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When the door of the Hushed Honeybee swings open to reveal the campaign party, well-traveled and weary, Maria runs right past their greeting into the morning light of Sunshade Row.
Despite how frequently Mister and the others manage to visit, the kind of mission they’re on means they can never promise when the next trip to the capital might be. Maria’s used to that, and she knows better than to mind, but this particular in-between has made her more restless than usual. It’s been… nearly a week now, since the driver of their gauntlet runner, Mr. Neuras, lended a hand with a very special gift for Miss Fabienne. Maria’s been on the edge of her seat ever since, staring up at the gilded letters of that beloved sign whilst waiting for the day she could properly convey her gratitude.
Now that her patience has finally been rewarded, she sends her thanks to Papa for the extraordinary luck; with it still being morning, the streets aren’t as busy and there’s more of a chance everyone will stay through dinner. She’s not sure how long this will take, but she’d like not to rush it.
Out of breath, Maria takes the last steps up to Sunlumeo slowly, the full strength of the sun hitting her in a way the alleyways below are never allowed. It’s admittedly always a little scary coming up here, but today the eager pound of her heart drowns out any animosity that usually awaits her.
The gauntlet runner is… incredible. Parked all alone near the entrance gate, the bright and cheery colors splashed across its metal exterior stand out against the dreary grey of the surrounding buildings. The sight of it always makes Maria’s heart flutter, and while today is no exception, she still finds herself pausing under the shade of a nearby tree. The advantage of an early start seems to come with an unforeseen downside—while there’s few around to bother her, it also means she lacks a crowd to mask her presence. Loiterers are certainly common around the runners, but they’re the kind of people allowed to do that sort of thing. Maria is not.
Even so… this is meant to be a gift for Mr. Neuras. He deserves it of her to be brave.
Taking a deep breath, Maria clutches her pad of paper to her chest and begins the long trek across the plaza.
With how big the gauntlet runner already is, it’s hard to believe it’s even bigger once you approach its belly. Maria has to crane her neck all the way back just to look at it, her small frame engulfed entirely by its shadow. Unable to see head nor tail of the skeletal beast, it’s now obvious that this spot is much too close; she steps back, then once more, eventually finding herself much further than she originally imagined.
Now across the street, Maria takes care she’s not within any carriage’s path before settling on her new vantage point, dead center of the runner and what now feels like a million miles away. In hindsight, perhaps it was a bit silly of her to think she was ever meant to be that close—her place has always been right here, watching from a distance.
She takes a colored pencil from her pocket and begins to draw.
Despite what people may think about the inhabitants of Sunshade Row, their backgrounds and interests are just as varied and colorful as the sunlit side of the city. During her time at the inn, Maria’s been lucky enough to meet countless musicians, dancers, researchers, and everything in between, and though most keep their conversation to other grown-ups, sometimes she even gains a bit of their insight to the world past the walls of the capital. It was through one of those conversations where she learned to map out the shape of what she’s drawing rather than immediately focusing on the details—seeing the big picture is what the young man had called it. He had been more than a little drunk, his smile not quite reaching tired eyes, but the sketches all laid out across the table had been beautiful.
And when Maria told him he would be rich and famous one day, he said he liked the world she saw, and asked her to always keep drawing it.
That’s what she does, then, her eye tracing the line that divides the runner from the buildings as her hand carefully follows along on paper. According to what Mister told her, Mr. Neuras built the runner all by himself, and it’s his pride and joy the same as she is Miss Fabienne’s. Maria can understand why—not only is it very pretty, but it’s even able to travel to familiar places in the blink of an eye. There’s really no other runner like it, and Maria is lucky enough to be friends with the ones who call it theirs.
With the outline done, albeit wobbly and a bit malformed, Maria steps closer, minding any passing carriages as she does. As she begins to draw out the many different lines that make up the hull and joints of the runner, the steady increase of horseshoes and chatter behind her fades to nothing. For once, Maria loses herself in the feeling of her work; the anxiety of her own existence ceases.
The moment doesn’t last.
“You there,” calls a voice that cuts right through Maria’s thoughts. Without need for confirmation, she knows those words are meant for her. When she does look up, hand frozen in her pocket, it’s a clemar man. He’s dressed rather fancy, as if Maria’s meant to think he’s important, but truthfully, he looks just the same as anyone else on this street. If anything, she considers Mr. Strohl’s old, carefully mended coat to be more noble than any of these men combined.
“Yes, sir?” Maria replies politely, forcing the waver down her throat. Miss Fabienne says that it’s important to be smart and safe, but that doesn’t mean you have to show that you’re scared.
“You’re far too close to the gauntlet runners. Who knows what might happen if a halfblood were to touch one of them.” The man seems to sneer at the thought. “The sort of bad luck that would break one down in the middle of the Tradia Desert, I imagine.”
