The lightly forested hills around the western reaches of Rillin Bay give way to the sparkling waters that surround the Syllvan capital, and resting on these waters is Valandar International Airport; a purpose-built artificial island two miles end-to-end and half that across, hosting the six runways and ten ferry terminals that service the Territory and surrounding islands. Some would describe it as a gleaming jewel of silver and steel set in a sapphire sea. Others would describe it as a hideous eyesore of industrial perversion in an otherwise untouched natural setting. Still others would describe it as simply an airport. Regardless of individual opinion, factually, this was the busiest international transit point in the nation. And it was in this hub of travel, in a vaulted white terminal reserved for elite political arrivals and departures, stood Mister H. Marsie.
Mister H. Marsie was a professional asskisser. It said “Hospitality Representative” on his credentials, but that meant little when his only job was to suck up to visiting dignitaries and make sure they felt as schmoozed as possible when travelling from Point A to Point B. It kept an unremarkable man like Mister H. Marsie an unremarkable afterthought in remarkable people’s minds. And according to the papers he was given this morning, the current duty for Mister H. Marsie, “Hospitality Representative,” was to ensure a group of non-humans felt as comfortable as possible in their introduction into what might be a permanent posting in a human nation. Certainty not a difficult task, not for one of Mister H Marsie’s caliber, but a complicated one. It necessitated the posting of Diplomatic Security Agents that were not visibly armed, which contradicted almost every rule in the manual for Lourne’s Department. It required the removal of the usual crowds that would gather to welcome arriving diplomats, in case one of the Verdrassé envoys risked an unfavorable expression and received a brick to the temple. And it most definitely went unsaid that such important and unusual guests be escorted directly to the security station that straddled the entrance of the high-level underground bullet train that was used by Syllvan politicians for fast and inconspicuous access to the city center.
Mister H. Marsie stood straighter as he was informed that said escort was due to arrive with the Verdrassé in tow any moment. He brushed non-existent dust off the red scarf around his neck - the cultural implications lost on most anyone not from Free Syllvin - and folded his arms behind him in time with the slick hum from the opening doors. Taking a step forwards, the white-suited man among white-shirted men and woman bowed his head to the colorful entourage that lingered in the hall.
“My friends,” Mister H. Marsie intoned in his clipped Codexian, sickly sweet after years of practice. “If you will follow me…?”
“Ah, yes. Mister Marsie, is it? A pleasure, a pleasure.”
Maverwind Thoramel, Verdrassé Diplomat to Free Syllvin, took in the full view of the man standing before him, allowing careful notice of his synthetic disposition and ludicrous title. At a point of almost having felt insulted, the Vel’dorei hopes solemnly that the Free Syllvin with which he will be mostly working are not as grossly simulated as this caricature of a steward. It seems that this surprise promotion might prove instead to be a quite the cruel joke played upon him by his boss. Maverwind takes a moment to lament this thought and establish a mental note to consider potential options for revenge later.
Regardless of the Foreign Minister’s personal objective, the importance of this visit is quite clear. Verdrassil seeks to establish strong ties with this foreign land of primitives (and for what reason, Maverwind knows not), so it is imperative that the environment is suitable enough for an enclave. Granted, credit has to be given where it’s due, and already this capital zone has proven quite remarkable in its design and ingenuity. A rare feat for humans, that is.
The elven diplomat responds to the request of Mister Marsie and follows him, hoping that a great deal of excitement may befall him as the tour begins…
The pressurized door of the train car slipped shut, leaving the two DSC agents in the corridor and Marsie and Thoramel alone with the quiet humming that was the language of the mag-lev train speeding towards downtown Syllvan Center. Silently grinning, Marsie reached between the two plush benches on his side of the compartment and slid open the wall, revealing a refrigeration unit stacked with a number of colorfully packaged drinks, along with several decanters of alcohol and whole rows of sparkling and mineral water.
“Are you quite thirsty, Mister Thoramel?” simpered the white-suited bureaucrat. “I understand your flight was quite long, and hydration is quite important, especially for someone such as yourself. I do hope you can find the climate here at the equator manageable.” The resentful hiss of the air conditioner undercut Marsies’ words. The man, more akin to a white-suited puppet, settled himself back into the cushioned cushions and turned his gaze to the floor-to-ceiling window that afforded the men a view of the subterranean tunnel system underneath Rillin Bay.
“My word, I swear the trip gets faster every time. We are due to exit the tunnel soon, so I would encourage you to watch.” Marsie directed his plaster smile back to the Vel’dorei. One could almost see the notepad in his head flipping to a new page of pre-rehearsed lines. “Do you have any questions before we reach the city? I can assure you that you will enjoy the Custodian. He is something of a gardener, or so I understand.”
Maverwind plucks from the refrigerator unit one of the more exotic drinks to sample. None of these beverages are available in Verdrassil, the diplomat notices. He wonders whether or not there’s a reason for that. Upon taking a sip, the sickly sweet sting of the abhorrent concoction leaves a nasty taste in Maverwind’s mouth that he fears couldn’t be expunged with the strongest of detergent. He sets the drink down on a nearby ledge.
