[Closed] Ruined

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Elias Mercucianno
Posts: 51
Joined: Wed Jan 30, 2019 6:21 am
Topics: 8
Race: Galdor
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Writer: Raksha
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Fri Apr 19, 2019 9:33 am

Ophus 5th, 2718
VIENDA | EARLY MORNING
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"What do you mean I’m broke?” The words had fallen from the Bastian’s lips in a voice that clearly could not comprehend what he was being told.

“I-I-I’m sorry sir, but your deposit account has been completely depleted. A-a-any funds you had were withdrawn. By the looks of it this was m-m-many many months ago.” Elias laced his fingers together across one bent knee, frowning at the banker before him with a shaky flex of his field. It had only been a day or so since his entire clocking house burnt down—him not in it unfortunately—and he was still recovering from the dramatic backlash.

“By whom precisely, because I certainly haven’t been into your establishment to make said withdrawal, otherwise why would I be here?” The teller, a stout Anaxi galdori with a shiny bald patch and greyed brown hair nodded rapidly and laughed nervously.

“W-w-well according to the signature on the withdrawal slip, it was yourself Mister Mercucianno.” Narrowing his eyes, Eli leaned forward and tilted his head with a slow predatory smile.

“And yet, it was not me. So, what you mean to say is I have been robbed in broad daylight, in the very bank that is paid a fee to keep my concords safe? Fantastic. That is, fantastic. Tell me, sir, does your establishment have some sort of…compensation for this situation?” The Anaxi stammered and spread his hands wide in an awkward apology.

“Mister Mercucianno, you must realize, the sum in question was quite hefty. To reimburse you, when all our paperwork indicates it was you who withdrew it, would require involvement of the crown a-a-and probably legal intervention. W-w-we don’t just have that sort of money to give away, and th-th-the trouble is—” Elias raised a hand with a sharp laugh, running a finger over his brow and closing gold rimmed eyes with severe frustration, before opening them to stare at the man hard.

“The trouble is that you clocking took a forgery of my signature, and gave all my money to someone else, and you won’t fucking admit it! I should never have invested in your chroveshit institution.” Standing, the brunette straightened the salmon colored shirt and beige pants. They were his only outfit, along with his jacket, that had survived the fire. He had five shills and two tallies, half a packet of cigarettes and a borrowed packet of matches, his glasses and his harpsichord. He’d had to spend a tally to buy a new pair of shoes, and Hurte strike him down before he would loose the harpsichord. It was going to be fine though, he’d told himself. Yes the house was nothing but cinder and ash, but he had a pile of concord's in the bank, accumulated from his parent’s wealth and his own rental that he received on the house in Bastia.

Except that it was all bloody well gone. Someone had stolen it.

Eli didn’t for a second suspect Xavier. It was months ago, the bank teller had said, and there was no way a wick would have been able to walk in and forge his signature to get it all. No, this was a galdori. A galdori stole his clocking money. Rage welled in the man as he took the bank steps two at a time, harpsichord in hand and his breath steaming in the cool morning air. There was no helping it, he would need to get back to Bastia and take over the family home. There were possessions he could sell, and frankly he could probably just live in the property for a while till he found a way to retrieve some form of income again. Bastia was quite nice later in the season anyway. Mostly.

Using five tallies, the tanned brunette galdor found himself a seat aboard an airship, and settled in for the flight to his place of birth. As they traveled through the clouds, the Bastian found himself lingering in thoughts of the stunning Gioran creature that had both robbed him and ultimately caused the series of events that lost him his townhouse, and had shown him kindness he’d not realized he’d been missing for so clocking long. Eli had opened himself up to the wick, both with words and heartfelt things that created a sort of bond between them, and had let himself submit to them in ways he’d not allowed with any other. Xavier, the being made of moonlit caught in the body of a mortal, had done something to the Bastian and he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. For the first time in a long time he felt like perhaps there wasn’t a need to beat himself up over the death of his family. Perhaps he needed to stop and look at it from a different perspective, to honor the dead instead of running mindlessly to meet them.

And then he got to Bastia.




Ophus 12th, 2718
BASTIAN OUTSKIRTS| SUNRISE

“What. The. Fuck?” Elias muttered around the cigarette hanging loosely between his lips, dark curls a weary mess on his forehead after so many days of air travel and eyes squinted against the early morning sunrise.

There, on the slight knoll where it sat, his family home stood proudly in the orange glow as nothing more than the remaining husk of a burnt out shell. It was blackened, stone turned to rubble and wood turned to charcoal, and the garden had been turned to ash.

His house was gone.

Climbing the incline slowly, he moved between the twisted wrought iron gates towards the ruins, kicking at the charred door frame and leaning aside as flakes of ashen wood fell to the ground. Dropping the harpsichord to the ground and shoving his hands into his pockets, Eli walked into what was once the main entrance hall, turning slowly first to the left and then to the right, before turning to face what was once the front door.

He cursed. Loudly. Birds fluttered from the tree’s left still standing on the property.

“Well sir, look at it like this. You could probably sell the land at least? That might garner a couple of concords? Though probably not a lot, given the buyer would need to demolish and remove the old structure and redo the gardens.” The Seventen officer said with a lackluster tone, as though even he knew the man was screwed. Elias stormed down from his spot on the hill, muttering choice curses in Riverword and glaring at the man.

“How the…” Taking a deep breath through his nose to calm himself, the brunette started again a little less harshly.

“How in Hurte’s name does a house burn down, and the city’s Seventen office have no idea how? Didn’t the tenant at least, I don’t know, see something??” He hissed, gesturing at the husk as though it was obvious. The uniformed officer looked at the house, before looking back at Eli and shrugged.

“There’s been no tenant in that property for about a year, sir. I would have thought as the owner, you would have known that?” Running his hands through his hair, the Bastian laughed and shook his head.

“I didn’t know that because the person hired to look over the management of the premises seems to have conveniently disappeared, and frankly unless there is an issue with the property why would I want to know about it. Where is Mister Lensmerth anyway? Did he take a bloody extended holiday?!” The Seventen cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back.

“We are unsure of his whereabouts, and must presume him deceased.” Elias stumbled back, landing heavily on the steps of his burnt out home, rubbing hands over his stubbled face and groaning loudly.

He was ruined. Utterly ruined.

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