Platter of Fruit

[StaolDerg]

Rain pounded the windows as the monsoon rolled in over Merritaun, flooding the streets and old stone with the warm rain. There was a reason the doors of the apartments were heightened to the waist level from the streets as the autumn floods began, rapidly sweeping the ground to the ankle-level in rainwater. Those caught in the midst resigned themselves to being soaked and pulled their sewn cloaks over their heads, and those with wings shielded themselves and their companions with their wide lengths of membrane. Those less used to the spring floods sought refuge on the steps of others’ homes, cowering from the storm underneath the small roofs above the building doors, much to the amusement of the local residents.

Yian was perched on the edge of her chair as she stared outside from her apartment, watching the wind blow the water in sheets. Were she home at the farmstead, she would’ve taken her siblings and their friends to the clay fields to play in the shade of the stables- the little cities of hardened clay and homemade pottery that were stacked against the columns of the building, painstakingly decorated with crude paints ground up from bitter herbs and flowers they’d collected from the swamp.

She curled her tail and seated it on her lap, reluctant to open the stack of letters on her desk, the red labels of government stamps decorating their front labels. The stuffy air was cooled by the downpour, offsetting the furiously humid temperature with a wave of cooler air. She was grateful for it- her scales had itched for the entirety of the season, and immersing herself in cool towels only did so much before she was tempted to just dunk herself in the mud and cool down that way.

Besides the rain, she could hear the whistle of the kettle in the kitchen as the water inside began to boil, and of conversation drifting out from the floor above. She was no eavesdropper, and paid little attention to the words in the oscillating song of the rain. With luck, it’d last the whole week and then some. Not that she was complaining. The Inselni found herself drifting off here and there, barely interrupted by the boom of thunder.

She found her thoughts distracted by a knock on the door, swiveling an eye towards the sound.

“Come in, door’s unlocked,” she called, rousing herself as she got up from her seat, making her way towards the apartment’s entrance.

A Crown human entered her flat, a platter of sliced fruit in one hand as they stepped in and shut the door behind them. She was her thirties, dressed in plain red and green dress with simple diamond patterns decorating along the sides, but the wear of the dress and harshly-worked conditions of her body made her seem almost a decade older. Yian recognized her- Vyta, her neighbor from just next door.

Yian motioned towards her bed in the corner of the room, and the two women sat and made themselves comfortable. Yian retrieved the kettle from the kitchen and poured them both a mug of tea, and they both enjoyed the platter of fruit that Vyta had brought in mostly silence, staring out of the window. Now and then her neighbor would pause in between bites, coughing into the crook of her arm. Yian noted that she was eating the least out of the two of them, but the crown didn’t seem to mind- if anything, she kept proffering the fruit to the inselni.

“This year’s harvest isn’t bad at all,” Yian commented between a bite of dragonfruit. The violet flesh had stained the traces of her mouth, a fact left mostly disregarded as the inselni licked the cool, sweet juice off her fingers.

“It is a bit full of water.” Vyta replied critically, examining a half-bitten slice. “The sweetness is lost somewhat there. I feel like they harvested it too early.”

“Better early than too late. More fruit.”

“True. We’re lucky this reason.”

Yian picked at a seed stuck between her stained teeth. “How’s Uiy? I hope that his arm feels better.”

Vyta shrugged and sighed. “He’s at work. The foreman said that if he wants to get paid, he’s got to come to work regardless if a ceiling falls on him or not. Disgraceful, but ah, what can we do? Don’t work, we go back to the countryside and work fields at the potential of getting robbed or starving because some bastard politician raised the taxes from grain. Work and dig up the ore and risk having the mine fall on us.”

“I hope you gave him painroots to chew on at least.”

“A whole bag. It won’t speed up his arm’s recovery, but at least he won’t be in hell when he rolls over at night.”

Yian said nothing. She was lucky to have a job in the city that didn’t grind her bones to dust.

Her neighbor sighed again, shaking her head. “He coughs violently at night. If this keeps up, he’ll be coughing up blood too in a matter of weeks.”

“You think it’s the dust he’s breathing in?”

“Whatever it is, it’s killing him. The doctor doesn’t have a high opinion of the matter. I don’t think taking him to the countryside will fix it either.”

“Aundui Yio, they built a new hospital-”

The crown put up her hand. “Too far. We couldn’t afford the trip there if we wanted, even if the treatment is free.”

Yian was quiet again, and this time her neighbor noticed.

“Hey,” she said, bumping the inselni with her free hand. “We’ll be fine. We’ve pulled through before- we’ll pull through again. Worst comes to worst, we’ll sell the lease on the house and take the train to Aundui Yio. We can work the money back. Money can always be earned back.”

The inselni made a face. “And then what? The bribes it’ll cost to get through- you’ll be paying the money back for years. Decades. How will you ever have kids at that rate? And your cough-”

“Again, worst comes to worst, Yian. We’re not that bad at life, are we?” The crown let out a soft, harsh laugh, but avoided eye contact. She coughed into her arm again.

Yian stared at her for a moment, then at the floor.

There was a commotion from outside- someone was calling for Vyta.

“Well, I should be going. I hope you enjoyed the fruit.” the crown rose up abruptly and cleaned up, finishing her tea and picking up the now-empty platter.

Yian stood up with her, reaching into her pocket for a moment. “Here,” she said, pushing a bundle of Yairen into her neighbor’s hand. “For the fruit.”

“No, Yian, it’s fine. I really came over to blather about my problems. You don’t owe-”

“I insist.” Yian pressed the money into Vyta’s hand more insistently, closing her hands around the bundle. “Give me some time-”

“No, Yian, no.” The crown held up her hands. “This is for the fruit. The fruit. Understand? Just the fruit. No more. My problems are my own.”

“That’s not how this works-”

The crown shook her head, wrapping her arms around the much taller inselni. “I appreciate it, cousin, I really do. But you can’t throw money at every person. You should know this- you’re fifty years my senior. People are greedy this century. So, so greedy. One day they’ll take and keep taking until there’s nothing left. This isn’t the Merritaun you grew up in anymore- the Spiders live here now. They will eat and eat and eat. And people who aren’t from here, they’ve started panicking.”

“What are you on about?”

“They’ve lost their minds. Now they’ve started to eat like them too. Don’t end up like them. Understand? Don’t be like them. They’re after it.” The crown unlatched the door and slipped out, the door closing quickly behind her.

Yian was in a bit of confusion as she stared after the closed door, still processing her neighbor’s words. Only when she slowly turned about did she catch the whispers of people outside and the clatter of wheels on pavement. Frowning, she turned and peered out the window, only just catching the back of a carriage buggy departing the avenue, with a small group of people staring after it on the steps of her apartment building. She leaned out of the window, and not seeing her neighbor in the group beneath, called out

“What’s going on?”

A few faces looked up at her in the face of the still-falling rain, several standing with grimaces on silt-stained faces that were still looking in the direction of the departing carriage.

“The mines collapsed,” someone shouted back up. “They’re calling all of the off-duty workers to come help dig them out.”

“Are they dead?”

“Don’t know. The constabulary is suspecting terrorism by the rebels. They said dynamite was missing from the secure cases.”

Yian slowly retreated back into her apartment and sat down on the bed, shaken.

She looked at the now-empty cup her neighbor had left and held it in her hand. She noticed some stain on the edge that she had assumed to be the violet of the dragonfruit, but as she reached for the key on the wall and turned up the flame of the gaslight, she now saw the distinct crimson of blood.

“Oh, no.”

[StaolDerg]

Yian found it hard to sleep. The bed was comfortable and warm, but her mind was a knot of confusion and worries. Her mind screamed for her to get up, but her instincts held her to rest, weary with a weight she hadn’t felt before.

Exhaustion. Panic. Exasperation. Terror. Drained. So much emotion and energy for a performance of idleness, an intensity of so much nothing.

Her thoughts were a compilation of jumbled, unorganized pieces and fragments, disjointed and confused, slipping between paranoid conspiracy and exhilarating optimism that strained her very bones.

Her eyes were frozen open, and she was sure she blinked in some interval, but she had no memory of doing so. She could not tell if she was dreaming, let alone move. She must be dreaming- why else couldn’t she move?

Knocking. Someone at the door. “Who is it,” she tried to call out, but her voice was gone.

She still couldn’t move.

Out of the corner of her vision, she thought that the curtain was still dark. What time was it? She’s gone to bed late, thinking about what Vyta had said, but now those words were also jumbled and incomprehensible.

The knocking again. It was louder, more insistent. Who was there? Why didn’t they say anything?

She felt hungry. Hadn’t she eaten dinner? What had she eaten?

“Rice with fish again,” she heard her mother’s voice chide. “And a few slices of guava afterwards. I did not raise you to be so thin. Eat more. Grow up strong.”

