It took everything Abel had to not scream in public. Ducking his head, he channeled all that energy into pelting down the sidewalk like a malfunctioning cruiser, barely dodging innocents along the way.
“Hey, Abel!” Mrs. Bresten’s voice brought him to a stumbling halt. She pressed her gloves onto the window sill and pushed a clump of greasy bangs
back. It flopped back over her forehead. “Ah, well, my forehead’s sooty
anyway,” she muttered, before redirecting her attention to him. “You look
awfully cheery today. Something happened?” From that eye-crinkling smile she
wore, she knew exactly what happened.
“Of course!” He wasn’t passing up a chance to brag. “I,” he
began, whipping out a gray paper, “have officially graduated from the Caelum
University for Flight!” Abel grinned, well aware that passing strangers that
could hear his declaration. There was a lot more that he wanted to say, but he retained
some self-awareness; that meant no monologues in the middle of a busy street.
Mrs. Bresten laughed and tapped the window sill, indicating
for him to come closer. When he only eyed her calloused hands, she sighed and rested
her chin in her palm. “What, no victory hair musses?” Before Abel could start
rambling about hygiene and appearances, there was a shout from deeper within
the repair shop. The call’s contents were lost to Abel. Mrs. Bresten, though, seemed to catch the
gist of it and stood up straight, stuffing her gloves on and pulling thick, scratched-up goggles back over her eyes. “Sorry, Abel, I can’t offer you tea
today. Your school may be the best one around, but it’s not the only one
graduating. Lots of kids are looking to have their gear back in commission.”
With a wink, she disappeared. The window slammed shut behind her.
Pressing his lips together, Abel held his certificate up. There
were a few creases that hadn’t been there when he received it. A shame, but nothing
that would lose the paper its place on Abel’s wall. Gripping the paper’s opposite
corners between his ring finger and thumb, Abel pivoted on his heel and
continued the march home.
Since Abel had spent a shameful amount of time telling everyone
he knew about his graduation, the mad scramble to return home after a long day
of work had long since died down. Cobblestone was once again visible from beneath
leather soles and gaudy bootstraps. Even with the city signaling for the day’s
end, the summer sun remained high in the sky, casting a shimmer onto the
street’s worn stones and allowing poor, lost tourists a few hours’ reprieve in
finding their motels. Long days were good for him, Abel noted. It meant more
time tomorrow to familiarize himself with his ship and to get to know his
partner. He’d have to draw up a schedule once he got home.
The click-clacking of hooves from somewhere around the bend
signaled the arrival of a carriage, so he paused. A gray mare walked by, dragging
along a mahogany box that did little to mute the shouts coming from within. They
were probably lost. Siren’s grandeur and its status as the capitol of Caelum
came with endless roads that snaked around shops stacked like pancakes and over
ridiculously steep hills, which made it impossible to see where one was going. People
crammed in anyway, desperate for a chance at the romanticized city life.
Suddenly, the entire cross-section Abel was at was cast in
shadow. Ignoring the sounds of bewilderment around him, he glanced up.
Of course it was an airship. This one wasn’t too big, he
mused, as it didn’t even have a deck. He would have pegged it as a student ship
if not for the fact that its envelope was painted a bright blue with some
golden symbol on its sides- it was difficult to tell from this perspective. First
off, student ships were the rather miserable colors of white and brown. Secondly,
there was no way any educated, self-respecting pilot nor navigator would ever paint their ships blue.
Readjusting his grip on his certificate, Abel quickened his
pace with a huff. Blue meant camouflage. Camouflage meant accidents. And what
kind of lovely day didn’t have a flaming heap raining down on you from the
skies? “If you’re extra lucky, the gondola may even be made of pine,” he
muttered, shaking his head.
People were stupid. Even himself, to an extent. Of course,
after a while of negative intelligence levels, it just became a contest of who was
closer to zero- and who could appear the smartest to others.
Call him arrogant, if you will. He certainly didn’t deny it.
Another turn. Paseo Street, Maple Avenue, Pinesberry. He
knew the path well enough that the signs were unnecessary. As he walked past
the Ivory Bakery, it was somewhat disappointing that no whiff of freshly baked
breads and sweets greeted him through the ornate door. Sometimes, the owners
kept the window or entrance open to tempt potential customers. Other days, like
today, the stagnant undercurrent of smoke, oil, and other pleasant fuels was
too prominent to risk exposing their pastries to. Pushing himself to walk
faster, he tried to remember what was left in the pantry. Mother would probably
be working late again, so he couldn’t wait for her to bring home dinner.
To distract himself, Abel recalled the name that had been
called out along with his at the graduation ceremony. Cain Noriega, huh? A
foreign last name, definitely, but its exact origin was unclear. It didn’t
sound Xingese, but it might have just been the result of an odd translation. Possibly
Glycian.
Frowning, Abel cocked his head. “Noriega, Noriega….” Then,
he bit his lip and swept the question out of his mind.
He’d find out tomorrow.
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