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(20) - When the Sun Stops By for Sandwiches - NEW

*for readers: Please read this chapter if you haven't already. It's new and, as it introduces a brand new character, is integral to the plot and your overall enjoyment of the story! Thank you!*


AT THE SPROUTED SEED, one of Triad's thirty bakeries and cafes, Leonora Sneed was busy being bored. Not that she tried to be any other way. Boredom, much like the Seed's affordable pastries and breads made with quality ingredients, was her brand. 

One she'd spent a great deal of effort perfecting. Young at twenty and three, Leonora had sunk hours into studying the art of boredom. Seated in front of her mirror, she had perfected her countenance - one of a placid, indifferent expression and dull, disinterested eyes. Her mouth was forever an undisturbed line carved above the cleft of her chin, her hooded eyelids one blink from collapsing upon each other. Her concentration never wavered, her dedication to her boredom never allowing for another emotion to take its place. 

What remained of her father's clientele were quick to comment on Leonora's lifeless appearance and apathetic attitude, as her gloom stood out amongst the shop's glistening, starchy, cream-filled delicacies. 

She's rather sour, isn't she? And in a shop with such sweet confections. How tragic. 

When Mrs. Bromwell had swanned in that day to pick up her usual order of one dozen spiced syrup rolls, Leonora had found the woman's lacy dress and gemmed stockings rather tragic, not Leonora's face. 

I'm surprised her attitude hasn't curdled the butter.

In truth, so was Leonora. 

Edmune ought to hire someone capable of smiling to work the register. Guaranteed increase in sales. 

Leonora's father had employed someone capable of smiling, so much so, Leonora often imagined the corners of the woman's mouth held up by tiny, invisible chairs, so often had she smiled. 

Back then, smiles were like magick to Leonora, their sheer existence capable of making the world brighter, but then that employee had left, and taken the smiles with her.

They're one day away from financial ruin, The Sprouted Seed's doors closed for good. Can you imagine? Poor man lost his wife, is about to lose his business, and his daughter acts like she can't be bothered to care. Despicable if you asked me. 

No one had asked Mr. Kameron. At eighty-eight, widowed, missing most of his teeth and reeking of clove, no one had ever asked Mr. Kameron anything. But still, he had a point. Maybe Leonora was despicable. 

A better daughter would have smiled more, when such commodities were in short supply. 

Never mind that. Hot gossip, that was all it'd been. Leonora let it wash over her, flowing in one ear and out the other. She never let it linger in the space between her ears, for fear of it infecting her thoughts. 

Triadians spoke simply to enjoy the sound of their own voices, nothing more. 

"--eo!" 

Leonora pressed her lips together, flour-specked fingers roaming across her apron. A lump of dough stared up at her, miserable and oblong. One side squatter than the other, the egg wash hastily applied, and thicker in the middle. The scoring, which was supposed to imitate a blossoming rose, a jagged tangle of no real shape or grand design.

She plopped it into a buttered tin, the dough deflating even more, and shoved it into one of the lower ovens, easily within her reach.

She didn't need to stretch off her chair to reach it, thank gods. Millie wasn't the most cooperative AI, despite that being part of her programming, and she never activated the chair's magickally enhanced lift mechanism when Leonora needed it.

The chair was supposed to make life easier for Leonora, but it was mostly dead, metallic weight. Unless of course, one counted snark. Then, Millie's usefulness knew no bounds.

Grabbing a timer from off the rack, Leonora set it without looking. It didn't matter whether her bread undercooked or burned up; her father would never sell it. Something she had baked would never survive his scrutiny.

Much like her.

And it would be tossed in the trash and forgotten. A mistake easily cleansed from the world.

Just like he probably wished he could do with her.

He'd probably sign the bakery away, his life's work, all to have a daughter back who smiled.

"Gods, Leo–" A snide, somewhat snobbish voice, slithered up from the speaker box imbedded in the chair's right armrest. "--You even care anymore?"

Leo shrugged, and then realized that Millie, while equipped with motion detectors and a plethora of sensors built in to her framework, did not, in fact, have eyes. Thank the gods for small mercies. "Not really." She wiped her hands down her apron, flour collecting in her lap. 

The chair pivoted, a squeak of wheel on tile. "I think I could do a better job, and I'm a disembodied AI."

