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The Art of Living
Topic Started: May 7 2010, 10:47 PM (1,416 Views)
Telosan
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The Foremost Intellectual Badass
OOC:
Cast List

IC:

The sea slowly faded over the horizon as Antonino Bucco soared over land on an airplane bound for Stockholm, Porcu. It was a beautiful sight, accompanied by the softly dying embers of the past day’s sun which illuminated the skies so that their beauty nearly matched the sapphire jewel that he was leaving behind. Much of his trip would be over central Europe and so he wouldn’t have a chance to glimpse the ocean out the small window of the aircraft. Unable to sleep, he let his mind wander to how he wound up in his current situation.

~~~~~

Antonino Bucco, heir apparent of his father’s company, was arguing with his father.

“I don’t want to go to Porcu. I’m in high school; I can go elsewhere for college.”

“I think it will be a good experience for you. If you are to run an international business someday, you need to know how to deal with other cultures. What better place to do that than in Porcu?”

“But…” His voice fell off. He knew he wouldn’t change his father’s mind. “Fine,” he continued resignedly, “I’ll go on one condition.”

“So long as it’s within reason and it makes you go willingly, I’ll hear it.”

“When I take over the company, you allow me to expand into shipping. Not, by air, but by sea. We’ll ship the goods we supply. Deal?” Having lived in Venice all his life, Antonino harbored a love of the sea. In his mind, a sailor was to the sea as a priest was to God. Being the scholarly person he was, he had learned all about the history of Venice’s interaction with the sea. He read about the days of old, when galleys roamed the ocean. It almost pained him that he was born many centuries after, too late to participate in leading the war galleys to a glorious victory at Lepanto. Since it was predestined that he would head up his father’s company, he saw shipping goods as the only way he could hope to obtain even a scrap of the magic the sea held in its waves.

“Deal. You’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

~~~~~

The cabin bounced and Antonino sat up. Apparently, he had fallen asleep after all. He looked out the window and saw water below him. For a moment he was happy to see the water again, but then realized this was not the Adriatic. Even from miles up in an airplane, Antonino could see the sea was rough, harsh and frigid. It wasn’t welcoming and was so dark it harbored a certain melancholy feel to it. This was the polar opposite of the Adriatic, the evil twin, the Baltic Sea. Not long after, the plane touched down on the runway in Stockholm and as he boarded the bullet train that would take him to Milan, the town he would be attending school in, he was glad to be leaving the shore. The Baltic was so different, with a generally dark and foreboding atmosphere, that the farther he was the better, the physical separation only making him miss him beloved Adriatic all the more.

The train pulled up in Milan and Antonino grabbed his bags and disembarked. Behind him, the train took off like its namesake. He glanced around, taking in the surroundings. A young Porcuian around his age walked up to him.

“Bucco? Bucco, Antonino?”

“Siorsì, that’s me. Does that make you Rolf Wermuth?”

“Yes it does. It's a pleasure to meet you, Bucco. Welcome to Porcu. I hope that your trip was enjoyable.”

Rolf grabbed some of his bags and led him to a bus, which they rode from the train station to his home. All the while he told him about the school, Scuola Superiore Mazzotto, and the people that he would meet. Rolf spoke animatedly, almost so that Antonino began to feel tired just listening. That or the day’s travels were catching up to him. Rolf showed him the room he would be using and left him to unpack. Instead, he just laid there on the bed for a while, thinking about what the coming school year would unveil.

He figured it’d be best to just jump into the fray. Football (OOC: soccer) was popular here too and he was good at it, having been co-captain of his old Venetian team. Antonino quickly decided he would have to sign up. His father promised to pay for any extra-curricular activities, but he also had an allowance of Venetian Ducati every month, amounting to enough Porcuian Denarii to make him somewhat wealthy by the high school student’s standards. Rolf seemed like the party type from the internet forum they both frequented. Perhaps he and Rolf could throw a few parties and invite people from the school. He stopped for a moment and scolded himself for worrying and got up and began to unpack.
Edited by Telosan, May 9 2010, 04:24 PM.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

“I will be leaving for Singapore on business tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, will you be here for breakfast?”

“Yes, Daniela, but I will have left by the time you two return from school.”

“How long will you be gone for?”

“I’m scheduled to be there for some time and it really depends on how well the negotiations go.”

