Great puffs of brilliant white smoke rose over the St. Pellier house as the sun tracked high over the cloudy Doniaeth skies. The small two-story property, located at the edge of the neighborhood, was a humble place in all regards, with dull grey cobblestone walls and a planked wooden roof. Had it not been in “the quarantine zone,” as so many called it, it would have been an average house of no note. But in this area, it was quite a luxury, where most of the residents lived in packed tenements or little huts that would pass in no other place than a shantytown. The house was well-maintained and was cleanly washed daily by a pair of small automatons that substituted for a caretaker, but the small garden up front was dead and wilted, for Lyna’s horticultural endeavors had failed time and time again in the putrid air surrounding the city. The sad little garden was one of the scarce few signs that gave an insight to her past self. For all accounts, the young vampire had settled in and was quite accustomed to life in the quarantine zone, despite having only arrived a little under two years ago. And as it was, on that particularly smoggy day, things carried on as usual, as it always did. At least, until the news came. “Out, out, out, out of the way! Make way for the rampaging death robot!” A sharp cry rose above the crowded square of the quarantine zone as a metallic ball-shaped object barreled down the road, followed by a black haired vampire kicking up dust and furiously sprinting after the runaway automaton. The aforementioned bot was Lyna’s most recent creation, once again born out of her incurable laziness. It was a tool-bot, or [i][url=http://i.imgur.com/mCUCDYM.jpg]Tobie[/url][/i], as she affectionately named it. It was a small robot with a simple AI created as an extension of her earlier “folding missiles” concept, made with the sole purpose of storing equipment and following Lyna around like a slave. Unfortunately, it didn’t function as well as it was supposed to, and it had booted itself off the side of her roof and down into the town as she worked on simple maintenance. The people in the square parted in the middle like quicksilver at the sound of the raucous din coming down the hill. The gesture was not needed, for the little automaton came to a screeching halt at Lyna’s hand just short of running into an elderly gentleman with a cane at the end of the road. The young engineer came to a staggered stop right behind it, smiling apologetically. Before it had another chance of running away, she grabbed it by one of its metal ears and rapped it triumphantly with her fist. The old man smiled warmly with brilliant golden eyes, clearly unfazed by the fact that he had nearly been clocked on the head by a renegade roly-poly robot. “Oh, Lyna. Still working on the roof?” She continued to smile sheepishly, tugging harshly at the bot’s ears to its apparent displeasure. “Yep, it’s a constant struggle. Steam engines don’t mix well with wood, you see, and with the war effort going as strong as ever, there’s not much time to do much about it.” The old man wrinkled his face. “You haven’t heard of the ceasefire? You’re going to have plenty of time to get at that roof now.” “N-no, I haven’t… I’ve been a little busy.” Lyna had indeed been out of touch of recent news for the past few days working on Tobie, but the words [i]ceasefire[/i] barely registered in her brain. It was probably the first time in her lifetime–and perhaps the old gentleman’s—that there was a ceasefire between Doniaeth and another nation. Although shocking, it might be a welcome change, and Lyna decided she would mull over it with a chilled beer when she got back to the house. With an awkward wave, she made the annoying struggle back up her hill, abusively dragging the plump bot behind her legs. --- Back up at the house, Lyna was greeted by the local courier making his daily rounds. The foolish-looking young man, probably five years her junior, had a large stack of letters and a package waiting for her, likely because she had refused the doorbell twice in the past two days. He touched the brim of his courier’s cap before handing her the large stack of letters, bound together with a thin piece of twine. Wordlessly, the man scuttled away to the next house, no doubt late on his mail route for one reason or another. Lyna jostled the packages under her left arm before pushing open the door to her house with her body. Almost immediately inside, the inventor exhaled deeply, breathing out the filthy, toxic Doniaeth air and breathed in the pure, filtered air of her humble abode. She tossed the package aside onto a small wooden table next to the door, narrowly missing the well-maintained bonsai plant atop it. The stack of letters sailed across the room and onto a simple leather couch in the same fashion as she finally let go of Tobie to take her sooty black coat off. After fixing a cup of steaming tea, Lyna plopped down on her couch, immediately propping up her feet on top of the coffee table. She grabbed the bundle of the letters she had earlier cast aside and undid the yarn holding them together. She sorted through them quickly, tossing the unwanted letters into a nearby wastebasket without a second thought. “Junk, junk, what’s this, HOA? Definitely junk. Not touching that with a ten foot pole. Official correspondence and despatches… I’ll save that for later. Junk, more junk… What’s this? Neville?” Lyna’s petty murmurings came to a halt as her hand stopped on an envelope addressed in neat handwriting by one Neville St. Pellier. Without taking her eyes off the familiar lines of her cousin’s handwriting, she called for the bumbling roly-poly, which scurried over on its ball-bearing wheels. Making a few low-pitch beeps, a flap opened up between its two round ears and efficiently extended a small knife by the handle. With a single clean sweep, she took the knife and broke open the wax seal. Returning the knife to her short retainer, she scanned the letter, eager to learn of how her cousin was doing, of his technical and engineering endeavors, his progress on the battlefield, and of news from the capital. Young Neville had little to say on academia, much to her disappointment, but he had a whole host of information from the capitol and on the battlefield. Reading his letter confirmed the rumor of ceasefire from the old man was true. A monster so fierce had appeared that even the powerful general Donian army with its logistical and technological genius had retreated. The capital was in a bit of an upheaval –a little more than it usually was—and the ceasefire was a hot topic of contention to many people. Lyna smiled lightly as she read the last lines of the letter; it ended almost nonchalantly with a comment in passing on the proposed mission against beast. [i] “P.S., see if you can stop by the old house on your way. I’ve left a small surprise.” [/i] --- [i]Two days later… [/i] Lyra was greeted by two guards as she approached the main quarantine gate, with brief bag and Tobie in tow. The two armored soldiers gave a gesture of recognition, which she reciprocated with a small wave of her hand. “Official business at the capital again, Ms Lyna?” asked one of the soldiers in an amiable tone as he looked down at the paper in her hand. “No,” said Lyna, holding up the paper. “A vacation.”