The Façade of Quad in Nimrod ✓ | Satire, family drama, dark society

Alive At Crepusculum: Chapter One

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Note: Unlike Facade of Quad, POV change will have different indication as the characters are often unrelated to each other.

***** (five asterisks) means point of view changes within the same scene and same chapter.

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Crepusculum—a time between light and dark, a single oxymoron within twenty-four hours.

A tint of blue basked the country of United Arcan and all its thirty-three states, pulling people in and out of dreams while hinting that another busy day was making its way into their lives.

Perhaps the poor would dread another day or be full of worry and distress. Perhaps the rich would only worry how much their wallets would bulge tomorrow. Perhaps a small handful of like-minded people with righteousness in their veins would even consider tomorrow they will work for the poor or bring immoral deeds to their knees.

Banking the ocean in the east, was the free state of Tokencut. Tokencut had many cities, but a famous one was Lupine—famous for their hard scotch, favoritism towards mediumship, and somewhat progressive mindset to abolish slavery with little political success.

In the day, Lupine was bustling with action with not a moment's rest, but during this crepuscular moment, it was silent. Not even the street sweepers had woken to brush dust side to side, with no goal to clean but to move their brooms. Not even the newspaper boys or little girls stood at corners with eager eyes and hungry stomachs, waiting to get a shiny lanny or two to buy themselves candy at the local lanny candy store.

Crepusculum—a time of quiet, of sleep, and a moment of peace for a fretful mind.

All was asleep in Lupine as the gloom of daylight barely rose beyond the four-story brick banks and the looming old bell tower that sat tall and stiff in the middle of the dirt-road square. All was hushed and passive. Roads were empty of people but littered with old newspaper, cigarettes, napkins, pair-less gloves, and a lady's knickers. Even a lost horseshoe lay in the middle of the road alongside the taverns and cafés.

Such public places had snoring drunkards sleeping with their mouths hanging open, drooling whatever they had to drink. The poor bar owner who has to clean up someone else's muck each day? Well, hat's to you, sir or ma'am.

Along the dirt roads of Lupine came a breeze from the north, pushing away the litter and the lady's knickers, making dust curl up like smoke. The wind permeated through the brick-laden city and down darkened garbage-filled alleys where rats squeaked and scurried away, their yellow eyes gleaming and noses twitching, ever searching to satisfy famished stomachs.

The breeze grew into a wind, knocking against a crate, startling a cat that scampered away. Behind the crater, was a muddied blanket and from underneath poked blackened bare feet with crusted blood caked on the toenails.

Captured in the alley, the wind turned into an aggressive beast and hurled itself at the walls. The blanket was flung away as trembling hands reached for it. What had been under the blanket, but a woman with scraggly hair, wild and red-shot eyes, and skin scratched and muddied with cheeks sunken. Her arms and legs were covered in dirt and ash. She slowly wrapped her arms around herself. How thin and bony were her arms and the rag of a dress did little to cover her.

Anastasia Nikolaev was a woman well in her forties. She was once a beautiful lady with clear skin that radiated. She had the personality of a fighter but a heart of gold. In her native country of Roktia, she was known as an angelic nurse, a kind soul, and one with a rebellious heart always on the lookout for adventure. But one day, her adventure led her to forced obedience.

Such obedience was more known as "slave trade" or "Roktion trade". It had been ten years since a throng of wars swept the world, leaving behind a plethora of loose threads of all the unruly and ugly things unsolved. Slavery was one of them and sometimes this trade took a dark turn. Sweeping away an innocent soul, never to return it. Yet the government turned a blind eye to this heinousness as money was coming in.

What rich, filthy imbeciles they were allowing this to happen! Why would anyone want to use a living, breathing, intelligent being as a household tool? The captured souls didn't deserve such treatment, yet, when United Arcan won the war on Roktia, it was as if slavery of Roktions were common procedure.

Anastasia shuddered as she remembered the day she and her husband's lives were changed forever.

Many from the wintery country of Roktia were captured. Slave traders of United Arcan kidnapped young, able-bodied men and women from their own families. They took happiness from children. They broke hearts and bruised bodies. Sometimes, they even raped or killed.

But money was coming in. These rich immoral mongrels soon began to live in houses too grand for their dark, greedy minds. Slaves were beaten in horrendous manner if they ever tried to escape their hell. Some slaves were lucky and were able to flee.

Anastasia was just one of a small handful that succeeded in leaving without being caught, but a physical escape did not help her mind. Darkness followed her wherever she went. Countless nights she slept in alleys only to wake at the slightest sounds. A good night's sleep was a fantasy. It was only a small twinkle of hope that kept her going through these depressing days—her husband, Kostya.

Even just the thought that he was out there somewhere, maybe even searching for her, kept her hopes up and she could keep moving forward. Anastasia and Kostya had both been taken but once on the coast of U.A., she went south, and he went north. What little information she had was not enough to search for him on her own. She needed a detective.

There had been rumors of a legendary detective living in U.A. who solved many a crime and could track down a person following the thinnest thread. But he had left the scene fifteen years ago and had not been in the news since.

"B-Beag—" she stuttered, trying to say his name and shivering from cold and weakness. She had to find Detective Beagle. He was somewhere on the East Coast and she believed such a legendary detective would be well-known. All she needed to do was ask around for him, but no one paid attention to the voice of a slave.

She knew asking around in the way she was dressed and looked and smelled was dangerous. If her master realized she was missing, he could issue a forced return. Police would capture her and bring her back and this time, she wouldn't be able to escape. Anastasia understood she couldn't do this on her own, but she also knew she couldn't trust anyone. Anyone could be looking for her and they would be doing it for ransom.

The wind traveled around her cold body and swept back out to the dirt road, hitting the old bell tower as if attempting to wake the denizens of Lupine.

*****

A man stepped down on light feet from his horse, the only living being awake at this crepuscular hour. Black silk hat, long black coat with out-of-fashion coattails, a cane he only had for statement of wealth, a white shirt with a black bowtie, this man looked like he might just be on his way back from or on his way to a house party. He twisted his well-groomed handlebar mustache and kicked at the gravel. A disapproving snarl made his lips curl. His shadow rippled behind him, pointing an elongated, clawed hand to a saddened alley.

"She's there," whispered the demon.

"But what's a slave woman have to do with my plans?" muttered Richard in a cold, cutting voice. He was irritable and understandably so. He was rudely disturbed by a vision that bothered his nightly routine. The seer had seen, for his plan to succeed, he must find an escaped Roktion woman and bring her home to 'help' her. Her master had just noticed her absence and was on the hunt. Richard needed her for his plans.

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