pinefur!”
Pinefur looked up sharply. “Don’t sla-”
BAM.
“Slam the door,” she finished quietly. She pressed two fingers to her temples. She wasn’t used to company, and she found that after four year of solitude she couldn’t stand the presence of a fellow person.
You’d have to deal with people if you’re a Whitholm, she thought. Pinefur Ayasato, not so much. File records, order things to import into the city, and maybe take on reasonable client in law. Pinefur Whitholm would have to deal with screaming, sick ten-year-olds and people who wanted to lose weight but had no clue that their diet was pretty much composed of fat and didn’t think they needed to exercise at all. Each Deputy’s version of law’s a bit different, so you’ve got no idea what Hail’s will be like.
Pinefur attached the pin to the front of her pajamas. If she threw on a jacket, she might be able to go to the Marketplace, even though it was technically autumn and the air would be more crisp.
She looked at the digital clock display on her microwave. Almost eleven o’ clock. She could get a few hours of window shopping in. She grabbed her block overcoat and a gray-and-black-striped scarf. She moved her bedroom, and stuck one hand under the mattress. She felt around, fingers brushing across smooth fabric, then they abruptly caught on something. She ran her thumb along the edge. It was a paper of some sort. Receipt? Overdue taxes? She pulled it out. Twenty dollars. She smiled, folded it and dropped it in one of her pockets before locking the door and starting her commute to the Market Road.
The Marketplace was only accessible to Wish on the 1st Day of the week, which was also dubbed Market Day. There, people flocked to trade, display, buy and sell homemade goods. Pinefur liked the unique-flavored confectioneries and the modern paintings the most.
She heard the Marketplace before she saw it. People laughing, talking, walking; paper bags crinkling and rustling; feet scuffling; the occasional vehicle putting around, looking for a parking spot. She unconsciously quickened her pace, anticipating the main atmosphere of joy and happiness that could be found in the Marketplace.
And then the girl saw it. The street crowded to its limits with bustling people, sellers and prospective buyers alike. From a bird’s-eye view, it’d look like a path overrun with ants. Differently decorated stalls stood at the side, the merchants offering their items to sell. The Senior Warrior let a huge grin spread across her face. This was going to be fun, as always.
Pinefur melded into the crowd, drifting along with the flow, casting her judging gaze over different booths. Finally, she spotted one that caught her interest. Of course. Sandstar’s art booth. Pinefur navigated to the outskirts of the mainstream of people and walked over to the stall, made of crafted steel and glass. Maybe Sandstar would have a cheap little thing for a few dollars on sale.
The artist in question was in a deep conversation with someone. Pinefur didn’t glance twice at them; exotic-inspired artifacts held more rapture than a face to her.
Metallic-looking paints of purple, blue, green, brown, orange and other hues Pinefur couldn’t quite identify graced one canvas. What looked like an abstract sketch surrounded by crude brown brush strokes and gobs of paints filled another. A rectangle of blown glass with blue 3-D bubbles on the inside sat on a counter with several other glass figures. An enhanced, breathtaking photograph of the city at night from atop a skyscraper hung beside the many paintings. Pinefur couldn’t help but stare.
“Hey!” A friendly voice greeted, making Pinefur jump. Sandstar’s aquamarine eyes blinked warmly. “What’s up? You’re… Pinefur, right? You probably know who I am. Anything I can help you with?”
“Um.” The Senior Warrior’s eyes darted over all the tasteful pieces of art before settling on a vibrant aqua, navy and gray eight-by-ten painting. It looked small enough not to be too costly, and it’d match her furniture. “How much is the blue-and-gray painting-” She pointed at it- “-there?
Sandstar turned and looked. “Oh, thirty-five dollars.”
Dang, Pinefur thought and scanned the stand for something else she might like.
“Were you promoted recently?” Sandstar asked, scrutinizing Pinefur’s ranking pin.
“Yeah. Today, actually.”
“Wow, really? Good job! Hey, you liked that small gray painting, right?”
Pinefur nodded, forming a hunch about where this conversation was going.
Sandstar put it in a brown paper bag and thrust it into the younger Wishian’s direction. “It’s on me. Consider it a promotion gift.” The vendor smiled warmly.
Pinefur felt her face flush as she accepted the bag. No one had ever given her a present before. So things do change with rank, even if it was only one rank, and a very recent promotion, at that.
Sandstar put her hands on her hips and stared down the street, a thoughtful expression painting her face. “That Hail… she’ll make a good Deputy with some experience. She’s a little too easily flustered yet. But if I know her, she picks up on her mistakes right away.” She looked at Pinefur, eyes drifting into a more intense gaze. “You should become a Whitholm. I can just see it in you. Hail’d like someone like you. Study under her, and you’ll probably become one of the most successful StarClanners.”
