THE PAINTER

17th of Johannar, 1197 SA

Eisehafen, Northwestern Port City in the Republic of Buerren

"...I understand Marie, I do, but it's all about context. If you're forced into an environment against your will, obviously you're going to close yourself off! Does that make sense? Marie!? Hello!??" Tom circled around her as the company of three stepped down from the ship onto one of many wooden piers making up the Port of Eisehafen.

The air here was full of pungent salt and fish, causing Marie's nose to shrivel up. In the distance, she saw the piers merge into a massive waterfront market pressed against a row of steel-walled fisheries.

"Maybe it'll help to think about it like this," Tom continued. "No one likes being shoved down a well, right? And even if you give people the agency to go down the well themselves, they might still hate it. But-"

"This metaphor isn't working in your favour, Tom," Marie interrupted, trying her best to multitask this conversation and the arduous process of pushing their luggage trolly off the pier without accidentally tossing it into the ocean. "Actually, it's barely working at all."

"Fine, then let me try another one. No one likes being shoved into a pool-"

"That's the same metaphor! You just made the hole bigger!" Marie yelled.

"You didn't give me time to think!" Tom retorted. "Lydia, help me out!"

Lydia sighed, smiling softly. "Marie, learning something that doesn't spark your immediate interest can be irritating. One way to alleviate the process is to give yourself agency in the situation. You are deciding to learn, the act isn't being forced upon you. Even if you are being forced, a change in mindset can almost trick you into giving yourself a false agency that achieves the same effect. If that doesn't work..."

"Then you could treat learning about the well as a preventative measure; in case you get pushed into it later and need to know how to get out."

Lydia and Marie furrowed their brows at Tom, who grinned at his contribution.

"And your initial argument was..."

"That you should let me teach you about boats," he replied earnestly. Marie groaned, pushing the trolley as hard as she could to get a few steps ahead and escape the conversation.

Tom slumped his head, glancing back at the Benevol as it faded into the background. "I don't understand what I'm doing wrong, Lydia. Boats are objectively awesome-"

"Ah, see there's your problem," Lydia interjected. "Nothing is objectively awesome. But everything can be made subjectively awesome. You have to sell it, Tom. Study your target audience and find out what resonates with them. Nothing sells on passion alone. Passion or crap metaphors."

Tom raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Did you just curse?"

"It's a new thing I'm trying. If I want my writing to resonate with the youth, I have to be vulgar like they are. See? Adapting to the target audience," Lydia said with a snap of her finger as the two ran to catch up with Marie.

- \\//\\//\\// -

Navigating the sheer density of Eisehafen took the band longer than they would've liked. The Benevol's registration under Senheisen meant it could dock in the more restricted North Port, but the journey was still a long one. Streets were eventually forgone in favour of emptier alleys between the brick townhouses that dominated the city.

Every so often, a small clearing at the centre of residential blocks allowed them to catch their breaths. But the frequency of such places diminished as they grew closer to the business district. Dealers, merchants, and tycoons clogged every space, only ever moving for the occasional horse-drawn carriage.

Things took a turn for the worse as Eisehafen's infamous verticality made itself known. Luckily, they'd been able to stop at their hotel and drop off their luggage before that point, but Marie still found herself quickly losing energy as she led the three up steeper and steeper staircases. The afternoon sun did little to help, beaming with the oxymoronic irony of an equatorial winter.

Eventually, the three managed to crest the hill, arriving at one of Senheisen's many checkpoint gates. The company was fiercely secretive, especially in the cities where its research and development efforts were centred. Eisehafen was one such place, from which marvels like the emerging automobile had originated.

The small circular plaza in front of this particular gated entrance was relatively empty, with only a few workers enjoying their lunch break. Thanks to the altitude, this area felt less crowded than the path that had led them to it. Instead of the darkness cast by towering brick buildings, the plaza enjoyed the swaying shade of the surrounding mahogany trees. Past their trunks, hundreds of rooftops covered the hillsides. Farther in the distance, the massive transit centre known as the Eisenbahnhof could be seen dominating the surrounding landscape, dwarfing any other structure in the city.

Tom immediately broke off from the group to gawk at the view. Meanwhile, Lydia pulled Ulmer's signature from her pocket and approached the checkpoint guard. Marie stood still, surveying the plaza. Something had caught her eye as soon as she'd entered it, but not long enough for her attention to fully grasp it. Her eyes moved from tree to tree, object to object, worker to worker.

