It was both the blessing and curse of Zenobucks to be open just as Ipte gave way to Shune. It was still and dark, the sun just a glow on the horizon, the great hordes of commonfolk just rolling out of bed, the brilliant blanket of stars starting to fade from the brightening sky.
There was a serenity to it - a peace - and Ersand'Enise, that great burgeoning metropolis that always seemed to be welling with people, magic, danger, and opportunity, felt oddly intimate at this hour.
As a tethered, Marceline had been taught from the moment she first opened her eyes in the Refuge at St. Agustin, some girl with strange dreams, no memories, and no name, to block out the noise, lest it overwhelm her. In the silence of the desert, she'd practiced: a small unnamed person atop the sandstone parapets, watching their long, somber shadows skew and shorten as the vast golden sun peered over the horizon.
And every morning, she would return, as Amanda Escarra, her mother, observed and guided her from below, shaping the unnamed girl into a Marceline who might someday thrive outside of those walls. She learned the hum of the insects and the heat of the sun, the way the stones gathered it in and bled it out. She felt the people sleeping in their beds: the tiny pulses within their minds and bodies, the changing chemicals as they began to stir. Then came the voices, and how they devastated her at first. She shut them out and wished she couldn't feel them for, even here, deep in el mar de dunas, there were too many. So much movement, so much sound and heat and energy!
Over half of tethered failed to ever acclimate. They shut their sixth sense out, denying the half of their curse that was Gift. Gradually, in bits, Marci had opened herself. As mother's health had waned and she had moved from two to zero, the girl had strained to give her this present: the knowledge that it had all been worth it, that her daughter would succeed, that she might make something of her short life.
And then she had stood alone - truly alone - atop those walls, though sometimes she might sense Abuelo in the distance. Still, she opened herself, ever more. Still, she encountered the wonders of the world: how those small hills she had never questioned were a pack of halassa hibernating in the sand, the great reverberating rumble of the heavens as vast anvil-shaped clouds flowed like rivers overhead and then opened up to bring the desert to life. Then came the long grasses, the bees, and the lizards for those next few months, the enormous ancient shape of a distant sand wyrm in its endless trek across the wastes, far out there at the very hazy edge of her range.
How blessed she had felt to live in this world and to be able to sense the things that she did, but time began to steal the girl's happiness. By Marci's third year, as the Afortunado came to select her, her feet were alien things and her ankles could give her no more. Every morning began with strapping on a pair of braces and the climb up the stairs had become an arduous one. Her mother had well and truly cloistered and, for the first time, her imminent death had become a real thing, and a source of endless anxiety. The wagons that would come and go twice each month grew into objects of intense interest. She well understood that the sensory bombardment of the real world could be too much for some tethered, but mother had managed it in her younger years, when she had gone out on assignments.
Then, they had assigned her a wheelchair and bade her to practice and it had all come to feel so small and hopeless and limiting. By the age of thirteen, a deep anxiety had set in about her future, maybe even a malaise. It was only the arrival of six students of Ersand'Enise that had saved her, in every way possible.
Now, Marceline's footsteps, swift and sure, clattered over the flagstones of the city's streets. Her senses swept for the usual early morning denizens, and she made her way with purpose.
Dew sparkled on lawns and hedges and the iron balustrades of fine homes. A fox skittered towards the arboretum, where it kept its den. A cat rubbed against a planter box at the door of a townhouse, its eyes glowing faintly golden in the early morning murk. Marci reached into her bag and pulled out a smaller cloth sack as she neared her destination. Her senses were alive with the city now, as Shune finally burst over the horizon in all of his brilliance.
Somewhere up above, floated Jocasta, as was her early-morning custom. Born-on-Solstice and a handful of sunblessed sat on rooftops, recharging for the day. The aroma of strange sauces met her nose as she passed a guesthouse where some Retanese were staying and already cooking themselves a breakfast. One of the great bells of the cathedral lay dormant, its clapper gently swinging as a trio of pigeons landed on it. She could sense the tarnishing of its bronze surface: the subtle chemical changes.
Then, she was there. The fourth Zenobucks location - the one close to the Proving Grounds - was the newest, and they were on event hours, event pricing, and event staffing. She had determined it was in need of some extra care, especially with Tku absent, given that he was a competitor in the Trials, after all.