So that's who she was talking to! “H-how do you know?” Pinefur stuttered. She couldn’t believe Sandstar had made such a prediction. But she was dubbed “Wish’s Thinker” for a reason.
Sandstar shrugged. “Hail’s line of thinking is similar to yours. Plus, you’ll excel in medicine and law. You’ve got the smarts, you just need a bit of people experience.”
“But I think I’d like being an-”
The vendor tapped one of her temples and grinned knowingly. “I’m an Ayasato, remember? I’ve got some precognition powers. In the end, you determine who you want to be, however.”
Pinefur blinked at the experienced StarClanner, and wondered why she wasn’t a Deputy. Deciding she had no business probing into her superior’s personal decisions, she thanked Sandstar and left.
Pinefur looked around some more, got free samples and discounts from friends, and finally came upon a stall that made profiles out of fudge, the kind normally made of marble and mounted on pedestals. These particular heads were in the form of the ancient cats that, they said, had created and sculpted the now-barren land and guided Blizz to conceptualize and construct the infrastructure for a thriving city. There were so many, baked with different colors, facial expressions and flavors. Each was made with intense detail; the cat heads looked almost real. Pinefur looked up at the store owner, chewing happy on the head of a brown tabby. The Senior Warrior grinned. She should’ve guessed Pepper would be spreading some sugar-induced hyper infection over Wish.
The caramel-haired girl started upon noticing she had a customer, nearly choking on her fudge.
“Pinefur!” she exclaimed happily, once she had swallowed. She smoothed out her white-and-green apron. “How’s it going? Oh, did you get promoted? Sweet! Hey, you should stick around. Hail’ll be coming over soon. I told her she had to. Look what I’m eating! It’s Hawkfrost’s head! I must be more evil than him…must…be…” She exploded into a fit of maniacal cackling, thoroughly creeping the younger Wishian out.
After Pepper was done twitching and giggling, she clasped her hands behind her back and smiled politely at Pinefur. “Did you want anything in particular? You know, one of the Ancient Cats was called Pinefur, too.” She held up chocolate in the likeness of a short-haired tabby cat. “I designed her with you in mind.”
Pinefur felt a small glow of happiness that someone cared for her. Most of the people she worked with were either overly dependent on her or each other, or were quite independent and never spoke unless it was on business terms.
You can’t really blame them, a voice in her head piped up. You’re really no better off, yourself. Flames and Lightningstreak were the only two you had a friendly chat with last week, which was yesterday.
Pinefur frowned, knowing the voice told the truth. But she couldn’t bring herself to have a friendly conversation with any of the friendly Mentors, Elders and StarClanners. Noticing a pattern between job and class to personality, she assumed the amicability of the senior Wishian had something to do with just being around friendly people. Would she really end up loving people and enjoying their company?
A flicker of shadow in front of her face snapped her out of her reverie. “Yoohoo. You gonna zone out all day or have some choice candy?” Pepper peered into the younger girl’s pale brown eyes, the feline-esque piece of chocolate in a bag for her.
Pinefur blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” She took the bag from Pepper. “Thank you.”
The hyper StarClanner grinned. “Wait around for Hail! Please?”
Even though Pinefur was very reluctant to stick around longer than she had to, she politely agreed to wait. She watched people as they passed, in different stages of their youth; some only around ten, unstately, underdeveloped little things that reminded Pinefur of “street rats” she had read about that lived in impoverished countries. Others were young adults; radiating confidence, hardly impressionable. The latter walked in pairs or trios, flaunting expensive clothes and handbags as they chatted carelessly, shopping bags in tow. Life in Wish was harsh and unforgiving during the first five years one spent until they were promoted to Mentors and finally acquired a prestigious career.
Pinefur guessed that by the manner Pepper was waving her arms wildly in the air, jumping up and down and making excited hyperventilating noises that the baker had spotted the newest Deputy. Pinefur turned her gaze from the main crowd to her left and saw a tall girl in a long-sleeved navy shirt, a long gray cotton sweater, dark jeans and a few pieces of wooden jewelry striding toward the fudge booth. Confidence streamed from her, and the young Senior Warrior knew this was Hail. The young woman strode up to the stall, possessing a smile that featured white, straight teeth.
The aproned blonde ran out from behind the counter to tackle her friend, throwing her arms around the Elite Warrior’s neck. Hail, caught off guard, made a loud squacking noise and staggered backwards, arms windmilling madly. Several fellow shoppers shot them annoyed looks before realizing who one of them was. Pinefur felt her face heat up. She felt embarrassed and idiotic, standing beside this pair of clownish hooligans.
An ever-grinning Pepper eventually jumped off of her much taller friend. She gestured to Pinefur.
“Pinefur, meet Hail. Hailishness, this is Pinefur.”
“Pinuh!” Hail exclaimed happily, creating a nickname for the shy teen on the spot. “How’re you?”
