Chapter Text
Pity was the last thing André wanted from anyone, after all, he’s come to learn that his interests and passions don’t matter to his mother, being waved off every time he presents her with a small creation. When she does pay attention, it’s only to boost her image. He’s grown accustomed to it at this point, only working on his creations in his free time and keeping it to himself.
His family—De Carmel—is a fairly high name in the Fontaine political structure, so his image is of utmost importance. At first, he didn’t quite understand why, but he quickly learned that it was just a show, like an act from the opera put on by the Archon—Furina De Fontaine—for the entirety of Fontaine to watch, and with his interests in machines, that is seen as a “dent to their image”—as his mother put it—so it was kept on a down-low.
He liked the idea of making things, especially with the clockwork systems implemented into the Gardemeks, which were a part of the Fontaine Marechaussee Phantom, invented by the late and great Alain Guillotin—a man who he looked up due to his work with the clockwork system. In fact, André made it a personal goal to improve upon the work Alain did. But, with the only person he can go to not paying attention to his work, that work felt void and lost.
Pushing himself away from his desk, he lets out a heavy sigh, looking at the small recreation of a duck on his desk. A look of irritation crosses his face at the sight of a singular missing gear, a crucial component to make it run. Running a hand through his chestnut-colored hair, he adjusts his glasses as he listens to his mother in the other room, chattering and laughing with whoever is over.
Probably another aristocrat, he thinks to himself.
With another breath, he stands, grabbing his creation and hip bag before moving to his window, opening it and climbing out, his eyes scanning for safe spots to put his feet as he scales the building. He needs to find that missing component, or else the entire thing just won’t work. What he needs is a specific part from the neck of a Specialist Assault Mek, large machines that can either have shields, rocket pods, or a baton. These machines were the very thing André wanted to improve on, to make them better. As much as he looked up to Alain, his designs were far outdated, and compared to the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale, they were inferior, and he wanted to fix that.
It was the reason he was granted an electro vision just last year, his drive and ambition to improve the machines that walk around Fontaine for the betterment of the people is what got him recognized by the gods.
Jumping down, he feels the force of impact against the cobblestone run up his body, his calves straining as he rebalances. Looking around to see if anyone saw, and listening in case his mother notices he’s gone, he progresses, tightening the strap to his bag.
As he walks, he inspects his little creation a bit more, scratching off stains. Since he’s not in the more industrial side of things, he doesn’t have access to the clean and pristine metal made in the Meropede, so he has to scavenge for them, going to a multitude of places like Erinnyes, where the Melusines—a short, amphibious, and all-female species that is rather closely tied into Fontaine society—would somehow take down the Gardemeks, but only for the screws, leaving the shell and components, and since nobody comes for them after they’re torn down, André would come in and take what he could find. Even though he does have the option to buy the part straight from the factory, it’s the exploration and learning about the machines that drew him in.
He passes the Hotel Debord, a high-end restaurant he’s been to way too often, maybe to the point if he went one more time he might actually gain an allergy to the food. He doesn’t quite understand why it’s the only place his mother brings him to eat other than the personal chefs at home, but it’s getting to where the food is now starting to taste really dull and bland.
Finally tearing his attention away, he carefully stuffs his creation into his bag, putting his attention to other things. Looking up at the aquabus tracks on the higher levels of the court, the thick clouds cover the sun like an ocean, the air crisp and cold as a breeze passes by, prickling at his skin and causing him to hold his bag tighter. If anything, he guesses the cold front that came from Snezhnaya might also include several inches of snow, and the aquabus tracks freezing, halting anyone coming in and out of the Court.
Reaching the bottom of the steps at the end of the path, he makes a left towards the Beaumont Workshop, a place he can describe as his comfort zone, as the man there may be the only person he knows that understands what he’s talking about when it comes to the Clockwork Meka.
Louise, the man running the workshop, notices André though the small crowd, and a smile crosses his aged features.
“André! I was expecting to see you sometime this week.” He says, leaning on the table nearest to him and the smelting furnace.
He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. Louise runs the Beaumont Workshop alongside his granddaughter Estelle, who is roughly the same age as him—thirteen. Out of everyone in Fontaine, he is the only other person he interacts with other than his mother’s “friend-group”.
“Heard your birthday was last week kid, how was it?” Louise asks, motioning towards Estelle to get the furnace running.
“Same as last year.” André responds, his voice leveled and keeping his words short.
“Ah, well, you were never one for grandeur. Watcha’ need this time?”
“Left-most neck gear to an Assault Mek.” He says, pulling out a recreated diagram and handing it to him.
Nodding with an amused hum, Louise moves to one of the crates of stored parts on the other side of the furnace, digging through it for a bit and taking glances at the diagram, but comes back empty handed, giving him back the diagram.
“Sorry kid, couldn’t find what you were looking for.”
“It’s quite alright.” André responds, his tone not even changing. He turns to leave, but Louise suddenly speaks up.
