Marked [EverlyxSterling]

Kassi sat in the bar for hours. Just how long, she wasn't sure. All that she knew was that the waitress had started giving her extremely dirty looks at some point, having given up the idea of a good tip when she offered food and Kassi declined, saying she had forgotten her wallet. She had retreated to the bar, sulking and eyeing Kassi with open distaste. Still the artist had stayed, watching people. The crowd swelled, then diminished. It was the wee hours of the morning when Kassi finally felt the raw open wound in her heart begin to close. Instead of feeling as though she was better off flinging herself from a bridge, she felt a cold indifference. She was simply numb, which was far better and easier to cope with.

She left the bar, walking along home in silence and ignoring the men around the doorway who tried to talk to her and paw at her in passing. Soon she was passing the gallery and she glanced at it, not pausing in her steps. Halfway past the alley, she paused, then took a few steps backward and turned her head. That was her name. She blinked and picked up the card, looking around as if to make sure she wouldn't be caught. It might not be hers. She peered inside, seeing Mikel's note. Another matter? Hm. She tilted her head, then tucked the note in her pocket and went home.

The next morning, she woke early. She knew from the way she felt when she looked at her canvases that she would not be painting again for a long time unless something changed. So, with that in mind, she began to clean. When she was finished, all of her finished paintings were out of sight, in stacks in her closets and the corner of her darkroom. Everything had been scrubbed clean, giving a very sterile feel, but she didn't care. The refrigerator had been cleaned out of everything that was no longer good, leaving empty racks and shelves behind. Not a single dish was in the sink, and the only thing left in her living room was an empty couch. No pictures on the walls, nothing. Her curtains were open and she had taken down all of the pictures and film in her darkroom, as well as put the chemicals all away and left the door open since there was nothing out to ruin anymore. Even her bedroom was disturbingly neat, with only the bed and a dresser occupying the space.

Once satisfied, she showered and dressed, deciding against eating. The letter had been put away in a drawer and she doubted she would ever look at it again. She tucked her note from Mikel in the pocket of her dark blue jeans and pulled on a pair of sneakers before tossing a burgundy sweater over her white tank top. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, kept out of her face since it looked windy outside. She still didn't know what he wanted, but she was willing to help.

She went to the gallery and walked in, noticing there was a woman in there already who was studying Kassi's painting. The woman was everything that Kassi was not - tall, curvy in all the right places, wearing a flattering black dress and a pair of heels that matched the designer purse on her arm. Even her hair was in perfect place, the blonde curls fallling around her face. She didn't turn when the door opened, still observing the painting with avid interest.

33wldgi.jpg
 
Mew. Mew-Meoow.

Gün had started chatting to Mikel for sometime, but Mikel was at his desk trying to concentrate on another matter. Prospective buyers had learned of Mikel's upcoming exhibition, and were clamoring for information about potential works and price-points. He plodded through the emails; wading through the bravado, the conjoling, and unctuous language was definitely not what Mikel intended this morning. However, what Mikel did want was uninterrupted time with Kassi. When Mikel arrived at the Gallery this morning, he immediately checked the front window and noticed the note was gone. There was a chance that a miscreant simply disposed of his note, but he held hope that Kassi would make an appearance.

Muow. Meooowww-Raow.

Mike led sighed. "Fine, fine, Gün. Let zip it." The feline turned face when Mikel rose from his chair and dashed down the stairs. As Mikel stepped downward, he hoped today would fare better than yesterday. Between learning of the death of his friend, Hans, and the subtle threats by the Citizens ... Whatever Front, Mikel was this close to locking the doors for the day.

Mikel breezed onto the main floor, and was surprised to find Kassi and another woman already in the Gallery.
 
Name: Marjorie Rose Thaddaye
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Occupation: Housewife
Marked: Yes
Likes: Art, dancing, caramel
Dislikes: Her husband, arguing, alcohol
Personality: Marjorie comes off as a very holier-than-thou snob. She can be cold and vicious and tends to brush off people that may seem less important than she is, but she is merely reflecting the personality of her parents. In truth she is quite warm-hearted, but it can be difficult to see at times.
History: When Marjorie was 20, a man arrived in her life claiming that he had followed his Calling to her. He lusted for her as soon as he saw her, and she quickly fell in love. The two married, realizing days later that they had made a mistake and there were small differences in their Markings. Marjorie comes from an immensely wealthy family and her father is a social pillar with far too much social exposure for the failed wedding to be made public, so her family forced them to stay together to save face. Now her husband blames her for the fact that he will never find his true soul mate, and has become an abusive alcoholic. She nearly always wears long sleeves, even on short dresses, to hide the marks of his anger.


The woman looked up as Mikel walked in, though she still hadn't noticed Kassi standing nearby. She turned away from the painting, offering him a smile. Her body was even more impressive from the front, though Kassi didn't know that, thankfully. The artist didn't need any more self-doubt than she already had, and being in the same room as this physically marvelous woman was like taking repeated blows to her self-esteem. Still, she ignored that, not looking at them as the blonde eyed Mikel.

"Mikel Stedler, I presume? Your reputation precedes you," she said, her accent slightly odd, as though she was from the southern coast. "It is a deep pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Marjorie Thaddaye. I recently moved here to Milliane and I am very interested in decorating our third home. This piece here is my absolute favorite in your gallery. I notice that there are no others from this artist and the others pale in comparison. Is it a single work? I simply must have it."