“Good,” Pinefur said quietly, unsure of how to reply to the role model’s unexpected outburst. If she’s going to help lead the city, she needs to learn some etiquette, the Senior Warrior thought tersely.
The Deputy offered her a toothy smile. Pepper chose to interrupt the broken conversation right then.
“So what’d you choose as your authoritative title?” she asked.
Hail bit her lip, looking puzzled. “Wha…?”
“Y’know. A title us lower-downs gotta address you by,” she explained, shooting a teasing wink in Pinefur’s direction. Pinefur decided to stay involved in the conversation by helping Pepper out.
“Like, how Sunneth is also Master Ayasato,” she offered. Even though it should technically be Mistress, but I’m not going to argue.
“Oh!” Hail yelled. “I get it! I get it now. I chose Major. Kind of relating to the fitness field since there’s military training involved, and that’s a big part of it.”
Pepper nodded. “Coo-ol.” She handed Hail a paper bag. “Here’s a free fudge head! Heehee, fudge head. That sounds so epic.” She giggled, then cleared her throat upon seeing the look on Hail’s face. “Anyway. You and Pine both got promoted today, so you both get free samples!”
Hail scratched the back of her head, looking bashful. “Hey, you should give Pinuh two; she deserves them more than me,” she mumbled.
“Because I can’t feed myself?” Pinefur asked indignantly, punching the taller girl playfully in the arm.
Hail waved her hands in the air frantically, ears turning beet red. “N-no! That’s not what I meant…! Sorry!”
The younger Wishian double over laughing at Hail’s animated, horrified expression. “Relax! It was just a joke!” She could feel herself warming up to the Major already.
The Elite Warrior’s supposedly “noble” presence was clearly lost on Hail, whose face went from flustered to vexed to embarrassed realization. It suddenly struck Pinefur that the Deputies were still human. Some of them seemed almost robotic to her. Now, she felt ashamed of ever assuming that.
“Hey, congrats on the promotion, Pinuh,” Hail said, leaning on the counter of Pepper’s stand as the vendor busied herself with new customers. “You’ve got to take up a line to study now. Thinking of going Ayasato?” The Major smiled warmly with understanding.
“Well…” Pinefur picked at her paper bag, wondering how to word her sentence. She recalled what Sandstar had said to her. “Well, Sandstar said she thought I’d do better joining your bloodline. Precognition, right?” Pinefur pondered the many uses of seeing a possible future.
Hail’s eyebrow’s shot up into her bangs with interest as she gulped down a last delicious-looking mouthful of chocolate. “…Sandstar? Not that I don’t trust Wish’s Thinker – she has good intuition – but whatever you choose is your decision to make. Just because you’re deciding doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve already decided.”
Pinefur nodded wordlessly.
The boisterous Major clapped Pinefur on the shoulder, her hidden strength nearly making the unprepared teen lose her footing.
“It’d be cool to have you on the team, though! But I’ve gotta run. See you later, Pinuh! Bye, Pepper!” she threw over her shoulder as she strode into the crowd. Pinefur could’ve sworn the sun seemed a lot brighter, but she decided her eyes were playing tricks on her.
She bid a preoccupied Pepper farewell and disappeared among the crowd once more.
It was a wonderful afternoon. Word got around Wish like wildfire, and soon everyone was stopping Pinefur to congratulate her on her promotion. The Senior Warrior was surprised; she hadn’t been under the pretense that she was well-known.
Pinefur passed Hail and Sunneth on her way out of the Marketplace at the end of the day, giving them a little wave before starting back towards her apartment.
Pinefur walked towards the familiar teal-painted door, fumbling for her keys. She inserted the golden key in the lock, and twisted. It stuck fast. The Wishian grasped the key with both hands and pulled. The key didn’t budge. The Senior Warrior finally looked up to see a sticky note taped to the grimy door. It read:
Pinefur’s heart leapt. A bigger, cleaner apartment! Mentors had actual houses, so Senior Warriors had the biggest apartments in Wish.
Directions were written neatly on the bottom of the note. Pinefur exited the old, low-end building, hopped on her scooter and cruised to the address, tucked away down a narrow side street near the Royal Administrative Embassy. The condos were cozy and very clean. Pinefur placed her bags down in the front entrance, noticing the room was barren of furniture except for a hovering blue screen on a wall at the back. As if entranced, Pinefur walked slowly toward it. Words flashed across the screen as the young teen approached.
[Welcome, Pinefur.]
Said girl leaped in surprise. A flash flickered under her hands, then turned into a solid, hovering, semitransparent keyboard. Her fingers skimmed rapidly across the keys.
How do you know my name?
Pinefur bit her lip, unsure how that would physically work without hiring someone. Sure.
The screen turned a different shade of green. [Processing data… 64% complete.]
