The consequences of sleeping in their tower was in full view as 22 entered Jie 10. A straight and narrow schedule would land them in the midst of the busy crossroads they’d passed through yesterday. So much to learn, so much to hear, this close at hand, but for today the opportunity had passed. Once again, the Sun had risen and the courtyard was frozen in this eerie silence they were intimately familiar with. The etches of nostalgia around their heart were never the catalyst pushing them to action, but standing in the middle of this lonely place, only surrounded by empty bottles and papers flowing lazily in the column of wind reaching towards the white sky, 22 accepted the respite from everything else going on in Last Kunlun. The elevator would be all for them, the Scavengers had received their call, the fiasco with the Doctor had abated, at least in the mind of the average citizen. Rising the floors of the complex, nothing weighed upon their heart. Alongside that conclusion, the eyes of the Capitán flashed in their mind. 22 could feel themselves frowning. Nothing weighed too heavily. Wishful thinking, again, to think she will respect an unspoken accord to not step on each other’s feet?
In their career, the Knight had never been particularly supportive of the Cors. Even if not outright antagonizing them, they would choose to exaggerate their feats with oozing sarcasm. The Pillar of Order, the Shadow behind the War frame, the Lord, Capitán of the Cors. They were far away from acting on similar principles but still, 3’s accusation stuck with them. Crossing each other’s path in Freeway, they had both played coy, dancing around a truth neither of them could be certain existed. Bothersome but not fatalistic. If the Capitán truly wanted them silenced she could’ve done so years ago, even with the tidy precautions 22 took to not draw attention to their tower, there were only so many places in the city that could’ve served their purpose. With all the invitations they had sent to guests over the years, they were convinced their base of operation at least, was already compromised. But neither the Cors nor anyone had made any move to throw them overboard. Maybe the Capitán respected their work more than 3 ever would, recognizing the value they offered to this drying husk of a city.
With a soft and tired ding, the elevator doors opened, and 22 loosened the wrinkles on their forehead, leaving this immediate issue to go back down to the ground floor without them. With light and giddy steps, they hopped to the outer grid and entered their apartment. This time, a reception was waiting inside instead of on the doorstep.
“Behold, the prodigal broadcaster, finally home!” 22 declared, striking a pose, loud enough so that their voice would reach all corners of the apartment.
Devoid of sunlight, as many would come to live that way, 22 and Magnolia’s apartment was on the larger side, even if it didn’t appear that way with how narrow every hallway was. Even then, from the front door, it was a straight shot into Magnolia’s room, to her desk where she was tabled, squinting and lightly smiling at them.
“Come here for a sec,” Magnolia replied.
She was not matching 22’s energy, leaving them to abandon the pose.
“I was just planning to leave my vest here, I’m going back out, don’t wanna dirty the floor.”
“I’ll clean after, just come here and sit for a bit.”
22 grumbled but obliged, taking off their black and red jacket and carefully hanging it on the door, they would take it back to their room later. They could’ve well taken their boots off just for the trip along the hallway but it already took so long to tie them, they couldn’t be bothered with the repetition at any time of the day. Instead, they took large and light steps to Magnolia’s room and sat on her bed, behind her desk. Glancing at her face from an angle, 22 couldn’t help but be taken aback by the evident tiredness of Magnolia but she didn’t look any different than yesterday, except for the clothes on her back. She wasn’t looking back at them, eyes stuck on her station. Now facing her back, 22 couldn’t see what she was working on, so their eyes wandered around the room. Over the last few years, their own room must have seen more change. Mostly garbage or dead electronics they kept around because they looked nice, but sometimes the Knight’s guests would bring gifts. Food was common and was always discarded afterwards, no shame in being too cautious. 22 kept the rest though, photos, little trinkets, journals in languages they couldn’t even read. They’d organically started displaying them around their room, a constant reminder of every place they’d touched, embraced and elevated. Every time they woke up to the sight, it could be a motivation as much as it could be daunting. Magnolia’s room only consisted of clothes, dresses, hats, vests of all lengths, in a myriad of colors, but all accompanied by one in particular.
“I’m making some samples, wanted to know what you think,” Magnolia hushed, her voice bridled by focus.
Magnolia wasn’t a tailor, her own hands could only do so much. “I don’t want to get better at it, I don’t like doing it, I’d rather if I didn’t have to, but noone is going to do it for me.” Right now she only wore the black nightdress she notoriously didn’t mind staining. 22 had rarely seen her at work like this, frustration and indecision seeping though every aimless click of her tongue. Magnolia finally turned around, and threw a few patches of cloth on the bed. With the blinds tightly shut everywhere around, striking colors bloomed out of the pieces 22 was picking up one after the other. Different combinations of colors, each a duo, and each paired with faint traces of red against a more prominent other color. The designs varied in intensity and texture, but neither were topics 22 was particularly adept with. Their attraction towards red certainly came from living with her for this long but they weren’t sure what their input Magnolia wanted from them. They recognized one of the samples as part of the outfit she had worn yesterday, ambushing them on the catwalk. An intense blue, this time coursed by subtle red streaks, like veins.
