Chapter Text
The retainer vocate is not as bad of a person as Paean has heard.
He’s heard whispers from other retainers, sharp-eyed men and women of every race and every corner of the world. He feels meek standing among them—small and skinny, small for a Viera although there aren’t many others here to properly compare himself to.
Everyone around here looks tough—strong—not a bundle of nerves like what Paean feels crawling beneath his skin. Even the crowded streets of the Sapphire Avenue ooze confidence—merchants hawking their wares, strangers bustling from shop to stall, retainers scurrying with packages under their arms. Paean is nothing to them, and it’s only more obvious the longer he stands there, invisible except for the stray curious glance from a citizen wondering why there’s a Viera in the middle of the desert.
The vocate is very obviously busy. She writes constantly in the large tome set before her and barely looks up when Paean gives her his name. He chirps cheerfully, but the woman barely gives him a glance.
“Clothes,” she says, gesturing with a pencil towards the room behind her. “Find something to change into. Quickly. This isn’t free, mind. You’ll be expected to pay it back.” She scratches a number in her book, as if to prove her point.
It makes sense, maybe, Paean thinks as he disappears into the shabby shop, digging through boxes and bins for something in his size. His own clothes are simple and worn, shabby, worn for practicality over style. None of the shoes will work, of course—his own will do for now. With some digging, he eventually pulls out a uniform that appears to be his size.
Where to change— One door leads back to the vocate’s small entrance, and the other leads further inside. Paean debates his options for a moment, and, deciding against changing in the common room, tries the door and is surprised to find it unlocked.
Quickly. A jolt of fear takes him by surprise as he grabs the doorknob. What if he’s taking too long? What if he doesn’t have the right clothes, or the right size? What is that vocate writing in that big book of hers? He can picture it now, the notes she’s taking next to his name. Strange looking. Viera. Slow. Doesn’t know how clothes work.
He’s so determined to prove her wrong and return as fast as possible that as he turns the doorknob and pushes the door open, he already has a hand on his old shirt, pulling it up and over his head. His new clothes are caught in the motion, sending everything wrapped in his shirt and clattering to the ground. To top it all off he trips over the bundle and—
“Uh. Need a hand there?”
Paean disentangles himself from the mess and finds himself on his knees in the doorway, forcing himself to look up to find he isn’t alone.
Oh no.
Standing before him is a man—a Miqo’te with dark skin and purple hair. He stares back brazenly, his face stoic except for the solemn raise of one eyebrow.
Oh no.
“Ohmygosh I—I’m so sorry—“ Paean pulls himself to his feet, only to nearly trip over his new clothes again. He grabs at the shirt, attempting to pull it back on, the rest of his belongings falling around his feet before he can even get one arm in a sleeve.
“Please, don’t stop stripping on my account.” The Miqo’te grins. “Might want to shut the door though.”
Paean can feel his face burning as he reaches up, slamming the door closed as hard as he can. The Miqo’te is unaffected, leaning back as if he’s well accustomed to watching half-naked retainers stumble into the vocate’s back rooms.
Paean stands, determined to retain at least some of his dignity. “What are you doing here? Isn’t this a place for retainers?” He squeaks with not as much venom as he’d like.
Whether the Miqo’te is annoyed or amused he cannot tell. He only shrugs. “Me and my girl have a deal. She forgets to pay the monthly fee, I’m free to pick up jobs until she starts back up again.”
He straightens, ambling his way towards Paean and his mess. Taking note of the uniform on the floor, he says, “New blood, huh?”
Scowling, Paean drops his shirt and scrambles to pick up the rest of his things. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”
“Nothing. Just curious. You gonna keep standing half-naked back here or what?”
“Shut up,” Paean hisses, and grabs his newer shirt this time.
As he changes, the Miqo’te watches him, still with that self-amused look on his face. Paean tries to ignore it. It’s not much—and he says he stays here waiting for jobs all day. He’s probably tired of waiting. I know it’s hard when work isn’t constant all the time. He probably has not much left to do but strike up conversations with strangers. Couldn’t he get a job somewhere else? He must be paid well. Maybe he can give me some tips. What if he’s already mad at me being rude to him?
“Sorry,” Paean says once he’s fully clothed, taking his old clothes and folding them neatly. “I don’t mean to be rude. I’m actually a little nervous. My name is Paean, and this is my first day looking for work. It’s nice to meet you, mister—“
“Whoa, you really are a kid.” The Miqo’te laughs. Paean’s smile falters, although he refuses to give in to his anger like earlier. “Call me Fairen, I guess.”
“Call you…?”
“It works, doesn’t it? It’s what I’ve been going by lately.” Fairen returns to his place by the window, sitting against the sill with a careless air. “Want a tip, new blood? Vocate doesn’t give a care about you. Won’t remember your face no matter how much you suck up. You’re just another name in a book to her.”
Paean frowns. He’s just about to say something about how the woman can’t be as careless as he says when Fairen continues, “But if you want your name in that book, you better get moving…”
“Oh!”
Paean clasps his clothes to his chest and slips as quickly out the door as he entered. It isn’t until he is answering the vocate’s few, gruff questions that he realizes he forgot to thank the Miqo’te retainer, or even say goodbye. For a moment he’s embarrassed, but he pushes that away quickly. Fairen is one retainer in a sea of many—what are the odds that he will ever see him again?