The Wishian saw holograms of her familiar furniture appear, more spaced out because her new apartment was roomier. The feeling of improved nostalgia made Pinefur glow on the inside. She was soon going to earn more money, she lived in a nice part of the city, and she had a super-intelligent computer that probably had an infinite number of uses.
Exhausted from her optimal day, she dragged herself to her bedroom and flopped down on her bed. Tomorrow, she could walk across the street to the Embassy and choose a bloodline, or at least consider the pros and cons of each.
As the Senior Warrior snuggled under the sheets, she noticed her bed was no longer stiff and lumpy, but soft and downy. She sighed blissfully and drifted off.
3rd Floor Livelihood Insurance Building Payroll.
Pinefur sighed, slumping back in her chair. She hated calculating payrolls.
Warrior Shadow Wolf – Attendance: 360/440 possible workdays. Pay: $24,897.60.
“Yeah, because a yearly income of less than thirty grand can support any of us. Job sucks, pay sucks, why bother going to work?” Pinefur muttered venomously. She figured out if Shadow Wolf’s income was the sum of her daily pay, then moved on. The Kitty-Pets, Kits and Apprentices got paid even less, if that was even possible without becoming a hobo. Pinefur remembered her first year or so in Wish. Sometimes she’d scrape past paying her rent with only ten bucks left, and survive on peanut butter, crackers and tap water until she got mid-month surplus.
After completing a few pages of payroll, she went to get some water from the cooler down the hall. There she met a fellow Warrior, Flames. Her Warrior pin gleamed under the halogen lights; Pinefur guessed she was newly promoted. The younger Wishian jumped when she noticed Pinefur staring at her.
“Oh! Pinefur!” Flames dropped her cup of water. “You scared me!”
Pinefur filled a cup of her own with water and took a small sip. “Morning.”
Flames shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Have you picked out a bloodline yet?”
Pinefur chuckled. “I’ve got a while yet. Actually, you know Hail? The author of that really popular column in the newspaper? Well, I’ve heard there’s talk among the higher-ups – Gorsecloud, Blackheart, Autumn, Firestar and Firestorm, Nagini, ForceStar, even Sunneth – that she’s going to be promoted after the autumn solstice, and Gorsecloud, Blackheart, Autumn and Nagini are going to officially retire.”
“Wow, really? Well, Autumn and Blackheart had their best industrial factories burn to the ground. It’d be best for them to retire and save themselves a lot of stress and money. Nagini just wants to retire after all this time, and… after that happened… I don’t blame them all for wanting to retire…”
The two fell silent. There had been a revolution against the city government a few years back. Those at the center of the tempest and turmoil of emotions and weapons had walked away different people.
“Better get back to work,” Flames said quietly. She threw her cup away. “See you.”
Pinefur noisily gulped the last of her water and walked back to her cubicle. She’d rather be working at her computer, but today was paperwork day.
Endless hours of sifting through papers, tapping buttons on a calculator, stamping sheets ACCURATE or INACCURATE, glancing pleadingly at the clock and eye-rubbing led to a much dwindled pile of IN and a large stack of OUT papers. Finally, Pinefur grabbed her coat and bag and staggered outside, exhausted. The moon hung high in the inky cobalt sky, bright fluorescent stars dotting the dark blanket. Pinefur unlocked her electric scooter. She was one of the few working class citizens who owned a electric-powered vehicle. She turned down a small side street to avoid the omnipresent stream of the StarClanners’ huge luxury vehicles on the main streets.
She putted along, past closed boutiques with lit displays; dim-lit, contemporary restaurants, idle chatter leaking from partially open windows; and, eventually, the harsh, grimy bulbs lighting the stairwells of low-end condominiums. Summoning up the remains of her strength, Pinefur folded the collapsible scooter and hauled it up to her second-floor apartment. She laid it by the door to fumble with the keys.
Her apartment was nice for the working class. No wires or bare lightbulbs, cracks in the walls or floor tiles and she kept it clean as a whistle. Leaning the scooter against the wall, she went to the fridge to satisfy her growling stomach. Half a quart of milk, two expired yogurt cups, cheese with a suspicious greenish fuzz growing on the corners, a near-empty bag of baby carrots and a white box of leftover Chinese food.
“Um. Gross.” Pinefur check her other cupboards for something good to eat, to no avail. She opened the fridge again.
“Warrior Pinefur chooses noodles,” she muttered to herself, giggling at her inside joke. Throwing the box in the microwave, she stabbed the Express Heat button and slumped in her sole kitchen chair. Once the noodles were heated, she scarfed them down, then shuffled to her room. She fell on the bed without hesitation, falling into the dark realm of dreamless sleep before her head hit the pillow.
xx--.
Pinefur groaned, rubbing her head. An incessant pounding rocketed around the inside of her skull, proving this wasn’t going to be a good week.