“Did you get commissioned? These look great.” 22 said, still shuffling through the samples.
“Nay, personal project. I want you to tell me which one you most associate with me.”
22 looked up. Magnolia was resting her face, her cheek against her arms, crossed on top of the back of her chair. She still didn’t look tired or sick, but that could be the makeup working a substantial veil. They went back to examining the samples, squinting at one, a deep black with red flowing like flames, or petals.
“I still wanted to show it off but you can keep that one,” Magnolia interjected, “I don’t mind you keeping ruby and obsidian to yourself.”
“I didn’t even say anything.”
“Hm hm.”
22 kept the blue sample on their knees, alongside the white and yellow ones, undecided.
“Is it like urgent, urgent? Can I think about it?”
“Second thing I wanted to talk to you about, I know I promised dinner out tonight but you don’t mind if we postpone to tomorrow at sundown?”
“Everything alright?” 22 asked, with more curiosity than worry in their voice, “I guess I’ll try to work something out in my schedule but I’m more concerned about your own disposition!”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” Magnolia smiled, leaning forward to flick 22’s forehead, “I just need to handle something, you’ll tell me your answer then?”
“Sure, you want the samples back?”
“Yeah, give ‘em here, keep the black one.”
22 hadn’t been sure how serious she was before, but given a direct order, they put the black and red piece of cloth deep in their pants pocket. Magnolia turned away from them and went back to her desk. Nothing more to be said it seems, 22 couldn’t be sure how long she had slept recently, compared to them with their diligent full cycle of sleep, they both felt worlds apart in the cramped apartment.
“See you then?” 22 asked, a foot out of her room.
“No more delays.”
The proposition hadn’t felt as grand as to need this amount of weight in her voice but 22 attributed it to tiredness and frustration talking. With an exaggerated twirl, they turned to the front door, only remembering that they still wore boots when they reached it. 22 looked back, but Magnolia had stopped paying attention to anything outside of her vision. If they came back to the apartment with the hallway still dusty, they’d clean it. An impulse of altruism, or simply a want to do something for her. Either way, they doubted she would take a break to do it herself. Out of the apartment, the catwalks groaned from the pressure of the wind. With the first hours of the day gone, they had to put in some work where they could find someone to listen to. Back on the empty ground floor, 22 felt the metaphorical bundle of anxiety that they’d left behind roll towards them and they dashed to leave Jie 10, as if that would accomplish anything.
22 didn’t feel like going far and stepping back in an aerobus would just knock them back to sleep until another terminus. Unfortunately the best option for them close-by that would offer a good amount of loud mouthed people was beyond the Grande Gate they were now standing under. From being right in the middle, 22 could see just how thick the proverbial Hull actually was. How did anyone even think they had any chance of punching through it? Looking at the outward waves marking the frames of the Grande Gate, one had to wonder what could realistically have gotten this result. The whole thing predated Jiù ēn, that much they remembered, and 22 doubted the Major had it in his tank to do that much, although they’d never seen him in action. 22 exhaled from their nose. Not like the Hull itself could provide anything for them.
Two choices. Heading up or down. Why not both? If it had to be the two of them, then 22 would keep the worst for last and found the first stairs leading upwards. It wasn’t the first time they’d walked around the Hull. The Knight needed to do as much to stay up to speed, they were a singular entity receiving all that information after all. 22 didn’t like the district much, everywhere smelled horribly, much worse below but not better above, the kind of pervading smell that lingered and that living in Yama never prepared them for. Surely all the other poor souls living there just evolved to get used to it. It was however, easily the best place for them to get unique information. Its people talk loud and without restraint, walls, ceilings and floors not made out of Scarmetal insulated absolutely nothing. While wandering the misshapen streets of the upper stratum, all 22 had to do was listen. All of the other districts of Last Kunlun bounced between each other, people moved around often enough that you could catch news of the Fringes from Freeway. Luck would still need to factor in, 22 never managed to get a solid grip on a consistent flow of information. The thought of hiring other people to build a network had crossed their mind once but it seemed like such a gigantic bother that it never came to fruition. And so the Knight could never know everything, but they knew more than anyone else, for most people that would be synonymous and this was good enough for 22.