“If everything goes well?” Tiberius says, deciding it was time to join the conversation.

“I could be away for a few months.”

The room falls silent as what Daniela’s father had to say sinks in. Tiberius eats his food slowly and deliberately over the next several minutes, finally polishing his plate clean and leaning back in his chair.

“Was dinner enjoyable Cato?”

“Very. Have I ever told you how good of a cook you are?”

Daniela chuckles lightly, slightly embarrassed, before saying, “Daily.”

Tiberius laughs heartily, “Well you are.”

“Have you finished Cato?” Daniela’s father says while reaching for an apple.

“Yes, Mr. Schweizer. I think I’ll head off to bed.”

“Um…Good idea. You two have a busy day tomorrow, the first day of your final year of high school after all. A good night’s rest is what is needed. Daniela, you should also make your way to bed.”

“You haven’t finished dinner yet, father.”

“I’ll clean up tonight. Come now, off to bed…”

Both Tiberius and Daniela rise from their respective places at the table and ascend up the stairs, located just before the combined kitchen-dining area, near the entrance of the townhouse, to their own rooms. Daniela informs Tiberius of her intention to take a bath and asks if he also plans on taking one, as she would keep the hot water in the tub when she finishes for Tiberius.

“No, not tonight.”

With that, Tiberius bids Daniela a pleasant night before closing himself in his room. Tiberius does not immediately go to bed, however, choosing instead to catch up on the day’s football and hockey results. Slowly, he loses track of time and when he gazes over at his alarm clock sitting on a small table beside his bed the time clearly reads 12:44 AM.

Damn…I better get to bed.

Picking himself off of the floor, Tiberius quickly strips himself of his pants and hops into bed, but not before making sure to shutdown his laptop. Like almost every other night in recent memory, Tiberius finds it difficult to drift off to sleep and spends the next twenty or thirty minutes staring at the ceiling, a current of thoughts passing through his head. In time, he is able to close his eyes and let his mind carry him where ever it wishes.

...

“Cato…” a soft voice calls him.

“Cato, wake up.”

Ah…that voice….

“Cato, wake up. Breakfast is ready and your cappuccino is still warm.”

Tiberius awakes, as if magically drawn out from his sleeping state, and rolls over to find Daniela leaning over him, hers soft hand having lifted from his shoulder. Her long, dark hair cascades to the side and catches the rays of sunshine that lightly illuminate the room.

“Come on. Breakfast is waiting.”

Tiberius lets out a grunt of acknowledgement before burying his face into his pillow. Daniela smiles warmly before standing back up and exiting, leaving Tiberius alone in his room. With a great deal of effort, Tiberius throws back the blankets that drape him and gets out of bed. He chooses a simple pair of shorts to wear before leaving his room and descending the stairs to join Daniela and her father for breakfast.

“Good morning Cato. I trust you had an enjoyable night’s sleep?”

“Good morning, Mr. Schweizer. Yes, I slept well, thank you.”

“So…Today is an important day.”

“Huh?” Tiberius looks at Daniela’s father with a confused expression as he sits down at the table.

“Today is the first day of your third and final year of high school, is it not?”

“Ah…Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

Daniela’s father dawns a less than content expression at Tiberius’ reply, but Daniela knows him better and laughs. Tiberius and Daniela’s father begin to eat as Daniela brings the last of the toasted bread to the table. A warm cappuccino greets each member of the household, in addition to a typical Porcuian breakfast of toasted bread, jam and marmalade and an assortment of breakfast cookies. The next fifteen to twenty minutes are full of light chatter and before long it is time for Daniela and Tiberius to make their final preparations for school.

As Daniela’s father cleans up the table after everyone has finished, Daniela goes to her room and changes into her school uniform, consisting of long purple socks that reach to the mid-thigh, a white skirt with two purple bands across the length of the bottom, a white button shirt with short sleeves and a purple sleeveless vest that, if for no other reason, accentuates Daniela’s slender and well proportioned physique. Tiberius’ school outfit is also standard, with long black pants instead of a skirt and long socks and a purple tie in addition to a white long-sleeved dress shirt and a purple sleeveless vest. When the weather becomes cold, thick coats which look very much like a classical naval tunic are worn by both genders, the difference being that the men’s coat is longer, falling just above the knee, while the women’s coat finishes at about the abdomen. Subtle differences exist between public schools of different cities and private schools, one being color selection, as each school uses two colors to represent itself in festivals or sporting events.