When she realized the pounding was actually someone at the door, she hastened out of bed, stumbling over a box of takeout pizza before opening the door a crack. It was one of the newest citizens of Wish; a Kitty-Pet named Lightingstreak. She didn’t have the disheveled, homeless look of the lowest-ranking class in the city yet. She started upon meeting Pinefur’s gaze.
I guess seeing a cranky, overworked fourteen-year-old is enough to startle a ten-year-old for the rest of their week.
“P-Pinefur! I hope I didn’t wake you!” she stammered, fumbling with something in her hands.
“Then you wouldn’t have been knocking so loud,” the Warrior growled under her breath.
If Lightningstreak had heard her, she gave no indication. “Do you know what day it is?”
Pinefur rolled her eyes. It was the middle of a 1st Day morning. This kid was brave. “No, I don’t know what day it is. Tell me.”
“The first day of the Autumn Solstice! You’re getting promoted to Senior Warrior and Hail is getting promoted to Deputy!” She gave a little jump and handed Pinefur the small package she was holding. The receiver of the parcel tore it open to find a shiny, detailed pin signifying Senior Warrior status. The newly promoted teen couldn’t help but smile. She guessed this newcomer delivered pins for a living. The Kitty-Pet in question stood in her doorway, shuffling her feet, looking sheepish.
“Um…” she started, suddenly finding her feet quite interesting. “I… don’t have a TV… and Hail’s ceremony is going to be broadcasted right away…” She looked at Pinefur beseechingly. “Can I watch on your TV?”
The senior Wishian raised her eyebrows. So the rumors about Hail’s promotion had indeed been true. She didn’t often get company, being pretty quiet and shy. “Sure.” She stepped aside and Lightningstreak bounded in, suddenly a ball of excitement. She plunked down on Pinefur’s couch, staring excitedly at the TV. The Senior Warrior turned it to the Wish news station. A crowd had gathered in front of the Royal Administrative Embassy building, murmuring with excitement. Blizz, in all her purple-streaked, emo-cut hair and unique clothing glory, stood in front of the monolith holding a microphone and grinning. She cleared her throat, and the crowd settled instantly.
“Citizens of Wish!” Her voice rang out, happy and strong. “I’d like to welcome the newest member to our Elite team – Hailstorm Whitholm!” A tall, dark-haired girl emerged from the front of the crowd, cheeks burning with embarrassment and happiness. She smiled modestly and gave a small wave. Blizz handed her the microphone. The flushed Elite cleared her throat, then spoke.
“Thanks so much, guys! I know I’m not as popular as the other candidates for the position, but I’ll try my very best! Thanks so much!” She handed the microphone back to Blizz, her dark blush creeping to her neck.
“As you heard just now, Hail chose Whitholm as her last name. She’s going to be working in the fields of law, medicine and fitness. Let’s give her another round of applause.”
The new Elite Warrior blushed even more and scratched the back of her head, grinning humbly. Blizz rewarded her with five new pins; a Deputy; the newest pin fabricated, the Whitholm bloodline crest; and law, medicine and fitness pins. Hail accepted them with childish delight and pinned them to the lapels of her coat.
At that point Lightningstreak mashed the “off” button on the remote. “Wow! Wasn’t that neat to see? I really like the name Whitholm. I bet Hail’ll do a good job. Are you going to choose Hail’s bloodline as yours?”
“I’m still thinking.” Pinefur hadn’t actually given her decision any thought at all. But since most of the Deputies were retiring, and with Firestorm and Firestar semi-retired… she only really had two choices. There was confident, popular, funny Sunneth, or thoughtful, hard-working Hail. Each was extremely intelligent and talented, and Pine liked both of them for different reason.
“Yeah, I guess you gotta stand the pros and cons up against each other, eh?” Lightningstreak jumped to her feet. “Well, I’ve got more deliveries to make. See you, Pinefur!”
Pinefur looked up sharply. “Don’t sla-”
BAM.
“Slam the door,” she finished quietly. She pressed two fingers to her temples. She wasn’t used to company, and she found that after four year of solitude she couldn’t stand the presence of a fellow person.
You’d have to deal with people if you’re a Whitholm, she thought. Pinefur Ayasato, not so much. File records, order things to import into the city, and maybe take on reasonable client in law. Pinefur Whitholm would have to deal with screaming, sick ten-year-olds and people who wanted to lose weight but had no clue that their diet was pretty much composed of fat and didn’t think they needed to exercise at all. Each Deputy’s version of law’s a bit different, so you’ve got no idea what Hail’s will be like.
Pinefur attached the pin to the front of her pajamas. If she threw on a jacket, she might be able to go to the Marketplace, even though it was technically autumn and the air would be more crisp.
