The Academy
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Luke anxiously binged watched Shallon Lester's How To Be Popular in High School video series to prepare him for the academy, and he was eager to try her advice.
Before he went to the academy, he attended a public school in spire of his parents' wealth. His father, a self-made billionaire (at least that's what Forbes says), wanted him to be humble and appreciate his wealth. However, he was relentlessly teased for being too posh and proper. His elegant, aristocratic nature earned him the nickname "Princess Diana", something he wanted to escape.
His father agreed to send him to a conservative Inquistan private academy in hopes of helping him find people who will accept him better. Stiff, zealous Inquistan Orthodox homophobes.
Luke tried channeling Marlon Brando as he entered his dorm room. He wasn't successful in faking an air of manly, bold confidence he was going for... But he was good enough to appear likable. He was ready to meet his roommate with a smile on his face and a firm handshake.
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Collab between @Inquista @Red-Croatia and me :sunglasses:
Yekaterina decided now was the time to break some rules of this decrepit and aging institution. Yekaterina didn't even believe in Orthodoxy, she, as her family, was Protestant to its core. She was only attending this school because she was a political exile, and this was the next best thing to schools in Saint Regina. 'I hate rules.' She thought to herself, and then looked at the key rules that she could break: no alcohol, no drugs, no cigarettes and no arson were the top ones, but more subtle ones were also available. The Nuns had told all the girls that they must not roll up their skirts above their knees - no equivalent rule for the guys of course. She knew from her time at the grammar school that you had to be subtle about this, she would roll up her skirt an inch each week, as to not arouse suspicion. And so she folded an inch up of her skirt then thought about her next transgression. Arson was a possibility, but, like the skirt, she would have to build up to that. Cigarettes she already just had in her room, and so there was no real challenge to that. She decided that the ‘no alcohol’ rule would be the first she would break. Surely there would be some kind of party later on tonight, it was the first day of term. As such, she decided to venture out into the city to see if she could find some alcohol for later on.
She put her headphones in and listened to the album Gin Tonic by Françoise Hardy, a Nicoleizian singer 'from' the 60s, but Yekaterina appreciated all of her work. Hardy had also hosted the 2019 Met Gala in Saint Regina, she wondered what had happened to her - she was kind of old so she worried for her. She then stepped out of the school - which isn't allowed without permission. Her mission was clear, she needed to find some alcohol. She opened up Maps on her phone and put in directions to a local supermarket. The directions read to her by Siri in Nicoleizian were like music to her ears. She was so tired of speaking and hearing English, she just wanted to hear one of her native languages again, and Siri obliged her. 'What a weird future we live in.' She thought to herself. She then arrived at the store and looked at the people walking up to it and wondered which of them would be most likely to say yes to her request. She asked a man who looked a bit worse for wear, raggedy clothes etc. She suspected he may be homeless, and she kind of felt bad for ‘using’ a homeless man, but she gave him 50 Inquistos more than he needed in order to pick up the 3 10 CL bottles of vodka. It wasn’t an 100% moral transaction, but she knew that by faith alone she could ascend to protestant heaven just fine. The man gave her the vodka she asked for and she thanked him. He tried to give her back the change, but she refused. This vodka was weird and she could tell it wasn’t really the same as the Nicoleizian vodka she was used to.
She then headed back to the school and smoked a cigarette. When she was back at the school, she decided to explore, wander the corridors to look for a party at which to use this alcohol. It didn’t matter if she didn’t find a place today or tomorrow, she could definitely keep it stashed away somewhere, and no Nun or anyone could take it from her. And so when she got back to the school, she wandered down corridors looking for just people to ask, but to no avail… yet.
Brock Whiteford hung his (Free) Icholasen flag across two lights, and realised that that was all the decorating he could be bothered to do. Maybe he’d head to a shop one day and buy some other stuff, but he was pretty basic and was content with just the flag. He loved the orange flag with the blue and black coat of arms. He really wished he could be back in Saint Regina right now, living in the Korojaunu’s Palace. He decided to leave his door wide open. His mum had said that that’s the best way to make friends, just leave your door open and someone will come along. Though he doubted the efficacy of this plan. No random person would come in and talk to you, Brock certainly wouldn’t were the situation reversed, but he did it anyway.
A short while later, a person suddenly appeared in the middle of Brock’s door frame. “I knew it!” the person announced, pointing at Brock’s flag.
