Welcome to Helholm! Capital of Whoylande, famous for her brilliant architecture and considerable wealth. A hundred years ago Helhom, and Whoylande as a whole, was in the midst of a great depression and was easily the poorest country within the Xaporan Union. Since then however, there has been a new King and Prime Minister and together they revived the Whoylande. And, of it's cities and towns Helholm stood to gain the most. Through a rigorous regiment and expansive budget King Ulysses and Prime Minister Sol saw to the invention of Whoylande's greatest accomplishment: Steam engineering. In less than a generation the life of Whoylande's wealthy and lower class was completely overhauled. Factories began popping up at every corner as mass production became increasingly necessary, and with a surplus of items came a surplus of shops and markets, creating an abundance of jobs and opportunities. Overtime the working class emerged, wealthy enough to own small shops and homes, but unable to create large empires akin to the rich and noble. And, as they always do, the rich and noble only became richer and nobler. Stories of multi-national corporations, and comfortable lives filled with culture and recreation quickly became the norm.

This is not one of those stories.

@VerusEbullio
Beninga winced at the sting in her hands. She could feel the blisters growing and burning on her finger tips against the rough stone floor. About half the kitchen was cleaned now, with only a few feet left to go and Beninga couldn’t have been happier to see it done. It seemed as though she had been scrubbing the floor all day which had caused her wrists and knees to ache from the uncomfortable position. However she knew it could’ve been worse, her mother had cleaned the rest of the small apartment from top to bottom by herself, the young girl couldn’t imagine the aches and pains she endured while doing so. And she did it without a single complaint. So, Beninga decided that if her mother could do all that then she didn’t have the right to complain with just the kitchen. She only hoped that the two of them could get the daunting task of cleaning the entire house done in time.

See, early this morning Beninga’s father had taken her two younger sisters to the market saying he expected to return to a spotless house. In the Cagyli household, Father’s words were law and the consequences were often severe when disobeyed. The worst of which were received by Beninga’s mother Magdalene. Beninga knew that she had to do her best so as to spare not only herself, but her mother and siblings as well. So, with a wince she quietly wringed out the worn out rag and set to emptying the suds bucket. Seconds later the tell-tale screech of the rusty door hinges rang throughout the house followed quickly by Beninga’s toddler sisters.

“Beninga,” Her father Leon’s voice came ominously behind her. Loaded with apprehension Beninga turned around to face him and felt her heart crash when she saw the muddy footprints across her freshly cleaned floor. “Is this clean you!?” He stepped towards her, raising his arm. It wouldn’t matter that it had been clean before Esta walked over it. Beninga closed her eyes, bracing herself for the blow, and it took only a moment to realise that the loud smack had not made contact with her. Instead she saw her mother sprawled on the floor opposite side of the burly man, with a large red sting across her cheek.

Immediately tears pour down her face, choking on them as she tried not to make a sound lest it draw his attention. As slowly and quietly she could Beninga grabbed her twin sisters, Esta & Arlie, and pulled them into their parent’s bedroom. Once there she grabbed her infant brother and the four of them sat in the corner of the dark room while sobbing in chorus with the screams and smacks from the other room. It had seemed like hours that they stayed there when at last their fathers loud footsteps could be heard approaching.

“DON’T YOU TOUCH THEM!” Their mother’s screech could’ve been heard for miles, though the deafening bang that followed would easily drown it out, followed by a wet and heavy thud. Beninga covered her sisters’ mouths, stifling the screams they had tried to let go and held them tighter while Helmer hung to her neck. After that, all sound had ceased in the small shack.

Then, they must of stayed in that position for at least day when they finally heard the door open again. Despite her attempts Beninga could not stop Helmer’s cries of hunger from being heard, and squinted hard as the light flooded through the bedroom door as it opened.
“Found them!” A dapper looking man in a black suit hollered to another who quickly joined him.

“Poor things,” The second man muttered as he approached the huddle of children and, with minimal coaxing, managed to take Helmer in his arms. While the other struggled to carry the twin girls. Turning away they both walked away as Beninga chased after them, hitting and protesting as much she could.

“Don’t worry they’re all going to be put somewhere nice, little lady,” The first man, sisters in hand, tried to assure her.

“What about me?” The tears feel harder than Beninga could remember as she stared angrily at the man. Like most young children Beninga felt an immeasurable guilt and blame for what could never have been her fault.

