Acts of Benevolence
Book of Maeve; SLL
Chapter 1: Not Helping
It’s not your job, Maeve told herself.
Stop making everything about you, Maeve could already hear Charli scolding her.
What if you make it worse? Maeve clenched her teeth. Surely everyone around me must be equally as ticked off. Surely. Maeve contemplated the perspectives of the forty-odd other people in the train carriage - these unthinking blank-faced mouth-breathing citizens. For at least the last fifteen minutes straight, this child had been wailing at maximum volume, making the unpleasant enclosed tube even more unpleasant.
Maeve eyed the boy’s presumed father for what must be the eighth time. Seated next to the kid, the father had earbuds in, and was typing away on his laptop. Maeve clenched her teeth even harder, despising his intentionality in ignoring his child.
What if you do nothing, and somebody else does something, making it worse? Someone could get hurt. Maeve lifted her head, still peering at the child out of the corner of her eye. You can help this kid… You can help everyone on the fucking train!
Maeve huffed, squeezing and pulling down on the hand-hold strap. She considered simply walking over to the dad, ripping out his earbuds and screaming at him to be a fucking parent. If he escalated, at least she could smack the shit out of him. But what she did instead, what she had learned to always do instead, was ask the question: What would Charli do?
Charli, Maeve’s on-again-off-again flame, was always the joy in any room that she entered; everyone loved her, even if they began with the sole intent of not doing so. In tenth grade, Mister Brammock was going to give Charli a detention for cutting, but she ended up scoring everyone in the class some leave time.
Everyone knew that Charli and Maeve were a good power couple - what Maeve lacked in rapport, she made up for with utility. Of course, Charli was smart and capable too, but Maeve always considered her to be engaged in some sort of ‘performative art’ in how she acted around people. Charli, in a problem-solving situation, could know the answer, be capable of execution, and simply not carry it out so that her fun and sexy image remained intact. People just simply don’t mind bystanders.
Maeve jostled towards the child, squeezing past several others standing on the train. She paused for a second before throwing off her hood. She crouched down to eye-level with them.
Maeve realised that the consequence of throwing off her hood was that somebody was bound to recognise her. Then, before she knew it, there would be a photo of her posted on the City Bulletin, and some asshole journalist would be spinning up some stupid narrative. What kind of accusation would it be this time? Something insane like grooming the child? Maeve weighed up the momentary inconvenience of the wailing child against the potential long-form inconvenience of the media receiving more fuel with which to batter her already-battered image.
Look at you. Maeve scanned the snot-dripping wide-mouthed boy, who continued his wailing; the only change in his behaviour was that it was now directed at Maeve.
This should just take a simple attention-distraction manoeuvre… right? It fucking better, or I’m going to look like the biggest asshat. Maeve considered herself exceptional at understanding children. After all, her little sister, Trisha, adored Maeve. That one time Charli forced Maeve to volunteer at an orphanage, she even got those kids smiling. Charli often jeered that Maeve’s affinity with children was evidence that Maeve never grew up.
Inattentive father, no signs of pain. Maybe something was taken away? Or he doesn’t want to go wherever he is being taken. He wants to be heard… attention-distraction.
Maeve looked the kid dead in the eyes. By now, she could feel the heads turning from all of the people in their nearby seats, or standing in the aisles. Yup. Charli will find out and say that this wasn’t worth the risk.
Maeve moved very slowly as the child watched her. She made a point of moving with emphasis, plucking a coin from her pocket and placing it on top of her closed fist, inches from the child’s face. She watched the kid’s eyes tracking her hand.
Maeve rolled the coin over her fingers, back and forth, rhythmically and almost hypnotically. Got him. His wailing was reduced to murmured crying. She paused for a second, and then SNAP! She had popped the coin up in mid-air and snatched it in her fist.
The boy flinched and was instantly silent.
Maeve manoeuvred the coin up to her thumb, proceeding to rhythmically roll it over her knuckles again. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she repeated the snatching trick. SNAP! She did it again.
The boy gasped. Then he smiled.
Maeve gestured for the boy to hold out his own hand. She plucked another coin from her pocket, placing it on top of the kid’s closed fist. “One, two, three!” She counted out and performed the trick with her own hand. The boy attempted the trick too, but missed and the coin fell. Maeve caught it with her free hand and placed it back on the boy’s fist to try again. “One, two, three!” She mouthed, and the boy popped the coin up, and SNAP!
The boy gasped louder; he smiled even wider. Maeve heard some semblance of a giggle.
Maeve performed the coin-rolling trick again, and then a disappearing-reappearing one that involved palming and more advanced sleight of hand, before presenting the coin to the kid.
