Story:Retos Day Out

A cool breeze retreats two hours prior to noon in the Utlian capital, it is the first day in the second half of the season of Aracet, halfway through the eightieth year of a post calm Utlia. The Braia Building in the slight-westerly center of this capital shines bright for the first warm and sunny day of the year, its five brick stories and domed roof adorn the back of many a postcard and magazine but among citizens of Tinlea it is as normal a building as any. A quarter century has passed since the very square it sits in when was bombed by artillery, stepped on by Syetin, and shot up by the same citizens that live here now. The square and its adjacent river-port saw the end of the war and the rapid rebuilding of all that was broken in its chaos. The man stepping out onto pedestrian stone from the domed symbol of Einrus victory is pale and rosy in complexion, a bushy auburn mustache sits atop, almost covering his upper lip. His hands sit entrenched in standard Liarn pockets, his garb is a plain maroon, contrasting the floral symbolism on many of his Maasyl and Coalition peers, if asked he would say something about recognizing the common Utlians uniform, not allowing himself to be separated in his high position from the life of a normal Utlian, in reality the choice came about because the war ended earlier than he expected and he couldn't be arsed to get one made, so he popped into a workmans shop near the bombed out grocery store on Erley street and purchased the first one he saw. While he really believes all that speech on common Utlian plight and the power of people, he finds himself increasingly uncaring in personal ways. The man usually leaves the capital building at noon, almost everyday barre festivals and lerpok ends.

The man absentmindedly begins walking, the Braia Building may be the epicenter of C.O.U.R but the lesser sects within it all have their own buildings scattered around the port district of Tikmyr. His own sect sitting up Braia street, down the streetcar track a couple stations, he could ride but he prefers to walk, the streets are somewhat full of life, the Coalitions debrief almost always finishes around the time the commute hour finishes, only today, this exceptionally slow day of affairs does he manage to get out this early. The Ueiet Building sits on the corner of a portside promenade right off of Braia station, adjacent is the bureau of agriculture and a shop that sells festival and home party supplies. Above that shop is apartments, surely the worst apartments in the city, the man thinks, the Ueiet building is busy at all hours of day, night and anything between, Einru overseers and clerks constantly moving, the poor structure hasnt gotten a goods nights rest in the quarter-century since the butcher shop and offices above it were bought by Einru, the space too crowded to accomadate the mass of Heyels lads and lasses working overtime to ensure everything in the paramilitary and civilian wings of the group are running smoothly. The man walks into the building through its narrow doors built for a boutique, not government operation. passing by and slightly bumping into one Meryes Nebeyren, the two exchange Ucheks and move on, they would stop and chat about the old days but work is to be done. Meryes is the overseer of Einrus paramilitary wing, and specifically their training in western Mountange. A true believer he is, fought in the war twenty-five years ago and often reminisces on those days, though he understands the importance of his job he misses when he could shoot the elite in the head instead of training for elite that may never come.

The man moves past the front desk and up a narrow timber staircase behind it, exchanging ucheks with another half dozen people on the way, the desk lady practically ignores him as he moves by, for he doesnt need to check in with the rest, everyone in the building knows him well. The ground floor is for inter-government work, its also the only floor lined with black and white tiles instead of the dark hardwood customary with the rest of the building, a holdover of the butcher shop kept, Einru is quite the sentimental lot after all, wouldn't want to forget what this buildings job was prior to their invasion. The actual layout of the checkered ground is the reception room he bolted past, behind that is a meeting space and an office for all the desk workers who write, proofread and finalize documents relating to Einrus place in the Coalition. On the second floor, which he also bolts his way through, lies the paramilitary wing, where Nebeyrens desk is, cluttered with knicknacks and an overflowing tray of paperwork. On the third floor, which he once again bolts up out of, lies the civilian wing, right now this floor is empty, it often is in the morning, much of this wings work is done outside, talking with citizens and taking notes on Einrus relationship with the public. Nearly out of breath after speed-walking up the stairs, hitting the fourth and final floor, this is his wing, around a third of the floors space is reserved for his office, the rest is typically occupied by his personal clerk, Ieres and the four other personally chosen soldier-assistants, Ieres gives him an especially cheerful uchek as he crests the staircase, the rest of the floors were bustling but up here at the top its just him, Ieres and one desk soldier, who has taken a book off of one of the shelves between the sea-facing windows and started reading, its about the history of trade in Utlia prior to the calming. The lad doesnt notice him until the exchange with Ieres, following which he sets the book down "Oh I didnt see ya there, Uchek Heyel Mate." "Youre here early" Ieres comments "Aye, theres almost nothing occuring, just some complaining about Syenter and talk of the recent Rossan deals, very slow day. I got out in time to see how packed the streetcar is during commute hour." "Arent ya glad we work so early in the morning." the soldier responds brightly to Heyels downer disposition. The three make small talk, as they often do, about work and life and art before Heyel retreats into his wood panelled office.