“If I were to recommend somewhere though, I’d check the Fleuve Cendre—lovely people down there—and I heard that they keep some scrapped Gardemeks to use for tools and other equipment before the rest is given to the Spina, so I’d catch them while you can.”
He’s heard about the Fleuve Cendre a few times from his mother—which is always accompanied by a harsh, distasteful tone—he’s never been there. From what he’s gathered, the Fleuve Cendre is a more poverty stricken area of Fontaine, being in the large pipe structure underneath the Court, but it is held together and supported by the Spina Di Rosula, an organization he’s heard very little about.
With a thankful nod, he turns and makes his way towards the staircase leading to the underground location. The door is an oxidized cyan, grated in multiple layers. With a sharp thrust of his strength, the door slowly opens to reveal the warm lights of the interior, the walls making up a cylindrical room, where in the center lies a long and lit hole, a ladder descending to multiple platforms. Looking down at it carefully, he can hear the faint voices of other people and children echoing up the pit.
Looking around for the first ladder, he finally notices what he failed to the first time: several men dressed in black suits and ties, doing what appears to be guarding the entrance. Making eye contact with one of them, they simply nod and give a friendly smile, making André break the connection and continue searching, where he quickly finds the ladder and descends carefully.
Reaching the bottom, the air immediately becomes a bit warmer, the ground and tunnels around him acting as an insulator, and compared to what he heard, the air is surprisingly clean. In the center of the tunnel runs an artificial river, which is clear as crystal, so if he were to guess, the Fleuve Cendre acts as a filter of sorts.
As he walks down the side paths, he passes a few adults and some groups of other kids playing with whatever they can find, and looking at them, he suddenly feels very out of place; their clothes look more thrown together, like they grabbed whatever they can find, while his is more clean, and kept together. At the thought, he puts his gaze to the floor and picks up the pace, his full intention being to go in and out.
André never liked being the center of attention, especially when his mother would show him off like a prized trophy. With that many eyes on him, it would make him feel like he was being judged for every single decision he would make. This would only escalate when he would be dragged to parties and balls and all the other social events he disliked.
Eventually, he walks down a small flight of steps at the end of the tunnel, reaching a large chamber, and scattered about are buildings made from different plates of metal, the entire area held up by a multitude of platforms put together above a pit of water. If he were to guess, all the metal and plating comes from decommissioned ship hulls. Further towards the back is a large structure, the front looking like a small tavern with a large sign of an anchor with flowers around it. More groups of kids play about, chasing each other, few adults sit at that tavern structure, and more men and women dressed in black suits stand about, some even more around the structure.
Though, seeing one or more kids stop and look over at him, he quickly averts his gaze, his eyes finding a few piles of Gardemek parts underneath a platform by the stairs, that spark in his eyes lighting up as he pulls out several diagrams, getting to his knees near a chassis and placing them on the ground. Grabbing a specialized tool, he pops open the chest cavity and takes a look inside, and he breathes a heavy sigh of relief. It was everything he wanted: a fully intact chassis to a Specialist Assault Gardemek. Sitting back, he takes his drawn diagram and adds a few things before setting it back down and moving to get a closer look.
Peaking inside, he sees all the intricate details he’s always wanted to see, bits and pieces he’s never seen before. To the untrained eye, it looked like a mess of gears and wires—but to André, it was like a really complicated puzzle. As he looks around, he notices a small little glow of its energy source, and from the color, it’s a Pneuma generator. Like a moth to a flame, he places his pencil in his mouth and reaches for it. But just as he’s about to grab it, when it’s just in the grasp of his hand—
“Hey!”
The sudden voice jolts him out of his reverie, causing him to panic and try to stand up only for him to drop his pencil and bash his head against the rim of the chest opening with a loud metallic echo.
With his head pounding, he finally backs up out of the chassis and looks around frantically, his eyes eventually landing on the person looming over his struggling form. It’s as if he’s looking at the sun itself—a girl with golden blonde hair, curls framing her face with the back being long and flowing like a river before becoming large curls at the end, looking more radiant than anything he’s seen. She wears a coal black winter dress, with navy blue highlights and gold accessories which shine off the warm lights of the area, and a small smile is painted on her face, looking playfully amused at the situation, as if she finds his situation the funniest thing in the world.
“Y’know,” she begins, tilting her head curiously, leaning down a bit and linking her hands behind her back. “People ask before taking things.”
He’s stunned into silence, his normally filled mind completely blank, flattened like a heart monitor, and apparently she finds that even more amusing, giggling softly as she leans back up, her voice sounding like it came straight from Celestia.
“It’s rude to not respond when a lady is talking to you.” she says, adjusting her winter dress, still keeping eye contact. After a few beats, her smile only gets bigger. “Not a talker? I can work with that.”
After examining him a bit closer, suddenly feeling self-conscious, she backs up and adjusts her clothes.
“Well, you don’t look like you’re from here.” she says, placing her hands triumphantly on her hips. “So, allow me to be your guide, and to introduce myself, you can call me Navia; Navia Caspar.”