Gunmage

"Ah. Can you feel that sweet, sweet air? It tastes like... like... freedom?"

"You say it like you've been locked in a dungeon for years."

There was an uncomfortable pause between both ladies. Finally, one spoke.

"But... we have been locked in a dungeon for years."

"Not locked."

"We might as well have been."

"You were free to leave at any time."

"Free? With all those terms and conditions? Don't do this, don't do that, don't wear this, don't— You calling that free? Even now I have to wear this stupid hat!"

The lady with flaxen hair pulled up into a classy ponytail watched with exasperation as her partner fiddled violently with her wide-brimmed hat, tugging at it like she wanted to rip it off.

But ultimately, she left it on.

The lady with the ponytail spoke flatly.

"Can you really blame them though?"

"Yes, I can and I do."

Her partner replied unapologetically.

She pursed her lips, then shook her head in quiet refutation.

"I'm not sure if you remember, but we're currently in a human kingdom."

"And so? That doesn't mean we have to live in the dark underground... like trolls."

She spat the last word bitterly, to the dismay of her companion, who threw her hands up in frustration.

"Like I said, no one forced you to live underground."

"But—"

"We're just too... and by we, I mean you. You, Sheila, are just too lazy to follow the rules and customs necessary to live here."

"Why would I want to follow rules that say I must cover my ears? My long, beautiful ears. They deserve to be seen!"

For a moment her companion worried Sheila would do something stupid as her twitching hand shot up to her hat, but in the end she didn't yank it off.

A sigh of relief escaped—quickly turning to annoyance as Sheila continued her rant.

"Plus, we're supposed to wear 'appropriate' clothes and laugh pretentiously with strangers. Human strangers. Tell me, why would I want to do that?"

With a hand raised to knead the bridge of her nose, the woman with the neat ponytail—wearing her own wide-brimmed hat just the same—spoke with weary patience.

"So what exactly is it that you want?"

"Simple. I want to live above ground. And I don't want to do so, while being bound by some stupid 'societal rules.'"

"Okay then, put it in with Selaphiel."

At the mention of the name, Sheila shivered.

Her partner allowed herself a small, imperceptible smirk before asking,

"What's the matter?"

Sheila hurriedly replied,

"No, it's nothing, it's just... that woman gives me the creeps."

"Oh? How so?"

The question shot out quickly.

Sheila hesitated.

"I mean, she's old enough to be my grandmother, so..."

An awkward silence settled. The ponytailed lady finally spoke.

"Sheila, I am old enough to be your grandmother."

"And yet you don't complain about the living conditions,"

Sheila shot back.

Her companion scoffed, looking ahead as they continued their leisurely stroll.

"What's there to complain about? I like it. It's quiet. The perfect environment to focus on my studies."

At the mention of that word, Sheila groaned. Her partner let out an irritated, "What?"

Sheila threw her hands up.

"I'm just tired of the endless theories, I'm tired of practicing, I don't want to ever see another corpse again!"

Another silence lingered between them before the lady with the ponytail replied calmly.

"You do realize, that we're going to kill someone, right?"

"That is a different matter,"

Sheila answered quickly, raising a hand to the back of her head as her eyes caught sight of the gates ahead. She let out a low whistle.

"And just like that, we're already here."

They walked up to the guards on duty. The men stood straight eyes bulging at the sight of the alluring figures.

They wore intricate gowns of white and gold, which conformed to their body lines and swayed lightly in the breeze. Wide-brimmed hats shadowed most of their features, lending them a distant, enigmatic look.

The guards were momentarily stunned speechless as the two undeniably feminine figures approached with unhurried grace.

A magnetic voice called out from under one of the hats,

"Good evening, uh... morning, afternoon! I meant afternoon. Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon,"

The men echoed in a daze, as if intoxicated by the voice, ignoring the fumbling introduction entirely.

The voice continued smoothly.

"This is House D'Aramitz, yes?"

"...Yes, it is."

The guardsmen, snapping out of the spell, grew wary as they studied the strangers.

