Work Text:
Arkadia was a large city that was divided by a larger river running right down its center. Most of the residentials and business areas were on one side. The industrial district was on the other. One side was thriving and one side was not. Empty warehouses and rundown apartment complexes cast dark shadows along the riverfront. Its vacancy left the city selling faster than it could import.
But that was six months ago, before Thelonious Jaha became Chancellor. Six months of planning and remodeling from the ground up, the warehouses were stripped to their bare bones, the apartment complexes were being updated, and jobs were being created.
Now both sides of the city were booming.
Or they would be as soon as the ARK opened Christmas weekend.
The Chancellor’s son, Wells Jaha, had been tasked with repurposing the city’s warehouse district into a cool, hip hub for commerce and camaraderie.
Wells looked up at the ARK, as he so fondly called it, where the frontmost warehouse jutted out over the river like the bow of a ship, mix metal siding was welded on to mimic wooden planks and was supported by heavy beams. The warehouses were all interconnected like the suspension bridge that connected both sides of the city across the river. Restaurants and shops would soon fill the many floors and corners. There were green spaces for gardens, squares for leisure, and spots for games.
It was early Saturday morning, as Wells made his way inside the large empty warehouse at the back of the ARK where Arkadia’s Farmer’s Market was held. It wasn’t an official market, no one had a permit, and all of the goods sold weren’t even legal...
But like Noah’s Ark, they had arrived in pairs with absolutely no warning. There were no signs about it around town, but when Wells first started stripping the warehouses of their contents, Saturday morning would roll around, and they would arrive.
First it was the farmers, an Asian man and a blonde woman backed their truck up to the door and unloaded carts of fresh produce and flowers. Then it was the artists, of all kinds. Painters and dancers and musicians to sell their work on canvases and discs, to offer classes, or to simply entertain the crowd for the day. The chefs and the bakers were next. Their creations filled the warehouse in a plethora of aromas. And the last to arrive were always the salesman, with their clothes and books and trinkets just hoping to make a buck off the crowd.
Wells caught the eye of every merchant as he passed their booths. It was busy, but they all took notice of the Chancellor’s son who owned the buildings they were technically trespassing in, as they set up for the day.
Monty and Harper, the farmer and the florist, had the biggest booth in the center of the room. Stands of ripe, red tomatoes, fresh carrot sticks, berries of every color, leafy greens, and crisp golden apples were entwined with roses and poppies and peonies and cosmos. The climate in Arkadia was perfect for the Green’s farm even in late December and their business blossomed from it.
Raven Reyes had set up a booth for her dance studio next to them. She was a classically trained ballet dancer who had damaged her leg in an accident. Now she taught classes at the YMCA and came to the Market with a barre and a stick to challenge anyone who would stop, to beat her at holding pointe on her one good foot. Wells had never seen her lose.
Murphy’s mini gastropub was across from Raven, the smell of roasted meat and fresh baked bread wafted over to Wells. There were many food stands in the warehouse, but Murphy’s was his favorite. He picked up a sample of ale and kept on walking.
Niylah’s Threads, a clothing store, was filled with racks of Christmas sweaters and Santa Hats. All her items were handmade or collected from people around the city. She smiled at him as he passed.
Echo was waiting for him at her stand. A scoop of dark purple ice cream in one hand and a black cone in the other. Her eyebrow was quirked and Wells nodded at her. She added another scoop and the intergalactic silver sprinkles. The lavender ice cream hit his tongue and Wells marveled at the unique flavors and funky space theme of her ice cream pop-up.
Bellamy Blake’s Books was right next to Clarke Griffin’s Gallery. Wells hurried past the stacks of books that threatened to tumble over into the path between the stands. The man didn’t even look up from his own book that he was reading. Wells let his hand glide against the spine of a few stacks. What could he say? Blake had an impressive collection.
He had every intention of quickly passing Clarke’s stand as well. Wells wasn’t sure how the two had ended up beside each other this morning. They usually were on opposite ends of the warehouse. As far away from each other as they could get. He didn’t understand the animosity between them, but he knew, like everyone else, to stay out of their way when they were in close proximity.
Griffin’s Gallery was full of paintings today. Her canvases were splashed with color and some of the paint was still wet. But a sound from the back of her stall caught his immediate attention.
A string of hiccups and sniffles led him behind the artwork, and that is where Wells caught Clarke crying into a pallet of blues.
“Hey, hey...what’s going on? What’s wrong?” Wells asked and reached down to comfort the blonde. His hand frozen when Clarke looked up at him. Her blue eyes were puffy and red.
“My dad died,” Clarke said soberly and it caused him to take a step back. He knew Clarke very well, he came to the Farmer’s Market every Saturday and blended in with the crowd, but he didn’t know, know her like that. He had grown up as an only child and was a single man now. He didn’t really do crying, even if it was almost Christmas.
“I’m really sorry.”