The kid, now two coins and a plethora of tricks richer, yelped his excitement.
Maeve did not expect any verbal thanks from anyone, and also did not anticipate what the boy actually said. “You have really big arms!”
Maeve looked at the boy’s father to see that his expression had remained entirely plain, even though he had seen Maeve’s entire exchange with the kid. He had stopped typing, but still had his earbuds in. Upon sharing a look with Maeve, he looked at the boy for all of half a second before returning to whatever was so damn important on his laptop.
Maeve rolled her eyes and stood up, turning to walk back to the spot on the train where she was standing. Then the flash of a camera-phone appeared from her left. Are you fucking serious? She shot a look at the teenager who had clearly taken her photo. She glared at them, and while doing so, noticed at least two others shuffling in their seats to hide their own phones. Maeve sighed audibly.
“Sorry,” the flash-photo-taking kid mumbled.
Maeve threw her hood back on and returned to her spot to stand. As she did, she heard the whispers that she was all too used to.
“Ashbourne.”
“Ashbourne.”
“That’s the daughter, isn’t it?”
“Why is she taking the train?”
Maeve faced out the window, looking over the Aquila Central Business District skyline. She acted like she couldn’t hear the people gossiping about her, like they weren’t bothering her, even though it always did. Maeve knew how lucky she was to be born into one of the prestige families, but she longed for a way to simply be, without being observed at all times. Maeve’s mind automatically recalled instances where she had acted somewhat untoward in public, but she shut it down quickly. The Family Ashbourne are the protectors. Not the beloved, not the charitable; the protectors. She stared out at the city. From this distance, Maeve knew that she only had to endure, at most, another ten more minutes of this train ride.
Maeve loved looking out at the city. Her mother told her that was why Maeve argued for her particular bedroom in the manor when she was young. The city always glowed against the backdrop of the biodome and sky. The city was designed with the optical illusion of always appearing to float; one of the Family Bannister architects was responsible for that one. Charli had told Maeve which Bannister it was a hundred times, but she never bothered remembering that trivia. Of course, only about ten-percent of the Family Bannister were actually architects, but people often decide what you are in their eyes, early on, and never let you change that impression. Maeve watched a cloud soar across the brilliant blue sky, scoffing at the lie that it was.
Outside the biodome, the sky was not blue. Everyone knew that. Well, perhaps it was blue, since gamma rays and beta particles of nuclear fallout pollution are invisible, but Maeve much preferred when their biodome was coded to use purple-hue splotches as a visual indicator of the turbulent radiation severity.
Last year, Professor Dodds implemented this new filter to remove the purple warning splotches and make the sky appear more “natural” - meaning what the sky looked like before the war. Dodds cited some psychological phenomenon where people are happier - soothed, even - if they see a beautiful sky. Maeve preferred that people saw the world for what it really was: a terrifying wasteland. “If they do not see it, they will forget.” Maeve mumbled the quote to herself.
In the over four-hundred years since the war, many already have forgotten. Maeve sighed. But the Ashbournes never will. “This is our city, and we are the Family Ashbourne. We are tasked with protecting it,” Maeve whispered, parroting and mocking her mother. Look how that went for the Bannisters. Maeve took out her phone and turned it over in her hand. Realising that this might accidentally flash the Family Ashbourne Sigil to people on the train, she quickly stuffed it back in her pocket.
Maeve ruminated on the kid who was crying, and all the people here, who were more content in their discomfort than motivated to solve the problem. But I did it! Maeve mentally replayed her actions, and despite the photos taken, considered the situation an absolute win. The train was silent. I hope Danor can spin the public sentiment positively, before some asshat like Dreddlin picks it up. Emerican media will obviously eat this up. Maeve wondered if the photos taken of her were flattering or not, and then the train pulled into the tunnel. They had arrived at the station.
Maeve exited the train as quickly as she could. No amount of badgering from Charli was ever going to convince her to do this again. I’m done. That’s it. From now on, I’m taking a car from the manor, and a car back to the manor. That’s it. Maeve followed hallways of signs towards the exit. She tried to keep her head down, but a foul smell forced her to look up. What she saw in between her and the exit almost made her vomit.
The dishevelled man limply swung a half-empty grog bottle with one hand, holding out his equally dishevelled hat towards people with the other. His incoherent ramblings varied in volume, but were ceaseless; only passing trains and station-wide announcements intermittently interrupted him.
Coins in his hat clinked as he stumbled about, intercepting people who dared approach the train station exit that he had taken hostage. Some paid the toll, but most people retreated back into the station as he approached. One person tried reasoning with him, but ended up running away after being swung at with the bottle. In any case, everyone left the area as quickly as they could.