"Good not-quite morning!" she chirped at the staff. None of them were students by necessity, and a couple had been poached from their duties as carpenters, housewives, and washerwomen. "And thank you so very much for helping us out today." The booth was looking shipshape, but for one corner of the sign where the cheap wood they'd used was warping and pulling out the nail it was bolted in with. Marceline took a moment to focus her binding magics and render it passable. She made a mental note to replace it, contingency budget allowing.
Laying the cloth sack down on the table, she pulled out tarts for all four of the shop's employees: Muriel, the head baker; Lisette, the cashier; Vittorio, the deliveryman; and Franz, who handled maintenance and whatever else was needed - truly a versatile man. They wasted no time in ambling up and they were a good crew: capable, friendly, and generally problem-solvers where needed. Why, Muriel had even come up with a new type of tart the previous week that had been a hit with customers. They would be piloting it in an official capacity starting tomorrow. "Oh, and for the little one, Franz," Marceline added, pulling out a tiny bonnet for his newborn daughter. She spent two more minutes catching up with them, clarified a few things about the rollout tomorrow, and was on her way to the next store. Successful businesses did not run themselves, and Zenobucks - once little more than an inside joke - had become successful indeed.
It was a little over an hour later that Marceline was finished her morning rounds. The sun was up, all four locations within Ersand'Enise were open, and she had one more errand to run. Twice, she had nearly tripped in the areas of the city that had cobbles. Thankfully, only one of the shoppes absolutely required that she cross the picturesque little ankle-breaking stones. What it highlighted, however, was that her toes, with the vital balance they provided, had gone almost completely numb.
The shimmering coins jingled faintly in her coinpurse as the young tethered made her way through the Queensgate and out of the city. It took annoyingly long for, once more, there was something of a queue. A handful of tents and lean-tos hunkered under the palms and by the guardhouse and in them were yasoi who'd fled the invasion of their nations by the Tarlonese. Some appeared normal enough - or as normal as a yasoi could ever be - while others twitched or talked to themselves or looked about hungrily in ways that were profoundly unnatural. Addicts, the girl knew, feeling distinctly uncomfortable around their blank, leering stares, restless dashes to nowhere, and endless fidgeting. There was a reek to them too. "'scuse mem, I loss my wagon on go in," said one, grabbing at the folds of her dress, "lend coin Lachon pay back. Just need small lend. Lachon get wagon. All good!" His hands were on her and the girl stumbled back, nearly falling, and scampered away. Instead, she was stuck waiting in line while he and the other hovered around.
Once she was allowed through, Marci quickly made her way past, enhancing her speed with kinetic and chemical magics. The entire experience had unsettled her and she found herself happy to see the signage of the Vermilion Swirl. It was time for The groove and another Grey aberration. The last time she'd taken one had been back in Tiptos and it should've lasted her until the end of Mittria, at least, but here she was at the start of Assani. She hoped it wouldn't become a pattern. Maybe The Groove's merchandise was faulty. Maybe the place was a scam...
That was when she sighted Abdel, hanging around outside the famous - or perhaps infamous - pleasure house. Just like she had when they'd been children, Marceline snuck up behind him. "Well well well kiddo," she teased, "Fancy finding you here. I'd say I never took you for the type, but..." She trailed off with a merciless little grin.
Abdel perked up as he felt his personal bubble be a little too invaded. He preemptively turned to confront the little rogue, only to meet a very familiar face. “Well well,” he parroted, arms crossed before his chest as if she spoke some truths. He cocked a brow at the joke. “how's it going with Fiske, Brandaeble?” he smirked, eyes not-so-subtly shifting between her and the esteemed establishment they were, or were about to be, frequenting. “But really, what brings you here? Zeno Bucks aspirations?” he smiled with brief checks over his shoulder as if he was waiting for something.
Marci arched an eyebrow. "No, Abdul. I'm here to visit my secret hunky boyfriend, Chad." She tried rising onto her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder, but they were dead things: all the more reason for her to do this now. "Who ya lookin' out for anyway, though?"
