Chapter One: He Steps In
by thelittletree
Elira Maddison. She looked at the name on the letterhead and stopped chewing her bagel to smile. Now all she needed was pens. Maddison's Weaponry Station. Here, have a pen. Virna, the sector with the highest crime rate. Come buy a weapon. Keep yourself and your family safe. Hunt animals with our impressive stock of hunting equipment. Hold up shops like this one. Kill those who look at you the wrong way. Raise the crime rate until sector four is completely uninhabitable. She put the back of a hand over her mouth to keep crumbs from spraying onto her stationery as she laughed.
"What's so funny?"
Elira turned her head and pushed wavy red curls over her shoulders, swearing when a few strands got caught in the buckle of her overalls. A well-built man in a greasy white t-shirt leaned out of the doorway to her right. His lopsided grin and dirty blond hair gave him an almost boyish charm.
Elira turned toward him on the stool and twined her sneakered feet around the metal legs. "Hey, Terry. Just thinking, you know."
The man stepped into the room, his hard brown shoes echoing loudly on the wooden boards of the floor. He slipped around the desk and leaned his elbows on it, one on the stationery. Across from him, Elira frowned and pulled the pad out from under his arm, causing him to slide closer to her. Clearing her throat, she shifted away from her desk, the stationery held protectively to her chest.
"'Bout what?"
"About how much I hate this sector."
His laugh was loud, like his footsteps. "As do we all. Hey, maybe tonight we could close early and I could take you out for supper somewhere. Outside of this sector."
Elira smiled, and maybe it was partially forced. "No. Thanks anyway Ter, but you know how much stuff we've got to do. Hunting season is, after all, almost here."
Terry's smile faded a little and he stood. "How did I know you were going to say that? Well, I guess it's back to work then." He stood in front of her a moment longer than necessary before walking back into the forge. She could hear him calling to a few of the others, his voice a little edged. Sighing, she put the stationery down and picked up the small stack of paperwork she had to do. After straightening it up a little, she glanced at her watch. Almost two. Placing the last bite of her bagel in her mouth, she picked up a pen and scrutinized the first sheet.
The bell on the door chimed. Elira didn't look up at first. Another customer she would have to tell about the season's waiting period. She hoped it wasn't one of the impatient ones.
There were no footsteps. Finally, when her ears tired from straining to hear them, she glanced up.
It was a cloudy day. She could see that through the windows. Her front office was small, bare, clean, and samples of her wares hung around the room, casting long shadows down the cream-coloured walls. The one lightbulb above her desk was off. She made it a rule never to turn on a light unless it was absolutely necessary. Even the bulbs in the forge were low-watt. She knew it was bad for the eyes, but her concern for her eyes and the eyes of her employees only mattered as far as her revenues carried her.
A man stood a few feet from her desk. It was obvious from his position that he had moved a few steps and she wondered why she hadn't heard his footfalls, hadn't heard the rustle of clothing. But her questions were silenced as her eyes took him in from head to toe.
He had black hair. It wasn't just black; it was midnight, raven, void black. Some wilder strands hung around his pale, sharp-angled, clean-shaven face despite the barrier of a blood-red bandana wrapped around his forehead. His eyes shone piercingly, shone red, and his pupils darted quickly around the room, missing nothing.
His clothing was black, too. A black dress shirt and slacks, and a long black coat shrugged over his thin shoulders; its hem dangled to the tops of dark boots that hugged his legs halfway up to the knee. He also wore a pair of black gloves.
At least, Elira thought they were a pair. Until a glint of something gold caught her eye.
In place of his left hand, he had a mechanical prosthetic.
"Are you hiring?"
It was only when she heard the question, soft and deep, that she realized she had been staring at the metal digits of his left hand. Tearing her curious eyes away, she met his gaze. Something about him made her a little nervous, but in a way she had never been nervous before. Something told her he had been a very dangerous man once. In his strange eyes she saw a story that would probably scare children, break mothers' hearts. And yet, his gaze was sheltered somehow, as if the story was buried down inside of him, locked so that even he could not delve into it easily. Pity and fear battled for her attention. But both were overridden by curiousity as she noticed one of the prosthetic digits twitch.
'It's hooked into the nerve endings in his arm,' she marvelled silently. It would have taken a genius with a working knowledge of technology and biology to install it. It would also take someone with a talent for the technical to keep it in good condition. Flicking her eyes back up to meet his, she smiled a little, swallowing her bite of bagel.
"Maybe." They could use all the help they could get for the hunting season. "Tell me why I should hire you."
The man's expression did not change. "I am very familiar with guns."
Somehow, she was not surprised. "Have you ever forged a gun before?"
"No, but my comprehension of them is extensive. I don't believe I'd have trouble learning."
