Lortorn's twin suns unfurled dawn like a magician's trick. Lariat saw the uneven smirk serrated across the skies and its eerie acknowledgment of the dirt night hid and day swept away. He rested his elbows on the balcony and exhaled. Lips pursed, expecting a puff from a cigar. None of which he had. He'd quit last year. Now, the thought tempted him.
Faraway Bridge. Tuesday. Willow Wisp. Honestly, he wanted Tuesday to arrive then. In moments like these, he felt stagnant, held in bondage by his own immaculate standards. Children playing on the metallic roads below caught his attention. One of them looked up. Dressed in pure white robes with gold and purple embellishments along the edges, Gold Bloom Academy's signature ceremonious robes.
He popped a brow. Friday came so soon. Popping a brow in surprise, he waved gently to the kids down below and smiled. One of the kids waved back, absentminded, while the others dragged him along.
"Fucking creep!"
Someone shouted from a corner stall while staring bullets at him. Mind your fucking business. Lariat fought the incoming eye-roll. Such wasn't manly. He tore away from the balcony, catching a glint of his fractured smile. Thick wrinkles wound the corners of his lips, yet the warmth failed to reach his eye.
What a creepy smile.
A giggle slipped through, and he shook his head. He had a lot more to do. Most important of all was to replace the power source of his suit if he had any hope of surviving the Faraway Bridge gathering. Lariat rushed through the house and grabbed his coat from the rack.
Feeling the sun outside felt immensely different than savoring it from the balcony. Dark brown dress pants, powder-blue shirt, and a coat made it all worse, but fashion was nonnegotiable. He rolled with it. He made his way to Mark Mont Square, the true central district of Lortorn's middle class. First on his list was borrowing funds, a shame Alexandria couldn't serve the purpose due to his limitations. He hated this part of his job, but a few civilians had no choice but to part with their hard-earned carats.
He double-tapped his heart, a short prayer to Nightshade, Goddess of Thievery, and disappeared into the throngs of innocents going through their day. Every now and then, he slipped past common folk, lightening their pockets.
He waded through sleek metallic structures that seemed to meld into each other like collections of never-ending lemniscates. Mana stirred the air, threading a cool chill that counteracted the scalding heat. Occasionally, he'd spot mana pipes and wires along his path, glowing a dull gray instead of the bright blue they turned under the moon. Years before he joined the Emporium, he'd worked as a craftsman; those pipes and the discrete design fell under the purview of his team then. Mana conservation, they dubbed it. During the day, mana dispersed from the pipes, cooling the air, and at night, it gathered along the surface, generating artificial heat.
Two more intersections flew by. Arriving at his destination, he took quick stock of the layout. Mark Mont Square remained the same as ever. Saint Halloway's statue towered over every man-made structure within Lortorn City, its impeccable supple form snaking into the skies.
Feminine beauty carved into granite, marble, and mana stone. Her hips, shaped with the immutable concept of fertility, were wider than needed. Waist thin, bust small, and slender hands reached into the skies, a star held between the index and thumb. Her eyes were rubies burning with the concept of flame and light.
Lariat still drew a deep breath, maybe now a deeper one than years back. Younger him had marveled at its beauty and perfect encapsulation of what beauty meant. Now, he marveled at the sheer horror Saint Halloway presented. Faith. Worship. With his understanding of the world of the Arcane and Awakening, that statue meant more than a construct to beautify the city. It symbolized Godhood, divinity mingling amongst mortals.
Pushing himself out of reverie, he anchored himself by reciting his goals. First on his list of acquisitions was the power source for his suit. Buying it outright was impossible with his current resources. Therefore, his only option forced him to recreate it. It hurt him that he'd have to settle for a subpar power source, but that was the only thing he could do.
After spotting the store of interest, "Jones Home for Everything Mechanics," he labored through the pain that chose the worst time to manifest. It carved a menacing wince from him, threading his brows into a thick frown that lasted a moment.
He pushed the glass door, sending the bells into a happy, welcoming chime. First impressions weren't the best, to be honest. Jones, he assumed, couldn't decorate a spot. Junk metal pieces and thick black machining oils stained the wooden floor. Lariat would have killed him for mistreating such a rarity, the wood was vintage. At least a thousand years old. With the floor as the perfect mirror, nothing else seemed to be in place. Various utensils, machinery, and minerals were scattered through the store with no thought to arrangement. Large motors and fragile mana stones that could ignite were placed next to each other.
"How can I help you?" Lariat heard the receptionist call in a matter-of-fact tone, the kind you heard from a factory-lined mall at the end of the day from the teller. Funny, since day had broken a few minutes ago.
Sloppy. Lariat scowled. The man at the reception had ruined a perfectly good shirt. A branded one too, Alex and Moore, the leading brand in mana-threaded textiles and luxury. The raw material for his power suit came from their special grade of silk. Instantly, he disliked the man. Oil stains and mana abrasions lined the front of the shirt, signs of intense magical welding that combined two opposing skills: mana manipulation and mana propulsion. At least that gave him confidence in the goods he'd get. Don't get him wrong. He still disliked the guy.
"Soldered MCM mana board. Two civilian-class Mark X power sources and one infusion array," Lariat said.
"Four hundred carats."
The man turned to the side, seemingly disinterested, after chucking the ridiculous price into the air.
"We both know that's not the price."
"Yeah. But some jackass blew up the underground tunnels. Price up. Next door it's eight hundred. I'm the cheapest. Fuck off."
Lariat met a stone wall. Now that he thought about it, his actions may have indeed screwed him over. He left.