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 |  Where I have NaNoWriMo 2014 efforts |
| Biin I touched down in Alesia at exactly two decmins past Sunhigh. When I say touched down, I mean that literally, for my usual mode of progression is a gentle hover about four inches of ground level on unobstructed paths. But, I prefer to conform, and most of Alesia’s citizens walk. There was a large two-storied structure in front of me, with sliding automatic entry doors and enough noise and merriment spilling out with each such opening that I knew it was a Hall, a place where people gathered to enjoy themselves. It needed no signs to proclaim itself as such; each hamlet would have only one such. I pulled my cloak together at the front, the soft red swirled around my ankles as I walked through the soft swish of the opening doors. The hum of voices was at a pleasant level, loud enough to make it feel like a cheery welcome, but muted enough by the high ceilings and pillars that separated groups to prevent people feel intruded upon. I hesitated in the doorway, my kind, the Elven were common enough for my stature, or lack thereof not to be remarked upon openly. One the whole this was courtesy but some part was in fear too, that of reprisal by use of our powers, despite it also being well-known that we had strict codes of conduct too and magical repisal was frowned upon. Fear is an engine that cares not for the coal of logic, preferring instead the flame of imagination. A demure girl materialized at my side, she was dressed in a cinnamon shift, girdled in gold at the waist. A discreet white badge, “Hall of Lac” proclaimed her official capacity. “May I take your cloak, Ra?” I flipped it off with one dextrous finger at my throat; her eyes flickered for a moment at my hand before returning to focus on a more decorous spot, somewhere above my left shoulder. If my six fingers didn’t throw her off … I wickedly decided to test her a little further. “Thanks, it’s so kind of you …” I dropped the cloak into her waiting hand and the material slithered off in a waterfall that never reached the floor condensing itself into a neat square within my palm. I tucked it into one cuff and pretended ignorance of her widening gaze. “I assure you that it is not mere dislike of paying cloak-keeping fees, although Minim and Minim make many, but I often have to leave in a hurry and this saves time.” My explanation galvanized her into action once more, and she gestured me to follow her, murmuring a discreet, “Common Floor, Table or Alcove?” I gestured to the Common Floor, “I’ll wait by the bar, thanks, but we might need an alcove later.” Her features were well-schooled but I had ways of detecting the faint distaste she felt at the request – the expectation that I was there to pick up someone for a little dalliance. Whether she was just a tad prudish or whether she had a prejudice against racial mingling was something I might have amused myself in knowing once upon a time. Nowadays I probed only where required, and today there were more important things to determine. I fluffed out my hair to cover my large pointed ears, with so much to separate me from the multitude you’d think these were the least of my concerns, but it truth it was these over which I agonized most, the one feature that made me self-conscious, especially in front of a pretty girl. Or, as in this case, behind a pretty girl – I was following dear Ra, Can-I-take-your-cloak and enjoying every second of it. Quite the little show she was making, of ignoring me whilst catering to my needs, snaking her way through the throng with an easy swing of hips and turns of a slim torso. Her raiment glittered with pearly lights in a hypnotic undulating pattern and I found more than one pair of male eyes swivel to appreciate the sight. She left me at the fringe of the central hub with a practiced seductive look, one that said, approach me if you dare. It was well done, I had seen enough of the world to know that, but she was dealing with matters beyond her grasp. I was amused; I gave her my standard deprecatory half-shrug – the one that proclaimed regret at being too busy to take up the challenge. Body language suggestion was a specialty of mine, she got the message all right, the fleeting dimple in one cheek as she turned away spoke volumes. It was not quite time to share a little secret with her. I might, if the time came, as I had dallied with one or two who were not of my race. It was never a taboo for us. But, we had taken care enough that very few knew that we had the best of both worlds in its widest sense, being androgynous, and able to assume either role at will or inclination. Odd-coupling was required only for procreation, for amusement we could do as we wanted. I was able to seat myself without difficulty, someone having got up just as I reached his place. Someone always did, just a coincidence most would think, where others were standing three deep shoulder to shoulder that I would reach in the only gap, behind the only vacated seat in ages. If any had paid attention, my hoisting myself onto a stool thirty-five thumbs in height when I barely topped twenty-eight thumbs fully shod should have been fun to behold. But the one-toed jump that took me there was accomplished with ease of practice and incited not so much as the flicker of one eyelid. I perched there, looking around at the crowd, mainly humanoid forms, an Elven blood showing here and there in pointed ears and slight green or blue tinge to the skin. My own skin was a soft golden hue, but the Viridian Elves left some trace in the skin, unlike my own line of Clear Elves. Not more than a trace however, I was the only one under fifty thumbs in height, and there were many over seventy here. My eyes accosted mostly males, with a cross-section across the entire spectrum, but with a sprinkling of females, the ones who dressed and imitated ‘man-ly’ behaviour, to the others who displayed all the differences between the sexes in pitiless detail. I saw at least two attractive males and one really alluring female. I kept my mind on the task before me, however. I was here with a purpose as far removed from romantic dalliance as could be. Not that it did any harm to look and note details, just that I wasn’t going to get distracted, even if I had to while away time with a drink or two before my appointed … well, let me put it this way, if I was appointed, he’d become my boss. The counter-keep, a wizened character who was so old he seemed ageless, skin like smooth leather, gathered at the