Alan gave Madame Cinder a polite nod and smiled with practiced cheer.
"Okay, safe travels."
Without a word, Madame Cinder extended her wings and launched into the air. The flap produced a soft sonic boom that trembled through the windowpanes and made the desk rattle.
Alan winced as the echo faded into silence.
Finally. That damn old hag. Wait… is she even old? By human years or pigeon years? Whatever, just one flap and she leaves a sonic footprint.
He turned from the window, slouched into his chair, and leaned back, eyes drifting toward the ceiling.
"Hmm… what should I buy?" he muttered, fingers tapping the armrest. "Brand new clothes? Or a revolver?"
He stared at his fraying sleeves, tugging one absentmindedly.
A revolver's loud, but good for safety. New clothes would at least stop me from looking like a person who only relies on insurance, and has no source of income in other words, being broke.
His gaze wandered to the blank wall in front of him. His eyes slowly lost focus. His lids drooped.
Then his body jolted forward, and he blinked.
"Did I… doze off?" He rubbed his face, shoulders sagging. "Yeah, looks like I need sleep after a day like this."
Standing, he peeled off his worn tuxedo and unpinned the top hat from his flattened hair. He carefully hung the coat on the rack, then placed the hat on a rusted wall hook. His footsteps were soft on the wooden floor as he made his way to the small kitchen nook.
Should I eat that sliced bread I saved? Or wait it out and skip lunch? Might stretch the loaf for another day.
He grabbed a small dented pot, filled it with tap water, and set it on the stove. The flame clicked, then caught.
Boiled water again. Maybe I could ask Lady Amber for some tea… If she's got Yellow tea, that would be perfect, sweet, with that vanilla hint.
He walked to the window, wiping a bit of steam from the glass with his sleeve. His eyes scanned the view outside.
No sign of her.
He sighed through his nose and whispered,
"Guess she's not outside. And I'm too damn shy to knock on her window."
Alan stepped outside, pulling the wooden door shut behind him with a soft clack. The street was already alive with sound and color.
Vendors shouted over one another, calling out prices for fresh fruit and vegetables. Children darted between carts, laughing and shoving, while a red-faced mother tugged her son away from a street brawl by the collar.
Alan paused at the doorstep, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
I miss that… when me and my sisters used to fight. Allure would always barge in, arms crossed, scolding like she owned the house, and us.
He turned his head to the right. His old metal mailbox leaned slightly to one side, its paint flaking. He walked up and opened it, the rusty hinge creaking.
Empty.
He sighed, rubbing his neck.
"Empty again."
Should I just go ask Lady Amber? Yeah… I should. The longer I avoid it, the worse the anxiety gets. Maybe talking to people would help. A little.
He turned left, walking down the worn path between houses. Just a few paces down stood a modest green house with a second floor and wide front windows. He glanced up at it, eyes narrowing slightly.
Is this middle-class? She does have a second floor… but in a district like this? Surrounded by coal and soot. Eh, no use judging. Especially not me.
Halfway to the steps, his eyes widened slightly.
Wait. Wasn't I supposed to buy orange jam from Miss Anny's bakery yesterday? Damn it. Totally forgot. Should I ask Amber for that too?
He stopped in front of the green door, took a breath, then raised his hand and knocked with his middle finger.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
No response at first, then, slow footsteps shuffled inside. The door clicked open.
Lady Amber stood in the doorway. Her straight, amber-colored hair framed her calm face. She wore a plain, long-sleeved blouse and a deep brown skirt that brushed the tops of her worn shoes.
"Ohhh, it's you, Alan!" she said, smiling warmly. "How are you? It's been a while since we last talked. Want to come in?"
Alan scratched the back of his head and avoided her eyes.
"Ah, no, no need. I was just wondering… do you maybe have any tea leaves? And, um, orange jam? Could I have some?"
Amber's smile softened. She leaned slightly on the doorframe.
"Of course we have tea, but I'm afraid we're out of orange jam. Sorry, I know you love that stuff." She perked up a little. "But hey, would you like to try some onion jam? I just made it earlier morning."