There. A shared look, lasting a fraction of a second; a man sitting on a bench against the compound's brick wall, reading a newspaper. His eyes had retracted back under his fedora, but his pursed lips gave him away. His beard was scraggly, still growing in. That and the slightest wrinkles underneath placed him in his mid or late thirties. The plain suit he wore gave nothing more away, perhaps because he was just an ordinary citizen. Or because his plainness was deliberate.

The man focused back on the newspaper, swaying his head as if to broadcast that he was intently reading it. The act was too much, but he seemed to pose no threat. Marie let it go, calling Tom back as she approached the gate to meet Lydia.

"We're set?" she asked.

"To get in? Yes. To get out? Not so much. At least, not without speaking to more people than I would've liked."

Marie sighed, gazing out between the gate's iron bars. The facility didn't look like much from here, just a small clearing surrounded by similar gates. A clearing... and the small metal box at the centre of it. An elevator entrance, if she had to guess, leading to a network of tunnels that probably stretched throughout the entire hill.

"If I'm not holding 12,500 halia within the next hour, someone's getting shoved down a well," she muttered, her eyes narrowing at the box as its front door slid open.

What she saw emerging only made her squint further.

Walking towards them was a distractingly handsome man in dress pants and a summer polo. A flat cap lay slumped over his perfect blonde hair, yet managed not to ruin it. Marie found herself frowning instantly, feeling a deep mistrust of anything about to come out of his mouth. Lydia, too, furrowed her brow slightly. There was a limit past which the benefits of physical beauty no longer worked, a limit this man was well beyond. Tom somehow seemed completely unfazed, to Marie's surprise. A part of her had expected him to look jealous, but his face communicated nothing of the sort.

The man beckoned to the gate officer, causing the iron bars to begin parting. As they did, he bowed his head and turned back around, guiding them into the facility.

- \\//\\//\\// -

He isn't speaking. Why isn't he speaking? Why- oh Meris above... Lydia stood still, Marie and Tom to her side.

The four were packed into a beautiful elevator, designed to look like an ornate living room. Flowery wallpapers covered the walls, bordered by detailed crown moulding. Unfortunately, the elevator was also quite small, Lydia finding herself only inches away from the man leading them. To her left, she could hear Tom softly whistling a tune to himself. To her right, Marie... well, it seemed Marie was staring directly at her. Her eyes carried a familiar distrust and a longing to make comfortable eye contact with anyone. Lydia obliged, trading her own look of worry back.

"What's wrong with him?" Marie silently mouthed, shaking her head towards the man.

"Don't ask me," Lydia mouthed back, feeling the comfort of a shared burden. "I feel like we've been here for hours-"

"It's been two minutes, and there's really nothing wrong with me," the man interrupted.

Lydia felt her face turn beet red immediately, her posture snapping stiff.

"Our complex runs quite far below the hill, and my supervisor prefers her office on the lowest level. Should you wish, you may call me Egonn." The elevator fell into a tense silence, one that seemed to last an eternity.

"So... Egonn," Marie eventually said, "why is your face so... symmetrical?"

"Marie!" Lydia shouted. "You can't just ask-"

"It's quite alright," Egonn interrupted. "My father says I embody the stoicism of Löwe der Revoluzzer and the grace of Meris. My mother says I get my looks from my father. In a way, I suppose he was talking about himself," he chuckled.

Lydia, still suspicious, stifled any instinctive urge to humanise him.

"One man to another," Tom butted in, "I'd say your fashion sense has a great deal to do with it. The polo is marvellous."

Egonn let out a heartier laugh, one that felt perfectly genuine. Again, Lydia stifled the urge, though she began to doubt her judgement.

"But really, Egonn," Marie resumed, "you're much too put-together to be real, no? Are you sure Senheisen didn't build you in their lab?"

Egonn reached for his face and pulled at his cheek. After some playful tugging around, he turned to Marie.

"I'm fairly certain I came about the same way you did. Except for the twin business, of course." As he finished, the elevator came to a slow stop, dinging as it did. "Here we are."

Egonn stepped out, leading the three down a short hallway that opened into a large circular chamber. White marble tiles covered the floor, butting into a wall of unfinished stone. Above them, the chamber rounded into a dome of the same stone, most likely the raw material of this subterranea. Hanging from the highest point was a lavish chandelier, under which was a small wooden desk. Egonn walked the group to it, stepping aside to reveal the man sitting behind.

"Names, please," he spoke, voice gravelled with age. A full head of salt and pepper hair did well to balance out his many wrinkles, as did his perfectly tailored suit.

"Lydia Terell."

"Marie Terell."

"Uh... Tom- Thomas Schiffe," Tom blurted. The man ticked through a sheet of paper, then stopped abruptly.

"I don't have a 'Thomas Schiffe' on the ledger. Egonn?"

