Francine’s fingers lingered on the stiff, ruffled shirt and leather holster, folded neatly and set aside on the top shelf of her wardrobe; she was starting to grow impatient, waiting for Azure’s return and the resumption of her lessons. Instead, she carefully dressed again in the stylized costume Gramma Arsenault had brought so they could finish the advertisement she was sitting for and be free of the task for the week.

Disappointingly, Francine had only gotten one day of training with Azure, mostly just learning about the gun and its parts, taking it apart, and barely getting it all put back together, not to mention the safety lectures. She hadn’t even gotten to shoot the gun again before Azure, and the rest were called away to Old Sanctville to, as she put it, “finish things.”

Gramma Arsenault showed up bright and early the following day with the dress, gun, and artist for a “Project.” Frannie assumed being a model would be more glamorous; it was, in actuality, quite dull. Despite Gerdie’s comical protestations the entire time she applied Frannie’s makeup, against Gramma Arsenault’s more lively insistence, she must apply more, or it would not enhance her features enough for the artist to make “proper use of them,” whatever that means.

The dress was meant to pin down her look as a young noble socialite; it was a slimline gown with dangly crystals, and they had her modeling an umbrella gun; it seemed pretty novel to Frannie and was new to the Arsenault’s Arsenal. The Arsenaults expected it to be a big seller among Noble and affluent women, and the advertisement was going to drive that selling point home; Francine would be lounging on a fainting couch, drink in hand, an umbrella stand within reach in the first panel, blasting a disheveled male attacker away, still elegantly reclining on her couch in the second.

On the first day they arrived, Argento, thinking he would get a few days to relax, instead got a shock that Gramma planned for him to be featured as “the attacker.” His costume was also quite stylized and designed for striking lines: a hat fallen over his face, ruffled cravat coming undone, top button agape, cane in hand. He was posed in a wide-open stance, arms thrown open, somewhat celebratory while still looming and brazen, the perfect target. Gramma knew how to get the most bang for her bullet.

Modeling consisted mainly of wearing this fancy dress and sitting in uncomfortable positions for lengthy periods. What surprised Francine was the “painter” did little painting in her presence. There was no fancy room, at least not to Francine’s eye, and no party going on around them. He mostly took sketches of her up close, far away, from different angles; some with the umbrella gun, some without.

The artist had finished the background and now only needed the subjects to insert them into the foreground. After several days of posing and hearing talk about what it would look like, Frannie couldn’t wait to see the final product. The plan was for an oil painting that would hang in the store and be turned into a set of three woodblock panels that would be used to run ads in a few famous ladies’ journals.

Frannie had at least been getting a lot more information, as Gramma Arsenault talked almost nonstop the entire time the painter worked. She had learned quite a bit about Azure. However, only some of the multitudinous stories, anecdotes, secrets, and yarns spun by Gramma Arsenault were all that helpful. Even if her temporary guardian was somewhat annoying, Frannie and Argento were at least accustomed to the sort of person she represented.

Going to lunch with her felt familiar. Their lunch at Cafe D’Elio was much more enjoyable than her last visit. Not only was it challenging to stop Gramma Arsenault from talking once she started or steer the conversation if it took a wrong turn, but even her hushed tones were like Francine’s natural speaking voice. Hence, they had to be careful not to ask anything too personal.

One lunch that week was almost entirely dedicated to an accounting of Azure’s personal dueling history: dates, opponents, wounds, proceeding scandals. By this, the fourth day of sitting for the artist and heading off for lunch, Frannie had taken to saying very little unless asked and began taking in what Gramma Arsenault had to say without questioning her. After only a few outbursts, Frannie and Argento agreed this seemed the safest course of action.

Frannie gently patted her new grandmother and lunch companion on the hand, attempting to calm and quiet her, this somehow provoked the opposite effect.

Mistress Arsenault dabbed the nonexistent tears from her eyes using an eye-catching azure blue handkerchief with turquoise and copper accent stitching. Francine, now used to these antics, just sat, nodding in tacit agreement, waiting for her to go on sans prompting.

Francine and Argento looked at each other as they mouthed along with “three years,” they’d heard this part of the story every day since Azure had left.

Francine had heard this rant several times now and heard Cinnamon mention Springfield. It was a risk asking Gramma Arsenault about anything, but she was beginning to think it was a more considerable risk asking Azure about it.