“No problem, Jaha. I can take it from here,” Bellamy Blake appeared before them. He laid his book down on top of Clarke’s brushes and held out a hand for her to take. Clarke scuffed, but Wells took the opportunity and didn’t stick around to see what would happen next.
He had almost forgotten what he was doing in the warehouse, the purpose of being so visible in the Farmer’s Market that morning…
“Can I have your attention, please?” he called from the center of the large warehouse, back next to the Green’s Farm stand. His voice echoed up to the rafters and everyone froze. It was only the vendors, no customers had arrived yet.
“Good—good morning! I know you all are very busy but this will just take a moment,” he said nervously. Wells wasn’t a speaker like his father.
“As some of you may...or may not know...the uh, warehouse district has been refurbished. And we’ll be opening it up to the public at Christmas. So this will be the last Farmer’s Market I can let you all have.”
An uproar of disagreement ran up surprising him and he raised his hands to quiet them all.
“But—but I’m offering a spot in the ARK for the business who sells the most at the opening Christmas Bizarre. You’ll have to get a permit…” People laughed at that.
“And you’ll have to do it right, but the one who sells the most is looking at a fully furnished and paid for shop or restaurant or studio...whatever you like, it’s yours. Thank you.”
He turned to leave and then added, ”Oh, I’ll need some help with decorating and putting this whole thing together...if anyone is interested.”
——
Clarke stopped crying after Wells finished his announcement and left the warehouse. Bellamy didn’t stick around long after Wells had first walked away and now Clarke didn’t know how to approach him to thank him for his kindness.
She brought his book back to his booth and dropped it down on a stack, hard. The noise didn’t faze him. He didn’t look up from the new book he was thumbing slowly through, but asked her a question.
“That was kinda cruel, don't you think?”
”What?”
”Win a spot in the ARK?”
”Oh, yeah. I don't know how he expects us to compete. I barely make any commission off my paintings and no one wants to sign up for classes without a studio. What am I supposed to do?”
”People aren’t really knocking down my stacks to purchase books these days either, Princess,” Bellamy winked at her and Clarke rolled her eyes.
”It’s not really fair. All the foodies are going to smoke us!”
The two looked around the warehouse. Not many people looked as dazed by the announcement as they did. Although, Raven was scolding her barre, Murphy was burning his biscuits, and Niylah had replaced her Christmas gear with her usual garb to sell.
“That’s smart,” Bellamy pointed out, he leaned against his desk beside Clarke. She could feel the heat coming off of him but didn’t move.
“I need to sell as much as I can though,” Clarke sighed and Bellamy looked down at her. “Funeral expenses.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. My mom passed away when I was a teenager and I still feel like I’m paying her expenses today.”
“But I don’t even want to think about this Christmas thing. I mean, I could have my own studio!”
Clarke’s mind was racing with the possibility. It would be a dream come true.
“I could own a proper bookstore,” Bellamy retorted. Clarke couldn’t help but smile. Bellamy loved his books. She didn’t know much else about him. For some reason they were always coming to a head and at each other’s throats. But she liked him.
“We could all own a proper business,” Clarke waved a hand at everyone in the room.
“You know, I’ve got a degree in business, well, partial degree. You think I could borrow your hand for a second?”
Clarke looked up at him in bewilderment and Bellamy stood up.
“I’ve got an idea, but I’m shit with drawing, okay?”
——
Clarke didn’t sell any of her paintings that day. She didn’t even open her booth. Bellamy kept her too busy.
She sketched out a drawing of the ARK and the warehouse they were in, after pulling up the blueprints from Wells Jaha’s website. Clarke had seen the outside of the place, but the inside was still somewhat of a mystery. They had a clearer picture of it now.
“Three floors and endless outdoor space. That’s where I would do it,” Bellamy pointed to the map. It was a grassy square in the center of the ARK.
“You could probably do the same set up as in here, only bigger and more festive.”
“Christmas lights strung above the pavilion? A tree in the center? Tables for a place to eat? Tents for crafts?”
“Yes, I love it!”
Clarke pulled out another canvas and swirled her brush around the blue pallet. Bellamy waited patiently for her to finish and then she revealed it.
“Taste of Arkadia,” Bellamy smiled, the freckles on his cheeks stretched until they disappeared into his tan skin. It was a simple design, and a simpler concept.
For the opening of the ARK, they would have food and drinks, arts and crafts, and entertainment. All highlighting the many businesses that already occupied the warehouse district.
The trick would be convincing everyone to work together.
Absolutely not , was Murphy’s reply when they approached a group as they were headed home. Echo didn’t even stop to listen. And Raven still looked bitter.
Monty and Harper agreed to share some of their produce the day of the Bizarre if any foodies needed it. And Harper volunteered her poinsettias and flowers wherever they needed them. Niylah asked Clarke to lend her hand again with a new sign for her, which gave Clarke the idea to approach Raven.
