Sheet music wilted by rainfall

While the morning had started with the warmth of bouts of sunshine, the rain had quickly subdued the kind weather and started pouring in droves onto the busy street where the show hall sat.

Lumière had previously forgotten to ask for his monetary imbursement since he had left in such a hurry to avoid the anxiety of his hurt heart, and so he had chosen to make his way to the show hall in such weather. The attendant who was in charge of handing out the imbursement for performances only worked certain hours during the day, so he had to hurry.

To go without pay for too long would have meant death for someone without means, and for the monastery that had taken him in when he was a small child, it meant the deaths of many others.

To him, that monastery was a godless place- no more than a building with four walls and a roof. He had chosen to treat it as such. Thus, he had no apprehensions with working until the skin on his heels had hardened from standing up so tall, simply so he could afford to warm that building with firewood.

In that way, he would not support the Goddess who had brought forth such a cruel world, but he would support the Goddess's adorers whom he held dearest. So, a majority of his pay went to the church. Rather, it went into Father Benedict's hands, who, after giving a large portion of it to the main cathedral in the middle borough, would use the remaining portion to feed the Dwindlers. To try and go past the cathedral and spend the money on the Dwindlers in excess was something Lumière was too afraid to do, however. He was sure that it would bring up some elaborate excuse for his 'failures to patronise the church' and would only bring trouble to Father Benedict.

The rainfall had only worsened as he walked along the stone path, and as he watched the multitudes of horse-drawn carriages pass him by, he began to wonder about a life that was not his own. Were he to be born a noble, would he ride in such a fantastical roofed cart, free from the chill of the weather?

Rather than his birth, was he to curse the Goddesses who left the continent of Leinshir in such a vicious cycle of weather?

He had been born into the world's 5th recorded torrent cycle- bouts of rainfall that would continue for centuries on end. A hundred years prior, it had been the 5th cycle of the bloody sun, and a hundred years before that, the 4th cycle of snowfall. In the world's 20th century- a year that should have been momentous, it was tortured by constant rainfall.

To be stuck inside such a monotone cycle of weather was too much for Lumière to lament, and so he ignored it in its entirety.

As he walked through the nearly flooded street, Lumière noticed several sheets of paper floating atop a puddle by the wayside. With curious eyes, he bent down to view their contents.

On the sheets of paper contained a singular piece of sheet music. It seemed set for a string quartet, with parts for a violinist, a viola, a cello, and a double bass.

Atop the sheet was its title - 'Lament of the Murderer'.

'Murderer? Where have I heard that before?'

Lumière passed his fingers through the catalogue of his memories, ruffling through his messied hair, but he couldn't find a single trace of why it felt so familiar. Once again, he had forgotten something important.

'I'm no musician, but perhaps the hall's orchestra will have some curiosity towards these.' Lumière posed in his mind. 'Well, considering their talents and broad knowledge, perhaps these pieces are ones that they've long memorised.'

He quickly tucked the rain-worn sheets into his jacket and continued walking down the street. He spotted soldiers in bright-white uniforms patrolling in the rain, carrying oil lamps in their hands to spite the oncoming darkness of the cloudy weather, despite the glow of the luminescent street lamps. They were the peacekeepers of Leiden, the supposed 'caretakers of order'. Lumière often paid them no mind, as they seemed too afraid to journey down towards the lower borough, and as long as he was dressed well enough to pose as a resident of the middle borough, it was sure that they wouldn't bother him too much.

Before long, he came to a large building with an ornate double door acting as its entrance. Stepping through the door, he was met with the faint scent of lavender, and of the warmth of the hall that led into the showroom.

To his right, a desk separated him and a woman in another room, its clean office interior visible over it. Shuffling through a stack of papers, a woman with bright green eyes and dark hair fluttered about like a hummingbird on a mission.

"Good morning, Ms. Lavant."

"You say that, but it's nearly noon." She smiled in return. "So, good afternoon, Mr. Croft."

With one hand, she gestured towards the mechanical clock hanging on the wall. Its hour hand had nearly struck the mid-point, which meant that several hours had passed since he had adjourned from the monastery.

He let out a sigh, and in passing, he slipped the sheets to the attendant with a smile.

"Would you mind passing these to the orchestra, Ms. Lavant?" Lumière asked of the rosy-cheeked woman behind the desk.

