Galleria V

“If I leave now, I’ll be able to rush home to get changed before I go to Thèque-nique,” Sincenzo thinks as he polishes one more silver plate, “But, then again, if I don’t finish this hoard I’ll surely pay for it tomorrow.”

He glances over at the heap of trinkets, silverware, bobbles, gems, jewelry, and stuff he must appraise, catalogue, polish, and present by the end of this week. Sincenzo is a level II appraiser in the imperial court. It is his duty— and honor, some would say— to value and present all incoming objects of value to the Emperor himself. Well sometimes its the Emperor, but only if its something of real value.

Sincenzo glances down at his reflection in the silver plate. He cringes at the sight of himself. “No, no this will not do. Basta I will come in early tomorrow…” He carefully places the plate on a stack to his left, removes his white gloves, and places the back of his left hand on his computer screen in a fluid motion. “Sincenzo Diretti. Hours worked: 9.” The machine coos in an almost seductive voice. “Hours of work needed this week: 57.”

Sincenzo lets out a sigh and rises to his feet. “The Emperor thanks you for your continued dedication to the highest honor of aesthetics. Hours of compliance and continued service to the principal of aesthetics are mandated under article VII of the….” The computer voice fades into the background as Sincenzo rushes out of the room. He runs down the hall of unmarked mirrored doors, picking up pace every time he catches a glimpse of his reflection. At the 37th door on the right, he pauses, sweeps his flowing black hair out of his eyes, and then pushes the door open to the streets of Rigi.

Sincenzo darts out the building deciding to go left down the smaller less-traveled corridors, instead of the main thoroughfare of Galleria V. He leaves an uneven click-clack in his wake as he walks along the cobblestones. The sole has fallen off the heel of one of his Chelsea boots. He slows down his steps as he notices the ruckus his feet are making. If he does not get them repaired soon he could face serious repercussions.

He pulls from his breast pocket a pair of shield sunglasses in a golden chrome. He hears small steps coming his way. He pauses to pretend to look at the offerings of synthetic meats in a boucherie window. A girl of no more than 8 walks past, her hair teased up and eyes dusted a bright teal as is the fashion for children her age. She notices Sincenzo twitch his head in her direction. She nods, “Gior-beau, signore.” He nods back ever so slightly and raises his hand half in acknowledgement and half in an attempt to cover his face. She pays it no mind and continues on her way.

Sincenzo once again catches a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of the shop window. As he is taking in every slight imperfection, the ringing ‘dong’ of the galleria clock tower startles him back to the moment. Echos of the clock towers of other gallerias ring throughout all of the cobbled streets of Rigi. Sincenzo takes this moment of cacophony to hurriedly make it down the street before someone should hear the clacking of his broken shoe.

As the fourth dong bounces off the stone walls, he makes his turn onto the minor thoroughfare Rue d’Hirst. He slows his stride to an acceptable brisk walk as he weaves through his well dressed neighbors. It is nearly nightfall and everyone is surely on their way home to change into something more appropriate for the evening.

-

Entering his building, Sincenzo nods at the doorman. Just a year ago it was a very human looking android, but now it is a gleaming golden automaton of sorts. It bows at him from behind the desk, bobbing a little as it bends and comes back up. “Is that the same robot just upgraded into looking differently? Should I be calling it… him?” He wonders. “Did they just change the outside? Or did they get rid of the realist look all together, like the silk bell bottoms that were all the rage a few years ago…”

His mind empties as he comes to the elevator. He pushes his left hand backwards against the plate by the elevator doors. His ring clanks against the reader a bit louder than he anticipated and the doors open. As the elevator rises, Sincenzo looks down to make sure he hasn’t scuffed his ring. The gold signet contained all his information: status, family, galleria, professions, and apartment number all displayed as symbols in a coat of arms. And it appears to be fine.

The doors open on his home. “Welcome home, Signore.” A voice almost identical to the one at the imperial court, sounds through the apartment, “Your dry-cleaning, and mail are in the cabinetta. Tonight it is highly encouraged you wear red.”

“Grazie-beau, Siorella”

He carefully removes his boots one by one keeping them in his hands. He opens the cabinet by the door and take from the wall a black velvet pouch and places them inside. “Siorella, please make sure these are repaired before I leave for work tomorrow. It is of the utmost importance.”

The voice responds in the affirmative.

In this cabinet he finds his usual mail: a thick envelope. Tonight is red embossed in gold with a crest different than his own. On the other side it has in exquisite calligraphy the initials C.K.A.

He opens the envelope and out pops a small glass vial of powder. The cap has the same embossed emblem as the envelope.

He makes his way down the hallway to begin his going out ritual—vial in hand.

—

Hours have passed. The streets of Rigi are a-bustle. Indeed the color of the evening is red.