Kassi blinked in surprise and looked up. Marjorie wanted her painting? That.. shocked her. Sure, Mikel had told her that it was good, but hearing it from somebody else still caught her off-guard. She remained silent, too surprised to speak up about being the artist in question.
 
Mikel sized up the situation quickly. He's dealt with Marjorie's type before - wealthy, entitled, self-centered. Such personalities were all too common in the realm of art economics. Artists, such as Kassi, struggled and suffered to create icons of beauty and meaning, artifacts that pierce the superficiality that Marjorie exuded. Kassi made art that touched people - and that gift was priceless. Well, almost. You could place a price on the intangible mystery of art, and Mikel happened to be adept at capitalizing on this dynamic.

Mikel saw Kassi, and nodded to her kindly before addressing Ms. Thaddaye.

"Good Morning, Ma'am. Yes, I am Mikel Stedler. Welcome to my Gallery. You have exquisite taste in painting, I see."

Mikel needed to be cautious. He knew Kassi was uncomfortable around other people, and mixing Kassi's insecurity with Marjorie's likely arrogance could prove volatile.

"Yes, I simply must have it."

"Indeed. Persistence can be a virtue, but so is patience. This piece is slated for my upcoming exhibition. I would very much like to retain it until that time. But, unfortunately, I have an appointment with my friend here ... could we discuss this another time, perhaps over lunch?"
 
Last edited:
Kassi gave Mikel a small smile. Friend. That sounded nice. She looked back down at her shoes, content with things for the most part, but still a bit uncomfortable.

"Oh, I see. Forgive me, I did not realize," Marjorie said, half turning and eyeing Kassi with a slight frown as she noticed the girl was not paying the least bit of attention. Hm. She turned back to Mikel and gave him another dazzling smile. "Call me with a date and time for lunch, I am always free for the sake of art. I will also gladly attend the exhibition," she said, pulling a card from the small handbag that hung from her shoulder. She gave it to Mikel, turning away only once he had accepted it. As she passed Kassi, she paused and gave the girl a smile before walking out to the car that was waiting for her outside. Kassi turned, seeing a driver hop out to let Marjorie slide into the backseat with an easy grace that Kassi had never witnessed before.

"Uh.. what did you need help with?" she managed a few moments later, turning back to Mikel.
 
Mikel held his hand up, not to silence Kassi, but to bid a moment of patience while he observed Ms. Thaddaye's exit in its entirety. As her car drove away, Mikel watched it until it was a black speck down the street.

"Apologies, but it's crucial that I take notice of potential clients, especially when they feel unwatched. Owning a gallery can be like playing chess at times. It's a matter of balancing a buyer's interest with their view of wealth."

Mikel's eyes remained on the black dot in the distance. "My sense is that she's unhappy, and in need of connection, which is why she responded so positively to your piece. I could bring in a price that would astound you ..."

Mikel caught himself.

"But, that's not why I've asked you here. Thank you for coming, by the way." Mikel was about to ask about whether Kassi had seen his note, but thought it was obvious given her presence.

"Kassi, ..." he began. "I wanted to apologize for my outburst yesterday. Hans was a daer friend, and I should not have subjected you to my diatribe. However, you didn't seem upset, or mind that I shared what I did."

Mikel sighed nervously. "Kassi, I've written something that will change things for me. It's a eulogy dedicated to Hans. I was hoping you would read it now and tell me what you think. You can tell me it's great, or that I'm crazy ... But, either way I want the truth from a good person."

Mikel wanted to touch Kassi, place his hands on her shoulders and physically reinforce the personal nature of his request. "Is this something you might consider?"
 
Kassi blinked in surprise. Mikel got all that from less than five minutes of speaking to the woman? All that Kassi had managed to get out of it was that the woman seemed ridiculously wealthy and beautiful. She hadn't paid attention to anything else, honestly. Pondering that, she tilted her head at Mikel and listened as he explained the real reason for her being here. Hans. The pain in her chest immediately increased tenfold and she looked away. She hadn't been expecting to have that brought up again, but she managed to keep her silence as Mikel explained that he had written a eulogy and wanted her to critique it for him.

She didn't respond for a moment, worried that anything she said may give her away. Yesterday she had not made any indication that she knew who Hans was or what he stood for. If she said so today, would she appear suspect? Mikel seemed so supportive, but Hans had been Marked. Would Mikel be just as supportive with a real, breathing Unmarked standing in his gallery? She didn't know, and she didn't want to risk it, but she longed to help him. Doing this would, hopefully, make her feel a little bit better. Besides, anything was better than being back in her apartment.

"I would love to. Hans was a great man," she said quietly, looking back up at him uncertainly.
 
Mikel burst into a glowing smile. He gently took her hands and squeezed them. "Thank you, Kassi. Please follow me upstairs." As Kassi watched Mikel walk toward the stair, she felt something brush against her leg. Gün was rubbing the side of his head against Kassi's calf, and followed her to Mikel's office.

Mikel tried to make himself comfortable at his desk. He sat low and reclined in his black, mesh swivel chair, but his fingers remained locked in a nervous steeple. Gün also seemed on edge, and had now taken to pacing the room circuitously, unable to find the proper place to settle down. Eventually, Gün collapsed shamelessly against Kassi's leg, and slid down purring on top of her foot. Mikel handed Kassi two sheets of crisp, bright white paper containing words printed in a modern, sans-serif font.

