Slumdog Millionaire

[Yeva]

T H E - T O W E R

"You're evicting me?"

"No, no; Not entirely," the brunette woman replied. She wore a new dress, looking around the room in distaste. Her eyes landed on the herbs hanging on the wall and the half-burned candle on the round table. Mrs. Nessinger moved towards the framed mirror that hung on the wall and straightened the bleeding of her lipstick with an index finger, "Consider this a notice of rent increase," the human smiled, her teeth stained and beginning to show her age, "You have 30 days."

Yeva blinked, caught off guard. Her hair was still damp from her bath, her morning cup of tea still steaming and unfinished. She looked back down at the paper, heart beginning to pound, "But I paid my rent! I-I-I paid in advance. When I became a tenant, I...."

"Yes, you did," the landlady turned, still admiring herself, smoothing out flattened hair, "But I'm afraid that's all done and gone now. You'll have to bring that up with your new landlady. Although, she was rather adamant about the price. Truthfully, you're lucky you're being humored in the first place. We almost didn't close the sale because of you."

A series of expenses were written in beautiful handwriting at the bottom. Deposits, expected monthly payments, foreigner fees. How was any of this legal?

"This is almost triple what I pay now!" her grip on the parchment tightened, "I was promised housing for the season!"

Mrs. Nessinger snorted in derision, "Plans change."

"Where's Mr. Nessinger?"

The older woman sighed.

Yeva felt her anger rising, "You took my money! You knew you were going to sell the property!" This must have been in the works for some time. No wonder the shop owner was always cleaning. He had been preparing the space for show. Yeva's face began to redden, thinking of all the times he had jumped in her presence. Appeared uncomfortable. He could never look her in the eye. He was a coward. The world's weakest conman.

And she had fallen for every bit of it.

Shame, humiliation, fear... Fury. Yeva had not felt this type of anger in years, "Where is he?" she demanded, spotting the door to the hall. He must have been downstairs. Maybe he was listening.

Mrs. Nessinger, seeing Yeva stomp forward, turned to face the elf and cut off her exit.

"Don't you concern yourself with my husband! Now, when things don't go your way, you throw a fit. Like a child," the reprimand was sharp, the older woman getting in her face. Yeva noticed was the dress, the pearl earrings she wore. Had her money paid for those too? "You chase my husband like a bitch in heat. Mr. Nessinger this, Mr. Nessinger that," the brunette scowled, "Selling this place was enough work without a knife ear lowering the value."

"Fuck you!" Yeva shouted, surprising even herself, "I don't want your crusty ass husband!" She was ready to start swinging.

She should have.

The older woman saw the tears pooling in Yeva's eyes and smiled, heading to the door, "Thirty days... Piece of advice, you'll want that money soon. There is more than one way to drop dead weight."

The door shut and Yeva stood there, overwhelmed with emotion. She wasn't a child! And this wasn't a fit! The room had been her only security in this horrible place and now she had been stolen from, insulted, and now threatened.

Hot tears ran down her freckled cheeks and she ran to the open window, glaring as the couple left the shop below, arm in arm. Mrs. Nessinger wrapped her arm around the shopkeeps back and leaned into him, directing his path to the right. No, Yeva realized. Mr. Nessinger wasn't the conman. He was the puppet. Neither paid her any mind and somehow that felt worse. She had never felt such hatred. Across the street, the breakfast rush was in full swing, the tables and chairs already set up. Yeva replayed the conversation.

When things don't go your way, you throw a fit.

You throw a fit.

You throw a fit.

They took advantage of her and accused her when she dared to be upset. Yeva disappeared back into the room, threw her head back, and screamed. From deep in her belly to the highest notes that clawed her throat raw, her cry tore through the building, vibrating the walls. She screamed the note until she could hold it no longer, snatching the pillow from her bed in her fury. She punched and clawed at it, her vision blurry with tears. Now, this was a fit. Grabbing it by its casing, Yeva beat the pillow against the mattress, the wall, the floor, throwing all her strength behind each throw, knuckles white. Seething. She swung until her strength left her and the bag ripped, sending white feathers to every corner of the room. They floated in the air, suspended, some drifting out the window and to the street below. She didn't care.

She didn't care who heard her. Or what they thought.

She threw herself on the bed and cried righteous anger.

[Franky]

Ash 6, 121

Franky sipped at his coffee, reading the newspaper as he did. He read it cover to cover, despite the fact that there was very little information of any importance in it. Half of it was military propaganda, that anyone with a partial brain could see that. He did smile smugly at the article on the bank. Apparently there had, in fact, been a break in a couple days ago. He knew that something had happened, and it was a nice stroke of his ego to get that confirmed. What surprised him most was the bank was seeking help from private citizens in order to find who had pulled it off.

