“…Ond beth naught deceivode fram-by he whost maken thi coinen! Membereth allwayes that whenne if thi feudalen ben deposode, thi interesten by-between laboren ond merchanten becometh exclusive mutuallic. Readeth these worden that mayth yee seen that ouren oppression intrinsic it beth naught, for-so fram-by interesten most vestode whilc beyond-passeth tyrants governschip!”
There this orator stood atop a crate—an improvised platform, self-made. Held for display in his hand as he orated away was a thin yet dense book of sorts, behind him was another crate atop which was a stack of other booklets just like it, sitting there as if waiting to be picked up to enlighten whomever who so happened their gaze at the contents thereof.
Yet the few passerbys who did pass on by happened not even a glare, but instead minded businesses their own. For he had stood atop that crate the day before and the days before that day before; for those whose passage through this street was daily, both his presence and his words had long lost their novelty. To do their many services; to earn their meager coin with which to get their meager bread; such was the only thing on their minds.
Even so, every day this standing orator and his plethora of books and theorems that would no doubt confuse the majority, nevertheless returned to this spot in hopes if piquing interest; in hopes that, even if none accepted these free booklets, his words at least would reach their hearts and souls.
“From thi Guild tuowardys thi alyens Companie ond thi counciel of burghren, they against-standen thruch for me ond yee; for ous. Ond yee moten—”
“Heya!” Suddenly, an interruption. As if appearing from the passing crowds’ shadows, a stranger so casually approached.
“Huh?” His words stumbling, the orator’s attention came swinging down at she who now stood before him and his crate, smiling in place with a charm. “Whomst myghtest ben thou, gyrle? Whence didst thou camen?”
Indeed, a girl of sorts; one slightly shorter in height than the average Strawberrien woman, but certainly a young adult, nonetheless. Dressed in no peculiar fashion besides the attire being obviously northern in style, her fine and straight maple colored hair blew ever-so in the gentle gusting wind, her potent ambers eyes glimmering with apparent interest.
Yet he himself had been somewhat startled by her sudden arriving greet, for it was as if this girly lady had snuck up on him despite the fact he was facing the front direction this entire time…
“Hwat doth mowen lykenode towardys fro thee?” this girl simply replied with a raised eyebrow, trying her…best to speak locally; “Obvyouslic sume-one interestode, thy spech ic dide hearen.” Her voice was friendly, although there were subtle struggles in her accent.
“…” The orator stared… “Thou be from the top north, aren’t thou?” he remarked, bluntly observing.
The girl paused, blushing a little… “It really is that obvious, huh?”
“Thine accent is too exaggerated and feeleth too forced; it cometh off as unnatural.” he thus remarked.
The girl promptly ahemed; “Well, so, you can speak normal tongue, then!”
The orator sighed; “Yes. Of course, I speak the ‘normal’ tongue’.” he spoke with disdain, not for the girl as much as the very concept of this so-called ‘normal speech’.
“Goodly heard! That means we can talk properly!” the girl replied with glee; “I am new here, so I am…still becoming accustomed to the Strawberrien dialect…”
“Hm. It should make thee wonder, if thou struggle to understand so, whether this speech be a mere ‘dialect’…” he frankly remarked.
“Well, as one proverb has it said, a dialect is a language without powder and gunboats.” the girl thus replied in pointing remark, cordial.
“Hm… Thou dost sayn naught…” The orator’s voice found agreement. “Suchly forth then, what be it the cause for thy standing?”
“Your speeching!” She smiled with a gentle forward lean; “I found it interesting! Even though I struggled to understand the words, the message aw universal”.
The orator, however, raised an eyebrow; “…thou are interested? Thou, a girlish woman, interested…in this?” His voice was skeptical indeed.
Yet the girl’s reply came in the form of a casual hunching peer as she eyed the booklet’s cover. “Is this de Parte?” she remarked; “This has to be de Parte’s work, rightly?”
“…” The orator stood there with silence; “…thou be aware of that name?”
“Of course!” The girl thus smiled; “Mainéphesto de Parte… If I’m pronouncing that rightly. I’ve read his work.” she stated, before her posture shifted… “Albeit the translations’ quality varied bigly, so I am not certain if I understand his true ideas too well…” She gently tickled the side of her neck, a little awkward.
