6th Vhalar
Isonomia was a charity that was designed to help the sink hole they lived in. They existed to better the living conditions of many and to strike poverty out of the world. Oskar lived for those beliefs but couldn't see them doing anything. He had walked here, through the wall, and amongst the clean, orderly streets, he could almost imagine that they were doing something, that they were caring for the people who lived in the Earth Quarter who were struggling. But he knew just as well that they weren't. It was the Dust Quarter that struggled. And the Dust Quarter that he had walked through was untouched by most who tried to help - the Lightning Knights and perhaps even Isonomia.
He didn't judge them for it. It was difficult enough to help as it was. That wasn't why he was here - to call them out on it.
Oskar had come so he could offer his hand up in assistance. With the events that had happened recently, he was wary. Wary that there were so many who were being placed in his position every time, unable to make a correct choice. And he needed to help them. Oskar needed to see them get help. And he couldn't do that on his own. He had to help someone to help them.
He paused outside the building. There had been plenty of people who had helped him there. He wondered what they thought of him. His shirt was dirty and needed a wash, but he was saving on soap and planning to do that in a few more trials. His red hair was clean, but long and the ends were splitting. The ends of his trousers were frayed, no matter how many times he repaired them, there was a hole in his boot, his coat was far too large for him. And that was just his clothing. His grey skin looked sallow, his eyes had no light, and the bruises across his face added colour to his skin.
He was a sorry sight. But there was something in his step that betrayed he didn't feel sorry for himself.
The house was well made, from stone and brightly painted doors and flowers outside. It was made prettily and he wondered what sort of person owned it. Faith, was her name, Faith who was probably pretty and liked bright colours and squirted joy wherever she stepped. He wondered whether that joy came from innocence or a desperate need to coat what she was aware of. For a second, he debated whether to knock. Then he realised it was probably unnecessary and that he could just enter.
With boots stamped clean before the door, he stepped in, peering around. It was strange, being surrounded by four walls that actually kept the draught out, he realised. He hadn't been somewhere like this for too long, he realised. There were armchairs and sofas with actual fabric covering them, not scraps, with a solid floor beneath them, not dust, with a ceiling above that had the strength to support another floor above them. If only everyone in the world could live in a house like this.
"Hello?" he asked, voice tentative. He was hesitant to step any further. He didn't belong here. In any moment, someone would see him - see what he looked like - and decide to kick him out for trespassing, or breaking or entering, or something. This place wasn't made for someone like him. "Hello?"
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