A REQUIEM FOR MY FRIEND | HANS ARDEN

The world lost a friend this past week.

In a world that focuses so devoutly on Markings and personal happiness, Hans devoted his life to highlighting the lack of happiness suffered by those who have committed no crime. The Unmarked. They compose the underside of our society, enjoying few rights and living in perpetual fear. Hans fought tirelessly to recognize that a just society could not exist when predicated on a double standard.

Hans was acutely aware of such a standard. His childhood was filled with discord and prejudice, being a Marked boy born to an entirely Unmarked family. The authorities fought for years to extricate Hans from his loving parents, and raise him in what others felt was a proper environment. In time, the Arden family perished from arson, and Hans was whisked to elite educational institutions that matched his keen intellect and critical eye. It was during this time that I first met Hans. During those formative years, Hans exhibited a fierceness that allowed him to overcome any obstacle in his path. The Academy superiors slated him for the business or politics exams as a natural – sanctioned, normal – outlet for his restless spirit.

Hans rejected the Academy and stormed off refusing to complete even a single exam.

Hans Arden surprised everyone that day with his premature departure, except for me. Knowing him well from Academy, it was an inevitability. In this early demonstration of resistance, he showed that with courage one could actively – intentionally – not conform to a system deemed unjust. It was in this act that Hans Arden created, virtually by himself, the Moral Performance Movement. The Movement has subsequently (de-) evolved into watered down displays petitioning worthless and petty issues, such as no-parking zones. Hans maintained the value and moral content of his actions throughout his lifetime.

Hans Arden made headlines by making the widely-publicized, heretical choice of refusing his Calling. He shared with me how painful it was to refuse his journey, and how it nearly drove him insane. However, Hans could not justify the acquisition of personal delight while so many innocent others were persecuted for the crime of simply being born different. He was vilified by the media for torturing his soul mate, and making her a victim in his "grand-standing attempts for attention and spotlight." Those who write such things did not know my friend. If the emergence of the Markings has ushered a peaceful era for our society, and elevated our collective tolerance and compassion for those similar to us, Hans devoted his life to ensure our world completed that journey by bestowing the same respect to the Unmarked. His art-form existed to question our cultural insistence that innocent people outside of the establishment are inherently flawed, and deserve to be victims by default.

With the art world, Hans was made infamous for his controversial Skin series. The series name was deliberate, and came with an intentional double-meaning meant to bridge the linguistic divide between the worlds of the Marked and the Unmarked. The pieces themselves were composed of his Marked skin, sliced off in its entirety, and then having it physically juxtaposed against photographic representations of other markings from a variety of people. By skinning himself, and removing his Mark for display, he rendered the Great Mystery for what it was – an object, nothing more, and peeled away the layers of hypocrisy to invoke a crisis of conscience. The grid of Marking photos highlights the duality of a distinguished artifact: does one see twenty-four individual Markings, or markings on twenty-four Individuals? The inclusion of his own Marking at the center of each installation punched a poignant symbol, a warning to beware of the superficial.

Hans Arden strove to illustrate that there can be a separation between our Markings on the outside, and who we choose to be on the inside. And that choice defines us as a culture. Hans once observed that when an object is marked (in any fashion), it typically acknowledges that something as being different from the norm, but it was the Unmarked who are ironically viewed as different, while those who are Marked constitute the norm. In our society, Markings have grown from a quaint match-making exercise to a justification for overt cruelty and shadowy genocide. We have fabricated a society that holds eternal affection and common decency as mutually exclusive.

Hans Arden felt this discrepancy was fundamentally and universally wrong. And he, ultimately, paid the price for this conviction with his life.

Yesterday, the body of Hans Arden was discovered murdered in a grassy field north of the sleepy town of Arelia. Hans fought not only for the Unmarked, but for everyone. He fought for our moral bearing, which he thought lost. He asked us to become better people and a more compassionate society. There are others who may resemble or mimic Hans Arden, but they are not Hans Arden.

In the next few weeks, Hans' legacy will be become mired and distorted by those pundits to whom his death will be an opportunity to further their own agendas. His name and memory will be re-accused and dragged through whatever turmoil suits the purpose of the political landscape. In the end, Hans simply asked for his fellow citizen to pause, and open their hearts.

Is that such a terrible thing?

Mikel was watching Kassi intently with eyes of infinite vulnerability. Nonchalance was a front Mikel could never convincingly maintain. Now was no exception, and he spoke in a weak, nervous voice.

"What do you think, Kassi?"


​
 
For some reason, Kassi felt a slight blush on her cheeks when Mikel took her hands. It was not an intimate gesture, it was simply an unfamiliar one. She nodded and followed him up, smiling down at Gün as he brushed against her. Once in the office, she took a seat and looked down in amusement when Gün decided that her foot was a wonderful place to be. She bent down and scratched him behind the ears for a moment, then sat up and took the paper from Mikel. It was longer than she expected, but she didn't mind. She settled in and started to read.

It nearly killed her.