Brock laughed. “Knew that I’m Nicoleizian?”
“Yes! Well I overheard you talking to someone earlier and,” the person began, before stopping themselves to laugh. “Never mind! Hi, my name is Rhys,” he introduced himself.
“Hi, I’m Brock Whiteford. Nice to meet you. And yes, that Whiteford.”
Rhys seemed to be taken aback when Brock dropped the W-bomb. “Oh”, he announced in surprise. A few seconds later, he broke into a smile. “This is such a funny coincidence. My name is Rhys Johnson-Reynels. My uncle is Antoni Reynels! He works with your mom! I didn’t know you would be in Inquista?”
“Oh wow. Antoni’s been round for dinner a bunch of times, he’s a really nice guy. I guess at this school I’ll need to get used to people knowing my mother lol. And yeah - I’ve moved from Europolis, I used to go to Europolis High. I guess both me and mum didn’t vibe with that school, and so I’m here. I think it’s an informal way for Free Nicoleizians, like me, to liaise with the next generation of Inquistan leaders so we don’t get unrecognised, or whatever.”
“I’m sorry about what has happened in Icholasen… I wish I got to visit it before it got ruined. Not that I mean that’s ruined forever! I’m just saying,” Rhys backtracked. “I once met someone who went to Europolis High, and I can see why you would feel that way. He was a massive douchebag. Not gonna lie though, the Academy has a reputation that just might be worse.”
“Oh dear” Brock laughed. “It’s okay, I’m sure the Academy will be good. I mean, I hope. Have you been here since Year 9 then?”
“Nah, I’m new. Just transferred. You?”
“Yeah -- me too. I’d gone to Europolis until the end of last academic year. So I guess we’re both new kids. I guess there’ll be quite a few what with all the panicked Nicoleizians fleeing Icholasen. But anyway, what does your class schedule look like? We might be in some of the same classes”
“Let me see,” Rhys answered as he pulled his phone from his pocket. Rhys then showed his phone screen to Brock. “European politics and government, which I have with Mr. Lallana, who I heard is quite the character. I also have religion, maths, biology and physical education.”
“Oh… yeah I pretty much have the same classes. European politics and government sounds fun. Very, uh, close to home. And Mr. Lallana as in… the Bishop? I’m struggling to get my head around Inquistan politics.”
“He’s the husband of the Bishop, I think. Apparently last year, he failed a student for writing a paper that praised the merits of the European Commission. Or at least, that’s what I heard.”
“Oh wow. Yeah… These last few schools I’ve been to have been very different from how it works in Icholasen. You don’t even know your examiner back home, it’s just some faceless office worker in Saint Regina that marks your papers. It’ll be interesting to see what we cover, though.”
*The two had meandered while talking, with Rhys moving back into his room to unpack some things, with Brock following him over.
Brock laughed. “That poster is iconic. Will we be discussing Firoux in that European politics class do you think?”
“Do you think we can discuss European politics without discussing Firoux? The man that has brought Europe closer together than ever before, and has defeated facism in Inquista? The European Union is a completely faultless organization without any flaws whatsoever. I’m glad someone is defending it! Proud to call him my European Councillor.”
Rhys puffed out his chest and touched the Firoux poster with his hand. “When I’m Archbishop, I hope to be just like him. I’ll start by becoming a prefect next year.” After momentarily fantasizing about his political future, and staring at the poster, Rhys turned back to Brock. “Who was that girl you were talking to earlier?”
“Oh, that’s Yekaterina Romanov, Queen Anastasia’s cousin. I’ve met her a few times at functions with my mum, but I’ve only really seen her at events like that - and even at those we didn’t really talk. I got her snap though at the assembly.”
Yekaterina had been trying to cross off all the rules she had to break at this new school. She just hated those damn rules. She had already broken the no smoking and uniform rules, and was on a quest to find some alcohol or drugs, maybe a party where both those were available. Of course, parties were banned too. Yekaterina found herself lost in the corridors of the ancient school, and walked down the corridor on which the boys’ rooms were situated. As her shallow heels clopped down the hall, she realised she recognised the boy leaning out of his door into the corridor. She didn’t recognise the other boy though.
Sheepishly, she said; “hey. Sorry for interrupting whatever this is. I was wondering if you boys knew if any… uh… gatherings were happening tonight?”