Heyel encourages the personalization of ones work space, he often emphasizes that "ones workspace is their home away from home." The lads on the first floor are fervent and maniacal in their work, abstract paintings and sarcastic posters decorate the communal walls of their former butchery, a specific fixture advertising cheap brenya cuts has remained despite all other changes, much like the floor, its placement by the front check in desk has led to a strange ritual, after a soldier-workers clocking in they rub the steak image in the poster, supposedly for good luck. On the second floor workers are methodical and slow, though their workload is substantially smaller as well, their space has a wall of patches for the former lyets of the buildings workers, the wall presents a mosaic of every-place and every-war one may serve in. In the very topleft of the board sits a rather small, makeshit patch belonging to Nebeyren, it is for the East Ocean Einru forces, five of them exist globally, though the patch itself is quite quaint, featuring only a sewn map of the East Ocean Territory and the name of the group in an unassuming font above it. The board also includes Lytwin Shwyns own 2nd Fire Brigade Lyet patch, donated following Einrus victory in the second civil war; the most prominent patches are from various infantry and scouting lyets from across the mainland. Above the patchboard sits the portraits of Areen Leshen and Mal Ignis. On the third floor, the desks are quite empty, a sidetable stacked with clipboards greets you as you walk up the stairs and on the wall above it is a map of Tinlea dotted with red pins, a whiteboard list of addresses sitting adjacent to it. The civillian wing does have one other wall decoration, Yyme Braias presidential portrait sits above the seaside windows, on the wall opposite to the table and map. Finally, the fourth floor, officially the International Wing, the desks are neat and the walls decorated with maps of Utlia and its overseas territories, maps of Attu, a box of "various things" sits in the corner by the windows, behind Ieres desk, next to a couple filing cabinets, inside the box is a pile of stuff the group is soon to fit on the walls, maps, plaques, international agreement papers, diplomatic messages; despite the work being done at this level being of most importance, the six who stay up here are lazier than anyone else, their closeness has led to an office where talking and leisure is done a lot more than work. Heyels office is a place most workers in the Ueiet building visit an average of four times a Uewen.entering his office one is greeted by his standard wooden desk and the two leather seats across from it. Behind the desk is a large, room-wide shelf with two spires on either side half used for books and half used for various trinkets acquired by Heyel, foreign money gifted by foreign politicians; old books from his coworkers who know him well enough to know his obsession with infrastructure and logistics and everything about how a nation breathes, as well as his odd liking of the occasional doreonya novel. A large, beautiful map of all archipelagos sits in the sunken space between each side-tower of the room fixture, in it is a single pin on Balmor-Ut, Heyels hometown.