eyes and corners of the mouth with laughter lines. His hands were parchment over knobby bones, with thick veins like green worms crawling over them; he was busy with a dust-catcher, a small whisk made of dried flax. He collected orders that were flicked to him on small plastic discs, the biometric impression of the customer generated his credit information and personal preferences automatically, and changes could be made by pressing options as they flickered on the face of the disk. I secured a blank disk myself, the man at my right glanced at me. “That be for account holders only young Ra.” I turned to face the speaker, tossing back the disc to the counter-keep. I had ordered the house-special, a large flagon of hissing green liquid that emitted sparks if stirred. It was made of the local grain, and matured in large metal casks anchored to lightning masts for ten years. It had a distinct … shall we call it buzz? “I have just opened an account here, Ramen.” I used the full form of the honorific, it implied respect, a thing never to be neglected. He was a contrast to me, my neighbour, a burly giant, maybe thrice my physical size, but the form was huddled and crumpled in a non-intimidating heap, like a gorilla with its bones removed. The tunic and trousers were clean and of good quality but showing signs of wear and toil – thrown on as if by guess and luck rather than as sartorial choice. “No offense, Ra. No offense. I thought you might be a stranger.” He extended one hand to me, palm turned upwards, thumb upright. A likeable geezer would have been anybody’s verdict, but although I saw no harm in continuing to talk, I vowed to be wary. I extended my own hand, mirroring his gesture, but palm turned down, thumb pointing down to touch his. At the correct moment, our forearms twisted and the palms connected in a firm handclasp and shake. The traditional Alesian offer and acceptance of friendship. “As, to that, it was kindly meant, so no offense taken. I am a stranger, but I intend to settle here.” “You’ll be a Joiner, then? From where be you, if I may query thus?” “Yes, indeed. A joiner, from Raut, but my grand-mother was from these parts.” “Ah, yes, Raut. There’s many here with ties to here. You have the look of one from those lands, making bold to say, young Ra. Mayhap I heard of yin Gamm, what were her old name? I wager she’s gone now, or thee would not have spoken of her?” Ah, he might know of her at that, he looks like a gossipy one at any rate, he has picked up a little of our customs somehow. Those who marry into our clan give up their identities, to take up a new one. They must integrate fully and the old name, the old existence, may not be spoken again until they are gone. “Cert is the word, she has been gone these fifteen years and more. It is pleasant to talk to one who understands, Ramen.” Oh, leave off the lathering yunnun, and with the titles too. I might have the advantage of you in age, but methinks you’re my weight or more in all else.” Here he leaned in close and banged his flagon of drink next to mine so that the rims clinked, “Salaame!” “Salamme!” I gazed into two bright eyes, chips of obsidian with gold flecks in them, enigmatic with just a tint of endearing mischief; I returned the old salutation, one that I hadn’t heard for years outside my own country. “So you like Fizzlers, yunnun?” “Well, I like a drink to stimulate all my senses at one go, this one certainly does that!” I raised my flagon in admiring approval and let another sip hit my palate with its unique sharp impact, faint sweetness, salt, smoky, a hint of sour, all the while with the impact of the sparks and bubbles. In fact in common parlance they shortened it to Sparking Liquor or Bubbly. “The next one is on me, then.” I stopped his arm from reaching for another disc, “Nay, I never drink more than one. I like to be in control as much as I like the fire on my tongue. I learned a long time ago that there’s only two numbers in drinks …” “Mine and yours ….?” I smiled at the mild joke and added my own bit, “I think it’s one, and one more! I stop at one.” The man narrowed his eyes at me and I felt overwhelmed my the brooding look before the brows lifted and the lips parted as he snorted approval. “Good to see a yunnun with his head screwed on right! And would you like a game of throws then, Ra?” He jerked his head at a board at the end of the room, where a group of participants of both sexes were trying to hit moving targets with the implement of their choice, from blowpipes to darts to catapults. “I grew up a long time ago, Ramen. Such games are for those who have no better way to work off aggressive instincts. My game of choice is Shay.” “Indeed? And how many boards do you use?” “The last time I played it was with three simultaneous opponents in timed play and eight board trimensional play.” “And did you win, Yunnun?” “Nay, Ramen, all the matches were drawn between me and my opponents.” “It is truthful, you are?” That was a startled question, for even one draw in such circumstances was considered good. In fact, I was considered the deemed winner since I had played all three together where they each played only me. I merely looked back, a calm stare, what would be the purpose of lying? All matches of skill were recorded; it would take little effort to find the hollowness of a braggart’s boast. “By Nihal, yunnun, I apologize, I was surprised that’s all. It is only three men who have managed that and you must be …” “My name is Biin of Raut, what’s yours?” “Remarrh of Alesia, yunnun.” I felt the amusement build up – but not within me, it was from without, from the man beside me. It welled up like a tidal wave rushing into a narrow coastal inlet to crash over my mind, leaving it in as much a shambles as the wake of one those natural phenomena. For Remarrh was a Minder, that is one who could read mind waves and it was he who had come here to ‘interview’ me. I felt this gush of fellow feeling, that which any wanderer will have when he espies something familiar in an alien world, an oasis of self in the desert of others. I smiled stupidly at the hulk who beamed back at me and our hands remained clasped all the while. The girl materialized at my side, the disdain all the more marked. “Your alcove is ready Ra,” she intoned. I got up and Remarrh followed, from the friendly paw that rested upon my shoulder, I thought the interview had gone well. ** Image ID #1756771 Unavailable **   ** Image ID #1637559 Unavailable ** ![Merit Badge in Editing
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