She felt as though each line was tearing her apart. Sure, she knew of Hans because of what he stood for, but Mikel had known him on a personal level. She had known Hans left an Academy prematurely and caused a lot of waves, but she did not know that he had been born to an Unmarked family. It was almost an opposite to her own situation, being born to a family of Marked people. Instead of his family abandoning him as hers had, they had been killed. She frowned, biting her lower lip to attempt to keep it together as she continued to read. Mikel's stance on the Unmarked and how he stood by his friend became more and more clear. He was an ally. She felt as though she could trust him, yet she still didn't dare. There was too much at stake. Did he know what was going on in the news? People were getting antsy, demanding law against them. She shifted slightly, reading about the art series that had made her so uncomfortable in the gallery before.

When Kassi was finally finished and Mikel asked her for an opinion, she was silent. She could hear the nervousness in his voice, but she could not reassure him, because she could not find her own. Instead of looking at him, she simply looked down at the papers in her lap, struggling to compose herself. It was overwhelming. The loss of Hans and her family left her feeling like she was hanging by a tiny thread that was taped to a wall. She had Kate, sort of, and now Mikel. That was it. Tam and Henny were not close enough to be considered friends and she never, ever spoke to anybody else.

She slowly placed the papers on the desk, knowing she had to give him some sort of response.

"You're painting a target on the back of your head," she murmured after another long moment. It was true. The city was growing restless and already people like Hans were being killed. What if Mikel was killed too? Her heart stuttered at the mere thought and she nearly panicked, but managed to rein it in.

"It's beautiful. I never knew.. a lot of that," she added, feeling as though he might be upset with her initial reaction. She fell silent again, simply watching Gün and resisting the urge to bolt and go home to cry.
 
Mikel watched Kassi intently. He half wondered if he was making her uncomfortable with his intensity. Mikel very much liked this young woman, but he needed her thoughts and would not lighten up. He knew his life might be on the line, and he felt foolish venturing forth without the opinion of Kassi. When Kassi told him how she felt, he remained in place for a minute, then swiveled slowly to one side. Mikel's side profile was exposed to Kassi, and his face blackened like a silhouette against the brightness of his monitor. He swiveled to face Kassi again, and gently shifted his weight, causing the chair to roll up to the circular table. His knees touched Kassi's for an instant, and he wove his fingers together, as if in prayer.

"Kassi, I'm glad you told me what your honest reaction was. Because I think you are right. Publishing this will mark me as a dead man. But ..." A long pause filled the gap between the two, and Mikel chose his word slowly. "I was visited today by a man ... His name was Brody Dullden, and he represented a faction against the Unmarked. He came here to ... 'appeal' to me and have me remove Hans' work from my wall. He thought he could come here and dictate what I showed on MY wall in MY gallery."

Gün lifted his head from Kassi's foot and mewed a comment.

"Yes, Gün, technically this is YOUR gallery. But, this is something we face together." His train of thought was directed at Kassi now, and he regarded her emphatically with waves of cobalt. "I am entitled. I am elite. I have status, and privilege. I would not be here were it not for the random pattern on my arm. I could turn a blind eye to all this, and look away from the injustice that will occur all around me. I'm not responding out of guilt, Kassi. And, perhaps a part of me is just as selfish as Ms. Thaddaye, only engaged in this struggle because it now affects me. Is it pride? That I cannot allow someone lesser in moral bearing to enter my realm and dictate what I can and cannot do? I must be honest, ... this eulogy is but the beginning. I have been considering scrapping the exhibition and replacing it with a retrospective of Hans Arps' work, and any other Unmarked artists I can locate. I don't want to appease that bullying fuck, I want him to know exactly what I think of him and his fascist thugs."
 
  • Like
Reactions: Ethys
Kassi listened to Mikel in silence while he explained to her why he wanted to do this. Somebody had asked him to remove the work? That meant people in the city were more restless than she thought. She frowned a little, upset by the news. How would this Brody Dullden have reacted if he knew that Mikel was displaying work from an Unmarked? Probably poorly. She gazed at Mikel, listening to him speak of how he would not let somebody tell him what to do. It was.. purely stubborn. Nothing about it made sense. He was going to draw a lot of attention, and not the good kind. It worried her immensely, which made her speak without truly stopping to think.

"Mikel, you can't do that. The whole city is sitting on a tipping point and you can't be the marble that makes it all fall down around you. This gallery is a beautiful place, a safe place. If you do this, you're not only going to be slaughtered, the gallery will probably be burned to the ground and Hans' piece will be gone with you. I don't understand why you Marked just go around thinking that life is so worthless and you should risk it all on some stubborn whim. I don't want to see you die just because you don't want to do as you're told. Ignore him if you must, but don't make this eulogy public. Make it anonymous and hang it in the gallery with Hans' art if you must, just.. don't do anything else."

With that, she stood, gently nudging Gün off before turning and leaving. She simply couldn't stay in there anymore. It was stifling. She felt as though she had probably said something that she shouldn't have - that was the most she had said all at once that she could ever remember, and honestly she couldn't remember everything that she had even just told him. Hopefully nothing too bad. Oh, he wasn't going to be looking forward to another visit from her, that was for sure. Perhaps she should have just stayed in her apartment today after all!
 
Gün cried in surprise and annoyance as Kassi rose to leave. Mikel rose also, slamming his knees on the underside of the table. He called out after the young woman.

"Kassi, ... KASSI! Wait ... come back please!"

