Civitas Chapter 7 Liberty's Aquarium

Civitas: How to Die Together with Your Scholar Colleagues

By Tristan Norman

Ed. Aran Meredith & Northern Mittler Solomon

Chapter 7

Liberty’s Aquarium

Igor said he was out of food, so Leni brought him to an upscale eatery nestled in the academic district. The dress code is formal the scenery formal the food is good, as one might have expected. What was unexpected is that they were using crisp white silk tablecloth, although Leni took account and said it was silk blend.

Igor was wearing his navy good suit, because he couldn’t possibly spook the beautiful, although he thought he was wearing something akin to the sailor suit. His hair was impeccable, but Leni did even better, crisp and clear, with a bit of mousse.

After they were seated by a blonde human lady, they found not afar Lady Solomon was speaking some bypassing delights with a charming elderly gentleman, they were conversing in Hebrew so Igor couldn’t figure out what was it they were conversing on. Leni placed a bag holder on the other side of the table and lynched her bag, it looked like a cubist leather box, a vegetarian leather box to be exact.

  “Professor de Fernand didn’t teach you to be human?” She instigated a sharp comment. Professor Levesque to be exact, it created a lot of recognition and legitimacy problems since all of Professor de Fernand’s previous publications were signed with her maiden name, but that was just a deplorable fact of life, especially in the borderland of the vestige of Eastern bloc.

“Sarah said there’s no need for Hebrew to be human.” Igor placed his bag on the back of the seat and replied in kind, by Hebrew he meant the language, of course. He took a peek at the other table, the temporary deduction was that Hades ordered a Spanish seafood brew, Nariel was not eating, she was slowly sipping a bloodied red wine. He didn’t know what relationship they were in, however it was unlikely a collegiate relationship.

“It’s a relationship with kid.” Master in disabusing the confused, Leni pointed out, “In case you are having some epiphany of understanding regarding heaven’s politics, you should be able to deduce the fact that Lucifer is Hades.”

Igor unwrapped the set of cutleries and placed them in a tiny and cute little row, he disliked the salad fork with an engraved seashell on the handle, “So how did they come to know each other?” Igor took the liberty to gossip.

“He was the little prince’s (she meant princess) tutor of macroeconomics in the Fourth Sky.”

“…” More chatters and incongruous conversations. Leni started to casually translate for him, “They were saying what kind of silly and interesting materials have you come to stumble? Hades said something about Professor Faustus’ journal article on the history of paradise. Nariel commented on Raphael’s ghostwritten reply to Professor Faust’s longue durée synthetic thesis.”

“And what do you make of it?” Igor was once again curious.

“What I think of it is commentary. They together mocked the futility of writing a heavenly history in paradise.”

“A heavenly story.” It must be. Igor even emphasized the point by petting and tidying up his own hair, it was deliberately messy for today’s occasion. What was today’s occasion?

“Because if we are being honest the entirety of heavenly history is an eternally recurring fanfiction.” Leni pointed out, as it seemed not to be a professional outing. Being a harpist with good ears Nariel raised her glass to this remark.

Igor was being a bit jealous of Hell’s ex-chancellor’s and the current ex-president’s comfortable positions, or comfortable positionings. The conducive envy was caused by the fact that one of the two is the brother of the main god of Olympias, the other seems to be Odin’s stepchildren. A protagonist doesn’t ask where he comes from, because sometimes where he comes from is everything. Everything and everything, everything considered. At this time Leni asked, “What were you up to today?” Today is a vague estimate.

Igor dipped his ham-handed fingers into the crystal water bowl and took a swirl, “We were preparing the scheduled conference in liaison with Illuminarium next month, the provisional topic is Elven Mediterranean, we found some lake elves and wood elves to enlist arguments with Bourdain and Siberstern, to get away with the responsibility of such argument they even invited a saint to make a remark, some said he was Francis’ disciple.” Igor used the table napkin to dry his hands, while making a confusing yet clear summary of scheduled events.