Maeve could have also found another exit, but this was the direction that she was headed in to meet Charli - by far the quickest route to the library. Taking the train instead of calling a car to the manor had already delayed Maeve and wasted enough of her day. He’s horrible, she thought. But the people capitulating to him - encouraging him - are just as bad. He couldn’t do this if it didn’t work. Where are the station guards, anyway?
The way that people recoiled from the crusty hat that the man shoved in their faces, it was as if it were a weapon. It is, Maeve thought. Or if that’s not a weapon, his stench definitely is. She considered how many people this man might have inconvenienced or worse. A hundred? A thousand? Depends on how long he’s been here.
Maeve spotted a woman holding heavy grocery bags in both hands, a small girl tugging at the hem of her dress. She looks so tired, Maeve thought. When the woman saw the dishevelled man at the exit, she let out a deep sigh before turning around. She had taken all of two steps before noticing a distinct lack of hem-tugging; the girl had meandered towards the exit.
The little girl was now standing directly in front of him, staring upwards at his disgusting and towering figure. She began to tremble while instinctively blocking her nose from the stench.
The man appeared to reach down towards her. He pointed a crooked smile at the mother as he did.
“Get the fuck away from her!” Maeve leapt forward and yelled out. Her voice boomed. She considered throwing her hood back, but ultimately decided against it.
People in the immediate area paused.
The man spun around twice, struggling to identify who had addressed him. This side of the station fell silent as a train roared past.
Maeve was relieved that he had paused in his reaching for the girl, even more relieved that the girl had been shocked into running into her mother’s embrace.
Maeve stepped forward even further. “Move and allow people to exit,” she announced in a fostered calmness through gritted teeth. Final warning. A shadow of a thought crossed her mind - this too would have been avoided if she had just called for a driver instead of taking the train. But that’s so wasteful! Maeve could hear Charli lecturing her. And if I had... What would have happened to this little girl?
The man finally oriented himself towards Maeve. He pointed at her with a single scabby outstretched finger, the rest of his hand still gripping firm to the bottle. Wild greasy hair, teeth black as if dipped in tar, clothes that might look cleaner if they had been rubbed through an Emerican coal mine.
You have no place in my city, Maeve thought. The finger pointed at Maeve sent a feeling of disgust through her that she wasn’t sure that she had ever experienced – well, maybe since Hunter Corrs had tried to ask her out in high school.
The man stumbled towards Maeve, his disorganised mug smacking lips to resemble the words “you can’t”, before Maeve had decided that she didn’t care what he was going to say.
One swift kick broke the bottle, then Maeve snapped her foot back and planted it hard into the man’s chest. She couldn’t bear anything but the soles of her shoes touching this filthy troll. He slid backwards several metres along the marble station floor. Gripping his chest in a fetal position, Maeve wondered if he was just winded, or if she had hit him hard enough to fracture. Coins scattered across the floor, dispersed widely throughout the glass shards from the broken bottle. The grog puddle leeched out; Maeve side-stepped to avoid it.
A crowd had gathered in this time, gasping collectively. Some quickly sidled from the scene, clinging to the walls as they exited, others running into the station. At a glance, Maeve saw that the vast majority continued watching as the altercation unfolded.
Maeve glanced backwards to see that the little girl was on the verge of tears. The woman locked eyes with Maeve. Look after your child, Maeve thought at the woman out of disappointment. The woman promptly turned heel in fear, hurrying towards a different exit. Maeve scowled, looking back towards the downed man. I did the right thing – I’m the only person who did the right thing.
Two station guards appeared, clad in their usual teal uniforms, tall hats and suspenders and all. Both were quite stout, making them appear very unmenacing. Good for the other part of their job - directing lost passengers, I suppose.
“What’s happened here?!” The guard with the moustache addressed Maeve and the crowd.
“I did your job for you,” Maeve approached with confidence. Dennis, she read his name badge. She gripped the base of her hood with both hands.
“Now that isn’t... you can’t just...” the non-moustached guard began with a stutter, before Maeve cut him off.
Maeve threw off her hood in dramatic fashion. She held her phone out at arms length so that the Family Ashbourne Sigil - a mountain with a giant phoenix roosted atop it - was clearly visible. “I invoke my Sigil.”
She hated announcing herself like this because it was bound to draw even more media attention, but she had already wasted enough time, and compliant guards would obviously take less time and effort to handle. I’m committed now. “This transportation hub is entrusted to the city by my family. I am appalled at the lack of security.”
