Chapter Text
Chapter One
Things are only a little bit strange here. The rivers run north. The sky is just a shade shy of lavender and the clouds a cotton candy blue. The leaves on trees are orange and yellow in the summer, and black right before they fall in the winter. The grass is an off white color and the dirt is a violent red. The birds don’t sing in the morning but the frogs certainly do. The sun is still bright and hot but then again, so is the moon. The forests are safer than the cities, less beasts roaming through thick foliage than the cracked pavement roads. I assume that the beasts have always been here as I don’t remember a time before them, but I don’t remember most things if I’m honest. I don’t even remember why this world is strange the way it is. The sky is lavender, and that’s strange, but if you asked what color it is supposed to be I wouldn’t be able to answer. Why is the moon just as hot as the sun? Was it ever any cooler? Did the beasts always live in cities? Or did they move into the empty houses after their inhabitants left? Who were their inhabitants? Why do I miss morning bird songs when I can’t remember what they would have sounded like? All I seem to have in this head of mine are questions. Questions that have gone unanswered for years and ones I’ll seem to have forever. At least I think it’s been years. I don’t really know how long a year is, other than it being a long time to wait. And I’ve been waiting for a very long time. For what I’m not sure. That’s yet another unanswered question.
@
Mother called to me from downstairs, “Timon! We’re going to be late!”
“I’m going as fast as I can!” I called back, “I just have to finish this thing I’m doing!”
I hurried to click the last gear in place and turn on the newly made machine. I hear the whir of the engine and the tick of the internal clockwork and my hopes soar. The little wing-like propellers begin to flap rapidly as the body is lifted, ever so slightly off the wooden table.
“Timon! Turn off that stupid trinket of yours and put your damn shoes on!” Mother calls for me once again. I hear her start to stomp up the stairs and I rush to catch the little clockwork bird before she can enter my room. I know if she sees it working, she’ll crush it. She did so to the last dozen prototypes. I really am quite the genius you know, it’s just been Mother stunting my progress. Always yapping about how my intellect would be far more useful in politics than in clockwork, and of course thwarting my success in the trade at any chance given to her. I catch the little bugger just as she starts to turn the door knob and I manage to shove it in the shoebox underneath my bed before she can truly see it. “Where is the nasty thing then?” she snears, “Don’t try to fool me Timon! I heard it’s nasty little wings from the hall.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what youre talking about Mother,” I say. I might not like politics but with my Father being who he is, knowing how to play someone like a politician seems to be an inherited skill.
“Yes, of course. You’ve fooled me there! I mean that shoebox in your hands does not contain a piece of unrefined clockwork but actual shoes!” She smiles to herself, smug. It’s an ugly look on an ugly woman. “Hand it over,” She says. And I do, because she’s my mother and because this shoebox is not the shoebox I stashed my clockwork bird in. She’s still smiling as she opens the top of the box and I cast a morose expression over my face, just for the fun of it. “What is this Timon?” her smile fades fast, “I know this is not what I think it is, young man!” Mothers face turns a violent shade of red as she lifts the contents of the shoebox out of it’s container and I can no longer hold my laughter as she flips through the erotic magazine collection inside. “Timon! You pervert! No dignified young man possesses these types of things!” she yells, “I shall burn these abominations at once!” Clockwork bird forgotten, she storms downstairs to the fireplace to burn my “beloved” magazine collection. And while I’m not a child, nearly 20 years of age, I don’t mourn their loss as such things have never held my attention. I take the time to properly hide my clockwork filled shoebox in the vent behind my bookcase and go to meet Mother downstairs. I am late to class after all, no time to waste.
@
The halls of the Rosa Wilburn Academy for Intelectual Young Peoples are quiet as I walk through them in my shiny black loafers. Classes did start a healthy twenty minutes ago and every good and dedicated student is already in class by now, but I, Timon Sypros, am no such student. See I don’t even really need this place to achieve my goals. I’m already quite the whiz at clockwork machines and not one ounce of that knowledge has been gained from this lovely institution. I am already rich as Mother is from a noble family and Father from a long legacy of highly ranked government officials. My elder brother, Valdo, already has a fortune of his own and has renounced his portion of our inheritance to me so no issues there either. The only reason I bother coming here at all is because Father threatened to disinherit me unless I finished school, with good grades of course. The academic success clauses in Father’s demands are no issue, I don’t even need to attend classes to pass with flying colors, a simple trip to the library and a loyal informant are all I need to succeed. But simply being in the building is enough for me to fool Father.