“A friend.” the intonation and briefness of his tone, as well as the context of a brothel made his guarded posture all the more telling. Abdel stared at his childhood friend's eyes, lingered and then snorted. “An actual friend. Her name's Tiff. She-” then it clicked. “You're not here for business, are you?” his pointer finger stuck out of his crossed arms and wagged at her direction. “It's that 'secret' tavern-club thing, isn't it?”
Marci saw no point in hiding it. She nodded, crossing her arms as well. This was often how they seemed to speak to each other: behind crossed arms and layers of witty remarks until he just went earnest and she was reminded that they'd grown up together. "Yeah, it's The Groove." She sniffed and uncrossed her arms. "Stupid name, but very useful place." For a moment, she hesitated, as if about to say more.
Abdel snapped with the wagging finger. “That's it.” he pivoted to have the entrance to the establish on one side and Marci to the other. “Tiff chaperoned me the first time. I was hoping to see her again, but ...” he pursed his lips and shrugged. “I didn't, and still don't, have any of their coins. So ... I never found out if this was the real deal. Abs 'n' all.” he looked Marceline's way with an inquisitive eye. “So, is it?”
"Why do you think I'm here?" she inquired, kicking at some sort of nut that had fallen from one of the trees overhead. "Gonna go in and take a grey." She scrunched her face up for a second, annoyed. "Last one hardly lasted. My toes are fucked." Her eyes flicked their way for a moment before rising to - briefly - meet Abdel's.
Abdel's heart beat a twinge faster when he heard 'grey'. Not white, nor black. Grey. But then Marci's additional comment brought his brows to furrow. “Really? Was it just small? Or lousy, maybe.” he shrugged, opting for optimism before letting reality disappoint him once more. “Frankly, I'm giga-broke. But one of the girls here actually brought up work.” he paused, realized what he had said and shook his head. “In the Groove. Work in the groove. For coins. Figured if I was gonna make a living, I'd do it standing up.”
“Anyway, shall we? I'll meet up with Tiff later.”
Marci didn't wait for his hasty explanation. She began cracking up even as Abdel realized what it was he'd said. "I mean, shune..." She trailed off. "I don't even wanna make fun of that. It's too easy." She began heading for the door, shaking her head and still grinning. "You can come with me, but I'm not just giving you a sympathy ab, you know. They're... not cheap."
“And you're not charity, huh?” smirked Abdel, letting the lady pass first before they made their way to their exclusive club. “... How about a credit ab instead?”
The girls - and boys - of the Swirl could sense that Marceline wasn't here for their offerings and so their greetings were simple and friendly and perfunctory. She led Abdel past the bar area, which was at its emptiest at this time of day, and towards a curtained room near the latrines. She sighed and regarded him evaluatively, hesitating. "You're not gonna leave me hanging, right?" she asked with an unexpected intensity.
Abdel, on the other had, tried to keep himself tense-free. “You know where I live. And where my girls live.” he chuckled. “I wouldn't do you dirty, Marci.”
She seemed to slacken a bit at that. "Yeah, I know. Sorry." She laughed weakly and scratched at the back of her head, kind of like Rikard sometimes did. "It's just... you know: people like us really need this stuff and I always have to keep enough cash on hand just in case." She forced a smile and a pep in her step. "I can spot you for now, even interest-free this time."
“Interest-free?” Abdel grimaced. “Who are you and what did you do to Marceline?” he jested. “This is almost too good to be true, if you ask me. Either the abs are not what we thought, or these coins are going to be the end of me.” he sighed.
"I am a generous god," she chuckled, pushing through. Beyond was a dark room, and a couple of large shadowy figured hovered about, but the underaged duo was never approached. "But I have my suspicions as well." She twisted and shrugged in the dimness. "trying to stay optimistic." She led Abdel to a door near the back, then, and opened it to reveal a closet within. "Hand," She commanded matter-of-factly.
“Sure thing, Jo.” the hand was ordered, and so it came.
And, finally, they set foot into the Groove, the supposed salvation of their kind.
Abdel's attention was quickly taken by something that was not the aberration café, or even the bar. “Is that a frog?”
Marci knocked on the back wall in a distinctive pattern and then... stepped right through, taking him with her. Inside was, well... The Groove. It still hadn't quite lost its wonder for her either. "You know, I've never actually asked," she admitted. "Looks kinda intelligent, though, right?" She'd lowered her voice, of course. "Or as intelligent as a frog can be, at least." She'd released his hand and was leading him towards the bar anyhow, sparing glimpses in the strange being's direction.