"Oh, hi!" Rhys answered with a smile. "Each house is having their own get together in their common rooms tonight, I think."
Rhys eyed Yekaterina up and down and laughed, knowing that she was looking for something that was slightly more wild rather than mild. "Despite their name, House Temperantia apparently always has the best type of… gatherings."
Yekaterina smiled “sounds wild. Is that where you’re going?”
Rhys shrugged and looked over at Brock. “I don’t know. Wasn’t planning on it, but I’d go if I had people to go with.”
“I mean of course I’m down, if I have people to go with.”
“Great.” Yekaterina said.
Luke had just been out of the room for a few minutes to get something, and then returned.
Brock noticed his roommate coming back and asked if he was down to go, and Luke said he’d love to. They then all wandered back to their rooms after saying a somewhat awkward goodbye.
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(OOC: I apologize for my lateness in posting)
Vaien Ueliohen had never experienced anything quite like this, for he had lived all his life on a tiny, isolated island. Never had he seen the internet, nor people besides his parents, his tutors, and the cook; not that he saw his parents very much; they were too busy trying to maintain their now-collapsing international enterprises.
They had been oligarchs, together controlling all the agriculture and industry in Eastern Haane with an iron fist, no one, for there was no real government in those days, to stop them from even killing their workers if they did not perform well enough.
But that was over; they had been driven out of the country to the island where he was born.
Looking out the window of his dormitory, he was reminded of the many days he had spent wandering the decrepit palace that he and his family had lived in, looking out the windows facing a seemingly never-ending lake. When he was younger, he would try to look for the mainland, somewhere there in the distance - what his parents said was his homeland, although he, one who was born on that forsaken, bare island, didn't feel that way. When he was younger, yes; but now, now that he was older; no.
Yet the scene was quite different. The window panes, so ornate but so tarnished at his 'home,' were simpler but much cleaner here. The view was not of the sea but of the city, lively, pulsing with life.
He took a small box from his coat-pocket (the coat was his father's, given to him so that he could reflect a dignified figure here, at this horrible excuse for a school.) Coated with a blue lacquer, covered in Gothic carvings, it was perhaps the most valuable thing he had. Within it, he knew, was a little glass bottle, and within that glass bottle was a very potent drug.
He was a native Haanean; the drug was called ievonuia, the essence of truth, and he was to take it sometime in the future. His parents, while ruthless and terrifying (in Eastern Haane, they were famous for allegedly skinning a worker alive before covering him in salt), had told him quite gently of it. It was the barrier between childhood and adulthood; it revealed the whole truth of the world in such a way that could not be described.
These thoughts in his mind, he put the little box back inside the pocket. Although he was Christian (Haanean Apostolic, an integration of Christian and pagan Haanean beliefs), the nature of this school, and this country....
And then there was the education. He was not a terrible student; when one has nothing better to do than study, one studies with all of one's heart, for the other option - boredom - is always much worse.
But of course this was different. In Eastern Haane, discussion was everything - even his parents, so seemingly divorced from the country, advocated for it. Here, it would be schoolteachers reading notes off pre-prepared slides, or at least so his tutors had claimed. But then again, the cost...
"Prices," he suddenly remembered his philosophy teacher whispering to him, "mean nothing. Certainly, they reflect quality sometimes; but most of the time they exist merely to create an illusion. Your parents know this very well."
Perhaps that was true for this school. From what he had seen, it probably was. The headmistress, for one, was a religious zealot who obviously hated her job with a burning passion. If his tutors were to be believed, it would be true even more so.
He was only going here for two years, enough to prove himself so that he could obtain visas for his parents. After that he would hopefully go to university (majoring in sociology, damn the high unemployment rate).
He looked around the dormitory (of the house of Justitia, he remembered - how pretentious of them to have houses). Clean, ever so clean, but terribly, terribly ugly.
He would certainly hate this school, so terrible in every possible way (save the various subjects that were studied, some were interesting, but even then he was quite sure that they would be ruined.) But, of course, he could look forward to the internet, which he was quite interested in, and to forcing his teachers to pronounce his name over and over again until they got it right (which even then was unlikely.) Nothing really bad, of course; not, for example, burning down the school, which he already itched to do (as a favor for the worlds of architecture and education, so terrible the school was in both areas especially); because then his parents would castrate (and not chemically) him for disgracing their family.