She wanted to call out something dismissive in response defensively, but her voice still acted as if there were no chords in her throat, only her breath as she inhaled and exhaled.

“You will starve like this,” the voice continued. “Starve until you are a skeleton. Thin, dry, no substance, no flesh. Your bones would crumble like sand!”

The knocking again. Loud. Too loud. Shut up. What did they want? Shut up. Shut up. Go away.

And then suddenly her mouth was open. Something large was being jammed in against her teeth.

“Eat,” the voice said. “You will starve. Eat.” A platter of fruit on her chest and a wall of hands feeding her. They were unkind, brutish, violent. Eat.

The fruit was colorless and tasted dry, flavorless. Awful. She gagged.

“EAT.”

Too much. Too much. She couldn’t fit it all in her mouth- it was straining, strangling, her jaw hurt and hot tears poured from her eyes.

“EAT.”

The knocking was now a banging, impossibly loud. A typhoon had surely descended outside, but there was no rain. She couldn’t tell. Her jaws hurt too much. She tasted iron.

She awoke to the sound of crashing wood against wall, her jaw still stretched impossibly over something. It hurt.

“Yian! You’ll be late for work- what in Ansi’s left fucking wing?”

Her mind was too occupied by paralyzing terror and fog of pain to remember the voice. She felt the obstruction she was choking on being forcibly pulled out of her mouth, and as she doubled over on the floor hacking and coughing, she saw through tear-blurred eyes her blankets soaked with what she thought was water.

“What happened? Are you ok? Stay here, I’ll go get Pasa.” A rapid exit of footsteps left her be on the floor, with both wings slouched weakly on the ground. Slowly she realized that she had been leaning against the wall- the bed was a good half-meter away, the blanket dragged off of it. She must’ve rolled off. Yian brushed away the tears with her arm, wincing at the dulling pain in her mouth. Her tongue found blood on her gums. She blinked, confused.

A pair of footsteps echoed back into her apartment as two people rushed in- neighbors. She recognized them- they lived just above.

“Yian? Are you alright? You hadn’t gotten up a half-hour ago and then we heard a crash from your room. What happened? Why did you have your blanket jammed into your mouth?”

“Should we call a doctor? Pasa. Pasa, go get the practitioner from the clinic-”

“No, she’s terrible-”

“I’m fine.” Yian announced, trying to get up. “I’m fine- what time is it?”

“No, no, sit back down- It’s a little over half past six.”

“Six? Fuck, I need to go to work-”

“Surely you can take a sick day, you’re clearly not well-”

“I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. I appreciate the concern, but I swear I’m just a bit turned about. I’ll be right in a minute.”

Her neighbors gave her scrutinizing looks that rivaled the face her mother used to give her when she used to fake being sick.

She laughed weakly. “Honestly, I insist. Really. I’m fine.”

“Very well.” She found herself helped up by her neighbors, and one tidied up her room, placing the blanket back on the bed. “Sure you’ll be alright?”

“Positive. I just need some tea.”

[StaolDerg]

“What happened to you, Yian?”

“Hm?” Yian looked up from the sewing machine she had been tending to the face of one of her coworkers, an inselni of dusky-red, almost terracotta colored scale. They had a concerned expression upon their face as they maneuvered to her other side of the table they shared with about forty other workers, seating herself next to her.

“Your mouth-” the other inselni put a hand to the edge of her mouth, drawing a short line of about two centimeters from the edge. “It’s stretched and inflamed. Are you alright?”

Yian briefly touched the newly discovered wounds with her hand, frowning, before shaking her head and turning back to her work. “Oh, I’m fine.”

“Does it hurt? Do you want some ointment for it-” her coworker was stopped from digging in her dress pockets by Yian waving dismissively, still facing the textiles before her. “I’m alright, Uina. Really, I appreciate the gesture, but it doesn’t bother me. Doesn’t hurt at all.”

She heard well-intended mutters under her coworker’s breath as they set to their own work, inspecting the panels of their machine for maintenance.

“We said the same,” another worker informed Uina, a tone of concern mixed with exasperation in his voice. “And she still said she was fine.”

“Enough chat!” The foreman shouted from the other side of the workroom. “Company quotas need us to fulfill eighteen tons of product by six AT. We aren’t even at lunch yet. We’re paid by the ton, not the hour! So get to it!”

“And you’re paid by the word, you bullhorn,” Yian heard a coworker mutter under their breath. She chuckled quietly to herself, folding over another finished bag to her side in a neat folded stack.

The product they worked on changed often. The last week they had been making regular dresses in a stale pattern- many of the older seamstresses had scowled and complained about the desecration of their ancient crafting traditions- for some unknown bulk order that called for nearly a corps worth of clothing. Traditional dresses would’ve already taken a great amount of time for senior Etchers to make the bases of, but these had been so much plainer, simpler. Her coworkers had nicknamed them rice sacks- a single layer of canvas over wool, with no padding for the limbs and joints. Those had paid forty Yairen per unit, and the workers had been accordingly paid a quarter of those individual costs. Simple, but hardly pay for the week.

This week they were making oilbags. That was nothing new- they would sew together the bolts to be cut and sewn into the bags from the bolts, then pass them along to be dipped in the treatment oils vats in another factory. Who knew why they needed eighteen tons of the damn things in a single day, but to be quite frank, she wasn’t being paid enough to care. These canvas bags only paid a measly twenty-five Yairen per unit. The workers would get five Yairen for the lot.

Her hands felt raw by the time lunch came about, but she wasn’t complaining as the workers hopped off their chairs and made their way to the break room, taking their lunches from under their seats.

The break room itself was in comparison incredibly small and cramped, with the same spartan layout, save the walls of exposed brick. There lacked enough space on the benches that took up the entire length of the walls and center of the room, but there were wooden ledges five feet above the benches. These were for inselni or austari who climbed onto the narrow perches by hooking their talons against the bricks of the wall to get a perch on the ledges, where they could crouch awkwardly to eat their meals.

The entire room was devoid of tables. Everyone ate from wooden lunchboxes on their laps, premade meals of rice and boiled vegetables, plus some meat here and there nevertheless eagerly scarfed down hungry mouths with bamboo chopsticks and ladels. Few words were exchanged- they were tired, and it was only half the day done. They wanted to conserve for the rest.

“They say the Yevgan sugar plant near Eibo has got its own kitchen,” someone mused between a bite of dried fish. “Do you work there?” Someone else responded. “Eat your food. What someone else isn’t worth envying over. They probably earned it.”

“But could you imagine? We could go to the market and buy some rice and vegetables to cook for lunch! We could have warm meals for the cold season!”

“If you keep talking, I’m going to eat your fish.”

Yian chuckled at the small talk. She wasn’t very hungry, but she knew better than to waste the precious break time she had to eat and recover some energy. She shifted her perch on the ledge to a more comfortable position as she swept the remaining crumbs into her mouth.

The click of someone’s lunchbox snapping shut incited a sudden hurry of eating. More clicks followed as their boxes snapped shut. Yian followed suit, setting her utensils inside to wash when she got out of work. She took a drink from the water bottle hooked on her belt before hopping off the perch and making her way out the door to follow the others. The foreman was waiting for them outside, their own closed lunchbox in hand as they marked their clipboard with a dry expression.

Back to work.

By the time evening rolled about, the foreman seemed content. They counted through the boxes of folded bags, nodding to themself while the workers occasionally squinted at him but otherwise stuck to their work.

“Alright, only ten more bags for each person.” The foreman called out, sliding the pencil into the ear of the clipboard. “That will overfill the quota by about a few hundred so we can’t be blamed if a few get lost during shipping. That’s your pay in for the day.”

There was an air of satisfaction as several workers patted away their sweat. That didn’t meaning going home early though- they’d still have to move onto the next day’s contract until they hit six AT. Nevertheless, it meant they didn’t have to rush through as much for the rest of the day. The foreman had visibly relaxed by now as the workers made a concerted effort to finish their quotas and put away the finished bags, those who finished early sitting back and starting small talk with their neighbors undisturbed.

Yian finished her last bag and set it into the box, sighing and rubbing her eyes. She was tired. Who would’ve thought that oil bags of all things would be so tiring?

Uina clicked her tongue at Yian as she finished, getting up to grab the box of finished bags. “Come on now, almost done. Just a few more hours now.”

They found their hands occupied with dense fabric of canvas and leather in the following hours- they had been contracted for a large number of rucksacks. The workers were noticeably more motivated with these more complex designs, especially for the older Etchers in the room. With the foreman busy counting the boxes of bags and calculating pay, Yian and several of her coworkers had the opportunity to amuse themselves listening to the elders bicker over the specifications of the contracted design.