“Sorry,” The man’s eyes looked wet as he seemed to struggle with a lump in his throat, “But the orphanage says you’re too big little lady,” A third and forth man came and grabbed the twins and separated them two cars. Which Beninga tragically noticed that Helmer had occupied neither. “Good luck kid,” The man tipped his head and returned to his own car and left.

After the cars dispersed Beninga immediately caught the gaze of the dozen or so neighbours and passerbys that were watching the debacle. Slowly, she went back inside and started cleaning the bloody stain left in the hallway. Not half a day later, however, the Landlady arrived and promptly informed that she had to leave. Graciously, the woman allowed her a few precious belongings before sending her out. A tattered dress and a small pouch that held some scraps of food created a strange image against the brilliantly coloured, though slightly rusted, pendant her mother once owned.

---

That was nearly a year ago now and Beninga’s fortune had changed very little. Since then she had fashioned herself some cloth shoes and a wrap meant for carrying items around waist. She still had the same raggedy dress, though it had significantly more patchwork and hardly reached her knees now, as well her mother’s pendant despite no longer wearing it. Instead she kept it securely within the make-shift wrap.
Like this, she walked the slums of Helholm living mostly on petty thievery and the occasional generous civilian. Today, it was going to be cunning that fed Beninga her dinner. Scoping the area Beninga quickly found her target, a young well-to-do woman who was clearly with child. It would be easy to tug at her heartstrings surely. Not wanting to miss her chance, Beninga approached her with most sullen face she could manage.

”Uhm.. ‘scuse me miss..” Beninga tugged lightly on her petticoat causing the woman to look down, alrighty the pity was palpable on her face, “Sorry, but mightn’t you have some bread? I’m soo hungry…” Beninga clutched her nearly concave stomach to emphasize her point. It’s not like she was lying after all. The young woman put a hand over her mouth, as if holding back a cry, and immediately went into her petticoat and pulled out a medium sized wrapping.

“Here sweetheart,” The woman carefully placed it in her hand and gave her a small hug before turning to go.

“God bless you miss!” Beninga shouted after her, waving excitedly. Street like her had it incredibly hard, often going days without food and having access to only the most deplorable water sources. It became very dog eat dog, and most took whatever advantage they could. Beninga was not different and was very aware of how being a small girl made her begging that much easier. Girls were seen as delicate and fragile, so pity for them came easily to most, while boys were often berated for not working at the many factories in Helholm. Fact was, most of them did but it was far too easy for bosses to get away with shortchanging.

After she as sure the woman was out of sight, Beninga went into a break-neck speed towards an small alleyway. Whatever was in the wrapping was heavy and she knew that the moment she was spotted with such a grand prize, it become a free for all. And, while being a small girl made begging easy, it made keeping the prize much harder. Once she found her familiar corner of the alley, complete with a mouldy rug and water-logged box full of her belongings that couldn’t be easily carried, Beninga made herself comfortable and started carefully unwrapping. In a minute or so the beautifully decorated wrapper had been removed, revealing at least half of a sponge cake.

Smartly, Beninga split it into portions and re-wrapped the rest for later and started on her feast.

The streets were never suppose to be easy, but it shouldn’t have had to raise two young boys. An 11 year old purple eyed boy named Zacurbal. The older of two brothers he took it upon himself to raise his 3 year old brother alone. The younger boy, Ruvyn, had more brilliant eyes than his brother. The boys moved with their parents from a trading town formerly known as Boucon, Preasia. The war tore their city apart. It left many without a home, a job, and a family. They were not the cause of this. They weren’t trying to get out of a dictatorship. They were a nation in between two warring countries, and where better to fight their battle than a country that wasn’t either of theirs. They wouldn’t be the ones picking up the pieces in the end, the Preasians would be. Elias, the boy’s father, decided that he was going to pack up his family and move them to a place where his boys and wife could be safer from the war. Where the fire and death couldn’t touch them. They came into Whoylande with only the clothes on their backs and a purse full of whatever coin they could find.

Now their mother dead and their father a newly found alcoholic, Zacurbal knew that anywhere was better than the house his father was in. The streets welcomed the boys with not open arms, but rather with a punch to the stomach and a slap to the face. They truly fought to stay alive in the cold and dangerous streets. Gangs, wars, and starvation caused many deaths. However, the boys weren’t about to give up. That is Zacurbal wouldn’t let Ruvyn go.

