Short stories (PI lol)

Gold and Oceans

A short story centred around how one of the main characters' parents met! It doesn't go super in depth, but it's just a brief short story explaining the characters' first encounter.

It had been quite a while since he had seen a crowd riled up like this. People were shouting encouraging yet provoking words in every direction, making it difficult for anyone to focus on any singular object or person. Yet despite this, he felt his eyes constantly being pulled towards the young lady in the middle of it all.

Her hand covered in a dark set of leather gloves, that were clenched tightly around a sign. Her ashy hair that looked like golden silk in the sun, swaying with every movement she made. And her eyes containing what looked like the ocean itself. It was peaceful in a way. However, he felt himself somewhat starlet as he noticed the ocean pearls staring back at him.

Her movements stopped for a moment, but it was barely noticable. It felt like an eternity, yet he soon noticed that her eyes had averted, and that he no longer held her interest, much to his disappointment. His eyes began focusing on the sign instead, containing foreign symbols but familiar words. Revolution. Opression. The Hierarchy. Ah. She was one of them, he thought, releasing a dissatisfied sigh as he kept pushing himself through the crowd to head to his intended location, the peaceful oceans still seething in the back of his mind.

"Long day, sir?" Asked a cooing voice, one that Tahma found quite annoying at times, yet he would deny this every time. "Get back to work Gabriel." It was a short and precise reply, much like the man himself. Tahma had always taken pride in this. Perhaps that was why this war failed to bother him as much as it should have.

"You know, if you keep glaring around like that you'll just scare out potential customers." Gabriel chuckled as he stocked the ink into the different shelves, his face as friendly as it had always been. The war didn't really seem to affect him as much either, Tahma thought, but he didn't say.

"At this point I suppose ink is out of fashion anyways. Typewriters are all the rage this year, I've heard." He grumbled, sitting down by his desk and pulling out a whole stack of thick parchment paper.

"Always so optimistic, Costanzo." The chipper man continued, wiping his hand from any ink spill. Tahma simply rolled his eyes, having little interest to respond to the immature man before him.

"With that behavior we certainly won't be gaining any new customers anytime soon." Spoke a female voice, putting her hair up as she walked behind the counter.

"See? Even Clara agrees with me!"

However, it didn't seem that Clara was quite able to convince Tahma either, yet she didn't really think she could to begin with. Tahma had lost any interest in the conversation by now, and had already begun decorating one of the parchment papers with golden ink.

By the end of the day, it was fair to assume that Tahma had at least finished 250 papers. He had spent his whole day and evening here, hardly noticing whether or not any customers had arrived that day, despite there being a bell hanging above the door.

He adjusted his glasses, looking up for a brief moment as he noticed how questionably quiet it had become in the shop. He peeked behind him, looking in between the multiple shelves that were filled with different types of inks and papers.

It was nice being alone like this. Especially late in the evening. No more riots or shouting. And no more people running around to preach about their silly ideals. But before he had even finished his thought, he was interrupted by the chime of the bell. Perhaps Gabriel forgot his hat again?

He let out a disheveled grunt as he stood up, making his way to the front part of the shop. "What is it this time Gabri-"

The person in front of him was definitely not Gabriel. He didn't have such feminine curves and features, nor did he have eyes that resembled the ocean. It was now that it occurred to him that the eyes were eerily familiar.

Tahma hesitantly stepped behind the counter, looking very caught off guard. "Can I help you? He asked, shrugging to clear his throat.

The woman blinked a couple of times, before nodding slowly. "Yes. I've come here to request a specific type of paper." She held out a small letter, containing specific instructions and demands for the paper's appearance.

Tahma took it carefully, as if he was afraid that the letter was too warm. He reluctantly moved his attention away from the woman's eyes, and instead glared at the letter, nodding at every instruction. "Alright, just give me a second ma'am."

He headed over to the shelves, opening a small cabinet numbered with 31.

Once he returned to the woman, he put the stack of paper on the counter between them, getting out silky ribbons to pack the paper with.

"Are you from Karma?" Asked the soft spoken voice. The question certainly surprised him, and it definitely showed. The woman's expression was neutral enough to make it difficult for him to interpertate. Was she mocking him? Or perhaps just humoring him?

"My mother was. Father was a Cleonan."

"Ah, I see. A rare mix, I must say."

Tahma narrowed his eyes for a moment, still unsure on what the woman's intentions were.

"What do you want?" Needless to say, Tahma had become quite annoyed with the woman, yet it didn't appear to be mutual.

"I thought we both knew by now that I was here for paper?" The woman tilted her head in an innocent and almost playful manner, making Tahma raise an eyebrow at her.

"So how come you knew my background?"

The woman chuckled, covering her mouth as she did. "Lucky guess really."

He didn't believe her.

"And where are you from? I'm assuming Karma since you seemed more than a little invested in that little riot back there."

"Oh? Am I not allowed to fight for liberation unless it's in my own interest?" It didn't sound as if it was meant to be a tricky question. Rather, it sounded like genuine curiosity.

"That is not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

Tahma paused for a moment, tying the ribbon around the papers tightly. He inhaled sharply, before exhaling deeply.

"It doesn't matter."

"Oh but it does!" Said the woman, smiling warmly. "We're so close to a change into a better world. A revolution even! Yet here you are, painting papers in your little shop. And for what? For them to just get burned once they no longer have any purpose?"

"I'm sorry?" Tahma seemed very confused, as if the woman's words had completely baffled him.

"What I'm trying to say is... Join us. Join the revolution. Help me and other people to free ourselves from the hierarchy's chains." She stuck her hand out, as if she was trying to form some kind of pact with him.

Tahma looked at her glove covered hands with an unimpressed expression. "Ma'am, I don't even know who you are."

"Siara. Siara Kaufer. And you?"

Her face was still beaming with utter sunshine and happiness, complimenting her sun kissed skin and golden hair. Yet in the middle of it all was a change. It was a small one, yet noticeable. Her eyes were no longer a peaceful ocean on a nice summer morning.

Instead, it seemed as if a storm was coming. And Tahma was more than intrigued to find out how that storm would go.

He took her hand, giving it a gentle shake.

Tahma. Tahma Costanzo."