“Huh…” Yet the orator nodded, processing… “…but thou hast read him, at least…” he remarked, amazed and confused, albeit he certainly had persistent doubts. He ahemed; “Well, girly, this be not necessarily de Parte. Rather, it is a deconstructive critique of his fundamentals; a refutation of his liberal idealism through new radicalist analysis.”
“Oh!” The girl sprung with realizing energy; “So, Charles Maixé!” she enthusiastically guessed; “Might you be more of a Charlist, then?”
“Charles Maixé?” The orator’s widening eyes looked at her, baffled; “Thou be aware of Charlist literature?”
“Well, Charles never called himself a Charlist, but… Yeah. I have read some of his work too.” The girl so cordially smiled, as if with pride; “Though, I would say…” She awkwardly stroked the side of her neck… “I found him more confusing than de Parte, especially his materialist dialectics… Ironically, I think I found the original Neo-Flavian historics to be more intuitive…”
“Neo-Flavian??” the orator’s breaths nearly coughingly squeezed out, practically agape from how nonchalant she had just made reference to that. “For sure, I believe thee now…” His head lightly bobbed away. “I am amazed…” Indeed, he was; “…I never imagined that anyone in these archaic realms, a woman no less, would know of…contemporary Far Western intellects…” He looked at her, curious indeed; “Might thou hast been from Graillight or something? Received a higher education? To be interested in…this subject matter?”
“Well…” The girl’s eyes mellowly fell aside… “No, obviously not. I am not elf-blooded, so I am both young-looking and actually young. I have twenty-one years on me, so I was basically born…when the war began, so…I could not have possibly received a Graillighter education.” She ahemed; “No. I am just fairly well-read. You are not the only the street-vending intellect I’ve stumbled onto.” She smiled sweetly.
“Ah… Seemly thus…” The orator felt pleased in a way hearing this; that the likes of him had, indeed, enlightened a soul.
“Although, hold…” The girl looked up slightly as her finger tapped the tip of her chin as if realizing, “…I heard you say ‘archaic realms’…” She relooked at him, eyebrow raised; “Are you from the Empire, then?”
“Of course no. I am Strawberrien by birth, but I be well-traveled.” he promptly stated; “Albeit I do have accord with their…critiques of the rest of this continent… Backwards, severely outdated, and, well, archaic.”
“Ripe for exploitation…” the girl so remarked, her eyes gently casting astray as if in thought.
The orator’s eyes flung back to her, giving her quite the look… “Huh” he puffed, “Wait, firstly thou say that thou be well-read, but now thou imply…” His voice felt stunned… “Thou be an Imperialist?”
Yet the girl just sighed; “I mean, I… I do not know…” She seemingly struggled to articulate; “It is just, when you pay any attention to…what is happening in the rest of the world from the little scraps of words that reach our shores… It’s hard not to sympathize with the Empire…” she remarked, her voice seemingly more personal; “For two-hundred years, we were blind, and we have had more than a half-century since the Intervention to catch up, but most of these lands haven’t… We are slowly being choked by the outside world, and now we are reaching the end-stage of it.”
“For sure, for sure…” His voice was becoming more tense…in a positive way, as if overwhelmed by this encounter, to have suddenly happened upon such a girl with such intellectually informed thoughts, regardless of agreeability. “Heh…” Indeed, he smiled just a little.
“I used to live in Coastfield a while ago, so I’d hear the gossips and whatnot from the Far Westerners there…” the girl continued on, her voice mellowing; “And hearing things about ‘partitions’ and…treaties that literally divide whole lands between just a few kingdoms… It’s hard not to be terrified, rightly? About what they might have planned for us…” Anxious sorrow filled her tightening breaths as she prepared to say her next words… “Most especially after what happened to Coastfield…”
The orator could feel the tension in her voice. “A tragedy, absolutely.” he thus spoke, gently patting her shoulder in comfort; “Divide and conquer… To those alien powers beyond the Great Ocean, our lands’ fragmented nature is to their benefit. It be why that trade company hath sought to keep us down.” he remarked; “And conquest need not be by war or invasion either.”
