I used to love the rain

Z E P H Y R

---

You do not pick up on her discomfort. You're dumb like that.

Instead you keep close so she can be covered, totally unperturbed when keeping her dry means exposing yourself to more rain. The thing is you don't really mind the rain. The umbrella is more sentimental than anything else.

Her description of the problem makes some sense*. By the time you reach the destination you feel like you have some grasp of what your approach will be, and so you're unphased by the appearance of a teary face in the gaping doorway. "Zephyr Kawaianu," you greet him warmly, extending the hand not holding your umbrella for him to shake. "Let's see what we got, eh?"

This time the umbrella gets tucked carefully away.

You waste no time heading to the housing of the offending device. The shift to business brings a shift in your whole persona, fastidious and orderly, ready to Get Shit Done. Where there had been effusive friendliness now a surprising amount of focus settles, your gilded gaze pony throwback anyone distant as you consider the problem.

The ensuing montage features some scrambling through escape hatches, careful measurement and evaluation of shaft mechanics, appropriate use of hammers and wrenches, and some judicious application of WD-40. Maybe duct tape. You get Iara to help, too, because real engines with electricity are not your thing. You talk through every step of what you're doing, whether anyone is listening or not. It's fun, until it's not.

It ends with a whimper, not a bang. There's a telltale expression of frustration on your face as you drop back into the elevator, hands wiping thoughtlessly over your thighs, leaving streaks of grime behind. "Water damage all the way through - got some'a the rust off an' the weight unstuck, but there's leaks that're gonna be a bitch t'patch, an a couple'a beams gotta be replaced." Your serious gaze shifts from the shopkeep to Iara, and back. "It'll run, probably, but don't. Without those replacements the whole thing's at risk'a fallin' apart.

"Here-" From one of your many pockets comes a business card, bent and waterstained. "They do good work, an' don't rob ya for it. Sorry I couldn' do more."

---

*(I think. Making an engineer character when I never took a physics class in my life was clearly a big brain move)

The faithful say it's beautiful, it's god's will - let the flood swell
And the bodies that break will just float down the river

Zephyr.

Ah, the name Zeph makes a surprising amount of sense now, I think to myself as he makes his introduction to the distraught store owner.  I watch a glimmer of hope bubble to the surface of the owner's eyes as an understanding reaches his brain.  I silently oversee the man dumbly shake Zeph's hand, and I resist the urge to giggle because of the gawking expression written so blatantly on his face.

It is now my turn to stare on dumbly, though, as I watch the awkward, kindly boy transform into someone of extreme focus and care the instant his eyes meet the elevator.  Very few things surprise me anymore, but even I cannot help but be taken aback by the abrupt and drastic shift in someone's entire demeanor.  I manage to pick my jaw off the floor quick enough to follow Zeph as he moves toward the machine to assess the damage.

I cannot say that I have the faintest idea what the engineer is seeing in the elevator, since I mostly work on small scale machines or engines.  When he asks for my help with the engine of the elevator itself, I am happy to step in and work with what I know.  When all is said and done, however, a fog of frustration seethes out from Zeph.  His face, once filled with endearing joy and levity, now looks more grouchy than I expected.  I could almost laugh comparing the two images in my head, but I don't.  I think that wouldn't worsen matters, but it won't fix the elevator or ease the frustration he feels.

Zeph makes his report to the store owner, and I see the crushing weight of disappointment fall across his expression once more.  I see... he trails, even as Zeph looks to me.  The warning to not run the elevator was not needed on my part.  I saw the innards of the death trap, so I am not willingly going to advise anyone to step into it.

From his pockets he produces what looks to be a business card, albeit a bit worse for wear, which he extends to the owner.  The man is all spluttery with thanks and small bows, grasping at my and Zeph's hands to shake them with a sort of jittery appreciation.

I didn't do anything, though.

I take my own hand and roughly pat Zeph on the back, a smile lighting up my face once more.  "Thanks," I said.  "I really felt bad leaving here earlier without a good solution for the man."  I nod my head to the store owner before turning toward the entryway again.  I pause out on the sidewalk, waiting for Zeph to reappear from the store.

"Sorry to make you work without pay," I say honestly.  I know how valuable time can be, especially for tradesmen.  "If you swing by my shop, Ginny should be more than happy to give you something for your time."  I know it was a favor that he came, but watching him put forth so much earnest work at my request was hard.  After all, I'm little more than a stranger.
""

Iara

There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy
It's the same shade as concrete

stars stock photo by andy holmes

Z E P H Y R

---

The shopkeeper is predictably crestfallen at your diagnosis, and man, it sucks, not having been able to succeed in this one thing. Even worse is when the becomes grateful and handshakey, even though you accomplished next to nothing, and you feel your cheeks grow hot with the bemused frustration you're trying not to show as you bid the poor sod a brief goodbye before turning back toward the waiting rain.

