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Light wisteria. It was a flash in Prester’s mind as he glared down at the Toons below his tower. Perhaps it was one of those rapscallion’s fur coats, maybe an article of clothing, perhaps even one of those fatuous gags they slung around. An unfamiliar feeling filled his internal endoskeleton, seeping into every last spring and sprocket within his metal form.
Light wisteria, what a beautiful color. “Sire, are you alright?” One of the members of his mob, a Big Wig, cautiously approached him. Prester’s eyes were wide and his face was unusually pale, he looked as if he was about to be ill as he took a step away from the tower wall. ‘Sire’ turned to face them, stiffer than he usually was.
Prester Virgil was a diligent man, always choosing his words carefully. Yet he unusually found himself at a slight loss for them at the moment, as if a ghoul had stolen them away from his internal dictionary, “Ah, yes. I am hale and hearty, just a tad… perturbed. ” He straightened out his bow-tie, his voice unusually unsure and ever so slightly shaken. He had to come up with an excuse for this weakness of his, had to get the mob distracted. “Those dreadful picaroons down there, their babble and their rede. It ails me, alongside those wenches and the gorgers I am forced to work with.” Oh it ailed him alright. The mob braced themselves for a long disrespectful tirade from Prester, as that was what usually followed him complaining about Holly and Ms. Morsecode.
“Leave me be, I implore you.” After a short pause, Prester dismissed the handful of other Cogs on the tower, “I must battle this vexing consternation myself. Away with you! Away! ” With a flick of his wrist and a couple confused exchanged glances, the mob dissipated, leaving Prester by his lonesome.
Once he knew he was truly alone and no longer being watched, he rested his elbows on the wall of the tower. He gazed over the playground below, drumming his fingers against the cobblestone as old foggy memories replayed in his head. His eyes stopped at a familiar hidden opening, tucked right behind a meaningless building.
Light wisteria. It was a color so bright against the typical grays of Suitopia. That was one aspect of what made Winston Byrd stick out to a younger Prester Virgil, the hue of their metal. That along with their cheery smile, kind demeanor, and an intriguing hypnotic aura. They were quite unique, almost always having one genuine good thing to say about a Suit. Truly, Prester did not remember how he first met them, it had been so long ago… all he could remember was being drawn to them. What a beautiful person.
They had eventually become actual friends. It wasn’t quick, as Prester liked to keep Suits at an arm’s distance away from him, but Winston’s plucky personality had still eventually manage to worm its way past the barriers and directly into his cold heart. The two became a dynamic duo of some kind, Winston schmoozing well-kept secrets out of people for Prester’s own benefit, usually legal cases, in exchange for promised outings and a bit of monetary payment. Suitopia was not a society that rewarded true cordiality, so getting the chance to actually have a friend they could go out with was amazing for Winston. They’d often go out to the cinema to watch a play, or perhaps to a diner for lunch. Sometimes, they’d just go on a walk together, and chat about whatever crossed their minds at the time.
As the years went on, and their relationship deepened, Prester had realized he fell in love. Handshakes had become hugs, and those hugs had become chaste kisses. Other Suits often gave them weird looks, but neither of them cared. They taught each other hidden tricks they kept up their sleeves; Winston taught him the art of mind manipulation, while Prester taught them the art of saying words so pointed it physically hurt their enemies. Together, they felt on top of the world, like they could take over Suitopia and rule it in the palms of their fists. Hand and hand, mechanical digits interlocked.
He still remembered the day it all began to fall apart.
Winston was ecstatic, they had managed to secure a job at the Coal, Oil, and Gas Syndicate as their very own Public Relations Representative. Prester was so proud of them, as he should be, Winston had worked incredibly hard to get to that point. They were incredibly qualified for it, the job was a perfect fit for them. There was only one issue. The job required Winston to move across the globe to a different nation: Toontown, planned to be renamed to Cog Nation once it was conquered. They were both a bit apprehensive about it at first, but the takeover was promised to be quick and the ports would open up for regular Suit visitors. Prester was still employed at S.C.R.E.W LLC, so he’d have to wait for that takeover.
Winston promised to write frequently and use vacation days to visit. And Prester, the fool he was, believed them. Winston wrote a handful of times, around one per week, detailing what was going on and how happy they were to be there. They wrote about their bosses, their work, the “funny Toons”, and, of course, how much Prester would love it there. They wrote about getting stationed in the Stone and Iron District, a place they noted that he would really like, and then…
Nothing. Radio silence from all ends. Prester was worried. Did something happen to Winston? Were they okay? Did they just get bored of him and decide to ghost him? Was communication cut by an outside force? Prester did know there was a conflict there, Winston wrote about it, but that just made him even more anxious.
In the following years, Prester would get hired at C.O.G.S Inc. for other reasons. Sure, it was partly to seek closure in regards to Winston, but he also just desired to further his career. Any closure he got was just a bonus.
Winston was not there, and nobody who could possibly know what happened to them told Prester anything. The bosses played dumb, the employees were actually dumb, and the ones he was told to call his “equals” didn’t even know who Winston Byrd was.
Prester was the one who discovered the secret of the dungeon himself. The fact Winston’s kindness was their downfall, the fact he didn’t even know if they were even still operational down there. The fact he saw Toons come in and out of that dungeon with that look in their eyes, coming in with pies and bowling balls in hand and coming out with less. As if they were used on something.
Light wisteria, light wisteria…
It was a color that made Prester want to end this war with force, cast them all into the flames.