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Luke had no idea what was going to happen at the party. He stressed out about what to wear and how to act to such a degree, he found himself googling "how to not be a loser at a party".
He hoped that this party would help him make friends, something he desperately craved, and was terrified of the possibility of being a misfit again.
He went through every possible scenario in his head while waiting for his roommate to ask him to head out.
Luke's search history started looking more and more interesting as he waited.
18:37 how to politely reject drugs at a party
18:39 excuses for why you can't snort cocaine
18:45 whar drinks do cool kids drink at parties
18:51 are college girls really that easy?
18:57 why do we crave social approval
19:10 how to live alone and like it
19:22 was marilyn monroe killed
19:25 sylbester stallone quotes about loneliness
19:43 taylor swift legs -
Brock too was wondering what would happen at the party. He slowly got himself ready, heading to the showers, getting into something casual yet smart -- he wanted to impress Rhys who seemed very high strung and was exactly the kind of person he wanted to be - or should be ? Was meant to be ? He was the son of the most formerly most powerful woman in Icholasen and everyone expected him to be just as gracious, just as smart and just as neoliberal. But was he ?
He, too, googled a few things before the party.
18:42 Romanov family tree
18:49 Antoni Reynels gay ?
18:52 Premier Whiteford press conference today
18:54 where is Red Croatia?
19:12 moodle.sdac.co.inq
19:23 top 10 most blessed states
19:29 inquistos to nicoleizian shilling pre revolution
19:45 baseball scores
Yekaterina was less much less anxious than either Brock or Luke. She was very experienced in all things social, she just decided not to exercise her skills... She told herself. The two 100 CL bottles of vodka in her bag were just waiting to find their way to her esteemed classmates from the richest families of all of Europe. She liked getting a first impression of some of her classmates -- Rhys and Brock -- though she did think that Rhys was very nouveau riche. She could tell he was trying far too hard to be something. To Yekaterina, trying at anything was seen as childish. She much preferred when people did things seemingly effortly - like her with her studies. However, how long could resting on her laurels last? She had done exceptionally well last year, but would her attitude this year continue that streak. She read Sagan's Un Certain Sourire for the next few hours in her room curled up on her very large windowsill with some lowfi hip hop beats playing.
She then met up with the three boys at their neighbouring and shared rooms. They walked outside, through the courtyard, Yekaterina hiding her vodka in her Gucci bag. The sun had not yet set - it was 8:30 and the sky was still a very light blue and the clouds, catching the sun, were a light yellow. The 4 walked across the courtyard in this golden hour Kacey Musgraves moment, chatting and getting to know each other. They then arrived at the Common Room and Yekaterina got out her two, litre bottles of vodka to a OTT cheer that she very much disapproved of, but appreciated. She smirked as the vodka was passed around the room and was glad to be sharing Nicoleizian culture with the masses.
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The first day nerves began to melt away. Rhys felt much more at ease after meeting Brock, Yekaterina and Luke. He knew intuitively, from the moment he saw them after the assembly, that he would be great friends with Brock and Yekaterina, and he patted himself on the back for taking the initiative to pay Brock's dorm room a visit. Luke also seemed really cool, but Rhys could tell that he was holding back. Despite chatting with Luke and the group for some time, Rhys knew virtually nothing about him. He hoped to find out more about Luke later in the common room.
Rhys danced and bopped away in his room as he was getting ready. For some reason, his roommate hadn't showed up yet. Maybe he'd only be moving in tomorrow? No matter, Rhys seized on the opportunity to play his music aloud and dance without judgement.
"Alexa, play Stunnin' by Curtis Waters," he commanded to his audio system.
As Rhys vibed to his music, he googled some things:
18:41 yekaterina romanov instagram
18:46 antoni reynels jawline
18:48 is jawline size genetic
18:54 can you get a bigger jawline with exercise
19:11 is Imis free to play
19:12 why isn't Imis free to play
19:14 Imis torrent piratebay
19:20 why are people from icholasen called nicoleizian
19:39 what happened to la toya jacksonPutting his phone away, Rhys looked at himself in the mirror as he danced from side to side. He flashed a smile and carefully examine his spotless white teeth. He ran his fingers through his tight black curls, and intricately brushed his hair into place using his fingers. He applied some lip balm to his lips and then proceeded to douse himself in cologne. He gave himself a wink in the mirror and then laughed to himself as he exited his room, to meet up with the rest of the gang.