It seemed the Zaichaeri authorities were proving incapable. And Franky mused that the global bank was a big enough entity that they don't need to bow to Zaichaer's every whim, placate to their need to show that the government was infallible. Too much money on the line. There were going to be a lot of upset higher ups in the government for sure, and that would roll downhill into their middle management.

But no government wanted to upset the bank, not even the Imperium.

Franky continued to read through the small newspaper, rolling his eyes at the announcements of military parades and events, wedding announcements and engagements of nobility, and other such nonsense. It was a shame there was so little real news to find here. And yet, Franky found amusing and annoying, he was here profiting off of it by selling this shit-rag. It would be nice to have a better morning read.

He pondered on this, finishing his coffee. Maybe he could find someone to try and run one. Maybe he could invest in them. The last two seasons had been great for business, far, far better than he'd ever expected. He had some extra capital to work with now and was beginning to work on how best to use it. A tavern was good for making contacts, and money, but a newspaper could further work upon that. Take the next step.

Franky set the cup and saucer aside, set some coins on the table, and folded up his newspaper. He stood up, putting on his hat, about to head about to the rest of his day, when he looked across the way, seeing an older couple walking out of Yeva's building. He recognized the man, it was the same man she had been speaking to on the day they'd met. Her landlord. And he assumed the woman in the finery clinging to his arm was his wife.

Then a swift movement above them caught Franky's eyes. He saw objects flying across the view of the window, all heading in a single direction. His feet was carrying him across the street, when he heard a loud, angry shriek, despite the closed window. He winced a bit. He knew that sound well. Having grown up with twelve sisters, a plethora of daughters and granddaughters, nieces and cousins, plus his wife, he knew that one real well.

He turned back to the cafe, walking inside to approach Mama. He set some coins on the counter, "Can I get a tea? And I'll be taking the cup too, so don't use one of your nice ones." Mama looked at him funnily and shrugged, taking his coins and pouring the tea into a slightly chipped cup, handing it over too him. Franky said his thanks and turned back around, carefully walking across the street. He slipped into the shop, getting eyed by the shopkeeper, and he pointed to the stairs that led to Yeva's apartment.

And he could tell the shopkeeper could hear the crashes and howls from upstairs but was trying to pretend he didn't notice. Franky walked over to and up the stairs. At reaching the top, he gave three sharp knocks on the door, standing back and down a couple of steps, a less threatening look. He held the tea out in front of him, "Hello Yeva. Some tea for you. Might I come in?"

[Yeva]

Yeva's face was pressed into her comforter, head pounding as her nasal cavities became conjested and pressure built up within her face. She sniffled, rolled on her back to stare at the ceiling, bits of feather tangling into her hair. A few tears trailed down her jaw, pooling at her collarbone and dampened the collar of her blouse. As Yeva considered her predicament, her face twisted and her breath caught, knowing sooner or later she would just have to recheck her finances to see just how big of a challenge she faced.

The young woman sighed, her crying losing its sound until she sniffled softly, consoled slightly by the simple act of telling Mrs. Nessinger to fuck herself. Yeva pressed the butt of her palms into her eyes, trying to steady her breathing and regain some control.

Three sharp knocks caused the girl to jump, kicking up feathers in the process. She stared at the door like a doe who had heard the snapping of a twig. She waited.

"Hello Yeva. Some tea for you. Might I come in?"

She stayed silent, placing the voice to its owner. After a long pause, she stood, the mattress creaking softly as she padded towards the door, "Franky?" immediately she cleared her throat, caught off guard by how raw and small her voice sounded. Surely her scream had not been loud enough to be heard that far down the way. What was he doing here?

She frowned. Oh no. Had he been having a drink across the way and witnessed a bit of her breakdown? Somehow, she was both terrified to go to the door and thankful for a kind gesture. Then again...
Yeva looked around the room, finally taking in the mess she had made. Down feathers scattered everywhere. She rushed to dry her cheeks and wipe away her runny nose, "One... minute," she feared she had interrupted his morning routine, trying to think of an excuse for behavior. It was difficult to accept defeat. Then again, the battle wasn't over.

Her footsteps barely made a noise and she exhaled when she placed her handle on the knob, "Hi," she greeted cheerily, forcing a smile that did not match red eyes or the feathers in her hair. She cracked the door, peeking out. Sure enough, Franky held a tea cup, the china largely out of place in his large hands, "I was just... um," It would be easy for him to see the mess beyond, "Redecorating," she lied, trying to keep the smile and failing. He was much smarter than that. She wouldn't insult him by pretending she had a gift of deception. Yeva, for all her strengths, was a terrible liar, "...and crying."

