The end of Summer brings with it a light chill and a thin blanket of clouds, pleasantly stable and temperate in contrast to the heatwaves and rainfall of the last few months. Elouan has always appreciated the stagnancy and safety of this time of year, even if it inevitably preludes the cold and darkness of Winter.
Work has been just as stagnant; in the months since taking up his job the boy has remained working the front of the workshop, and has become quite proficient at. He communicates to clients efficiently and systematically, often able to tell what their requests will be before they can finish. He still carries a small sketchbook with a pencil even at work, practicing his drawing when he has nothing else to do.
It is a quiet morning, and Elouan is once again considering producing his sketchbook to attempt to draw the interestingly shaped valve Lucile left on the counter. Ultimately he has no particular interest in producing art of valves or any other mechanical component for that matter, but its form eludes him, daring him to try to capture its odd curves and grooves.
He is about to reach under the desk when the front door opens, its little bell beckoning the arrival of a well dressed man accompanied by a young looking servant. As the man explains, he is from the architectural guild, who require maintenance on one of their computational engines. It strikes Elouan as odd that they would come all the way down the hill to this side of town just to find a mechanic, until he reveals that the engine is a particularly old and niche model, and that this is the eighth workshop he has visited since the start of the week.
This request, fortunately, is far beyond his knowledge to address, so he calls for Lucile so that she may use her years of expertise to resolve it. When the man re-explains his issue to her she lights up.
"Elouan this is perfect!" She says. The boy is confused. "You've been wanting to get away from the front desk for a while now right?"
"Yes?"
"I need you to go with him and check some details, I should still have the documentation for this model somewhere. The manufacturer went out of business years ago but I've worked on a couple of these machines before."
"Shouldn't you go, if you know what you're doing?"
"Oh no, I'm far too busy to leave the workshop right now. Besides, all you have to do is cross-reference it with some diagrams. Once we're sure exactly what model it is and what modifications have been made I'll take over."
There doesn't seem to be an escape from this. Elouan forces a smile and follows the man out of the door, giving a final sad glance towards that weird valve he couldn't draw.
He isn't sure how they intend to reach the architectural guild from here - they operate from the old castle on top of the hill, probably over half an hour from here even by tram. After walking for a brief few minutes his doubts are put to rest by a bizarre sight: a small, modern looking airship landed in the middle of a grassy square. Surely this can't be within regulations, he thinks, they must be running on an immensely tight timetable to justify this.
It is an odd craft, smaller than Elouan had thought was even possible for an airship, very unlike the hulking metallic giants he would occasionally see flying over the farmlands as a child. Strangest of all, the cabin appears disproportionately large for the lifting body, taking up maybe a quarter of the ship's volume and suggesting an extremely efficient and compact induced lift system. Or at least that's his best guess. The adornments further reflect this glimpse at a next-generation craft, all sleek ridged metal with minimal decorative elements, instead imposing a sense of style and grace through intricate paintwork across its sleek form.
Bewildered by the whole ordeal, the boy gingerly walks up the short steps to the airship's cabin, and the servant closes the door behind him. Before he can get his bearings, Elouan feels a distinctly uncomfortable dropping sensation in his gut as the airship lifts off the ground. He'd felt something similar before the couple of times he'd used one of those new "elevators", but those were mercifully enclosed, insulating him from the sheer vertigo of seeing streets and buildings shrink away beneath his feet. The airship lifts higher and the feeling does not subside, but the boy can't seem to pry himself away from the window. Even as he moves upwards and away the city only seems to grow; row after row of towering buildings revealing a vastness he could never have appreciated from the ground.
It is a brief ride, only a few minutes until they reach the great castle on the hill. The view is strange from up here, so different from the imposing impression it makes from the streets below. Far in the past this building was designed as a symbol of strength and imperial might, the man from the guild explains to him, supposed to instill fear in its enemies and confidence in its occupants, but it has long since surpassed its original purpose. Decades of changing hands and renovations has twisted its form, pipes and wires run across battlements into modern-looking extensions.
Not a moment after they disembark the ship, the man begins explaining the role of the computational engine to Elouan as the pair walk through the busy halls of the castle, weaving in and out of a flood of staff and servants. The crowds thin as they work through the building and down into its basement. The air grows cold and dry, the thick stone walls give the impression of being deep underground, despite still being at one of the highest points in the city.