“First step of colonization is economical these days, no?” the girl thus remarked, no longer so somber; “To reduce our realms to simple exporters of raw materials that they use to produce their things…which they then force us to import.” she stated; “That is why the Company supplies Rainbow with everything it needs with the condition that Rainbow makes nothing itself…”
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The orator’s eyes looked up to the sky, seeing those all too familiar balloons ballooning about… “It is a poetic absurdity… With how our lands be squeezed by the thumbs of a private corporation, and not even a proper alien empire.” he so remarked; “They march about as if they own our lands, and every treaty with them comes at an unequal cost.”
“That is why Rainbow is a falling power, a relic of the past…” the girl continued on; “The Empire rejects this relationship; it has not only tried to catch up but keep pace with the rest of the world.”
“Yes, certainly…” The orator’s voice, however, began to transition a little… “However, I should declare, girly, I am no Imperialist.”
The girl immediately looked at him with rather the eyes… “Wait, you’re not?” She sounded almost surprised, as if having completely misread.
“No. I may be with acknowledgment of Pegasus’s critiques, but the Empire is not the solution.” the orator spoke; “For sure, ‘one nation, one land, one people.’ These words speak everything. The Empire’s unifying nationalism rejecteth the diversity of our land; the cultures of our realms; the potential of our Strawberry and these Rosefield plains as a free nation of our own.” he so explained; “The Alweny’s callousness hath been harmful but held back by scoffing indifference… But if Pegasus ruled us, they would attempt to systematically prohibit our ways and suppress our tongue in their national unity’s name.”
“Yeah…” The girl’s own voice drifted slightly, as if her mind was changing; “I guess, I did not really consider that… The Empire labels itself as the defender of our land, but its nationalism is…homogenizing and could threaten what makes each of our realms special…”
“Heh.” The orator puffed with a friendly smirk; “So, there is much remaining for thee to learn, no matter how well-read thou be.” he remarked. “The Empire be easy to sympathize with, but it hath become far too westernized; Pegasus betrayth even the better elements of our lands’ ways.” He looked directly at her; “Women as suchly thee, for example, cannot even own property there—one of several archaic privileges once afforded, now rescinded.”
“Oh…” the girl lightly mumbled.
The orator’s eyes then turned to all those passing by, paying him no mind, his thoughts transitioning; “Thou know why I stand here every day, girly?”
“To lure those with your attracting voice?” the girl teased.
“Huh?” The orator’s flow was disrupted by her lightly flirtatious remark; “Oh, well, I…” He ahemed; “No. I stand here, always hailing… Because there be many whom may be likened to thee, girly. The people of our Strawberry experience the same struggling plights; they see the problems and the contradictions. But they have no definitions to define their struggles; no frame to give meaning to what they see… Besides falling for the propaganda of royals or the bourgeoisie alike.”
“Wow…” The girl was in awe; “I mean no offense, but your voice is impressively listenable when you speak normal tongue” she complimented.
“Heh, I am delighted that thou think suchly…” He had taken no offense; he was glad she was interested. Aheming, “Suchly forth… As thou may be knowing, according to Charlist thought…” he thus spoke on; “The prevailing frame that defines how everyone seeth be but the ideology of the class who ruleth, may you be traditionalists of the archaic realms or unificationists of the Empire.”
“So, you are trying to challenge, then? The ruling thoughts.” the girl deduced, smiling.
“In a matter of ways, yes.” the orator replied.
“Hmm…” The girl, however, once again drifted to wondering thoughts… “Say, mister nice-speaker, do you know…where you get your translated books from? I doubt…you’re doing it yourself, rightly?”
“Hm?” The orator tilted his head slightly, confused; “And why would thou suchly care to know?”