"I believe Herr Schiffe will be listed as a 'Bardic Consultant,' Herr Jannik."

Jannik raised an eyebrow. "This is the man that changed the minds of an entire village in ten minutes?"

"I imagine it was a group effort, but yes," Egonn smiled graciously.

"Very well. She's ready to see you. Herr Schiffe, I suggest you let your companions do the talking."

Tom nodded shyly before following Egonn to a large set of double doors on the far side of the chamber.

- \\//\\//\\// -

"We keep a good bit of halia in every division headquarters, as is standard procedure. I'm sure you've guessed that by now, Lydia." The woman smiled warmly, fixing the nameplate on her desk as she did: Sibylle Lang - Chief Operating Officer, Northeast Division.

She stood, hands outstretched over her desk at the centre of a relatively humble office space, certainly more humble than Ulmer's. A few diplomas and awards covered the back wall, but most of the area was adorned with amateur landscape paintings. An easel rested in the back corner, a half-finished self-portrait affixed to it.

Lydia quickly took in her body language, hoping to extract whatever she could from this unknown entity. At a cursory glance, it seemed that every aspect of the woman followed one central aesthetic philosophy: controlled nonchalance. Lydia could see it all over her; her well-tousled black hair; her flowy business-casual outfit; the silky tone with which she spoke. There was something going on here, though she couldn't exactly place it yet.

"I've been guessing that for the past eight days, yes," Lydia replied.

"Then tell me why you think you're here. Entertain me." Lang relaxed her shoulders and sat back down at her desk chair, gesturing to the two available seats in front of her.

Having taken Jannik's advice to heart, Tom stepped back and allowed Marie to sit next to Lydia. However, as Marie pulled out the chair, Lang let out a small squeal and beckoned at Tom to sit instead. He obliged, albeit nervously, while Marie cautiously backed away. She looked to Lydia, hoping to see an expression of understanding on her sister's face, but she looked just as confused. This one's not fully here, Lydia. Be careful...

"Hranost was an audition," Lydia eventually answered. "Senheisen intends to continue using our services."

Lang nodded, looking intently at the two seated in front of her. "That's a curious word you just said."

"I'm sorry?"

"'Use,' my dear Lydia, 'use.' All this talk of using. We use you; you use us. So transactional, no? Such a negative connotation. But tell me, and be honest, did you two feel used in Hranost?"

Lydia hesitated, unsure of what Lang wanted to hear. "From my understanding, the company had a goal, and we were the tool it used to accomplish it. I don't understand-"

"Ah, ah, there! Another word I detest: 'tool!' Why must you refer to yourself in that way? Do you not see that the value you bring is your humanity? Surely you cannot call one's humanity a tool?"

"I suppose not, Frau Lang."

"Oh stop that! Call me Sybille, dear. And do away with that tense decorum of yours! Loosen your shoulders! You're in the company of a fellow artist, after all!" Lang spread her arms wide, calling attention to her many paintings as she smiled brightly. "Writing is your source of joy, is it not? Don't tell me you felt no stimulation creating the Huntsman, as you called him. And you, Thomas, bringing the character to life!"

Lydia furrowed her brows slightly. Lang continued to act enigmatically, muddying any attempt to form a concrete profile of her psyche.

"Yes... Sybille. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't an engaging job-"

"Enough!" Lang yelled as she smacked the table, causing the three to jump slightly. She still wore her warm smile, but Lydia and Marie could see a slight vein popping on the edge of her forehead.

"'Use,' 'tool,' 'job!' That's three horrid words you've said in just a few minutes! Look, look here, both of you. The beauty of art is inherent, no? Your- our love of it comes from the act of doing, from being embroiled in that exploration! It shouldn't matter what the context is, yet you keep returning your attention to these details of employment as if they somehow drag the beauty out of the process. We're artists, dammit! Flexibility is our superpower! You could lock me in a box for a week and I'd be fine as long as I had my paints and canvas! If anything, my tortured psyche would probably create a piece full of even more value than if I were to just laze around some fucking beach cabin and paint whenever I felt like it!"

Lang suddenly paused, sobering up to the shock felt by the rest of the room. She ducked her head sheepishly, grabbing her self-portrait and cradling it as she looked back at Lydia and Tom. "I- I'm sorry, you two. I have a tendency to get quite heated on this subject. There's just so many of us out there, wasting away because they can't see a better way forward. I wish I could take them all in and keep them here with me, but not all dreams are permissible."

"Sybille," Lydia said calmly, "I'll do my best to appreciate the process, yes? Now may I ask what we're doing here?"

