Been writing a book for fun and wanted to share it even though it's not complete yet!

Immortals Anonymous

Chapter 2: horrid elevators and spledid workspaces

The elevator ride to the basement wasn’t long. Seven thought there was no reason to be uneasy standing in the lift as the elevator did all the work of bringing him downstairs, but the glass walls were surrounded by gray cement. It was dark and miserable and impending; it was as if the architect who designed it had no consideration for what it would be like to ride the elevator to the basement instead of upward to the sunlit offices above.

Seven was right in his assumption. Tan’yeasia Crawford had not considered that dreadful experience in her design plans. She was far more occupied by appeasing her boss who demanded a grandiose ride to the heavens. Scientists taking a suspended, glass elevator to new heights. Metaphorically, and literally, part of a shining new future they would build in the clouds.

Tan’yeasia worked her hardest, day and night, draft after draft, until she had the perfect design. Her boss looked over her plans, and her boss was pleased. The construction crew looked over her plans, and the construction crew was pleased. Even Stephen Hodges looked over her plans, and Stephen Hodges was pleased. When the construction on the FTT headquarters was complete, Tan’yeasia rode the elevator and enjoyed the ride and the view of the bright offices she saw through the glass walls but she didn’t think to ride to the basement. She got off the elevator, proud of her work, and never again stepped foot in the FTT building she spent so long designing. Her boss was happy, she was happy, and Stephen Hodges was happy. But for Dasha and everyone who worked in the basement, the experience was nothing short of miserable.

Sleek and miserable.

The doors slid open with a ding and Seven followed Dasha’s lead through the long enclosed hallways to her workshop. As foreboding as the basement felt, stepping into Dasha workshop was magical. The walls were covered with cloth and the glow of lights behind them made the workshop look sunlit; if you got rid of all the clutter and tapestries you would unearth giant bay windows, not cement walls and fluorescent lights.

Seven trailed behind Dasha as she checked in with her assistants, circling around the large workshop tables in the middle of the room. She asked them how they were doing, and then delved into project timelines. Occasionally, a seamstress would look up at her and state they had skipped lunch and were behind on a project, to which Dasha would pull a granola bar or a protein pack out of her purse and examine the garment to see how they could get back on track.

My records show that Dasha had three assistants at this time: Tim Stein, Abigail Holt, and Areis Gardner. Tim had worked there the longest. He was a short man who now works at the second best fashion chain in the region. Then, as now, it seemed he had to settle for second best. He was a fine seamstress, but his skills in designing were always recreations of garments he had seen elsewhere and he envied Dasha’s ability to create new designs from just the imagination in her head. It would be of great solace to him to know that Dasha felt that same about him and was ashamed that she felt her position in the ranks was merely political and no matter how straight she stitched up a hem, it never felt up to par with Tim’s. Unfortunately, he never knew about Dasha’s envy then, and he does not know today.

I spoke with him a few months ago and, in consulting my notes, I’ve noticed that he spoke of Dasha quite frequently. Her disappearance greatly broke his heart, not just as an employee with an admired boss, but as a great mind in fashion that had merely vanished one day without a trace. It was tragic that Dasha’s fashion never reached the masses in her time, but that is how life plays out. Someone is there and then, suddenly, they are gone, and all the inertia and potential they once held is gone with them. The world is seemingly trying to jump ahead without them and all the energy they once held that would have brought us all a great distance.

Seven placed his books and folders down on the table as Dasha spoke with Tim about his designs for the kimonos. Seven wondered how long their conversion would go on for and if he should resign himself to working right there until they were finished talking.

“I’m not sure, Tim. This hem doesn’t look era accurate. Are you certain this will blend in with the Edo period?”

“Yes, I’m sure! This is a more modern style for the time period, but it wouldn’t be unusual for a woman to wear a garment of this make.” Tim defended.

Dasha frowned and examined the stitching again. “What do you think, Seven?”