Their survival would through another hoop, as the Wholande military observed Zacurbal for a few days. After seeing how fit he was for their ranks they took him from his brother. Ruvyn, at age 5, left to wander the streets alone, begging in broken Whoylandean, barely survived the week. It wasn’t until a group of fellow Preasian boys had found him hiding in an alley that he was saved, or so he thought. The boys gave him his own portions of food and offered him the work that came with it. The gang pushed Ruvyn into crime and made him do things that haunted his dreams.

Today would be no different. The group had been making rounds, stalking certain peoples in interest to them. One had been a small, blonde, girl. Excellent at getting them goods that no one had been able to obtain in a while. Today she had scored, and scored big. Whatever had been wrapped in the cloth when a smaller member of their group had witnessed her hide it and run off.

“Boss!!!” The boy had come running back, shouting in Preasian. “The blonde had got something good!” He puffed out in small breaths when he got close enough to tell the rest of his ‘family’ as well.

“What are we waiting for boys? Lets get us something good” The oldest of the boys smurked. All the boys shared eye color, courtesy of their heritage, and they all sparked with delight at the thought of good food. All but one, Ruvyn. He didn’t like hunting down others. To take what others had earned, it seemed wrong to the small boy. Now at age 12, Ruvyn had spoke out many times against the other boys actions. No one listened, they had all learned to tune him out, and if he wanted any at the end of the day he would help.

The group hit the streets and fanned out to attempt to find where the girl had gone. Looking down every alley, and when one of them found her he went rushing back and called the rest of the boys back with him. It took a bit of explaining, planning, and listening to Ruvyn talk about morals before the boys decided on a course of action. The older, a blonde, tanned boy, stepped up into the entrance of the alleyway and was calling out the girl.

“No!” Ruvyn shouted, which had come out of him a lot more aggressively than he had intended. IT didn’t matter now, he had said it, and now he found himself acting even more foolish. His body blocked the cave, facing the older boy with narrowing eyes. Ruvyn was trying to act braver than he thought he was on the inside. “This isn’t right. She is just like us! On the streets and starving and getting food anyway she can. We can’t just take it from her!” He said, in Preaisan, now extending his arms out as well, fully committing to his actions. His actions weren’t in vain, the boss would stop, he would leave the girl alone.

“Now that all your noise has scared her away, I should get my frustration out on someone who is like a human punching bag.” The older boy replied, turning his head back towards the rest of the gang. They returned his thoughts with wide grins and all the gang turned their grins, and their gaze to little Ruvyn who had let their supper get away. The oldest grabbed him by the throat and threw him to the ground. Another two were kicking him from either side. The small boy heard a few of his ribs crack under the force of the other boys kicked. The older boy sent a bare-footed kick to Ruvyn’s face, and although he did attempt to dodge the blow, the boy’s foot still made contact with his nose.

Another crack was heard in his head as his nose broke. Ruvyn was at their mercy, and when they had all finally stopped, he thought he was going to die. Of course it looked and felt a lot worse than what it was. The boys has only bruised a few ribs, broke his nose, and he had some bruises and scrapes all over him between the road burn and jagged toenails that had struck him. Ruvyn rolled into his back, made a grunt of pain and stared at the sky, a cloud was rolling by slowly over the rooftops.

The cake was a welcome treat and Beninga ate it as slowly as possible to savour the taste. It was hard to say if and when she’d get something sweet like it next. She had scarcely finished the final bite and was brushing off the crumbs when she overheard the loud shouts of some boys. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, but she did recognize their voices. The voices were also incredibly close, perhaps at the end of the narrow alley. Maybe even closer. Immediately her heart started to race and she could feel her the blood pumping her ears. She rose to her feet and picked up the soggy, broken box and carefully moved it across to the brick wall of the building that divided the alley from the main road.

Kneeling she crawled alongside it until she found the ventilation grate and with great effort began to tug at the lid. The owners never be bothered to put screws on it, but the years of neglect left it increasingly rusted. Eventually she was able to pry it off and turned back to the box, holding within everything she owned, and slowly slid it into the vent. It had barely fit, scraping the sides and crinkling a bit as it went. Placing the cover back over the opening Beninga got back up and slowly worked her way to the edge. From there she listened the shouting match and against her better judgement she peered around the corner, just in time to watch one boy to get knocked around by the others. For several minutes she stood there, watching, as the small boy was kicked and punched and flinched with almost every hit. She stayed there a few minutes longer after the others left, to be sure they wouldn’t return before walking towards the fallen kid. Her heart was hurting on his behalf. She knew all too well how it felt to be the one laid out afterall she had more than once been the victim of the very same group, among others.

