GRETA
There is a picture of Deling City by my dresser. It is an aerial shot, showing off her Hyne's Day best, oblivious to the rest of the world. For those of us who remember, Deling City was once the jewel of the world. Even covered in grime and solidified smog from the constant traffic of buses, and the nearby factories that supply the rest of the world with Galbadian delights. Deling City is the only place in the world that has more vehicles than people. Leave something in place long enough, say a couple of weeks, and you would no longer be able to recognize it from the blackened, dusty sheen it would accumulate. Only the weekly buffing keeps the city in outwardly pristine condition for the endless supply of tourists and dignitaries who came to experience the lights and shadows of Deling City. Once a year, every Hyne's day, the city is given a thorough face lift; the lights shine brighter, the liquor flows freer, and the prices rise higher, in this celebration of jubilation and excess. Confetti, instead of grime, covers the streets, and if you're not careful might end up in a meal or a drink. Deling City knows how to throw a proper Hyne's day.
Being a lady of class and prestige in Galbadia meant long lessons on etiquette, ceremony, and general snobbery. Friends were those of similar economic background who could benefit you most in the future. The world as we knew it began and ended within the confines of the city gates. Time was delineated by when one party ended and another one started. I suppose I would have been happy. Happiness, after all, is not knowing the world, it is accepting the world you know. Why did I throw it away?
Deling city is a city of light and shadows. The almost constant blasting of smog and other pollutants high in the atmosphere has caused an extended period of night. The sun rises and sets in a span of 6 hours. All this has done is extend the nightlife in Deling City an extra few hours. Who needs the sun when the fluorescent glow of buildings warms and lights your way more than nature ever could have. Light and Shadows. A city of illusions and mirages too fool and entrance the mind with fluorescent beauty. All this beauty has a price. Her citizens are slowly choking to death in a fog that infests and corrodes their lungs, slowly, patiently. A baby born in Deling City and having lived there their entire life, never leaving once, has an expected maximum lifespan of sixty. Nobody minds, or cares. I don't know if it's psychologically ingrained, but most of Deling City's residents would rather die than grow old. The smog can almost be seen as a blessing.
I am turning sixty next month. I look younger than I really am. My friends are long dead and gone, either from the war, natural causes, or a capsule of cyanide when the earth refuses to take you. I would have met a similar fate, if not for Bill.
Vinzar Deling was a man with a dream. An aged man by our standards, he single handedly forged Galbadia from a large but inconsequential duchy, entrenched in too much industry for it's own good, to the most glorious country in the world. And Deling City, it's capital became a beacon of achievement. The city's name remains unchanged despite decades after his death and numerous petitions by a liberal minority. He called it Aclamere; his dream, I mean. An ancient Cetran word that means, "to come home." He spoke of the past and the future, how the two could be one and the same, how we are the recipients of a legacy of glory and brilliance. And he built this city and had in the middle a massive arc of triumph of Centran design, a symbol of unity and victory. We walked under that arc as children, holding hands and singing songs, as one unified body. And then we made war.
Bill was a junior archeologist who helped the excavation into the Centran ruins that Vinzar Deling was personally funding and leading. Deling had an avid interest in Centran occult and had his team of treasure seekers and grave robbers scouring the continent in search of lost power. A womanizer and a scoundrel, Bill was reckless, crude, and daring under his tan skin and ill-fitting tuxedo. All the women of course were in love with him, myself included. I loved him because he was something different from the usual pale-bred men we have here, and he loved me because I was rich and beautiful. Wining and dining, he'd tell me with only a little bit of arrogance how much better of the excavation would be if he were in charge. I believed him, and threw a vast amount of my fortune and followed him down to a barren, forsaken land.
The Sorceress, that's what Deling called her as he presented her to the city, and presented the city to her. They found her in Centra, the rumours say, and freed her from the confines of her ruined existence. The city cheered till they couldn't hear themselves think. They cheered, forgetful of the previous sorceress who almost destroyed the world. They cheered, even as the man they knew and loved as a father to the empire crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. They cheered, as Galbadia made war on the rest of the world.
I would have cheered as well had I remained. Instead I was hunched over a glowing black and white receiver, wishing to go home to all that was familiar and not see another cave or empty shell of a building ever again. The novelty, his novelty, had worn off. This was no longer the dashing adventurer with a tale or three of lost islands and dragons, and I was no more the cultured lady he had met at an upper class banquet. What remained was a man, puny and striving for any glory, and a woman, the thin veneer of society ripped away leaving only the weak non-individual. Yet, despite all this, or perhaps because of it, I still loved him. It was a different kind of love; one that builds after all else is stripped.
