Circumstance

((To prove that I was not dead, and still writing, I am here to post a short story I wrote on a whim. Very very short. Well, time to get back to writing the epic.))

Circumstance

Slowly wafting through the air, as she sat by a bench, the soft music reached her ears. Despite her efforts to hold back her tears it was an exercise in futility. The music faded.

“Why are you crying little girl?” asked a man.

She didn’t look up, but if she did, she would have seen a man in a dark mauve suit, wearing round sunglasses and carrying a violin case.

“Shall I play a piece to cheer you up then?” he asked again.

The little mass of sobs did not change her countenance. In response the man opened up his case and out came a violin. He brought the bow to the string and began his lively piece. It jumped, it danced, and most of all, it was played to lift the spirit. Subconsciously she welcomed it, and soon was gazing into him. Lightly stroking his stringed instrument, his smile and his closed eyes, it was all captivating. He continued to play. The notes lifted off and floated around the area, encircling the fountain and the people around it before taking off into the sky. All other noises seem to fade into the air. Only one out sound stood out, the approaching clomps of boots. With authority and power, another woman came marching in. She was solely focused on the man. The ragged overcoat and plain clothes suggested that there was more to her.

“Marchosius Daw, you are under arrest,” she said forcefully.

The music didn’t stop. However it did flow into a more solemn tone. Standing with his back to the newcomer, the musician kept playing and replied,

“On what charges?”

“Multiple accounts of homicide. Seriously man, how could we not catch you all this time, wandering around in that silly get up of yours? Purple suit and gelled back hair, you can only be the one and only famous assassin, Marchosius Daw! Now come with me and nothing bad will come out of it,” she commanded.

The music returned to the previously cheerful state. It was even livelier now.

“You must be mistaken. I am only a partially blind musician. The Marchosius Daw you refer to is long dead, sweeper.”

“Don’t fuck with me criminal-” she started but was cut off by the sound of nearby gunshots, “this won’t be the last you see of me.”

The woman, left without further delay towards the gunfire. Slowly too, did the music fade. By now the sun was beginning to set.

“It is getting dark little girl, can you go home alone?” he asked, putting his instrument away.

“Downey Lane, I live there,” the little girl spoke for the first time.

“What a coincidence, I live nearby, shall I accompany you?” he said.

She replied not in words, instead, tugged on his suit’s sleeve, leading them north east, out of The Forum District and into The Downs. As they traveled through the noisy night, the little girl gave him her name.

“Verity Inocentia.”

“I suppose I haven’t properly introduced myself either, Marchosius Daw, amateur violinist, at your service. Nice to meet you Verity.”

There was no attention paid to the little girl crying in a park, until Marchosius came along. The little blonde girl held her hands in front of her mottled brown and white frilly skirt. Moving between districts is similar to changing the scenery, the cool hues of The Forums contrasted with the subdued warmth of The Downs. It was appropriate, considering The Downs District was mainly residential. The dusk drew near by the time they odd pair had reached Verity’s home. A three storey apartment, a dull maroon brick maroon dotted with various windows, not as uniform as one would have thought an apartment would be. Appearances were not important to Marchosius and so he approached the door, with Verity still holding on to his sleeve, and rung the door bell. A woman opened the door,

“Ah Verity, there you are, I was so worried. Oh you’ve brought a guest with you, please come in.”

“Good evening, I thank you for your invitation but I must decline,” Marchosius said before turning around to leave.

A firm tug on his sleeve prevented him from doing so.

“Ah, Verity, please don’t trouble this man any more,” the woman said.

“It seems I should stay a while then, if I can trouble you for so little, Mrs. Inoncentia,” Marchosius said, partly resigning.

“Oh no I’m only her elder sister, please call me Marly. Well then Verity, can you please go wash up, dinner is almost ready,” the woman said smiling.

The small taps disappeared into the apartment as Marchosius stepped inside.

“I must apologise, Verity can be a bit selfish, I’m afraid we’ve spoilt her.”

“Not at all, are your parents are not home?” he inquired.

“No, they passed away quite some time ago, when Verity was younger,” Marly replied.

“My condolences.”

“No worries, Verity took it better than we all did, well to my knowledge. Anyway please make yourself comfortable, dinner will be ready soon.”

