He tore away his gaze and continued walking down the now-bustling street. Carriages pulled by horses ploughed through the puddles that had collected in the street, and metal automatons followed their masters, creaking with each mechanical movement while carrying umbrellas above them. Lumière recoiled a bit at the sight. For some reason, he just couldn't fathom the sight of the steel servile creatures. They were terrifying to him, husks masquerading as people.
Before long, he reached a towering stone building. It had fantastical glass sheets along its walls, allowing the faint red sunlight that peered past the rain to creep into its halls. At its door, two attendants dressed in bright-white cloaks guarded its entry. Although, as soon as they saw the face of the magician, they bowed slightly, and then made way for him to move forward.
He bowed simply in response and opened the door to the hall.
Before he stepped inside, he was sure to take off his hat, shaking the remaining rainfall off of its brim before holding it at his side. Once he had stepped past the door's attendants, he hung his hat and coat on a rack beside the door and continued into the building.
When Lumière couldn't clear his mind, he would make his way to the Fencer's Gathering. It was an association run by one of the foremost combat experts in the entire country, a swordsmaster named Dreselle Artois. Some time ago, Lumière had been invited to attend one of the gatherings by a coworker of his, someone who had intricate ties in the dealings of the middle borough. That was where he had discovered an innate love of his, an appeasement of the desire to perform through combat.
Moreover, he had discovered he had a keen mind for swordsmanship.
Like the show hall, the building that the fencer's gathering used was like a palace to him. Its roof stretched high up into the air, held high by ornate white pillars along its walls.
As he walked through its halls, he met a familiar face. She was a woman with a stern face, that seemed to soften up as she met his gaze. So, he approached her with quiet steps, and with a small bow, he spoke aloud to her.
"Miss Faulkner, it's quite a pleasure to see you again," Lumière spoke with a kind smile.
Artis Faulkner was a woman of bright, sun-bitten complexion. Her face was much paler than her arms, however. It was a wonder to Lumière, that during the supposed century of rainfall, she had been able to tan her skin in such a way. The Faulkner family was of nobility, and so it was certain she lived in a wing of the massive marble palace that rested above the clouds in the high borough, tactfully avoiding the rainfall and bathing in crimson sunlight. She lived a completely opposite life to Lumière, who dwelled in the floods of the lower borough.
"Likewise, Mr. Croft," Artis spoke with a now softened expression.
It wasn't that she was a sharp person. It was just a natural resting position of her face that caused her to seem so usually harsh. In reality, Lumière knew Artis to be a gentle person who wasn't keen on showing off a bitter heart, at least not on purpose.
"It's been a while. You skipped last week's attendance, and so I had no one worth sparring with." She sighed. "I would be a much better swordswoman by now if you would choose to come more than once a week."
Lumière started walking down the hall of the building, which had arched windows on one side, looking in towards the centre of the building, which had a large circular platform meant for bouts between participants of the gathering.
"All I can afford to spare is once a week, Miss Faulkner. I am a man of no means, and so the majority of my time should be spent chasing my next meal." Lumière winked as he continued walking through the sun-strewn hall.
She continued walking beside him, her long curly black hair bobbing up and down as she took each step.
"Then, why don't you wed me?" She asked suddenly.
Lumière turned toward the woman with a surprised, curious expression, but he did not say anything in response, so she continued.
"I'm quite sure my father wouldn't be so disposed to the idea. You're not exactly of noble birth, but he's always valued skill above all… and it's not as if you're the pinnacle of swordsmanship, but you can easily best anyone here…" Artis spoke with her eyes closed as if she had been thinking hard. "If you do so, there would be ample time to train with me, and you certainly would never have to worry about meals…"
It seemed as if she had thought the entire idea out thoroughly, so Lumière did not dismiss it readily, as if to not shatter her heart.
"But doesn't that benefit you the most, Ms. Faulkner?" Lumière smiled softly. "I've not once said that I mind the way my life is. While I hold some abject view of how this world is, I don't mind putting effort into my life. How can you readily assume that the easiest way would be the best for me?"
"Is it not the best for everyone?"
"Not always." He responded in kind.
'Although, if I had her means, I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard to help those around me… but I can't accept that. I'm too selfish to have it handed to me… at least in that way.'
They had reached a large wooden door at the end of the hall, that had been held together by large sheets of iron and studs.
"I'm sorry Ms. Faulkner, but at this point in my life, I'm not sure that marriage is so suited to me," Lumière replied, his gaze tilted towards the ground as if contemplating.
"You're twenty-six, aren't you?" Artis's eyes grew curious. "Isn't this the ample time for marriage?"
"I'm just not sure about the idea, is all." Lumière dismissed the question with a smile.
Artis tore her gaze away from Lumière, and he could see that her once calm, still expression had blushed over. Suddenly, she met him face to face and spoke aloud.
"Then, why don't we duel over the matter?" She said with fierce eyes, her lips pursed together indignantly.
"Over the matter of eternity together- you would have us settle such a thing with a bout?" Lumière said with surprise, trying desperately to hold himself away from bursting out into laughter.
'Such a performance is the mark of a magician, isn't it…? Even humour like this should be attempted to stave off anxiousness. Ms. Faulkner really has a knack for such a thing.'
"Very well," Lumière spoke with a smile. "Let's duel for it. If you win, I'll take your hand in marriage."
"And if you're the winner of the bout?" She asked of him.
Lumière thought for a moment as if he hadn't considered it at all.
'While I don't care about the church itself, something that would benefit Sister Alinde and Father Benedict would be a good choice, right?'
So, he turned his gaze upwards towards the stern woman who awaited his answer.
"If I win, you'll owe me a single favour." He smiled.
In the back room past the iron-barred door was a place meant for changing. In a small wardrobe meant for him specifically, he kept an outfit he could sweat easily in without care, and a long steel blade tucked in a leather-bound sheath.
Lumière was not keen to carry around such a blade. While it was not fancy in any regard, it was certainly not shoddy. Lest it be stolen from him, he did not choose to carry it back to the monastery, storing it within the gathering's building. He had retained ownership of the blade gifted to him by Thomas Hawthorne, and that had been enough for him. Of course, that was a little contradictory in itself, because only a fool would rob someone with a weapon.
Still, the simple magician was hesitant to truly harm a man who was not intent on doing much more than that. He did not seem to value his life above others, either, so he wasn't even sure that if someone came at him with the intent of killing him, he would respond in kind.
The sword Lumière held in his hands was one he didn't take for granted. That was because he surely couldn't have afforded a blade like it with his weekly salary. Because of his amiable skill in swordcraft, however, Lumière had been sponsored by a nameless face, and so he was allowed such a thing.
So, it was something he valued, but not something he had the mind to use.
The blade was quickly tucked against his side. As he stepped out of the room into the arched hall, the white cloak he had adorned fluttered softly, and his eyes were steeled in the face of the woman who stood on the platform at the centre of the building.
"Are you ready, Ms. Faulkner?"