Bang! The first.
Deep as he was in his slumber, Vincent shot up from his ivory bed in a glorious state of disarray. During his chaotic awakening, his right foot hit the end of the bed's iron footboard. Groggy as he was — combined with the adrenaline pumping through his veins — these sensations served as natural painkillers. Breathing heavily — hyperventilating, really — Vincent wondered where that loud sound could have possibly come from.
Reaching over to the window to his right, he pushed aside the white curtains. The Watcher's moonlight pierced through, casting a sea of deep blue light over his sweat-slicked temple.
Trying to make sense of what his eyes could gradually process, he gazed down from his disheveled bed toward the squalid cobblestone and tar roads, the gas lamps on the sidewalks clarifying their details.
The festivities were yet to be cleaned — the leftover snacks, herbs, and various accessories conversing with the pigeons who found them oh-so convenient. Banners, cloths, confetti — these stone gray decorations danced in the wind, performing a graceful waltz with the serene descent of the La Synian snow.
There were very few pedestrians; some drunken men, in their stupor, were rummaging through the left-behind items and possessions that they could hopefully use as treasure.
A single carriage passed by, its main body showcasing hints of brown and gold, constructed from wood and iron. The horse pulling the carriage advanced in a slow, four-beat gait: left front foot, right hind foot, right front foot, left hind foot.
He slowly shifted his gaze away from the horse and toward the residential buildings across from him.
The architecture was impressive; the cast iron used in conjunction with the bay windows, ornate woodwork, and steep gabled roofs was well designed.
The masonry was decorative, the brown and gray colors flowing together in a pattern as intricate as a tapestry.
And the residents — seemingly tired from their long day at work — entered their homes, fatigue evident on their faces.
These two- or three-story tenements were all adjacent to one another and shared designs with the building he inhabited.
Slightly opening the window with a languid motion, he listened for anything that might suggest the source of the loud sound. Instead, it was gas and evergreen pervading the air — the smell greeting him as if they were distant siblings separated at birth.
A violent wind crashed against his frame. Vincent, in reaction to the seeping cold, shivered immensely. The gas and evergreen had brought an icy companion that wanted to join in on the camaraderie. He quickly denied the wind's warm embrace and shut the window. In any case, it was clear to Vincent D'Lysan that the La Synian Watcher Festival had made its mark.
Shifting his body to the left, he tilted his head just over his shoulder and peered at the items residing on his wooden desk next to his bed's iron headboard.
A picture frame of him and his mother, Aurelia D'Lysan, sat in the top left corner, next to his black pocket watch — a gift from his now-absent father. The watch had a gold-colored chain secured to its bow, and the hands within the black dial were gold and made out of brass.
In the center of the desk, a black fountain pen rested beside his brown diary, while a half-empty cup of water sat in the bottom-left corner.
In the upper-right corner of his desk sat a gas lamp. There was a tube connecting it to the wall, but the valve was not turned on.
A calendar pinned to the wall above the desk displayed the most recent date.
Nagaian Calendar - Sixth Shift
16th day of the Watcher's Moon, Year 813 GS of the 8847th Sequence.
The day before was the Watcher Kin's Full Moon, whose Kin glyph — a stone-gray eye — was depicted within the fifteenth day's calendar square. Although he was born during the Dragonfly's Moon, it did not deter him from going out with his mother to enjoy the lore, games, and food provided for those who wished to partake in such a festive time of the year.
He looked across the room and found his wooden door still closed. To the right side of his desk was his wooden drawer, and above it an oval mirror.
Residing on his wooden drawer were some books, antiques, and a vase adorned with dragonfly designs over its white base, a complement to his birth month. Inside the vase were red lotuses, the silky petals as elegant as ever.
About seven or so feet away from his drawer, in the corner opposite his bed, stood a bookshelf. Most of the books were a gift from his mother and father. There were some, however, from the La Synian Blue Coat School — one of the major educational institutions for lower-class citizens of Belria that Vincent currently attended. Though some of them were still too advanced for him to fully grasp. He was a young child, after all.