They stop at the entrance to a secluded room housing the computational engine. This engine, as the man explains, is vast enough that it takes up the entire room; the walls around the boy are actually the insides of the machine. A dull churning noise fills the space. Hastily, he hands Elouan a metal tube containing the documentation before abandoning him to his own devices.
Usually a client would have somebody on hand to explain the task, Elouan thinks to himself, but then again this is exactly why his company was called forth; this engine is ancient, it could even be older than himself, and it was not a popular model at the time. It will surely take a frustrating amount of time to learn how the machine works before he can even begin to diagnose what's wrong with it. He sighs and twists open the tube full of papers.
There are times when Elouan doubts his choice of profession, days can pass where he does nothing but talk to customers and stare at the clock, but the times when he actually gets to work on machines make him remember why he took this path. In that state minutes will blend together into hours as he pours over diagrams and meticulously disassembles, mends, and reassembles intricate works of engineering. He finds himself in one of these flow states as he studies the computational engine, the arcane documentation gradually aligning with his understanding of the physical object in front of him as he tinkers.
"What does that do?" A voice calls out from over his shoulder and makes him jump. Standing behind him is a boy in servant's clothes, bent over so his head is almost level with the young engineer. Elouan must have been so deep in his work that he hadn't noticed his approach. The boy looks about the same age as him, but a little taller with pale skin and dusty green eyes. Strands of red hair poke out from under his hat and draw back into a neat bun.
"It's for uh... calibrating," Eloun says, showing him the tool he was using - a sort of cupped device on a tube somewhat similar to an alchemist's stethoscope in both form and function. The boy marvels at it wordlessly and Elouan looks back skeptically, he had been sent here to do his job, not make smalltalk. "I'm sorry, can I help you?"
"Oh, no. Just curious. I'm around these machines all day but I have no idea how they work."
"Well, they're not as complicated as they look."
"Yeah?" The boy, whoever he is, sounds unconvinced.
"Yeah, you see that row of disks there?" The redhead nods as Elouan speaks. "This whole room is basically just an array of hundreds of these, maybe thousands, connected together. So if you know one of them works, it's pretty easy to understand the entire machine."
"Right, but I don't even understand how one of them works."
"Right." He repeats back, sensing that a greater technical explanation will be lost on the boy.
The boy smiles again, then sits down on the floor next to Elouan, his legs sideways across the ground as he props himself up against the wall in a manner that feels unbecoming of a servant. He narrows his eyes.
"Have we met before?"
Elouan is taken aback by the sudden closeness and change of subject. The boy clearly has no intention of letting him return to his work.
"I don't think so? I mean I've only been living here for a few months and it's not like I've met many people. I'd probably remember." As he's speaking the boy leans forward and reaches out his hand. Elouan freezes as he brushes the brown hair of his drooping fringe away from his eye.
"Hmm," he still has a probing look to him, "you have distinctive eyebrows."
"Eyebrows?"
"They're very dark and thick, it makes you look serious."
He feels a twinge of confusion, what's this guy's problem? Sitting on the floor and messing with a stranger's fringe. Elouan usually hates anybody touching his hair, half the reason he let it get so long in the first place is because he hated haircuts, and his parents can't force him to get them anymore. He'd rather just trim the ends himself than sit through his hair being yanked and turned for an hour. This boy must have a poor sense of boundaries to not see the discomfort he's putting Elouan through. The brunet feels his face redden, probably from frustration.
"Wait, were you on that airship?" He asks, suddenly recalling the other red haired boy he'd seen earlier today.
"Yes, I was at your shop too."
"Oh". Elouan says. That's right, there was a servant boy with the man who came into the workshop.
"You're not too observant are you?"
"I umm, try to keep to myself." He says, awkwardly. Elouan is terrible with faces, he rarely pays attention to other people, always stuck in his own world. This precise scenario happens frustratingly often, it's embarrassing.
The boy gives him a deeply serious stare. His eyes narrow and his mood seems to drop for maybe a second, before he bursts out laughing, which seems odd because Elouan hadn't said anything funny. It's kind of a cute laugh, and a little infectious. Elouan inexplicably finds himself smiling, feeling a little less self-conscious.
"Hey what time do you get your lunch?" The subject has changed again.