Saying it aloud brought the memories of conversation back to the forefront and she pouted, looking very determined not to tear up again as she dug her nails into the flesh of her palm. She wanted something to distract her, "For me?" she asked, forgetting about the tea she had already prepared before the unfortunate news. She pointed at the cup, opening the door further to allow entry, "Welcome to my... um..." It wasn't a home. So what did that mean? "Welcome to my space. Can I get you you anything to eat? I might have a couple scones if you're hungry."

She sniffled, swiping away the last of her tears and waving him towards the little table. Outside of the feathered mess, it was a cute studio apartment, if a bit spartan of possession. Despite its simple furniture, there was a quaintness to the room, a portion of it shielded by a blue tapestry that hung from a brass rod. A handmade quilt covered the bed. Herbs were hung along the wall to the left of the door, bound in twine and there was a sweet floral scent that lingered, "Sorry everything's a bit of a mess," she started, tucking her hair behind pointed ears. She moved quickly towards one of the cabinets and pulled out a small basket, along with a small plate. Unwarping the cloth bundle inside, she offered it to the hobgoblin and pulled out a chair, brushing away stray feathers from the table top to, "Take a seat. I, um.... I don't know if you heard me," It would be a miracle if he hadn't, but now that she had time for her anger to pass, the embarrassment at her reaction caused her cheeks to burn, "I was being a bit bratty about some frustrating news."

Yeva debated on how much to tell him, chewing the skin of her bottom lip. It was embarrassing to reveal her financial situation but Franky had always been nice to her, even since their first meeting. He had even gone out of his way to check in on her. Walking towards her bed, she picked up the crumpled piece of paper, smoothed it, and held it out faithfully to the tavern owner. Some of the ink was now smudged. Meeting the goblin's eye was difficult, and she sighed under her breath.

He could see for himself.

[Franky]

"Yes, it's me."

Franky waited with the practiced patient of a soldier. But he did allow his mind to wander on this. He knew not what had so upset Yeva, but he did know Mystics. He was married to one, but she was not the only one in his life. Mystics were a special breed and required many things. The first of which was a sense of community. A mystic without a host of people around them, watching out for them, bonding with them, was a dangerous being, to themselves and others. Being so tethered to the world beyond, they often lost sight of the world everyone else lived within.

Back home, the every community pitched into help take care of their Mystics. People checked in on them to make sure they remembered to eat, they invited the Mystic to the baths with them when they'd forget to bathe for weeks, they'd go shopping with them when the Mystics failed to notice that their clothes were torn and stained. And it was not done out of pity or necessity, no. Back home, Mystics were revered and loved and respected.

Yeva was a Mystic who was lost in this city that did not appreciate her.

Franky had decided then and there, that the Knob would take care of her. It would be her community, and he would ensure it. The door opened, and he Franky smiled softly at the woman in disarray but doing her best to put on a strong face. She lied, and they both knew it, but Franky didn't mind. He understood.

"Yes, for you."

Franky stepped inside as she offered it, and he smiled as she offered him a scone. He'd already eaten, but Mystics, in his experience, appreciated being helpful. "Yes, I'd love a scone, thank you."

He took in the space, as she called it. Interesting that she didn't say home. That further confirmed his belief in her need for community, and the fact that she didn't have it right now. Franky sat down, plucking a scone from the basket, tearing off a small piece and popping it into his mouth. "I did, but only after I came close." Tasted a few days old, but good nonetheless. And he waited. One always waited for a Mystic to speak to them, it was simply the way.

She then handed him a piece of paper, smudged and crumpled, and clearly the source of this chaos. Franky read through it. Change in ownership, typical. Massive price increase, Franky's eyes narrowed at this as he read through the breakdown. But then it all made sense when he saw the term 'Foreigner fees'. Franky shook his head, still in disbelief with some people. Racism was simply a terrible business practice.

He was quiet for a long while, his mind running the numbers, taking in the space, the location. They weren't adding up. There was no way in hell this little studio apartment was worth this much in rent here. They weren't going to be able to get anyone in the Knob with half an ounce of sense to pay these rates. And there were very few deep pocket idiots here that could be tricked. Franky suspected that this new landlord might be the actual moron here, swindled by the Nessingers. Probably an outsider, maybe from the west side of the city.

And then he spoke, and when he did, he made sure to catch Yeva's eyes with his own. He spoke calmly, but with the determination of when he'd speak to the other commanders back in the Imperium.

"You're not staying here one day longer. The Nessingers have cut and run, leaving both you and your new landlord holding the bag."

It was not a question or a suggestion.

"And it is because of what you are."

Sugar coating was pointless in this situation.

Now he spoke softer, "If your new landlord is dumb enough to set this pricing, they'd be dumb enough to put you in danger. They might allow a blacksmith to move in below you, or to not repair the roof before winter, or any number of things. Racist is one thing that can be tolerated, but idiocy is not."