In between the bookshelf and the drawer was a table of some of his most precious belongings: The Tower card — among other tarot cards — a New Illugardian chronicle titled The Chronicles of Bellelettres, puzzles, toys, and children's books on the Twelve Kins.
On the floor, there lay a nicely designed rug, the black patterns swirling in consistent shapes over the cool beige. The rug had some belongings on it that Vincent had not yet cleaned up, such as a nicely tailored dress shirt, a pair of black slacks, writing utensils, and some Belrian crests — the national currency of the Kingdom of Belria.
On the burgundy walls were a bunch of paintings and portraits. Some of them were of his father, who had the look of a very astute gentleman and exuded sartorial elegance.
In the portraits, he wore a black long coat, a black vest with a golden pocket-watch chain connecting his top button to his pocket near his oblique, a white jabot, and a top hat.
The paintings were of notable kings, figures, and landscapes that were made during the Belrian Discovery — a period of enlightenment during the Fourth Shift.
The wooden roof was smooth and varnished, a testament to his mother's desire for cleanliness. But that roof reminded him of something: how spotless his mother would always keep the place.
By the Kins, I need to clean all this stuff off the floor!
In an instant, Vincent swung his legs off his bed with chaotic grace, not forgetting how his mother would scold him about his decorum. He knelt down on his left knee and began picking up the clothes and items. He then thought about his time during and after the Watcher Festival.
As fun as the festival was, I didn't think it would drain me that much. I was so tired after I arrived home. I hope I can clean all of this up in time.
He started with his clothes, picking them up and folding them into the wooden drawer. He then proceeded to pick up his writing utensils, walking over to his desk and opening one of the drawers to neatly put them inside. Finally, he knelt back down and grabbed some of his money.
There was one diadem specie, and then three shilling specie right next to it. Usually, this was quite the amount for a child to have. However, his mother had treated him well during the festival. The average factory worker's weekly wage was around one crest note and two diadems — 30 shillings to be exact, so his 8 shillings was considerable money for a young boy.
His mother always told him to keep his belongings categorically consistent, so he naturally applied this to money as well. Since the shillings were weaker than the diadems, he would put them in his breast pocket. He was still in his gray pajamas, so the nightshirt's pocket would do for now. As for the diadem, he put them in the left pocket of his trousers.
Standing up, he surveyed the rest of the room to see if anything was out of order. Everything appeared to be as it should be.
He backed up towards his bed, grabbing his pocket watch in the process, and sat on the side of the mattress. He glanced at the pocket watch in his left hand; the clock read 02:37 2B. It was very early in the morning, during the Second Bell hours which indicated the rest period. Since the First Bell was 06:00 1B — the time he would get up for school — he needed to go back to sleep in order to be rejuvenated for the day.
But something was still bothering him; he hadn't forgotten about the loud sound earlier. As the pain from hitting the footboard began to settle in, he rubbed his foot while trying to process what could've sparked it.
What was that sound? The people outside seem to be passing by as if they didn't hear a thing. Why am I the only one-
Bang! The second.
Before young Vincent even had the chance to recuperate or even finish his thoughts, another violent sound came rushing through from the gaps of his wooden door.
His spine locked straight, as if one of the teachers at his school had caught him dozing off during a lecture.
His once-restful arms had forgotten the definition of poise as they flailed around to cover his ears in a blitzing fray.
Succeeding the disarray came a few heartbeats of silence. His arms gradually came down, and his head turned towards the door. He stared for quite some time as his body eventually came to relaxation. When it did, his face grimaced in ultimate bewilderment.
Wha... what in god's name?
What followed the mental interjection were a series of spasmodic arithmetic, the mental framework desperately trying to make sense of what could possibly give birth to such a sound.
A gun? But the pedestrians didn't hear a sound. A Wayfarer of the Route of Veils? Corporal Works? Something within the tenement? Who would be up at this time? Was it mother?
As he continued hypothesizing the source of the noise, he eventually set aside his baseless claims as he concluded that he would need to investigate the matter personally.