"Is that the only matter you've brought to me, Mr. Croft?" The woman smiled as she accepted the soaked sheets of paper with a curious look in her gaze.

"I've come for my pay, Ms. Lavant. You would have it here, yes?" Lumière spoke softly in return. "Would you mind counting it out for me? There should be thirty lune included in the envelope."

"Wasn't it forty lune last week?" The attendant exclaimed. "What did you do to offend the Madame this time?"

Lumière laughed nervously in response to her question.

"I used her precious ring in a disappearing act." He winked.

"Did it truly disappear? Or was this just another of your illusions?"

As long as Lumière had worked in the show hall, Ms. Lavant had never once fallen for any of his acts. As such, she was a woman he respected in utmost fashion, for she was someone who saw the world for what it truly was.

Ms. Lavant turned around to shuffle over to a cabinet, where large envelopes had been separated by sheets of thick paper. She produced a large paper envelope that had been tied shut by twine and brought it over to the counter.

"Let's see…"

Undoing the twine on the envelope, it seemed to bulge wide with its contained material.

She suddenly paused, peering into the envelope with a look of surprise on her face.

"Ah, it seems you truly angered the Madame this time." Ms. Lavant laughed dejectedly. "She's given you your pay in Trest."

Lumière's eyes widened. Trest was the smallest measurement of currency in the Western continent. They were small, circular copper coins. Thirty Trest would have been the equivalent of one Lune, a small square-shaped iron coin.

This meant that when counted up correctly, there were nine hundred copper coins in the large envelope that Ms. Lavant had been holding.

Lumière's eyebrow twitched slightly, but he kept an expression of calm as he spoke once more.

"If the Madame had been so kind as to look at her hand after the act was over, she would have realised her ring had still been in her possession." Lumière sighed aloud.

'No, she might have realised it and chose to spite me regardless. That's just how the Madame operates.' Lumière sighed inwardly.

Accepting the envelope from the attendant, he bowed slightly, pinching at the brim of his hat as he smiled.

"I wish you and your family good tidings, Miss." He spoke softly.

"And to you, I wish many more smiles to cross your path."

With that, he bid her a final goodbye and then adjourned from the show hall.

Stepping back into the rain, he let out a heavy, sharp breath.

'I cannot blame people for their cruelty when it is behaviour learned from the world around them.'

Glancing up towards the stormy sky, his eyes narrowed, before he tore away his gaze, and continued walking down the now-bustling street. Carriages pulled by horses ploughed through the puddles that had collected in the street, and metal automatons followed their masters, creaking with each mechanical movement while carrying umbrellas above them. Lumière recoiled a bit at the sight. For some reason, he just couldn't fathom the sight of the steel servile creatures.

Before long, he reached a towering stone building. It had fantastical glass sheets along its walls, allowing the faint red sunlight that peered past the rain to creep into its halls. At its door, two attendants dressed in bright-white cloaks guarded its entry. Although, as soon as they saw the face of the magician, they bowed slightly, and then made way for him to move forward.

He bowed simply in response and opened the door to the hall.

Before he stepped inside, he was sure to take off his hat, shaking the remaining rainfall off of its brim before holding it at his side. Once he had stepped past the door's attendants, he hung his hat and coat on a rack beside the door and continued into the building of the fencer's gathering.

Like the show hall, the building that the fencer's gathering used was like a palace to him. Its roof stretched high up into the air, held high by ornate white pillars along its walls.

As he walked through its halls, he met a familiar face. She was a woman with a stern face, that seemed to soften up as she met his gaze. So, he approached her with quiet steps, and with a small bow, he spoke aloud to her.

"Miss Faulkner, it's quite a pleasure to see you again," Lumière spoke with a kind smile.

Artis Faulkner was a woman of bright, sun-bitten complexion. Her face was much paler than her arms, however. It was a wonder to Lumière, that during the supposed century of rainfall, she had been able to tan her skin in such a way. The Faulkner family was of nobility, and so it was certain she lived in a wing of the massive marble palace that rested above the clouds in the high borough, tactfully avoiding the rainfall and bathing in crimson sunlight. She lived a completely opposite life to Lumière, who dwelled in the floods of the lower borough.

"Likewise, Mr. Croft," Artis spoke with a now softened expression.

It wasn't that she was a sharp person. It was just a natural resting position of her face that caused her to seem so usually harsh. In reality, Lumière knew Artis to be a gentle person who wasn't keen on showing off a bitter heart, at least not on purpose.

