The Dusk Amber Digit (Halfstreet Archives)- genre: Steam/Otherworld Teen

The Dusk Amber Digit (Halfstreet Archives)- part the fourth

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The shriek of the traincars slamming overspeed upon the highrails, sends shivers through me. I eye the merchants a long time before emerging from the shadows, looking for the ones with the furtive hands, extra sheets of paperleaf handed over with orders that shouldn't need them, expressionless whispering exchanged out of eyelock.

There are only three; two of them too shifty to possess the access of true underground remnants. I look more closely at the third. The one with skin dark as ujutet.

I rummage a bin of grizstix half-heartedly, waiting for his booth to clear. I speak to him immediately when it does; eyes averted.

'How do I obtain an unregistered key,' I ask, unsure whether to hide my pleading

or show him my will. And the roots of its compulsion.

He doesn't meet my aura with resistance, or waves of judgment, but does drag the time, packing cards into decks before him; impressing the appropriate kibua upon the spines of their boxes.

It's some time before he looks me over; a tolerant kind of smile rising from his angular lips.

He sizes first my coat. Then my shoes.

'You appear well-maintained, if not,' he pauses at what I imagine to be hideous hollows under my eyes now, and a general raggedness it will take several days to shake, '...drained.'

'I'm not more spared the gridine than anyone.'

'Naturally. Onida wouldn't waste energy on the sentiment of a bloodtie.'

'She wastes nothing.'

He smiles, gently, and with distance.

'What would you need to purchase so secretly that an unregistered key would bring you out to market?'

'10 Lore.'

His eyebrows betray the illusion of immovability, for just a moment. It returns full-force, barricading him now; effectively closing me out.

'You play in dangerous forces.'

'Forces you fear?'

'I'm not a fool.'

'You're so wise you'll let things continue as they are without a fight?'

'You're so bold, you would chance a debt to the strands of Panalou?'

'Why would a cup care which owner drinks from it?'

He pauses, a line of sympathy creasing his mouth.

'You know the tale of Red Fish?'

'I've lore ridden twice.'

I raise my hand, freshly ungloved, rust-tip digits bare.

'Put your hand down, swiftly. Your answer lies with the Red Fish. You won't need the city's flow. You will need the powder of the 6th scale to woo Panalou.'

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