“The instructions say leather is only to be put on the straps. We don’t need to put on more.”

“The notice on the contract submission says it’s from the Ministry of War. Our kids are going to be wearing this! No child of mine is going to get their damn pack wet or have it tear open at the bottom because their family couldn’t be assed to put on a little more effort onto their equipment!”

“The extra material comes out of our pay, you bullfrog!”

“Then start coughing up gold, Tastai! We are sewing on leather bottoms to reinforce the bags! We are Etchers! Only the best effort comes from our hands!”

The argument didn’t affect Yian personally- the workforce had divvied up the work of the backpacks into a factory line of initial pieces of cut canvas to the finishing touches of the straps and pouches. She was part of those responsible for sewing on the buttons for the pouches and covers, plus the shoulder straps, a reasonably simple task she found rather mundane but allowed her to think about other matters.

Her mind settled on wondering what she’d have for dinner. She was too tired to cook today- a treat from the night market would do. But not anything too expensive. They had the fried squid for a fifty Yairen last time she had gone there. That might do. Did she need any groceries? Ah wait, it was too late by now- the produce vendors were probably closed by now. She’d have to barter with one of the neighbors for some.

Only when her coworkers glanced at the clock and began getting up did she realize they were done for the day. She finished the current piece she was working on and passed it to the person beside her and began making her way towards the door with the others.

The foreman was waiting at the exit with the paymaster- they had spent the earlier hours counting the day’s pay and neatly organized the pay into equal stacks bound with thin strings for each worker to take with them. It wouldn’t have mattered if they had attempted to count the individual efforts of each worker: rules of honor would’ve just enticed the workers to divvy up the pay among themselves equally anyways. It was simply easier this way.

Yian found Uina counting the money as she put it into her pocket.

“It’s twenty thousand, Uina.”

“Ah, thanks.” She peered up at Yian, motioning at her mouth. “You good still? My offer stands.”

Yian tried to laugh. “I just had a bad morning. Woke up poorly.”

Her coworker made a face at the unconvincing attempt to brush off the subject. “Well, if you say so.” She pocketed the pay as they began making their way towards the tram station. “Could you and the others do me a favor tomorrow? I have to take the day off - my kid’s visiting.”

Yian nodded with understanding. “Sure thing. You said they were what, navy?”

Uina grinned. “Yup. He told me about getting some kind of promotion. Not his place to say what, but his letter made it sound pretty important to him. He’s taking a day off to celebrate his birthday with me. I’m going to take him to the port for some good food.”

“There’s a good seafood soup place by Terica Avenue, near the east docks.”

“Oh? And here I was going to just take him to the restaurants near Oma.”

“I go there for holidays. I recommend going in the afternoon, when its warmer.” She leaned in, glancing around. “Less Kumo.”

“Mhh. I will do that.” Uina put a thoughtful finger to her chin as they stood waiting for the trolley.

[StaolDerg]

Yian could smell Merritaun’s night market before seeing it, hear the clink of coins and sizzling of cooking oil even before she even stepped off the tram. Maybe it was memories of the city when she was young and enjoyed late night snack under the moon in the market that drew her to a relaxed mood as the trolley rounded a bustling plaza to the entrance of the night market, with the striking figures of Kumo towering above the heads of others in their small islands in the sea of people as Elenrians drew away from their presence.

She waved a goodbye to her coworkers still aboard the tram, making her way over to the market’s gate. The crimson columns welcomed her with the familiar wooden sign fixed to its roof supports, the sign itself was old with wear and tear. Despite the age, the painted black calligraphy that read “Aisun Night Market District” was still clean and lovingly maintained, with striking paintings of the sea and the city’s market itself painted with great care upon the face of the columns to the beams of the gate itself.

Beside the columns plastered with bulletins and announcements, she spotted the gate’s keeper- an elderly crown man sitting against the column on an overturned crate, with a paper box of noodles in his hands. She recalled from old days gone, when the man still had a full head of dark hair, he had manned one of the countless stalls within the market. But now his beard was grey, and though he was old, he seemed content to welcome and provide directions to newcomers and foreigners to different parts of the market.

As Yian passed by him and under the gate, her hand lifted in a small, habitual wave to him. But her tired mind caught on to the shadow of a large Kumo speaking to the old man and her eyes slightly widened, realizing that she might’ve cost the old man a slap across the face for being distracted. She cringed, both wings huddled and hugging her arms and back as she ducked underneath the shadow of the gate and hurried into the market proper.

At first, she thought he was more occupied with the Kumo woman towering above him as she asked for directions, and so had not seen her greeting. But as she doubled over her shoulder, she noticed the Kumo turn and leave like a haughty goose prancing about a pond, the gaze of the old man following her wake. Yet he didn’t seem to be looking after the Kumo- and in that momentary confusion in that tired mind of Yian, she paused in the bustling market, meeting the old man’s eyes as he met hers with a raised eyebrow over the heads of a dozen other busy people.

The elderly man smiled at her and waved back before turning back to his food. Yian didn’t trouble him further- her stomach had taken precedence with its rumbling, and quite frankly, she had no mind to argue with it any longer. She headed off, deeper into the market, away from the gate.

She wandered down the street of food stalls, gazing from hanging racks of roast duck and squid to large bowls of filling soup and entire baskets of rice flour buns, from steamed to fried. She was tempted to have those for dinner, but she remembered the scarce pay she had to buy food with and humbled her appetite.

It was not as if they would go out of business if she did not purchase from those stalls, anyway. The servants of wealthy Kumo stood out in the crowd as they stood in line, sweeping up massive orders to bring to their employers, whole baskets of deliveries balanced on their backs and shoulders. Even if money were no object, she’d still be waiting ages for her food in a line that may as well mean no dinner at all.

She tore her gaze from the sights and smells and pressed onwards into the night market, sighing.

“Yian!”

The inselni frowned at the mention of her name, peering up and around for the source. Despite her height, she was still very much tired and squinted through the lights at the surrounding stalls.

“Yian! Here!”

She turned around. Despite the bustle and din of the street, she spotted an elderly Crown waving to her from behind a streetside shop’s counter behind a wall of merchant stalls.

Frowning, Yian squinted, trying to make out the face of the shopkeeper, who continued to wave at Yian, beckoning her over to the stall.

Yian’s name wasn’t that rare. What were the chances that the shopkeeper was calling someone else over? She didn’t want to embarrass herself. She chanced a quick look over her shoulder- no other face looking in her same direction, not that she could see. Curiosity had gotten the better of her- and she was off work anyway.

The shop itself was modest at first glance, just the wooden stand of the stall itself and the dense paper window sheet curtains stained with grease barring the faces of the customers from that of the staff. The elderly Crown had turned back to the massive cauldrons of noodle soup both in front and behind her, leaving only her shadow moving about in the light bleeding through the paper. Yian cast a brief glance at the sign above
the stall, reading the somewhat-faded lettering: “Nuan Hai Noodles.”

“Poa’s busy with the tourists this evening. Hasn’t had time to repaint my sign.”

Yian looked back to the face of her caller leaning on the counter of her stall, head poking out between the curtains. The worn face of the old human looked up at the sign with the inselni for a moment, contemplative.

Even though the lines on her skin were long and wrinkled, her arms were steady and nothing less than strong and fit for her age. Her weathered face was covered with age spots, and a jagged scar raced from one side of her forehead to the lower chin. Greying hair was tied into a tight bun, bound by a small red green ribbon that caught the light from behind her, but strands still sprung out at the top of her head in a small tuft. It would be a disservice to call her lame, but with how she leaned, no, hunched over the counter, it was evident she was no longer in the prime of her life.

“I apologize, grandmother.” Yian awkwardly said, fiddling with the ties on her coat. “ Have we met?”

The old Crown raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You don’t recognize me, Yian?”

Yian laughed weakly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been at work all day. My mind is a haze. Please, who are you?”

The shopkeeper smiled. “No fault of your own. But please, come inside! I’ll not have an old family friend stand outside.” The shopkeeper slipped behind the paper curtains for a second before the narrow door to the shop snapped open with the stout woman behind it, her weight supported by a cane. She waved Yian inside, leading her past large sizzling pots and a table of cooks preparing foods, underneath large bushels of hanging vegetables, and up a flight of creaking wooden stairs to a small apartment floor.

It was a homely place, and though the walls were cracked and the paint was aged, plaster had been applied to the breaches and a couple of open jars of paint stood to the far wall, with a number of clean painting brushes sitting next to a freshly repainted wall. There were no electrical lights- the room was fully lit by portable kerosene lamps that were scattered throughout, not unlike those used for camping. Yian found the whole flat cramped but cozy, but still held her tired wings up from touching floor, not wanting to be disrespectful.