“Ah, yes. The weather here is a bit warmer than what we’re used to back home, but it’s nice enough. The gorgeous scenery more than makes up for a little extra heat.”
Discussing the weather, eh? How gauche.
“I must admit, I don’t know much about Free Syllvin beyond the dossier provided to me by the office. Needless to say, Verdrassil has been more or less isolated for many, many years, so we don’t claim to know much about the world at large. Unfamiliar territory, this is, which I suppose makes it all the more thrilling! A Vel’dorei who ends up leaving the country never knows what sort of bizarre adventure awaits them.”
Maverwind notices the sharp digression and refocuses his thoughts.
“Anyway, I have nothing for the moment. I’d much rather find myself engaged within the city first before I ask anything so I have at least some substance with which to base my inquiries.”
Marsie notates the set-aside drink with a pen click of his eyes. The mannequin-in-a-suit spread his cheeks in an unnerving facsimile of a smile. The bright lights slashing by outside cast flickering shadows on the left side of his face.
“Indeed. How exciting to be blazing new frontiers. I will recommend to you that you complete your tour of the embassy grounds before visiting some of the areas in the city. You’ll need to complete some credential forms at whatnot. A simple process, really a formality.” Marsie crosses one leg over the other almost in time with a flush of foaming water roaring down the channels on either side of the train rail. The tunnel terminates with a set of retracted blast doors and aflare of light that the window automatically polarizes for.
“Ah, here we are. We should be arriving at the terminal in just a moment. I will arrange things with the rest of the staff. I suggest you stay here and enjoy the view. It is quite impressive.”
These silken-stuffed words drift from Marsie even as the door closes behind him. Through the glass, the waters of the bay glisten ten stories below, covered in their myriad watercraft. Sailboats drift through the gaps in the support columns of the rail alongside fishing trawlers, and superhaulers steam out to the wider ocean opposite sharklike police craft coming back from patrol. Past the massive dockyards and white-pink beaches, silver spires and slabs of metal stab confidently at the sky.
It’s fortunate that Maverwind felt no fear of heights, because the sight he beholds is nothing short of intoxicating. The sheer modernity of it all proves quite literally stunning for Maverwind, as he found himself immovable for a time as he enjoyed the horizon. A Vel’dorei is most certainly not conditioned to this sort of atmosphere. While the Exalted Sylvan Realm is by no means pre-historic, the primal connection the elven race share with their natural environment does not generally afford them the ability to develop such artificial landscapes. The diplomat wonders what it takes to reach the level of Minister D’Ashir’s ability to remain calm in such unfamiliar domains.
Still, one has to remember that the people may not be as good as the land in which they life. There’s already been a poor taste left in Maverwind’s mouth having to deal with this Marsie character, and considering his interactions with other Syllvin have been limited, it’s hard to get a good read on these humans. Maybe that’s their intent, and this breeds further distrust that Maverwind hopes is extinguished by the conclusion of the tour.
The diplomat patiently awaits the return of Mister Marsie, steeling himself for what’s to come as he admires the breathtaking view of Syllvin Center.[edit_reason]Added some further dialogue[/edit_reason]
After several minutes of speeding along above the bay, the mag-lev rail converges among a tangle of other train lines, some older tracks and rail designs mixed in with the sparkling modernity of the masses. The glimmering towers grow closer in view, and finer details such as lush parkland and smatterings of pastel-colored automobiles resolve for the eyes. But the train takes an abrupt left, switching rail lines and rocketing north towards the massive hexagon-shaped artiface nestled between the mainland and several hilly islands further out to sea. One of the twelve districts of the city, the Sorrows District is a landfill-constructed island even larger than the airport. Within the gauche clashes of architectural styles and twisting vines of mass-transport lines lay the centerpieces of all Syllvan governance and culture.
Soon, the view of the rest of the capital was obscured behind a blurr of apartment towers, carefully manicured street meridians, and gated housing complexes. Now travelling along the edge of a canal rather than over a bay, the expansive window of the compartment afforded a first-hand view of the Hall of Sorrows, the monolithic hex-shrouded meeting hall for the three houses of the Syllvan High Senate. These pristine vistas were interrupted by the arrival of none other than Mister H. Marsie, who slide the door open much like a trapdoor spider coming to claim its prey.
“Mister Thoramel, if you would join me at the front of the train, we are about to disembark. The custodian of the property is very eager to meet you.”
Maverwind obliges the request of the human before him with quite an optimistic look upon his face. It is quite clear to the young elf that this is a place in which he could find himself comfortably rooted should everything go smoothly. The Syllvan High Senate especially caught the attention of the diplomat, taking sharp notice of the regal authority it exuded so strongly. Perhaps he may be afforded a chance to visit its dignified halls one day, but there are other locations more relevant to the interests of the Verdrassé state to tour at the moment.