"Yes, well," a sigh pressed between Leo's teeth, the sound similar to when Millie engaged her cooling fans, "you're more than welcome to try, Mils."

Around her, the kitchen buzzed with noise, the air tangy and sweet, the mixers loaded with pastry and bread dough. Jars of yeast soured on the windowsill, a rack of tart shells cooling in the corner. The icing stations were covered in puddles of chocolate, cream and jams, colorful icing crystals sprinkled atop each mess. The trash overflowed with fruit rinds, empty boxes, and exploded pastry bags.

Leonora had loved it all once. Rising with her parents before the sun did, her chair wheels crushing cobblestones as her mother pushed her down the promenade, her father's store keys jingling from inside his coat pocket.

Once inside, Leo's mom would wrap her up in an apron, two sizes too big, and Leo had watch her mother knead dough, the flour collecting in the scars along her knuckles. She'd whistle the lullaby she'd sung to Leo before bed last night, and her father, tucked away in a corner, would try to conceal a smile while he patted crumbly shortbread crusts into tins.

When Leo had gotten old enough, she was allowed to decorate the cookies. The outcomes of which had been disastrous - little birds turned into blood-soaked predators more suited to terrorizing the Blood Plains than the store's display case.

Those memories were bitter now, stale. Work at The Sprouted Seed had become perfunctory, the same day experienced over and again. And it was all rather cold.

"--eo!"

"Hey, Leo?"

Leo glanced down at the sleek, curved metallic armrest. "What, Mils?" Beside her, the oven with her bread started wheezing smoke. She lowered the temperature dial, probably far too low. The loaf would come out burnt and raw, a creation all her own. Perhaps Leo could convince her father to name it after her.

Leonora's Texture Torment.

"Your father's calling for you."

The sun was barely in the sky, and already he wanted to see her? Had he sensed the travesty being baked in his ovens? Or maybe it was just intuition guiding him at this point, a father's knowledge about his daughter's likelihood of messing up. She groaned, head thudding against Millie's supple leather headrest.

"Should I run a quick diagnostics check?"

Leo swept the stringy black strands of her hair from her eyes. "Gods, no Mils. It's not a big dea–"

"One sec..."Another sigh leaped from Leo's mouth unbidden as the chair began to beep. She pressed her eyes close, a familiar pinch behind her temple. She had told the heap of scrap no, hadn't she? The word had slipped from her mouth? The command Millie should have had no other choice but to obey?

Damned thing must be on the fritz again.

"Diagnostics complete. Blood pressure for Edmune Sneed has risen considerably since calling for you. His heart rate has nearly doubled and there's a 43% increase in the likelihood of him lecturing you this evening. Something about responsibility, I'm guessing."

"Thanks for that, even though I didn't ask for any of it. Rather pointless, don't you think?"

"I think I'm rather genius." Millie's engine whirred underneath Leo's seat, and the chair quickly pivoted toward the partitions separating the kitchen from the storefront. "And I am a genius, Leo, considering I was built that way."

The chair started forward.

"Mil–" Leo's hand wrapped around the steering lever. "Mils, stop–" She pulled it back, but the chair's brakes seized up instead, and Millie continued forward. 

"Your father's waiting."

Knowing arguing for control would be pointless when Millie made up her mind, Leo gave a resigned sigh, closed her eyes, and waited for the chair to deposit her at her father's heels, leaving her at his mercy. 

Several dangerously taken turns later, and with a shriek of the brakes, Leo was delivered to her father. He stood facing the bread wall, arms crossed, his eyes inspecting the tray of breads to his left. It was crucial that every loaf was placed perfectly. The dusted loaves needed more light or else they tended to look pale and unappetizing. The glazed loaves were the opposite. Too much light left them looking waxen. Perfect placement was key to enticing customers to buy them.

He broke from his concentration just once, briefly glancing over his shoulder at Leonora. But as soon as his eyes found her face, he whipped back around, grabbed a honey-glazed dark loaf, and stuck it on one of the pedestals.

"You know the rules. Hair tied back." He tossed his own silvery braid of hair over his shoulder for emphasis. Leo's nails dug into her chair.

"Ow, Leo, that hurts," Millie whispered.

"I don't see how. You have no pain receptors."

"You have your mother's hair, Leo." Her father's comment brought Leo's attention to his back. His shoulders were slouched, his waist slimmer, his belt buckle notched at the seventh hole instead of the fifth. "She knew to keep it tied up and back when in the bakery."