Seven had begun opening his book to sneak a few pages. He shut the book and looked at the kimono, trying to keep up. Dasha had often come to him with questions regarding specific era’s of fashion and minute detail regarding manufacturing a garment, so he was well versed on the subject, especially Edo period garments, since he had been asked to do research on the era by a Time Travel Agent. The book he was trying to read was about Japanese politics in 1624, during the Edo period. Dasha and Seven’s assignments were likely for the same purpose. Whichever Agent was going to wear this kimono was likely going to need the information Seven was researching.

“It looks fine,” said Seven, “the design is era accurate, though somewhat ahead of its time, and the stitch itself is perfect.”

Seven went back to his book, Tim beamed with pride, and Dasha suppressed her envy.

“Well, I’m not surprised.” She looked at Tim. “It’s approved. Move the kimono forward to Aeris, so they can get started on painting it.”

The group split up. Tim, still beaming, folded up the garment and brought it over to Aeris’s workstation, while Dasha walked over to her office, Seven on her heels, gathering his books as fast as he could.

Dasha’s office was a small enclosed room in the corner of the basement workshop. Instead of a desk, chair, and bookcase like Seven's office, most of the room’s space was dedicated to a large work table like the ones in the main office space. The walls were plastered with designs and plans, stencils and models from various eras in history. The only other pieces of furniture were a mannequin with half a dress pinned to it and an overstuffed leather chair in the corner of the room which Seven promptly dropped himself onto with a ‘plop’. He pulled out the book on Edo Period Politics and curled up reading while Dasha set to work designing another silk kimono at her work table.

It was like this, they stayed for many hours: Dasha working on her Kimono and Seven inhaling information and regurgitating it in a report he wrote on his tablet.

The only sounds were the occasional grumble from Dasha when she pricked her finger or had to undo a row a seams, and from Seven who would occasionally ask for a word that had escaped his mind.

They had been quiet for many hours until Seven finally looked up, “What’s the thing that you hang your clothes… Oh.”

Dasha was standing back admiring the kimono, finally finished. “It’s an Iko,” she glanced at Seven. “You were talking about a clothes hanger for a kimono, right?”

“No, I think I was thinking of a regular old hanger. Figured out the word as it left my mouth.” Seven clarified, unable to take his eyes off the kimono “It’s done.”

“Yeah.”

Dasha and Seven admired the garment, even unpainted it was beautiful – smooth silk, cream colored. At that moment, Seven was suddenly grateful to have a friend who also admired beautiful things. He couldn’t imagine sharing this moment with one of his clones or the occasional archivist assistant that the FTT thought he might need, before quickly transferring them to a higher position. Seven didn’t get to have moments like this often but when he did have them, he felt lucky to share them with Dasha.

“The best part is,” Dasha said quietly, “there are a million secret pockets!”

She unfolded the sleeve and slid her fingers into a secret indent, “this one is specifically for the Agent’s Language Translation devices.”

Seven’s grinned at Dasha, “That’s genius!”

Dasha smiled in pride.

“Aeris should be done painting the kimono Tim made, they’ll be ready for this one.” Dasha carefully folded up the kimono and walked to the other side of the workshop to drop it off with Aeris. When she came back, she had a cup of coffee for herself in one hand and a cup of tea in the other for Seven. She sat on her work table across from Seven and inhaled deeply. “What did you learn while I was suffering over my kimono?”

Seven laughed, “A lot. The Edo Period was a pretty peaceful time in Japan. The military took control of the government but the shogun didn’t close off the country like others had before. There was a large merchant class and a flourishing art scene. Some of the most iconic pieces came from the era. ”

Dasha nodded, smiled politely, and took another sip of coffee.

Seven wasn’t sure if she was interested in hearing more, so he switched topics. “I was also doing some research on the early 21st century. I was interested in how the early internet lifestyle evolved, specifically texting and speech lingo. It’s like a different language, and it affected much of the past century.”

“Are you doing that for an assignment?” Dasha asked.

