“What
did you with our Angel?” one man shouted from the crowd, and in a fit of curse
words and disappointment, the people scattered back to their daily grind.
Veronni
was satisfied with the reaction and started slowly breaking down his ‘stage’.
“Need
any help?” A man crept up behind Veronni with his hands shoved into the pockets
of his pleated black suit pants.
“Come
to see the fall of an Angel? That’s the kind of thing you rich people get off
on in your movies and such, isn’t it?” Veronni was wise beyond his sixteen
years of age. He was self-educated off books he’d picked up along his way, and
easily the smartest person in his community. A bit of sass wasn’t beyond him.
“No,
I’ve come to patch up his wings so that he can fly higher than ever.”
Veronni
stopped what he was doing and turned around to get the first glimpse of the older
male.
He
had salt-and-pepper hair that was receding on the sides even though he didn’t
look that old, and his strangely red eyes – probably contacts – were framed by
thin eyebrows and laugh lines.
“I’m Daaron Flinn. I
work for the Aiya Artist Society."
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