Leo gulped. "Of course." She rummaged through her apron pocket, fingers grazing a lumpy ball of hair ties. She took it out, pried one from the bunch, and tied her hair up and back.

Not that her father would know she'd done as he instructed. His back was still toward her, his gaze focused on filling out the bread wall.

She rocked back in her chair, gnawing away at her bottom lip. The display case had been wiped, the trays full with that day's selections. The curtains had been peeled back, allowing for honey-stained sunlight to drip through the windows. A row of dark, wooden tables were rimmed in soft gold. At their centers, Mirthea blinked away in their vases, tiny white petals unfolding, revealing delicately curled stamins. 

Yet another day when Leonora was not needed. She should never have left her bed.

"Leo?"

She bristled at her father's address, her fingers digging into the armrests. "Yes?"

"Turn the sign over, will ya? Let the outside world know we're open?"

Leo did as she was told, ready to get another boring day done and over with. 

*

She'd spent most of the morning watching the cobblestone street outside the shop bake under the sun. Wisps of steam rose off them, a few even cracked. One had crumbled completely beneath the foot of a young, red-headed woman - a noble, judging by her silky, pale-pink smock, and ruched  sleeves. 

Leonora suspected her a visitor, as Triadian locals were familiar with tremors so high up in the mountains, and the young woman had shown surprise when the ground gave out. She dropped, quicker than a sack of potatoes, the second the cobblestone gave, a trio of gentlemen snickering at her under the shade of a Burla. Red-faced and sobbing, she'd picked up her skirts - then tattered and smudged - and bolted down the way, probably to lock herself away in her room until her faux paus was forgotten. 

Thing about Triadian nobles was that they never forgot. 

Poor girl. 

Mrs. Bromwell had come in for her rolls, a stuffed bird nesting in her hair. She said it was a cap, the latest fashion to have overtaken the royal court, but it had too many feathers and a realistic beak to be considered a cap in Leonora's opinion.  

After that, Mr. Kameron ambled his way inside, his brow slick with sweat, his boots thick with mud. He plodded his way to a table, leaving footprints behind that Leonora would have to mop up, and then asked for tea. Leo put a kettle on, and ignored the man as he prattled away about his newest tobacco blend. 

The sun was high in the sky, the promenade bristling with couples, noble and common, and merchants manning their stalls, and miners on their breaks. None bothered to come into the store, not when its competitors offered exotic fare from the Southern Continent, and magickally-sourced ingredients. Why have a boring herbal tea, when one could have tea that could temporarily smooth the skin? Or make it sun-kissed or change one's eye color from emerald to turquoise? 

Why have a regular sandwich, when there were ones that could temper one's hunger, a perfect way to slim one's figure in time for the next royal ball? 

A sigh was halfway out Leo's mouth, when the bell above the door trilled. A breeze, scented with smoke and ladies' perfumes, tousled her hair. She straightened. "Welcome to the--" Her gaze landed on the stranger, leaned against the bakery's doorframe. Tall and lithe. Head covered in bandages, his eyes dark like fruit pits, his plum-stained lips pulled into a grin. "--yellow?" 

He was dressed in yellow, head to toe. Ruffles spilled from the confines of his suit jacket, a scarf -- tied to resemble the petals of a flower-- blooming beneath his jawline. 

At Leo's address, he took a step back and craned his neck to read the sign above the doorway. He pointed, his hand covered in a floral-patterned glove. "It says, The Sprouted Seed."

"Ah, yes. That is the shop's name, but you're--" Heat boiled beneath Leo's skin, making her itch.  She tilted her head, ensuring she was seeing right. A man masquerading as a sun, standing in her father's bakery. She blinked and he was still there. No feverish conjuration, no mirage brought on by the heat. Not a spell woven to entrance, or an imagining of a bored mind. "--yellow," she finished, suddenly aware of the flour under her nails and the egg yolk stains on her apron. "You're incredibly yellow." 

"Oh, Leo," groaned Mil. Her wheels gave little squeaks as they rocked back and forth. "Commenting on colors, really? You'll never land a husband if that's your idea of flirting." 

Leo smacked Millie, hoping that despite not having a mouth, she would take the hint and figuratively shut hers.

The man strode forward, unaware of Leo's argument with her chair, his feet gliding across the floor. "Splendorous yellow, if I say so myself." He settled opposite her, hands resting on the counter. "Bright colors enliven the spirit, no?"