One can never stop loving one's country just as I can never stop loving Deling City. People have told me that the war was a bad war, but I didn't care. If Deling City was in it, then she made it brilliant, made the war meaningful. Glory to the people, forever and ever. Then the war was over, the sorceress gone, and the shambling wounded soldiers came home, while some didn't come home at all. Her walls were no longer shining, her beacons no longer lighted. All trains no longer lead to Deling City, a stigma from having warred on the rest of the world and lost. All she has left now is her pride hidden under caked layers of grime that is no longer washed away. An empty hollowed shell of it's former glory.
An empty hollow shell, that's what it was. He said he found the perfect place, that it was cheap, reliable, and most importantly quiet. I like quiet, but sometimes I miss the bustle of a city or the honking and heavy choking exhaust of an automobile. We spent the rest of my money paying Garden to clean out the small ruined temple of any monsters. An inn. I told him we had no business running an inn, that he was too lazy, and I was not suited to serving people. He just laughed. At least, I berated him, hire someone who knows what they are doing.
Whatever Deling City once was to the world is now lost and forgotten. Balamb Garden has usurped her position. It is to Balamb that they now flock, to see the Fated Children who saved the world, to gaze at the wonder of Centran magic, and Estharian technology coalesce into a graceful blue spiraling structure. I have seen the Garden in person. It has a halo of light, spiraling around it as if it is some heavenly structure. It is Balamb where the Hyne's day festivals are the talk of days to come, where the combined might of the Gardens and Esthar's circling space stations produce a show that would awe Hyne herself. It is Balamb that defeated the sorceress and that caused her to fall so long ago. I am bitter and resentful.
I hate the new help. She's young and pretty. At least, pretty enough to catch the attention of my louse of a husband, and young enough to make me jealous. In other places she would hardly be worth a second glance, but here in LeGuin, among the lost and the lonely, she stands out, fresh and new. I have urged my husband plenty of times to get rid of her, to find someone else, but he says there is nothing wrong with her work, that he pities her, and to get to know her as I'd be sure to like her.
It has been nearly two decades and I still do not like her. I can't even describe what I dislike about her. I keep waiting for the news that my husband, that Bill will leave me forever. I doubt he would leave the inn, though; he loves the place even if he does no work whatsoever. In reality I own half the inn, it is my money after all, and am not about to relinquish this place to that little hussy. Mentally I am preparing myself for a lifetime of bitter angst, that everyday I am going to wake up and face that woman and [I]my husband[/I] together, muttering under my breath that I made him what he is, I taught him everything.
Except how to make me laugh when I'm in a foul mood, or remember our anniversary even when I myself have forgotten, or how to cook fish Galbadian style because I can't cook to save my own life.
Five years ago I travelled back to Deling City. Business had been good and there was some money to take a short vacation. I made it in time for the Hyne's day festival. While the rest of the world marvelled at the newest spectacle displayed by Balamb (now New Balamb Garden), my city and I, both of us old and decrepit, watched the meager display of fireworks, lights, and confetti. The sun rises and sets normally now, Estharian technology cleared the atmosphere after a deadly contagion called Black Lung nearly killed all new born infants. The city is no longer lit enough to read by, the buses and trolleys have been replaced by more Estharian technology. Levitating platforms. Ridiculous.
This morning he is making coffee, talking with that young man who showed up here with a gunblade in hand and not much else. The young man is trying to be a SeeD, more so he is from Balamb. I wish he would just leave. I yell something trivial, making sure to put in another remark about the maid, and the young man heads out. There is a familiar moment of silence, and in that span, he pours two cups of coffee. There is something familiar about the scent, and I only notice now that there is a childish smile on his face. He passes me a cup and sustains contact with my fingers a little bit longer than usual. The taste is heavy and black, a product of months of refinement that can only be produced by the coffee houses in Deling City. I savor every taste.
There was a small concert at the Arc of Triumph, and once more I am a child holding hands and singing. Swipe at the wall with my finger and off comes layers of grime and dirt as well as layers of history. She's held up as well as I have. I found I am the oldest person at the festival; mini-skirts and trendy coats can be seen on those celebrating this Hyne's day. Balamb can have it's magnitude of fans and spectacles, they are all empty pretty little things. The small cheering crowd gazed up at the multitude of lights and glittering fireworks. Only I gaze up with love and affection. Only Deling City knows how to throw a proper Hyne's day.
continue...
Well, that was the most fun I've had writing a chapter in a long time and I'm extremely happy the way this part came out. Two more parts left and I'll probably post them together.