Leni took account he folded the napkin back in a nice origami. “I see, what kind of language are you prepared to make argument for?” Such an innocuous question.

“The common tongue? Why not? Aren’t all external papers published and publicized in the common tongue north of the English shore?” She was not the first to ask, which is understandable but slightly annoying.

“You were supposed to use Renaissance Latin.” Leni smiled and remarked.

“Humour me.” Igor instigated a challenge. He took a gulp of free water and figured it was free mineral water, with unnamed and unknown minerals added to enhance the taste so to speak.

“Because the high elves will find it an effrontery, Viridalle elves will find joy in such effrontery, and whoever came from heaven will figure they were been respected, and everyone will come cramming their favourite Renaissance era scholars and stumbled and fall during the cross-examination.” A decent conjecture or projection. Leni didn’t touch the water because in secret she preferred sparkling.

“Thinking about the finalized statement, participant will return and say this meeting was overtly Mittelland-centric, and they would be glad they used their second or third language to mingle with others.” Igor got it why they were continuing using elven language to perform scholarly exchange in Riverdalle.

“It’s likely it was their fifth or seventh language.” Leni corrected him out of the kindness of her heart, a fair judgement, because since when did they not know eight or ten dominant languages? It was both a professional requirement and an elegant pastime.

“There I thought it is a revisionistic welcoming party.” Igor elegantly rolled his eyes. He didn’t know what kind of mainstream narrative will it be to not talk about the Pantheon, angels and sea monsters when talking about the Mediterranean, although elves thought from the river to the sea, all oceans are elves’, or other values of referential reference.

On the brighter side of things, he already finished the first draft of his speech, there he decided to not emit any opinion other than welcome and welcome all opinions, although the arbiter sounded like a glamorous job, however he is the garland boy in the opening game.

Nonetheless, there are rules to be challenged and followed, such as it is forbidden to mention heaven’s diaspora (he meant immigrants) in Riverdalle, it is forbidden to perform anti-high elves comments, and mean remarks talkshopping Professor Moria such and such. Nonetheless, these rules should be included in the rhetorics of please stick to the topic, answer the topic and answer politely.

“Yes and no, however you should take heed in adding fuel to the fire, adding snow to the snowstorm, because it’s your discipline’s game.” Not your department’s, because what is your department again? Leni raised this point, to which Igor exclaimed “I will think about it.” Surely, he would think around it and talk around it again.

Then the food came, Leni had ordered a boiled vegetable salad, inside the dish had a variety of celtuces and asparagus, and a single and lonely slice of cabbage, he thought the cabbage was an item of sabotage by the chef. She first ate the chunk of cabbage, in the format of a cabbage caterpillar which was especially pretty and graceful. Igor didn’t know what to order so he ordered a steak, although according to popular etiquette when eating with elves meat should be off the table, however Professor Lindale don’t believe in Cometes (theologically) and doesn’t seem to mind, and Igor ordered the familiar just like he did at home. Rib eyes, not fillet mignon.[1]

Leni ordered for them a bottle of red wine, although boiled vegetables should be consumed with white, such was not elven wine but German ones. Because she said (after drinking) “You should drink something that’s not a French wine.” Sarah had performed similar acts, through sending him a bottle of German beer during Bacchanalia, which was meant for him to drink in discretion and in moderation.

“What’s wrong or right with the French wine?”

“Nothing, that’s the problem.”

I heard you, Igor wanted to say, so he said nothing and that put a smile on his face.

They ate for a while, alternatively speaking, Igor was swooned and looked at Leni who ate for a while, and picked an opportune moment to ask her a deeply disturbing question. “Professor Lindale, what made you to decide to pursue history?”

Leni put the fork down, she was using the fork with her right hand supposedly in defiance of American dinner etiquette. “Ah, family. Why did you opt in for a Professorship in History? My elders were quasi-royal official historian and military historian. But before then I tried youth co-ops, rock band and a column for the opposition.” Leni counted her fingers to count the numbers.