Franky set the note down, leaning back in the chair, smiling at her, "Why don't you clean yourself up a bit and we will go for a walk? This... place... is not good for you right now."

Franky knew he was being a bit pushy, but sometimes people needed guidance and discipline, without the harshness and severity.

"We can find you a new place to live. If we can't find you one quickly, you can stay in one of the tavern rooms until we do."

Franky's grin grew smug, "I enjoy looking for properties and discussing the contracts with their owners. It reminds me of my days at war, though war is far less brutal." He jested, "You are not to pay one more single copper to these fools. We can find you a home. Not a space."

A softer smile, "Does this sound good to you, Yeva? Right now it is just talking, but then perhaps we can work toward making things better, together?"

He hoped she'd take him and his concern for her seriously. After the run-in at the fair with Asher, he hoped she knew him to be genuinely caring for the people of his neighborhood. She had seen it, and it wasn't simply the gesture of a white knight coming to save her, no. This was about building something better with the people around you. The human Zaechaeri, well, most of them, only cared about tearing down. They had no interest in making things better.

It was why Zaichaer would eventually fall to the Imperium.

Franky stood, "I can step outside, finish this wonderful scone, while you get ready."

[Yeva]

Franky claimed the new landlord was an idiot, but Yeva didn't think fair pricing was exactly what was being aimed for. It was possible the Nessingers lied to this new owner, but Yeva suspected that this contract was written with full intention. They were so eager to get rid of her they were setting unrealistic demands. If she cut and run, good. And if this new landlord could make her panicked enough to submit, then even better. Franky thought it idiocracy, but Yeva didn't yet understand the respect the goblin had for mystics. The respect the others should have had too.

She sniffled, sitting in the chair across from him, sipping on the offering he brought while subsequentially picking out feathers from her forgotten glass from earlier. She watched him humor her by nibbling on the scone, knowing it must have been growing stale. He didn't so much as make a face or politely decline. He accepted and laid out the facts. He was trying to help her, rally her. She could try too, "Alright," she agreed, sniffling again as she looked around at the chaos she had caused in the room. A walk sounded nice. Franky smiled smugly, an expression that appeared rather devilish thanks to sharp teeth, and she refocused her attention on the older man.

He claimed to like rental shopping, commenting it was more brutal than war. She barked a soft laugh at this, feeling a little better. She had never seen a battlefield, anything outside of dreams or picture books, but she found the jest amusing. Yeva hadn't expected, following right after, his offer to help her find a home, and not a space. Community was so important. She had forgotten what it was like to have another watch out for her. To offer help when she felt like she was drowning.

Yeva's brows knitted and her lip quivered. She turned her head and waved her hand furiously, as if swatting away something invisible, "Don't make me cry again!" That was a really kind offer. It made her think that they were friends, that she could even find friends, real ones, in a place like Zaichaer, "Elves have soft hearts," she whined, standing back up with a bit of energy. There was already more determination in her step. Her face was flushed from her outburst, but she held her chin up. She would have made it there eventually, but knowing someone was in her corner made the fight a bit easier. Who knew it would have been an old war-torn hobgoblin?

She decided to answer his question, "It sounds... It sounds good. Yeah. Good. I can do that."

Yeva wasn't so sure about accepting the room at the tavern, not wanting him to lose money. Options... Fall back plan... It was reassuring in a way, nevertheless, "You don't have to wait outside the door. I can meet you at Kortana's. That's where you brought the tea, right?" She smiled and it held more strength, "I'll be quick, promise."

Even in her dismay and worry, the redhead connected the dots. Hot tea wouldn't have stayed as hot if he brought it all the way from his tavern and he had to have heard her, or even seen her. Perhaps he had been enjoying a morning visit to the orc's like the day of their first meeting. Yeva could not deny her sensitivities to the behavior of others, but she was just as observant. Mystics were mindful of small gestures.

So, when Franky took his scone and the door was shut behind him, she exhaled. Stomping through the feathers, she moved towards the end table and drew out a bit of ribbon to tie her curls back, and rinsed her face. She had been fresh from the bath when Nessinger had arrived, in a white blouse and black skirt, but both had been rather hastily put on, and so she took the time to tuck in her shirt and slip-on her stockings, shaking feathers out of her boots when those soon followed. She laced them up and drank the tea Franky had given her, cradling the warm cup in her hands. She grabbed her backpack, adding the essentials like her grandmother's grimoire, journal, and a bit of money, before she finished her drink and rinsed it. That too, she delicately placed inside the bag and grabbed her tarot deck and room key last. Locking her door behind her, she made her way carefully down the fire escape.

