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Last night you dreamed of the Great Deluge. You saw the crystal-clear waters as they streaked down from the sky, first in a fine mist, then in lazy rivulets, and finally in columns thick as tree trunks. You heard the screams, looked on from your perch as men, women, and children were washed away. The ground shook beneath you, and you felt the city groan. You looked up beseechingly at the sky, and saw it grow closer. The last memory you can salvage is mouthing, of all things, the phrase “Deus vult”...
You wake up, like you normally do when you have these dreams, in a cold sweat. The sheets are noticeably dampened with moisture. As you groggily drag yourself out of bed towards the window, you wonder the following things: Who am I? What do I do for a living? Why do I even have this job? You ponder these three things as you fumble about for the dial on the wall that controls window opacity. |
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I look for a mirror, to see what I do look like, moving my eyes away from the window.
i think people will bash me for this |
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You fumble around in the gloom for a mirror, before locating one in the corner of your bedroom. |
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I realize my sort of familiar face. I see a bleach blonde haired man, who was me, in the figure, with bright green eyes that stuck out. I have a plaid button up shirt right now, and a gray tee. I am also wearing boxer-shorts right now. I see I'm around five feet eleven, and I look average weight, maybe a bit skinny.
I look for my wardrobe to get dressed in something I could walk outside with. If I have a preference, maybe a black hoodie and dark gray jeans.
i think people will bash me for this |
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bump
i think people will bash me for this |
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(Sorry about the lack of posts, I had to sleep)
You shuffle over to your closet, eyes still bleary with sleep. You input the code 3-1-6, which you assigned to your everyday clothes (a black hoodie with grey jeans). A pair of robotic arms open the double-doors. They then proceed to sort through your copious amounts of clothing -- a testament to your vanity.The jeans go on one leg at a time, just like every other pair of pants in the history of the world. Next you zip up the hoodie - it's winter, and it's probably snowing in Miami (well, that all depends on what quadrant of the world Miami is floating in, but last you heard they were going to bring it over the former Pacific Northwest.).
You tramp outside, down the elevator from your small apartment to the street below. It’s chilly, and the ground and buildings are covered with a blanket of fresh snow. It must be a really early time for a stroll, because the gleaming megalithic structures haven’t been defrosted yet. Woe to the pedestrians when that happens.
You haven’t decided yet what you are going to do - maybe grab a bite to eat at the local cafe, buy the latest edition of the Times, perhaps just go for a stroll. It’s your day off, after all. You smile to yourself.
Funny that people like you have days off. Didn’t a wise man once say “Ain’t no rest for the wicked”?
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I look around for the cafe as I shove my cold hands into my pockets.
i think people will bash me for this |
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The Cafetería de Havana is, true to its name, one of the few surviving traces of the pre-Deluge Cuban culture in Miami. Of course, though the dining and coffee is traditional, even they have to keep up with the times. True to the phrase "Mobilis in Mobili, they have changed amidst change. They have adopted the custom of "enhancing" the coffee with extra stimulants, if asked. Among the Cuban memorabilia and decor, there are also uplinks to the Holonet free of charge. They can afford to, with what they charge for coffee. |
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I walk over to the counter, and lean against it, looking at the waitress/waiter. I ask for a Cappuccino, to wake me up, and look over the food choices to see what could go with it.
i think people will bash me for this |
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The waitress hollers over her back "Un Café con leche, por favor!" While you're looking over the menu. You're the only customer here this early, and she is obviously bored. So she tries to strike up a conversation with you.
"You see the news lately, hermano?" she says. You're a frequent customer, so the staff is familiar enough with you to call you "bro". |
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"No, why?" He asked, fingering his pockets and looking back up to the menu board.
i think people will bash me for this |
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"The Rocket Cult blew up the New York Embassy," she says, shaking her head. "On account of their religion being banned there." She shakes her head again: "They're just animals. No man would act like that."
Then her mind turns back to her work: "You probably want your usual, right? The Empanadillas de Queso y Guayava?" |
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"Yeah." He said, as he looked down from the menu board.
"Oh, also, do you know what the phrase 'Deus vult' means?" He asked.
i think people will bash me for this |
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She furrows her brow.
"That does sound kind of familiar, you know? I think I've heard it before...
Oh yeah, that's what the Rocket Cultists say, when they like blow things up or something." She says.
Seconds later, your food and coffee is ready. The latter is served traditional Cuban expresso-style, brewed with sugar, small cup and everything. It's not a lot of coffee, but it's potent stuff. |
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I realize what I have done, but I don't mention anything. I begin to nibble on my food, and steadily sip at my coffee.
i think people will bash me for this |
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Indeed, what had you done? The dream was odd, certainly, and out of place. Why would a person like you have a dream like that? You try to remember any repressed traumas, any past deeds in relation to the Great Deluge. But that was two hundred years ago, way before you were born. You sit, the epitome of pensiveness , sipping at your coffee, trying to draw connections between you, the Rocket Cultists, and the Great Deluge. Not knowing much about the latter two, you eventually just give up and go back to your breakfast.
It is not long before the coffee is gone, and the food along with it. You are already feeling energized. The bill has come without you even noticing the waitress. |
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I feel inside my pockets to see what I have.
i think people will bash me for this |
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bump
i think people will bash me for this |
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You have enough to pay the shot and then some. You can also leave behind that "some" as a gratuity. |
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I pay the bill, and leave behind the "some". I get up, and head towards the door.
i think people will bash me for this |
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The waitress nods appreciatively in your direction as you exit the cafe. You then ponder what you'll do next with your day. There's the clandestine hustle and bustle of Miami's port (most of the "fun" stuff requires paper money due to the nature of the transactions, but you think you could find something legal that would accept your SIM card), Oldtown's market, the pit-fights...
But first, let's find your SIM card. You scramble around in your other pocket, pulling out the card that reads:
NAME: (your name here)
OCCUPATION (IF SALARIED): (your occupation [if legal] here)
(barcode) XXXX6559 |
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NAME: Isaac Kent
OCCUPATION (IF SALARIED): Gunsmithing
(barcode) 12546559
i think people will bash me for this |
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Right, then. That's your card.
You think for a moment on where to go next. It's your day off. Lots of interesting places to go to, plenty of time to see them. |
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He looked if there was any way to see what time it is. If there are any arcades open, he could go to one of them.
i think people will bash me for this |
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You looked around. The sun was just peeking over the clouds, but due to the ever changing geographic positions of the cities of the world, this was not a reliable indicator of time. Each city has its own time-keeping system that functions independently of the others. It could be midnight in Miami for all you know. But you remember that the cafe was open, so it must be at least 7:00 AM. Possibly later. |
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