You neither expect nor deserve the pat on the back, but it does bring a fleeting smile to your stormy face.

Back on the sidewalk you once again pull out the patchwork umbrella, though this time with somewhat less aplomb. Iara is waiting, and you don't think much of it as you raise the umbrella over her head, thoughts still preoccupied by the elevator and what if I tried...? and if only I had's.

It's only when she offers to repay you that your gaze focuses back down to her, an easy shake of the head dismissing any such suggestion without second thought. "Happy t'help," you say with a smile, boyish tone wistful. "Shame 'bout the whole thing - ain't gonna be an easy fix. Woulda like to have done more."

Ah well. Can't win 'em all.

You offer Iara an expressive life, huh? shrug, rolling your shoulders and popping your neck head as though to physically shake off the weight of defeat. And for all anyone on the outside can tell, it works, for your expression is already brightening back to one of easy optimism and love for your fellow man and all that other silly saccharine shit. "I can walk you t'yer shop, tho? I still owe ya for rescuin' ol' Bell," you twirl the umbrella, "An' I ain't gonna make my train anyway."

The faithful say it's beautiful, it's god's will - let the flood swell
And the bodies that break will just float down the river

Thoughtlessly, Zeph covers me with the umbrella again.  His kind nature is undeniable, since it shows up in gestures big and small.  He's a good apple, as Ma would say.

He rebukes the offer of repayment with a gentle shake of his head and a smile.  I match it with my own, and nod knowingly with his statement about wishing to do more.  It's always difficult to leave things half-fixed and nonfunctional for working people.  I hadn't always been a fixer-of-things, though I always desperately wished to prevent further trouble and sorrow for those I cared about.  I wonder if Ginny had also seen me as a good apple all those years back.

"You gave him a number to call," I say, trying to reassure him.  "I'm sure he'll manage from there.  Most Drenchers do."

The glum expression from his face disappears with a turn of his neck and shrug of the shoulders though.  A quiet admiration begins to swell in my chest, since I had always had a difficult time letting things go.  He offers to walk me back to the shop, in exchange for the umbrella rescue.  I smile quietly, since he had already repaid the favor the moment he agreed to look at the elevator.

"Let's call it even," I say easily, but I do look out at the crowds in the street.  I'm back in the same position I was before Zeph fortuitously bumped into me.  "Though, I don't come up here often, so a guide down to the Chokes would be helpful." 
""

Iara

There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy
It's the same shade as concrete

stars stock photo by andy holmes

Z E P H Y R

---

"Fair enough." You smile down at her, a little rivet of worry lodged between your brows the only remnant of your earlier upset at how things have turned out. Because overall? Not a terrible way to end the day.

You made a new friend, after all.

Ah, but alas, the thing she asks is the one of many you are uniquely ill-equipped to provide: directions. A grimace flashes across your face, chagrin bringing heat up to your ears. "Uhhh," you answer eloquently, throwing your gaze around the busy streets in desperate search of some familiar landmark. "Suuuure. Jus' gotta follow the crowd, right?" You couldn't sound less confident if you tried.

While your sense of direction means you'd get lost in fishbowl, your logic... isn't awful. Most of the people in the Edge at this time are Drenchers making their commute home, and it stands to reason they can guide you to the nearest Choke entry point. So assuming Iara is along for the ride you step into the stream of bodies, umbrella held dutifully aloft, guided by a crowd mentality and very misplaced confidence.

"I haven't really spent a lotta time up on the Plates," you confess as you walk, gold eyes bouncing from buildings to faces and back to her. "You work up her a lot?"

The faithful say it's beautiful, it's god's will - let the flood swell
And the bodies that break will just float down the river

The expression which takes over his face at the mention of directions would be comical, if I were not actually in need of directions.  I can feel the flummoxing of his internal thoughts, as he tries not to disappointment me while continuing to be straightforward and honest.

His voice is mouse-like and hysterical to me.  I cover my mouth, but still cannot keep the laughter from bubbling up underneath my fingers.  "You have no idea where you're going either, I take it?"  I ask with amusement written plain as day across my face.

"Oh, well," my voice still upbeat despite resigning myself to the reality that the pair of Drenchers has no idea where we are going.  "At least you're taller than me.  I have a hard time seeing around crowds, you know?"

I do admit that his logic to follow the crowd makes sense, though.  Since I do not have a better suggestion or idea of where to go, I stick with him.  We try to follow the ebb and flow of the crowds toward the exit - wherever that happens to be.

"Nah," I answer his question.  "I don't like it up here on the Plates, makes me uneasy."  I glance around, standing briefly on my tip-toes to try to see if I can recognize the gates leading to the staircase to the Drench below.  "So I usually pass these jobs onto my coworkers if I can, even if they pay better."
""

Iara

There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy
It's the same shade as concrete

stars stock photo by andy holmes