The simple china clinked softly when her boots touched the ground and she bound towards the green veteran, rejuvenated. She inhaled, tilting her head to feel the sunshine on her face, and clapped her hands together, "Thanks for waiting," she looked up, spotting one of the outside tables that had just been left by its patrons, their dishes not yet collected. She quickly removed the cup and saucer from her bag, laying them on the table as if they had always been there, and returned the goblin's side. Honest as ever, she waved when Breckle came to clear the table. He looked uncomfortable when he saw her, awkwardly waving back, and Yeva hoped it wasn't because of her earlier screeching. She should have controlled herself better.

She looked up at Franky, "So! Where to?"

[Franky]

Franky kept his soft grin as Yeva teared up, and explained about the sensitivity of elves. A single chuckle and an upturn of his grin on the left of his face joined in. At her agreement of joining him for the walk, "I see nothing escapes you, Mystic. I'll see you at Kortana's then, waiting with bells on."A nod of the head, he left, closing the door behind him, still eating on the stale scone as he descended the stairs.

He'd had far worse confectionaries in his life, so this was not bad at all. Just like himself, it might be a bit old, but got the job done. Franky started toward the door of the shop that was below Yeva's apartment, but he paused. He walked over to the storekeeper. "Do you run this shop or just work here, lad?" Franky set a gold piece on the counter. The young man reached out and grabbed it, looking around nervously. "I run it, it's my shop."

Another gold coin, "And you rent this space? From the Nessingers formerly?"

Again, the coin was taken and the lad nodded, and Franky dropped another coin, "And did your rates go up too?" The man nodded again. Franky snorted, "If you find the rent too high, come find me down at the Hobbled Gobbler. The name's Franky. I'll help you find somewhere better, no finder's fee."

At this, the man looked quite surprised. "But why? You're just a..." He paused nervously, "We don't know each other." A sharklike grin grew on Franky's face, "It's what good neighbors do for one another. Think about it. Maybe we can get to know each other later."

Franky dropped another coin on the counter, turning away, walking out, slipping his hat upon his head and his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He crossed the street, finding a planter box to lean up against as he waited. His mind went to whirling on the logistics of the next steps. Find her a place to lay her head. Pay some people to move her stuff for her. He knew a crew of Grackles that were perfect for that. There were plenty of properties opening up as humans left the neighborhood or others moved in with one another.

And then there she was, refreshed and clearly in a bit of a better place. He watched as she returned the cup and saucer he'd paid for, but he didn't make an attempt to correct it. It was fine to leave that dog lay and it didn't bother him in the least bit. "My pleasure, Yeva."

They were up on the Copper Cut currently, "Let's walk along the cliffs for a bit."

The sun was coming out, and was warming the air, so Franky removed his hat and jacket. The jacket was folded over one arm, the same that was now holding the hat beneath the tucked away garment. He gestured down the small alley beside Mama Kortana's, and led the way down it. It was hard, compact dirt, and led in a straight line past several other small shops and service buildings, a couple of warehouses. None were for sale, but that wasn't Franky's intention, not just yet.

He was quiet on this short leg of the walk, until he led her around the warehouse at the end of the alley, and into the large, grassy expanse that led to the rocky crags of the cliffs. He walked over to one of the overhanging rocks, gesturing out at the massive, sprawling neighborhoods.

"I like to come here a lot."

He pulled out his smoke box, opening it up and offering a rolled cigarette of goblin weed to Yeva. He lit his with a match and took a puff on it. "A lot of people like to look at each neighborhood as its own entity. As if it were an individual."

Cigarette between fingers, he pointed out to the west, "Sheckle Alley there, the nicest homes in all the Knob. Largely Avialae, Awoken, and Grackles, with the largest smattering of humans in the Knob as well. Many here in the Knob view that neighborhood as the destination to work towards. After all, why not? It is inherently the nicest. Prettier, newer buildings, well kept roads."

Another drag off the purple smoke cigarette, "What they don't see is the silent clashing. Humans are getting pushed further west into areas they cannot afford. They are being forced to live next to the winged people that make them think of Kalzasi and they grow irate. They see the little goblins and think they have an infestation of rats. They see Awoken and think of the technology of a time long gone."

A soft smile, "But I also see down there people who are bold enough to live next to those who hate them. To live in a neighborhood that is patrolled very heavy by the military here. I see Grackles that actually want to be more than the pests that many see themselves as, Awoken that want to be treated as living people, as Avialae that are more than their association to that Kalzasian bastard that visited a couple of seasons back."