“No…” Seven started, wondering if he should confide in Dasha, then feeling guilty for wondering. He lowered his voice, “But I did just finish a research assignment for Five.”

Dasha perked up and leaned in conspiratorially, “Tell me everything!”

Seven kept his voice low, but excited, “Five told me it was confidential, but apparently he’s on a mission to the year 2020 and he wanted some information on internet usage and lingo, in order to blend in more effectively. He’s tracking some… online group or something. I think he’s trying to infiltrate it.”

“Do you know what group?”

“No idea, he wouldn’t tell me, not that he usually does.” Seven switched the tea from his left to right hand. “But it got me interested in early internet speech, you know, I wanted to see where it all started. I just finished reading this really interesting book.”

Seven placed his tea on the floor and grabbed a book near his feet and handed it over to Dasha. She picked it up. “13375p34k and Other Codes?” She read, looking to Seven for clarification.

“It’s pronounced ‘leetspeak’. You can create a code by replacing certain letters with numbers that look like the letter they replace. It was very popular among teens and young people specifically to create unique usernames. I know you like codes and secret pockets and stuff like that. You might find it interesting.”

Dasha flipped through it. “This looks really cool!” She placed the book on a small table in the corner of the room. “I’ll read it later!”

Seven looked a little sadly at the table. ‘13375p34k and Other Codes’ sat next to ‘Sea Rovers, Silver, and Samurai: Maritime East Asia in Global History, 1550-1700’ which sat next to ‘The Best of Terry Pratchett’. Almost fifteen books he had lent her stacked in a pile in the corner of her office. He was pretty sure she didn’t read them. If she did, she shouldn’t, there wasn’t time for her to read books with her work load. Still, he thought, looking at the pile, it’s nice she keeps them, even if she doesn’t get around to reading them.

“Seven…” Dasha stopped.

She stopped for such a long time Seven thought she might never move again, but she settled on, “Do you ever wish you were someone different?”

“No.”

“Really?”

Seven thought for a moment, he wondered if Dasha was in the same position he had just been in, wondering if he would ever move again. “If I was someone else, I wouldn’t have my Archive, and I wouldn’t have you.”

Dasha smiled. If she was going to say anything else, she never had the chance, because at that moment, the door swung open and Five marched into the room.

Seven stared up at his own face, his brows were furrowed and his ears were red.

“Why aren’t you in your office?” Five demanded, trying to control his anger the way a fisherman grasps after a flopping fish.

Seven opened his mouth to think of an excuse but Dasha got to it before him.

“He’s got just as much authority to be here as you do.” She snapped, sliding off the table to cross her arms and glare at Five, accusingly.

Five narrowed his eyebrows, somehow scrunching them even more, “I have level 8 clearance, you have level 4, and Seven…” He sneered, “has level 3.”

“He’s the head of an entire department!”

“You can hardly call the Archives a department. He’s a librarian. He doesn’t have responsibilities, not that he could handle any.” With that, he turned to Seven, “We had a meeting an hour ago, Seven.”

Seven’s ears went just as red as Five’s in embarrassment. He didn’t even remember he was forgetting something. Both Five and Seven were well aware this was not the first meeting he had missed, the number was much higher, possibly in the hundreds over Seven’s life. Seven knew Five was being extremely kind by not bringing up any of the other missed appointments and meetings.

“You don’t have any right to talk to him that way.” Dasha pushed Five to the door frame. “Please leave my office.”

Five pushed back, his brows looked like they might fall off his face if they were any more furrowed. “You can’t tell me what to do!”

“Please!” Seven slide past both of them, out of Dasha’s office. “I’m sorry, I forgot we had a meeting. Let’s just talk now, Five.”

Five straightened his jacket, pushed past Dasha and walked toward the elevators.

Dasha looked at Seven, clearly wanting to protect him from Five and all the people who worked on the floors above them, but Seven couldn’t let her do all the work of caring about him alone. Seven mouthed a soft thank you and followed Five to the elevators.

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