She looked at the digital clock display on her microwave. Almost eleven o’ clock. She could get a few hours of window shopping in. She grabbed her block overcoat and a gray-and-black-striped scarf. She moved her bedroom, and stuck one hand under the mattress. She felt around, fingers brushing across smooth fabric, then they abruptly caught on something. She ran her thumb along the edge. It was a paper of some sort. Receipt? Overdue taxes? She pulled it out. Twenty dollars. She smiled, folded it and dropped it in one of her pockets before locking the door and starting her commute to the Market Road.
The Marketplace was only accessible to Wish on the 1st Day of the week, which was also dubbed Market Day. There, people flocked to trade, display, buy and sell homemade goods. Pinefur liked the unique-flavored confectioneries and the modern paintings the most.
She heard the Marketplace before she saw it. People laughing, talking, walking; paper bags crinkling and rustling; feet scuffling; the occasional vehicle putting around, looking for a parking spot. She unconsciously quickened her pace, anticipating the main atmosphere of joy and happiness that could be found in the Marketplace.
And then the girl saw it. The street crowded to its limits with bustling people, sellers and prospective buyers alike. From a bird’s-eye view, it’d look like a path overrun with ants. Differently decorated stalls stood at the side, the merchants offering their items to sell. The Senior Warrior let a huge grin spread across her face. This was going to be fun, as always.
Pinefur melded into the crowd, drifting along with the flow, casting her judging gaze over different booths. Finally, she spotted one that caught her interest. Of course. Sandstar’s art booth. Pinefur navigated to the outskirts of the mainstream of people and walked over to the stall, made of crafted steel and glass. Maybe Sandstar would have a cheap little thing for a few dollars on sale.
The artist in question was in a deep conversation with someone. Pinefur didn’t glance twice at them; exotic-inspired artifacts held more rapture than a face to her.
Metallic-looking paints of purple, blue, green, brown, orange and other hues Pinefur couldn’t quite identify graced one canvas. What looked like an abstract sketch surrounded by crude brown brush strokes and gobs of paints filled another. A rectangle of blown glass with blue 3-D bubbles on the inside sat on a counter with several other glass figures. An enhanced, breathtaking photograph of the city at night from atop a skyscraper hung beside the many paintings. Pinefur couldn’t help but stare.
“Hey!” A friendly voice greeted, making Pinefur jump. Sandstar’s aquamarine eyes blinked warmly. “What’s up? You’re… Pinefur, right? You probably know who I am. Anything I can help you with?”
“Um.” The Senior Warrior’s eyes darted over all the tasteful pieces of art before settling on a vibrant aqua, navy and gray eight-by-ten painting. It looked small enough not to be too costly, and it’d match her furniture. “How much is the blue-and-gray painting-” She pointed at it- “-there?
Sandstar turned and looked. “Oh, thirty-five dollars.”
Dang, Pinefur thought and scanned the stand for something else she might like.
“Were you promoted recently?” Sandstar asked, scrutinizing Pinefur’s ranking pin.
“Yeah. Today, actually.”
“Wow, really? Good job! Hey, you liked that small gray painting, right?”
Pinefur nodded, forming a hunch about where this conversation was going.
Sandstar put it in a brown paper bag and thrust it into the younger Wishian’s direction. “It’s on me. Consider it a promotion gift.” The vendor smiled warmly.
Pinefur felt her face flush as she accepted the bag. No one had ever given her a present before. So things do change with rank, even if it was only one rank, and a very recent promotion, at that.
Sandstar put her hands on her hips and stared down the street, a thoughtful expression painting her face. “That Hail… she’ll make a good Deputy with some experience. She’s a little too easily flustered yet. But if I know her, she picks up on her mistakes right away.” She looked at Pinefur, eyes drifting into a more intense gaze. “You should become a Whitholm. I can just see it in you. Hail’d like someone like you. Study under her, and you’ll probably become one of the most successful StarClanners.”
So that's who she was talking to! “H-how do you know?” Pinefur stuttered. She couldn’t believe Sandstar had made such a prediction. But she was dubbed “Wish’s Thinker” for a reason.
Sandstar shrugged. “Hail’s line of thinking is similar to yours. Plus, you’ll excel in medicine and law. You’ve got the smarts, you just need a bit of people experience.”
“But I think I’d like being an-”
The vendor tapped one of her temples and grinned knowingly. “I’m an Ayasato, remember? I’ve got some precognition powers. In the end, you determine who you want to be, however.”
Pinefur blinked at the experienced StarClanner, and wondered why she wasn’t a Deputy. Deciding she had no business probing into her superior’s personal decisions, she thanked Sandstar and left.
