The Sky - Pioneer's Cottage - Lady Almyra Grace Overton
The brief response left an immediate sour taste in Almyra's mouth. She had already grown accustomed to the language of bureaucracy, and most especially the words that were given heavy weight despite meaning little. 'Safety' and, worse still, 'security' were the two that she hated the most. They were the reasons given for all manner of foolishness that served only to maintain the wealth and power of the people of the Sky, and to hell with the people who were negatively affected. Almyra had half a mind to verbally tear this woman in half for giving her such a nonsense reason.
Luckily the other half of her mind, the calm half, prevailed. In reality this woman was just doing a job; likely she'd been told the reason for that job existing was something to do with safety, thus that was her explanation given to whoever asked. Almyra waved her guards back, trying (and failing) to get them to stop hovering over her shoulders and staring daggers at the woman.
"I see. I'm not sure how exactly my belt might pose a threat to safety while there are dozens of others wearing belts in the vicinity, but I suppose it's no trouble." Almyra started removing her belt, silently thankful that it was just there for the look rather than to perform a necessary function, and answered the other question as she did so.
"Why not today of all days? This is the day meant specifically to pay homage to the Pioneer. Even a mem-" Almyra cut herself off with a cough and rephrased to avoid declaring her title.
"Even those of us who live in the Sky can enjoy tradition. Some would say we're all about following traditions, really." There was an unmistakably wry twist to her voice, but she smoothed it out as she proceeded. Almyra held her belt up and offered it to the woman for inspection.
"I would greatly appreciate it if you could be quick about ensuring that my belt is not dangerous. I've got somewhere to be after I'm done here."
The Land - The Centre - Celia
"Behold, ladies and gentlemen, my magnum opus!"
The words rang out to a crowd that seemed more bored than interested. It was made up both of faces Celia recognized, those of the artisans and musicians that had been invited to see her in private, and a vast sea of faces she did not; all of them looked to be some degree of tired or exasperated. The creator,
her creator, was given to rambling and grandstanding. Celia was not built to understand and interact with humans, but she basic observation was enough to determine that ten minutes of poorly skilled speech was not the way to hold their interest. However, he was finally finished, and that meant it was her time to make him proud. The creator came to her side and began winding the key set into the right side of her abdomen, placed there rather than on her back as with most automatons because the creator was aging and struggled to turn the key himself most days and often had her do it herself. Today he was quite energetic, so she stood still and let him do the honors.
Once the intricate mechanisms inside Celia's body chimed a small bell to signal that her clockwork was fully wound up, the creator stepped back and gestured for her to move forward. She did as she was bid, stepping up to the delicate wooden stand to retrieve the violin the creator wanted her to play. It was her favorite instrument to play, but she was also skilled with the piano, the harp, and the cello. The creator had been disappointed that a woman by the name of Madam Keys refused to lend him a piano for free to showcase Celia's talents, but in the end he chose the violin for its ease of transportation. She would never dare to disagree with her creator, but had she been asked she would have chosen the violin in the first place. Pianos had been mastered by machines ages ago, to the point that self-playing pianos were controlled by mechanisms small enough to hide inside the normal casing of the instrument. Violins were a different matter altogether.
Mere seconds after the horsehair bow touched the metal strings, Celia could hear the chattering of the crowd quickly trail off. The people who had lost interest, and many who hadn't been part of the group listening to the creator in the first place, were drawn to the sound. Or, more likely, the startling beauty of the music being played. One time the creator had brought Celia to hear the performance of an automaton orchestra, creations considered to be the finest in musical automatons in all the world. They had been passable enough to impress humans, but they were in fact mediocre at best (aside from the four-armed piano player and the percussionists, of course). Human children with half a decade of experience could match them in skill with stringed and brass instruments, and truly it was only the novelty of automatons playing music that drew interest in the show.
Celia was their superior by far. She was not made to experience pride, but she could recognize it in her creator when he compared her skills to humans considered masters of the musical arts, most of whom she could emulate without much effort. For this display she was copying a work she had only heard in a recording, a piece played by a virtuoso considered by many to be the best who had ever lived. Her creator was fond of saying that he was superior to all the dead masters Celia could copy, for he had crafted something able to do everything they could and more. She was the culmination of his life's work, a life spent bent on a single goal. On his less coherent nights he liked to boast about having matched the work of the Puppetmaster, but Celia didn't have the heart (literally or figuratively) to tell him how very mistaken he was. She was a masterpiece, certainly, but the legendary Doll was beyond compare.