That explained several things, even if Francine was unsure of how accurate everything she was told was. Azure seemed to be in charge of her group, and she wasn’t entirely sure, but she had never heard of a five-person group of soldiers who all wore different “uniforms” and lived together. Eidruian Enforcers, on the other hand, made more sense. They went on dangerous missions, sometimes secret missions, even given to them directly by the Queen.

Suddenly, Francine reconsidered the “mission” from a different angle. If this was an assignment from the Queen, would they get back up? Was there an army of soldiers at their back as she had initially envisioned, or were the five of them being sent to save an entire city? Francine pushed her plate away, half-eaten, worry creeping in. Would she end up right back in the same position she was in a week ago?

Gramma Arsenault kept talking as Frannie’s mind wandered from Old Sanctville to Shadowmirre and the slight but visible damage she had seen around town. The last four days, she had been back in a carriage with Gramma Arsenault, riding around the streets on her way to and from lunch, the Arsenault’s townhome, and back to her new home.

She wondered if the fighting would be relatively light in Old Sanctville as she imagined it had been here, leaving the same minor sorts of memorial reminders around that beautiful old city, or if something would go wrong, leaving the kind of scar on the face of Old Sanctville, as the one that had settled over her heart.

Gramma Arsenault leaned over the table at Francine, waggling her neatly manicured eyebrows suggestively. Snatching a bite of bread as she puzzled.

Francine perked back up at talk of her turning modeling into a career. She liked the idea of learning to use a gun well enough, but what did it get her? Supposedly, more respect and, eventually, the ability to protect herself. The knowledge that thousands of people would eventually admire her image made it worthwhile and fueled the flame behind her eyes while she sat for that painter.

Not only that, they might buy a gun just because she was holding one and using it in the picture, especially if she’s seen using one in real life. That seemed like something she could do every day and enjoy doing. Of course, that led back around to talk of gun training.

She wasn’t sure what Azure or the Trellingbills had in mind, but maybe having a career and being important and successful for herself would be good enough even if she wasn’t some hardened mercenary boss.

Once Gramma Arsenault had excited Frannie, the conversation became more like a planning session on the go. Argento just sighed and escorted them as they moved from Cafe D’Elio to You Are Art, a popular salon frequented by upper-class merchants and lower-ranked nobility in Shadowmirre.

They immediately recognized Frannie and got her right in.

As she sat in the chair and relaxed, their alchemists mixed up her color concoction. At the same time, the stylists explained the process of brushing the coloring potion onto her hair, which transforms the color through the magic of alchemical reagents and would (almost) permanently change the color from black to a vivid emerald green. It sounded amazing, and though Francine didn’t understand how it worked, she was excited for a change.

Gramma Arsenault’s first suggestion had been blue, and when Francine didn’t jump at that, she suggested red since it was so popular, but Frannie didn’t want to look or feel common. She tried to look and feel spectacular. Francine’s power color is green, and so it was.

As the woman sectioned her thick hair, pinned it up, and applied the coloring potion to it, another lady, with soft, steady hands, carefully lacquered Francine’s nails with a green glaze that almost glowed. Gramma Arsenault kept talking about all the opportunities Francine might have if she advanced her skills and worked to better herself. She was surprised she would need to develop skills or improve herself to become a model, too.

Everything in life required so much effort, and every skill needed learning and development. Every time she tried something new, it was hard, even tasks that people insisted she was naturally talented in; she also needed lessons for? What was the point of talent if you needed lessons and schooling?

Were people lying and saying she was talented when she wasn’t? The thought had never occurred to her. Maybe people had just been building her up with false hope, telling her she was good at dancing, harp, and shooting a gun, or modeling, when she wasn’t any better than anyone else, but what would even be the purpose?

CH 11~ Model Citizen

Second Chances Can't be Ignored

Francine’s fingers lingered on the stiff, ruffled shirt and leather holster, folded neatly and set aside on the top shelf of her wardrobe; she was starting to grow impatient, waiting for Azure’s return and the resumption of her lessons. Instead, she carefully dressed again in the stylized costume Gramma Arsenault had brought so they could finish the advertisement she was sitting for and be free of the task for the week.



CH 11~ Model Citizen

Second Chances Can't be Ignored

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K.B. Silver

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Song of the Season

CH 11~ Model Citizen

Second Chances Can't be Ignored

This is an Exclusive Story for supporters of .css-13w9qce-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-accent);}K.B. Silver

About the Creator

K.B. Silver

Comments

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Keep reading

Song of the Season

This is an Exclusive Story for supporters of K.B. Silver