"It's like I'm staring into the sun."

He threw his shoulders back, his lips cracking into an even bigger grin, one that exposed teeth so white they were almost bluish.

"You're not supposed to stare at the sun," she blurted. "It can burn your eyes and leave you blinded."

Smile faltering, he took a step back. The petals of his scarf-flower drooped and something red flashed between his bandages. "Oh."

Leo was used to her words rousing anger or annoyance in the dwindling customer base of The Seed, but for some reason, the man's utter distress and the way his eyes slid over the store-- never honing in on a particular pastry or bread, or an empty table-- caused heaviness to settle in her stomach. It very much felt like whenever she tried to eat bread of her own making. 

Sourness rose up the back of her throat. She clenched her jaw and swallowed. "So," she said slowly, dragging the man's attention back to her face. Under his gaze, she grew antsy like a handful of beetles had been slipped inside her under clothes. "What can I get for you?"

The man perked up like a flower given enough water, his scarf doing the same. "That is the question, isn't it?" His smile returned, his gaze drifted to the menu above Leo's head. It listed the day's specials - fish terrine, an iced herbal blended tea mixed with powdered lover's frond to bolster the shine of one's hair, and a fried eel sandwich on Air Toast.

Air Toast had been her mother's creation- a soft, honeyed bread with such a light texture, it was like eating a cloud. When toasted, the crust added a crunchy, nutty component, that complimented anything. After her mother had passed, her father refused to make it. But it'd returned after a few years. Leo never allowed herself to figure out how the bread's reappearance made her feel. She tamped it down, like she did with anything too complicated, and stayed bored.

The man's eyes lingered on every word, his mouth moving as though his tongue tasted them.

"Leo."

Her gaze dipped to Millie, her fingers covering up the speaker, hopeful to muffle the AI's often too loud voice.

"Not now." She pressed the words through clenched teeth.

"But Leo," Millie's voice was thick with concern, feigned most like, but there was the off chance, the AI was genuine. It had been programmed to care about Leo's wellbeing after all.

"What?"

"I sense a spike in your heart rate, and you're sweating, like a lot." A muffled laugh floated up from the speaker. "Too much and you'll short-circuit my CPU."

"I'll take that under advisement." Leo gritted, her eye twitching in tandem with her mouth.

Before her, the man continued perusing his options. Leo wondered if he even remembered she existed.

"Such variety," he mused, eyes dazzling. "Such innovative combinations. Air Toast? I've never heard of such a thing." He nearly bounced on his toes.

"My mother's creation."

Leo froze, her eyes widening slightly. The man's gaze landed on her.

She fidgeted, messing with her apron strings.

"The Air Toast," she clarified, her eyes dipping to the floor. A sadness she hadn't heard herself speak in a while, crept into her voice. "It was her recipe."

"Sounds divine."

Leo nodded.

"Then, it's decided. I'll have the Eel on Air Toast, ten of them, please." 

Leo's hand faltered over the dial of the register, her eyebrows arching over her eyes. "Ten?" 

"Yes." His eyes fell to the name tag stuck to her apron. "Leonora."

Shaking her head, she started ringing up his order. "Leo. Just call me Leo."

The man leaned forward, a cold front sweeping over Leo as though winter had arrived early. She shivered. "I'm Axion."

Her eyes flicked up to meet his. "Axion." 

It was a strange name in a city filled with Rufuses, and Alberts, and Regynolds, but for a man dressed in yellow, in a city where pastels had become all the rage, it seemed fitting.

"That'll be–" Leo started, but closed her mouth quickly. She leaned around Axion, staring out the window. A pair of soldiers stalked the promenade, a wanted poster in their hands. When they stopped to question a jeweler at his cart, she glimpsed a hastily drawn man on the poster, head to toe in butter yellow. Her eyes flew to Axion's.

He gave a grin, before dipping below the counter.

She blinked. "Axion?"

After a few seconds of shuffling, Axion appeared beside her, crouching. "They think me some unscrupulous vagabond." 

He peeked his head over the counter, eyes narrowed. The soldiers had moved on from the jeweler, questioning a pair of lovers seated on a bench.

Carefully, Leo slid her fingers over to the chair's emergency alarm. One press and it'd ring so loud the whole of the king's army would be alerted to her distress. "And are you?"

