Where it all begins... (Discontinued)

The Story of Roux

   (I picture this in a steampunk setting, if clarification is needed)

   A thick layer of smog blanketed the grand city of Azlau, curtaining the eyes of the inhabitants to the sky above. The citizens were wide awake, bustling about their morning schedules. The baker on the corner of Ashel Street was preparing his assortment of loaves, the fortune teller on Jays Corner was loitering in hopes of roping in a superstitious passerby with his words of charm and appearance of mystery, the thugs in the alleys wheezing the heavy smoke from their cigarettes. In some of the taller residences of the city, if one peeked between the curtains, one may be able to spot a silver-spooned individual rising with the colorless tint of dawn. Miles away, only seen if perhaps one squinted enough, airships could be seen through the haze, silent shadows constantly haunting the peripheral of anyone who bothered noticing.

   I pulled over my mouth and nose a bandana that I kept loosely around my throat, trying to avoid the choking sensation of the poisoned air above the city. My amethyst eyes scanned the street before me, a cobbled location on the outskirts of the marketplace. A burst of wind swept through the streets, causing my spine to shiver and goosebumps to rise beneath the trench coat I'd stolen from a ignorant cobbler back in September. At the time, I'd accidentally lost the light sweater I'd owned then in a small scuffle with some nasty brats who fancied themselves to be street thugs, forcing me to certain measures in order to survive the coming winter.

   I pulled the collar of my coat up, hoping to add some form of protection to my reddening face. I lifted my trembling, ungloved fingers to my forehead, brushing some of the stray hairs of my long, tangled, black locks away from my eyes. Looking at me, many are surprised that underneath the baggy clothing and the unkept mop on my head, I was actually a fourteen-year-old girl. Sure, I was short and skinny, but most of that attributes to malnourishment and quite likely genes. Besides, it's not as if any of that information matters, since others most usually end up seeing a gutter rat turn tail and vanish into the alleyways.

   Ahead of me, I spotted a small booth selling fruits, behind which stood a stout man in his mid-to-late thirties. He appeared to be a jolly, potbellied fellow at first glance, wearing a stained long sleeved shirt underneath a pair of wrinkled overalls also stained with what appeared to be lemon juice. I say "at first glance" for the reason that I've experienced situations where that friendliness can be exchanged with terrifying menace in only moments.

   His booth appeared to be gaining some attention from marketplace goers and wandering passerby, examining the fruit for flaws or significant signs that it was perhaps altered in some way. Some customers seemed satisfied with the quality of the produce and proceeded to purchase their items. Others would question the man on how he came to obtain the fruit or if the producer of the fruit was respected enough at their craft. He looked to be quite preoccupied, answering questions and whatnot, so I simply slid in between a tall man with a bowl hat atop his head and a young woman with a babbling child in her arms and slipped a pale green apple into one of the large pockets in my coat. I lingered by the booth, inspecting some of the other fruits before squeezing my way past the other customers and moving on. I'd only walked a few steps when...

   "Stop, thief!" I glanced behind me to see the man with the bowl hat pointing an accusatory finger in my direction. My eyes widened the slightest, jumping from the man with the hat to the man who ran the booth. He met my gaze with a ferocity that reminded me of a bull or an animal preparing to charge in fury, his stare shredding at my confidence and completely erasing my task of deceitfulness.

   Before the first gasps of surprise could fill the crowd, I turned and began sprinting down the street, having memorized the location of a particular alley I could possibly escape through. My mind immediately mapped a clear path to the alley, all the while taking note of two sets of heavy footsteps a few meters behind me. I slipped between small groups of passerby, attempting to lose my pursuers in the increasingly crowded streets. Alarm bells began ringing in my head when I only heard the footsteps gain in their pursuit. After turning a couple corners and failing to lose the people chasing me, I'd made a last-moment decision to alter my route and swiftly turned the nearest corner in my desperation to confuse my hunters.

   Unfortunately, after a few steps, I skidded to a halt, my escape being cut by a tall wall of brick on three sides, putting me in a nearly inescapable corner. I looked over my shoulder, catching sight of my followers; the man with the bowl hat and the man who ran the booth. Both were slightly panting, but were still in adequate shape to throw a few punches. From a split second analysis, I concluded that they had me cornered like a trapped rodent, and that no amount of my speed and agility could overpower their number and brute strength. As they began to close in, I thought to myself that it would be easier for everyone if I just closed my eyes and took the beating. Perhaps they would let me off with one or two kicks and punches and just leave me bruised in the alley.

   Another frigid wind weaved through the streets, hitting my face as I turned towards my trappers. I sucked in a breath as that burst of air dispelled my darker thoughts, reminding me of how it was I who survived the unforgiving winter with no walls to protect me, with only my wits and abilities. If I allowed myself to be overtaken here, what use would have the entirety of my life amounted to? I clenched my fists as I glared at the men, who continued to push me further towards the wall.

   The stout man chuckled wickedly, knowing he had his prey trapped, and flashed me a sickening grin. His eyes cheered a victory not yet won, almost gloating at the fact that I could no longer run from him or the man with the bowl hat. I lifted one of the sleeves of my trench coat, revealing my small, bony left fist, clenched in determination. The two men appeared slightly confused as to what I had intended for to action to result in. I began to feel heat pulsing into the fingertips of my left hand...

   As it was set alight.

   The flames did not harm me, but brought a warm feeling to the pit of my stomach. The men staggered back in shock as I glared maliciously at them both. I'd fought with all my being in order to simply survive the bleakness of winter, while they exploited their privileges by resting their feet by a cozy fire. I'd worked hard, while they hardly worked. If I was going to have to fight them for something as simple as breakfast that would last for one day, then so be it.

   I lunged at them, my fiery fist raised to strike somewhere in the space between them. I released a low, almost animalistic, growl, making them painfully aware of my intent to fight back. They both backed away in fright, both their backs thumping against the other two walls of the alley as I passed between them. They took a few seconds to process the events that had just occurred, but it was far too late.

   I'd diffused my fist, lowered my sleeve, and vanished into the crowd.

*I would first like to mention that this is my first attempt, and I spent quite a few hours to perfect it. I'm satisfied with how I've portrayed my character, and if you may think otherwise and desire to learn more about Roux, which is pronounced "Roo," feel free to ask me your questions. If enough is asked about a story or a character, I will consider recreating it as a separate work. If you want to learn more about Roux's world, don't hesitate to ask. Now that all is said and done, I bid you adieu!*

                                                                                                                                           ~Skiarwork