“Tell me about the rock band.” Igor dragged a piece of red meat in his mouth, chewed with his mouth closed, drank some water, and spoke.

“It was in French Indochina; a friend of mine’s band was in need of a female lead singer.”

“I could only imagine, I suppose.” Igor knifed another mini cube of meat and popped it in his mouth, and nodded in kind.

“Speaking about it, why did you adjourn chess? With some intellectual drug you should be able to reach 2700 after another decade.” Leni shamelessly commented, nearly finished her red wine salad but pretending she didn’t.

“I like this game; but learning chess made me realize I don’t like playing chess.” Igor used an Oxford comma splice. He was prepared in saying more, then he oversaw an interesting scene: Nariel and Hades were bidding to take the bill, through simultaneously putting out the exact change of installations of spars and florins, and after a rapid round of dialogue (in Hebrew?!) each of them rescinded two to three pieces of large value spars, and in turn prepared to split the bill in a mutually agreed and fair amount.

This looked exceedingly like a jewellers’ gemmology game. According to reason it was supposed to be attributed to the wealthier one, but comparing a very rich heir of the ex-Forth Sky and the current ex-dark lord one is quite unsure who is wealthier. Not long ago the waiter came to their table, he served Leni another wine, it was a white from one of France’s disputable districts. “This was from Lady Solomon, she said Professor Lindale, please be mindful of food pairing etiquette.”

Leni looked at the charcoal label, “She meant she is asking for a front seat ticket next time I come to sing.” So much for pleasantries, Leni served herself a glass, took a sip, and said, “Do help me to thank her.”

Igor took a glance at the French? white wine through the table, the label was in French and decorated with gilded foliage, gilded silver of course, because gold foils would be rude and unnecessary. He thought this wine was a gift for him, but why him?

Later his attention was diverted to another of Leni’s stories, after another drink Leni disclosed some very interesting information. “Would you like to know why I went to write on history? Before at Illuminarium I was studying nocturnes, elegies and narrative epics of the process of migration, as well as the indulgent and elegant elven court culture.”

“You mean liberated and elevated elven court culture.” Igor didn’t spare to joke and tried another gulp of Lady Solomon’s wine, it was a tad too reserved for his taste, but fragrant in light citrus and conceptual florals nonetheless. Like drinkable lily, jasmine and sandalwood.

Leni ignored the joke. “Later I went to the database and found our goddess Cometes was playing a puppetshow in Riverdalle, all of the court people were he/she alone, every day they were rehearsing interactions and intrigues, every day they made up and executed noble histories and notable etiquettes, and folks who came with Cometes boredly imitated the scene. So long it was a mimicry or pantomime.”

Faced with entirely new information, Igor doesn’t shy away from further probing, “Is that what you were currently working on?”

“No, recently I was preparing for an article, regarding elven classical musik.” On the third glass of wine, Leni was being particularly playful.

“You mean space music,”

“I don’t think so, since the crowd who disassembled their swanships took some time and studied the current circulating Mittelland music theories and instruments, and used the local object to perform something better, at least they thought it was better.” Leni poured both of them a fourth or fifth drink, at this moment the other table hadn’t been gone just yet, were they eavesdropping on other people’s conversations?

“Got it, I’m preparing for an article, I think many will become unamused once it’s out.” Igor was feeling languid and marginally nostalgic. His former thesis was about international chess history in the European Union, but folks oftentimes mistaken it for a thinly veiled metaphor of Cold War politics, they even narrowed the scope to the non-détente periods.

“I hope that’s not the purpose, but many like to be unamused.” She knew he was talking about the Civitas’ public history’s opening score, because many of them simply only read the opening scene. “You can write about internal selling out and civil war, but place the internal sell out in the middle chapters.” Leni took a sip of the little white wine and suggested.

“I think people are wanting for the internal layouts and internal rules, but internal personnel will not talk to me about these.” Igor complained, fair point, but rather what was wanting is the internal norms and perceivable normative laws, but what did Igor know about laws? He knows Zkda follows relative laws different from the code of conduct of other folks in Mittelland. Although he sometimes confuses games from arenas.