Lang smiled weakly, nodding as she pulled out a piece of paper from her desk. "Ideally, I would've liked to have found a place for you here. Something, anything, where you could utilize your skillsets. You see, I've had my eye on you for quite some time, Lydia. I've had every one of your Parliament speeches transcribed and sent over to me from Buerrenstadt... I've read them each at least a hundred times, cried during most of them... I- I'm a fan, plain and simple."

"I'm flattered, Sybille, thank you. But I'm a writer... Tom is a bard," Lydia said slowly, "we're not scientists or engineers. What you do here surely isn't our kind of art."

"Perhaps not," Lang sighed, her hands beginning to twitch slightly. "Truth be told, you're only speaking to me because this is the closest domestic office to Hranost. The company wants you in Buerrenstadt, at Central Headquarters... But I fought for you!" she suddenly yelled, grabbing Lydia's and Tom's wrists as she sprung her upper body over the desk, causing the two to yelp in surprise.

Marie instinctively shot her hand towards Lang's, grabbing it with intensity. She recoiled, a look of disgust flashing across her face before returning to a more idyllic state.

"I would have found a place for you here. We would've done wonderful things together." Her eyes watered lightly as she maintained a neutral smile. "But never mind that!" she exclaimed, shaking the tension away. "I didn't invite you here to watch me get emotional! That'd be ridiculous!" Her hand twitched again, prompting her to hide it under the table. With her other hand, she picked up the piece of paper from the desk and handed it to Lydia.

"Senheisen is starting a new initiative, which we're calling 'A Century of Peace.' As we move into this coming century, the company is seeking to rebrand as a force for good. This means a complete upheaval of our brand identity, our core values, all of it. Focusing on our health and wellness sectors, improving customers' quality of life, all while stepping back from arms production and private infantry. Given your prior track record and your stellar performance with the Borleyni Division, we'd like to bring you two on as consultants. The company is prepared to offer you up to 275,000 halia each, as well as accommodations in the capital for the duration of your stay.

"Marie and Tom's eyes went wide, but Lydia didn't skip a beat.

"Is my sister included in the deal?" she said sternly.

"The consultant offer is only being offered to you and Thomas, but we're prepared to offer a larger accommodation," Lang replied, keeping her eyes on Lydia.

"Could we have time to discuss?"

"Consider the next seven days your time to discuss. Should you decide to accept, arrive at Central Headquarters in Buerrenstadt at noon on the 25th."

Lang's eyes had slowly dulled as she'd gone over the spiel, as if she'd reverted to her standard corporate persona. Lydia still felt some residual fear of her from the outburst, but her hollow look brought forth some strange pity.

As she stood from her chair, she looked at the landscapes on the walls. They... they weren't the best, per se. There was an indication of effort, that much was obvious. But Lydia could sense a fundamental lack of passion, of artistry. Curiously, it reminded her of Marie's old attempts at writing, when the two were much younger. And so she did now as she did then.

"Thank you, Sybille. And... ehm... your landscapes are beautiful. I hope you keep painting." With that, Lydia led Marie and Tom out of the room. Behind them, Sybille Lang's eyes softened ever so slightly.

- \\//\\//\\// -

"It was very nice meeting the three of you," Egonn said with a slight bow, before gesturing to the gate office to open the checkpoint once more.

"And you, Egonn," Lydia replied, reaching out to shake his hand. He accepted, then pulled out a small briefcase and passed it to her.

"12,500 halia, as promised. Frau Terell, your final words to Frau Lang... thank you. I'm sure it meant a great deal to her."

"It was nothing, really," she blushed, embarrassed.

"And Herr Schiffe, do return when you can. I'll take you shopping for clothes around South Harbor," Egonn said as he turned to shake Tom's hand. He, too, found himself blushing.

Finally, Egonn turned to Marie, who'd remained quiet since leaving Lang's office. He approached her and held her hands solemnly. She hesitantly allowed it to happen, though she kept her eyes pointed at the ground.

"Not... not all of us were born to paint," he spoke, a strange sadness in his voice.

Marie lifted her chin, meeting Egonn's gaze. She felt an urge to snap back with some quip, some false indication that she felt better than she truly did. But his earnestness cut deep, forcing her into contemplative silence. Seeing as such, Egonn gave one final bow and walked away. Lydia placed a tentative hand on her sister's shoulder and guided her back out into the plaza, with Tom following behind.

The mahogany shadows had grown with the fall of the evening sun. Marie watched them dance in the wind, a black mimicry of that which cast them. So embroiled was she in the cold symbolism of those shadows that she missed the very real eyes peeking through them, watching the three as they descended the hill.