The crowd reacted, even more so than when Maeve had downed the man. Immediate chattering ensued as the crowd gathered further. People started taking photos from behind Maeve, the flashes causing the coins and broken glass to gleam. Maeve stared at her shadow intermittently towering over the scene with each flash.
The moustached guard, Dennis, fashioned a scanner out of his own phone, which Maeve presented her Sigil towards. A ping satisfied the guard that he had verified Maeve’s authenticity, so he stepped backwards and bowed deeply.
“I...” the other guard stuttered, staring at his colleague until he was nudged hard in the ribs; he joined in a bow towards Maeve.
Dennis spoke while maintaining the bow. “We apologise, Miss Ashbourne. How can we be of service?”
“Clean up this mess. Make sure that,” Maeve pointed at the downed man, “never disturbs people again.”
“Yes, Miss Ashbourne,” the other guard spoke, still in a bow.
“Right away,” Dennis followed.
“I’m not staying for some bullshit report, either.” Maeve sighed at the chattering crowd before strolling directly through the exit without another glance. On her way out, she overheard three gossiped opinions.
“That poor man,” said one woman.
“She didn’t have to be so hard on him,” said another.
“The arse deserved it,” a gravelly voice remarked.
I was the only one who did anything, Maeve reassured herself.
Maeve stepped with purpose, shoving past people who had gathered on the other side of the station exit. Some discussed the commotion generally, while others commented on Maeve directly. She purposely avoided eye-contact, but felt the burning of judgemental eyes from all directions. She kept herself focused. There, Maeve felt relief upon seeing the library spire poke out through the city-scape.
The library stood eleven stories tall. As Maeve quickened her pace, she reminisced on the variety of significant memories that she’d made there. Maeve had met Charli in ninth grade on that paintball excursion; then they’d gone on their first date in the library theatre two years later to see ‘Macbeth’, and they’d even shared their first kiss in the rooftop pool. Maeve recalled Charli’s shenanigans from the last time they were in the underground bar. Before she knew it, she had arrived at the magnificent giant glass doors. Enter to learn, learn to live, Maeve read the engraved marble. She cast the prior events from her mind easily - thoughts like these had no place here.
Entering the middle of the library’s vast foyer, Maeve tilted her head upwards as she always did - as almost everyone who entered always did. Each level of the beautiful silo exhibited another avenue of learning. Greenery flanked the shelves upon shelves of books, and a twenty-metre wide chandelier shone from the ceiling. Eleven stories down, it sparkled brilliantly, the view only interrupted at the fringes by the occasional escalator jutting out. Maeve looked for the plaque on the wall to her left, barely making out its engraved letters. The silliest and vainest proof of her family’s values and contribution to the city, she read: For the betterment of learning in all peoples – a joint gift to the City of Aquila from the Family Bannister, Family Ashbourne, Family Jun Wan, and Family Eska.
A HelpBot wheeled its way to Maeve, the same way another HelpBot did with someone who’d entered in front of her. The four-foot tall robot chirped cutely, displaying its signature cartoon eyes on its top-facing screen. It auto-oriented itself to be comfortable for Maeve to view and interact with its display.
Maeve scanned the digital library card on her phone and instinctively tapped the setting to turn the HelpBot’s child-mode off. The cartoon eyes winked a goodbye before displaying a menu. Never gets old, Maeve smirked. She checked her phone for the visitor code that Charli had sent. LQDM, she tapped into the HelpBot’s screen, and the floor plan appeared, pinpointing Charli’s location. Yoga studio. Of course.
Charli’s location suddenly disappeared from the HelpBot’s map. Maeve re-entered the code in confusion, only for the HelpBot to display a message – Sorry! There doesn’t appear to be a visitor with that code. Please check the code and try again.
“What, is she leaving?” Maeve asked out loud. Or she... no. She wouldn’t. Seriously? Maeve typed in ‘yoga studio’, only to be told that there were four different yoga studio centres in the library complex. She scoffed, selecting the one on the fourth floor because it looked the most like what she remembered from the glimpse that she’d just seen. She pressed ‘Direct me’ and dismissed the HelpBot.
The digital floor of the library instantly drew a yellow line at Maeve’s feet, pulsating in the direction of the fourth floor yoga studio. These lines were very common, constantly appearing and disappearing whenever someone in the library used a HelpBot to navigate to something or someone.
Maeve broke into a run, following her directing line. Up the first escalator, Maeve rounded a bookshelf and almost bowled over a few children in a tour group. A HelpBot attempted to intercept her, chiming something along the lines of “please walk”, but Maeve spun past it and continued on her way. While running across the third floor, she was caught behind a couple who were dawdling leisurely along their own directing line in the same direction as Maeve’s. She barrelled past them as they turned a corner, uncaring for their reaction.