“So you have to move them.” The connotation of this line was supposed to be “You have to move them and push them like pawns.” Igor doesn’t wish to dwell on it.

So he spoke of something seemingly trivial, “this steak is just right.”

This steak is far right? “Drink your (borrowed) wine, the next one in line is Bai Yanshang wasn’t it?”

It turned out the one with Bai Yanshang was Su He. The largest gallery in the north of the Alchemists’ Guild in the north of the Artists District is Po Yun Xuan, or the Lodge of Broken Clouds depending on the perspective. It was an off-white structure connected with a bunch of painters’ pavilions, terraces and open halls, according to Igor’s experience in borrowing image frames from the internet the normal form is Gardens from Suzhou.

He walked himself in with casual strides, he didn’t go and watch the paintings, because without research he couldn’t understand the classical, although like all great occidental galleries, to sightsee is always free.

Igor came across a garden with scatterplot banyan trees, some strange yet adorable stones and a view of artificial lakes, and reached Bai Yanshang’s atelier. He reckoned it was Bai’s studio not because of the hanging plaque—they only use kanji, which he could barely recognize—rather because where affluent people placed stone lions they placed two statues of rabbits, and he supposed they were boy bunnies. Because some said to him their gender is determined by the placement of playballs. In their exactness they were ridiculing the passing guests and the passers-by.

Igor stood on the porch, “If you came, please come in.” A clear voice commanded. He went into the Klotski wooden structure, inside it was well divided, half of the room was littered with bowls and plates of pigment bearing paraphernalia, western easel, xuan paper, finished and unfinished products, the other half of the room was an elegant and minimalistic drawing room.

Upon the very low tea table there kneel seated two people. Igor is not very familiar with how Easterners looked like, although between those two one looked very much oriental, the other was pale with dimensional features, not to mention wearing a Caucasian nose. Nonetheless they all looked delicate, interesting and novel. They wore traditional clothes, Bai Yanshang was donning a deep blue robe, with some embroideries of cranes on the lower hem. Su He wore all white, with inner three layers and outer three layers in some design he couldn’t distinguish was hanfu or kimono. In this type of scenes Igor considers himself an indecent foreigner, because he wore a second dip shirt and suit pants he wore N times, he brought pens but not a bag.

“Good afternoon, monsieur Bai. Is this Su sensei?” He greeted Bai Yanshang, after briefly studying Civitas’ developmental trajectories, he thought Bai Yanshang was Gabriel.

“Yes, he is.” Bai Yanshang said, he motioned his hands to let magic pour him a cup of tea, tea is loose leafed green tea. “Drink some tea.”

“Thank you.” He tasted a sip, couldn’t figure out what was the charm.

“How’s your draft going?” Bai Yanshang asked the unspeakable. The correct tense seemed to be “How was your draft gone?” To which the only correct answer is “eaten by pet rabbits.”

“I started it, some passing idle remarks.” Igor said nothing, implying if you don’t tell me I won’t tell pretty much anything.

“If that’s the case, I want to tell you a tale of public-private partnership and the collusions between official-merchants.” Bai’s remark is as explosive as his paintings. “For Heaven’s sake, heaven’s border is at the frontiers between the Sixth Sky and the Seventh Sky.” What was left unsaid was to place Gabriel on the spot, and letting Raphael to stay put and stay out of it. Allowing is the more remarkable word.[MOU1] 

However, did he in reality stay out of it? Igor cupped his little porcelain bowl/teacup, he bet it was Japanese porcelain. “The Sixth Sky before or the Sixth Sky as of now?” Igor asked a political question, because in the third season Raphael was forced to retire in Mittelland and was assassinated (by Zakda swarm god forbid?), afterward the Sixth Sky switched gears to Antonel and co-sponsored by Gabriel.

“I think you should be concerned with what happened before the third season.” Bai pointed out, what happened after you could ask someone or anyone else.