The girl giggled gently; “I mean, our chatting has made me…really interested again, but…” She became a little awkward… “I might be a little too well-read; I feel like I have read every commonly seen street-vended Far West writing by now—even the Charlist stuff only found in the under-markets…” she thus explained, cordial, confident, and innocent; “So, I’ve always wondered where…you street orators typically get these from, since I was hoping that…maybe if I knew, I would be able to just go there and…maybe find something new and contemporary for once.” Her voice mellowed; “Maybe even become someone like you…”
“Hm…” The orator cogitated, contemplating…
“Call a girl naive, but I do like to imagine there’s one big place full of translated Far Western theories and…literature. I am not even an ideologue or any of that, but I do like…expanding the ‘definitions’ I have in seeing things, as you might say…” she remarked with a humorous smile.
“Well…” the orator began to speak, having decided… “Unfortunately, I am uncertain if I may be qualified to tell thee so… If thou respect these works and what we do, I hope that thou understand…” Yet his eyes then drifted… “However… If thou be seeking new literatures, well… I am a practicing intellectual, and I do keep up with the present as much as able, therefore I do have…” Becoming more nervous, he awkwardly stroked the back of his neck… “I do have a private collection of readings and literature at my…own residence…”
“Huhm…” The girl’s eyes looked up as her finger gently pressed her chin as if pondering, before lightly gasping as if realizing… “Ohh…” Relooking at him, she leaned forward with a peering hunch, her eyes more leering, her smile more a sinister grin; “This is rather sudden, but I would not mind taking a look, then…”
The orator became more…flustered; “Yes, well…” He ahemed; “I have many…things that be not commonly available, and having…read over them many times, I have a…comprehension of the material. Thus, I can…provide my insights as well if thou be confused…” He was a little sweaty; “But hopefully thou may learn new things that will...satiate thy curiosity…”
“Satiation from your works, letters, and your tongue… I hope you will show me new things to…learn, then” she so remarked, knowing precisely how she was framing her voice.
“Guh…” Indeed, the way she had said that made him gulp. “Well, it is not far…from here… Thou may accompany me…as I return, thus…” He stepped off the box and began to collect his belongings and…books, to some struggle.
“Let me help you…” the girl, observing, quickly offered…
“No, no, I have it handled” yet the orator declared, having it largely handled.
The girl giggled a little… “Following you, then…” She smiled.
-||-
The sky was dimmer; orange and yellow as if the leaves carried by Autumn’s gust. The day was ending with eve’s approach. Worn down and slummy; neglected and filled with the abandoned; such was the place around… Derelict and conspicuously empty.
Heels walked on the worn dusty ground.
“You’re late…” A man, leaning, thus spoke.
“Yeah…” she, arriving, merely replied.
“Walk with me.” He began to walk.
She, already walking, thus simply continued, following.
“Received your bird. Nice work.” he hollowly lauded.
“Thanks.” she just replied.
“But I guess you two had a fun-fun time, aye?” he casually remarked.
“What?” She just shook her head; “Neuk, not really…” she replied… “My back hurts…”
“Heh.” he puffed, “This was a classic get fucked hard and sweaty, make him seed-splurge so good the delirium makes him squeak then dagger him in the back, aye?”
“What the fuck…?” She immediately pinched the bridge of her nose, nearly shivering from the thought; “Why is this your starting debriefing question?”
“Hey, birdy, your letter was vague, and you lead into it; ‘urgh, my back hurts’, what else was I supposed to think?” he so replied.
“Literally anything else.” she frankly stated, before sighing with a slight ugh; “No. We did not do anything like that, and trust me, I really thought we were going to…” Her voice paused… “But, no, no… You were right, he was a real bookster. He…literally just wanted to show me his collection…” Her breaths shuddered… “I had to spend hours reading through everything he wanted to show me like he was some cheery boy, and listen to his…rambles…” She grasped her forehead… “Ugh, my head hurts…”
“Hah. Yeah, I guess you weren’t exaggerating about being well-knowing of this shit… Didn’t think you’d actually get him to invite you into his house” he remarked; “Honestly, it’s impressive… Don’t know how you can do it. Actually reading all that Far West rot-shit without falling into it… Like, how do you pretend to understand or believe nonsense you don’t genuinely believe in?”
“By not believing in anything or valuing anything, besides what you are, what you belong to, and what you need to do. It is easy.” she thus so replied; “The world can burn, but we have our flock.”