“I was thinking… I was thinking…”
“Yeah.”
“I was thinking… I want a pool, I want to swim, not locked in my bathtub.”
“Go to the Gardens?”
“The water’s nasty… nah I was thinking a huge pool you could dive in… say, I was down near Black Lake the other day…”
“You cannot be serious.”
“It looks clean! If you have nose plugs! Couldn’t we ask the Cors to look into it, make sure it’s not actually harmful or anything?”
The other party was locked in a laughing fit.
“Whatever…”
“You can’t even see through a millimeter of it! That’s how bad it is! Just ask Miori to build you a big bathtub…”
“Guess that could work…”
22 had leaned against a railing to spy the conversation happening one street above them. The two individuals went back on their way and so would they. Materialistic or fundamental desire? Magnolia had a painting of the Ocean, something common to Terra before the Sun started to dim. The hypothetical immediately brought it to mind, this could’ve been the biggest bathtub you could ever wish for. Unfortunately this wasn’t the reality 22 nor the human yearning for a swim lived in. It was fortunate they still had enough self doubt to talk to someone before taking a dive in Black Lake. 22 had seen it once, nose plugs firmly in place, but trading the smell for the grime that would stick to their palate was a harsh trade-off. One of their guests had invited them here, down to the lowest accessible level of the Hull. The myrrh worked maintenance of the underground canals keeping the black mire at bay. “It’s my life, it has already taken my smell and part of my vision, but I don’t feel bad about it. How did you call it? Intimate. I know I’m not the only one.” The district was fortunate to have them, when the interview was done, 22 felt very satisfied to have reeled in such an elusive yet important specimen. Witnessing Black Lake themselves was coldly humbling. Somewhere in their mind they’d visualized a large bowl, a cup meant to hold rainwater that would sometimes overflow. But even the lowest levels of the Hull had been built to be homes. Piercing through Black Lake’s surface were desolate buildings of scrap and Scarmetal, melting grotesquely into the epicenter of the still dark waters. It was hypnotizing, how immobile the water was, inscrutable, opaque like the ground itself. The only light reaching down under were artificial lamps, the Sun’s light, even at zenith, would be smothered way before reaching this forsaken place. “Pretty, don’t you think?” The myrrh had appeared genuine but 22 couldn’t place that word on what they had seen.
Climbing ever higher in the upper stratum, 22 had wanted to stay far away from the filth of the lower levels. Out of spite, they wouldn’t go down there today, reminiscing had done enough to make their stomach turn. Without realizing, they had ended up in a familiar place, a sweeping view of the Hull unfolded before them under a large convex balcony, with empty long chairs layered around, likely for sightseeing that noone currently had any interest in. On the other side of the view, a few bars neighbored each other, silently waiting for night to fall. They were the same as when 22 had been there last. Feeling the pressure of their walk on the soles of their feet, 22 took a seat facing the rest of the Hull. They spied the Pride, in the distance, riding with the wind.The Sun had left its zenith, staring directly at it would only provide a mild inconvenience. So small, yet persistent. At this point, 22 saw it as an acquaintance. They hesitated calling it a friend, even after all this time, after staring at Doctor Faris in the eyes, 22 couldn’t put a will behind its unblinking white eye. 22 was cautious, they had taught themselves how to keep their hands close as a safeguard before anyone needed to teach them. The Sun did much of the same.
“Ye want something?”
The question slightly startled 22, but they were relaxed enough in the folding chair that their heart accepted the surprise without issue. A heavy human was leaning next to them, positively beaming from his face. He was dressed elegantly in jeans and silk, proudly embracing his stature. Sharply shaven and holding a flat hat at an angle on his head, it was obvious the human paid a lot of attention to his appearance. 22 assumed they were from on of the bars behind them, mistaking 22 for an undecided patron. The confusion didn’t matter, even nearing the sky, the smell was uncomfortable enough that they wouldn’t refuse something that would soothe their nose.
“What do you have?”
“We make mixed drinks, lots of choices.”
“Any without alcohol?”
“For sure! Ye want the recommendation?”
“There’s only one?”
“It’s my favorite.”
“Sure, hit me.”
The human went into deep concentration, obviously passionate about the subject.
“It’s a synthmilk base, with mint and red flavor.”
“Red flavor…”
“Red fruit flavor.”
“Sounds great, I’ll take it,” 22 snickered.
The human nodded, then asked, “Say, yer not from the Hull are ye?”
22 smiled and lifted their hands in defeat, “You caught me.”
