Time Keeps Us

“I don’t think you understand where you are, little one.” The Locus crouched to bring its face within inches of the small woman.

The woman flinched and brought her oversize coat up to cover her eyes. She dropped her cane in the process and started to tip over, losing her balance. The Locus’ eyes watched her fall onto the grated metal walkway. Silver and gold gears rotated slowly in its’ pupils.

“I s-sorry, I-I’m sorry!” The woman stammered with tears bubbling in her eyes from fear and the pain of falling.

“Not good enough. Clearly the rumors are not enough to keep people away…” The Locus stood up looking over the woman and walkway to the entry to the warehouse.

The Locus snapped it’s fingers.

Click.

It’s one hand was smooth polished metal, fingers more like talons. The cane floated lazily up to the waiting hand. The woman panicked and tried to scramble up to standing.

Click.

The cane flew sideways out of the metallic hand and caught the woman under the chin before she could turn away. It flew down the walkway pushing her along the way. Her legs dangled on the walkway getting cut up against the metal grating. Her right leg bounced into the railing near the entryway and shattered the tibia. The force of the cane under on her neck pushed her out of the warehouse and pinned her to a tree just outside. Her legs hung limp and useless, bleeding. She tried to use her hands to push the cane away. Using all her remaining strength she managed to push it down a bit to give herself room to breath. She coughed and tried to take a deep breath. Remaining as quiet as possible so as not to awaken the bats. She filled her lungs fully as something large flew into her vision. She saw a large black dragonfly zip towards her and was lost under her chin.

The Locus walked out of the warehouse just before sunset. Light began to drain from the sky, but the sun had not yet fallen below the horizon.

The Locus walked up to the cane at the base of the tree. Left leg covered in dried blood and open cuts, right leg askew due to a compound fracture. The oversize coat was in surprisingly fine condition. A unique touch. Neck purple due to significant bruising. A red ring surrounded the entry point of a wooden stake in the center of her throat. Her mouth hung open, top dentures fallen off the roof of her mouth, sitting on her tongue. Her expression was relaxed, as if resting. The Locus put her hands into the pockets of her coat and stepped back looking from the cane at the bottom, to the top of the woman’s bald head, to the backdrop of the rough brown tree trunk. A nice addition to the front driveway.

The long road leading up to the warehouse was surrounded by open meadows and scattered trees. Open enough to see anyone approaching from a distance. The trees provided some shade, but were far enough apart where someone would need to follow a specific route to approach under their cover.

Metal clinked as each claw tapped The Locus’s thumb.

1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 3, 2, 1.

The Locus counted it’s fingers in ascending and descending order tapped each one to the thumb in sequence. A silly habit for one such as The Locus. Boredom tends to take over when the biggest threat is a little decrepit woman. Sometimes The Locus thought it would be better to conquer the remaining cities. These pitiful revolts were not worth the time it took to get fully dressed. Or even just wipe them off the map altogether. But, then what? This boredom was the worst part. Surely they must be able to present some formidable resistance? Perhaps sending more spies to push Kaverling towards aligning with Moorstar…

A breeze came from behind The Locus blowing it’s long trench coat forward interrupting it’s thought. The warehouse opened. The Purse approached.

“Locus. The preparations are complete.” The Purse was tall and thin in stature. Its eyes were lazy, but constantly moving taking in the whole environment. Slight twitches in its head betrayed the movement. Vigilance is what the Locus needed more of.

“And this?” The Locus gestured to the woman on the tree with open hands.

“An oversight clearly. The Ears have been removed. The Owls will take their place for now, but we will need replacements.”

The Locus turned quickly around to face The Purse again. It’s eyes were clockwork gears with lightning flashing into the back of it’s head.

The Purse quickly added. “I will find replacements.”

Seeing The Locus’s eyes was the only moment in which The Purse fully paused its constant micro movements. The freeze response was as involuntary as the micro moments. The energy exuding from The Locus in that moment was similar to a strike of lightning. Fast and destructive. One would not know if they were hit by it until they noticed their skin sizzling from electric burns. Luckily, The Locus was able to contain its fury.

“Good. Bring my evening aperitif out here. It seems I will need to watch my lands myself until you find this replacement.” The Locus focused on the woman and the tree again.

“Wait. What do you think of this latest installation?”

The Purse stepped forward standing just behind The Locus. Eyes darting from the woman to the tree to the sky darkening behind them both. Taking in yet another mangled body tossed into the pristine landscape disgusted The Purse. This was not art. This was an violent indulgence of a scoundrel.

“Another one? I see a poor wretch victimized by a bored shadow of a human. This is a scar on the beautiful landscape The Cut works so hard to maintain. You know this Locus. You know my taste is not equal to yours.”

“Ah Purse. That is why you are still here. To keep things interesting. Your taste has not yet been refined by… time…” The Locus’s gear pupils rotated slowly looking at it’s claw hand.

There was a long silence between the two of them. The sun finished setting, the bats began to awaken in the tree. They flew away from the warehouse and the two figures standing like scarecrows underneath the tree. Out towards the dimly lit town that struggled against the impending night.

The aperitif arrived with chairs. The Purse took two fist sized orbs and shooed the servant away, he kept his head down and scurried into the shadows to await further instructions. The Locus took one of the orbs in it’s soft hand.

“Oranges, as requested.” The Purse began to peel the skin off the orb in one long connected spiral.

The Locus squeezed the orb and brought the orb up to its face. The soft hand could feel the flexible soft flesh. The scent was citrus and faint smoke due to the long transport from the Tropics. The Locus took a bite with the skin on and felt the burst of sweet flesh under the bitter covering. The seeds inside were crushed by steel molars.

The Purse and The Locus were just barely visible in an orange aura from the towns fire tower that was now lit to keep back the darkness of night.

“Ah, you knew they put up the fire tower. Hence the oranges. Humorous.” The Purse was monotone, eyes reflecting orange light from the fire tower in the distance.

“Something must keep us going. Art. Humor. Time will not release us young Purse. You will learn soon.” Orange juice dribbled down The Locus’s face. The orange became a misshapen mess compared to the pristine sphere that had arrived.

“It has been 1,000 years Locus. I have learned much in that time. More than time separates us.” The Purse reformed the orange skin into a hollow fruit, setting it delicately on the ground.

As more bats emerged from other trees, a blanket of darkness swept across the sky. The light from the fire tower was blocked out by their stretched out wings. The darkness enveloped the figures sitting under the tree.

Click.

The claw hand of The Locus twitched. The servant moved in the shadows, then collapsed face first onto the ground. The Purse sighed and rolled it’s eyes.