“Yeah… You crow-worshippers are real fucked in the head, always love working with you chirpers…” He remained casual. “Back to business, though. What did you do? Letter didn’t mention method.”
“I pricked him, brushed it off as a bug. Effects immediate. Dizzied and confused. I helped him onto his bed. His chest convulsed before stopping. Heart death. Natural. Never suspected me.” she thus replied.
“Oh, so you didn’t actually dagger him in the back… Boring.” he so remarked; “But that’s one less Imp-symp nuisance on the street, either way.”
“Not too sure about that.” yet she remarked.
“Gonna elaborate, honeybun?” He glared.
“He wasn’t an Imperial agitator or associated; you were wrong about that. I don’t think he was one of those restorationists either; he was his own thing. Some kind of Socialite, Charlist, or neo-radicalist adjacent—a bottom-chamber ideologue, not top-chamber.” she remarked.
He just looked at her, dumbfoundedly plain… “Wow, I’ve got no fucking clue what that shit’s supposed to tell me…” He shook his head; “Can’t believe people actually fall for this transoceanic nonsense likes its actually supposed to mean something… All it does undermine our way of life, justifying all kinds of dumb shit…”
“Yeah.” she just replied. “Anyway. This is the third one in the past two days I have been here. Never mind the breaking and searching into too many places I have had to do. This is creating a pattern, and I don’t like that.”
“Ah… You’re one of those softy ones, huh?” yet he merely replied.
“Grn…” She really did not like that remark.
“Hey, alrightly, don’t growl at me like that… I get it, I get it… Just don’t see the fun in that, you know?” he spoke with a slight wave.
“You’re one of those handlers, then?” she grumbly remarked.
“Don’t know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, and I ain’t your handler; I am a doer, a maker, and you’ve been lent to me.” he so replied. “But, anyway, learn anything from him?”
She sighed; “Nothing beyond what was already said in my letter.”
“Which is to say, not even an open hint to ram your dick in…” He huffed aloud.
“Yeah.” she just said; “He did not say anything, and I could not make him say anything beyond what he wanted; didn’t want to do anything excessive, either. I searched his house also, but there was nothing indicating.”
“Fantastic…” He ughed aloud; “We aren’t any closer to finding where this infection is coming from, huh? Or who’s spreading it…” He paused in his walk; “Whelp. Second job you’ve done for me. They said you were decent enough, and I see it. Don’t know how long you’ll be here or what Company bullshit your leash-holders are preoccupied with, but I look forward to having you around, birdy…”
However, she eyed around, feeling strange and tingly…as if within the closed shutters and windows from the buildings around were nevertheless ears and eyes… “You know we have been talking way too openly about this.”
“Oh, yeah” He waved his arms as if highlighting the space around; “But look around, honeybun, we’re in the shitters here. Elf-quarters. And nobody here gives a fucking shit whatsoever.” He huffed. “Why would they? All this town’s done for them is burn their property and shove them in the shit-bin. Why else do you think your birdy hidey-hole enters from a dump like here?”
“You’re being too loud…” She did not like that.
“Yeah! I am!” He became even louder; “Oh no!!! We’ve got a Raven here! Somebody squeal!!!”
“…” She just glared at him a very certain way.
Yet he seemed unphased. “Hear that? Nobody’s squealing.” he thus spoke; “See, in this city of flag-waving gangs running amuck, this right here is our fucking turf, and these are my elves. All they care about is getting their bread and staying safe, and I make sure to get them their bread and keep them safe.”
“Sure. But I am only here because I am on awaiting standby. I am not here to solve your problems, so I would really prefer if—” she was saying, though…
“Oh, yeah, I know” he so interjected; “Eggs wouldn’t even tell me why the fuck you’re here. But you are here. And while here, I get to talk loud and wide, since nobody cares about nothing to squeal.” The way his eyes looked at her spoke it all; “But if anyone does try to squeak, well lucky me, because I’ve got a new helper… You’ll be ripping out their tongues.”
“Uh…” She gave him a certain disconcerted look…
Yet with a snickery smirk, he merely patted her shoulder with a friendly shake; “Yeah! Welcome to Strawberry, honeybun! Where our profession’s as dirty as this fucking slum.”