Mark walked along the Ember City sidewalks, his gaze skimming over the bustle of moving pedestrians and wagons.
The historical sights and lively atmosphere meant little to him—mere distractions from his true purpose.
Not too far from the portal center were carriages lined up and parked outside a stable. Mark went up to the first carriage with an active driver.
"Where're ya headed?" the driver asked as Mark approached, anticipating his patronage.
"Downtown, Luikots Guild."
With Mark in his Academy uniform, the driver wasn't surprised by his destination, but it was still a brow raiser.
"Two Silver."
'Highway fucking robbery.'
More like Avenue robbery. Mark took out two of his three remaining Silvers and handed them to the driver, the clinking of coins sounding louder and more distasteful than usual.
He promptly opened the door and entered the black enclosed wagon carriage, exhaling at yet another reminder of his impoverishment.
With a crack of the reigns, the carriage lurched forward and began its journey towards the glass tower district.
The historical buildings lining the immediate area around the Kriophorus were government-owned. A Post office, currency exchange, embassies, customs, police station, and the like. There were a few historical, very high-class restaurants left untouched as well.
As the carriage rumbled forward, the cityscape shifted. The classical brick and stone buildings gave way to sleek glass towers that pierced the sky.
Farther from the city center, Humanity's capital became more claustrophobic and shiny. The buildings grew taller and taller, though a high-class luxury style remained; the poor had little place in noble-dominated areas, relegated solely to the outskirts.
It wasn't long till he reached what was colloquially called the Glass Tower District. Many of the top Guilds were headquartered here.
Like the commercial core of an American city, an intense sense of vertigo commenced as he looked up at the towering buildings.
The tallest of said towers was Raymond Tower—a near one-to-one rip-off of the Empire State Building. Very recognizable.
The Raymonds loved nothing more than to distinguish themselves from the rest; the only ones who dared to look down on the aristocracy and get away with it.
Well, besides Mark. But he didn't really count. He was foreign to this world—the Raymonds meant nothing to him.
The Luikots Guild tower wasn't as tall—but close—its simple yet elegant design allowed it to stand out. A true parallel.
It was all glass. An assortment of beautiful curves and sharp lines culminated into a sharp tip at the skyscraper's peak.
Mark stepped out of the carriage and thanked the driver before walking over to the Luikots building entrance.
An elderly man opened the door for him with a curt bow, his suited appearance exuded formality and professionalism.
'Do I need a suit for this? Wait, don't tell me I'm a doorman or a secretary…'
The contract left his duties quite ambiguous, much to his displeasure. He was to 'fulfill the needs and duties required' of the Guild, which meant anything from janitorial duties to paperwork to combat. At least the pay was good.
The only thing he really remembered from the contract's fine print was the Non-Disclosure and Non-Compete Agreements. The Guilds were quite competitive.
Inside was an average office lobby, the air cold, dry, and unsettling. At the front was a secretary.
"Hello," Mark greeted.
"How can I help you sir?" the young woman at the front desk asked, though not especially enthusiastic, very in character for the Luikots.
"My name is Mark di Abbott, and it's my first day here. Could you point me in the right direction? I wasn't told much."
Without much thought, the secretary reached into a cabinet within her desk, grabbed out an ID tag, and handed it to Mark.
"This is yours. More information will be forwarded to you later, handbook, protocols, and such," she explained. "Ms. Luikots is expecting you, the 82nd floor. Elevator is right down the hall. Scan the ID tag for access."
'Huh. I was half expecting her to ignore me for the most part.'
After offering his gratitude, Mark walked down the hall, hitting the elevator call button with a satisfying click.
The elevator opened, he stepped in, put his ID up to a reader on the elevator panel, pocketed it, clicked 82, and the waiting commenced. Five entire minutes of waiting.
Mark had nearly fallen asleep as he leaned against the elevator walls. Eventually, the doors opened with a ding and he snapped awake.
Freshening himself up, Mark was greeted with the foyer of a large and open two-story penthouse.
'I keep forgetting how ridiculously rich people are… how could I forget? They're always flaunting it.'
The entire penthouse was in a modern, expensive, but minimalist style. On the ground floor was the kitchen and living room. More rooms connected to the foyer, including a spiral staircase going to the second floor.
He could hear the brewing of coffee as he stepped out of the elevator.
Walking in and turning the corner, Mark stood just outside the open kitchen area.
Ranni walked around purposefully, going between stations as she made herself breakfast. She glanced over his way as he entered.
Ranni wore a nicely ironed white dress shirt and a black skirt with black stockings. Her long hair was tied in a ponytail with bangs in the front. Two thin gold earrings dangled from each side, easily visible with her hair up.
"Good morning," Mark greeted.
Ranni looked at him through the corner of her eye. Both seemed visibly tired.
'I'm not much of a morning person either, but gotta look good for my big day…'
"What's with the clothes?" Ranni asked as if hearing his thoughts, the bubbling of coffee talking over her as she poured.
"I'm broke, as I've said before," Mark replied, looking down at his wrinkled Academy uniform.
"That was days ago."
"Unfortunately, the money fairy didn't visit in that time. Still broke."
Ranni rolled her eyes as she sipped her coffee. Then, she motioned towards the kitchen bar.
"Have a seat."
Mark complied, taking a seat on the stool. It was as if he had front-row seats to see Ranni in action; her toaster went off, and two pieces of bread popped out, which she scurried towards.
'Wait, is that a magic toaster?'
"So," Ranni said, attention trained on making food. "If not money-making, then what have you been doing?"
"Training. You?"
"Running the Guild."
"And your family?"
"My father is on a diplomatic mission in the Elven Realm," Ranni hesitated, strangely tense as she paused. "And my mother has fallen ill.'
"I see. I'm sorry to hear that.
Ranni turned around to meet Mark's eyes.
"You wouldn't happen to know of a cure for Acute Mutation disease, would you?" she asked, her voice stern and probing—though with a hint of sadness.
As Mark wracked his brain for answers, he couldn't help but be mad at himself.
It was a tacit issue. One that he knew wasn't healthy. It disconnected him. This was reality, but his mind rejected it—there wasn't a great reason for this phenomenon.
The entire time, the word lingered in the back of his head:
Cliche.
Once humorous, now irritating.