When she got close enough to see him she saw that his face swollen and bloody and almost couldn’t tell that his eyes were open. Cautiously Beninga walked around until she was in front of him and bent over to look into his,

”Are you ok?” She stood there for a second with her hands on her thighs, just staring at him when she decided to put a hand out for him to grab. ”Here, let me help you.” When he didn’t grab it Beninga bent over and work his arm around her shoulder, lifting him slowly off the ground. Once she had him up and his legs were stable, with her assistance, the two of them hobbled their way back to Beninga’s ‘home’.

Hearing movement Ruvyn attempted to shift away from the shuttling feet. When a spike of pain ran up his leg, and to his broken nose. Ruvyn had been beaten before, the feeling wasn't a new experience. However, the voice whispering to him after was new. His eye couldn't quiet make out the figure leaning over him. His eyes stared at her, trying to come into focus, although he guessed it was the girl he had protected. Offering the girl a nod when questioned about his well being. Ruvyn then made his first attempt to sitting himself up.

"Yes, thank.. you" He said with his Preasian accent. His purple eyes peering over at her through his swollen, bloody face. Slowly making his way into a sitting position, after his failed first attempt, using his arms to get him up little by little. He didn't want her help, didn't want to stay with her, but he wanted her to be protected at the same time. Before he knew it there were arms helping the boy stand on his feet and little pressure against his shoulders that silently told him to walk with the girl.

“Why...?” He asked as if to begin a question. Though he didn’t use the country's native language, so to other it would seem like a pause. For Ruvyn it was simply he didn’t know the right words off the top of his head, and had to think about them. ”Why… are.. you… helping me? Why are you helping me?” He finished and repeated lifting his head with much effort to look try and look at the girl. She was pretty much dragging him from the alley. In the boy’s head he was thanking her, and wondering why she would help an older Preasian boy. The group he had spent many years with now had taught him that all Whoylande people thought Preasians were worthless scum. Maybe it was to make him hate them, as the rest of his group did.

“Are you ok?” He asked once the girl had finally put him down. Looking at the box that she must call ‘home’ brought back blurry memories of when his brother and him were first on their own. His swollen eyes looked around then came to look at the girl. He had wanted to ask so much more, but the language held him back. There was little chance this Whoylandean girl spoke any Preasian.

”Mmhm, sure you are,” Beninga replied to him sarcastically. It was obvious from a mile away that the boy was in bad shape. Stupid boys. She though, always trying to act tough. Carefully she adjusted her shoulders so that his weight was better distributed, he wasn’t exactly light for the small girl. Still, she trudged on. What should have been a less than a minutes’ walk quickly became 5, his clearly injured leg falling beneath him certainly wasn’t helping matters.

”Why are you helping me?” The boy’s question was pretty broken and his accent thick, but Beninga did manage to grasp what he said. Instantly she realised that he must not have been Whoylandean. Though frankly, she didn’t know what else there was. Under the strict and fearful roof of her father Beninga hadn’t exactly received a worldly education, between the cleaning and the beatings.

”Why..?” She was a bit dumbfounded at the question. As if, somehow, his state wasn’t reason enough. What else was she supposed to do? Let him die there and stink up the whole street until some worker picked him up? Besides that, the wounds of Beninga’s family were still fresh with her and the idea of witnessing yet more tragedy did not sit well. “Well, because you like you need some help…” Her expression became somewhat downcast, ”I mean we’re all out here together aren’t we? Doesn’t that mean we should look out for each other?”Just as Beninga finished her sentence the pair made it to the torn up rug she called home and she carefully set him down. Quickly she pulled her box out of the vent where she left and started digging for a rag and some of the sponge cake.

”Are you ok?” She was half-knelt down in front of him when she simply offered a nod as an answer. Once on the ground beside him Beninga applied some spit to the already rather dirty rag and started wiping the blood and grime from his face, being as gentle as she could. And humming the entire time. Once she was done with his face she handed him one of the wrapped pieces of cake.

”Here, this’ll make you feel better,” She nearly sang, clearly still stuck in humming mode before tending to his injured leg. Something of the situation reminded her of how things use to be, when she was often seen tending to the wounds of her mother or siblings. Though, the tools at hand were certainly more sanitary back then.