The shopkeeper murmured her apologies to Yian as she swept a sheaf of loose newspapers and various cups off of a small table, dragging a pair of seats over to her waiting guest. “Please, sit. It’s been so long- I’ll get some old wine, just excuse me a moment-”

Yian was flabbergasted by the offer. “Grandmother, please! What did I do to deserve this generosity?”

The shopkeeper turned to her. She looked surprised, almost distraught. “By my mother’s soul, you truly don’t recall? I’m Sen An Xi- my family’s ranch was on the heights above your family’s farm. You raised me and my siblings.

The inselni looked to the side, thinking for a moment. Her old home, the farm… There were three times she’d lived on a farm, and all of them were different. She’d lived with so many people and helped raise many. How was she supposed to recall?

Wait.

She looked at An Xi again, noticing up the loose tuft of hair and the green ribbon tying back her hair.

She’d seen that before. No, of course she’d seen that before, that was all the rage fifty years ago. Everyone loved green ribbons for their hair then.

Fifty years ago. She looked at the shopkeeper again.

Sen An Xi. That must be her courtesy name. The family of Sen. She remembered them. Yes, the small ranch on the hills behind her family’s farm, with the watermill.

Yian found herself tapping on the table, staring at the floor, lost in thought.

“...I used to call you Xiao Cai.”

A smile parted again on the old face of the shopkeeper, but it belonged a girl much younger than the body she inhabited. The faint light of the lanterns was reflected in the bead “You do remember!”

Yian grinned. “Your hair is still uncontrollable, I see.”

“It’s never not been.”

They stood smiling in the memories before Cai perked up and turned back to the shelves of books she had faced before. Yian looked away from the shelf, politely disregarding Cai's retrieving of what she understood be very private.

“Ah, here.”

Yian turned back to see an earthenware wine jar in a beaming Cai’s arms, sealed with red paper and wax around its opening. A small tag from the winemaker was painted onto the jar: Lan Mountain Winery - 1644

Yian’s eyes widened. “Cai, no. That’s worth so much- what if we have another ‘78? You need it.”

Cai set the jar on the table, waving dismissively. “And let it sit like a damn trophy for the next ten centuries in some Kumo’s wine cellar? Baba always said that this was for the better of days. Today, I got to see my big sister after fifty fucking years.”

Yian put a gentle hand on Cai’s wrist. “And the best of days is yet to come. Wait then, and we’ll drink well into the night.”

“But surely a drop could not hurt. It has been so long.”

The inselni could see the pain, the disappointment in Cai’s eyes. The old woman slowly set the jar aside with care, staring at the dusty red seal.

“You know I don’t drink,” the old human said, wiping her eyes.

Yian reached out and lifted Cai onto her lap, hugging the old woman. She could hear, she could feel the soft sobs on her chest.

“I know, Cai.”

She recalled when Cai and her sibling cried about the mud or the ducking biting at their feet. She recalled when thunder was the most terrifying thing, and how the children ran and hid beneath her wings. She comforted them then. She wanted to comfort Cai now.

“How much longer must we wait, Yian? We’re tired, I’m tired. When will we be done waiting?”

The child she whose bruises and cuts she had once nursed with a wrap of linen and kiss was so much older, and the bruises and cuts were so much deeper. Yian could feel her own tears fighting to the surface of her eyes, blurring her vision.

“I.. I don’t know, little one.”

[StaolDerg]

There was comfort in the norm.

Yian folded over the partially-finished shirt she was making and brought the unsealed seam of the sleeve to the teeth of the sewing machine. There was a brief mechanical chatter as the machine did its work, Yian’s hand deftly guiding the path of the needle.

Seam done, she rotated it to the other sleeve, only to look at the machine in surprise when it clicked and died as she tried to push in the piece. Frowning, she pulled the shirt out and gently tried again.

Nothing.

She checked the machine. There was still string, there was still power. The motor seemed to be what wasn’t working. She fiddled with it for a moment, feeling its warm metal jacket. Overheated, perhaps? She’d only used this machine for the last few months. These machines were old, and who knew where the company had gotten hold of them to begin with. Knowing their love of Yairen though, probably nowhere of good reputation.

“Worker Mun Yian Fo! Why have you stopped?”

“Machine malfunction,” she replied to the approaching foreman. “Motor’s not running. The cable’s connected, I ran it without straining the needle, and I maintain it regularly as instructed.”

She looked up, expecting a furious or reproachful face, but instead he was glancing over his shoulder, an unexpected worry in his eyes as he glanced around the room. Others had begun taking notice- malfunctions were normal and expected, yet rarely did the foreman ever respond to such incidents without a furious rant. Most had expected a bellowing, followed by the reassuring, monotonous chatter of the machine, but as the foreman looked from side to side without saying anything, fear began to grow in the room.

“Just… fix it.”

The foreman stumped off to his office at the far end of the room, not looking at any of the workers. The workers stared after him, wincing as the office door slammed shut.

“What was that all about?”

“Is it busted, Yian? There’s a spare machine in the back that Suo Ye was fiddling with, I’m sure he can put it back together for you to use.”

“Good riddance. Least he’ll not be breathing down our necks for the next few minutes.”

Yian stared at the machine. “I don’t think it’s that bad…” she mused, poking at the motor. The room had mostly resumed work, tentative glances being exchanged over the foreman’s erratic behavior.

“Look on the bright side,” another coworker said, patting her shoulder. “We’re almost done for the day. Luck have it, we might be able to pool and buy a new machine the next time we go to Aundui Yio. One of those modern, new models that isn’t absolutely fucked like these.”

“I’d feel guilty to take your money like that.” Yian replied.

The door opposite the office space flew open, and a human crown the workers recognized as the building secretary dashed to the other side of the room, repeatedly pounding their fist onto the hard surface of the office door

“Madam Tanamoto is here-”

The foreman’s office burst open, the foreman hissing at the secretary to shut up as he hurried out of the office with a large binder of papers under his arm, making for the room the secretary had just entered from. He made no comment to the workers who continued working without pause, many doing so with frenzied care and shaking hands.

Yian risked a quick glance up, noticing the pale skin and visible palpitation of the foreman as he wiped his brow with a handkerchief. She turned back to the machine before they could notice. She tried to restart the machine again. There was a brief hum, and then silence. She smelled something burning.

Her neighboring coworkers looked to her with concern.

She sighed. “Nevermind. Suo Ye, could I take you up on that offer? This thing is fucked.”

“Sure thing.” There was a shuffling as the coworker slid off his seat and made for the storage room.

She reached underneath the table and began unplugging it. The floor smelled of lye and the cable was sticky to the touch. Yian yanked once, twice, and the finally got the plug out. Returning to the light, she noticed the cable was worn out in several area with the wire showing.

“Hey, uh… Did these come in like this?”

A coworker gave the cable a quick glance, nodding and continuing with their work. “Bunch of them are like that. The foreman says that the lye we coat the floor with will keep the building from burning down.”

Yian looked at the ground.

“Lye? For protecting a dried bamboo floor?”

“Yeah.”

“But… lye is flammable.”

The coworker did not pause their work. “Foreman says the boss said so. Don't bite the hand that feeds.”

Yian stared at the cable. She said nothing in reply. What was there to say? If the boss said so, that was that. She carefully wrapped the cable up around the machine and picked the whole thing up to take to storage.

The storage room itself was separated from the main working floor by the restrooms and the company’s conference room. Yian had never been inside, but from what she understood, it was a large ornate table with ten chairs with ample space between those seated. The building’s only air conditioner directed all of its energy there, keeping the room at a constant 14 Celsius. Even on days when the boss, Madam Tanamoto wasn’t in the building, the foreman made sure the room remained cool. She simply liked it that way.

As she walked the hall that separated the storage room from the workspace though, she saw Suo Ye crouched beside the door, ear flat against the surface of the door. In his hands was the spare sewing machine, huddled to his chest.

Yian frowned, about to speak to him when he noticed her and and raised his index finger to his lips.

Then, he waved for her to join him.

Yian froze. There was no way they would not be fired of they were caught. But curiosity was killing her all the same. She’d never seen the owner of the company, let alone heard her before. All she and her coworkers knew was the effects of the decisions from up high.

She crept over to Suo Ye, both still holding their sewing machines. He motioned for her to set hers aside as she pressed her lower horn to the door.

“[…Of which we fulfilled in excess by around three hundred units.]”

“[And the rucksacks? The client noted that they were modified from the original commissioned design.]”

“[The workers took some… liberties in the design, Tanamoto-kama. They determined that there were weaknesses in the base design and took measures to reinforce those areas.]”

“[They wasted material, and by doing so, wasted company money. I want their pay docked and should they do it again, fire them.]”

“[With all respect, would a warning not do?]”

