Return to Sender: Quartz and Gold 0.5

1. Neon lights

Night rain streaks past the window in a gentle pitter-patter, despite that it's a downpour outside. The lights of the city blur from the water cascading down, making vibrant streaks of purples, reds, blues, greens. Horns blaring within traffic, the autopilot cars going slower in the wet conditions on the old streets below. Despite that there are much better ways of transit for cheaper, many never converted over to the new transit options. But more on that later.

Ms. Proxy Quartz leans against the floor to ceiling window in her penthouse suite, watching the rain slip by. She always did enjoy watching how the world seems to warp in the rain. She takes a sip from her mug, filled with warm tea, enjoying the view for once. A message tone plays in her ear, and she taps the sides of her visor to turn it on and check it.

Billionaires List: "Reminder of your interview and photoshoot for tomorrow. Confirm or reschedule?"

Quartz: "Confirm schedule"

She sighs and taps off her visor again. It would take at least 12 hours to get there, even by private LightTrain. She could've invested in a private plane like the others, sure. But that's just a waste of money and resources that could be better sent to those in need. Not as if she didn't generate enough money just by existing.

Proxy grabs an umbrella and her suitcase, heeled boots clicking against the wooden floors. She pauses in front of the full mirror by her door, or rather, the elevator. She glances herself over in it with a hum.

Long natural red curls, recently relaxed for this interview. Bright grey eyes tinted purple by her eye visor. Olive skin; her father's tone, managing to take over the genes from her mother. She's not very tall, but with her current shoes she's at least 5'10. A comfortable pair of black slacks, a cream blouse, and some earrings to pull the outfit together.

Certainly dolled up, but still not the vibrancy and unnatural oddities that society seems to adore. Just enough to be set apart, as expected of her.

"It's still me," she whispers to the mirror.

Another beep from her visor. She doesn't bother to turn it on, knowing it's her reminder to get going. Proxy lets out a sigh and opens the elevator, clicking the "roof" button. It takes no time at all to get up there, and for the sound of peaceful silence to be replaced.

The elevator door dings open, and the sound of the pouring rain from earlier is the first thing she hears. Then the sounds of the city, piercing and loud. Car horns, ad screens, planes and helicopters, sirens. Proxy winces, opening up the umbrella inside the elevator car before stepping outside. She reaches underneath her visor to her earbuds and presses a button to filter out the noise. Though it's very simply called "noise filter," Proxy likes to call it "peace mode".

Walking over the the platform is short, and though the wait isn't long, it feels like an eternity next to how fast things have gotten for her. Much faster than she was used to, despite living like this for years now.

The train arrives, slowing down with next to no noise and stopping exactly where it's meant to. The doors slide open, revealing someone waiting for her. He steps outside and out of her way, taking his hat off while gesturing inside. Proxy steps up to the train, glancing over at the man. She doesn't notice much except his eye contacts. Standard issue, like anyone else's, but the corners seem crowded with spam. She sets a hand on his shoulder, gently, and whispers to him.

"If you want the spam to stop, just put the contacts in work mode. They'll leave you alone with that."

She drops a nod and steps inside, hand falling away from him. It wasn't hard to notice his immediate reaction of curious shock, but she glides across the floor and heads to one of the spacious captian's chairs, tapping an order of old-world champagne into the tablet built into the arm.

The train starts again within a minute, the wheels starting as the magnets interact, before sending them speeding on. Though the trip usually wouldn't take longer than 16 hours with no stops, Proxy asked the conductor long ago to make the trip a whole day instead. It gives her peace, and time to prepare.

The attendant comes by with a flute of the champagne, explaining it with a vibrant interest, and sets it gently on the table in front of Proxy. She gives the attendance a soft smile, listening carefully as the other talks, and tips them more than generously as they walk away.

Proxy lifts the glass, noting the crystal that she's apparently drinking from, and takes a sip. She lets out a pleased hum, setting it back down. It wasn't bad; it has good flavor, at least, and that's all that she cares about. Pretending to care in front of snobs wasn't hard, but really, it was just annoying to try and decipher the age of an alcohol, or how dry it is. It's just alcohol.

Glancing at the fast-changing environment out of her tinted windows, Proxy wonders about city life. How it feels to walk down the streets, being unnoticed. To not have to deal with paparazzi, or people trying to buy your time, or even just the bureaucracy of all the rich people. Was it calmer, easier to manage? Maybe she should try it once, attempt to blend in.

She was jealous, locked in the ivory tower she put herself in.