46th Zi’da, 716
10th Break
It hadn’t been that long since Paplo arrived within Etzos, and the city’s initial mysteries were beginning to fade away. The streets were recognized, getting lost was unlikely, and most of the businesses had been visited. What had once been a large establishment of civilization had now become a map for his eyes, a series of patterns and something as known as the palm of his hand – if his hand wasn’t mutating, of course. Ignorance drove him, in truth, for Kovic was eager to continue learning, peeling off mysteries with logic and experience. Paplo, on the other hand, was a far more practical man. He wished not to know anything for the sake of knowing, but instead for the sake of controlling. Soothing the discord between actor and character had proven to be difficult, and thus their attention had been directed somewhere else. Now, Paplo was beginning to learn the darker side of Etzos. What had once been a city ready to host him was now a trap, for he was being watched, followed, and used like a puppet. Being as a tool for propaganda was not what he wished for himself, and so moving away from the city was something of a necessity.10th Break
Once the wagon passed by the docks, Paplo gracefully hopped out, and waved a hand towards the other travelers that had shared his sojourn. The ocean Foster's landing lived by was a highway of wind, and one’s bones couldn’t help but rattle with every frozen stroke of air. Were it not for his cloak, Paplo would’ve began cultivating snots like a child. The dock workers and shipwrights worked tirelessly, even if none wished to stand the cold. Looking around for someone to talk to, Paplo spotted a man whom desperately tried protecting his pipe from the winds, attempting to puff smoke without much success but with plenty of frustration.
“Greetings, my dear man,” said Kovic as he approached. He had to ask the obvious. “May I ask if you happen to work in these docks?”
“Everyone around here works in the docks,” replied the male, twisting and turning in attempts of fooling the winds.
“Hopefully, I shall too,” replied Kovic with a polite chuckle. “From what I heard, employment is granted if one was to establish himself in Foster's Landing.”
“That’s right,” replied the male, finally giving up on his impossible task. His mood apparently grew bitter whilst he returned his pipe within it’s pouch. “Have you heard about the adoption perks? If you adopt three or more orphans, you get three promotions at once after your first season. You also become eligible to join the guards.”
“Big perks, indeed. Seems to be adopting an orphan is almost mandatory.”
“And you're right. We can’t really keep shoving them into the city, so they’re trying to make adoption more appealing.” The worker looked around, and then gaped up towards the sky. “I’d suggest you speak with the overseer. He knows more about this, and he’ll give you a little tour around if you want.”
“That’d be fantastic, thank you,” replied Paplo, offering a handshake to the male.
“Aye,” replied the male, showing no sign of regret as he crushed Paplo’s hand with an excessively strong handshake.
Paplo remained on the spot a while, looking around at the waters, wondering if he was really capable of adopting a child and avoiding binge eating it. The challenge of keeping an act alive at all times was appealing, however, and the chance of residing far from the city would mean freedom from Vuda. While he waited, something called his attention. In one of those docks, there was a small conglomeration of individuals, perhaps a dozen of them, which grew louder by the thrill. Group behavior was interesting enough, and so Paplo decided to approach.
Not even the cold drafts of air could stop the bravado of sexually active males, for the amount of skin present in the group almost scared the whimsical Mortalborn. Seeing strong arms, flexing chests and sculpted backs in the cold cycle was extremely rare. Said dozen of males, both the short and the tall, the strong and the weak, the bearded or the shaved, were fighting for the attention of a single female, whose sexual appeal had awoken their primal instinct of reproduction like never before. Some played coy, others portrayed mystery, and others straight-up attempted to conquer the female with either their looks or their words. So conglomerated was the scene, in fact, that every word they spoke became a verbal soup, an intelligible mix of words of voices proper of a riot rather than a courtship.
The female receiving said courting was as elusive as the sailors that surrounded her, apparently a female specimen like her needed to summon the horde of sexual gluttons and possible fashion icons one couldn’t quite find otherwise. Female, humanoid, young, average height, average weight. Green hairs? Exotic, rare, extremely appealing to the average sexually available male. Paplo found it difficult to focus, for whenever he attempted to analyze her he was inevitably confused by her own whimsical appearance. Should he too join in the circus in order to fit in? Apparently every male wanted her, and it would be suspicious if he stood away.
The logic reasoning made him approach even further, and he too shifted his features in the same manner his peers did; by doing a sort of kissy-face, arching his eyebrows, and glaring towards the female with a tilted head.