Rosy red lips curled into a smile under the hat as the lady spoke again, her voice as sweet as sugar.

"Wonderful. Can you help me arrange a meeting with the house leadership?"

The men stiffened. One cleared his throat and asked as politely as he possibly could.

"Excuse me, but where are you beautiful ladies from?"

He would have asked who they were, but years of service had taught him better.

His instincts proved right. The lady answered without hesitation, her voice still like honey.

"We're from House Von Heim."

"O—oh. ...Ohhh..."

The implication hit instantly. The guard turned to his colleagues in alarm, but not before addressing them.

"Can you wait for just a few minutes while we make arrangements?"

"Wait?"

They were elves. Waiting had never been an issue.

"Sure we can wait,"

Came the airy reply.

The man nodded in appreciation before scrambling off. The wait was short. Very short.

The news had barely landed before the entire manor roused like a beehive.

What the hell are Von Heim delegates doing, showing up impromptu like this? Regardless, action came before questions.

The elves remained relaxed at the fringes of the house grounds, just beyond the gates when a carriage arrived to pick them up.

Wait a second. It was not a carriage. Was it? For one there weren't any horses to pull it, and it was much smaller than what they expected.

They exchanged curious glances as a valet opened the door.

"My ladies, if you would please."

They stepped in, settling into the plush seats, eyes wandering to the front where a single man controlled the contraption, that soon began to move on its own.

Sheila blurted out before she could stop herself

"A self-driving carriage? What sorcery is this?"

Her partner stole a glance at her but could not refute. A self-propelled artifact working in a such a zone of low magic density was certainly unheard of.

She too would very much like to know the sorcery behind it.

The man at the helm let out a low chuckle.

"Well, I'm the driver, so it technically can't be called 'self-driving.'"

"Oh. I see."

One of the ladies nodded. Both then leaned forward in eerie unison.

"How does it work?"

The man hesitated. Odd. Normal noble ladies would be concerned with the name of the machine, the available colors, and on rare occasions, the inventor.

It was very unusual to find blue bloods, especially women, who were interested in the functional workings of such a device.

He hesitated longer before finally crafting a reply.

"It is called an automobile. As for how it works, I honestly don't know myself. All I know is how to control it."

"Oh. Okay."

Their disappointment was clear in their tone. The driver wiped at a bead of sweat, eager to redeem himself.

"These machines are open for sale. You can easily own one."

"Wait? Really?!"

That had a way better than he expected, so he pressed on.

"Yes. You can legally buy one, as long as you have the money. It's just that..."

His tone dipped as he suddenly realised...

"Driving them on the streets of Pyrellis might not be so easy."

Intrigued, Sheila leaned forward, asking

"And why is that?"

The man shrugged.

"Well, it has to do with Pyrellis itself, and the... cultural protection initiative, if it's even called that. I'm not sure of the specifics, but I know the capital city has strict laws to protect the overall aesthetic. Like a code book of sorts.

That's why most houses are built with white stone instead of cement. Our Lord and many others even had to get exclusive permits to attend the recent Von Heim ball in automobiles. Strange law, to be sure, but I suppose there are important reasons for it."

"Intriguing."

A voice from behind lent the driver confidence to continue.

"I actually appreciate it. Keeps Pyrellis quiet and clean compared to the other cities, which are bursting with automobiles, airships and—"

"Airships?"

Both ladies echoed in uncanny synchronisation.

The driver blinked, somewhat confused.

"You don't know what airships are, my ladies?"

"No, we don't,"

Came the swift reply.

Odd, but not unexplainable.

He adjusted his grip on the wheel, looking for the words to use.

"Think of it as, uh... a giant balloon that flies from place to place, transporting people."

Silence filled the vehicle as the elves tried to picture it. Finally Sheila muttered, face twisted.

"That sounds... good?"

Her partner interjected dryly.

"That sounds dangerous..."

A/N:

Had a quick relapse but it's nothing too serious. I'm still alive, and I can still write.