The brunette was leaning against her Jeep as she placed her barre in the backseat.
“Hey, Raven. I have some sketches at home that I did from one of your performances a few years ago. I can spruce them up a bit if you wanted to sell them next weekend?” Clarke asked tentatively. She knew dancing was a touchy subject for the woman when it came to her former company memories.
“I’d really appreciate that, Clarke. Thanks.”
They parted ways and Clarke climbed into her own vehicle to drive around to the front of the warehouses. She met Bellamy who was parked under the ARK’s nose.
“We’ve got one week, Griffin. Don’t try to do everything by yourself,” Bellamy told her when she offered to draw him up some signs for his books, as well. She huffed at his polite refusal and then handed over the notes they had made dividing up the tasks for the opening next weekend, and said goodbye.
Bellamy went to his apartment on this side of the water and Clarke drove back across the bridge to her side. They were back to being rivals.
——
The week went by explicitly quick and before Clarke knew it, she was loading up her car with supplies, signs, and paintings for the event.
Wells was waiting for her when she arrived. He led her inside the ARK, which was incredible. The metal casing around the front warehouse hid the original shape underneath, but when you stepped inside you hardly noticed where you were at all. It was like being transported to a plaza of pizzazz. The warehouse was vibrant and alive even in its empty state.
Store fronts beckoned the window shopper in, restaurants were poised for patrons, and the outdoor space was mesmerizing. Gardens were growing and flowers were blooming. An enormous tree stood in the center decked out in popcorn strings and red berries. It was so much more organic than Clarke thought this place could ever be. It reminded her of the Famer’s Market in a strange way. In the way the commerce intermingled with the camaraderie.
She didn’t gawk long, but set down her things and got to work. Hours went by and others began to arrive. She hung up the twinkling lights along the beams of the warehouse, set up the tents for the crafters, and the tables for the food.
She gifted Raven her ballet sketches, the black charcoal lines of limbs in impossible poses would hopefully provide her some good revenue. She hung up Niylah’s Thread’s new sign over her booth. And Clarke left little gifts of paintings along many other booths, too.
The night kicked off with a short speech from the Chancellor, thanking his son for all the hard work he had done to the warehouse district, the tree was lit, and then everyone scrambled to sell as much as they could.
Clarke passed Murphy and his pork belly sandwiches with slaw and homemade BBQ sauce. He had ended up grabbing some cabbage from the Green’s when he ran out in the first hour.
Niylah was selling her Santa hats and ugly Christmas sweaters along with hot chocolate.
Echo had her eggnog ice cream scooped into tiny spaceship cones that she sold right out of an ice cream cart. Clarke was proud of the way her design had come out on it.
Raven was taking bets on who could beat her at pointe, but a lot of her customers were walking away with appointment slips to try out a Barre at the Bar gathering she was hosting downtown.
She was so caught up with everything going on around her that it took her a moment to recognize her own booth. There were tables and chairs and canvases set up along with some of her paintings on the frame behind them. Clarke has intended to sell tonight, but she had been so busy all week that she didn’t have much. She definitely didn’t set up whatever this was.
“Paint and Sip...,” a voice whispered in her ear. She turned to see Bellamy beside her. “I figured you were so busy taking care of everyone else you wouldn’t have time to do anything for yourself. It’s been pretty busy over here, you know?”
“You did this for me?” Clarke asked. There were adults and kids painting away at their snowmen or Christmas tree as they sipped hot cocoa. Bellamy tucked his head down into his sweater and his cheeks turned rosy-pink.
“Merry Christmas, Clarke,” he said and turned to leave. Clarke looked after him and tried to find his booth, but didn’t see it.
“Hey, where’s your stuff?” she called out. Bellamy didn’t turn around but pointed to the far end of the square. A line was forming.
“How did you manage that? They’re knocking down the stacks!”
“Coupons!” It was Wells beside her now. He was beaming. His dark eyes twinkled in the night reflecting the lights and the stars over their heads.
“What?”
“Blake is selling a coupon book for all the booths here tonight. 10–15–20–and even 50% off some items. It was genius marketing. I can’t believe he got everyone to agree to it, but the ARK is going to thrive.”
“He said he couldn’t draw...wait, does that mean he won?”
“It looks like it’s going to be an even tie across the board, my friend. A mysterious benefactor as donated the first months rent for everyone. Merry Christmas,” Wells patted Clarke on the shoulder and moved away.
But Clarke didn’t notice. She was in shock. A small part of her wondered if that was the man’s plan all along. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she felt Bellamy standing in front of her again.
“I get my own studio.” The disbelief was thick on her tongue.
“And I get my very own bookstore,” Bellamy threw his arm around Clarke and squeezed her into his chest for a hug. Bellamy mumbled how Wells had came around to all the booths to share the good news. They stood close together and marveled at their new work home.
“Merry Christmas, Clarke.”
“Merry Christmas, Bellamy.”