"Not until noon." Eloaun looks around the room. "Do you know what time it is?"
The redhead rummages around in his trouser pocket and produces a thick metal shell about the size of his palm.
"12:25." He reads from it before stuffing the timepiece back in haphazardly. "Come with me, I know a good spot."
Before he can think of some excuse to say no, the boy stands up, grabbing a startled Elouan by the wrist and pulling him stumbling out of the door. They exit the basement level to an empty hallway. Marcel walks with the type of brisk confidence that comes from a deep familiarity of a building, straying occasionally from the bigger main corridors to take shortcuts across narrow passageways and winding spiral staircases, making idle chatter all the while. The boy, still holding Elouan's wrist, pushes through a plain wooden door opening up to a small grassy courtyard with a large oak tree in its center.
It is almost disconcertingly quiet compared to the bustling halls inside the castle, the thick stone walls doing a commendable job of blocking out any noise. The wind above them whistles softly, but it does not reach low enough to rustle the leaves of the tree.
"You have something to eat right?" The redhead asks.
"Yeah, in my bag." Which is fortunate. He definitely should have asked Elouan this question before dragging him all the way over here.
"I've got these." he says, producing a pair of satsumas from his pocket, then sitting at the foot of the tree to start unpeeling it. There are no benches in this courtyard, so Elouan joins him on the roots a few paces away. A courtyard with no seats hardly seems like a "good spot" for lunch, perhaps that is why it is so empty, but that doesn't bother him. He's actually quite fond of sitting on the ground.
Elouan takes out a paper-wrapped flatbread from his shoulderbag. He doesn't mind eating them cold, so for the last few weeks he's been buying them first thing in the morning on his way to work. It also means that he doesn't need to spend his lunch break walking back and forth through town, so he has more time to draw. This morning he bought one with mashed chickpeas, salad, and some brightly coloured pickles.
He unwraps it, but before he takes a bite he's captivated watching the other boy make quick work of his fruit peel with his long, boney hands.
"Random question," he starts, slipping a segment of fruit into his mouth, "have you ever been to any life drawing classes in this city?"
"Hmm? Oh, I did once a couple of months ago." The memory is far from pleasant, he had tried to push it down and forget about the whole thing.
"Only once?"
"Yeah, it sucked. The lighting was bad and everyone there seemed pretty rude. Hang on, how did you know I did art?"
"I think that's where I've seen you before, you were at one of those art classes by the riverside weren't you? A couple of months ago?"
"Ohh, right. I was." The memory is far from pleasant, he had tried to push it down and forget about the whole thing.
"I'm sorry you had a bad time with it. I remember seeing this quiet new boy sitting alone and thinking somebody should probably talk to him."
"Oh." A feeling of bitter regret creeps up on him, he'd probably have gone again if he had someone like this to talk to there.
"That's kind of my bad, sorry, I should have actually gone over and said something."
"We're talking now though."
"Yep!" The redhead beams at him. "And now that you know someone there maybe you could go again?"
"I don't know, it didn't really feel like a place for someone like me."
"Don't be silly, I suck at drawing and they let me in. It's a friendly lot there, if you ever go again I'm sure they'd be more than happy to have someone new around."
Elouan feels a swell of excitement and fear. He's never had anyone to really talk to about art; some friends and family would say nice things about his doodles, but nobody understood it. He'd never had anyone to go to for advice or criticism, this could have a profoundly positive effect on his abilities, if he can pluck up the courage to actually talk to anyone there
"Hey, um," he says, forcing the words out of his throat. "So you go there often right?"
"Most weeks, yeah?"
"If I went again, do you think maybe, you could introduce me to anyone there?"
"Of course! I mean, I can't make it this week, but I can definitely do the week after if nothing comes up. Try arriving early, it's much easier to chat before it gets busy."
"Okay, thank you. I'll do that."
"And don't be nervous."
"Okay." It's a hard ask but he'll try his best. Marcel stands up and stretches his limbs, letting out a cute yawn.
"Well, I've got to go now, got work to do." The redhead says.
"Me too, I'll see you soon I guess?"
"For sure."
"Oh," Elouan realises, "I didn't catch your name?"
"Marcel, and yours?"
"Elouan."
Marcel tilts his head and smiles. "You've got a very pretty name, Elouan. See you soon."