/Letter from the Narrative Villain./
All honesty Villainers, I- I-
Aw, I dunno. Seriously. Writing this felt like running mile and hitting your teeth hard on the concrete as you faint from exhaustion. Tell any errors, maybe they're innocent. Hopefully they're intentional.
Characterization. Reinforce what this character is and what they do. Reinforce layer in more detail.
Any movement is better than none. Seriously, my schedule is in a bit bump slump right now. I'm in college, that's my excuse. Rewriting this to at least cover some interesting things. (I'm studying animation. But systems made for monetization over the masses will always be in the barest minimums of hospitable no matter the institution.)
Reality will always inherently be more interesting than fantasy. But oh trust me, I've got some ideas remixing both.
OH right. 1070 VIEWS LADS AND GENTS! Validation through the idea of effort.
I should really fix the first chapter, but that comes after this one. Hell yea! Thanks for the eyes, they keep this work alive. If a tree falls and no one is there to see it does the metaphor immortalize it for all of time? (Seriously though, who makes a story continuing another one without at least a LAST TIME ON DRAGONBALL Z.) Politely asking you to read at least a smidge of it to see where I'm going.
Seriously, too many ideas to waste them.
OK OK OK/ SEE YOU AGAIN / OK OK OK
What does she see below her shoes in each movement forward?
Opus Caementicium.
(Cement work.) That's the rough to word translation. You could just call it roman concrete, that's what she did. Wait a second, what does magnum mean? Opus magnum (wait flip it around). Magnificent. Work Magnifique. ( Splendid, superb.) It's all fitting in together in one giant string. Magnum Opus.
Well not really in this scenario. But it was nice realizing the origin of something.
Roman concrete. Masters of engineering creating vast networks of roads no no. They made good things, structures that last to this day. Aqueducts, waterways. Outlasted a lot of modern concrete, to this day with said aqueducts still being usable and water carriable.
Lime clasts along with the volcanic ash from the area of Pozzuoli mixing the two into its cement form and hot mixing them together created a sort of self regenerating concrete whenever rain fell through it comparatively to once modern regular concrete which remained cracked.
Lime stone but quick lime in particular, it's the key ingredient. Without it the effects are completely gone, it was overlooked as a key ingredient seen as faulty craftsmanship by the creators of their time, an accidental introduction completely overlooking the idea of those people having quality control at a time.
A while after the research team managed to make this mark. Another managed to replicate the special sort of sand used only in this type of construction out of ground down plastic materials once the climate crisis was in its later stages. That was an interesting read from the autobiography from the lead scientist over the SAND CARTEL'S attempt to thwart them at every turn to maintain their withering monopoly at the end of its development. Sand cartel's... such a crazy world to learn of.
Other than that, its popularization was basically inevitable once they managed to replicate the more dangerous materials, such as the lime itself which was incredibly toxic to the miners and to nature, another thing passed through.
A self-regenerating* , easily producible building material that was versatile to every degree and she slaughtered the explanation with no citation, and no one who would ever actually want to listen to this.
(Eh) Un peu pas vraiment
((Kinda not really.))
But it was just slathered anywhere trying to mix brutalism and classical. A very good attempt to make a small Rome while also forgetting the differences between Greek and Roman design. Large smooth blocky structures everywhere smooth and strict trying to remain elegant and detailed.
It was possible, and it showed in some areas like the arena. But, it was so utterly contradicting. Too much detail crammed with such a smooth sleekness that washed over everything.
It'd be an interesting choice. Until they added the greenery, then everything turned into a mess indoors and especially outdoors covering concrete in very expensive moss.
Detailed pathway's with very similar designs in intricately designed trails blocking views of other trail's made to view nature not to actually get to the location.
It was almost intentional to a point, constructed like a casino. Just keeping a person blinded by the flashing lights and twisting tables made to use all the time and money on a trip to there. Of course there were more friendly buildings with high floors and elegant design but she digressed.
Or was it some tactical decision? Medieval castles had confusing hallway's and staircases to ward invaders and give knowing defenders an edge in combat, making it awkward to swing a sword upward with those curving staircases while easier to swing downward with a sword. Unlikely but hey, this was just her making out some ideas.