Mikel hobbled down the stairs in hopes of catching her. A torrent of questions whirled through his mind as his legs smarted with each step down. What was I doing? What have I done? Will I ever see her again?
 
Kassi heard Mikel call for her and she paused, her hand on the door. She could simply twist the knob and leave, vanishing down the sidewalk before he had any hope of following her. It was an option, but.. his voice had stopped her. She remained frozen for a few moments, then slowly turned to face him as he came into view from the stairs. The door remained at her back, assuring her that she could dart out at any given moment if she didn't care for what he had to say or if she continued to say things that she really probably shouldn't.
 
Mikel reached the bottom of the stair and uttered a silent thanks that Kassi was paused at the door. He approached slowly, cringing, now clearly limping and favoring his left leg. Mikel's hands lifted up in a defenseless gesture, which was the only thing he could think of doing to keep this delicate situation from unraveling. He'd hunted enough to recognize a creature coiled like a spring, ready to burst at the slightest provocation. He needed to choose his words carefully.

He closed his eyes and calmed himself. "Kassi, ... please .... don't go. I don't want to cause any trouble for you or anyone else. I didn't mean to upset you. I just ..."

Mikel's pause was involuntary, enforced by an introspection he had avoided up until this moment. "Let me get to the heart of the matter. I think I know what ... bothers you." Mikel grimaced as he lowered himself and sat upon the ground. "You see, I could tell that Ms. Thaddaye was fundamentally unhappy by her flirtatious manner and deflated spirit when I told her your painting was unavailable. She did want it ... she NEEDED it to fill a void within her. Part of that is business acumen on my part, but it's also intuition." Mikel swallowed nervously. "Kassi, you said something upstairs ... you probably didn't mean to say. But, I've known ... I've always known, in a way. I'm more similar to Ms. Thaddaye than I care to admit. We both are captivated by your work because it reveals a window into your soul. Kassi ..."

Mikel made his next words very pronounced in a quiet and humble manner. "I know. And, you've nothing to fear. I feel bound to you, in some way ... and I would never, ... could never do anything that might bring you an ounce of harm. If you don't want the eulogy published, so be it. If you think that a retrospective will incite more ill will, then I'll speak of it no more. Kassi, I lo..." Mikel's lips fell silent, but his cobalt blue eyes finished the rest of his thought in a way no words could describe.
 
Kassi watched Mikel like a hawk, concerned by whatever he had managed to do in the past five minutes to injure himself, but she refused to ask. She needed to be focused if she wanted to be ready to run. Yet instead of getting too close, he sat on the floor. She blinked, still watching him closely, though she wasn't sure if she was really afraid of having to bolt at this point. He was sitting on a hard floor, clearly hurting somehow. Outrunning him would be a breeze. She tilted her head a fraction, confused when he brought up the woman from before. He thought that bothered her? She was lost, until he mentioned what she had said upstairs.

Uh oh.

She froze, trying to remember everything that came tumbling out. There had been something about a Marking. No! She had mentioned the offhand manner Marked people tended to handle their lives, as if there was nothing possible that could happen to them since they were so magnificent. Her stomach dropped. He knew. She felt like she was going to be sick, automatically backing up a step until her back was firm against the door and she could go no further. Feeling trapped, she was left hopelessly staring at Mikel, listening in terrified silence as he swore that he wasn't going to harm her or publish the eulogy. It wasn't until the end that she was forced to look away, overcome with an emotion she was completely unfamiliar with. It made her uneasy and she rejected it immediately, shaking her head slightly to try and focus.

"Please don't do anything stupid," she said, her voice so quiet it was nearly a whisper. She couldn't face him anymore. Something was changing and she wasn't sure what it was, but change in her life was never for the better. So she turned and walked out the door. She didn't get far - if he chose to follow it would be all too easy. So upset and distracted, she made a slow and weaving path up the sidewalk until her trembling legs got the best of her and she fell to her knees outside of her building, burying her face in her hands. None of the other people walking on the sidewalk so much as glanced at her, which was perfectly fine with the confused artist.
 
Mikel heard Kassi's near silent pronouncement, then watched Kassi turn and leave. He couldn't breath for the few moments the empty door swung back. She left, and, as far as Mikel knew, it was unlikely she would ever return. He did not know where she lived, other than it was somewhere nearby. And, Mikel could surely not count on her responding to another note on the window sill. He felt lost and hopeless, and with what little coordination he had left, he lifted himself and returned to his office. The eulogy print-out he gave to Kassi was on the floor. Mikel picked both sheets up and blew on them to remove the dust. He read them, then re-read them again. Mikel knew Kassi was right - he was calling out a fight he couldn't win. And people's lives were at stake, not just his own. The mesh chair stretched as he reclined once again. Oh, Kassi. Mikel opened a lower drawer and brought up a bottle of Säaro Brandy and a crystal tumbler. He poured a few drams, then threw it back hard into his throat. His eyes were wet, and not from the liquor's astringency. They did not produce tears, but moistened his sleeve every time he wiped them. What to do, what to do?

He decided to not do anything stupid. He just sat before his computer like a sullen toad. He produced the contact card Ms. Thaddaye had given him, and wondered if he were in any condition to meet with this woman. No, he thought, not today. In fact, if he never saw Kassi again, he wanted the painting for himself. He knew Kassi was out there, torn up inside. He knew there was nothing more he could do. He knew she would never see her again unless she wanted to be seen.
 