With a curt nod, Marly turned and left for another part of the apartment. From the hallway, Marchosius looked into what he assumed was the living room and stepped inside. He took a look at the shelves and the fireplace’s mantle, having put down his violin case on a red couch across from an upright piano. Picking up a family picture that was centrepiece of the mantle, he gazed at it thoughtfully. There was man and woman holding a young child and a girl on either side. A carrot top and a blonde was all he could make out, such small details troubled him. Turning around to go find the bathroom, Marchosius instead found a gun point at his head. The gun itself was being held by someone he knew he’d met before but could not quite tell who specifically.

“What are you doing here you bastard?” she demanded.

“Questa, how many times do I have to tell you to not wave that thing around in the house, and stop being rude to our guest,” Marly commanded as she came in.

“Marly do you even know who this guy is?”

“Well Verity brought him along with her, so he is our guest for today,” Marly replied, in a calmer voice.

“He’s an assassin! The bastard’s being paid to kill us, isn’t that right Mr. Marchosius Daw?”

He only sighed and remained silent for the rest of it. Having had enough of him, Questa’s free hand clenched into a fist and struck him squarely on the jaw. Marchosius only recoiled back a bit from the punch, dropping the picture as his glasses slid off the bridge of his nose.

“Questa!”

“I thought you’d actually move out of the way Daw, why didn’t you?”

“I told you earlier already, I’m a partially blind musician. I can not even make out your facial features,” Marchosius replied.

Questa moved back a bit, the pistol in her hand wavering. A thin white layer that covered his irises was quite apparent. It was a miracle he could still see. Kneeling down and sweeping the floor with his hand, Marchosius earned himself a cut from the picture frame’s broken glass for his trouble.

“Here, I’m sorry for earlier,” said Questa, handing him his sunglasses back.

Marchosius tried to smile but winced instead from the cut’s sting.

“This way to the kitchen,” it was Marly this time.

She led him by the hand to the kitchen sink and cleaned out his cut from the callous hands. Verity waltzed into the kitchen as if nothing happened and sat down at the table while observing her eldest sister washing her guest’s hands.

“Thank you for helping him Marly, he can not see very well,” she said.

“You already knew he could not see very well?” asked Marly in surprise.

“Yes, he told us at the park,” Verity replied.

“Us?”

“Yes, Questa and I met him at the park.”

“Oh, is that so? Questa, did you meet Mr. Daw at the park today?” Marly shouted from the kitchen.

Questa was still cleaning up the mess in the living room but upon hearing her name, entered the kitchen as well.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did. I didn’t see Verity anywhere there though,” Questa answered.

“Of course not silly, he was standing in front of me,” Verity elaborated.

“That’s unlike you Questa,” Marly remarked before asking everyone, “now how about dinner then?”

Everyone did indeed seem to be in agreement. It was a normal dinner with nothing out of the ordinary. Even the space of time that ensued was uneventful. It was not until little Verity was tucked in did Marchosius attempt to eclipse himself. Questa found him on the roof, stargazing. She sat herself beside him.

“So, why were playing the violin for my little sister?” she broke the silence.

“She was crying and looked so sad. I just had to cheer her up.”

“Children, is that the only weakness of the great Marchosius Daw?”

He laughed a little to himself.

“I met a man holding a child in his arms. He was the happiest man I met and I envied him. Speaking of which, aren’t you going to arrest me?”

“For cheering up my little sister, I’ll let it slide. Besides aren’t you Marchosius Daw the partially blind musician?”

“I thank you sincerely for keeping this between us, Questa Inocentia.”

“You’re welcome.”

After a brief silence, Marchosius asked Questa,

“Say Questa, why did you become a sweeper?”

“I prefer the term Vigilante. I became one to find the person who killed dad, so I can bring them to justice.”

“You’re not going to kill him are you?”

“No, and why a guy? Just because most killers tend to be men doesn’t mean the killer was a guy,” she replied, somewhat irritated.

“My mistake, Questa. If I remember well, your name means Hunter in Old La Roche.”

“I get that a lot. Besides, this orange hair attracts weirdos that seems to think I’m the reincarnation of some goddess or something.”

“Well with those streaks of blonde hair in your habitual orange as well, the resemblance is striking. Anything else you want to ask me? It is getting late you know.”

“I know, but I still don’t know what you’re going to do now. You’ll still be hunted and moving away isn’t an option.”

He sat up and replied simply,

“That’s alright, I’m actually homeless.”