Or they could just be stupid. The fault of an architecte being given too much leeway in a multi billion dollar project between multiple countries with all the civil engineers being at their mercy. But that felt impossible as no one that stupid would make it this way.
(Architect)
She only heard the clatter as her shoes landed individually on the cold grayness in each stride she took, odd by the apparent attempt at naturality at a natural look in this place.
White noise was almost intentional in a way. This entire section felt like it was a modèle picture for any sort of brochure for joining here.
(Model.) Seriously. There wasn't even a need to say it that way.
A slithering concrete path with a forcibly rickety bridge that you could find for cheap in a flimsy painting in any craft store dedicated to sell the most rustic look possible right in the middle. A small stream rushing below it with a small waterfall pushing past, even fish swimming downstream.
Actually what type of fish would be able to survive this type of journey? What sort of biological traits allowed them to survive the trek through this artificial island back into the ocean along with how they got here. Were they just released artificially and let to swim back down only to be collected again? Wait wait didn't she see a cover-with these sorts of different types? Big orange one in the middle, she might need to check it out later.
That orange one looks exactly like the fish on the front of the book. The individual details are blurred by the actual clear water. It was a cyan dark obscuring it making an outline with color and fins.
That fishes character, a one off caricature. When she looked at it there was no knowing of what the fish actually was. The fish never had a personality, only an outline with certain appealing characteristics. The director or whoever else is in charge of this project places the fish there and lets it swim its course through the season. A person stops, admires it for a period maybe even finding a favoritism in it and then moves on. But just with so many more different types and species not needing complexity but just something to look at for a while that's so common. Archetype. Wait- wait that isn't the word. Architecture.
She just realized she was stopped at the bridge looking down at the swimming animals. Seeing the gentle noise coming from the water rushing past the perfectly placed stones looking back at himself, it was odd how different he looked and even more so how other's would look at him right now.
A perfect view customized and planned in every way. Then he looked up.
Each strand of grass, each branch filled with greenery preplaced just to make this one beautiful obsessive moment of perfection and it still felt hollow and artificial like a fake plant, a bowl of fruit made out of foam and chemical coloring given actual flesh. She was in the shadow of the tree but not entirely, near the water to feel the coolness in the air but not enough to feel the cold splash like being given a warm handhold with an iron grip.
He wanted to just go into the river and enjoy it but no. Because no. Better not to think of the reasons.
Charles finished crossing the bridge and walked over to the dormitory another day in another passing use of his time unwinding himself.
What sort of book would he open once he got back? He pretended to not notice the running of shoes over the earth slowly growing in noise right in front of him obscured by the treeline.
"Hey you. You. Right there. Stop right now before I make you." It was addressed only to him as he was alone, but that does not mean he won't pretend to not have listened.
"I KNOW, you didn't not hear me, reckon that." Oh great, an Aussie. Charles turned around and was ready to face this encounter. He will at least try to seem amicable.
He gazed at a tall and, compact? Compact would mean it with the visible muscles under the uniform at this visage. Long dirty blonde hair and an unending only intensifying eye-contact. A faded tan, and a sharp neat uniform that just somehow made her seem bulkier. Her voice was barky and coarse like a bull dog.
Behind her doing a faint but not fully into it run was a girl wearing a very flowery bandanna over her curly hair with large circle rimmed glasses with a thin frame along the large lenses.
"Hello? I'm sorry, how may I-"
"Are you rich?" What?
"What? Excuse me-" Well, his family was bleeding money in both ways. But his part never saw the larger share, but-
"Are. You. Rich." He guessed so in the larger definition. But the way she just growled out her question put him in more hesitancy.
"In a way, yes i would answer tha-"
"Great. Give him the pitch Vizz." What was the point of even letting him talk at this point?
This other girl walked up with a paper in hand. The large girl put her arm behind her in a large swing still not disconnecting her eyes from Charles and flawlessly collected it when it was simply placed from bandana girl, brought the paper to him. Then tossed let it fall for a second in the air and did a palm slam into his gut, easily shoving him back, and almost knocking him down along with all the wind being blown out of him forcing the thin white sheet into his gut. "Here."
