Violetta Burns disliked most things that were predominantly boring or proved fruitless to her when it came to gaining some sort of new knowledge or experience. She craved mysteries and puzzles, loved watching crime scene shows if she could ever find the time, and above all, had adoration for codes. Right then she was staring straight ahead of herself, but a faint blue light twinkled over her pale violet eyes. Looking through the lenses, information strung itself up into her field of view with every flick of her gaze. A man sitting on a bench, clutching a ratty backpack to his chest, hair greased back and oily orange jumpsuit hinting at a gritty job, one that didn’t pay much. A sparse blue outline wavered around his form, beside him his name and tidbits of information Vi tended to like to know about people. 

Her interest shifted from him and back into the crowd. They reminded her of a flock of mindless sheep, following an unseen shepherd to a flying trap made of steel. Vi didn’t very much like flying, but she would tolerate it for the sake of trying something new. As long as there was coffee, she would be alright. Her father had jokingly told her before the reason for her garish skinniness; it seemed coffee was the only thing she would drink, and would even be substituted for food. Vi never denied it. She wasn’t too fond of eating, liked picking at her food until her small stomach was satisfied.

Petite everywhere and bearing the body of a young adolescent, Vi only looked her age in her eyes and on the gentle slopes of her face. She was 5’3’’ and weighing a measly 105 pounds. Her arms were slender sticks with wrists that carried bony fingers, legs just large enough to hold her up on her feet, and chest as flat as a four year-olds. Her raven hair cascaded down her back in snarling waves, an almost wicked presence with the sharply-cut la[injection]yers skillfully cut as her chosen style. The locks fr[injection]amed her gaunt cheeks, the bend in her jaw, and made her dainty nose look proud. 

Violet didn’t look intimidating upon first glance but catch her in the eyes and a chill might tickle your spine. She had unwavering confidence when it came to word games. After all, one who worms around in illegal business must have a bit of a sharp tongue. Her tongue, oddly enough at the moment, came out to swipe at her chapped lips. The moving arrows underneath her feet changed direction and the monstrosity came into view. Her head cocked to the side as she stared at it, waiting for her glasses to pick up what she wanted. 

“Calcifer, what have you got on it?” Her words were buttered with a soft accent, her R’s sounding like ah’s and her O’s just a bit deeper than norm. The earpiece resting in her right ear was touched by a single fingertip as she spoke. It was not necessary; there was no button to press so the said Calcifer would be able to hear her. It was a greeting of some sort, a habit she had when she was starting a conversation with him via the earpiece. 

“Its name is the Zephyr, Miss, as you already know. Built back in the day, it was repaired numerous times, once a relic from the past. The townsfolk here hadn’t had the heart to break it down even when it started to fail. A bit of money went into renovating it before it was seen as a lost cause and only funds from its beloved fans kept up maintenance. There is a twenty-seven percent chance it may fail while flying. Miss, are you sure you are up for this?” His accent matched Violet’s. After all, Vi had programmed him herself. Sometimes she regretted it, what with his acquired snappiness and the occasional witty comment...

“All the more reason to be excited, Cal,” she said cheerily. “Any coffee places near here?” A small chuckle in her ear followed by an amused, ‘no’ made her frown and murmur a short curse under her breath. It was now that she was looking up at the underbelly of the craft. Its long nose was a faded gray, splotches of rust flaking, crimson rain showering down on the pavement below. People pushed her from behind as she stood to gawk (and worry). She tossed her black tresses behind her shoulder and breezed past those that had rudely stalked by her before. 

The inside was a bit more promising. Violet raised a hand to open the door and found the closest available seat. The closest happened to be quite a distance from the door since so many others had boarded before her. When she found a suitable place to set up, Violet set her scrappy black backpack down next to her, unzipped it with a flourish, and removed a slick translucent ob[injection]ject. The screen lit up at the touch of her fingertips. Violet settled back in her seat and brought her knees up; she raised a hand to remove her glasses, folded them up skillfully, and tucked them in the pocket of her peacoat. 

Her fingers twitched rather spastically across the screen, but the strokes were as loving as they were manic. Upon her touch, she delved into various database files and started to pull more information about the ship. Its history was devoured hungrily and when she was through with that, she broke a few more codes, a few tricky ones stalling her for a couple of minutes, and continued her search. Calcifer was careful to clean up any traces she left (an A.I. was as good as its programmer). 

She was startled, then, when a young man around her age tripped and whacked his head against one of the tables in the room. Her lids fluttered as she bl[injection]inked, then stared at him and saw the blood trickle from the side of his head. Unfazed, she shrugged and looked back at the screen. Most others paid no mind to him. It was a dog-eat-dog world and in a place where a ship’s port was cozy with a prison, there were only hardened people, sometimes more animal than man, around here. 

Her conscience won out eventually, along with a bit of chiding from Calcifer, before Violet tossed her deck back into her bag and skirted around a few people to rest next to the unconscious man. She withdrew her glasses from her coat and placed them back over the bridge of her nose. bl[injection]inking twice in rapid succession, crisscrossing lines flooded her field of vision as the glasses turned on. They dispersed and the familiar blue aura surrounded the man. Violet drew up his health and rubbed her nose as she checked him over. 

“Unconscious, but you’ll wake up soon,” she said and plopped down on her butt. She opened up her bag again; her hand disappeared and remerged with some tissues. Balling them up in her palm, she patted him none-too-gently on the bloody spot and slapped his cheek, all the while telling him to wake up. Vi was done taking care of a klutz that couldn’t watch where he was going, especially since she hadn’t had any coffee yet.