Pinefur looked around some more, got free samples and discounts from friends, and finally came upon a stall that made profiles out of fudge, the kind normally made of marble and mounted on pedestals. These particular heads were in the form of the ancient cats that, they said, had created and sculpted the now-barren land and guided Blizz to conceptualize and construct the infrastructure for a thriving city. There were so many, baked with different colors, facial expressions and flavors. Each was made with intense detail; the cat heads looked almost real. Pinefur looked up at the store owner, chewing happy on the head of a brown tabby. The Senior Warrior grinned. She should’ve guessed Pepper would be spreading some sugar-induced hyper infection over Wish.
The caramel-haired girl started upon noticing she had a customer, nearly choking on her fudge.
“Pinefur!” she exclaimed happily, once she had swallowed. She smoothed out her white-and-green apron. “How’s it going? Oh, did you get promoted? Sweet! Hey, you should stick around. Hail’ll be coming over soon. I told her she had to. Look what I’m eating! It’s Hawkfrost’s head! I must be more evil than him…must…be…” She exploded into a fit of maniacal cackling, thoroughly creeping the younger Wishian out.
After Pepper was done twitching and giggling, she clasped her hands behind her back and smiled politely at Pinefur. “Did you want anything in particular? You know, one of the Ancient Cats was called Pinefur, too.” She held up chocolate in the likeness of a short-haired tabby cat. “I designed her with you in mind.”
Pinefur felt a small glow of happiness that someone cared for her. Most of the people she worked with were either overly dependent on her or each other, or were quite independent and never spoke unless it was on business terms.
You can’t really blame them, a voice in her head piped up. You’re really no better off, yourself. Flames and Lightningstreak were the only two you had a friendly chat with last week, which was yesterday.
Pinefur frowned, knowing the voice told the truth. But she couldn’t bring herself to have a friendly conversation with any of the friendly Mentors, Elders and StarClanners. Noticing a pattern between job and class to personality, she assumed the amicability of the senior Wishian had something to do with just being around friendly people. Would she really end up loving people and enjoying their company?
A flicker of shadow in front of her face snapped her out of her reverie. “Yoohoo. You gonna zone out all day or have some choice candy?” Pepper peered into the younger girl’s pale brown eyes, the feline-esque piece of chocolate in a bag for her.
Pinefur blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” She took the bag from Pepper. “Thank you.”
The hyper StarClanner grinned. “Wait around for Hail! Please?”
Even though Pinefur was very reluctant to stick around longer than she had to, she politely agreed to wait. She watched people as they passed, in different stages of their youth; some only around ten, unstately, underdeveloped little things that reminded Pinefur of “street rats” she had read about that lived in impoverished countries. Others were young adults; radiating confidence, hardly impressionable. The latter walked in pairs or trios, flaunting expensive clothes and handbags as they chatted carelessly, shopping bags in tow. Life in Wish was harsh and unforgiving during the first five years one spent until they were promoted to Mentors and finally acquired a prestigious career.
Pinefur guessed that by the manner Pepper was waving her arms wildly in the air, jumping up and down and making excited hyperventilating noises that the baker had spotted the newest Deputy. Pinefur turned her gaze from the main crowd to her left and saw a tall girl in a long-sleeved navy shirt, a long gray cotton sweater, dark jeans and a few pieces of wooden jewelry striding toward the fudge booth. Confidence streamed from her, and the young Senior Warrior knew this was Hail. The young woman strode up to the stall, possessing a smile that featured white, straight teeth.
The aproned blonde ran out from behind the counter to tackle her friend, throwing her arms around the Elite Warrior’s neck. Hail, caught off guard, made a loud squacking noise and staggered backwards, arms windmilling madly. Several fellow shoppers shot them annoyed looks before realizing who one of them was. Pinefur felt her face heat up. She felt embarrassed and idiotic, standing beside this pair of clownish hooligans.
An ever-grinning Pepper eventually jumped off of her much taller friend. She gestured to Pinefur.
“Pinefur, meet Hail. Hailishness, this is Pinefur.”
“Pinuh!” Hail exclaimed happily, creating a nickname for the shy teen on the spot. “How’re you?”
“Good,” Pinefur said quietly, unsure of how to reply to the role model’s unexpected outburst. If she’s going to help lead the city, she needs to learn some etiquette, the Senior Warrior thought tersely.
The Deputy offered her a toothy smile. Pepper chose to interrupt the broken conversation right then.
“So what’d you choose as your authoritative title?” she asked.
Hail bit her lip, looking puzzled. “Wha…?”
“Y’know. A title us lower-downs gotta address you by,” she explained, shooting a teasing wink in Pinefur’s direction. Pinefur decided to stay involved in the conversation by helping Pepper out.
“Like, how Sunneth is also Master Ayasato,” she offered. Even though it should technically be Mistress, but I’m not going to argue.
“Oh!” Hail yelled. “I get it! I get it now. I chose Major. Kind of relating to the fitness field since there’s military training involved, and that’s a big part of it.”