Elira nodded. When she'd started into this business as an apprentice, she'd had little more than an interest and some experience working in an auto-body shop. But, what she'd possessed had been enough for the previous proprietor to consider teaching her, and then she'd taken the weaponry station over once he'd retired. And now, she could forge a gun faster and more efficiently than anyone she'd ever hired. She loved the way she could shape the metal, putting it together to make a pistol, a rifle, a shotgun. And though she hated hearing about shoot-outs on the news, she loved the feel of a newly made gun in her hands.
She wondered if this man thought the way she did. She wondered if he enjoyed tuning his mechanical hand. She glanced at it again, feeling her fingers itch with the desire to take it apart and see how it worked.
"Ah, I see," she answered. "Well, if you'll just give me your name and phone number, I'll contact you if we have an opening." She placed her paperwork to the side and picked up her stationary pad.
The man didn't say anything for a moment. Elira tried to keep her expectant look from becoming a look of irritation.
"I don't have a phone."
She surprised herself by repressing a sigh. "Well, do you live in this sector? Perhaps I could send someone by to inform you."
"No, I'm from MiraCletus."
Elira put the stationery down, forcebly keeping her fingers from fiddling with the pen. Mustering her confidence against this man, she looked him in his red eyes and asked, "Well, what do you propose we do, then?"
He stared back at her, not flinching, not even blinking. After a small silence, he offered, "I could come by in a few days for your answer."
Elira considered this. She hated having to turn down a prospective employee face to face; it was much less personal, less painful, over the phone. Hearing about the hopeless condition of a man was always less a part of your life than if you witnessed it.
She glanced back at him. His gaze was not expectant and she wondered if he had anything else to do today. If she said nothing to him, would he continue to stand there all day, just looking at her? Though the idea was absurd, she found herself having trouble doubting it.
"Okay, that sounds like an plan. Why don't you come back around this time in a couple of days? That'll give me enough time to think it over." Think it over? She would've cringed had he not been watching her so closely. She made it sound like a personal decision she was making instead of a professional one. But it was personal in a way, she decided. She would have to be around this strange man for the duration of his employment period if she said yes, and that would affect her personally.
And there was something about this man that made her realize that he would want her to keep her distance.
This decision would definitely take a couple of days.
With a courteous nod, the man turned and, without a sound, made his way to the door. She watched in fascination as he used his metal hand to pull the door open. His coat sleeve fell down a few inches, revealing a golden wrist. She stared, interested to know how much of his arm was mechanical. The man departed without one backward glance.
Elira started as a voice said, "That was one of the oddest interviews I've ever seen."
She turned on her stool to look at Terry. "What do you mean?" she demanded.
"Well, you didn't handle it very professionally."
"I did so."
"Oh yeah?" Terry leaned against the frame of the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. "What was his name?"
Elira opened her mouth to answer. And then blinked. She had, indeed, neglected to get that information. Before she could give a suitable retort to Terry, however, he gave a loud bark of laughter and stepped back into the heat of the forge.
The next two days passed more quickly than Elira would've liked. Work continued; life continued; the world continued to turn on its axis. And yet, in the moments when she was by herself -- doing paperwork, eating, bathing, lying in bed -- she found herself mulling over the decision she had to make. And yet, no matter how long she thought about it, she came no closer to making up her mind. She wondered if she was taking this too seriously; she hadn't hired someone new in over a year, but she seemed to remember that the decision had never been this hard. She thought it was because the man was strange, because she would be telling him her conclusion face to face.
When she dreamed about him during the second night, after she'd finally coaxed herself to sleep, it made her wonder what it was about him that affected her this way.
If she'd believed in fate, she probably would've thought it was trying to tell her something.
The two days were up. She sat at her desk, nervously flipping a pen back and forth between her fingers, her stomach knotted. That morning, Terry had asked her how she was, commenting on the dark bags under her eyes. She'd replied: "Fine!" so sharply that he'd jumped back as if she'd shot at him. The look on his face as he'd stepped into the forge had made her regret her tone. He was one of the closest people to her, and she'd shoved him off as if his question on her health had been an infringement on her personal space. Oh well. Maybe it would keep him from asking her out for a few nights.
Not that she didn't like him. She just didn't like him that way, plus she wasn't ready for a relationship.
When one thirty rolled around Elira was still unsure of her answer. At one forty-five, she'd twisted almost half of her stationery paper into shreds. At one fifty-seven, she was chewing on her hair, a habit she'd thought she'd conquered years ago.
Two o'clock.
And then a minute passed two. And then five minutes. As the hands on the clock crawled further and further from the time of the interview, she began to wonder if he would show up at all. She was just beginning to relax her tense muscles when the bell over the door chimed.
And he stepped silently in.
He looked exactly as he had two days ago. Elira wondered idly if he'd changed his clothes since the last time she'd seen him, but upon closer inspection she realized that his dress shirt and pants were a little different.
"Hello again," she greeted him.
He gave a nod of his head. Which was followed by an uncomfortable silence.