“I’m very sorry,” Maria says with a slight bow of her head, though it makes no sense to apologize—this isn’t his runner. The occupants wouldn’t mind. “I’ll be sure to back up.”
“What you can do is leave,” the man says gruffly. “You have no business here. You know your place.”
Coloring is Maria’s favorite part. She had been looking forward to this most of all.
“U-um—"
“Excuse me! What’s going on here?”
Maria turns to see none other than the lady Junah herself, the songstress’ gaze fixated solely on the unwelcoming clemar. Mr. Strohl stands behind her, several bags overflowing in his arms.
“L-lady Junah!” the man says, rushing to remove his hat. Something about Mr. Strohl’s face in response looks almost frightening, but Lady Junah simply lifts her hand before stepping forward.
“Hello, love,” she greets warmly, bending over just enough to meet Maria at eye level. “We sorely missed you at breakfast! Did you run off to take a look at our runner?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Maria replies quietly, gaze turned downward. Though she knows better, she can’t help that familiar feeling that she did, in fact, do something wrong.
“Well!” Lady Junah exclaims, clapping her hands together, “I’m sure you’d have an even grander time inside of the old thing. Mind the smell, of course. You’ll just have to join us, won’t you?” She then turns to the clemar, still wide-eyed and uncomfortable. “And you.” Lady Junah’s voice lowers to something dangerous. “You’d do well not to bother my friend again, mm?”
“Y-yes, ah. Quite,” is all he manages to say before he backs away entirely. Mr. Strohl clicks his tongue with a grumble Maria can’t quite catch, but her attention is already drawn back to Lady Junah.
“I’m sorry for the trouble, Lady Junah. I was just drawing, honest.”
“Trouble? Oh, darling, no. You’re never any trouble at all.” Lady Junah smooths down a piece of Maria’s hair. “I’m just glad I offered to fetch this week’s supply run.”
When Maria finally smiles, Lady Junah smiles back.
“Now, that invite wasn’t just for show. You’re more than welcome to come aboard with us.”
“Really?” She hadn’t exactly planned how she would get her gift to Mr. Neuras afterwards, so the invitation is a welcome relief. Still, Maria hesitates. “Oh, but I still need to finish my picture…”
“I’ll wait with you, then,” Mr. Strohl offers. “I imagine the holy songstress loitering in the middle of Sunlumeo would gather quite the crowd, if not already.”
“You are right,” Lady Junah sighs. “Well, I am a woman who can carry her own bags.”
Relieved of his duties, Mr. Strohl watches Lady Junah safely make her way to the small ramp lowered from the rear of the runner before taking a peek at Maria’s pad of paper. He leans back with a smile the moment their eyes meet, waving a bit dismissively from the crook of his arm.
“Don’t mind me. Take all the time you need.”
He doesn’t say anything else as Maria colors, seemingly content with watching passerby with an idle tap of his foot. Still, she wants to respect his time both as a nobleman and a friend, so Maria tries her best to work quickly without rushing. Once she double and triple checks the details, even holding it up to the light just to be sure, she finally turns to Mr. Strohl.
“I… I think it’s done now.”
“Fantastic.” He doesn’t try to look this time, which is admittedly a relief—Maria’s feeling a little shy now that it’s all done. “As an esteemed guest, I certainly can’t have you entering through the cargo bay.” He gestures towards the deck ladder. “Mind your step, but I’ll be there to catch you if you slip.”
One careful ascent and descent later, Maria’s feet touch the solid ground of the strategy room. The runner’s just as shiny and special as she remembers it only a week ago, with a dozen different lights and what feels like an endless direction of nooks and crannies. Mr. Strohl directs her to a ladder down the right that leads to the engine room, the most probable location of Mr. Neuras. With that in mind, it might’ve been more logical to enter the same way as Lady Junah after all, but Maria finds herself grateful for another fleeting glimpse of the living quarters. Perhaps Mr. Strohl thought that as well.
Lowering herself into the cargo bay, Maria then follows the loudest sound, one which she soon realizes comes from less of an engine and more of a big, bubbling heart. It seems to take up the majority of the room, enough so that Maria can barely see whatever lies behind it from her perch in the entryway. The air here is thick, too, like a heavy fog brushing her arms. Before she can try peeking around the engine, however, she hears some sort of crash and what must be a very bad word.
“M-Mr. Neuras?”
The ishkia in question shoots up from behind the engine, looking a bit wild before his eyes finally land on Maria. His expression quickly turns to a grin.
“Ah, so it is you! Hearing you out of nowhere, I thought I finally lost it, I did.” He wipes his brow, arms smudged with what might be some sort of grease. “This room’s far too loud and dangerous, though, so could you be a dear and wait for me in my workshop? Just down the way, you really can’t miss it!”
