Disarm Evil

Chapter 3: Production

"Make a friend this time and maybe your punishment won't be quite as severe!" Those were Numo's parting words to me. As though this is the first time I will be meeting these teens and there hasn't already been an established relationship of spite that makes me wonder how any of them deserve to live the exalted lives they do. From what I have been told, both myself and my peers are not yet mature enough to manifest certain virtues. Our place in society won't be known until it is seen how we fare as adults, independent of our parents, trying to climb back up among the ultra wealthy via business ventures in Market Town. However, it's not like we have to claw our way back from the same starting conditions as everyone else. Most of us who come from ultra wealthy families tend to have a leg up via business loans, or some foot in the door at a high profile company.

Normally, someone like me would be well respected among my peers at an event like this. However, I have gained a reputation for my disdain for upper society. People believe I am destined for disparagement, and on top of that I am short. So I have become a sort of punching bag for those who are jealous of my roots.

The aggression of my peers is so predictable at this point that I already know exactly what is going to happen when I enter the theater. I'm going to be ridiculed not only for my short stature, as per usual, but also for my choice of outfit; from the outside, a modest dress that shifts in color from dark blue towards the top to vibrant rosy orange towards the middle to yellow at the bottom. In addition, I have customized the dress with my own added embroideries.

I love this dress. It is my proudest accomplishment of my endeavors into the art of embroidery. When I finished it I thought it was comparable to the artsy dresses and suits the great seamers sew; better even, because my dress was nowhere near as obnoxious as "high fashion" dresses. However, my peers made sure to inform me of just how inadequate my seam work is. My tracks are not the straightest nor are they consistent in length, and some of the patterns, meant to resemble clouds at sunset, look close enough to inappropriate shapes to warrant ridicule. I've since tried to fix those shapes, but even with the fixes I applied, it is hard not to see what they once were.

Numo put up quite a fight to get me to change into something more high quality for such an event as attending the theater. According to ver, my dress blurs lines that are not supposed to be blurred and according to certain passages of the Holy Scriptures, we are meant to be a people set apart, so I should dress in accordance with my exalted status.

I personally believe that passage is referring more to what is on the inside than what is on the outside. Regardless, I think my dress looks great from a distance. It's not like I'm entering it into some sort of competition where it will be closely examined. In fact, I intend to abandon it. It will be easy to slip out of, and underneath I'm wearing a pair of pants and a shirt ideal for running. I just had to resist long enough for Numo to have to choose between letting me go or fighting me until I would be late to arrive, which would reflect negatively upon ver. So ve let me go, though not without making it clear that there will be consequences. Or there would be, if I were planning to return.

Initially I wore the dress because it felt symbolic. I am choosing to leave everything behind, even the good things, even this. I wanted to make an intentional choice to leave it. I don't want this to be a matter that I just push to the back of my mind, charging into my new life in denial of the cost. No, I want to acknowledge the cost. Or at least I did. This dress is going to be hard to let go of, though am I really going to let some mediocre dress stop me? It's not just the dress though. When I look down at it I am left to wonder, what am I leaving that I don't yet know I am leaving? Maybe I should have worn something else.

I take a deep breath. No use regretting a decision that cannot be changed. I tear my eyes away from the dress and look onward.

"Are you okay?" Gele, who is flying me to my destination, asks me.