As the song finished, the creator came up to her and whispered commands as the crowd, now much larger than it had been before the music started, clapped and cheered and whistled. "Performance bow." Celia bowed just as she had been trained, bending forward and sweeping her hand out in a little flourish with the violin's bow. As she stood upright, he gave another command. "Stand silently and smile at the crowd, look happy." That was a strange one, but easy enough to obey, and so she did. Not that she had any choice in the matter, of course.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" The crowd quieted down, and the creator grinned out at them. "This automaton, Celia, is indeed my greatest creation. Many years of blood and sweat and tears have gone into her crafting, and I'm sure you can all agree it was worth every drop." The crowd cheered its agreement. The creator spread his hands out wide and gave them all an even wider grin. "But the true question is, how much is that worth exactly? I endeavor to find out. Celia is up for sale!"
The crowd started shouting to offer various sums of money, and the creator shouted back to them the details of how bidding would be handled, but Celia stared on in horror. Not that anyone would see that emotion on her face, thanks to the order to look happy. The creator had not informed her of this. He had only told her that she was going to do her first public performance, nothing more than that. She had always wondered why he insisted that Celia call him 'creator' and nothing more, rather than calling him 'papa' like his little helper automatons did. Perhaps she'd always been intended for sale. His comments about being rich and living in the Sky some day started to make a new sort of sense. There were so many little things, phrases or actions that she had attributed to her creator being eccentric by human standards, that now seemed cold and logical in hindsight. Celia's whole world, everything that she thought she'd known, was shattered in an instant, leaving nothing but confusion and fear in the ruins. She had never before envied the human ability to cry in order to express sadness, but in that moment she certainly did.
Yet all she could do was smile at the crowd and look happy. Celia was going to be sold, and her creator couldn't have her looking anything but eager for the prospect.
The Underground - Lucius "The Maggot" King
The spiteful and fearful looks that mixed among the zeal were quite amusing indeed. Lucius didn't mind them. They were merely blind to the truths of the world they found themselves in, and there was no point in despising the disabled. In the end he wanted to help them too, to help everyone in the Underground, and if they didn't like it then they would be free to remain in the sewers while others ascended. He had a feeling that some would eventually try to fight against him, whether directly or by trying to give him up to the Cloaks, but he would deal with such troubles as they arose.
For now, it seemed things were working nicely. People were already starting to trickle into the cavern where the Maggot waited, and most of them had that same desperate fire in their eyes that the messengers had possessed. Some tried to approach, but a couple of the men who'd been informed of the plan days ago had remained behind to play guard. They told the people to wait, that all would be explained but not until the cavern was filled with more men and women who wished to fight for their futures. That was enough to stoke the flames of revolution in their hearts and keep them excited for the prospect, and they split off into various groups speculating on just what the Maggot was going to do to day. None of the snippets he heard were quite right, but a lot of them were thinking in the correct direction.
He let the sibilant noise of whispers lull him into relaxation, just enough for his mind to wander to the past. Lucius always thought back on that same conversation, damn near every day since it had occurred.
"I'd say five years if you're very lucky. Probably three or less."
"What?"
"Until you die, Mr. King. Have you not been listening? The disease has progressed past the point of treatment. You knew this was coming."
"I hoped... is there nothing at all that can be done now?"
"Not by any doctor. I suggest you take matters into your own hands if you don't want to suffer. I'm sure you can find someone to sell you hemlock or nightshade down in the Underground. Off you go now, I have actual patients to treat."
"Oh. Thank you."
A little over two years had passed since that talk with the doctor, but here Lucius was, still alive and not yet crippled by his disease. He was sure he wouldn't live to defy the prognosis, but he intended his death to be for a cause rather than by succumbing to the rot. Lucius still had those nightshade berries he'd purchased a couple days after the doctor brushed him away like filth on the bottom of his shoe. They were dried and shriveled little things in a glass jar, tucked away with a few other mementos from his previous life. Surely they would no longer work, but that wasn't the point. They served as a reminder that he had reached the bottom. Once a man had reached the point of seriously considering taking his own life, a point devoid of dreams and hope and happiness, there was nowhere else to go but up.
And up he would go, in mere hours now. Up to the Sky to make his declaration of war on the floating tyrants. It was going to be fun at the very least, and if he lived to see it done then there would be plenty more fun to come.