Yoga Studios, Maeve read the sign above the hallway of frosted-glass rooms. She entered the hallway, head on swivel, ruling out rooms based on having silhouettes of men, or multiple people, or simply being empty. Charli’s not here, Maeve concluded, running back along the hallway and unpocketing her phone as she entered the escalator back downwards. Why did she, Maeve began her thought, but was interrupted by spotting Charli on the escalator from level four to five – yoga mat and all. There you are.
Maeve spun around mid-escalator, which is something people shouldn’t do; she knocked a phone out of the hands of the person standing behind her, sending it flying over the railing and towards the bottom floor. “Sorry!” Maeve leapt off the side of the escalator, grabbing the railing with one hand, and barely catching the phone on the laces of her shoe; wobbling to balance, Maeve carefully retracted her leg, taking the phone with her free hand and presenting the phone back to its owner. She leveraged her railing hand to jump back onto the escalator.
This manoeuvre had earned some gasps and yelps from other escalator passengers, followed by some cheers and applause from those same people. Maeve paid them no mind, instead searching for Charli again, only to see – Oh no.
Charli had seen, from the level above. She shook her head and continued on her way in what looked like contempt.
Fuck. Maeve continued back up the escalator in the wrong direction, finally making her way to the fifth level and scanning the couches for Charli. There you are.
Charli was sitting with her legs crossed on a couch, reading a book, A War with Two Winners. She had propped her bag and yoga mat on the seat next to her, and intermittently sipped at her smoothie on the side table. She seemed to be trying very hard not to acknowledge Maeve approaching her.
Maeve caught her breath and flicked the hair out of her face as she approached. “Why are you avoiding me?” she huffed at Charli.
Charli answered without looking up from her book. “Because I’m mad at you,” she sipped at her smoothie. “And I don’t want to be seen with you.”
Maeve backed up a bit, looking across the floor at the bookshelves, couches, and plants before trying Charli again. “Why?”
Charli turned the page aggressively. “Figure it out. You’re smart enough.”
Maeve sighed. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“No. Wrong. You would’ve been late, like you’re always late, even if you weren’t a thug who randomly attacks poor people.”
Maeve’s jaw dropped. “How!? What!?” were the two words that audibly escaped her mouth, despite wanting to ask – “how do you already know about the guy in the train station” and “what do you mean RANDOMLY attack?”
Charli dropped her book in her lap in a huff.
Maeve pointed a finger. “That’s just not what fucking happened!”
“Don’t yell at me,” said Charli, smoothie straw in mouth.
“I’m not yelling! I...” Maeve stepped away again, only to notice a group of three young teens staring and pointing at her. Fuck off, she thought in their direction.
“Who cares what actually happened?” Charli retrieved her phone from her bag and unlocked it to show Maeve an article.
Young Ashbourne Slays Homeless for Leisure, Maeve read. She scrolled down to see a photo of her standing over the man, with the two station guards bowed. I was just walking past! This makes me look like I... Maeve scrolled further to see who wrote this attack piece. “Aw this is just some Emerican bullshit! They always spin everything as -”
“I know.” Charli shrugged and snatched her phone back. “Does everyone else know? Did you have to make a scene?”
Maeve sighed again. She almost apologised, but she couldn’t help but defend herself. “He was blocking everyone’s way, demanding money for ages. No one did anything! Then this poor woman with huge shopping bags... and this little girl!” She acted out the scene, only to see Charli pick her book back up, but this time also put earbuds in. Maeve could hear the music playing at volume.
“What about tonight? The Expo. People will think it looks weird if we’re not there together.” Maeve especially wanted Charli’s support in public, if what happened in the train station had already taken over the media cycle.
“Then it’ll look weird. I’m not going.” Charli sipped at her smoothie and spoke without looking up from her book again. “Just go away. Leave me alone until you grow up.”
“I was just helping people!” Maeve pleaded, only to be met by Charli raising the volume on her music.
“You were not helping. You were just showing off. I’m suped too, but you don’t see me doing acrobatics off of escalators. Ever since you got your Sigil, it’s like you’ve turned your brain off.”
Maeve watched Charli read for a moment, before noticing that the three people who’d recognised her had grown to a group of about fifteen. Maeve buried her face in her hands. How could I fumble my chance to be congratulated for handling the kid on the train!
As Maeve made her way out of the library, she wondered if this was the saddest that she’d ever left this place. Oh. Maybe this is the second saddest, after that first time we broke up. Maybe third after the third time that we broke up.