𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐥 - 𝓢𝓑𝓡/𝓙𝓙𝓑𝓐

♞

𖠁𐂃𖠁

The biting warmth of fire kissed Violet's skin as the three competitors sat around the camp, each tending to their business. From inside the leather-bound case carried against Violet's horse came a typewriter of pure steel and silver. As much as the blonde disliked typing with her gloves on, the thought of exposing something so personal felt improper after only knowing the men for a day. Speaking of her hands, they ached uncomfortably after gripping the reins for so long. Each joint that curled felt as though it had been made of pure ice, chipping away at itself as she worked.

"What'cha got there?" Gyro asked from over her shoulder, his long, dirty-blond hair cascading down her arm. His emerald eyes followed the inked words that spread across the paper held by the machine. "Man, did all of that really happen today? We deserve a drink."

Violet ignored him, focusing on her fingers gliding across the buttons so she could finish today's report for Catteleya. Johnny heard the commotion and paused his focus on the cork in his hand to peek over her other shoulder.

"Who is that for?" He asked, perplexed by the formal writing style.

"You got a courter? Maybe a husband?" Gyro teased, puffing out his chest. "I'm definitely better than him."

"No, this was an order from my boss."

"You have a job? Isn't that illegal?"

"No. Where I reside the law was recently abolished."

The men shared a look of bewilderment, hearing that a woman worked as anything but a nun or a midwife was untouched to them. In their lives, women had presented themselves as caregivers and housekeepers, their jobs were never that of a man, only what would keep the working class content.

They soon returned to their posts, Gyro kept watch, Johnny tried to spin the cork, and the sound of Violet typing floated into the sky.

In the darkness of nightfall, the silhouette of a mounted rider could be seen. Gyro squinted, trying to distinguish the person atop the horse. "Johnny, Violet, there's someone over there," he announced, making Violet halt her movements. Her metallic digits packed the typewriter up with practiced quickness, immediately putting her guard up.

"Do you think he's planning to run all night?" Johnny asked no one in particular, to which Gyro shook his head. "No way, his horse would just get into an accident. But be on guard, he might come over here. Do you have a weapon, Johnny?"

The crippled man scrambled over to where his bag was laying, his nimble hands shuffling around the inside searching for the revolver. Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of colour caught his attention. Deeply hidden inside Gyro's luggage was an envelope. The pale parchment was barely noticeable under the moon's melancholy gaze. A symbol of foreign lands painted upon the front sent a wave of bitter shock through to his core.

Violet, who noticed Johnny's strange silence, turned to peer at the blond-haired man. Her eyes immediately snapped to the symbol that was so familiar to her. As it had Johnny, the design welded onto the letter with wax sent a surge of ice through her veins.

The Italian Coat of Arms.

A looming figure towered over the two racers frozen in shock. Gyro's once lighthearted eyes felt more like shards of emerald splashing against their bodies, slicing at the tender flesh.

"Were you taught to look through other people's stuff while growing up?"

Johnny's head whipped around to face Gyro Zeppeli, his stomach tangled into knots. "I wasn't looking through it! But you..."