Rhys laughed and cheered as Yekaterina pulled the vodka bottles from her purse. He felt validated for having read her personality correctly. Despite being a high achiever who served on every student committee, and a woke legend who zealously championed every social cause on social media, Rhys really enjoyed letting loose. As he purposely aimed to only form shallow attachments with his old friends at his former schools, he often found that parties were the best way to have a good time with people he didn't care too much about. Rhys was in element when other people were carefree... and drunk. Rhys himself especially liked a strong drink.
When the vodka bottle was passed around, Rhys took a long and deep sip. When he pulled the bottle from his lips, he spilled some of the drink over his shirt and laughed aloud in embarrassment. Rhys looked over at Luke and Brock, and extended the bottle to the two of them. He gestured for one of them to grab it.
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Brock took the vodka, sipped it, and passed it along. It was clear that he didn't like the stuff, but he was Nicoleizian so he ought to have done. Yekaterina sniggered at him.
"What?" Brock said defensively.
"You're Nicoleizian and you can't handle vodka? Mrs. Whiteford clearly hasn't been raising you to the high standards of Nicoleizian culture." She smiled.
"It tastes worse than Jirluchuz's arsehole, but it doesn't affect me... that much."
"Sure." Yekaterina replied. "Come outside with me, I need a cig."
Brock obediently followed Yekaterina and they sat out on a bench on the balcony. They began speaking in Nicoleizian.
"How's it going, not being in the mother country?" Yekaterina asked in an uncharacteristic moment of empathy.
"I mean, Europolis wasn't so bad, I had some friends there, but I have no idea how Inquista will work out. They had great ice cream in Europolis, though. Which we rarely got in Icholasen."
"And there's a reason for that. It's degenerate."
"Oh, I didn't know you-"
"I'm just kidding dumb dumb. I like a raspberry ripple as much as the next Romanov."
There was a lull in the conversation.
"I'm sure everything will turn out okay here." Said Brock. "I mean Free Icholasen isn't going to be restored anytime soon, and we won't be able to travel back there for a long time, but I'm sure that this school will be good for us. We have Rhys, Luke and I'm sure we'll meet others."
"Yeah, Rhys..."
"What do you mean by that?"
"He can be a bit... much."
"I mean, yeah, but I think he's okay."
"Yeah he's okay..." Yekaterina said, not wanting to fight over something she didn't really care about.
Another lull in the conversation.
"I mean I'm enjoying myself tonight. Looking forward to going back in."
Yekaterina hmmed. She didn't want to offend Brock who was obviously having a good time --but Yekaterina wasn't 100% vibing. "Yeah. I mean, unless this get shut down."
"They'd do that?!" Brock acted surprised.
"These fascist Nuns hate fun."
"Oh. Well, who knows."
Brock looked up the stars, there was what appeared to be a shooting star.
"Oh, look at that." Brock said pointing into the sky. "A shooting star."
Yekaterina had been quietly following the news of the evening (she had push notifications for everytime Stephanie DeVey Tweeted) so she knew that that was in fact an intercontinental ballistic missile. "Yeah. Make a wish." She responded sarcastically. However Brock couldn't tell the difference as that's how she spoke normally.
Brock wished for stability.
The two then went back inside and Yekaterina intercepted one of her vodka bottles and took a swig without flinching, making direct eye-contact with Brock the whole time.
-
He had initially not wanted to go to the party. Everything in this forsaken school, in this forsaken country; everything was both fake and pretentious. The parties, he assumed, would be no different - rich, well behaved children trying to act as though they were normal, although they knew that they were not.
There would be alcohol, there would be drugs, there would be everything that made a high-school party a cliche high-school party, for these people were, he thought, actually desperate to pretend that they lived lives other than theirs.
Everyone needed to realize the great lie of this school and the great lie they were themselves trying to perpetuate. Everyone needed to realize the shallowness of their lives; everyone needed to see that what was here; what was here was all fake.
That was why he really wanted to burn down the school, upon reflection. Everyone needed to see that everything was nonsense; that what was here; what was here was all a falsehood.
Everything here needed to be shattered, destroyed, so that only the truth, only the most holy and high truth of God, remained.
Vaien was going to the party of the house of Temperantia not to engage in the falsehoods but to find the people who would help him destroy it; the people who would help him burn down the horrid thing that they were all contained in.
