BLIND | DreamSMP

XXXIII - Pressure

The streets of L'Manberg were quiet and empty, the lack of movement almost eerie in its wholeness. It was a bright, clear day, devoid of wind, and the signs hanging from the gables and eaves of the shops bordering the paths were still and lifeless, as if they were not articulated appendages of the buildings at all, but rather fixed in place like painted miniatures, lined up in rows under a glass display case to be looked at and arranged to the owner's liking. The scrutiny made Fundy's ears twitch, and he hurried forwards, bundling himself tighter in his coat, Phil following close behind as the two hastened from alley to alley.

They had already stopped by the armory, which had turned out to be a disappointment. Barely any equipment lined the walls of the building, and what was available hadn't fit Phil, albeit one cuirass Fundy had handed the man with hopeful eyes, only to discover that while it was the right size for his torso, Phil's wings could not squeeze into the metal. Fundy had tried to snag a breastplate for himself, but the armor had been snatched from his grip before he even had the chance to don it. The shortsword he had attempted to take was confiscated likewise, though instead of returning it to its place on the rack, Phil chose to sheath it inside a scabbard he had found.

From the armory they had retraced their brisk steps down the road, skirting around the town square where a pole had been erected atop a raised platform, and followed a path under the looming shadows of deathly still buildings towards the marble facade of the capitol.

With each step Fundy's breath grew shallower, and he forced himself to inhale through his nose in an attempt to calm his stuttering heart. The whole of his body was on edge as if he were a coiled spring, body tensed and hackles raised in preparation for the inevitable moment when the pressure keeping him in place would diminish just enough to free him from the abysmal compression.

The white mausoleum came into view without warning, the shops dropping away to reveal the capitol building in its pallid glory. There was a single path leading up to the sallow edifice, weeds lining the no longer crisp edges of the pavement and splitting apart the concrete as new shoots pushed towards the sun. It was not a large building, but the architecture of the capitol made it feel alive and threatening, the decorative arches above each window glaring down at the two men like angry sets of eyes, trained on the soon-to-be intruders.

Fundy was interrupted from his reverie by a tight grasp on his arm as he was dragged backwards into an alleyway. He jumped, frightened for a moment, before realizing it was only Phil.

"Alright, how are we supposed to get inside?" Phil asked in a hushed tone. "Is there a back entrance? A window that's unlocked?"

It took Fundy a moment to clear his racing thoughts and focus on the question.

"Y-yeah, there's a set of doors around back. They're locked, though."

"Do you know what type of lock it is?"

"N-no. I can't remember."

"What's the easiest way to get there?"

"P-probably just by following the perimeter. You can't see from up there, so it should b-be safe."

Phil nodded, and grasped Fundy's arm again as he led him from the alley. They were silent as they snuck along the circumference of the capitol. It felt too solemn a moment to intrude upon with conversation.

The shops and buildings began to thin out, and soon there was barely any cover. They reached the back of the building shortly after. It was nowhere near as grand as the front, the embellishments sparse and minuscule. A pair of plain wooden doors were inlaid off to one side, strange and out of place against the marble. Phil tested each door separately, pulling and pushing on the handles. They were locked, just as Fundy has said.