Once again, comments, criticism, and flames welcomed
There is a picture of Deling City by my dresser. It is an aerial shot, showing off her Hyne's Day best, oblivious to the rest of the world. For those of us who remember, Deling City was once the jewel of the world. Even covered in grime and solidified smog from the constant traffic of buses, and the nearby factories that supply the rest of the world with Galbadian delights. Deling City is the only place in the world that has more vehicles than people. Leave something in place long enough, say a couple of weeks, and you would no longer be able to recognize it from the blackened, dusty sheen it would accumulate. Only the weekly buffing keeps the city in outwardly pristine condition for the endless supply of tourists and dignitaries who came to experience the lights and shadows of Deling City. Once a year, every Hyne's day, the city is given a thorough face lift; the lights shine brighter, the liquor flows freer, and the prices rise higher, in this celebration of jubilation and excess. Confetti, instead of grime, covers the streets, and if you're not careful might end up in a meal or a drink. Deling City knows how to throw a proper Hyne's day.
Being a lady of class and prestige in Galbadia meant long lessons on etiquette, ceremony, and general snobbery. Friends were those of similar economic background who could benefit you most in the future. The world as we knew it began and ended within the confines of the city gates. Time was delineated by when one party ended and another one started. I suppose I would have been happy. Happiness, after all, is not knowing the world, it is accepting the world you know. Why did I throw it away?
Deling city is a city of light and shadows. The almost constant blasting of smog and other pollutants high in the atmosphere has caused an extended period of night. The sun rises and sets in a span of 6 hours. All this has done is extend the nightlife in Deling City an extra few hours. Who needs the sun when the fluorescent glow of buildings warms and lights your way more than nature ever could have. Light and Shadows. A city of illusions and mirages too fool and entrance the mind with fluorescent beauty. All this beauty has a price. Her citizens are slowly choking to death in a fog that infests and corrodes their lungs, slowly, patiently. A baby born in Deling City and having lived there their entire life, never leaving once, has an expected maximum lifespan of sixty. Nobody minds, or cares. I don't know if it's psychologically ingrained, but most of Deling City's residents would rather die than grow old. The smog can almost be seen as a blessing.
I am turning sixty next month. I look younger than I really am. My friends are long dead and gone, either from the war, natural causes, or a capsule of cyanide when the earth refuses to take you. I would have met a similar fate, if not for Bill.
Vinzar Deling was a man with a dream. An aged man by our standards, he single handedly forged Galbadia from a large but inconsequential duchy, entrenched in too much industry for it's own good, to the most glorious country in the world. And Deling City, it's capital became a beacon of achievement. The city's name remains unchanged despite decades after his death and numerous petitions by a liberal minority. He called it Aclamere; his dream, I mean. An ancient Cetran word that means, "to come home." He spoke of the past and the future, how the two could be one and the same, how we are the recipients of a legacy of glory and brilliance. And he built this city and had in the middle a massive arc of triumph of Centran design, a symbol of unity and victory. We walked under that arc as children, holding hands and singing songs, as one unified body. And then we made war.
Bill was a junior archeologist who helped the excavation into the Centran ruins that Vinzar Deling was personally funding and leading. Deling had an avid interest in Centran occult and had his team of treasure seekers and grave robbers scouring the continent in search of lost power. A womanizer and a scoundrel, Bill was reckless, crude, and daring under his tan skin and ill-fitting tuxedo. All the women of course were in love with him, myself included. I loved him because he was something different from the usual pale-bred men we have here, and he loved me because I was rich and beautiful. Wining and dining, he'd tell me with only a little bit of arrogance how much better of the excavation would be if he were in charge. I believed him, and threw a vast amount of my fortune and followed him down to a barren, forsaken land.
The Sorceress, that's what Deling called her as he presented her to the city, and presented the city to her. They found her in Centra, the rumours say, and freed her from the confines of her ruined existence. The city cheered till they couldn't hear themselves think. They cheered, forgetful of the previous sorceress who almost destroyed the world. They cheered, even as the man they knew and loved as a father to the empire crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. They cheered, as Galbadia made war on the rest of the world.
I would have cheered as well had I remained. Instead I was hunched over a glowing black and white receiver, wishing to go home to all that was familiar and not see another cave or empty shell of a building ever again. The novelty, his novelty, had worn off. This was no longer the dashing adventurer with a tale or three of lost islands and dragons, and I was no more the cultured lady he had met at an upper class banquet. What remained was a man, puny and striving for any glory, and a woman, the thin veneer of society ripped away leaving only the weak non-individual. Yet, despite all this, or perhaps because of it, I still loved him. It was a different kind of love; one that builds after all else is stripped.
