#coraiden

Starting up a vintage record on his prized gramophone, one that, up until this evening, he’d kept locked away in a chest whenever Coralie would visit, the chronomancer carefully allowed for the needle to drop with the kind of meticulousness best left for a delicate embroidery than a proverbial asura jukebox of yesteryear.  

While he tried to not keep secrets from his Mesmer Collective partner, he didn’t necessarily share much either.    His love for old classics was something he shared with no one, not since his other two partners in crime when it came to their taste in music (and friendship in general) were no longer around.

Back when they were young mesmeric arts students within the Collective’s elite academy, Aiden secretly enjoyed listening to the old records with his best friends David and Blair.  Most people thought they were cooler than that, and likely fans of more underground, edgy music.

But no, they loved the classics.  From the Rolling Rocks to the Alley Charrs , the Superiors to the Flaxseed Five.  They even owned Buck Berry records, and the elusive Fountainscious track which earned Blair her ‘Buttercup’ moniker.   An evening spent smoking a joint and listening to the grooves of their grandparents’ generation was their regular Friday or Saturday party time, unbeknownst to most.

Aiden’s favorite group was The Beetletunes.  But tonight?  While he prepared a feast for Coralie’s dinner?  Nah, he went with The Roulettes.  A certain tune, no less.

(( The Ronettes’ Be My Baby ))

As soon as the sultry, familiar drum beat kicked in, the man grabbed some tongs and continued searing a perfectly marinated steak, the sprigs of rosemary waiting to serve as garnish while garlic-seasoned asparagus roasted in the oven.  When it came time to chop some zucchini, he even belted out a chorus or two.

As for cocktails?  Virgin cherry mojitos.   

“It won’t go with the tiramisu I bought at Denton’s.  But hey....”

“I’m not emo, you’re emo.”

“So you just...walked up to him, the great-great grandson of a mesmer master bard who conceptualized this instrument and just....told him you wanted to buy an allegedly priceless family heirloom off him?”

“I did.”  Allura Diamante shrugged, rolling her jewel-like blue eyes.  “And we struck a deal.   You owe me full payment for it, plus my commission.  And a mount fee.  I had to rent a springer just to -get- to this guy.”

The Chronomancer narrowed his deep-set jade eyes, making it very obvious his skeptical gaze scrutinized the fellow mesmer before him.  

Allura was a known cat burglar among the Collective, once part of a large thief heist ring.  On probation, no less.

“Listen, Aiden, I didn’t -steal- the thing, if that’s what you’re wondering.  I wouldn’t dare be that stupid when I very well know I’ve been in  your radar for some time.   Besides, this isn’t even a quarter of the dough I’d make with a -real- heist, so don’t even get me started....”

“Do you even have any proof it’s legit, that you didn’t steal the real one or that you didn’t get duped by buying a replica?”

The raven-haired woman scoffed, “Please.  I’m a pro.  It’s the real thing, and you’ll get a bill from me.  Pay up in full or I /will/ steal it back and sell in the black market.”

Before Aiden could retort with some asinine remark of his own, Allura vanished into an opalescent cloud of chaotic energy.

Hours later, the chronomancer had another visit, from a young personal shopper just starting off in the business of procuring perfect gifts.

“Hey!  HI....Aiden.  So...I do have some not so great news?” Aiden reached for his silver cigarette case, not even casting a glance in Marissa’s way, “Let me guess.  You couldn’t get the owner to sell you the violin because someone stole it...”

“Um....no?   I mean, yes to the bit about not being able to secure a buy?   Someone beat me to it, literally just less than a day before I approached the heir.   He....he said someone offered an amount he couldn’t refuse.  I could’ve -maybe- beaten that amount had I the chance, given the budget you gave me?  But he had already committed to the sale, and wouldn’t even tell me how much he sold it for.  I couldn’t even propose a counteroffer.”  

A sense of relief and amusement washed over Aiden’s face as he absorbed her words, flicking his Zippo lighter as he charged up a cigarette, drawing in a deep breath before slowly blowing out the smoke. “So she didn’t steal it after all..”  He muttered to himself, clearly humored, then glanced at the newcomer and raised his voice enough for her to hear, “It’s okay, Marissa.  I.....we can just forget about that job I hired you for.”

“Are...are you mad at me?  I’m so sorry I couldn’t deliver, I’m fairly new at this and I....”   The girl wanted nothing more than summoning golemancers to swallow her up.

But Aiden flashed her one of his boyish smirks in reassurance all was well on his end, puffing at his cigarette again,   “I’ve an even better...more suitable one for you in turn.   One I am -pretty- sure you’ll nail.  It’s almost like I’m -giving- you a Wintersday gift by asking you to shop for this next one....”

Meanwhile, as the chronomancer discussed a new Wintersday assignment with the young personal shopper, a clandestine delivery was taking place outside Coralie Minuit’s Ebonhawke residence.

The bell rang, and, once the redhead would see to it, she’d find a large crate on her doorsteps.  But at least the sad-looking package had a messy bow serving as the seal atop a burgundy ribbon tied across the box.   The sole tag dangling from its mediocre decor simply read:

“For Cherry Pie.  Never stop playing.”

Alas, while it was likely evident a musical instrument was trapped inside the wooden crate, it.....suddenly started to sound..../angry/.

@lipstickmirage