Firene: Precipitation

"It'll be all right, 'Rine. I'll look after you."

His mother smiles at her in a manner which is probably meant to be supportive but just looks strained. She's barely spoken five words since they discharged her from the hospital.

"You're welcome in our house, Firene. Valeri has told us so much about you. Is there anything we can do to help?"

She frowns slightly. Her gaze sharpens and focuses on Mrs. Oslawski's face.

"I want to go to Longshore University."

* * * * * * *

"Omberwell? As in Drake Omberwell's daughter?"

She nods, startled by the old herrprofessor's sudden show of interest.

"Well, this does cast things in a different light, does it not? Your father was something of a celebrity among chemists. Almost an alchemist, one might say, hmm?"

Firene has no idea what he's talking about, and it evidently shows on her face.

"From the last few articles he submitted and the preliminary results he shared with some of our mutual colleagues... Drake Omberwell was on the verge of doing some truly spectacular things with metals. I cannot, you understand, share many details with you... walls having ears and so forth, you know... But then perhaps you could tell me what it was he was doing better than I could tell you anyway."

"No, Herrprofessor. I regret that my education was somewhat curtailed by events beyond my control. I have some knowledge of chemistry and metallurgy, but I was not privy to..."

She trails off, blinking hard and biting down on her tongue to keep from crying.

"A pity, a pity. Truly. Still, if you'd managed to salvage any of his research notes, anything at all... You'd find yourself in quite an advantageous position. And I would be more than willing to act as a broker so you would not be forced to deal with... unsavoury characters who might think to put undue pressure on you in your current delicate state."

She stares at him blankly again.

"Forgive me, my dear. Allow me to speak more plainly. According to corporate protocol, your father's research materials, had they survived the fire, would revert to Arclight. And I am certain that if you assisted them, Arclight would make sure you, as Drake Omberwell's only surviving heir, would be well looked after. They might even be willing to pay your tuition at Longshore. But there might be other parties who would be willing to offer more. Gorunna, for instance..."

She stands suddenly.

"Sir, if I were in possession of my father's notes, which I assure you I am not, there would be no question whatsoever regarding their disposal. I would not dream to betray The Company and my father's memory by selling his work to the highest bidder. But this is a futile discussion, because as I have already stated, I do not have them."

"Ah. Well, then, do forgive my indelicacy, Miss Omberwell. I am sure that the Registrar will be able to assist you with the application process and payment of tuition. Perhaps I shall see you in some of my classes. Good day."

* * * * * * *

"You must be joking."

"What? Why?"

"Your application is in order, and you passed the entrance exams, which - no disrespect intended - somewhat surprised me, considering your lack of formal education. In fact, you scored higher than many applicants who have attended school. But you appear to be unable to afford even a single semester's tuition."

"That can't be right. Please, check again."

He types in the codes on the filthy banknotes with exaggerated care.

"Nothing. In fact, your parents appear to be in a spot of trouble with their bank - the account is overdrawn for a significant amount."

Firene makes a conscious effort to slow her breathing.

"All right. I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding. Would you be so good as to provide me with directions to the bank, sir?"

* * * * * * *

"Ooh - innit pretty?"

A painfully thin boy steps out of the alley to her left, and when she turns to face him she hears scuffling behind her. The edge of his rusty knife is the only thing that shines.

"You lost or somefing, sweetmeat? Or you looking for someone, eh?"

She feels something behind her catch at her skirts, hears fabric tearing.

"Sweetmeat's slumming, Chaz! And she brung prezzies, see?"

Hands snatch at the jewelry box. She pulls back sharply and trips over the torn edges of her skirts.

"Well well well... Prezzies first, or playtime? Whatchu think, lads?"

He lowers the knife and pretends to be lost in thought. He's somewhat surprised when Firene screams, kicks him in the shins, and starts running. But only for a moment.

"Ey - no fair! We din't call a hunt!"

She keeps running and tosses a couple of the now-worthless banknotes behind her to distract them. A couple of them stop, but the remainder, including Chaz, seem to find the pursuit much more entertaining. Still, she's better fed and healthier than they are, so she manages to outdistance them. Then she rounds a corner into another alley and finds the other end choked with debris. She hears shouts and catcalls and the pounding of their feet as they approach, and then decides to try to climb the pile of rubbish at the end of the alley.

She tumbles down a few seconds later, opens her mouth to scream...

And realizes she can't hear anything.

In a way, the silence is almost more terrifying. She turns around and sees a man standing in the alley mouth. He's taller than the young toughs were, thin, but wiry-looking. He's covered in blood. She releases her breath, which comes out as a startled but disappointingly decorous shriek.

"Five on one. Tha's hardly a fair go, especially when you're just a little thing."

She stares at him, frozen in shock.

"You should go have y'self a drink. Steady your nerves, like."

He turns to walk away, clearly not expecting any thanks.

"Be seeing you."

"Wait!"

He stops and stares at her as she stumbles over.

"Please... will you help me?"

She opens the charred box. Her mother's jewels glitter in the dim light. He looks at them, then looks back at her, appraisingly.

"Reckon we ought to talk about this somewhere a little more private. And you still look like you could stand a drink. Come on, then."