Kassi was unable to move for several minutes. When she finally managed to stand, she stumbled like a drunk into the building and made it into the elevator. She almost pressed the button for Kate's floor, but she resisted. The woman was probably at work, not home, and she couldn't help Kassi now. Why would she? She didn't even know that Kassi was Unmarked. The one person in the city that knew was the one she had just run away from. Tears filled her eyes and she managed to make it to her apartment, shutting the door quickly behind her before falling to the floor.

She felt worse than she had felt before. Something was wrong. Why was she so upset about this? She half wanted to go back and apologize to Mikel just to see him again, but that was ridiculous. Everything was so messed up, and she could do nothing but lay there and cry in a helpless little ball.

Several hours later, she got up and locked the door, then went to her room and crawled into bed. She didn't bother with pajamas or anything else. It wasn't even late, but she could not handle reality anymore. Perhaps if she laid here long enough she would cease to exist. She closed her eyes, trying and failing not to picture Mikel's face when he had smiled at her in such delight before.
 
Mikel had remained in his mesh chair for some hours. The twirling upset feelings he felt from Kassi's departure had settled into a heavy ball of lead had taken residence in his bowels. Its weight was substantial, and imparted a downward gravity that rendered Mikel immobile. He'd drunk more brandy that he intended, and lost count after his third tumbler. Mikel handled alcohol well, in part to his large frame and hearty constitution. The harsh liquor had scoured his throat, and it felt raw and dry. He remained silent for fear of how hoarse he'd likely sound. People had come and gone in the Gallery below, but Mikel was either unaware or indifferent. If he was to loose control of his Gallery, he thought, he might as well get used to some degree of apathy. He sighed and shaded his eyes with his hand.

Then, an idea came to him.

Mikel returned the alcohol to it's designated drawer and placed the tumbler aside. He began to lift up and examine papers at random, unsure what he was searching for. Then, his hand unconsciously patted his breast pocket and felt the quarry. The phone was slick, and nearly slid from his grip as he held it before him. When the activation screen lit up, Mikel blinked and squinted from the glare. The brandy made the screen brighter than anything he'd seen before. Mikel tapped a few keys ... <<//Mak Scogvil, and pressed send.

//Mikel R. Stedler
Mak. Are you available for lunch today?
​
Mikel pressed a button, and the message whisked away. He recieved a returning ping more quickly than he expected, and read the reply.

//Mak Scogvil
Mikel! Good to hear from you. I can make time for a friend. Where?​
​
//Mikel R. Stedler
Buxton's?

//Mak Scogvil
You are such a creature of habit, it's appalling. Of course. 12:30pm?

//Mikel R. Stedler
See you then.
​
Mikel was about the turn off his phone when another ping caught his attention.

//Mak Scogvil
Mikel, is everything alright?

//Mikel R. Stedler
Fine. We'll talk later.​

Mikel laid out some food for Gün, and promised to bring back some fresh vitals from his lunch. Mikel went to the bathroom, and freshened his face with cold water. He grabbed his jacket and entered the Gallery space, then kindly informed the few wandering people that the Gallery was closing shortly, but would reopen this afternoon. Once locked tight, Mikel drove straight to the city center.
 
Last edited:
Kassi laid in bed for a while, but she couldn't sleep. Her mind kept going over what had happened. She wondered if she had made a mistake, running from Mikel like that. Something about him was different, and it was not just the fact that he knew what she was and didn't care. He seemed to think that it didn't matter, when the rest of society proved that it was the only thing that did matter. She hoped more than anything else that he would not publish the eulogy and get himself killed. Just seeing him with a bruised knee had set her on edge. If he died.. She forced herself not to think about it, refusing to acknowledge the urge to scream that had nearly erupted.

She eventually got out of bed, taking her blanket with her. Marching out to the living room, she curled up in a nest with the warm cover and flicked on the television. Rarely did she bother watching it, but now she was growing obsessed with changing events in the city. Thankfully the lunchtime news report was on. She turned up the volume a bit, watching the news anchor. It was a redheaded woman with a too-perfect smile, her suit smart looking as she stared into the camera and delivered the stories.

Our top story this hour is the growing discontent in the city over the Unmarked. Just this morning, a pregnant Unmarked woman was shot and killed when she attacked a Marked man who was walking in Nexus Park. The man, Josiah Davies, was taken to the hospital with severe injuries. Authorities say he is in stable condition and will likely be released tomorrow morning. This attack comes fresh on the heels of the new Marking Protection Act that was submitted early this morning with a petition of over two thousand signatures from Milliane residents. The Act would assist in cleansing the city of any carrying the disease, and is expected to be approved quickly...

Kassi turned off the glowing screen, unable to handle hearing the rest. Disease? Sure, those 'experts' before had claimed that the Unmarked were to blame, but the cheerful news anchor had not even batted an eye when she mentioned cleansing the city. She frowned and looked down at her bare arms. Just because she was different, she was going to be hunted down. How would they do it? She didn't know, because she hadn't been able to listen to the rest of the story. Maybe they would just search the city and slaughter them all. No, people would get upset if there was blood that could be seen. It would probably be something else.