Pepper nodded. “Coo-ol.” She handed Hail a paper bag. “Here’s a free fudge head! Heehee, fudge head. That sounds so epic.” She giggled, then cleared her throat upon seeing the look on Hail’s face. “Anyway. You and Pine both got promoted today, so you both get free samples!”
Hail scratched the back of her head, looking bashful. “Hey, you should give Pinuh two; she deserves them more than me,” she mumbled.
“Because I can’t feed myself?” Pinefur asked indignantly, punching the taller girl playfully in the arm.
Hail waved her hands in the air frantically, ears turning beet red. “N-no! That’s not what I meant…! Sorry!”
The younger Wishian double over laughing at Hail’s animated, horrified expression. “Relax! It was just a joke!” She could feel herself warming up to the Major already.
The Elite Warrior’s supposedly “noble” presence was clearly lost on Hail, whose face went from flustered to vexed to embarrassed realization. It suddenly struck Pinefur that the Deputies were still human. Some of them seemed almost robotic to her. Now, she felt ashamed of ever assuming that.
“Hey, congrats on the promotion, Pinuh,” Hail said, leaning on the counter of Pepper’s stand as the vendor busied herself with new customers. “You’ve got to take up a line to study now. Thinking of going Ayasato?” The Major smiled warmly with understanding.
“Well…” Pinefur picked at her paper bag, wondering how to word her sentence. She recalled what Sandstar had said to her. “Well, Sandstar said she thought I’d do better joining your bloodline. Precognition, right?” Pinefur pondered the many uses of seeing a possible future.
Hail’s eyebrow’s shot up into her bangs with interest as she gulped down a last delicious-looking mouthful of chocolate. “…Sandstar? Not that I don’t trust Wish’s Thinker – she has good intuition – but whatever you choose is your decision to make. Just because you’re deciding doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve already decided.”
Pinefur nodded wordlessly.
The boisterous Major clapped Pinefur on the shoulder, her hidden strength nearly making the unprepared teen lose her footing.
“It’d be cool to have you on the team, though! But I’ve gotta run. See you later, Pinuh! Bye, Pepper!” she threw over her shoulder as she strode into the crowd. Pinefur could’ve sworn the sun seemed a lot brighter, but she decided her eyes were playing tricks on her.
She bid a preoccupied Pepper farewell and disappeared among the crowd once more.
It was a wonderful afternoon. Word got around Wish like wildfire, and soon everyone was stopping Pinefur to congratulate her on her promotion. The Senior Warrior was surprised; she hadn’t been under the pretense that she was well-known.
Pinefur passed Hail and Sunneth on her way out of the Marketplace at the end of the day, giving them a little wave before starting back towards her apartment.
Pinefur walked towards the familiar teal-painted door, fumbling for her keys. She inserted the golden key in the lock, and twisted. It stuck fast. The Wishian grasped the key with both hands and pulled. The key didn’t budge. The Senior Warrior finally looked up to see a sticky note taped to the grimy door. It read:
You have been transferred to Thunder Crossroads Condominiums until further notice. Your room is 106. THIS IS NOT YOUR PERMANENT SETTLEMENT.
Pinefur’s heart leapt. A bigger, cleaner apartment! Mentors had actual houses, so Senior Warriors had the biggest apartments in Wish.
Directions were written neatly on the bottom of the note. Pinefur exited the old, low-end building, hopped on her scooter and cruised to the address, tucked away down a narrow side street near the Royal Administrative Embassy. The condos were cozy and very clean. Pinefur placed her bags down in the front entrance, noticing the room was barren of furniture except for a hovering blue screen on a wall at the back. As if entranced, Pinefur walked slowly toward it. Words flashed across the screen as the young teen approached.
[Welcome, Pinefur.]
Said girl leaped in surprise. A flash flickered under her hands, then turned into a solid, hovering, semitransparent keyboard. Her fingers skimmed rapidly across the keys.
How do you know my name?
Pinefur bit her lip, unsure how that would physically work without hiring someone. Sure.
The screen turned a different shade of green. [Processing data… 64% complete.]
The Wishian saw holograms of her familiar furniture appear, more spaced out because her new apartment was roomier. The feeling of improved nostalgia made Pinefur glow on the inside. She was soon going to earn more money, she lived in a nice part of the city, and she had a super-intelligent computer that probably had an infinite number of uses.
Exhausted from her optimal day, she dragged herself to her bedroom and flopped down on her bed. Tomorrow, she could walk across the street to the Embassy and choose a bloodline, or at least consider the pros and cons of each.
As the Senior Warrior snuggled under the sheets, she noticed her bed was no longer stiff and lumpy, but soft and downy. She sighed blissfully and drifted off.
Wow, I can't fit too many before I need to move to the next post... man, I hope we move back, I sense that this thread is going to get WAY disorganized. ;-;
Quadruple-post?
