Raoul slid the creased Burilan bill into the coin acceptor.
The vending machine whirred to life, as if it wasn't just dead as a doornail a few seconds ago, and twinkled with the familiar synthesizer jingle the Burilan Trading Company was known for as it accepted the bill despite the imperfections. He didn't mind the tune itself, just that the academy had enough vending machines around campus to suffocate even the most avid lover of the things. Who could blame them? They were cheap, low-maintenance, and pumped out lunch like there was no tomorrow.
Classes were boring as well that day.
Out of respect for the academic system and Burilans' apparent disdain for the exceptional, his mother had him remain a freshman. By her authority, it would have been possible to declare him graduated, but she never intended for him to be more than what she wanted.
The vending machine whirred once more, and a single clang hit the pick-up box. Raoul bent over and reached inside. His fingers gripped the cold metal surface of the Free Soda and wrenched the pull tab free. The fizz of the grape-flavored beverage hissed onto his face, and he allowed it to flow inelegantly down his throat. Sour and sweet melded on his tongue, drawing out a hefty sigh of satisfaction from him when the caffeine hit.
He brought the chilled drink to his eye-level. Condensation formed at the surface, dripping down from the top shoulder and onto the nail and skin of his thumb. The words "Free Soda! 'Cause nothing sets you free quite like it." were imprinted on big colorful graffiti fonts across the can's body.
"Free. Must be nice to not have any responsibilities. Just free." Raoul muttered.
He gulped the rest of the soda down in one hefty swig and trick-shotted the empty can into a nearby trashbin.
He had almost missed it. The weather had forecasted a torrential downpour. Only when he had stepped out of the canopy had it hit him. His school uniform was quickly drenched, but he made no effort to sidestep out of the rain any quickly. Calmly, almost apathetically, he dug into his knapsack and unfurled an umbrella. He strided onward, confident he wasn't going to get any more wet than he already was.
Cias Buril at this time of the year was quiet. The Cycle of Synthesis had begun over three hundred years ago, but wasn't looking to end any time soon.
It was almost criminal how peaceful it was.
Raoul quickly found himself in Destagt Square. For someone as soft and quiet as he was, he enjoyed relaxing in places filled with people. He quickly found an elevated wooden bench and made himself comfortable.
People-watching. Never gets old. He thought to himself. His eyes darted to one couple with their hands interlocked. They strode down the crowded street, their attention taken by the rampant display of bright and intrusive electronic billboards. Products of all manner were being shilled to the Square like there was no tomorrow, from heftily-edited displays of pastries to supposed "deals" on beauty products. Most were designed to grip the mind and bring into possibility the chance of bystanders wanting to purchase them. Every once in a while, there would be one or two raised eyebrows accompanied by the tapping of phones to call the displayed number, but most had gotten used to the advertisements and were more than capable of blocking the feed out mentally.
It was only when Pneficus had left the sky did Raoul snap out of his stupor. The crowds weren't going to clear out within the day, but instead would grow larger in size the closer time drew to Nyx. The advertisements provided majority of the light then.
He watched again absentmindedly. A small group of neatly-dressed cosplayers meandered across the freshly painted sidewalk. Each one boasted fitted suits of black and beige, buttoned one less than full to display a noticeable difference to the figures they were attempting to mimic. Bright undershirts and single-tone ties expanded on the contrast, painting a delicate picture of order in what was otherwise considered a recreational hobby. The cosplayers racked up quite the attention as they passed the crowd, with many bystanders stopping to take a few shaky selfies.
In terms of accuracy, Raoul couldn't find much to complain about. Drivers were known for being a stickler for fashion. Particularly corporate fashion. He was taught the image of suited individuals wielding magic to quell public unrest was the very picture of elegance.
A stray cosplayer drifted from the crowd. Unlike the others, he was dressed to the nines in a baggy trench coat that ran all the way past his knees. The edges of said raincoat drifted in the gentle evening breeze, swaying like the leaves on a tree branch. His right hand was occupied with a creaky, but somehow stable wooden cane, of which the curved handle neatly snugged in his fingers. His other hand gripped to his head the upper of a flimsy beige fedora. Unlike the coat, the lightweight cotton and synthetics that made up the hat would have had it all too easily blown away, and so the man kept much of his focus for making sure it remained stationed atop the slicked back hair of his chiseled face.
The man's gaze stayed affixed to the concrete sidewalk, noting as each eager droplet of rain crackled against the stone like popcorn. Then, without warning, his eyes locked contact with Raoul's, piercing the flimsy veil of bystanders for an extended period of time.
"Huh…. Weird." Raoul's breath caught him, and he stared back. The man as well held, but all the while he weaved through the crowd of people with no effort whatsoever. "Is he… looking at me?"
There was something different about the man. It wasn't hostility. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Two minutes. The aged man was on the bottom of the stairway by then, and he didn't once remove his gaze from Raoul's. Finally, he placed a foot on the step, slowly making his way beside the boy before sitting.
"Sorry," he finally muttered in a deep and raspy voice. He reached into his pocket and flicked up a cigarette into his mouth, then followed it with two clicks of a chapstick-sized lighter half-filled with butane. "I have a bad habit of staring at people who catch my interest. You mind letting me shelter under your 'brella for now? I've already lit my cig."
A bad habit was as good enough a reason as any. Despite his intimidatingly tall and muscular stature, the man was gentle in his tone and movements, as if afraid he'd terrify Raoul with one move. Said Raoul wasn't much fazed, rather perplexed at his sudden interest. He inched a tad closer on the bench, just enough for his unfurled umbrella to protect the both of them from the rain.
"Not at all."
The man grunted an approving and grateful grunt.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the older man's exhales of smoke. Every so often he would shift back to stare intently into Raoul's frame, but never spoke one word.
"Three. Two. One." He muttered suddenly.
As his lips descended on "One", the rain stopped. It cleaned up in exactly three seconds. The clouds began to pull away, revealing the full midnight glory of Nyx amidst the still restless city square.
"You ever notice how the rain stops at the same time here?"
Raoul turned his head slightly. His mind hadn't quite processed the question, but his lips already moved to respond. "Yes. That's why I prefer to sit here."
"I know. I see you here every day." The man replied, another deep well of smoke leaving his mouth. "At exactly the same time each day, you're seated here at the exact same spot, eyes following whatever draws your attention. How many do?"
"Each day? About three or four." Raoul replied.
"Never five or six?"
"Never five or six."
"And that doesn't strike you as odd?" The man sat upright, his hand moving to set his cane on the side of the bench. "You're not clocking how Destagt always sees roughly the same amount of people each day? How there isn't any tell or tale of an accident? How it feels… artificial?"
"If I'm being honest, no. I've always assumed Cias Buril was designed that way. People always seemed predisposed to follow the same schedules. For instance," he pointed a finger out to the part of a sidewalk three stone's throws away that turned to Celevasta Street. "About five minutes from now, a man dressed in a suit, carrying a cane and wearing a fedora will appear from Celevasta and walk toward the burger joint in Ecnomis. Each time he does so he always seems to slide through the crowd at a surprising pace, leading to him beating the evening rush."
"Oh, yeah?" The man's voice lightened. "What does that man look like? You've been here a lot, surely you've noted down his appearance."
Raoul turned, eager to share. "He's got a carved face like a statue's. He's about six foot five. And he wears a suit and trench coat exactly like…" His brain slowly caught up, and only then did he realize the man he was describing was the one sitting beside him. "You. He looks exactly like you. How are you five minutes early?"
"I'll tell you. I had a little bit of help from "Exchange"."