“You two will be late if you don’t leave now!” Daniela’s father shouts from the bottom of the staircase.

Before long, Tiberius comes rushing down the stairs, fully dressed and school bag in hand. Although defined and sold as a bag, schoolchildren beginning in middle school carry around a small sort of briefcase with them. Most studying is done at home, where students keep their books, and many of the lessons at school are lectures, so the development of good listening skills as well as note taking skills are critical. This school bag is used to hold such class notes. Next descends Daniela and both she and Tiberius proceed to put on their shoes. Classical Porcuian etiquette requires one to remove their shoes upon entering their own home or the home of another. The entrance area is one dedicated to the storage of shoes and sits at a slightly lower level than the rest of the house so that one must step up into a home once having removed their shoes. Such a system is also seen in schools across Porcu, both public and private. Here, there is a large entry vestibule equipped with shelves or lockers for each student's shoes, where they change from outside footwear to inside shoes. Since there is an assigned cubbyhole for each student, sometimes other things besides shoes may be left there, such as gossip notes or love letters.

“Have a good day Daniela and best of luck on your first day.”

“Thank you and you too, father.”

“Daniela! We’ll be late! Come on!” comes a cry from the street just outside the townhouse, there being no doubt as to the source.

“Coming!”

Soon, Daniela and Tiberius are walking along the sidewalk and, eventually, through a small park located nearby on their normal route to school. The route is a pleasant one and effective in leading the two adolescents to their school, Scuola Superiore Mazzotto, named after the famous 13th century Porcuian poet of Milan Antonio Mazzotto. As with most other days, Tiberius’ good friend Rolf Theodor Wermuth is found leaning against the small brick wall surrounding the school grounds waiting for his classmates. However, this bright morning he has a guest with him that looks slightly out of place.

“Salve, Wermuth!”

“Ave Caesar!” quips Rolf.

“Quid agis?” Tiberius asks, looking to discover the identity of Rolf’s companion.

“Ah, please…Cato, Schweizer, this is Bucco Antonino. He’s all the way from Venice!”

Daniela and Tiberius both give their welcomes and acknowledgments, Daniela with a typical smile, warm and welcoming, and Tiberius with a simple nod of the head, respectively.

"Sciao, sinpatico catare valtri."
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Telosan
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Bucco saw the look of confusion on the faces of Wermuth’s friends that he had just met. It took a moment before it dawned on him that he had spoken in Venetian. “I mean, hey, nice to meet you.”

"So, you're from Venice?" Cato says somewhat condescendingly.

Bucco took notice of the Cato boy’s tone and made a mental note to prove to him that he was not just another foreigner. “Manca, uhh, I mean yes. Sorry, I’m too used to speaking in Venetian.”

"Oh, that sounds cool!" Schweizer replies, enthusiastically.

"Yup, a pure bred Venetian is going to be with us for the next year, I imagine." Wermuth adds before Bucco can speak again.

“Yes, my father sent me here to learn from a foreign perspective. He figured Porcu to be the best place to do that.”

“Of all places to send a person to gain valuable experience abroad, why did your father..." The rest of Cato’s words were drowned out by the bell sounding from the school. School was open, but not yet begun. Bucco excused himself, saying he had a few things to do before school started and hurried inside. The interior of the school was different than he imagined, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting. As with any high school, the halls were packed wall to wall as Bucco tried to squeeze through the crowd. He was looking for the main office, but couldn’t find it for the life of him. Just as he began to worry, however, he caught a glimpse of the office between the students walking past. He obtained a schedule, a map of the school, and a dozen miscellaneous papers, including a flyer advertising the location of the sign-up booths for the school’s football (OOC: Soccer) team.

A glance at his schedule told him he would be in classroom 3A. He was just about to look away when something on the paper caught his eye.

Period 1, Room 3A

Period 2, Room 3A

Period 3 Room 3A…


All his classes were in the same room! At first he figured it was a mistake, but the teacher’s names were different for each class, so he figured he’d just go along with it. He shuffled through the small hill of papers in his hands until he found the map. Go straight down this hall… turn left and then take the next right… three doors on the left… Before long he made it to the classroom and ducked in. Shortly thereafter, the class started.