After tasting the first cup of the second brew of tea, Bai offered a refill to everyone’s micro mini cups. The refills were gladly accepted. Once again with advanced contributions of water magic. After some placeholder and inconsequential detailing that was in reality thinly veiled graceful dismisses, Bai talked about the Greek colonies’ influence on Civitas, “…a lot of gods and demigods had immigrated here after the Pantheon declared bankruptcy,”

“…that is to say, on the ruin of Olympus.” Igor didn’t let him finish that. Rude, but understandably rude.

“In this act the Greek gods hosted good relationships with Riverdalle. It was the start of the higher academies, afterwards a lot of excellent people were lured away from the occupations of sainthood and apostleship. Although getting your name called and ascending remains to be an option.”

“You mean the Greco districts and the Riverside together campaigned and propelled for the relative independence of Civitas’ various academies?” Igor used a bishop to take Bai Yanshang’s knight.

Bai Yanshang used an inconsequential pawn to eat away the bishop. “Academic freedom is out-lawed.” Bai does not shy away from radical rhetoric, because it was very hard to strip a painter and entrepreneur his job.

“You have to know the laws to make the laws known, but the colleges are not law-studying folks, it was another crowd of folks studying the rules of the games.” Su He raised the exquisite teacup and smiled and commented. Because of pronunciation errors, English to him still bears a French accent.

“Because to each (college) their own house?” Igor found it at ease to follow this type of convoluted logic.

“Nevertheless, they liked to play house.” Bai rolled his eyes and conferred this to him.

Sensing those fake oriental people real angels were playing bullet chess with the ex-professional player of the French quarter, Igor couldn’t extract some valid information, so he turned the topic to Gabriel and Raphael’s relationship, not to mention Gabriel and Mephistopheles’ relationship, is Gabriel the spokesperson of the Seventh Sky in Civitas when Civitas is concerned? He asked nicely, but it had to be omitted.

Gabriel had summoned three beverages for him, two of them were carbonated the other blood red, and asked him “Can you mix fire with water?”

After carefully studying (and asking) what was what, turned out the blood red one was blood orange cordial, imported, of course. So Igor traced back some good memories and blended for him a cup of suicide drink, there was no more drinking glass served so he conducted a stylish pour into Bai’s finished cup. Nothing wasted and nothing spilled.

“Very good.” Bai Yanshang further poured two cups, and drank his with him. “You see, for this question whatever I answer I’m bunked, so here is my answer to you.” He gleefully tried the reconstituted drink, and smacked his tongue like the good kitsune he was. “I’m just a painter, I don’t pick sides.” This he said to Su He, and upon hearing this Su He was amused.

“I think what he meant was please don’t conjecture Civitas’ shareholders as bearers of common interests.” Su He clarified for him with a tentative logic trap, because common interest is not common interest rate, let alone common good.

“I heard the art department of Heidelberg was recruiting advocates.” Igor didn’t say they were only recruiting free (natural) persons.

“This, they will and were willing.” It was Su He’s time to gracefully dismiss. “Not to mention Heidelberg doesn’t possess an art school.” But he got what he meant.

As if it were not enough, Bai Yanshang also told him when C.CA was just starting up it wasn’t a diplomat and entrepreneurs, but “terrorists and terrorists in exile.”

Su He didn’t think so, “They were a crowd of delightful political dissidents.” This was as radical as radical remarks get, but he had an elementary understanding of media propagation.

“For the former wave of order or the latter wave of orders?” Igor asked for a clarification while finishing the suicide juice. The mint simulant balanced out the blood orange concord.

“To each their own bias, more or less.” Su He gifted a radical but moderate answer.

“And your bias was?” Igor was ready for the interview.

“My bias was people should take preference in their own bias,” Su He offered a meek face, “and to reach out and reach for a compromise with other’s biases.”