Grasping the crumpled paper from his chest he tried to rationalize what was on it expecting some sort of investment opportunity to be given or is this a charity paper? Or was it an awareness campaign?
"Donate. You will won't you?"
Then the bandana girl decided to speak up with an earthy New Zealander accent. "A large share or at least the ability to know and never remain ignorant. The earth, she'll be right as long as we the younger blood decided to know what's poisoning her."
Alright. A bit ironic considering who he was but. It was a nobler cause than she was used to.
"Sure, I just don't have any sort of way to pay right-"
The aussie narrowed her eyes, but didn't seem to clock her assertiveness into overdrive. Then she took a step back.
"Wait. Wait." She switched into a brawlers position, as if she was ready to charge into a street fight fists ready to hammer down into another's bones.
The bandana girl looked at the the Aussie and put her hand on her back.
"Ah, egg. You realized what he actually does, imagining yourself in the field of ignorance being caught in the middle of it burning down again, look gal. It was a lost cause I know but, he won't pay back his karmic debt either way." It was neutral and somber, as if she was looking at a sick patient with no hope.
The Aussie unclenched her fists and gave a disappointed look her eyes that was condescending with a spiteful hatred as if he was the problem.
"You're right." She instantly took the paper back from Charles hands crumpling the paper more walking past him.
"I'll take you on your word but I know you won't do it for the cause." She turned back. "Come on, let's go and do something good with OUR lives for the sake of good." Waving her friend to move with her back down the path.
Confidently she strutted away without a moment's notice, with such gall to see him as the lesser one. Bandana girl followed trying to be empathetic turning to face him for a moment.
"May your path uncloud itself in some way through smudged lenses freshly cleaned." Then they turned back forward and left giving only a small wave.
What? Now, she'd donate money just to spite her, but was she- was she playing into their hands? No way someone just- What?
He was too tired to piece together what happened. This had nothing to do with him, even if he wanted to know more, maybe he would find out later.
Charles continued walking his path to north hall. The towering spire, the landmark revealing itself in sight, the path still turbulent. Confusing twists and turns.
Waiting for the elevator to come for his tired legs, he reviewed his mind thinking of his haziness and how that girl may have been right to a point. Did she say something about smudged lenses?
The stillness of an elevator rising to the fourth floor intentionally focusing on the door and not the clear glass view behind him, then the unlocking of a room with the coalescing non existent dust in the air prevalent.
He made the effort to wrench the vent open and grab a book, it was a struggle but he managed to get out a- he just opened it and got into his bed looking at the cube frame that contained it, pre brought furniture painfully poetic, intentional. He didn't even want to turn to the music box that he knew was ever staring, just looking at him in some way shape or form.
There was a glazed over look at an open page but he gave in and just closed his eyes knowing that there would be more important things.
He dozed off slowly, giving up was easier than trying under the orange and white colored covers of his family that were still too bright for him even outside closed eyes.
Grateful unconsciousness. Fading. Fading.
There was sleep now.
Only sleep.
The clock didn't matter here.
Ring Ring! How much time has passed? He didn't know! But it was time to answer the phone!
Adrenaline, heart pumping, breathe calmly- actually no he wouldn't he was here. Answer: keep calm.
Instantly he shot out of his bed and grabbed it, putting it to his ear and…. nothing. Looking down It was a very bright reminder to return a book at the library.
If you stare at a bright screen before you sleep it gives you more difficulty fading into REM.
Cursing the world he just tried to circle around his room until his high ran out. It was a momentary release, it would flush out of his system eventually. Charles climbed back into his bed and tried to focus on the left open book with the slight tremble that kept the letters moving in his soul.
It was over. Irony or maybe fate coming would just let it be real just when he dozed back down. But, maybe it would be merciful and come later.
The silence and the stillness just let him hear his heart beat faster.
Unwinding to be wound again.
"On n'est point toujours une bête pour l'avoir été quelquefois."
(Being a fool does not make one a fool all the time.)
Maybe it'd be true.