“Timon Sypros! Late again young man!” I hear the principal, Dr. Glazier call from behind me. I stopped in my tracks, I had been hoping to make it to class before Dr. Glazier saw as most of the teachers know and understand my predicament. But unfortunately, Dr. Glazier is a close friend of my father so there really isn't any way of getting out of his repremandments with the mere truth of the matter. “Young man I think it’s high time we have a talk in my office,” He says as he reaches for my arm, “Come with me.” And I do, go with him that is, but I also cling to his arm like a child. “Dear heavens boy! What is the meaning of this?” He looks down at me confused.
“I’m so sorry sir I just really needed to talk to a trusted adult like yourself sir,” I sniff, as if crying, “I’ve been in a dark place recently so I’m glad we can talk.” I can tell he’s confused but he really is a stupid old man, so he lets me hold onto him until he deposits me into one of the plush chairs in his office. I have to be careful not to play up my sadness to an unbelievable level as I just need this over and done with, so while I reach for a tissue I don’t let any tears fall quite yet. “Now Mr. Sypros,” The principal says gently, “What’s troubling you enough that you’ve been late to school everyday this week?”
I dab the tissue underneath my eye, “Well you see sir, I’ve had this canary since I was so young and I know they don’t live long but my Reginald has held on for so long sir, “ another dab underneath my other eye, “and I was so sure he would survive til at least the end of summer but sir, “I make a show of choking up, “just sunday night when I went to feed him I found him cold at the bottom of his cage!” On that last note, I called a few tears from my eyes and let them fall down my cheeks. I quickly wiped them away, I’m a young man after all, I’m tough and unbothered by the loss of a beloved pet canary named Reginald who must have been comically ancient by the time he met his end. Dr. Glazier looks at me and huffs, clearly upset at my tardiness but finding it hard to fault me as his dearest cat, Lila, had passed away nearly a month before. How I know this about Dr. Glazier’s cat isn’t important, but I have to admit I didn’t know how helpful it would be. I swear my informant is the best out there, even if they come at such a steep price. “Well Mr. Sypros, while I can’t condone this kind of behavior I do understand your predicament. It’s incredibly hard to lose a pet so close to you,” he gave me a sad smile and I did my best to return it, “So I shall let it slide just this once, but please don’t make a habit of this. Do you hear me young man?”
“I do sir,” I nodded my head vigorously and gave my face one final wipe with the tissue before standing up and throwing it away, “Thank you sir for being so kind in my time of grief.”
“Of course, young man. Now hurry along,” He says, gesturing to the door.
@
“That’s a lie Timon,” my informant proclaims as we sit at the very farthest library table, “There’s no earthly way Dr. Glazier let you off the hook for no more than a dead pet and a few well timed tears.”
“Believe it Bill!” I exclaim, “How else would I be standing here, detention free, if I was lying?”
“Now don’t pretend you don’t have other ways of getting out of trouble Mr. Sypros,” Bill wagged her finger at me, “Remember that time you tripped Simona down the stairs last semester? One quick call with Daddy and all your problems were solved, and I’d say that was a much worse offense than a few tardies!” I roll my eyes at her.
“For the last time, it was Charlie Henison who tripped Simona, not me. I was just inconveniently at the scene of the crime when it happened.”
“Oh that's a load of bullshit and you know it,” she huffed.
“Billie you and I both know why I can’t say what I mean about the Simona stairs accident, so please don’t bring it up again,” I reply, ending the conversation. It might’ve been me who tripped Simona which had resulted in her tumbling down two flights of stairs and ending up with three broken ribs and a broken leg but I was more of my father’s son back then and she had pissed me off something fierce. I’ve since recovered from my violent tendencies, and I do regret it but you can’t always take back such a drastic action. It would’ve ruined my entire life so I took Father up on his generous offer to bury the matter. I know it was wrong but there wasn’t much to be done, truly.
“Tell me, did you ever find out who Mrs. O’Leary’s new beau is? I’ll have no time to do her essay this week and I need blackmail material,” I ask Billie while flipping through my favorite book about Luminiferous Aether application in commercial warcraft. Billie rolls her eyes and huffs at me.
“Why should I tell you again? I won't be getting out of that dastardly essay either way,” she says, looking up from her book at me.
“Because I pay you quite handsomely and we both know you’re far too kind to use that information for your benefit.”
“Fine, but it's an extra ten dollars for this because I like Mrs. O’Leary and I think this one is good for her this time.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“Mr. Gold,” She says casually.
“What? But he’s married with kids,” I say, slightly outraged, “How could you think he’s good for her?”
“I don’t know,” she says, still reading her book, “He just seems nice and he is rather handsome, don't you think?”
“No actually I don’t,” I retort. Billie doesn’t respond again so I return to my own reading. For the smartest person I know, beside myself, Billie is quite the idiot when it comes to romance.