“Leather is back apparently.” Sincenzo takes note of the people the street cameras follow. A woman in a cherry patent trench coat. A young androgynous regazzx in a carnelian suede body suit.

“Oh don’t you worry too bad, darling! Some day all the eyes of Rigi will be on you!” The voice of Lulu Loncetti. Her arms come into view first as she wraps them around his waist. “My dear it is best not to care so much.” Her scarlet kid leather gloves touch his bear midriff.

“Lulu that texture is divine”

“And don’t you just hate me for it..”

He turns to face her and they air kiss. Right check, left cheek, right again.

He is startled as he steps back and takes her in.

“Lulu not again! Isn’t it dreadfully painful?”

“Well red is the color du jour, no?” She bats her eyelashes over her surgically altered red irises. Swirling shades of firecracker red have taken the place of a pale blue.

“Ma, cara, che merde? What will you do when red is out? When blue is in or when you must wear pink?”

“It doesn’t matter! Tonight I will be the belle of the ball!”

She links arms with him and they head down the street of Galleria II towards the famous nightclub.

—

Three hours later, Sincenzo finds himself inside Thèque-nique, the hottest club in the whole empire. The moment they entered the doorway, Lulu b-lined to the bar and was quickly surrounded by onlookers. She was right. Tonight she is the belle of the ball.

Sincenzo lets himself drift onto the dance floor. The floor lights up in brilliant shades of red, orange, gold. He lets himself get lost in the beat and the crowd. In this moment he is not an appraiser level II, a man, a citizen of the empire, a glorifier of the holiest order of aesthetics, no. He is part of a sea. He is the beat. His body moves as the crowd says.

He closes his eyes. A moment passes. Or is it hours?

He reaches down to his chest to grab a gold chain on the end dangles the vial from before. He scoops out some of he powder onto his pinky nail and snorts it exuberantly on the dance floor. “I am alive” Sincenzo thinks. “Better… I am nothing.”

He opens his eyes a moment as he fastens the cap back on the vial. He locks gazes with a girl not a meter from him.

She is not swaying at all with the crowd. It is as if she has never heard the music or been in a club before. Sincenzo tries to avert his eyes, but he can't. There is something almost hypnotic about her.

The light suddenly changes to a harsh white and the music stops. The room is motionless save the scanning eyes of every patron. There is only one reason Thèque-nique would come to a halt in the middle of an evening: someone hasn’t honored aesthetics.

Sincenzo tries to join the crowd in searching, but he realizes he needn’t look any further. The girl is wearing a deep emerald green. Sincenzo looks her up and down in disbelief.

“How could such a beautiful girl not get stopped? How could the doorman, her neighbors, the lookers on in the street… how could—“

He blinks a few times to make sure the powder hasn’t altered his perception. “No no… ma… what is this?” He thinks. His mouth drops open slightly. The girl’s skin in this light seems to sheen an iridescence. Like a pearl or oil spilled on the ground.

The whole club stares at her in shock, confusion, and some with disgust.

Lulu’s voice creeps up from behind him, “My god… it’s amazing”

“And look at that necklace. So intircate... Oh, and isnt that cute...It's in the shape of a heart.” She points toward the girl. “Who is she…. I mean what is she?”

Sincenzo takes in her whole apperence. Vintage American silk drapes around her body. On her neck hangs a thin silver chain that dangles to her midsection.

“She’s wearing sterling silver. Just like the hoard I’ve been appraising.” He turns his head slightly to meet Lulu’s eyes, "But all of those trinkets are hundreds of years.... " he is cut off by the sound of imperial troops entering the crowd.

—

“Sincenzo Diretti. Hours needed: 57.” The familiar voice of Siorella greets Sincenzo as he sits at his desk.

“The Emperor thanks you for your continued dedication to the highest honor of aesthetics. Hours of compliance….”

Sincenzo’s head throbs. He tunes out the voice of the computer. He takes out some of the powder from the night before and inhales it off his pinky nail.

“Okay, okay... 12 hours of work and then I’ll head straight home with enough time to get ready for Thèque-nique.” He thinks.

He puts on his white gloves and reaches over to pick up the next silver plate where he had left off the day before. He notices something new stacked on top of the pile.

“Dio mon…”

It’s the locket the iridescent girl was wearing.

He opens it.

A small piece of paper falls to the table. He turns his body to cover the paper from the cameras directly behind him. He mocks opening the vial around his neck once more to take powder, but stuffs the small paper in his shirt.

-

After twelve hours of waiting, Sincenzo rushes out of the building as usual. The sun has set and the clock towers have already finished ringing. He huddles under a street lamp on a empty corridor.

The paper reads, “My name is Alexandrite. Help me.”