She slowly stood and went into her bedroom, setting the blanket back on the bed before turning to face the closet. If she had to leave Milliane, she could not take her paintings with her. They had to go. She hesitated, then picked one up that she had particularly liked. Getting an idea, she tucked it under her arm and went down to Kate's apartment, gently knocking twice before setting the painting on the floor to lean against the door. Without a word, she ran back off upstairs before the door opened, if Kate was home.

hibiscus-path_fs.jpg
 
Buxton's Restaurant occupied the prominent corner of Essel Street & Monroe Place. In the heart of Milliane, the location skirted the fringe of the wealthy financial sector as it intersected the thriving cultural district. The junction engendered a posh urban edge that embraced the best of both worlds, and was populated with a staggering number of art galleries, shops, and performance of superior quality. The Milliane Institute of Art was the crown jewel of the region, standing broadly amidst deftly designed stone plazas and grids of lush canopy trees; it was a monument to Milliane's achievement.

Buxton's stood across the intersection from the Museum, and was considered (by many) as the prime territory of the glitterati. It was their domain. Innumerable power brokers frequented the restaurant on a daily basis, and patrons engaged distracted conversations with partial attention in hopes of noting who was present and who was not. The atmosphere of judgment could be debilitating, unless you did not care for such fanfare and cheap gossip. Mikel was one such patron. And, although he did not dine at Buxton's often, the proprietors knew him well from his tenure at the MIA. Whenever he returned, they welcomed him warmly like a prodigal son.

Mikel crossed the street from where he parked his coup, and opened the door to the restaurant. The foyer smelled like sweet cakes and freshly-grilled salmon, and the lunchtime chatter of a hundred people filled his ears. He liked this place, and not because of the exclusive snobbery assigned to it. He simply felt happy and lighter whenever he walked through the front doors. And, almost on cue, a calm settled into Mikel's muscles from the stress of Kassi's departure.

"Mikel!"

A woman armed with a pen and pad rounded the corner. She smiled with a broad love that reminded him of his own mother. Her name was Truddi Buxton, and was the grand-daughter of the founder. She was older by a decade, but she greeted guests and attended to her duties with the energy of someone half her age. Truddi approached Mikel and gave him a warm hug. The feeling of her embrace gave him heart, and swept away the petty hurt from brooding with brandy. Truddi seemed to sense Mikel was in distress and hung on longer than usual.

"Everything alright, Dear?" she asked.

"Yes, Truddi. I'm just here for lunch today … sorry I haven't been by recently."

"I bet your mother says the same thing." Truddi's comment was direct and matter of fact. It also would have been insultingly personal had it not come from someone Mikel trusted and cared for.

"She does." It was all Mikel could reply. Mikel knew Truddi didn't need any more information, and she was content rubbing the sides of Mikel's muscular arms lovingly.

"Mak is already here. You hungry?" she asked.

Mikel nodded, and smiled. He followed Truddi through a maze of tables and bar space, past expensive suits and sleek, exposed legs under tight skirts. Mak was sitting at a table reading a pamphlet when Mikel arrived. He hopped up, then removed his spectacles and shook Mikel's hand.

"Mikel! So good to see you! Do you want a drink? I'm buying today-"

"No," Truddi answered for him. "Mikel doesn't need any this afternoon." She looked at Mikel with an open sternness, and wrinkled her nose. Truddi knew - she had smelled the scent generated by a half-flask of Säaro Brandy. He must have smelled like a distillery.

"Truddi's right," Mikel said, "I'm only drinking water this afternoon."

"With lemon?" Truddi asked hopefully.

"As always," Mikel answered.

Mak observed the exchange with amusement, and then stated, "I'll have a light wine, please." As Truddi trundled off, Mak made himself comfortable in a bench against the wall side of the table. The bench was plush and fitted with pillows and arm rests. Mikel, by comparison, pulled back his stark wooden chair and sat upright. "You comfortable?" Mak asked, concerned.

"Very," Mikel said. In truth, he never put much stock in comfort.

Mak shrugged his shoulders unconvinced, and opened his menu. "I'm in the mood for veal today. How about you?"

In truth, Mike wasn't very hungry. Food was a choice that delivered sustenance or pleasure, but he did not crave either of these effects. He led an austere life, in contrast to others with his status. His morning meals usually consisted of boiled meal from grains and oats … maybe an apple, as well. Lunches typically presented Mikel with the most variety, as he seemed perpetually meeting prospective clients and artists over mid-day meal. Dinners sometimes did not occur, since Mikel preferred working over nourishment.

A perky, female voice interrupted Mikel's thoughts. "Good afternoon, Gentlemen."

The woman was younger in age, but her body was fully formed. The waitress's uniform emphasized the curvature of her breasts and her short pencil skirt revealed her well-toned upper thighs. The waitress wore high heels, which drove her height up above what seemed natural from Mikel's perspective. Her blond was curled, and frame a pretty, attractive face with blue eyes. Between the dark hue of her uniform and the dim conditions, her bright features reminded him of a gleeful sun on a somber day.

"My name's Bridgit, and I'm happy to be serving you today." She looked down at Mikel with eyes that melted with salacious desire.

"Yes, Hi!" Mak began. "I'm Mak Scovil, Lead Curator at the MIA across the street … how are you today?"

Bridgit reluctantly detached her gaze and regarded Mak with professional politeness. "I'm fine, Sir. Would you like to hear what we have available today?"