The teacher walked in and droned on and on, then snapped at a student to answer a question in Dutch, to which the student complied in what Bucco could only assume was the requested language as the teacher was satisfied. Hopefully he wouldn’t be chosen to answer in the language, since he had no more idea how to speak Dutch than he did Martian. Quickly, he calculated his chances of being called on to answer a question, being 1 student in a class of about 30, then reasoned that most teachers had a tendency to call on students who appear to not be paying attention and if he answered a question, he’d obviously be paying attention. He waited for an easy question to come up, in a language he knew, raised his hand and answered it. The teacher nodded and continued. His chances of being picked now would be drastically reduced. All he had to do now was answer one or two questions in the rest of the nearly hour long class and he’d be safe. Now if only the time would go faster…
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

Being in the same class this year, Tiberius and Daniela decide to walk together to their classroom, Class 3A, the three representing their third and final year of high school and the letter A representing the specific class division. The two pass a few familiar faces, mostly acquaintances of Daniela, and politely greet each other before arriving in class. With some time to spare before their first lesson starts, Daniela places her bag on her desk and walks over to where Tiberius’ is seated. On her way she spots Bucco, who just entered the room, and waves.

“So what do you think of Wermuth’s new friend?” Daniela asks when she arrives besides Tiberius.

“What was his name again?”

“Bucco Antonino. Why? You already forgot?”

“Such is life.” Tiberius responds, turning his head to gaze out the window.

“I don’t think it’s fair that you’ve written him off so quickly, Cato. After all, Wermuth seems to like him.”

“Who does Wermuth not like?”

“Well…”

“Besides, I haven’t written off this Bucco character.”

“Then what? You barely acknowledged him this morning. The poor guy hardly knows anyone and is living and studying in another country.”

“I get the impression he doesn’t want to be here.”

“How?”

“It’s just a vibe I got from him.”

“Just try to be nice, ok?” Daniela says, returning to her seat just as the final bell rings and the first teacher walks into the room.

It is not too long before Tiberius’ mind wanders and he finds himself gazing out the window and up at the deep blue sky.

“Mr. Cato!”

“Yes…” Tiberius says nonchalantly.

“Please explain to the class the process of cellular respiration.”

Tiberius stands and begins to speak, but is quickly cut off by the teacher.

“In French please, Mr. Cato.”

With a sigh, Tiberius stops his explanation in Latin and proceeds in French and within another minute is able to provide a succinct and satisfactory answer. The biology teacher praises Tiberius before instructing him to sit back down, finally turning back to the chalkboard, where he begins again. Daniela looks over at Tiberius and as their eyes meet he gives her a thumb-up. It had been entirely because of Daniela’s persistence over the summer break that Tiberius managed to have his school work done and the necessary book chapters read. At that moment, Tiberius was grateful to her.

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Telosan
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OOC: A cast list has been added to the first post.

IC:

Before long, though it may have felt like an eternity to Cato and Bucco, the class comes to an end and the teacher repacks his bag, shuffling out of the classroom with it in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. Bucco notices that the other students take a moment to stand and walk around or turn in their chairs to better talk to one another. In the few minutes between the last teacher’s departure and the next’s arrival, Bucco takes the time to talk to the people sitting near him. Some are unsure how to talk to him, so he generally starts the conversation by asking about the football team, which seems to be a popular sport here. Aside from football, several people want to talk about hockey, which is apparently the runner-up sport in regards to popularity, but he, unfortunately, is unable to relate. Since hockey is unpractical in many parts of Venice, he’d never played nor seen a game, though he had heard about it.

Another couple of minutes pass before another teacher enters the room, shutting the door behind them, and the students of Class 3A make their way back to their seats. Hearing a ruffling of papers, Bucco gazes around and notices his classmates preparing fresh, clean sheets of paper for jotting down notes. The Venetian quickly follows suit and soon another lesson begins. A few hours and teachers later, the bell rings again, but this time the students stand to leave as well.

“Don’t forget to read the necessary chapters for tomorrow! Go over the notes…I will be in my office at the end of the day if you have further questions. Enjoy your lunch.”