“[Elenria has plenty of workers. Find more. I gave you the freedom to hire workers. Don’t disappoint me, or I will find better candidates for your position myself.]”

“[Yes, Tanamoto-kama.]”

“[This includes that nonsense with the payment. Each person is paid according to the work they do. No pooling pay. If you can’t get them to stop, fire the lot. There are always people willing to work, and I’m sure the streets have ample room for them to think about breaking company policy.”

She heard the creaking of chairs. Not bothering to see if they were just shifting their weight or getting up to leave, Yian nudged her coworker in the direction of the workspace.

Without a word, they hurried back to the workspace.

Their fellow workers welcomed them with a brief nod, though some confusedly stares were received in their fairly panicked rush to return to their seats.

Yian hurriedly set the machine up and tried to return back to work as if she’d heard nothing. The motor of the machine whirred to life and sealed the seams, but with each punch of the needle her hands shook more.

It wasn’t fear that disturbed her- It was the way the Kumo had spoken about her coworkers.

Did the hours they work mean nothing to the boss? Were they too just damaged sewing machines to be replaced? What right did she have to tell what her and her people what they could do with their money? They worked and got paid. What else was there to it?

“Yian?”

Hours and hours and hours. Did that Kumo know the hours they worked? Was her hand covered in bandages from cuts? Did she ever have pangs in her gut when she could not afford dinner? Dissatisfaction had soured to spite. What did Tanamoto know about Elenria? She was over a hundred years old, and how old was that eight-legged ingrate? Had she seen her home burned down, seen her family dragged off by soldiers? No, of course she didn’t. Selfish, selfish, greedy insect.

She felts someone tap her shoulder. The inselni nearly threw the hand off, turning her head to the concerned face of her coworkers staring at her.

“You’re wrinkling the shirt.”

She looked down. There were deep indentations where she had been squeezing the fabric.

“...Oh.”

“Are you alright? You were shaking-”

“I’m fine.”

Yian was caught off guard by her own snappish answer. “…I’m sorry.” She whispered. “ I didn’t mean to lash out. Yes, I’m alright.”

“What happened?”

“I…” She perked up and looked around. The whole room was staring at her. “Not here.”

Her message got across. The other workers turned back to their work, but the questions remained in their eyes. When the foreman returned, they said nothing. The foreman did not look them in the eye for the rest of the day.

[StaolDerg]

“We have a new hire.”

“Poor bastard.” Uina muttered underneath her breath.

“Her name is Sasaki.” The foreman paused, momentarily taken aback as he held the clipboard closer to his face, frowning.

“...Chiho Sasaki.”

The mood of the workers plummeted and Yian felt her stomach tie into knots. No one in Elenria had such a name- it surely must be a Kumo, right?

The foreman turned around, as if they were expecting the new worker to just materialize out of thin air. Instead, a jumping spider Kumo burst in through the front door, her hair a complete mess, and totally out of breath. "I'm so sorry I'm late!"

The whole room stared in complete bafflement for a moment, even the foreman with his mouth slightly agape before he doubled back to his clipboard and tried to rein in composure.

“...Right. Well, we still have an order to fulfill today, so…”

The foreman glanced at the Kumo briefly, almost apprehensively, considering his choice of words. “So, well… He glanced over to an empty machine spot just next to Yian, quickly waving to it. “You can make yourself there.”

The Kumo unexpectedly gave the foreman a small bow before hurrying off to the vacant workstation, moving aside the stool and glancing around for something that would better support her weight before reluctantly just sitting on the floor.

While the Kumo was small for one of her kind, she was still a Kumo, and Yian felt uncomfortably close to her as the entire room turned back to their work as fast they could, casting brief looks in both her and the new worker’s direction.

What the hell was a Kumo doing here with them? It didn’t feel right, listening to the soft rustles of her spindly legs trying to get comfortable against the treated bamboo floor.

A spy. Of course. The owner had been upset with them using extra material- now she was trying to get some of them fired- this was just the way to do it!

Her hands shook with fright and anger alike, yet she pushed herself to work harder than ever before. From the sudden increase in the clicking of the machines and rustles of the other workers handling their projects, it seemed her coworkers had come to a similar conclusion. And yet, out of the corner of her eye, she could see shaking hands of the Kumo absolutely butchering the bolt of silk in her hands. Experience as a seamstress told her it was inexperience, and the confusion in her eyes as she watched the others work faster seemed to reinforce that idea. But suspicion told her a different story, and she noticed the Kumo glancing over at her workplace.

Instinctively, Yian drew up her wing and shrouded her work in a creat curtain of streaked orange and yellow membrane that covered herself and shut the Kumo off from a third of her vision. The foreman looked up from the other side of the room and gave her a glare that slowly but surely lowered the wing and reluctantly tucked it back behind her.

Yian couldn’t help but throw a glance over at the Kumo every now and again, and when she did she’d catch Sasaki quickly looking away. Her gaze hardened as she continued to work, thoughts racing through her mind. Had she and Suo Ye been seen listening in on the factory owner?

The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that the Kumo sitting next to her was nothing less than a company spy. Her vision snapped over to the Kumo’s workplace again. It was a mess- she hadn’t even finished a single piece! Where the hell did the boss even find this spy?

She had occupied herself so much with observing the Kumo next to her that she did not hear the shift in tone of the other workers until it was nearly too late.

The soft scuttle of Tanamoto-kama had set the whole room on edge the moment her gaze had settled upon the workroom, unblinkingly surveying the workers like a prison warden.

Yian completely abandoned glaring in her neighbor’s direction in favor of quickly doing her work as flawlessly as possible, relief washing over her momentarily as the owner passed her without incident, only for that relief to freeze into horror as the larger Kumo halted behind the visibly shaking jumping spider Kumo.

“Miss Sasaki,” the owner growled. “Your continual waste of silk makes me furious that we are the same species. You’ve managed to waste more in a day than you can probably make in a day. If this factory had a phoneline, I would make you personally call each Kumo who’s silk you wasted and apologize. You valueless buffoon.” The owner turned to begin barking at someone else, but swung back at Chiho. “Less than valueless actually. At least if I hadn’t hired anyone I would still have all the raw silk you’ve managed to destroy. Get your shit together. You are making me ashamed to call myself a Kumo.”

The smaller form of Sasaki seemed to shrink underneath the glare of the owner, left speechless by the berating as the Kumo’s gaze continued to bore on her.

Yian only heard the choked gasp of Sasaki as the owner seized the bolt of cloth she had been working with and threw it into a waste hamper.

“Start over.”

But Sasaki proved not to be the factory owner’s only victim. As the larger Kumo patrolled the room, she made snide, accusatory remarks at other workers, Uina among them.

“This is a kimono, lizard,” she hissed at the inselni. “It is a symbol of my people’s culture, and that you have managed to defame it in such a way with careless stitches makes me want to dock you for every single minute wasted. Fix it, or I will fix your problem as a worker on the spot.”

Yian fixed her eyes on her own bolt of cloth as the domineering presence of the owner faded with her departure, wincing as the door slammed behind her.

As she reached for a pair of scissors, her eyes caught sight of a a coworker eyeing Sasaki’s trembling form, their eyes narrowing.

“You’re not a spy, are you?”

“Fenyit, shut it.” Yian’s desperation was unmistakably clear in her stern voice, but her coworker ignored her as they pointed an accusing finger across the table. “You’re a Kumo like Tanamoto, but you got yelled at like the rest of us.”

The Kumo worker was silent, her eyes fixed entirely on her work. It was unnerving in its own way to the workers as they glanced from one another, beholding the sight of Kumo on a verge of tears; no sneering, no jab at their working ethics or character. It felt wrong to the Yian, that a person she’d expected for most other adult life to be the one speaking down to her was here shrinking into their seat on their floor like a berated youngster, humilated and crumbling.

To her complete shock, someone spat on the floor, jeering at Sasaki with a low voice.

“And to think that Kumo are called Web-Dancers in our language. You certainly don’t do honor to that title with how much silk you’ve wasted.”

The workers jumped at a slam from the far end of the table. Looking over, Yian saw the stood figure of a Crown Etcher, their heavy clothing hanging off them like a large blanket of shimmering metal ornaments and ornate weaves.

“That’s enough. Shut up.”

The room shut up.

“The foreman leaves with the boss for one minute and you immediately lose control of yourselves,” they chided dissapointedly. “Didn’t your parents teach you anything? Manners, etiquette? Anything at all? Regardless of whether or not she-” they nodded indicatively at the retreating figure of Sasaki- “is with the boss or not, you should remember well that this is not our home. You speak what you want to speak at your own house, but certainly, absolutely never at a place like this!”

A hand aged with the wrinkles of a lifetime cast a crooked finger at the walls about them.