With a sly smirk, the Vel’dorei replies: “Into the jaws of the beast, then? Let us depart.”
The train glides to a standstill at the 100 First Circle station, one of several that overlook the lake which separates the Hall of Sorrows from the rest of the district. Nestled between the 99 and 98 addresses, this station would essentially service the Verdasse embassy; at least, this is what Marsie oozed into Maverwinds’ ear as the two emerged from the sleek railcar. The merciless afternoon sun was somewhat mitigated by the polarized glass canopy over the otherwise open-air station. Unfortunately, this now outdoor location could afford the Vel’dorei none of the comforts of air conditioning or refreshments.
While normally this station would be filled with government workers, tourists, and IDF officers, it was eerily empty save for a man and woman lingering at the blindingly-sun-filled door. There was no noise other than the distant buzz of urban life. Marsie afforded the Verdrasse diplomat one of his sweetened smiles, stepping back into the mag-lev as he did so.
“Do enjoy your stay in the Sorrows District, Mister Thoramel.” And with that, the train was a memory speeding down the rails to another port of call. Slowly, the two other occupants of the station made their way into speaking distance of Maverwind, both dressed in knee-length utility pants and a bright pastel shirt made of an unidentifiable material. The man, who by his features and stooped posture was getting on in years, gave the Vel’dorei a small bow and chattered a short quip in Island Common. The woman, whose close-cropped hair and serious eyes marked her as military but but the smile and laugh lines of someone past that time in their life, mirrored her companions bow and spoke in accentless Codexian.
“Mister Thoramel. It is good to meet you. I am Miss Jelenya Kiziten, and this is Mister Eqrin Golride.” She lifts her hand towards the plot of land visible through one of the plexiglass walls; a modest patch of grass and arranged trees looking over a pond that drains into the central lake through the imposing metal levee. The property is dominated by an eight-story building that appears to have trees planted inside glass walls surrounding a central structure. “We are the caretakers of 99 First Circle. Mister Golride has me translate for him when necessary. Why don’t we get right down to business and show you around?”
Relieved to have finally arrived at his destination, Maverwind breathes a sigh of relief. The heat beats down quite uncomfortably on the man as takes a look around, studying every detail of the environment. The place looks nice enough, and the abundance of glass is a nice touch, but the absence of virtually anyone aside from himself, his guide, and these two other individuals leaves the Vel’dorei puzzled.
“Thank you, I certainly hope I do.” Maverwind replies to Mr. Marsie, hoping he would never have to meet with the man again. He takes the other’s departure as a sign that the two aforementioned strangers would now continue his tour, so he goes over to greet them. Mostly fortunately, at least in terms of appearance, these humans didn’t seem as if they were generated out of a factory that very morning. Quite a pleasant change, indeed.
“Ishnu’alah, my friends. The pleasure is entirely mutual. I look forward to exploring this place and having you both guide me, as I feel that I could get lost here quite easily.”
This, of course, isn’t true. Having lived among forests his entire life, it would truly have to be some sort of maliciously designed labyrinth if Maverind were to find himself lost. Even among his peers, his expertise in finding his way around unfamiliar environments has been uncanny. Perhaps this is what inevitably led up to his future as a diplomat.
“Please, lead the way.”
Along the expansive path that separated the pond and property from the lake surrounding the Hall of Sorrows, pedestrians gave Maverwind an assortment of looks as he was being guided along by the two government officials. While the presence of Kitizen and Golride gave the Vel’dorei unspoken importance, the expensive suits and designer smart watches of the passers-by could not completely eliminate the need for curiosity over propriety. Two older men in light green jackets gave Maverwind long looks before chattering away at the railing of the sidewalk. A collection of schoolchildren in matching academy blazers goggled at the imposing diplomat as they toddled by, and a pair of younger women even rushed up to the Vel’dorei, took a grinning selfie with his bemused face as the backdrop, and scurried off the way they came. Golride sighed, muttering indistinctly. Kitizen turned to her charge with a tired wipe of her brow.
“A person of your…ethnic background will attract some attention here, Mister Thoramel. If you have any issues with the citizenry here, please bring it to our attention and the problem will be sorted post-haste.” Her hard tone left little to be said about the consequences that would befall said citizens. There was no opportunity for reply as this moment is when the part of three reached the security gate set in the low wall, whose only guard waved them through with question or preamble. The quiet guttering of the water through the rushes in the shallows of the pond greeted Maverwind, and past the wind-rustled trees the embassy building rose against the city around it.
“The species in the conservatory are all native to the surrounding area, though you can transplant from home if you so desire,” Kitizen began to translate for Golride, who was pointing out various features of the property. A seabird swimming in circles some distance away gave a honk at the Vel’dorei.
“The pond isn’t stocked at the moment, but it’ll be simple to do so. If you want to gave a security system installed on the perimeter, that can be arranged. Any questions so far?”