Vignette:I Have Many Questions
I Have Many Questions
- 10 Freudenbergstraße, Alvastadt, Imperial State of Alva
December 15th, 1981
is bed could not have been more captivating after what had happened today.
Mehmet had a little case of culture shock the moment he stepped foot onto Alvak soil. His mother insisted he go study economics, but she never specified where. All he did that fateful night was pull up a map of the world and throw a worn-out dart at it. When it landed on Alva, he was expecting a modern Iram of the Pillars, with skyscrapers of concrete and glass galore shooting up and out from a desert oasis when he got there. He was expecting to speak just one language there; Aravan was a North Kesh language, so he assumed everyone there spoke it.
He could not have expected what he was met with. Airport announcements in four languages? Why were they speaking Artemian tongues here? Was Alva not a country in North Kesh? Their Empress was of Goetic heritage; this was a paradox he could not wrap his already addled mind around. Perhaps he should have listened to his servants more before he got on that plane. And yet, as he was chauffeured down the wide highways of Alvastadt, he saw more contradictions.
Their flag was of a colonial origin, but they all looked so at home here. He passed by a myriad of bazaars, coffee and tea houses, and agoras on his way to his new residence; they all blended together so well. His afternoon stroll–or rather, reconnaissance only brought more questions into his mind. Aravan, Goetic, and Thalassian architecture sprawled throughout the city while also keeping to their own districts. This odd melding of three cultures that should never have mixed made his head hurt. Where were the lines of camels, stretching as far as his eyes could see? Was he really that oblivious?
His servants looked like they were handling the new environment moderately well; a clear departure from his situation. When he came back in at midnight, they had already made themselves comfortable. One servant got to work polishing his car, another walked out of his room with cleaning utensils in hand, and one had the audacity to watch the television. His bedroom used to have a great view of the main campus; it’s one in the morning, so that view is dimly illuminated by halogen lights now. So much for that, he supposed.
His evening tour of the campus grounds was fruitful, however. His soon-to-be comrades-in-arms were busy either wreaking havoc on their bodies with copious amounts of hashish, becoming permanent fixtures in the library as they flipped through unimaginable quantities of books, or bored out of their minds to the point of being comatose. As he slowly drifts toward the blackness of unconsciousness, he sets a plan for himself.
He’s gotta host a party here as soon as possible if he wants answers.