Alan's eyes brightened as a smile spread across his face, his shoulders loosening with rare ease.
"Sure, I'll try it," he said, voice light. "And I only need four leaves of tea. I just want a taste, really."
Lady Amber chuckled softly and gave him a nod. "Alright, wait here. I'll be right back."
She turned and stepped inside, her soft footsteps fading quickly. Alan caught a glimpse through the open doorway, warm yellow lighting from a modest chandelier, polished wood floors that gleamed like someone cared, and a green couch that still held its shape. Everything was clean. Lived in. Quiet.
He blinked, eyes trailing upward.
Chandeliers? And well-maintained flooring… here, on Dright Street 47? Most houses here can barely hold in warmth. Why stay in a place like this? She probably has her reasons. It's not my place to dwell.
The front door creaked open again.
Lady Amber returned, holding a wicker basket covered neatly with a cloth streaked in red. She held it like it weighed something.
Alan took a step forward, hand half-raised. "Wait, Lady Amber, this is too much. I only asked for a few tea leaves and your onion jam. Why a whole basket?"
She smiled gently, her eyes scanning his face. "Don't worry about it. Just take it. I was planning to sell them, but… well, you don't look like you're in the best shape. Think of it as a favor."
Before he could answer, she looped the basket's handle over his forearm. His mouth parted slightly. He stood there, stunned, fingers frozen in place as she stepped back.
Why does this feel like charity? I didn't mean to-
"Take care now," she said, already halfway through the door. "Just accept it. Bye!"
The door closed with a soft thud.
Alan blinked twice, still standing on her doorstep.
She just gave me the basket. Just like that? Then shut the door? What just happened?
He turned slowly, eyes wide, and began walking back home. His boots made dull taps on the stone path as he crossed the narrow street. His mind churned with fragmented thoughts, too jumbled to land on anything clear.
By the time he reached his door, the weight of the basket had finally caught up to his arm.
He grasped the door handle, twisted it.
Click.
He stepped inside and let the door shut behind him with his back. The house was dim and narrow, the floor slightly uneven. He walked into the kitchen where the faint bubbling of water whispered from the pot on the stove.
Alan turned off the flame and exhaled. Steam still hovered in the air.
He set the basket down on the table, then sat with a soft thump. A brief silence filled the room.
What did she even put in here? It felt heavier than just tea and jars.
He pulled back the red-striped cloth. His eyes widened slightly.
Inside were three jars of dark, glossy onion jam, three fresh-baked wheat loaves, and a labeled container that read:
Yellow Tea Leaves.
Alan leaned back slightly, lips pressed together.
This is way too much. I don't even have a place to store this. If only I had a refrigerator… or even just a storage.
He stared at the container for a second longer.
I should thank her. I really should. But I'm already home, and I'm not going back there just to say it. Maybe if I say it here, somehow it'll reach her.
He looked toward the ceiling.
Nope. I don't have telepathy. That stuff doesn't exist. Probably. but Then again, birds apparently talk. And the things I've been seeing at work lately…
Alan shook his head and stood up. He opened the tea container, rows of curled golden-yellow leaves, neatly packed.
"…That's a lot," he muttered.
He grabbed a chipped mug from the shelf, paused, and frowned.
"How many should I put?" he asked no one. "I'll just use four."
He dropped four tea leaves into the mug. The steam from the kettle hissed as he poured the boiling water. The scent rose up, earthy, bright, and unfamiliar.
Alan closed his eyes and inhaled.
Then he opened them and grinned.
"Yes! I'm finally tasting tea for the first time." He held the mug like it was something sacred.
"One of my wishes… granted. Praise the Almighty. Your glory, oh Lord, has graced me with this moment."
He took a sip.
It was slightly sweet, floral, with a warmth that coated his chest like a slow ember.
"This is delicious," he whispered.
"Now I get why tea's expensive… why everyone talks about it like it's gold."
He glanced over to the jam container beside him.
I should try that next… with the bread Lady Amber gave me. Still warm too. She didn't have to, but she did.