One can never stop loving one's country just as I can never stop loving Deling City. People have told me that the war was a bad war, but I didn't care. If Deling City was in it, then she made it brilliant, made the war meaningful. Glory to the people, forever and ever. Then the war was over, the sorceress gone, and the shambling wounded soldiers came home, while some didn't come home at all. Her walls were no longer shining, her beacons no longer lighted. All trains no longer lead to Deling City, a stigma from having warred on the rest of the world and lost. All she has left now is her pride hidden under caked layers of grime that is no longer washed away. An empty hollowed shell of it's former glory.
An empty hollow shell, that's what it was. He said he found the perfect place, that it was cheap, reliable, and most importantly quiet. I like quiet, but sometimes I miss the bustle of a city or the honking and heavy choking exhaust of an automobile. We spent the rest of my money paying Garden to clean out the small ruined temple of any monsters. An inn. I told him we had no business running an inn, that he was too lazy, and I was not suited to serving people. He just laughed. At least, I berated him, hire someone who knows what they are doing.
Whatever Deling City once was to the world is now lost and forgotten. Balamb Garden has usurped her position. It is to Balamb that they now flock, to see the Fated Children who saved the world, to gaze at the wonder of Centran magic, and Estharian technology coalesce into a graceful blue spiraling structure. I have seen the Garden in person. It has a halo of light, spiraling around it as if it is some heavenly structure. It is Balamb where the Hyne's day festivals are the talk of days to come, where the combined might of the Gardens and Esthar's circling space stations produce a show that would awe Hyne herself. It is Balamb that defeated the sorceress and that caused her to fall so long ago. I am bitter and resentful.
I hate the new help. She's young and pretty. At least, pretty enough to catch the attention of my louse of a husband, and young enough to make me jealous. In other places she would hardly be worth a second glance, but here in LeGuin, among the lost and the lonely, she stands out, fresh and new. I have urged my husband plenty of times to get rid of her, to find someone else, but he says there is nothing wrong with her work, that he pities her, and to get to know her as I'd be sure to like her.
It has been nearly two decades and I still do not like her. I can't even describe what I dislike about her. I keep waiting for the news that my husband, that Bill will leave me forever. I doubt he would leave the inn, though; he loves the place even if he does no work whatsoever. In reality I own half the inn, it is my money after all, and am not about to relinquish this place to that little hussy. Mentally I am preparing myself for a lifetime of bitter angst, that everyday I am going to wake up and face that woman and [I]my husband[/I] together, muttering under my breath that I made him what he is, I taught him everything.
Except how to make me laugh when I'm in a foul mood, or remember our anniversary even when I myself have forgotten, or how to cook fish Galbadian style because I can't cook to save my own life.
Five years ago I travelled back to Deling City. Business had been good and there was some money to take a short vacation. I made it in time for the Hyne's day festival. While the rest of the world marvelled at the newest spectacle displayed by Balamb (now New Balamb Garden), my city and I, both of us old and decrepit, watched the meager display of fireworks, lights, and confetti. The sun rises and sets normally now, Estharian technology cleared the atmosphere after a deadly contagion called Black Lung nearly killed all new born infants. The city is no longer lit enough to read by, the buses and trolleys have been replaced by more Estharian technology. Levitating platforms. Ridiculous.
This morning he is making coffee, talking with that young man who showed up here with a gunblade in hand and not much else. The young man is trying to be a SeeD, more so he is from Balamb. I wish he would just leave. I yell something trivial, making sure to put in another remark about the maid, and the young man heads out. There is a familiar moment of silence, and in that span, he pours two cups of coffee. There is something familiar about the scent, and I only notice now that there is a childish smile on his face. He passes me a cup and sustains contact with my fingers a little bit longer than usual. The taste is heavy and black, a product of months of refinement that can only be produced by the coffee houses in Deling City. I savor every taste.
There was a small concert at the Arc of Triumph, and once more I am a child holding hands and singing. Swipe at the wall with my finger and off comes layers of grime and dirt as well as layers of history. She's held up as well as I have. I found I am the oldest person at the festival; mini-skirts and trendy coats can be seen on those celebrating this Hyne's day. Balamb can have it's magnitude of fans and spectacles, they are all empty pretty little things. The small cheering crowd gazed up at the multitude of lights and glittering fireworks. Only I gaze up with love and affection. Only Deling City knows how to throw a proper Hyne's day.
continue...
Well, that was the most fun I've had writing a chapter in a long time and I'm extremely happy the way this part came out. Two more parts left and I'll probably post them together.
Once again, comments, criticism, and flames welcomed