“Walls have ears. Shut up.”

Like a bunch of chastised children, the workers stayed silent and turned back tot heir work, not for a moment casting a look up. Yian followed their example, focusing entirely on her work.

As she stitched a kimono seam, her lower horn twitched, and she could’ve sworn she heard a whispered “Thank you,” coming from Sasaki’s direction. But when she turned to look, Sasaki was deep in her own work, meticulously trying to put together her pieces with virtually no training.

The glare of the Etcher noticing Yian’s distraction made her turn back to her work, but thoughts bounced about in her head.

Had a Kumo really said thank you to her? To an Elenrian?

Lunchtime came as a surprise when the foreman suddenly burst back into the workplace looking like all the blood had been drained from his face. As he clutched his clipboard with shaking hands that crinkled the paper upon it, he ushered the whole workroom to lunch with harried movements.

The workers moved in a faster pace than they would’ve usually- where they would’ve taken their time chatting their way to the lunchroom, they simply snatched up their lunchboxes and hurried off to their seats in the cramped space.

Yian was among the last of those to get to the lunchroom, but as she slipped inside, the growing din of the breakroom quieted as eyes cast towards Yian.

Confused, Yian frowned, at first mistaking their looks to be directed at her, but as she turned, the split moment where she saw Sasaki’s apprehensive face looking at the lunchroom with her own lunchbox in hand was cut short by the breakroom door slamming shut right in front of her.

“Yian, hurry up.”

Yian wrenched herself back to reality at the sound of her coworkers’ voice, casting one last look over her shoulder as she clambered up to her perch.

Even as she opened up her lunchbox to the welcome aroma of fried chicken and boiled vegetables, something didn’t sit right within her.

At first, she thought that it was just her stomach growling for attention. But as she shoveled rice and meat into her mouth, the feeling stayed like a stubborn lump in a sheet of fabric that refused to level out no matter how many times she ironed it.

“Uina?”

“Mmmhf?”

Her bloody-sunset scaled coworker glanced over to her with a mouth full of dried fish. She frowned at Yian’s still-full lunchbox.

“Do you think we were a bit… I don’t know, harsh to the newcomer?”

“Harsh?” Surprise fluttered across Uina’s face like an annoying fly. “Why do you think that? We’ve been shoved about by Kumo for the last near-century. Why should we feel bad for one?”

Yian didn’t respond immediately, staring at her food. Her gut seemed to twist with some unknown emotion, one undefined by reason to her.

Logically, she regarded Uina as right: the Kumo were thieves and slavers to Elenria- they’d taken and given back only so that they could take more under the pretense of helping. But that was before she’d seen Sasaki nearly brust into tears at the worktable- she’d seen Kumo yell at one another before, but… one that was at the same level as Elenrians? Impossible. Unheard of, in fact she doubted that this Kumo wouldn’t got home at night to some grand apartment in the nicer districts of Merritaun.

“If they wanted to be kind,” Uina assured her with a hand on Yian shoulder, “They would’ve- they should’ve done it by now.”

Yian slowly nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Come now, eat up. We’ve the rest of the day ahead of us.”

Yian noticed that Sasaki had become noticeably averse to looking up from her work- she’d bent over her workspace and avoided eye contact.

The inselni’s thoughts crumpled and folded like the completed kimono in her hands. If this was spy work, she wasn’t doing a great job.

But then again, she reasoned, was she a spy? No, course not. She didn’t know about anything of the sort, so how should she know that Sasaki wasn’t listening in on the others, or watching them through another angle?

Old fables about fantastical spies from centennial legends briefly flashed through Yian’s mind as she set to work cutting a new set of silk. Perhaps Uina was right.

The end of the workday arrived in silence. The foreman seemed too distracted counting all of the hampers with the completed pieces to shout at the workers, a fact immediately taken advantage of as the workers shuffled out of their seats to quietly chat.

Yian shuffled the last of her finished product into the hamper for the foreman to count, not really caring about the numbers- they’d get the same pay anyway. In the middle of packing up for the day to go home, she noticed Sasaki’s hamper- nearly empty, save for a handful of hastily formed kimonos. The whole set would be best described as pathetic, especially as she glanced at her own and neighboring workplaces, whose hampers were stuffed to the brim.

Uina bumped her. “It’s rude to stare,” she reminded quietly.

Yian turned away promptly. “Right, right.” She began collecting her things, scooping her lunchbox away and slipping it into her tailbag.

“Listen up!”

The foreman’s voice brought the heads of the workers back up from their chatter and idlilty, concern growing as the secretary entered with a metal box.

“Starting today, your pay is proportional to your work done here. I didn’t make this decision- the boss did, so don’t whine to me. Get your pay at the door. You’re free to leave.”

Silence. The workers didn’t look at each other for once- they looked directly at the foreman, unspeaking, unmoving.

Judging would be the most polite phrase used to describe their gaze.

Damning at the worst.

“I said,” -The foreman’s words audibly cracked as he raised his voice. “You’re free to go!”

To Yian’s surprise, Sasaki’s comparatively larger figure abruptly brushed past her and the other workers as they began to move about towards the exit, snatching a tiny bundle of Yairen that was handed to her as she reached the doorway.

Not once did she look back as she hurried out, leaving the whole room staring after her.

---

It was not until when the workers had gotten on the trolley to leave that they spoke again.

“The hell’s that Kumo’s problem?”

Someone spat. “Company spy, probably. Watch yourselves.”

“Company spies cry in public? I didn’t know that.”

Yian leaned against the wall of the trolley as the car shuddered and began to move, listening to her coworkers' talk.

“We’re not actually following through the boss’s bullshit, are we?”

“Of course not. Come now, let’s divvy up the pay. Does anyone know how much Sansachi- Sanasi-”

“Sasaki.”

“-How much Sasaki made? We need to count that in.”

“You did see her leave with a fistful of Yairen, right? We’re going to be giving her money. Our money.”

Yian heard one of the Etchers groan from their seat at the end of the trolley. “Oh shut it. Honor says to treat strangers with good will. She’s a stranger, yes. She’s also a Kumo, yes. She’s also still under the same yoke as the rest of us. Give her her due share.”

“She spent more time sniveling than weaving!”

“You spent more time doing the same when you turned seventeen. How do you know how others live? We aren’t thieves, we don’t steal others’ property. Split the money and account her share.”

Yian raised her hand. “Does anyone know where the Kumo, Sasayi-”

“Sasaki.”

“Sasaki. Does anyone know where Miss Sasaki lives?”

“Well, she seemed to be interested in you the most, Yian. Why don’t you do it?”

The suggestion was a joke, but she frowned at the thought, quiet.

Uina scowled. “Don’t actually go volunteer for it, Yian. How do you know you’re not in trouble?”

“If I were in trouble, I’d be in a cell by now, right? I’ll ask around, see if anyone’s seen that sort of Kumo around. They love the night markets- and I met an old friend who’s worked there for a good long time. I’m sure they’ve seen her, or at least know someone who does. And even if that doesn’t work, I’ll just bring in the pay tomorrow.”

The whole car erupted in a clamor of protests.

“Yian,” Uina grimaced. “I know you’re a kind person, but you don’t need to be kind to Kumo. You know what they’ve done. Hell, you of all people should enjoy their company the least!”

Yian shook her head. “No. I’ve made up my mind. Give me her share and I’ll figure it out.”

With a sigh, she took the wad of Yairen and slipped it into her dress.

[StaolDerg]

Springtime was meany things to Yian: the warm evening breeze, the still-soaked paving stones from the spring monsoons, and of course, cicadas screaming in an uninterrupted din that echoed across the streets.

Yian walked to her apartment at a relaxed pace, a paper bag hanging from her left hand, weighed down with an evening’s worth of fruit and supper.

There were few people on the streets this time of day- she’d spent a good two hours at the night market catching up with Cai and inquiring about Sasaki. While she’d found little about the Kumo, some of the other business owners had mentioned a new Kumo neighborhood being constructed not far from where the factory was located. GIven how Sasaki had been absent from the trolley, Yian figured her best chances would be to start there.

But that could wait. Right now she was absolutely exhausted- she wanted a bath, a meal, and a good night’s sleep.

She frowned in thought as she reached her apartment building’s door and fiddled with the lock.

Well, no, wait. Sasaki had gone home with probably enough for food, but what if she needed to pay bills today?

Her hand paused on the doorknob. Was she really going to sacrifice her evening for this? Oh, why did she do these kinds of things to herself?

Ok, you know what? A quick meal and then she’d go find Sasaki. She was owed that much at the least.

She stepped into the building and immediately made a turn downstairs to the cellar. To her surprise, a half-dozen other residents were gathered in the cellar kitchen, murmuring to one another in hushed tones that cut short as Yian pushed the door of the room open.