“This is a perfect answer.” Check. Igor also remarked that “I have seen your exposition on stardust, you seemed to possess a preference ordering regarding the prejudge and prejudices.” He shamelessly flashed out Raphael’s current account, because only subpar novels are about revelations of secrets and characters’ blank pages.

Su He took a sip of the more or less lukewarm tea in no rush, he had swapped the tried-and-true suicide drink to green tea again, or a curious mixture of remixed materials and green tea. “To place it off the record, many of them were self-gloating pretty little things.”

Igor bunked back to “Pretty and useful little things.” It was at this moment Bai Yanshang cleared their tea ceremony plate and raised his teacup, to signal the conversation was over and the guest was free to take a leave or so.

He said his thank you and polite remarks, and got back to the hotel, Igor got a hold of his computer and dialled in something.[2] Of course he redacted the remark of “pretty little things” because nobody wants to read them as pretty, let alone little. Curiously, the objectification was let slide.

It was not an overstatement to say he didn’t quite catch 50% of their remarks, and it was not because Bai and Su didn’t master the art of EU-English. Igor secretively thought they should converse in one of Igor’s first languages, but that would be preposterous. So much for superficial projects.

Contented, then he went downstairs and walked for around five minutes to the Belgian patisserie to get a hold of a turkey sandwich, and let the bunny looking little clerk slice it in half, went back home to have half with the Norwegian mineral water, and placed the other half inside the decorative mini fridge.

Then he sighed, breathed deeply and walked to the study/living room side of the room, approached the wine shelf to continue his passion project. He used a shepherd’s knife to cut off on the bamboo cutting board a dying lime, squeezed inside a glass cup a serving of lime juice, and pitted a cherry. While he was attempting to purchase exactly one cherry in the Scarborough fair the shopkeeper was laughing, he said I wish to give you as a gift but that might be bribing, so you can give me whatever change to keep as a souvenir. So he retrieved his wallet, and gave the boss 100 Koruna.

Igor utilized his dirty little hands to skin the cherry, and wiped his hands on his pants, since the pants were black and people with eyesight couldn’t see. He retrieved an unfixable tequila on the middle shelf, poured 1.5 servings by measuring through a vague feeling into the multiuse cup, and eyed on Curacao, twisted the cup to pour out 1 serving, and mixed the lime water and simple syrup into the concoction.

He didn’t mix them with a rod, but when to the freezer portion of the fridge and threw 5 ice cubes into the mix, sometimes he considered ice or water mage’s abilities to conjure cubes with glacier-throni very cool, but that was where his respect ends. Doesn’t want to pour salt, so he allocated two petals of cherry into the mix, and cleaned up after him like a good boy, moving his panacea into the bed, the room was cleaned and the bed was made, but the sweeping mechanical puppet didn’t touch his chess game.

He took a sip of the deviant drink, this kind of thing should always be formulated by himself, because himself knows himself (not exactly), later he reset the chess game, played one more with himself, he didn’t let it draw, because like everyone else mostly, he preferred White. It was an approximation of the Evergreen game, but reaching the second half of the middlegame he became violent, and started to clear out pieces. Trade-off pieces is another saying. And the black pieces were kept defending, he disliked defending.

Igor was thinking of sleeping solutions, in theory he could take another look at the Fifth Ring of Hell’s scholar Eshatel’s version of the only political history of paradise, because his various flourishes give variations in sleep-inducing solutions, but he eventually decided to embrace the bottle of tequila and dote on it. Because he had already worked for 8 hours, and after sufficient preparations was still abused by the two several thousand years old young men.

But pray tell, why? After another drink or two he couldn’t figure it out, so he reworked on several menacing positions on the chessboard, and didn’t know since when did he fell asleep. When he was awakened greeting him was straggling and stranding pieces and another irregular endgame dangling across his bed.

[1] cf’. he didn’t actually like steak, just ordered what was appropriate.

[2] IM: he didn’t want to cite the archangels wrong in wrong phrases or wrong remarks, because this would entangle him to a serious offense of political incorrectness.

 [MOU1]cf’. because Low is his boy’s used last name.