The closer they got to the bar, the easier to was to notice the sign next to the notorious Goroci. “'Cee Weird Sign One. Is - Is that a lot?” he took a seat but just couldn't get his eyes off the improvised stand of the Zweihander wielding individual. “If it is, there's your guarantee.”
Marceline had seated herself as well. She glanced over her shoulder. "Abdel," she replied, voice barely above a whisper, "you don't have to go on a suicide mission." There was a quick, tight smile. Meanwhile, a couple of yasoi were letting out sighs of delight as they twirled about inside of black aberrations. A sickly-looking old woman took in a white and seemed to recover before their very eyes. "I trust that you're good for it. Pay me back when you can. Okay?"
Abdel turned to look at her. The levity was nowhere to be found in his eyes. There was something in there, something serious and that needed to get out. Anger, or maybe fear, that grew exponentially when concern mistaken for pity was tended to him. But, quickly enough, he smiled with his features softened. “Almost had me there,” he shook his head. “but we've seen the worst before, haven't we, Marci?” his elbows rested over the counter as he leaned forward. “Dictators, demons, infested dragons ... What's some Froggy odd job with a bit of peril at this point?”
She snorted. "That's exactly why I trust nothing at this point." There was an unsure smile that grew, with some coaxing, into a smirk. The bartender was a thin, towering, unusual-looking woman who strode up to them silently. She must've been over eight feet tall and was distinctly yasoi and... something else. "Hello, dears, and what can I get for you?" she offered, tilting her head. With every word she spoke, a series of colours and images that seemed to support her meaning flashed about her.
Abdel looked up to acknowledge the unusually tall woman. Ogauraq, he thought, with a good serving of Yasoi too. “Uhm,” he looked at Marci for the okay before passing the order. “Two,” he pointed at one of the options on display. “Greys ...?”
"Small greys," Marceline hastily amended, and the towering woman bowed her head in a very Retanese way. "And that will be all?" Images of money and conclusions and the aberrations flashed through the air around them. Marci seemed entranced. "Oh! Why yes," she confirmed, taking out the necessary coin and blushing. "Very good. I certainly hope they do the job." The barkeep smiled and moved off: huge and ponderous on the one hand, incredibly graceful on the other. Marceline leaned in "Is that... an ogre-rack?" she whispered with no small measure of wonder.
Abdel's zoned out completely, he himself entranced by the aberrations. When beckoned by Marci, he had to shake himself out of his gluttonous daze. “Huh? Oh.” he shamelessly gawked at the bartender. “Yeah. They always do the funny image thing too. We -” he was about to go on a tangent. A not so pleasant one, considering what happened to the giants of ReTan during their visit. “Nevermind.” he focused on what mattered. “Bon appétit, I guess?”
This did not go unnoticed by Marci, but she wasn't about to prod. That wasn't the sort of relationship they had. The bartender arrived and with a surge of magic and a double snap of the fingers, a pair of cantaloupe-sized grey aberrations appeared in front of the pair of young tethered. "You enjoy it all, now. Alright?" More of those images flashed about.
"Guten appetit," she replied, heart already starting to beat faster. She wanted it and now it was hers. Marceline reached out and...
Out of the Vermillion Swirl came out two teens with swollen with energy, hopes and RAS. The Greys, as they call them, had done their work and the staff waved yet another set of happy customers goodbye.
“Really makes you think,” Abdel couldn't help but question his blessings. “how do they get these?” he said as the overflow of energy had him do a couple of leg intensive stretches. The persistent ants pricking his feet were gone were gone.
Marci was busy flexing her toes back and forth. She breathed a deep sigh of relief. Everything was back to normal. Jauntily, or perhaps just to bleed off some of the excess energy, she twirled on the spot. "Oh, I wonder quite a bit as well," she admitted, coming to a stop. Her hair swished about her and she took a moment to reach up and fix it. "but as long as the keep-me-not-crippled juice keeps a-comin', I won't ask any questions..." She furrowed her brow and there was a surge of magic as she dropped a sonic negation bubble around them. "unless there's a way to cut out the middleman, of course."
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