Victims of Cycle
Posted: Mon Jun 17, 2019 7:25 pm
Loshis 27, 2719
Palis sighed as he stood on the white steps of Vienda’s political capitol, the pale pistachio umbrella in his left hand shielding him from the fat, warm raindrops that had drowned the spring sunshine for all 27 days of a Loshis. The sunlight that did filter through the lazy blanket of clouds washed Vienda in a dreary grey light. Yet, Palis stood out against the wet, cobblestone world that encompasses him, as he’d prefer. In a pale green suit and leaf green vest, the only part of a Palis’ outfit that had succumbed to the monochromatic world that surrounded him were the black shoes that he changed into before coming outside to spare the little shoes that matched his vest from the rain that soaked into his socks now. If anything, he was thankful the rain was warm and fell strictly vertically. That winter had been a disgusting one, with several cold and ill-thought adventures in freezing, blowing rain leaving Palis bed-ridden over his birthday. He would certainly take Loshis over Ophus, but, still, the thought did not make him any less impatient. He pulled a silver pocket watch with floral etchings from he inside of his coat, and, flipping it open, checked it. By the 15 numbers that marked the 30 hours of the day, it was nearing the 13th. Only half an hour before, Incumbent Siordanti has interrupted Palis’ assignment— a small research project on the immediate response and recent effects of the Dentis prison break within Seventen ranks— with a soft knock on the small cherry desk he had been granted smashed into the corner of Siordanti’s personal office. In nearly three years of working with the incumbent, Palis’ perhaps unfounded idolization of his political role model has not dulled in the slightest, leaving the man so near to growing out of his lowly status as an intern unable to decline a job that could so easily could have been handed to a much less experienced intern. Because of this, Palis now stood in the rain, itching to return to his work.
He was awaiting the arrival of— Ralor, was it? He uncurled the small slip of paper that had been crushed in his umbrella hand.
Mr. Ralor Szczebrzeszynks, 13th hour it read in Siordanti’s slanted hand.
”We’ll stick to first names, then,” he thought to himself, eyeing the surname of the new intern. The man was Anatole’s, and Palis had to say a mental prayer for him. He loved Anatole; truly, the man was the nearest thing Palis had to family after his how father. Yet, even Palis had to admit that Anatole’s skills in politics had up and vanished with him in his delirium, but had not joined him on the return trip to his life. Many of the line items that Anatole had once preached were off his mind, and the political connections he once has built instead collapsed. And, now Palis, out of the pity or kindness or loyalty or idiocy of his heart was trying to help. Maybe this— he glanced back at the note— maybe this Ralor could help. He slipped the note into his pocket and squinted across the square. When Ralor’d come, Palis would be at his carriage with his umbrella and signature smile armed and ready. He’d introduce himself (first names only, of course) and then lead Ralor into the capitol. For now, though, he stood in the rain, letting the warm water of Loshis soak sickeningly into his socks.
He was awaiting the arrival of— Ralor, was it? He uncurled the small slip of paper that had been crushed in his umbrella hand.
Mr. Ralor Szczebrzeszynks, 13th hour it read in Siordanti’s slanted hand.
”We’ll stick to first names, then,” he thought to himself, eyeing the surname of the new intern. The man was Anatole’s, and Palis had to say a mental prayer for him. He loved Anatole; truly, the man was the nearest thing Palis had to family after his how father. Yet, even Palis had to admit that Anatole’s skills in politics had up and vanished with him in his delirium, but had not joined him on the return trip to his life. Many of the line items that Anatole had once preached were off his mind, and the political connections he once has built instead collapsed. And, now Palis, out of the pity or kindness or loyalty or idiocy of his heart was trying to help. Maybe this— he glanced back at the note— maybe this Ralor could help. He slipped the note into his pocket and squinted across the square. When Ralor’d come, Palis would be at his carriage with his umbrella and signature smile armed and ready. He’d introduce himself (first names only, of course) and then lead Ralor into the capitol. For now, though, he stood in the rain, letting the warm water of Loshis soak sickeningly into his socks.