"It's been a while. You skipped last week's attendance, and so I had no one worth sparring with." She sighed. "I would be a much better swordswoman by now if you would choose to come more than once a week."

Lumière started walking down the hall of the building, which had arched windows on one side, looking in towards the centre of the building, which had a large circular platform in the centre meant for bouts between participants of the gathering.

"All I can afford to spare is once a week, Miss Faulkner. I am a man of no means, and so the majority of my time should be spent chasing my next meal." Lumière winked as he continued walking through the sun-strewn hall.

She continued walking beside him, her long curly black hair bobbing up and down as she took each step.

"Then, why don't you wed me?" She asked suddenly.

Lumière turned toward the woman with a surprised, curious expression, but he did not say anything in response, so she continued.

"I'm quite sure my father wouldn't be so disposed to the idea. You're not exactly of noble birth, but he's always valued skill above all… and it's not as if you're the pinnacle of swordsmanship, but you can easily best anyone here…" Artis spoke with her eyes closed as if she had been thinking hard. "If you do so, there would be ample time to train with me, and you certainly would never have to worry about meals…"

It seemed as if she had thought the entire idea out thoroughly, so Lumière did not dismiss it readily, as if to not shatter her heart.

"But doesn't that benefit you the most, Ms. Faulkner?" Lumière smiled softly. "I've not once said that I mind the way my life is. While I hold some abject view of how this world is, I don't mind putting effort into my life. How can you readily assume that the easiest way would be the best for me?"

"Is it not the best for everyone?"

"Not always." He responded in kind.

'Although, if I had her means, I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard to help those around me… but I can't accept that. I'm too selfish to have it handed to me… at least in that way.'

They had reached a large wooden door at the end of the hall, that had been held together by large sheets of iron and studs.

"I'm sorry Ms. Faulkner, but at this point in my life, I'm not sure that marriage is so suited to me," Lumière replied, his gaze tilted towards the ground as if contemplating.

"You're twenty-six, aren't you?" Artis's eyes grew curious. "Isn't this the ample time for marriage?"

"I'm just not sure about the idea, is all." Lumière dismissed the question with a smile.

Artis tore her gaze away from Lumière, and he could see that her once calm, still expression had blushed over. Suddenly, she met him face to face and spoke aloud.

"Then, why don't we duel over the matter?" She said with fierce eyes, her lips pursed together indignantly.

"Over the matter of eternity together- you would have us settle such a thing with a bout?" Lumière said with surprise, trying desperately to hold himself away from bursting out into laughter.

'Such a performance is the mark of a magician, isn't it…? Even humour like this should be attempted to stave off the cruelty of the world…'

"Very well," Lumière spoke with a smile. "Let's duel for it. If you win, I'll take your hand in marriage."

"And if you're the winner of the bout?" She asked of him.

Lumière thought for a moment as if he hadn't considered it at all.

'While I don't care about the church itself, something that would benefit Sister Alinde and Father Benedict would be a good choice, right?'

So, he turned his gaze upwards towards the stern woman who awaited his answer.

"If I win, you'll owe me a single favour." He smiled.

In the back room past the iron-barred door was a place meant for changing. In a small wardrobe meant for him specifically, he kept an outfit he could sweat easily in without care, and a long steel blade tucked in a leather-bound sheath.

Lumière was not keen to carry around such a blade. While it was not fancy in any regard, it was certainly not shoddy. Lest it be stolen from him, he did not choose to carry it back to the monastery, storing it within the gathering's building. Of course, that was a little contradictory in itself, because only a fool would rob someone with a weapon.

However, the simple magician was hesitant to truly harm a man who was not intent on doing much more than that. He did not seem to value his life above others, either, so he wasn't even sure that if someone came at him with the intent of killing him, he would respond in kind.

The sword Lumière held in his hands was one he didn't take for granted. That was because he surely couldn't have afforded a blade like it with his weekly salary. Because of his amiable skill in swordcraft, however, Lumière had been sponsored by a nameless face, and so he was allowed such a thing.

So, it was something he valued, but not something he had the mind to use.

The blade was quickly tucked against his side. As he stepped out of the room into the arched hall, the white cloak he had adorned fluttered softly, and his eyes were steeled in the face of the woman who stood on the platform at the centre of the building.