Tea Time with the Mercatorii

[makeitsoyoucandeleteaccounts 610]

[ ! ] At the gates, near the bars, layed a small book. Coated in a dull red, a humble script which had through all sorts of adventures to find its way to the ground it now layed upon. This book was titled;

 

 

Tea Time With the Mercatorii

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"If Man could do the simple act of sitting and listening, the MoJ fires would have never happened." 

- 'Mister Bach' 

 

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All men, all Canonists, all humans and other, all understand the universal language of peace, all understand the global language of tranquility, of safety, of happiness - that which being Tea. Tea from the Elven forests, Tea from the Haensiti mountains, or the Norlandic ships, or the mines of Urguan. In the world where the Mercatorii stood as men, and not as inferior, there was a celebration to come - Tea Time with Bach. Everyone, from the wonderful buildings of Mercatore to the beautiful towers of Oren, expected the visit of the Orenian Emperor to Cable Street. A symbol of peace, a symbol of union, in which both the Mercatorii Caudillo and the Orenian Leadership could discuss current matters between both nations, between both people.

 

A busy Cable Street awaited. Saint's Months passed as minutes, as the humble Mercatorii huddled left and right for the arrival of the Emperor. The shipments of Tea came with high anticipation, as well as all the different complements of the large buffet that awaited for the Orenian leadership at the Caudillo's house. Yet, one man's time seemed to not elapse, his life continuing fairly peacefully in comparison to the rest of his folk. This man was Bach - the leader of our nation in dreams. Bach returned from his weekly pray at the local church, cheerishly walking down the Cable Street, his mind somewhat wandering; as only one thing was on his mind. A cup of Tea.

 

Bach's pace slowed to a halt. As the Caudillo stood, he turned his gaze to the grandeur of the head of the Mercatore executive sector; Cable Street 14. The building was in its prime, a masterpiece of Mercatorii architecture and an utter masterpiece standing amidst Cable Street. As Bach did so, his good friend and second-to head of state Mariano Horacio Castro strolled down the stairs before the building. The latter spoke, an inviting and somewhat excited tone to his voice;

 

"Bach, hermano! You took your time in the church, eh?", spoke the balding politician, as he opened his arms as to greet his boss. Castro was a skinny, tall Norlandic old man from Hypsian decent; his physique almost doubling the Caudillo's. In his younger years, as was Bach, he participated in the Mercatorii Resource Administration - a peaceful Orenian Organization which helped with funding the Mercatore state. Although questioned for their blue army-like uniforms, and sometimes harrassed for the anonimity of their black masks, the M.R.A. was altogether a joy for the Orenian people, acting as not only a provider of rations for cold winters and hungry bellies, but as a syndicate for miners, lumberjacks and builders.

 

"Castro, amigo! I stayed some time post-mass, I had to calm my stress.", answered Caudillo, making a similar arm movement to his comrade. In contrast to Castro, Bach was a rather small, older man. Jet black hair and round glasses, the small man had developed a rather fat physique from his day post-M.R.A.. Now, he was the head of a state - the head of a people, and he still managed to remain relative calm: considering one of the most important men were to arrive soon.

 

"Say, Bach - have you thought of the preparations for th-", began the second-to, as he was rather abruptly cut by his comrade. A face of laughter forming on his face, as he was surprised for the Caudillo's impatience.

 

"No importa, hermano. I am thirsting for some tea, are you not?", spoke the Caudillo, as an interruption. As he did so, Bach walked up a few stairs, awaiting for his comrade to join him.

 

No other words were spoken that evening, as both men walked up the stairs, past the Civil Guard and angsty politicians, past the activity of Cable Street 14, to the most precious compartment in the whole building; the tea room. There stood a round table, covered by a white mantle, and upon it sat a teapot and two teacups. Tea in the tea room was always prepared, always hot and ready to be drunk - and so, the two politicians sat at their respective seats, silently drinking from the cups as their minds were set at ease by the drink of the politicians;

 

Tea.

 

 

 

 

The Clock strikes Eight,

 

Hail the Nightmare,

 

For the World that Could Never Exist,

 

For the Street that Could Never be Built,

 

God save Oren, for No one Else Can.

 

 

[drowknows 696]

"Tea?" Cr. Pelagius Raises a brow, "Why aren't these Illatian fellows drinking San Roberto Tequilla™️?!"