A sly grin, "I see them all working together, taking on that burden of being the front line of hate. Bearing that, not just for themselves, but for all of us. And they do so with pride." He pointed to the next neighborhood, "Verowa End, there, you'll find many like myself. Retired soldiers of Hobgoblin and Orkhan variety, but also the lost and displaced Lysanrin. I'm sure you've heard the stories and the rumors, we all have. They are a people that are especially persecute because of those that came before them. And yet, they live among people whose jobs are to kill. But I see them living among those who will protect them if push comes to shove. And it will. It always does."

Another pointing, "Kara's Cull, a reminder of what happens if you're not careful and you fail. But also a symbol of people able and willing to rebuild from nothing." He moved his arm once more, "Smoke Stack, the lifeblood of the Grungeworks, the only real reason the entirety of the Knob is even tolerated by the government. We only exist here because we are useful. If the humans of Zaichaer could run the country without us, they would."

A dark glower upon his face and a long pull on the cigarette. "But these humans are small in mind and spirit. They can't even care for their own kind, let alone have the empathy to care for others. They are a people without a purpose, with any real cause or drive, which is why they must create new enemies, new ideas, new things to fight and hate."

He pulled the cigarette from his lips, "You have a great purpose Yeva. I may not be a Mystic, but I can certainly see that much. I don't know what it is, and we may never truly know. But you, me, none of us are like them. We are neither useless nor lost. We are exactly where we're meant to be, doing what we're meant to be doing. And we're all doing it together in this place we're calling home."

Franky glanced over at Yeva, "No one is ever alone here in the Knob."

He pointed westward, "If you haven't yet, you should come here to see the sunrise over the Grungeworks. The smoke from the factories really lets the sun color the sky beautifully."

A smile, "So tell me Yeva, what would you like to do? Worry not over the house or the Nessingers or any other such trivialities. What do you want to do?"

[Yeva]

"Let's walk along the cliffs for a bit."

Franky took a step towards the alley, Yeva hesitated at its mouth. She tried to peek past the hobgoblin to see beyond, the early morning hour casting a grey blanket over the sky and deepening the shadows. Her mouth opened and closed. After a breath of hesitation, Yeva slipped behind the man leading her, glancing wearily as they emerged from the other end and continued down the dirt path. She exhaled, scratching at the scar of her face, and peered with nervous curiosity at the businesses tucked in along the way, while the mind beneath her red curls hoped to bind together puzzle-piece thoughts.

Franky nor Yeva spoke at first. She thought of her grandmother, who said that in times of doubt it was best to listen. Wisdom, the kind that was not found in the mouths of men, could often be the most valuable. Valued and coveted by everyone and yet so few were capable of understanding its language. What Franky said next, however, sounded fairly straightforward.

He explained the mindset of the city, elaborating on the different groups and their involvement together. Yeva's eyes followed his direction, forgetting her own worries during the speech, listening closely to the words. Each segment of the neighborhood, and city, had its role. The cigarette was held out to her and as she was reminded of her first attempt at smoking once before, she tried not to grimace. Her brows furrowed in poorly concealed dread, but she took the offering to be polite, Yeva took a small draw. She held her breath, face scrunching and ears turning pink as she tried not to cough. Puffy clouds of smoke shot from her nostrils and she felt her lungs burn in her attempt to control their response.

She covered her mouth, passing the cigarette back, and watched as he smoked it with ease. Franky continued his shared thoughts. There was a lack of goodness - compassion - in humans here. Could she disagree? Her time in Zaichaer hadn't been an overly positive one. Yeva chewed at the skin of her bottom lip and crossed her arms. She wanted to believe every person had a little good in them, but was that just youthful naivety? Franky had seen more of the world. He had experienced war. He knew what horrors people were capable of.

"Yeah," she offered softly, a bit saddened by admission. She pictured Mrs. Nessinger and took a deep breath. Yeva closed her eyes, preferring instead to think of the compliment. She smiled in thanks. It was a small reveal of expression, but she was trying. The idea of home made her miss her family something fierce. It was hard not to.

Yeva exhaled and admired the smokestacks. The reminder of a new dawn was perhaps what she needed, "I'll try to see it sometime." If Franky could help her as he believed, then she could make an effort to learn something. The next time she was awake before dawn, she promised herself she'd to take a walk.

"So tell me Yeva, what would you like to do? Worry not over the house or the Nessingers or any other such trivialities. What do you want to do?"

The question surprised her after so much listening, "Today? Or ... do you mean...?" she searched his scarred face, thinking on the question, "I suppose... I... I always wanted to leave the world a better place... I thought I could guide others."

It was strange to say aloud, and she felt it might come across as awfully childish, "Not leading." she hurried to clarify, "Comforting? Oh, it sounds silly when I say it like that..." she sighed, "Like... Do you know when you're trying to learn to swim, and you're kicking and water's getting in your nose? You can't breathe, and you're getting scared and tired?" It was a strange analogy, one she wasn't fully convinced was the best example, "I want to be the one that grabs the drowner's hand, wraps them in a blanket that's been warmed by the sun," she smiled a bit, "I could help them feel safe and if I knew how to, I'd teach them to make a boat."

