Chapter 25: Juma Al Amir
The first time I got to understand the concept of “damage control” and “choosing the narrative” was in the weeks and months after my mother’s passing. The investigations and newspaper articles suddenly mentioned her history of ADHD and the fact that she’d enjoyed the occasional recreational drug or two in her youth. Her quirks and odd charms were all reframed as ‘symptoms’ or ‘signs’ of one behavioral disorder or another. Her family history, and the fact that my grandmother had possessed bipolar personality disorder was suddenly relevant to the conversation.
Choosing the narrative meant choosing the fallout of incidents. Guiding it until it reached the most favorable outcome, or at the very least, it met the least unfavorable one.
Avoiding the gazes and whispers of the people around me, I made my way to Mess Hall 7, walking around to the back of the building. Alhamis seemed to have a waste-disposal system that recycled unused garbage into other materials, all of it powered by another strange, green orb. I paid no heed to the sight of the orb collecting garbage, and searched for the door I was looking for.
The red door possessed a crude painting of a woman on her knees soliciting oral sex. I mused at it, before knocking three times in rapid succession. A slider opened, as a pair of dark, angry-looking eyes gazed back at me.
“What likes to pound on tables like a Midwarf, can’t accept a no like a Marisian, fucks like a Leporinian, and can guzzle down hot liquids like a Felani?”
My lips twitched.
“Your mother.”
The eyes narrowed sharply. “The fuck did you say?”
“Your. Mother.”
The angry eyes stared at me. I stared back. The slider shut, and the door immediately swung open. The riddle-giver grinned at me. “Welcome to tha Whimpering Sow.”
“Thanks,” I said, shaking his hand. “Interesting riddle.”
“I kno. Formed it maself.”
The Whimpering Sow was, to my surprise, what one would expect when the words: ‘Medieval Tavern’ were uttered. The key difference, was that the furniture present was of a significantly higher quality than what one would expect. Sleek black leather chairs and smooth, refined marble tables. The alcohol on display was kept in varying glass bottles of different shapes and sizes. The main bar table was long enough that if someone wanted to, they could have used it as a runway. There was also a pole on the table, which was what my eye latched on immediately.
“Is that… a stripper pole?”
“A what?”
I cleared my throat. “I mean, what’s the pole for?”
“You a dancer?”
I rose my brow. “No.”
“You like to watch people dance?”
I thought it over. “Yes.”
“The pole’s for people of the first category, to get money from the people of the second category.”
Succinctly put. I didn’t question it anymore, instead, entering further into the Whimpering Sow, where I found a familiar black-haired and purple-eyed boy waving at me. “Neo, over here.”
I took a seat beside Juma, idly making eye contact with the bartender who was wiping down a glass, and nodding, ever so slightly at the barman, who gave me a small nod back in return, before going back to his business.
“You know, I think you like attention.”
I placed my elbow on the table. “What makes you think that?”
“Your duel with Sophia,” Juma said. He brought up his Godscripts, making it visible and turning it to me. “It made AAA Net’s recent events page.”
“It… what?”
“Listen,” Juma cleared his throat. “‘And in lighter news, two members of the Recruit-Centered Lance Brigade, Neo Saintarelli, and Sophia Alphaphilia commenced a Winner-Takes-All PvP at Mosh Pit Beta in Sector One-Zero-One. The battle, now referred to by many as the Duel of the Decade is said to have begun after Neo Saintarelli questioned the authority of Sophia Alphaphilia as the Vice-Captain of the Lance Brigade, hinting that her father’s position as High Eminent of Progress had a part to play…’”
“Duel of the what?”
“All doubts as to the young Alphaphilia’s battle prowess was put aside in a surprising, fast-paced battle where both had the opportunity to shine –” Juma continued. “Oh, let’s skip ahead to the good part. ‘At the surprising climax of the battle, Sophia Alphaphila displayed true AAA determination and grit by remaining on her feet even after the loss of consciousness, guided only by an overwhelming victory to win. In a plot-twist no one envisioned, Neo Saintarelli chose, rather than to finish his opponent, to stab his heart with her blade, and thus grant her the victory.’”
“I was there,” I said dryly. “You don’t have to read it.”
“‘When questioned on the motives for his absurd decision, Neo Saintarelli was reported to have quoted ‘Admiration’. Thus, many speculate that the entire purpose of Saintarelli’s actions to bait and draw Sophia Alphaphila to combat, only to, at the crux of the battle, stab his own heart for her, was a roundabout declaration of love for the object of his desire. As relationships are against AAA regulation, the only way Saintarelli could declare his emotions for the daughter of Sophos Alphaphilia, was to give his heart to her in the most literal way possible.’”
My lips twitched. I resisted, desperately, the urge to smack away Juma’s cocky, amused smile.
“You have to admit, it does make for an interesting read.”
“Not another word.”
“Neo, I never knew you were such a romantic. All that, just to confess your love?” Juma clapped slowly. “Bravo, man. Bra-vo.”
“Bartend, can I get something for my Captain that’ll make him pass-out quickly?”
“Trying to get me drunk, Saintarelli? What would Sophia think?”
He was enjoying himself. Grinning at me with those stupid purple eyes. In a way, I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t blame him, because I’d tried my best to steer the narrative in that corner. What was better, to admit that I couldn’t kill