Mak's face deflated at the waitress's lack of enthusiasm. In comparison to the reaction she gave Mikel, Mak was little more than a potential tip. Mak took her lack of interest in stride, and proceeded pompously. "Yes, I shall have the Veal Cutlet with Truffle Crème, and Straw Greens." He perched his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and peered over them at the waitress. "And, please … do not overcook the veal."

The waitress wrote down every last word. "Of course, Sir." She then turned to Mikel, and placed her hand on his broad shoulder. "And what can I do for you today?"

Mikel hadn't even opened his menu, but he knew what wanted. He always ordered the same thing. Even if it wasn't on the menu, per se, Truddi personally ensured Mikel could always enjoy this favorite meal. "I'll have blood sausage, side of red leaf and fennel, please."

An uncertain quality washed over the waitress's eager face. "Sir, I don't think we-"

"Truddi has the ingredients in the back." He informed her patiently, calmly used to the process. "Trust me, Bridgit, put in the order." He smiled at her, and she lost her breath.

"Right away, Sir," she said, grinning. The waitress slid her hand across the length of this back as she walked off scribbling on her pad.

The men's drinks were delivered shortly, and Mak tried to hide his petty mood by gently swirling his wine. Finally, he spoke.

"Mikel, how do you do it?"

"Do what?" Mikel asked.

"Her!" Mak whispered forcefully, expelling the strength of his confusion. "She was positively frothing standing next to you."

"I guess I hadn't noticed." Mikel shared the truth. She was just a woman, and while he could understand how others might find enjoyment in her appearance and demeanor, Mikel's interests were still fixed on Kassi. Mak had found his soul mate not long ago, and it was highly unusual for someone mid-aged to feel the Calling and seek. But, seek he did. Mak wed his wife, Carro, just two months after setting out. However, Mak had always been a rake, and indulged in the most extravagant aspects life had to offer. Mak exhibited an impulsive aspect that made Mikel uncomfortable to consider, and even worse to endure when in public.

"You'd like how I've arranged and decorated your office," Mak said. It was a slight ploy to change the subject, but Mikel welcomed it.

"I'm sure you've done a fine job, Mak."

"Do you regret leaving at all?" Mak asked.

"No." Mikel's answer was crisp and clear-headed. The business of Kassi might have his head swimming in fog, but his decision to leave the MIA was laced with absolutely no regret. "And, it's probably for the best. You're twice the Lead Curator I could ever have been."

If Mak thought Mikel's compliment was transparent, he didn't betray any burning. Mak might have been a self-inflated tool, but he was an administrative genius who exceled at reading people and situations. He'd wondered what prompted the random lunch date, and what seemed to be eating at his former colleague.

"Mikel, do you have something on your mind?"

"Yes," Mikel began. "I received a visit from a disturbing fellow yesterday. His name was Brody Dullden, and he said he represented the Citizens-"

"Citizens for Ethical Decency? Yes, I know, Mikel," Mak said, taking a swig of his wine. "They've been making in-roads to our curatorial panels for some time now. Annoying gnats, if you ask me."

A grimness pervaded Mikel as he gripped his water. "They came with threats, Mak."

"Well, that's the nature of these beastly cretins, isn't it?"

"Have they threatened you and the MIA?" Mikel asked.

Mak took a deep sigh from exhaustion. "I suppose, in a way … in a manner of speaking. You know that the advantage of a large institution is that one can hide amongst the weeds of bureaucracy. Whenever we receive a petition from these simpletons, claiming mass protest over the content we are exhibiting, we simply delegate the form to some functionary at Central Office." Mak drank another sip. "You know those forms will be as good as lost."

"I don't have that luxury, Mak" Mikel stated.

Mikel's friend could have replied with a glare, shouting: You should have considered that before leaving a protected position at the MIA. But, he had great sympathy for his friend. He secretly admired Mikel's resolve and independence, wishing he had been blessed with a degree of those qualities. Mak placed his wine on the table and leaned forward. "Mikel," he began, "listen to me. I don't like what these people are saying and doing, but there's nothing we can do about it. I DO have the luxury of biding my time. Should one of their requests make it through, I have a thousand works of equal quality in the vault just waiting to replace it. If the Citizens find the replacement objectionable, they can mire themselves in the red-tape all over again, ad infinitum.

"You, however, are right in that you do NOT have that luxury. Your Gallery, though respectable, will be seen as a smaller target, more easily bendable to their purposes. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they target your Gallery BECAUSE of your reputation. Many people, both inside and outside, the art community watch what you do, Mikel. They always have, and it astounds me you've never realized it."

Mikel's eyes dropped to the table surface, and remained there until their lunch was served. The plate of reddish sausage and shredded greens looked and smelled as appetizing as ever, but his hunger was gone. All Mikel could think of was the young woman who walked out of his Gallery earlier that morning. He considered how much she must struggle, every day, and how the simple meal before him would be considered a feast to someone like Kassi. In the end, he forced himself to consume half his meal, saving the other link for Gün.

He bade Mak farewell and returned to his coup. He sat in the car for some minutes before a ping alerted him of a message. It was his mother, and she had found a Sanctuary nearby that came highly recommended. He put the coup into drive and peeled toward the holy site. He had questions, and wanted answers from the source.
 
Last edited:
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom
Back