Axion turned, his mouth a grim line, the bandages around his eyes slightly crinkled. "Would a vagabond dress so exquisitely?"

"Is that how you think you're dressed?"

He snorted. "I am no vagabond." He reached up, running the frills of his shirtsleeve through his fingers. "I just happened to engage in some harmless trespassing."

Leo felt herself tip forward, a chuckle scraping the back of her throat. She tamped the urge back down, adamant about staying bored. She would not get swept along by this man and his odd behavior.

"I've never heard of such a thing." Her finger hovered unnoticed over the alarm. "Trespassing, as far as I understand it is intentionally engaged in and harmful, as crimes usually are." 

Axion's gaze dropped. "But I am anything but usual. Please--" He raised his head, a thread of silver hair dangling in front of his eye. "You must believe me."

Sighing, Leo relaxed her hand, moving it off the alarm, and sinking further into Mil's cushioned back. She nodded. "For some reason, I do believe you. I've never heard of a criminal wearing bright colors to the would-be scene of their crime." 

A chuckle fell out of Axion's mouth.

"So, how does one find themself engaged in harmless trespassing?" 

Outside, the guards had passed, but Leo and Axion remained crouched and hidden, talking as though they were conspiring to overthrow the crown. It was an odd way to have a conversation with a stranger, but not the worst. Axion didn't smell like clove or leave mud prints on Leo's clean floors as Mr. Kameron had, or sniff and condescend to Leo about fashion as Mrs. Bromwell had. Out of all of the Sprouted Seed's customers today, he was proving to be the most congenial. 

"I--" Axion started after clearing his throat. "Am a traveler to your great city." Leo could have guessed that much by his outfit alone - everyone knew pastels were the fashion of the season, after the Queen Regent had declared bright colors to be 'too hostile' on the eyes.

"As such," he continued, "I was determined to sample all of Triad's culinary offerings. To do so, meant I needed to create the most efficient route through the city's winding streets." 

"And?" 

"The Risen, this store, and The Milled Oat are all on this side of the Delios. But the amount of bridges are too few to accommodate the traffic, the river itself too deep to be forded by foot. Not that I would, my attire is much too resplendent. To avoid delay, I sought out another route that happened to lead straight through your premier's backyard." 

Leo almost fell out of her seat. "You're serious?" There was an excited edge in her voice, one she made no move to dampen. "You crossed through her yard? Her home's the second most guarded in the city besides the castle." 

"Yes," Axion grumbled. "I'm aware of that now." His gaze darted across the counter, and seeing as the guards were gone, he stood. "I had to give several hawk-eyed soldiers the slip before they could run their swords across my throat."

"And you weren't trying to break into her house and rob her?" 

"No," said Axion looking aghast. A hand had flown up to his chest, to indicate the wound Leo's words inflicted. "I would never." 

Leo put up her hands in an attempt to broker peace. "Fine, fine. I believe you."

"I can vouch for Leo, Axion. Her body language is relaxed, her posture slouched. You even managed to get her heart racing. I think she nearly smiled to--" 

Leo's hand quickly slipped over Mil's speaker. 

Axion blinked as he moved his gaze between Leo and her chair. "Your chair...speaks?"

"Uh–well--" Leo reached up, nervously tugging at her ponytail. "Yes, it does. Too often and too loudly, I'm afraid."

Axion leaned over the counter, his shadow draping over Leo. Again, she was hit with a cold breeze that made her shudder.  "Well, chair--" he extended his hand, "I am Axion, but you seem to know that already."

The chair squeaked, Millie's voice as sweet and sickly as icing. Oh for gods sake, who was she trying to fool? "I'm Millie, the AI that operates Leo's chair. What's the deal with your bandages? Survive a fire?"

"Mils!"

"Oh uh–" He plucked at the one covering his nose, a sheepish grin prying his lips apart. "Skin condition."

"Is it contagious? Not that it matters, because Leo wouldn't mind, either way. Judging from her biometrics, she really likes yo—"

Leo punched the chair forward. It hopped on its wheels, before rounding the counter. "I'm sure all that trespassing's worked up an appetite, accidental or not." She pointed at an open table in the back, far from the windows and draped in shade. "Why don't you have a seat, while I get your order prepared?"

Axion's gaze flitted between Leo and her chair, before he nodded. "Yes, you're right. I'm famished." 

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