It was the idea of being the one who would aid the drowning and show them a better way. Yeva knew a boat was not the solution for being a poor swimmer, nor that such a thing was helpful in every situation.

Divination didn't have all the answers. She shook her head, still struggling to convey her thoughts clearly, "I don't want to play savior. It's just... The unknown is scary... I want to light the path."

"Speaking of," Yeva reached for her drawstring bag and drew out her tarot deck to shuffle it between her hands, "Want to pick a card?"

[Franky]

Franky smiled softly, listening carefully. She was describing the role of a community's Mystic perfectly. Franky nearly launched into another story of his experience with his wife, the smoke dancing Mystic of his community back home, but was quickly offered a card. And he was certainly never one to pass up a reading. He watched as she knocked three times on the deck, just as she did for their last reading.

He drew a card from the fanned out deck, revealing it to the both of them. The Four of Swords. He certainly had very little knowledge of interpreting tarot, aside from his limited instances of having his fortune read. But swords always made him think back to his time in war. His weapon of choice had been the longsword and a heavy shield and the longbow. It was not uncommon for those from his village, but the world seemed to be moving more heavily into the use of guns and explosives for warfare.

Swords made him think of the past, though not so much in a romanticized way. Fighting with swords, getting up close, forced the wielders to acknowledge their enemies as people, to see their faces and the emotions they bore. It forced one to become close to the person they sought to kill, if only for a brief moment. Guns and explosives simply made people into faceless numbers in a ledger.

Just as he had been reduced to on his final day in his last campaign.

"Mind if we walk while continuing this? I do have something in mind to help with your... desire."

He'd offer up a slow, meandering stroll, one that certainly wouldn't feel like it was urgently heading toward a specified destination. It as interesting the role he was finding himself in. Upon meeting the woman that would be his wife, he had found stability and purpose through her readings of fortune, found his place in life. Now, here he was, in the reverse, looking to help a Mystic to provide the same for others.

But a Mystic that was hungry, homeless, and having to worry over mortal endeavors would never be able to fulfill their responsibilities properly. That was the most important task for now. Provide a place of safety and comfort so that she might be able to commune with the fates without distraction.

He did know of a building for sale, one that might be too big for just Yeva, but not necessarily for Yeva and some other things... So his slow, meandering stroll would take eventually take them along the road into the Bulge, toward the Gobbler.

Trying to find a way to better communicate his intentions, he thought back to the conversation when they first met. She had spoken of her grandmother who seemed to have taught her this craft, and she spoke with a high level of reverence. "Would you say your grandmother left the world a better place? Not just your own life, but those around her? Did she guide those who were lost?"

The questions were meant to guide her to the realization he'd already had. That what she was, was also the first step to what she wished to be. And she already had a bit of a roadmap, he assumed, in her grandmother's life, on how to achieve that. "What bit of clever advice might she offer you, now?"

[Yeva]

Yeva knocked on the deck three times and offered the splayed deck.

"Four of swords," she said softly, eyes trailing upwards to observe the goblin before her. She was quiet for a moment, frowning ever so slightly, "Have you been... stressed? Maybe with work? This card indicates you have had a lot on your mind recently," Upon the card was an illustration of a figure laid upon what appeared to be a casket, arms draped over their chest with an expression that indicated full serenity. Hanging above the figure, however, were four blades, long and pointed downward. They didn't quite touch the figure, who wore soldier's regalia, "It's just... this is a 'rest and recover' card. It often signals the first stage of a project has been completed but urges a retreat," she stared at the card for a moment before offering to hand it over. Together, they made their way up the road to continue on Franky's tour.

"The soldier sleeps soundly, but if he rises too quickly, he will be impaled by the blades above...." Like the first time she drew for him, Yeva did not fully understand its relevance. In many ways, Franky remained an enigma to the young woman, but it was her ignorance that perhaps offered the most unbiased interpretations, "Many people think of war, even fire, when they see this suit, when in fact, swords are tied to the element of air, and often signify mentality. Swords mirror the quality of mind presented in your thoughts, attitudes, and beliefs."

"Just as the mind is, swords are double-edged. This suit symbolizes the fine balance between intellect and power and how these two elements can be used for good or evil," Yeva had continued walking alongside Franky, giving one last lingering look towards the chosen card. She usually tried to avoid telling someone what they should do with the information interpreted, but found herself slipping, "If your thoughts have been changing and you're feeling pressured, then perhaps a small time of reflection is in order."

