Rumors of Mauris

[sean66 272]

 

Rumors of Mauris

Conducted by Elwin Gray

 

I. The News

 

“Damn it all to hell,” escaped the mouth of Makariy as he stuffed his clenched fist into his coat pocket. In his other hand lay a data pad streaming a array of text which reflected off his scratched glasses. The central message in a bright white text read,

 

‘Mauris is dead.’

 

Ads prowled the far corners of the data pad and consumed the screen once the message closed. Makariy slid his finger along a red switch on the side of the data pad which silenced the LED display for now.

 

The Drifter sat in a silence as a series of magnetic trains shot past near the bench which he sat; his figure made up of a raggedy pair of linen pants which had frayed sewings, a second-hand Navy Blue Veteran’s jacket missing all but one button, shoes which were carefully worked over with wax to keep water out, and scratched glasses which bared a prescription much out of date. His hair so unkempt he worked his whole hand through its rough exterior to push it out of his eyes. His eyes twitched for a second before water began to collect and fall from them.

Makariy was once more alone in the world, left but only to return to his mind’s natural state. A permanent state of repeat.

 

II. Genesis

 

A roar of urban centre life erupted around a man with a neat and clean cut standing idle outside a busy starport. A  freshly digitally stamped Visa, bearing the name Makariy, sliding into his pocket as he stood in awe outside the central nervous system of Termid. The city not only being the Capital of the planet Eurytus, but also being the host to many refugees from far and wide due to recent developments within the Republic. Makariy was one of said refugees but he did not bare much mind over the label; to him it was nothing more than something which bound him closer to those fellow refugees who certainly must be all around him too.

 

He affixed a metal pin bearing a small flag, which was that of his homeworld, and a silver ‘R’ to mark his current status as refugee above his heart. And with the small bit of business over with he hoisted his stickered and worn suitcase from a small handcart. Beginning his journey to the fabled Menippus District; a supposed hot bed of a political and cultural thought and his new living quarters until eventual relocation to a Prime World.

 

His pace inconsistent as his eyes darted about the busy roads that bustled with a variety of life and oddities. With the roads dominated by a mixture of olive-green Military APCs with humming engines, Police with their eyes surveying everything about them, and Kolarian Preachers adorned with pages of their scriptures pinned to their tunics. Makariy's walk coming to a halt as his eyes affixed to a piece of graffiti in a alley asking ‘Dare we ask?’.  The question somehow making him feel unclean as he uneasily shifted his stance and glanced over his shoulder to a police officer smoking.

 

After his third peak over his own shoulder he hurried along as he crossed through five boroughs until he found himself at a green street sign signaling the District ‘Menippus’. In the background a flurry of motion, a man breaking the head of another against the curb as he shouted in foreign speak. Makariy letting a question echo in his head.

 

Dare we ask?

 

Spoiler

Another story started up barely and never really touched upon ever again. RIP

 

[Chorale__ 2147]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it. 

[Chorale__ 2147]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.