“Miss Loughvein,” Madam Dague said, handing Quinn a bag from behind the counter. “I would be insulted if you didn’t.” 

It didn’t take long for her to get everything packed up, finished by the time the clerk was finished ringing up her dress. It was that easy. A simple swipe and now, the beautiful thing was [i]her[/i] beautiful thing. Of course, that simplicity crumbled under more than a moment’s scrutiny; she had plenty of money, yes, but why? 

From a certain perspective it had come rather easily. Pilots didn’t often work tirelessly throughout the day, collapsing sore and thankless in the early hours of the morning only to wake up exhausted to do it all over again. There were hordes of people in Illun who likely assumed [i]this[/i] was Quinn’s life. Strolling through the most exclusive places in and out of the world, spending exorbitant amounts of cash on a spontaneous shopping sprees and skipping year-long waitlists on a whim for food she wouldn’t finish. Some would deride the lifestyle as detached and wasteful, others would envy it. A few might even envy the parts that afforded her these privileges. 

The truth was, plenty of pilots never got to spend the money they made. How much capital did RISC make funneling Safie and Ghaust’s accounts back into their coffers? What had the CSC done with the windfall of [i]Chateau[/i]’s demise? Or the pilots Roaki had killed? 

Was Quinn’s bank account really a boon? Or was it a grim reminder, a taunt: ‘[i]Even if you never make another cent, you’ll probably be dead before you dent it.[/i]’

She left the boutique behind, dress donned, bag in hand, and made a quick turn back for the lift. This time there was no inconspicuous shuffling or ducking of the head or stuffing of the braid to hide behind, and a crowd formed quickly behind her. As before, no one came up close, but several people called out, cheered, some waved small posters of [i]Ablaze[/i]. One woman wore a shirt with a cartoonish rendition of Quinn herself on it, braid flowing, with a miniature of her Savior’s cannon hefted onto her shoulder. There were likely a few gift shops scattered throughout the district that would soon sell similar merchandise. 

When the lift doors shut, the quiet returned. In the dim metal, Quinn could see a hazy reflection of herself. The silhouette was…unfamiliar, to be sure, even without the details. Who was this shape with her name? Would the girl who had ventured so apprehensively from that room in Hovvi recognize her now? Perhaps she could simply ask. 

Before she could though, that reflection split as the doors opened once again, and she returned to the beige silence of the dorms.