Yeva shuffled the cards idly as they continued their walk. One of these days, she'd have to do a larger layout for him. Single card draws were so simple, barely a glimpse at the picture. Still, they could have ample wisdom hidden away.

"Would you say your grandmother left the world a better place? Not just your own life, but those around her? Did she guide those who were lost?"

"I think so," Yeva said softly, then adding rather firmly, "She left my world a better place." Her grandmother had such a knack for seeing the unseen, in the signs of fate and fortune, but also in the spaces around her. "She could walk into a room and see it all. She had a way with people too... Always made them feel so special, especially the ones everyone else overlooked. When I asked her how she did it, she said it was because she had experience. She knew the signs. She had lived them, breathed them, fought for them."

As to what clever advice her grandmother would give her, "She would tell me to be Strength and The Star," she sighed, trying to keep up with the hobgoblin's longer strides, "My birth cards," Yeva explained, looking about, "Hey Franky, where are going?"

[Franky]

At her readings from the card, he rubbed his hand from his forehead up over his bald crown, "Stressed certainly is an understatement. In the process of trying to hire an entire crew for the Gobbler. We've grown far too fast for me and Millie to handle on our own." There were other things on his mind as well. He pondered if he should tell her, but Mystics could always discern the truth in their own ways. Still, he waited a bit.

As she continued, he listened, adding in during a pause, "You're probably right on that too. If we grow too much, too fast, I'm sure the Zaichaeri government will probably intervene, somehow. Just to keep us non-humans in our place."

A long sigh at the need for reflection. He'd been working so hard in his retirement to Zaichaer, intentionally. He didn't really want to stop, to have time to think. He knew how to work and keep working, so that he needn't dwell on the past. He wasn't ready to open that locked box, not yet.

Maybe not ever, and certainly not today.

Thankfully the conversation deviated back to her grandmother, "She sounds like a very wise woman."

But still, her name crept into the forefront of his mind, those crystal clear blue eyes, as the light faded out of them, the whisper of his name as her final breath. Beatrix. One of his fists clenched, and his nostrils flared, his chest tightened and the next couple of breaths came sharply, before he managed to get himself back under control, passing the Gobbler without mention.

When Yeva asked where they were going, Franky stopped before the building next door to the Gobbler. He knocked on the door loudly, "We're here." The door opened and a tall, Orkhan man stood there. He looked tired, holding his spectacles in one hand, his shirt opened and in a pair of loose trousers.

"Good morning Korvik."

The man smiled back a bit, yawning, "How's it goin' Franky? What brings you by, I never see you out so early."

Franky snorted, "That's because you're never up this early." Franky stepped back so that Korvik could see Yeva now, "This is my friend, Yeva. Yeva, this is Korvik, neighbor to the Gobbler."

Korvik smiled brightly at the redhead, stepping forward to offer a handshake. He then looked back to Franky, "So what brings you by?"

A broad grin grew upon Franky's face, "I've decided to buy this building you've been trying to get rid of."

Korvik's eyes grew wide, "Don't mess with me Franky, it's far too early for jokes."

"I'm not joking. Business has been good, and you should know, you're there every night."

Korvik looked skeptical, "You've seen the inside, you know it needs work done. And it's not exactly a cheap property."

Franky nodded, "I know."

Korvik looked flabbergasted, "Well, I'll go to the bank, grab the deed, and we'll discuss terms when I'm back. Do you wanna look through the space while I'm gone?"

Franky smiled, "That would be lovely, thank you."

Korvik stepped inside, grabbing his hat and jacket, nodding at them both, before trotting with a bit of a skip in his step toward west side to the bank. Franky gestured to the empty doorway, "After you, Miss Yeva."

The door opened up into a vast room, as large as Franky's tavern and kitchen combined. The whole building was two stories with a basement, but it was open and unfinished. "I think it might be best if you had a landlord that actually wants you as a tenet and appreciates you for what you are." Franky slowly walked through the space, "I do have an idea of a few other uses for this space, but I would happily carve out some of it for you."

He turned to look back at her, "Mystics must be helped by the community, for all that they give back." He continued to meander toward the back, "We'll get plumbing installed in here, and you'd be next door to the tavern, so there'd be plenty of opportunity for you to find more customers, if you'd like that."

He turned, smiling softly, but had serious tone in his voice, "This is not charity though. I wouldn't insult you like that." He gestured to the table that Korvik had been sitting at before they interrupted him. There was a newspaper and a ledger of notes. Franky folded up the newspaper and closed the ledger, setting them neatly in the middle of the table. "So let us come to terms, if you're amenable."

Franky sat down in the other chair, opposite to the one he'd offered her. He interlocked his fingers and held them above the table, eyes on Yeva all the while. "Please make me an offer, Mystic Yeva."