-
While Brock and Yekaterina wished upon an ICBM in the sky, Rhys buzzed through the room like a bee, meeting each and every of his fellow students.
"Hi, I'm Rhys," he would begin, extending his hand for a handshake, or his first for a fist bump. In Inquista, women are expected to be greeted with a kiss on each cheek. Not doing so was considered to be very rude. Rhys could immediately tell which girls were Inquistan, because they would always lean forward and turn their cheek when he would walk up to them. Rhys, ever the gentleman, always obliged. Rhys quietly laughed as he could see the foreign students in the corner of his eye, watching him and the other Inquistan students with discomfort as they planted kisses on the cheeks of the Inquistan girls.
Rhys met some really interesting people from a wide range of backgrounds. He met this cool girl named Gabriella, whose father invented the microwave strudel and apparently made a humongous fortune.
Then there was Damon, whose parents were both former bishops apparently caught up in Archbishop Craticus' shady crusader schemes. Both of Damon's parents were now locked up in prison, so he recently transferred to the school to become a boarder while his aunt and godmother fought over his custody, which neither wanted.
Barronslav was another interesting one. All the other students claimed that he was the youngest son of Pravoslaviyan mogul Dragan Trympov, but Rhys was unable to confirm this fact during his short interaction with him. He seemed very nice, but as a 9th year, was definitely too young to be at a party like this.
Hassan was the most cool and relatable one. Hassan's parents were originally goat farmers in the Sahrawi Union, and during the the civil war, they joined the Liberation Army, and profiteered off the kidnapping and human trafficking of Marrakechian residents and soldiers. Once the Sahrawi Union was liberated, and his parents made a small fortune from human trafficking, they founded an oil company. Their oil company secured exclusive rights to some very expansive oil fields through some rather shadowy means, and it has since become one of the biggest oil companies in Europe. What an amazing underdog story, Rhys thought.
Rhys eventually got around to meeting someone that seemed a bit... out of place. Rhys walked up to Vaien and extended his hand out for a handshake. "Hi, I'm Rhys," he announced with a beaming smile.
-
The window was but a few meters away, the light of the moon cast through it.
But how could Vaien truly know that it was the light of the moon? How could he know whether the window truly was a window to the outside world and not a sham?
Certainly, he could simply go outside; but even then, how was he to know whether his memory of the moon 'outside' was correct?
How was he to know, for that matter, that what his eyes showed him was real? It was simply an interpretation of the outside world; how could he know whether the outside world really was like what he was shown?
How could he know that his voice was his voice, that others' voices were their voices, that the floor was a floor, that the wall was wall?
The world was a world of shams; everything was a lie. The truth could be revealed; but only through destruction. Fire, ievonuia; all of it had that same underlying force of destruction.
The destruction was not earthly destruction; it was heavenly; that is, it appeared to be destruction but actually was revelation and a construction.
This duality was in everything holy; yet it could not be understood for it was perhaps an aspect of God (the Holy Spirit, perhaps), and God, how great and magnificent He was, could not be understood by the imperfect human mind.
Yet even then the school was shadowed even from any basic understanding. The destructive creation and revelation of fire, the primeval force, would banish these shadows, destroy the facades that concealed everything, and leave only the truth of God which lay in everything.
Then they would all know; they would all know.
But even then, fire was, like all things on Earth, corrupted by the Fall. While primeval and thus the holiest of all earthly things, it could not induce the revelation of all things as the Holy Spirit could.
Ievonuia, the secondary primeval force, had the same flaw, but through its blessing and its connection to the Holy Spirit as an emanation of it, was more perfect, although not entirely so.
The two together, however, would induce the seeing of the whole truth.
The great folkloric tradition of the Apostolic Church affirmed this, he remembered.
He touched his pocket, which still contained the little lacquer box which itself contained the bottle of ievonuia.
Vaien realized that there had been someone standing in front of him throughout his entire reflection. "I am very sorry for keeping you, I am prone to this," he said in a crisp, practiced voice. He shook the outstretched hand, taking care not too grip too lightly or firmly, not to shake too vigorously or lightly. All of these now concerned him; but it was all so tedious.
Throughout this entire short ordeal, he was smiling as though someone had forced him, threatening the most painful of deaths, to do so.
He let go of the other's hand. "Hello," he said, in the same practiced, polished, stiff voice that he had used before. "My name is Vaien Ueliohen. How has your day been?"