Maria nods with a quick, “Y-yes, alright!” before following his instructions, backtracking to where his workshop awaits. At first glance, it’s certainly messier than above, but there’s a certain kind of charm that makes Maria excited—the very same that makes the runner itself so magical. She’s a good girl, though, so she doesn’t dare peek at any of the papers scattered about the workbench, instead staring curiously at the machine to its right and the odd looking cushion (or perhaps bed?) in the lounging area.
“Now, young lady, I’m surprised the captain isn’t escorting you today.” When Maria turns, Mr. Neuras is wiping his hands with a dirty rag. “Could it be he’s the next lucky recipient of your generosity?”
Maria shakes her head. “Actually, um. I wanted to give you something, if that’s okay.”
“Really now? For me?” Mr. Neuras chuckles. “The Sanctists could never hold a candle to your heart, my girl.” He walks over to the workbench and takes a seat with a soft whump, both wings and coat brushing the littered floor. It’s really quite incredible how big they ought to be. “Let’s see it then! I’m afraid I won’t catch a wink until my curiosity is thoroughly satiated.”
Far too nervous for any theatrics, Maria simply holds the pad of paper out, looking anywhere but the older gentleman. It isn’t until she hears his quiet intake of breath that she dare peek.
“Why, would you look at this…” His fingertips brush the paper, smile softer than before. “It’s gorgeous. Simply splendid. I never thought I’d see my old girl captured in all her mechanical divinity.”
“R-really?” Maria’s wings flutter. “I-I mean— I wanted to thank you. I know Miss Fabienne already did, with the dinner, but I felt I needed to as well. Especially since… it’s not just for the sign. I know all your drawings were for Mister, but they’ve meant so much to me.” She looks down, gripping the hem of her dress. “I can only ever draw what’s here in the city, but when I look at your gauntlet runner, it really feels like it’ll take me away someday. My home here… feels more like a choice.”
“Well, I’ll have you know that’s the exact feeling she gives me.” Mr. Neuras gently taps the drawing. “She’s my ticket to the sky and sea and whatever else lies beyond. Without her and the rest of the lot, I reckon I’d still be a miserable old man, trapped in that bally workshop.” “Trapped? Was it a job you didn’t like?”
“Ah, not quite, my girl. Pray forgive this next bit as I’m not keen on knocking the privilege that is the silver spoon in my mouth, but a gilded cage is only just that: a cage. Our upbringings may be different, but we equally possess wings that yearn to fly. I can sense that in you—that kinship. And I sense it in this magnificent artwork!” Mr. Neuras carefully places it on the workbench before lacing his fingers over his knee. “I’ve never meshed well with my noble kin, nor the company they keep. Not to mention we ishkia are meant to be, ehh, the reclusive sort, care only for our self-interest, what. But I wish to see what the world has to offer. I want to give the world what I have to offer!”
“I never would’ve guessed, Mr. Neuras.” Maria’s eyes feel as big as saucers. Thinking on it, though, it does make sense; Mr. Neuras isn’t like any ishkia she’s ever met. “I always felt like the odd one out too, that is until I met Mister.”
“And truly, young miss, there’s nothing wrong with being a bit odd. Why, I’d say everyone in this runner has their own special screw loose. Noble or commoner, clemar or elda, you can’t very well expect everyone to fit into the rigid lines of any given culture. That’s why it’s important to take what’s good for us and adapt the rest. It’s the only way to keep our spirits alive!” Mr. Neuras taps the middle of Maria’s forehead with a hearty grin. “Your clever intellect, that’s surely from your ishkian mother. Your stubbornness to make good on your word, the rhoag of your father. Isn’t that just brilliant, being the very best of them both? And with a paripus mother to boot, you learn the importance of celebration and community. So many possibilities have been born and raised inside you, my girl! With the blood in your veins and the friends you hold dear, you crack this small-minded society wide open!”
In all of Maria’s life, for as loved as she’s always been, if she wasn’t being told she was worthless or wrong, she was being reassured she was just as good as the rest of them. Never once was it that she could be something more, something beautiful and essential to this world.
Of course, that means she begins to cry.
“O-oh dear! Now you’ve gone and bloody done it, Neuras,” he mutters, fumbling for the cleanest rag on the workbench. “I didn’t upset you now, did I?” dabbing the few tears running down Maria’s cheeks. She sniffles and shakes her head, pulling a sigh of relief from the older gentleman.
“You know,” he eventually says, tucking the rag away, “it’s just as important to have a place to call home when the travels are over. You and your mother provide that for us in ways we could never repay.” Mr. Neuras takes Maria’s hand in both of his. They’re large, rough and calloused all over, but also very, very warm. “I’ll keep capturing those bright snippets of the world, and share with you everything I know. Food, culture, our own ishkian traditions, dear girl, you must only say the word!”
And then Mr. Neuras grins in a way that rivals even the light of Sunlumeo.
“But we are birds of a feather, you and I, and I do promise—when these wings finally get to soar, she’ll just as soon await your own spectacular adventure.”