The office windows are already open when Heyel takes a seat at his desk, which itself is quite clean, usually he funnels his excess paperwork to the side table by the windows as to not clutter his desk but today it is as if all his work has been stolen by dastardly spies of some international enemy, he tries not to assign a race to this foreign thought-enemy but his mind immediately goes to Karinians. Nothing sits on his desk, nor his table, nor even the bookshelf which he often desecrates with his work. It dawns on him that he may finally be through his backlog of communications bureau and Einru and COUR work. He steps out back into the main office, where the soldier has resumed his book and Ieres is doing desk work on her typewriter. he turns to her, almost scared and trembling "Ieres, do I have any meetings scheduled today." Surely theres something to do, he thinsk to himself, its been a long time hes been completely free of work. Ieres looks up at him, then swaps gaze to her own docket before replying "Uhhhh no, we did the stuff with Corwyn and the foreign affairs bureaus last lerpok and we went ahead and finished the festival reports you had on your own checklist." She only resumes eye contact with the perplexed Heyel after her sentence is complete "It would seem you are off today." She continues "Huh, Im free." Heyel responds. "Yeah, you ever try that Rossan place that opened on Myresk street? Its really quite good, we went there when you were on some business thing with the president." The soldier joins in "Yeah you shouldve ditched Teren and came along it was really great, you spend too much time with the big timers anyway." "You are aware that you are also a big timer right Oer. Lyre?" "Not nearly as big time as the nyrerskti prsident of the country though." The three finish up their conversation and Heyel takes a slow descent, in no rush down the stairs and out of the building, he exchanges Ucheks with another half-dozen faces as he gets back onto the promenade.

The sea today is calm and almost smiles as it splashes the cold beach below, it and the sky have taken a high disposition today, the beautiful light reflecting off the waves could almost convince you to take a dip in the water, though it would almost certainly freeze one to death and be a generally unpleasent experience, it is however warm enough in the air for people to crowd along the boutiques and shops and museums in the pedestrianized central Tinlea, Orena may be the most bustling place on the island, perhaps the most in any archipelago but from the pedestrian eyes it is Tinlea where people move and live the most, those in Orena take trains and motorbikes and work and are serious, atleast in popular perception. One of the capitals beautiful quirks to Heyel is that its walking-focus gives a living feeling, as if the city itself is a living machine and every citizen within it a gear making it turn, even a cynic like himself can find joy in a gull stealing eyyren from a man who dropped his pack on the wooden boardwalk; in the way workers will stop at nothing to improve effiency yet still allow themselves time to visit art museums; in the way kids play in historic parks, games of cyals taking place yards from where the Azztan Annexations were declared complete. Tinlea is a city unique to the Einru spirit, he thinks, before his mind corrects and reminds of course its Tinlean in spirit, the ideology was born here. Heyel finds the city overwhelming at times, there is so much, attractions everywhere and more every day, it would take lifetimes to see every sun-soaked alley devoid of use, every metal bench worn down by centuries of different people sitting on them, every signature dish purported to be "the most authentic Utlian food youll ever taste!" Thats a special quirk of Tikmyr, its the tourist part of Tinlea, hes gotten used to the hordes who gather to look at the postcard-beautiful capital building but he will never understand the drive for authentic feysum and brenya, its just coffee and steak who cares, but then another part of him retorts with well of course you dont care youre not a tourist. Heyel considers where to go, how he will spend his day but before making any plans he unzips his maroon wool liarn and fishes with his six-decade old hand into the waters of his interior coat feeling around the leftward stream when his hook feels a tug, out comes a pack of worn down cigarettes, Kelelmeite in brand, his peers wonder but no one really knows where he got them. The fold that opens into the crab-shell of cigs is near completely broken, the cardboard interior peeking through corners and the hinge hanging on barely to the body of the package. Along with the cigarettes he also catches a lighter from the same stream, the paint chipped and taking four strikes before keeping a flame. He stows the loot from his fishing trip back in the liarn and puffs on his crab leg, staring out at Braia station. The streetcar will arrive at the station in five minutes, the tree lined street of the same name is not unique, the majority of Tinleas major streets host streetcars, large trees shadowing the road itself and the sound of Ukut birds flying from treetop, shaking the leaves before they go down and fight with gulls for scraps dropped by tourists and local families alike.

Heyel ponders where the day will take him next. For now he is watching the gears of capital turn, himself no longer rotating but spectating as he smokes his godawful tasting Sorewa-cigs.