Elira cleared her throat. "Well, I'm sure you're anxious to hear my decision so I'll cut right to the chase."
The man didn't look anxious at all. In fact, he looked as if the thought of this job hadn't crossed his mind until he'd stepped in the door.
Elira took a breath. This was it. She had to make a choice. Pushing her hair behind her ears, she looked down at the shreds of paper on her desk as if glancing at notes. "Well, I've decided...to hire you. On a trial basis, you understand. I'll pay you what I'd pay an apprentice until I can judge your skills." She smiled a little. When he didn't say anything in response, she continued on impulse, "Welcome to the team." There was a pen in her right hand. Strangely flustered, she held out her left.
And only when he hesitated did she realize the extent of her faux pas. In place of his left hand was the mechanical prosthetic.
Her fingers trembled. With an apologetic smile and a severe blush, she withdrew her hand.
"When did you want me to start?" he asked after a moment.
Elira glanced up, but then back down at her desk, feeling too foolish to meet his eyes. "Today, if it's good for you."
He nodded. Elira stood and walked out from behind her desk, heading for the forge. Pointing forward without looking to see if he was watching, she said, "This is the forge. If you'll follow me I'll give you the grand tour."
The heat and smell of the forge were reassuring, allowing her to gather her wits. It had always been this way. No matter what was going on in her life, what problems she faced, the forge was always a place of refuge, where she could go and do what she loved to do, forgetting everything else. It was her second home. For the last two days, she'd been here more than at her desk.
Her five employees looked up as she entered and their expressions turned curious. All of them knew she never let a customer beyond the desk.
"Crew, this is..." She stopped suddenly, realizing in embarrassment that she still didn't know this man's name. Thankfully, however, the man himself spoke up, saving her from complete humilation.
"Vincent Valentine."
Elira nodded. "Vincent Valentine," she repeated, liking the way it sounded on her tongue. "I've just hired him to help us finish our quota for the hunting season."
Terry and another man exchanged dubious glances while a third employee whispered something to his collegue, causing them to both turn their heads away, grins on their faces. Benita, a plump, nearing-middle-age'd woman who'd grown up in the slums of the old Midgar, in and out of biker gangs if she was to be believed, was the only one who seemed unperturbed by Elira's decision.
Elira had loved the woman on sight: the way she didn't take any crap from anyone, the way she talked about men as if they were a lower species. She was what Terry called 'a piece of work'.
"Sounds great," Benita spoke up in her grating sandpaper voice. "If ya want, I'll show 'im the ropes."
"Thanks, Benita. And I want the rest of you to help him out; show him where things are, what models we're making for the season, that kind of thing, all right?"
The affirmative response to her statement was unimpressive.
"Pardon?" she asked, putting a hand to her ear.
"Yeah."
"Sure."
"'Course."
"Good, thanks guys. I knew I could count on you. I've got a little paperwork to catch up on, but once that's done I'm coming back in to see how you're doing." As Vincent made his way over to where Betina sat at a grease-stained table, Elira pivoted on her heel and walked out. As she passed Terry, standing as he always did at the table nearest the door, she muttered, "Did I handle that professionally enough for you?" But before he could manage a response, she was out the door.
The next few weeks were full of surprises for the employer and employees of Maddison's Weaponry Station as the newly hired apprentice showed his stuff. With less coaching than Elira herself had received, he was forging guns as if he had been doing it all of his life. And they were works of art. Once taught how to fashion the designs on the surface, he was making some of the most breathtaking weapons Elira had ever seen. Soon, the customers were noticing his handiwork, and some even began to specifically ask for guns made by him.
It wasn't long before Elira hired him full-time, paying him a salary worthy of anyone with his talents.
A month passed with the ease of a sunset. The shop was doing very well, prospering beyond anything Elira could ever have hoped for. She even invested in lightbulbs of a higher wattage for the forge and started turning on the little bulb above her desk on a cloudy day. Everything was going perfectly, better than her dreams.
And yet, something continued to bother her.
Terry was the one who eventually brought it to her attention. "You know," he began one day after everyone else had gone. "Vincent's kind of odd."
"Odd?" she had replied. "What do you mean?"
"You can't tell me you haven't noticed. He doesn't talk to anyone. He doesn't even look at us. I think I can truthfully say that I don't know him any better than I did the first day he came here."
Elira shrugged it off. If Vincent wanted his privacy, that was his choice. Nothing said they all had to be friends. In any case, she expected that he would grow closer to them as time went on. Some people just took a little longer than others. And with his unusual eye colour, not to mention the metal prosthetic that she had discovered went all the way up to his elbow, maybe he was a little self-conscious.
After that first month, though, when they were still no closer to him, she began to wonder what the problem was. One night, lying in bed in her apartment above the shop, she thought that maybe the reason he kept his distance was because, due to his very nature, others felt compelled to keep their distance from him. Maybe it was just because he was afraid to make the first move.
So she decided to take a step in his direction.