The blurry lights. The leaning towers. It was as if they came closer every hour. Nostalgic smog filled Jorge’s nose, as his home, the Luzokapital greeted him with the industrial scent. From the Koridor del Oriyente, the Piyesta of 1980 began the grand finale. The rainbow parols hung from each chandelier and streetlamp, and the streets flooded with parades and confetti.
Closing his eyes, he looked up into the sky. With Borja, Jorge walked through the turnstile. As he wore his father’s feodora, he looked up at the festivities with stern eyes. People began to stare at him as they steered clear of Jorge’s way.
“Is that…”
“Why are they here?...”
Flurries of whispered whistled in the air, but Jorge payed no attention to them and continued. Passing the streets, confetti let out a downpour like rain. He stopped and faced the building. The flower shop where Hojun, Suruj, and him encountered Llorenç and the Al-Wa logo. Jorge twisted the knob of the door and entered.
Inside, nothing seemed to be present. The shelves were emptied of their former vegetation, and the countertop looked barren. It appeared as if the shop had vanished in thin air. While thinking of what to do, Jorge simply turned around and left.
Heading down the street, he rendezvoused with Hojun and the others, as they stood in front of another tall building.
“Anything?”
Jorge shook his head. “The store’s empty. I think they’re on the move.”
“I see…” Hojun thought for a moment, before looking at the restaurant in front of them. “How about we discuss our plan over a meal?”
They filed into the place one by one. Immediately the bright lights flashed in their faces, the scent of various Buhang foods greeting their noses. Employees worked around the clock, managing large batches of foods served on rows of tables. Customers were lively, and chatter filled the vast space. Perfect to hide their conservation.
“Hey Jorge… Do you actually know how to order in a place like this?...” Hojun stood nervous at the sight of all the people, and the large quantity of food.
Jorge remained quiet and tried to think. This was the second restaurant he’d been to in his entire life. He took a deep breath. “No idea.”
“Guys. It’s a buffet. Have you never been outside once?” Suruj called out to them, as the restaurant host guided them to their table.
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Once seated, Suruj told them how it worked. So they needed to get up and grab food from the long arrays of food in the other section of the room. Jorge couldn’t fathom the thought of being allowed to obtain so much food. He trembled as he picked up a plate, his mouth nearly watering. They returned with servings of food covering the table, mostly from Jorge.
He smiled as he placed Borja on one of the chairs, and slid a plate of fish to him. Then Jorge seized a handful of rice and stuffed it into mouth. Tvuj and Hojun looked at each other with disdain.
Jorge raised his head. “Huh?”
“There’s eating utensils, you know.” Tvuj picked up a pair of chopsticks wrapped in papyrus and handed them over.
“I dunno how to use them.”
“Hojun, you’re up.”
Hojun confidently reached out her hand. Jorge wiped his hand brought the sandwood chopsticks towards her but it slipped out of its papyrus wrapper. Swiftly both of them went for it. A bonk sounded, and they butted heads. Hojun luckily caught the chopsticks. She didn’t mention anything, or even a wince at their headbutt.
She taught Jorge to use the utensil, teaching him the basics. Although it proved to be quite difficult for him to use them.
“There is going to be a procession today to announce the Occident’s presidential candidate.” Hojun explained the situation, supporting her head on the back of her hand. “All we need to do is persuade that Oksidentano from taking the torch.”
“Is it possible to even ‘persuade’ them?” Suruj responded to her from across the table, “I highly doubt they’ll let you inside.”
She closed her eyes. “I have my ways. I just need people to keep an eye out for anyone attempting to interfere.”
“I can do that.” Jorge volunteered himself. “I just need a way to notify you.”
“That’s when I come in.” Tvuj introduced herself again, flaunting, “Jorge, this is a mirror. If I am in one of the skywalks or buildings, then use the sun to beam it at me. If Hojun and I carry saharic telegraphs then I can relay the signal to her.”
She showed a small pocket mirror, and reflected the room’s light onto Suruj’s face.
Suruj blocked the annoying gleam and sighed. “Okay, then what should I do? I would like to fight someone, more or less, so I’ll go with Jorge.”
“You will go with me.” Hojun reässigned him, “I need a second interpreter and responder when the plan goes into effect.”
A couple of hours later. The sun began to set in the west, and they had to hurry. The procession would catch the eye of Buhanggilog’s Congress, the Kapulungan. Once they’d found a candidate, that Oksidentano would be placed into power.
On top of a building, Jorge spotted Hojun and Suruj. In a flash, they disappeared into thin air.
“So she did had a way…” He commented aloud.
A large motorcade took over the main street of Metro Liusung. Swarms of men in brimmed hats walked side by side in a marching fashion, as the crowds parted. Jorge snuck Borja into his suit he retrieved from his tent, and blended into the march. His father, was an Oksidentano. Jorge wore it on his head, keeping his eyes low. From the looks of it, they were heading towards Katipunan Square, where the Kapulungan National Hall was located.
They must’ve entered the chamber of the main buggy by now, since there was only one black buggy in the procession. As they inched towards the congress building, the last thing Jorge saw was a blue bandana cover his eyes.