“Oh, it’s just you, Yian. Come in, you won’t believe what’s happened.”

“What’s going on? Shouldn’t half of you be in bed?”

“Yes, but listen… a Kumo moved into the building!”

Yian froze. “A Kumo? Here? Our apartment?”

“Well, no, but the one next door- the neighbors there say she moved into the room adjacent to yours, Yian.”

The inselni could feel her heartbeat quicken. “Why?”

“Hell if we know,” another neighbor piped up, their hands nervously fiddling with their dress. “You didn’t do anything to piss off the government, did you?”

“I’m a textile worker!” Yian responded exasperatedly. “I barely make enough to get by- what business could I possibly do to piss off anyone in the government?”

“Our neighborhood is one of the poorer- well, more affordable ones in the city,” someone noted.

“Have you ever heard of a poor Kumo?” another neighbor pointed out. “Seems too convenient to me. No, I’d say they’re looking for a scapegoat.”

Yian shook her head tiredly. “If they’re expecting me to give some lecture in my room, they’re going to be very disappointed. I’m going to have myself some dinner and then go out for an errand anyhow.”

She turned around to leave, completely forgetting to slice the fruit in her bag, instead proceeding straight to her room to eat her food.

As she sat down, she thought she heard the wind blowing through the window. Didn’t she close the window before she left for work?

Her tired lower horns twitched as she got up with a sigh, only to see that the windows were indeed already closed. She frowned.

What was that sound then?

She rubbed her head and sat back down, unpacking her dinner. She was too tired for this bullshit. Mysteries could wait. Right now, the warm aroma of freshly-cooked vegetables and grilled pork was far more interesting to her.

Even as she dug into her supper, she still thought she heard something rustling.

Yian sighed. The walls were thin. It was probably a neighbor.

She finished her meal, washing down the last of the vegetables with a drink of water.

More rustling.

Word, it was loud. What were they doing, dragging a mattress around? She looked around her room. There was a bucket of putty in her room somewhere. It couldn’t hurt to seal some cracks in the wall.

As she crouched to her bed and pulled out the drawers beneath it, she realized it wasn’t rustling at all. In fact, it sounded like someone sniffling… crying?

She paused. Normally she wasn’t nosy, but listening to the sounds it seemed to be coming from the far wall… in the direction of the neighboring building.

Hadn’t her neighbors mentioned a Kumo moving into that room?

Well normally she wouldn’t be so nosy, but… she had never heard a Kumo even on the verge of tears before today. If she had been asked before meeting Sasaki, she would’ve thought they had two emotions: disdain and contempt.

She quietly crept up the to the wall, tracking the sound of her new neighbor to a particularly large crack in the wall. She hadn’t noticed it before- it seemed to have been there since construction, given how it had been painted over. It wasn’t wide enough to see through, but as she traced the cracks, it branched out along the wall in a wide network of breaches.

“Cheapskate developers,” she muttered to herself. That explained why she could hear her neighbor so well.

She gently put her lower horn against the crack, concentrating on the sound of her neighbor crying, and though she felt awkward just leaning against the wall like some nosy gossip, her attention was roused by the voice of her neighbor.

“I can’t believe I’ve done this to myself. Stupid, stupid. Should’ve just kept my mouth shut!”

Yian frowned. She recognized that voice. Was that…

“I’m sorry Mom… You never wanted me to be like this. ‘Grow and be successful, Chiho.’ Well, I’ve only gone and fucked it all up. All my coworkers hate me, my boss hates me, my neighbors hate me.”

She heard a sniff and the rustle of fabric. Wiping her tears, probably.

Yian quietly got on one knee, trying to get into a more comfortable position. It was Sasaki for sure. It had to be.

Well, what to do? She didn’t sound like a spy. Company spies didn’t move in right next door, did they? A little voice inside her wanted to get up and reassure the Kumo, but she stopped it mid-voice. A Kumo? What sympathy did she owe someone who would cut her in lines at the best and tear out her innards- The memory cut itself short mid-thought.

Yian turned and got up, reaching into her tailbag for the money. It wasn’t a massive amount of money- but it was enough for rent, a good meal, and maybe some small comforts- a bag of sweets, a small collection of dime novels, that sort of thing.

She felt bad. Insanity, wasn’t it? She felt bad for a Kumo!

She could still hear Sasaki murmuring to herself, and her hearts fell. Didn’t she too deserve kindness? Didn’t all people on Ouhiri deserve kindness?

Yian sighed frustratedly. She’d been raised to consider all people around her good. But what if Vyta was right? That people take and take?

She looked at the money in her hand again.

She could keep it. No one would stop her, even if she told her coworkers. It was Kumo, for crying out loud. They’d done more work in an hour than she’d done in a workday. Surely they deserved it more by far!

No.

No, that little voice in her said. It wasn’t right. She wasn’t that sort of person.

She made for the door, money in hand. Others might take, but as long as she could, she’d give back. Life was cruel, but good people made it bearable. She had the will and ability to be one of them.

At the door, she stopped and looked at the bag of fruit. Her mind went Vyta those days ago, with the platter of sliced fruit.

Oh, what the hell.

She grabbed the bag and bowed out of her room and made for the street below.

[StaolDerg]

The neighboring building was undescribably plain.

She was sorry to call it that, but that was what it looked to her. It might be a new and flashy building to anyone from the old world, but as someone who had been raised in the traditional Elenrian house of elaborate decorations and engravings on every tile upon the floor, this apartment was a desert of uncreative wood and brick cobbled together in the most unappreciable application of housing architecture known to Ouhiri.

She struggled with the front door for a moment before entering the building and seeking out Sasaki’s apartment, reaching a dark pine set of double doors that were wide as she was tall.

Hesitantly, awkwardly, she reached out to knock, her mind still unsure.

She could very well avoid herself the trouble. She could just turn around, go back to her room and take a well-earned nap.

But she would not let herself move from her spot before the door. She’d come this far, and the money was still clutched in her hand.

So she sighed and took a deep breath.

And with three solid beats on the pine surface, she knocked.

At first, it was silent. Yian knit her brows in concern. Had Sasaki fallen asleep?

She looked around. Wait, had she simply left the building? She was a Kumo- could she have just crawled out the window.

But then followed a cacophony of crashing and colliding from within the apartment room, like the whole roof had caved in. Before Yian could even call out to within, the door was violently wrenched open, Sasaki’s face staring at Yian, her eyes still red and puffy from crying.

They wordlessly stared at each other for a moment before Sasaki began to close the door, but Yian pushed herself forward and held the door open with her free hand before it could fully close.

“Wait.”

“What do you want?” Sasaki asked, her voice barely audible.

“I-” Yian paused, considering Sasaki’s words. She hadn’t thought that far. In fact, she realized that hadn’t even expected to be so upfront as to actually put herself between the closing door, or even Sasaki to open the door in the first place.

Sasaki’s eight eyes bore into her. At first they seemed angry, but as Yian stared back, they blinked, and she could see the sorrow hovering just beneath.

“...I wanted to say sorry. For my coworkers.”

Yian paused again, trying to pull herself together. “We don’t see Kumo often-”

That was the wrong choice of words. Sasaki visibly recoiled at the way she was described, and Yian felt the pressure of the door increase against her arm.

“-We don’t meet Kumo who aren’t usually after us,” she hastily corrected herself. “Usually the only Kumo we’ve ever interacted with cut us in line at the market, or are like the boss, Tanamoto-kama: speak down to us, push us around, that sort of thing.”

Sasaki just stared at her. She couldn’t tell if it was a glare, but given the pressure of the door hadn’t increased, Yian figured she hadn’t messed up again yet. She took a breath and continued.

“When we first met you, we thought you were a company spy. Or a police informant, any of those things. We never expected to meet a Kumo that didn’t just want us to wash their paws. And when you got yelled at by the boss, well, I guess the others found their nerve and started on you instead. It wasn’t right of them, of us, to turn on you like a bunch of undisciplined schoolchildren, and for that…”

She couldn’t believe she was about to genuinely apologize to a Kumo, but she sighed and stopped pressing against the door.

“For that, I’m sorry. I should’ve known better than to judge you by your race. I should’ve understood that no two people are the same, no matter where you come from, no matter what race. We were hasty to judge you, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Sasaki was quiet. Yian couldn’t tell if she was seething at first underneath those eight eyes, but her own eyes widened as Sasaki’s lip quivered and the Kumo crumpled forward into the inselni’s arms, sobbing into her shoulder with her arms wrapped around Yian.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Yian awkwardly patted the Kumo’s back, trying to comfort her. “You don’t need to thank me. We shouldn’t have turned you away in the first place.”