A smile that Questa found stupid accompanied that statement. The conversation having ended, Questa too went downstairs and retired for the night. Marchosius still sat but this time his gaze focused on the moon. So he would sit throughout the night, without a soul knowing. The first to notice was Marly, who was awoken by a mournful melody. Habitually, she woke up at the crack of dawn, and though it was only minutes before sunrise, Marly got out of bed anyway. After preparing some coffee, she ascended the stairs with two cups of Joe to greet Marchosius,

“Where did you learn such a sad song?”

He turned around abruptly with a mixture of surprise and shock. If only for a moment, he lost his composure and dropped his bow.

“My apologies for waking you up at such an obscene hour Marly, but I only play this song once a year towards the sunrise.”

“It is for-” Marly started.

“-someone important indeed” he finished for her.

Marly smiled warmly before continuing,

“I think I understand why she clings to you so much. The ways you act, the way you talk, even that song, were my father’s.”

“The world is indeed small Marly Inocentia. In any case, this will be the last song you will be hearing from me. Please continue to take care of your sisters.”

Marchosius packed up his violin and prepared to leave. Before he could finish, he was cut off by a group of men. Only one of them did not carry an instrument case.

“If only you knew how much of a pain it was to find a replacement pianist you probably would not have left, Marco my boy,” greeted the one without an instrument.

“Marly, please excuse me, I have business with these gentlemen,” Marchosius said to Marly before turning to face the new arrivals, “how do you do, Boss?”

“I have no idea why all my violinists cause huge problems for everyone.”

“I do not know either Boss. However, there is a twisted irony in all this no? I thought our pianist was weak, I thought he was soft. Before I killed him, I found out what made him strong, and it then became my weakness.”

“True, I didn’t know that crazy fool had a wife and kids, I probably would have fired him then and there. Ah, Marco, you were always so impulsive,” Boss said accompanied by a sigh.

“Marly, are you still standing there? At the very least, please take cover. For only a moment, I have to cease being Marchosius the partially blind musician,” he warned.

Seeing Marly run to the stairs and out of sight, Marchosius put down his violin case and opened up the secret compartments. Two compact pistols and their suppressors were extracted.

“Wow Marco, I didn’t expect you to still use those old SF 29s?” Boss asked smiling.

“There’s a saying about that, and you know it well yourself,” Marchosius replied and smiled back.

“Shall we get started then?”

“Just try not to wake up the little princess Boss.”

“As you wish.”

That was when their fight began in earnest. Meanwhile, Marly had rushed into Questa’s room and tried shaking her awake. A morning person, Questa was not. The unwanted alarm clock was threatened with a firearm but it did not stop. Eventually giving in, Questa opened her eyes, to see herself point a gun at her own elder sister.

“What is it Marly? Did that bastard do anything to you?” she asked sleepily.

“Mr. Daw’s in trouble, you have to help him!” Marly stammered as she kept shaking Questa, “there are dangerous men out there with guns! Can’t you do anything about it?”

“I bet he’s getting his just desserts, now leave me alone, I need my beauty sleep,” Marly replied casually.

“You just don’t care do? What if we’re next?”

“Now that you put it that way, I’ll take a look, but if this has nothing to do with us, I ain’t moving a muscle for him.”

Pocketing her pistol and holding up her radio, Questa switched to the Free Agent radio band frequency and spoke as she made her way up the stairs.

“TWC, possible disturbance on Downey Lane, any units wishing to assist please standby.”

The top flight of the stairs ascended, she emerged into an early morning standoff. Mr. Daw was the only one she managed to make out in the midst of all the purple suits. Everyone else’s gun was pointed at him, but he had it pointed at an unarmed man.

“Man, you guys have a lot of nerve fighting on a Vigilante’s roof,” she said, announcing her presence.

“You know her Marco?” the unarmed one asked.

“Oh I just met her yesterday Boss. Questa Inocentia, a sweeper. Good morning to you Questa,” Marchosius replied.

“Good morning,” the ensemble echoed.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, if you’ve got an old score to settle Daw, can’t you take it elsewhere where I can’t see you? I’m only ever going to let you off the hook once,” she said.

“Well if you let me off now, it would be the second,” Marchosius said.

“Last night didn’t count, since you weren’t wanted for anything. Who knows how long that’ll last?”

“How much she know about you Marco?” Boss asked.

“As much as an average sweeper,” Marchosius replied again.

