[Note: I've used *asterisks* to denote italics because Penana decided to remove me. Feel free to comment]
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"Beer," the gang hollered, "glorious Beer!" Mugs clinked together happily.
The Echo Club straddled the Shallows and the old city. The truly unfortunate mixed with everyday folk in here.
For a week, he had served as what most called a Black-Coat. A Weaver. The tiny fraction capable of peering into the Somatic Scars before the White-Coats like Valerius obliterated them along with the Shadow and soul.
Austin cast a weary glance at the trio of off-shift Surgeons lounged near the back. They were new like him. The Authority hadn't broken them in yet.
A cheerful barmaid with electric blue hair waved at him. "Heya, I'm Echo! What'll it be?" she chirped.
"Something to forget… Absinthe," he said bitterly, sliding the coins across the worn bar.
"I'll need your City ID for that."
Austin handed it over reluctantly. The barmaid paused before handing it back. Her smile cracked, eyes flicking nervously to the floor. "It's in the cellar." She said after an awkward moment.
Inside was not the dusty, bottle-filled sub-level that the term would imply. Despite the splintered chairs, 'bunker' would have been more fitting.
Austin gingerly made his way down the stairs. The rotten wood caved under his feet. The world shifted beneath him as he fell, landing in a crumpled heap on the dirty floor.
Strange folk, covered in illegal amounts of Scars, turned to stare at him. Each dripped with expensive jewellery and ornaments; a particularly bold gentleman bore a top hat and monocle.
A rickety table in the centre groaned under the weight of maps, documents, and exotic books. A wild-haired woman with dark circles under her eyes sat behind it.
Another was slumped against the wall. Whatever remained of his lips twisted into a toothless grin. Only his raspy breathing indicated he was even alive.
"Welcome, Austin," The woman behind the table exclaimed. She did not seem old, just exhausted from living.
"To what, the club's dingy basement?" He asked. "Where's the bloody Absinthe so I can forget this week?"
"No booze here, mate. Just the Ozic Society," the monocle-wearing man answered, flicking dust off his pristine cuffs as if offended by its presence.
"You can't be serious..."
In a corner, yet another odd person was sprawled on a waterbed. "You're the one who ruined my plan," she said sleepily.
Austin froze when he saw the star-shaped Somatic Scar on her forehead.
"You!" he hissed through clenched teeth.
"Now, are you willing to listen, considering you fell into our arms?" the old woman asked, folding her hands in a businesslike manner.
Austin said nothing. Refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reply.
“I go by Spark. My name, on paper, is Laura Seele,” she told him, ignoring the surprised look Austin gave her. “You think a stork dropped Oriole off?"
The Black-Coat reddened. “Not funny. And Seele said his family was gone."
The Spark cackled. "Nye would say that! We built the Authority together to heal the city," she explained. "He turned it into a nightmare."
For the second time in a week, Austin asked, "Why?"
“The awakening of Somatic Scars...it broke something in him,” Laura said quietly. “Back then, he just didn’t have the tools he does now.”
She leaned over the table, and a deployment rota fell to the ground. “Everything changed when a child was born without a Shadow: Oriole."
She smiled to herself. “My girl, purest human in history."
"And the template for Purification," the posh man put in, monocle gleaming in the dim light.
Austin felt the room close in around him. A human without a Shadow was...contradictory. The repressed parts of the self were nonetheless still exactly that. He shook his head in disbelief. The concept still ate away at him.
*Would someone unable to feel pain understand it?* he asked himself. The empty gaze the purified displayed continued to haunt him.
"Bet Seele told you all his best lies about us," said the lazy one. "I'm Edith."
"No, you're sloth. Valerius almost got you at the Theatre!" Wailed the posh man.
“Guy with the obnoxious headgear is Reggie,” Edith yawned. “He’s sweet when he isn’t busting unions.”
"What about him?" Austin asked, pointing at the grinning man.
"That," Spark said in a disdainful tone, "was Nosra.
"Who knows what actually happened to him. Never liked the pyromaniac anyway." Edith shrugged.
"What do you think of the current Mayor, Black-Coat?" the Spark asked suddenly.
"I didn't vote for Albright if that's what you're asking."
"The City Government has given the Authority legitimacy and legal immunity for longer than you've lived." She said righteously.
The deputy mayor, Russel Leit, hasn't been extorted or coerced into submission yet." Finished Reggie.
"And...?" Austin ventured. He felt uneasy.
"Ada Albright hides an *explosive* personality that us Ozics will set off," Edith said, winking at him.
"We'll give you a day to pick a side, willingly this time." Reggie chimed in.
"Now get out," the Ozics ordered in unison. "And stay sober!" They warned.
A swirling mist had descended on the city, obscuring everywhere not within the cones of brightness projected by the streetlights.
On the side of the empty, dirty street a drunk lay in the gutter; not an uncommon sight.
Until he spotted the streaks of red around it. Blood?
Austin crossed the street swiftly. Looking up at him weakly, trenchcoat caked with dirt and badly torn, was a familiar sight: the Tranq Dealer.
His wares were shattered all over the ground. The purple liquid mixed with blood in a pool around his crushed hat. One eye had swollen shut in a sea of bruises. His messy black hair was sticky with blood.
For once, Austin didn't immediately assume this was the work of the Keloidic Authority.
"Who did this?" he pondered aloud. "A competitor?"
"Nah,” the man said, smiling at him and revealing missing teeth.
"Tis the work o' the folk under the bar." he rasped, clutching at his chest in pain.
"That doesn't make sense," Austin remarked.
"Didn’t stop them beatin’ me ta pulp,” he wheezed. “Ditzy girl wit’ the star yapped bout makin’ folk lose control o’ themselves; she couldn’t break me,” he continued.
"*Over-Pulling*?"
"Yeah. Name's Elliot, if it matters," he said.
"Austin Middle."
"Heard bout ya, freshly minted Black-Coat. Here drinkin' the evil away, methink." Elliot the Tranq Dealer smirked.
"Echo doesn't have any Absinthe, Cellar's home to that Ozic Society. This City's rotten."
"Shallows are neutral ground, mate. I got a place there if ya want to espace both sides; I'll pay ya in info to help me up" Elliot offered, straining to stretch out a hand.
Austin took it and yanked; the man was heavier than he looked.
He's hurt. Badly.
Ahh,” he sighed happily, wobbling a bit. “33 Sedenfield Ave is where I live.”
Middle growled at him impatiently.
"Fine. Ya seem to like the little bird kept in a cage," he whispered.
Oriole,” Austin answered. He reddened upon realising the implication there, “I don’t know.” Elliot laughed.
"Why do you care? You tried to give her Tranq for pity's sake!" he chastised the drug dealer.
"Not fair, mate. It was either sell or work for the people who make it. If ya do care, we better move quick: both sides want her badly,” he warned.
“How could you know that?” Austin argued back uneasily.
Young folk,” Elliot muttered to himself sadly, “when will ya learn that yer elders ‘ave made the same mistakes?”
The pair limped in the general direction of Lumière's slums. An odd sight they made.
Elliot finally explained himself. “I was there when the Seele girl was born... Ya should have seen the look that woman gave Aneurin. Your Oriole's the key; they’ll *break* her to get to him.”
Austin's hand formed a fist.
ns216.73.216.33da2
and then Add to home screen.