Hex and the City 3: Monday

 A series played using Songs of the City. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

THE WITCH

Name: Sasha Wolfe

Pronouns: They / Them

Aesthetic: Cottagecore

Transport: Public transport and walking

Home: Studio flat in a converted warehouse

THE CITY

Name: Requiem Hold

Description: Historic walled city that has grown with successive migrations. Architecturally it is a classical stonework foundation with steel and glass above towering it. Culturally it is a mixture of traditions and peoples sharing and innovating practices, technologies, and festivals.

Fear: That the overly conservative local government will cause the city to break apart into factions and lose its pluralistic coherency.

Hope: That small acts of community will help to strengthen the bonds of community and promote wider civic participation.

Time: The middle of a cold, wet autumn following a long, hot summer.

Monday

I'd been looking a a place to stay in Sympas, nothing special, just a converted storefront that combined a workshop with a small living space, but it had potential for starting my own reading space. I'd dashed from the shop back to the monorail station just in time to board the magnolia line with the tail end of the commuters. I squeezed into a seat near the rear of the last carriage and opened my notebook to begin scribbling down my impressions of the space and my plans for it. I was deep in my thoughts and lost track of the number of stops we'd taken, only rising from my reverie when we reached Reflecia and the harried student boarded the monorail.

Reflecia is the moon to Midtown Neon's sun with the narrow canal dividing them almost imperceptibly, most of its course hidden behind buildings or buried beneath wide bridges. Whereas Midtown Neon is the cultural hub of the city, or at least this side of it, Reflecia is the bohemian suburb where the artists retire and start families. Its proximity to its counterpart had seemingly protected it from gentrification so far, but I wondered how long that would continue. Artists friends of mine were increasingly commuting in from further and further afield, making homes for themselves in the crack of the increasingly affluent city.

At first glance the student was perhaps the child of an older generation of creatives, ones who'd been able to afford to live in Reflecia. Their style was a mixture of current trends and vintage pieces, both would be beyond the means of most artists I knew. They bustled aboard the monorail and threw themselves into the last remaining free seat, one directly in front of me. As they struggled within their voluminous, oversized coat one hand delicately unwrapped their scarf while the other held a mobile phone to their ear. I generally tried not to listen in to the phonecalls of others in public, no matter how loudly they shared them with their fellow commuters. Today, I was tired and allowed myself a lapse, letting the student's conversation wash over me.

They spoke wearily of the challenges they were facing; cost of living increases, tuition fees to be paid, and expensive equipment to buy. I gathered they were studying at the university, probably the Fortune Park campus where the bakery school was located. Endel always spoke highly of it, or rather of the pastries the campus bakery sold. I thought about how much joy we take in the small indulgences the city provides us, we don't always have much spare cash so the discounted, student made desserts were something we looked forward to. I pulled my scarf loose and began to twirl it through my fingers as I listened and thought about croissants.

My mind drifted to thoughts of the Moirai and their threads of fate. In my minds eye I almost caught a glimpse of the golden strands of light that they weave about us. Perhaps those threads are within reach, perhaps we can even nudge them a little, in the aid of making things a little better for everyone. Or everyone who likes pastries at least. The scarf flowed back and forth, it twisted and thrummed with each pass, the momentum of destiny building. I pulled the scarf tight in a sharp motion and the golden strand extending from the student snapped taught. I marvelled for a moment, seeing such things never fails to amaze me. I tentatively reached out and brushed the thread with my fingertips, hearing a cosmic harmony resonate.

We pulled in to Midtown Neon and the student started gathering up their belongings. It wasn't all that surprising that less time had passed than it felt like. I was used to time slipping and jumping when the higher arts were in play. I sent the rest of the journey to Gaffcairn in silence.