They were following the flow of the conversation but 22 couldn’t help but be unsure if their response would be well received or not. Each time they’d been to the Hull before they either kept to themselves or they were accompanying…
“Great, great! Say, ye don’t mind signing our tablet just inside?” The human pointed to one of the bars, “We have so many regulars but we keep tabs on how many visitors from outside we get, to brag.”
Had they done this before? Their memory was fuzzy. 22 looked to the bar, not flashier than its neighbors, called “The Martlet”. A faraway sense of déjà vu compelled them.
“Yeah, I can do that,” 22 replied, still looking at the bar.
“Perfect, thank you, thank you. Follow me, I’ll show ye where it is and get yer drink.”
If they’d known they’d go into bars, 22 would have kept their jacket with but alas. Inside the place itself, there were still some patrons tabled, shying from the rays of light. Most turned to look at them entering but the electricity in the air was nonexistent, and they all went back to their business.
“One recommendation!” The barkeep shouted, with a thunderous voice.
Without replying, somewhere behind a row of mismatched doors, kitchen utensils started clamoring. The barkeep led 22 to a large tablet, affixed slightly high up on the wall. It showed, in minute long intervals, messages from outsiders of the Hull. Under their names, were congratulations to the chefs, complaints dipped in sarcasm, praises of the view and things more personal. Eulogies, confessions, aimless wishes, last words. Standing in front of the screen, watching rows of messages scroll down endlessly, 22 was sure of it now.
“I’ve been here before,” 22 said, ahead of the barkeep, who seemed ready to explain something.
“Oh? Oh that happens even less often! When was that? I’m sure I’d have remembered yer mug…”
“More than a decade ago,” 22 replied, eyes affixed to the screen, as if trying to catch something, “The name’s 22.”
“Well that’s easy to search…”
The barkeep leaned against the tablet, tapping knowingly on its side. A few seconds later, the messages were ordered in common alphabetical order, leaving the single numbered name at the top of the list.
22
I want to fall in love
22 scoffed. They hadn’t stopped the barkeep from searching, they couldn’t remember if what they had put in was worth seeing again. With their time lost wish laid in front of them, 22 didn’t even know what to think. The barkeep clicked twice again, seemingly pulling the messages specifically from that day. Right above theirs, another message caught their eye.
Magnolia
The waiter dresses like shit
“I remember now, ye were the kid sticking to Magnolia! Was the first time we met, she came back ye know? That comment didn’t hurt at the time but looking at my old clothes… yeesh. She saved my ass.”
22 was aware. Magnolia wasn’t a tailor, for as long as 22 knew her, she’d been an outfitter. She designed clothes and accessories for people. It was her own way to live, harshly critiquing how other people dressed, to then offer them her services. It should’ve sounded callous, pretentious and most importantly disrespectful to the sanctity of personal style. However, 22 had yet to hear wind of a complaint towards her. Despite her brutish methods, her care seeped through her work, unabashed. Like the barkeep, her customers all came out of the experience with a new outlook towards themselves, from life-changing to simply smiling a little more every day. After idling for a moment, the tablet went back to scrolling on its own, washing away both of their messages. Behind them both, the counter received a sliding glass without a sound.
“There it is,” The barkeep exhaled, grabbing the drink from the counter to place it between 22’s hands, “I don’t know if yer still around her or whatever, but say hello for me if ye see her again right?”
22 nodded, their eyes still stuck on the cascade of messages. Absentmindedly, they took a swig of the drink, thinner than they’d expected. Also to 22’s surprise,the “red” flavor ended up overpowering the synthmilk and mint. They paid more attention to the color, it wasn’t fancy, just a slightly grayish white in a plain glass. But it was warm and the flavor was good. This time, 22 was sure they hadn’t ordered the same before. A new experience, even as mundane, was welcomed.
“It’s unique, it’s great,” 22 smiled.
“Right?” The barkeep smugly replied.
Merely to make sure, 22 put a hand in their pocket, feeling the sample’s texture. The barkeep was fidgeting next to them, also fixated on the messages.
“So… did it work out?”
22 looked to him, then to cracks in the walls. Thinking back on their wish, this sixteen year old 22 was impossible to reach. The one who had stood exactly where they were. The one who had written this message. They were far away, further still, yet 22 still carried a piece them around, because they hadn’t chosen to leave their name behind. Was there anything they could answer? The first one who came to mind, the one and only deserving of the passionate and unconditional devotion they had thought they needed, was the Sun itself. 22 scoffed again.
“Unrequited.”
“Bummer,” The barkeep sighed, “But hey, there’s still time.”
With that said, he went on his way, back to the other tables. His voice still carried far, but 22 didn’t feel like eavesdropping anymore. What would this one know about time? His unfounded confidence gave them something to smile about as they finally tore their eyes away from the screen.