“Hmm, that changes everything. Guys, pack up your stuff, we won’t need them right now,” Boss announced to the ensemble before turning to Questa, “Miss Inocentia, how about I let you in on a little secret?”

“You would never dare-” Marchosius started.

Boss took advantage of the lapse to take action. Out of the coat pockets hands that could easily be the size of a spade came. Taking hold of Marchosius’ wrist, Boss hurled Marchosius over his shoulder and onto cold cement. It was then a simple matter to take away Marchosius’ weapons, something Boss easily did, to render him harmless. Turning back to Questa, who had her pistol drawn, Boss simply asked her,

“Did you know that Marco was the guy who killed your father?”

It was a horrible surprise for Questa. It was the kind of surprise that made blood boil.

“And I should believe you why?”

“Because your red-headed father, Chris Inocentia, was a pianist of the Ensemble. Or did you not know? What did he tell you? That he was a pianist at an unnamed jazz club in the Red Light District?”

“Like I’d believe he was an assassin,” she replied.

“Well I know enough about him for you to believe me. Your mother passed away many years before your father. Each year he’d play only one song on her last day. ‘It was for someone important indeed,’ he’d answer each time we asked him who it was for. The dead do indeed take their secrets to their graves, but that was how I found out about you at his funeral.”

The pistol wobbled in her trembling hands, only adding to already mounting pile of issues. Questa was convinced enough and just selfishly wanted to draw a bead on Marchosius and give a few new holes to breathe through. However, she could not only rely on source of information.

“Did you really kill my dad Daw?” she asked him.

Eye to eye, Marchosius did not even shy away when he answered,

“Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag, there is no point denying it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“To prevent you from carrying out a senseless revenge killing.”

“In other words, to save your own ass,” she spat.

“If you want to look at it that way, you may, but I’ve long since ceased to worry about my own mortality,” he said calmly.

Any doubts ceased to exist in Questa’s mind, bringing up her pistol to aim down the sights. The only person to object was Marly, who after having checked in on Verity had made her way up the stairs, completely missing the exchange of words between the parties involved.

“Wait Questa, don’t shoot him, he’s not the person you’re looking for!” she shouted as she made her way between the hunter and her mark.

“Do you want me to tell you what that bastard did to deserve-” Questa started.

“No, she does not need to know Questa,” Marchosius shouted out and got to his feet before continuing after having made sure to have had gotten both their attentions, “it is best that Marly does not know, to spare her the grief. We all have to keep secrets. I am a murderer. Questa has all the right to my life. Please, step aside Marly.”

Reluctant as she was, to Marly, if it really was something between a Vigilante and a criminal, she did not have any say in the matter, and in this case, it seemed to her that it was. Seeing Marly step out of the way, Marchosius removed his sunglasses, tossing them aside as he faced the sunrise. Even with his back towards her, Questa gunned him down. All of them, they were fired by emotion and out of them all only two found Marchosius and they only struck his lower back. A standoff was always ended by an external factor, and the fading gunshots signalled such a conclusion. Marchosius sunk to his knees before falling forward as he started to bleed out. Loud as they were, the whole block had heard the news. This included curious Verity, giving her a reason to crawl out of bed to investigate. Finding yesterday’s gentleman dying on her ceiling and Questa’s gun’s barrel emitting a faint trail of smoke was not what she wanted to see. Boss and his Ensemble had long since departed from the scene. Meanwhile, Marly made her way to Marchosius’ side, her habitual behaviour of comforting others taking over, cradling his body in her arms.

“That really was your last song, wasn’t it?” she asked him in a soothing voice.

“I’m afraid it was,” he replied, before turning his head to Verity, “good morning Verity, I do apologise for being in such a state in front of you, but it is something that can not be helped.”

To anyone else but Marly, his last request was inaudible, to which she laid him down carefully and escorted Verity away, who still was staring back at Marchosius.

“I do hope I did not bleed too much in her presence,” he said once Verity was out of sight.

“You done being witty yet?” Questa asked, slapping in a fresh clip and slowly walked up to Marchosius.

“I do hope your justice is not going to leave me here to bleed out. In any case, are you not supposed to spout a one-liner before doing me in?”

“Funny ‘til the very end aren’t you?”

Questa opened up on him as she said this, but then realised that she just emptied a clip in to an already dead man.

((PS Info on the Ensemble will be available soon the SMagi DB))