Sasaki shook her head over the inselni’s shoulder.

“No. You didn’t have to find me to say sorry. You could’ve cussed me out too, but you told the other workers to leave me alone. That’s more than what I could ever ask for.”

Yian raised the hand that was still carrying the bag of fruit. “I have some fruit I got at the market,” she offered. “Would you like some?”

---

Sasaki’s room was a web. Yian guessed maybe ten or twenty yards worth of silk strand quite literally made up the the furnishing of the room- the curtains themselves were a dense sheet woven in a single organic, unseamed piece: just a web that spanned out from a corner, with upon layer of silk draped over it.

They both noticed at seemingly the same time that there was no place for Yian to sit, which Sasaki profusely apologized. “I’ll make you a hammock right now.”

“Right now?” Yian asked, dumbfounded. “Won’t that take a bit?”

“No?” Sasaki looked apprehensively at Yian. “I can spin one up at a moment’s notice. Watch!”

To Yian’s utter amazement, the Kumo was suddenly upside-down on the ceiling, connecting one point to the other on the ceiling. She moved too fast to track her movements; her legs seem to blur in movement, knitting, weaving, moving all at once.

Before it seemed that Sasaki had only begun, she dropped down from the ceiling with a surprising light hop, her hands proudly clasped together as Yian admired the Kumo’s handiwork.

Even though she’d worked with Kumo silk before, Yian was still surprised by the strength of the white fibers as she clambered onto the hammock, rocking gently with the bag of fruit still clutched in hand, seated securely between her knees.

“This is wonderful!” Yian commented to a beaming Sasaki. Without meaning to, she looked at Sasaki, only stopping herself too late when the question had been asked. “But… how come you weren’t able to make a Kimono.

Sasaki’s shoulders sagged, but she seemed to take it better than Yian expected. “It’s… hard to explain? I can work with my own silk more easily. It’s like it guides itself on the web I make, with a mind of its own. Sort of like how you liz- how you Elenrians can fly!”

Yian was surprised that Sasaki corrected herself over the name, but moreso over how the Kumo’s silk worked. “Why didn’t you use it on the factory floor?”

Sasaki scuttled up to beside Yian on a draping bridge of web. “We’re allowed to do that?”

Yian spoke as she unpacked a large orange from the bag. “Well, we’ve never had a Kumo working with us before, so there aren’t any rules against it.” She pulled out a knife and began slicing the orange in half. “Besides, that’s never stopped us.”

The kumo took the sliced half of orange Yian offered her and bit into it, breaking into the dense pulp of the fruit. Yian chuckled as Sasaki surprisingly cupped her hand beneath the dripping fruit.

“Do it like this,” she offered, showing the Kumo how to wedge her finger between the peel and the fruit, separating the two. “It’s easier to eat this way,” she explained with a smile.

Sasaki copied Yian, carving her slice from the peel, triumphantly slipping the freed slice straight into her mouth.

The inselni grinned. “You got it.”

The two sat and enjoyed the fruit, going from oranges to grapes, and then to dragonfruit. “There were durians for sale too,” Yian mentioned through a dense piece of dragonfruit. “But they’re too big to carry.”

“Durians aren’t that big,” Sasaki returned. “In Kumosenkan they’re maybe only twice the size of the oranges we ate.”

Yian made a face. “Where are you getting such tiny durians? Here they’re the size of melons!”

“The only one I ever had was from Hawaii, I think,” Sasaki replied, confusion crossing her dragonfruit-stained face. “Are they supposed to be that big? And smelly, in that regard?”

“We like to joke that the smell’s the extra payment you have to pay after the initial cost,” Yian laughed. “But they are! The next time I have a chance, I’ll bring you some, see if you like it!”

Sasaki’s smile was undulated by tears now, and where tears had rolled down her cheeks, she wiped away errant stains of the fruit she was eating.

“Thank you, Yian. I appreciate it.”

They ate through another piece of dragonfruit before a thought crossed Yian’s mind. “If you don’t mind me asking, how’d you end up here?”

Sasaki looked up at her with all eight eyes. “What do you mean?”

“How’d you end up working with us? I thought Elenria was practically a well-off family’s dream come true in Kumosenkan. Why are you living in the part of Merritaun, with the rest of us Elenrians?”

Sasaki fell silent as she swallowed her bite of dragonfruit, long enough for Yian to worry that she’d pushed too deep.

But she rested on her little silk perch, staring at the purple felsh of fruit and just sighed.

“My mother. She worked for the government- brought me to Elenria in I think… summer of ‘15.”

Yian gave her host her full attention, sitting cross-legged on the hammock. “You were a child then?”

“Well, an adolescent. She had me study at one of the top schools in Elenria, some place that the other Kumo students called “The Cavern.” It had a massive campus with a huge underground catacomb. I don’t recall the name; it was very hard to pronounce.”

Yian nodded. She figured she knew the one Sasaki was referring to.

The Kumo shook her head at the memory. “But it didn’t last long. My mother suddenly died- and while that left me broken in a hundred ways by itself, her death was a mystery to the police, who said that she died under mysterious circumstances. And that meant that her money in the bank was frozen for the duration of the case.”

Yian scowled. “No grace of the law to allow you a tiny portion to get by?”

“Nothing.” Sasaki suddenly looked confused. “Don’t you know that already?”

“Well,” Yian replied with a shrug, “I’d heard of it, but laws are finicky at best in places outside of Casinat Pora like Aundui Yio. You have to understand Elenrians operate differently from province to province, and even though Kumosenkan reorganized said provinces so it’s less complicated, a lot of people won’t follow what they consider new laws unless they’re being directly threatened. And the territorial army already can barely keep itself from imploding, let alone police misdemeanors every single day.”

“Elenrians just… ignore laws?” Sasaki looked mortified.

“Not all of them!” Yian quickly explained. “I’ve explained poorly. Just ones they find annoying and have the ability to get around: for example, if you froze the a person’s bank account, their family would just ask the community for help instead. For a lot of Elenria, that’s how we do business- not with a single person to another, but as whole communities. If I’m able to buy a bunch of fruit from the countryside farms at the market for cheap for instance, it might be because my community agreed with the farmers’ community to provide them with a shipment of new plows. Simply put, our communities are our second spine: if we personally fall, our community is obligated to hold us up until we can be on our feet again.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry for taking us off the topic.”

Sasaki smiled. “No! Its really interesting to learn about your culture… Y- yiam?” She stuttered out an attempt at her name, now realizing she never asked it, having only overheard it from the other workers.

“Yian.” The Inselni corrected with a smile of her own, nodding slightly. “But I presumed you ended up here after all that?”

“In a way.” Sasaki thoughtfully tapped her chin. “I think I just scoured the local newspaper for any open job, and ended up here.” She slipped the last of the dragonfruit into her mouth at that, looking around for something to wipe her hands with.

“Well,” Yian said looking out the window at the darkening sky. “I’d best get going and leave you to rest. Come with me, there’s a water pump out back we can use to wash our hands.”

Sasaki made a face. “Doesn’t the sign on it say that it’s private?”

“They’re Surname Souna,” Yian replied offhandedly. “A neighboring community. We can use their water pumps because my community gives them a discount on good ore.”

They exited to the rear courtyard of the building: it was a sad little patch of dark earth that had a path of sunken planks to a singular metal water pump, which appeared to be the only thing in the courtyard that was well-maintained to any degree: the pump was free of rust on any area, and its blue-painted surface was new with seemingly freshly-dry paint.

As they rinsed their hands, they heard the door of the apartment building click open with a neighbor stepping out. At the sight of Kumo, they froze, their eyes wide.

“Oh cut it out,” Yian barked from the pump handle without looking up. “She’s with me.”

“A Kumo?!”

“Are you going to get water or not?” The inselni asked tiredly. “I’ll explain the semantics another day when my bones don’t feel like they’re about to crack.”

The neighbor reluctantly hurried over to the pump as Yian waved for Sasaki to follow. “I need to get going myself, and I advise you get some rest. Our work’s tiring on a good day and utterly draining on a bad one. But before I go, I want to introduce you to a tradition.”

In the ground floor hallway of the apartment, Yian pulled out the bundle of Yairen and pushed it into Sasaki’s hand. Though the Kumo stammered and resisted, Yian interjected her.

“This is how things are done in Elenria.” she explained, staring Sasaki in the eye. “We add up our pay and divide it equally. If one person has to go off work to do something else, everyone covers their shift. Everyone is paid. It doesn’t matter if you’re a fast worker or a slow worker: as long as you work for others, they will work for you.”

Sasaki’s eyes were once again brimming with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For introducing me to your culture.”

“Our culture,” Yian suggested. She gave her a heartfelt grin. “After all, you’re an Elenrian now.”