Bucco is barely able to hear the teacher over the commotion of the students, who are incredibly quick to pack up their notes and other things. A few quick questions allows Bucco to deduce that it’s now lunchtime and there will be an intermission, about an hour long, in which the students are free to go home for lunch. As the classroom clears, Bucco gazes back towards where he first saw Schweizer and Cato, but they had already moved to the front of the room. He sees Cato trying to move towards the door, but Schweizer holds him back, apparently waiting for Bucco. When the crowd thins a bit, he walks towards them.

“Bucco, would you like to come back to my house for lunch? A couple of us made a sort of tradition last year to eat at each others’ homes every day. Wermuth should be there, too.” She has a friendly smile on her face, but Cato seems a bit annoyed at the prospect.

“I’d love to. I was planning on signing up for the football team, though, so perhaps I can find my way there afterwards?” After going back and forth a bit, they determine that Wermuth would wait for him near the main entrance and lead him to Schweizer’s house after he signed up for the team. They say a few parting words and Bucco hurries off into the crowd. Going back the way he came, he finds the office and asks for directions to the football field, where the flyer claims the sign-up booth is set. Outside, he finds the field in plain view next to the school on perfectly level ground. A crowd is gathered around the sidelines, where the booth presumably sat. Marching over, he finds there are two booths, one for the girl’s team and one for the boy’s, with the team captains behind a desk to accept the applications. Bucco takes one and fills out his information: name, age, year, classroom, position, previous experiences with the game, etc, and then stands in line.

When he is closer to the front of the line, the tables come into view, as well as the team captains. The boy’s table is still partially hidden by those in front of him, but the girl’s is off to the side, and thus not obscured. He counts himself lucky, for near the girl’s table stands one of the most beautiful girls he’d ever seen. She is just about his height and her light brown hair is cut to around her shoulders, part of it in the front held together by a ribbon. She has a slim, sporty, and attractive figure, indicative that she’d played the sport for some time. She is speaking to someone rather animatedly about the team and when she finishes he gives a slight bow out of respect. So entranced by the sight of her, Bucco hadn’t realized the two students in front of him had left until the one behind him gives him a little shove. Slightly embarrassed, Bucco steps up to the booth, drops off the application and hurries to find Wermuth.

Wermuth is waiting near the main entrance, right where Schweizer had said he’d be. As they start to walk, Bucco describes the girl he’d seen at the football sign-ups. Wermuth asks a few questions, trying to determine who it is and then gives up, figuring that Bucco had been struck by Cupid’s arrow and unable to give an accurate description. They talk about several other things, such as Wermuth’s classroom and his teachers in comparison to Bucco’s, determining that Wermuth had the nicer teachers but Bucco was lucky in that he had both Schweizer and Cato in his class. Before long, they arrive in front of the townhouse where Schweizer and Cato live and are greeted warmly at the door. Bucco smoothly takes off his shoes and steps up into the house, having gained an understanding of this particular custom in a short time by lodging at Wermuth’s home and by observing the same custom at school earlier that day.

“Amor est vitae essentia…” Wermuth says upon entering the house, walking straight through to the combined kitchen-dining room area.

“I’m happy to see you are in a good mood Wermuth.” Schweizer responds while she prepares the zucchini to be fried and eaten with pasta for lunch.

“One has every reason to be in a good mood when you are preparing the meal.”

“So what is Venice like?” Schweizer asks after a slight pause, partly out of curiosity and partly because she wants Bucco to feel welcome and comfortable, especially in her own home.

“Ah, Venèçia. It is beautiful and majestic, in perfect harmony with the water, and I don't just say this because I'm a resident, but because it's true. The people are eccentric and lively, always looking for something to celebrate. They're crafty and hard-working, and not to mention the most stubborn people I've seen. The city is, as you likely know, filled with water. It has canals, rather than roads, which snake through the city like the body’s veins and arteries, the lagoon as its heart. It would be an injustice to describe it, for only a first-hand experience will ever truly explain.”

“Of all places to study abroad, why Porcu? Was that his decision or yours?” Cato inquires, remembering he had been cut off by the school bell earlier that morning.

“In Venice, Porcu is known for its widespread cultural diffusion, because of all her dependencies and her world-wide reach and influence. He wants me to inherit his company, which deals with foreigners frequently and thinks that an experience living among another culture will give me more experience for when the time comes that I'll have to do business with others.” Bucco responds.

“What sort of company did you say you are to inherit?”

“My father's company is an international supplier. He buys things from other countries through the publicly available space on the state's trading ships and then sells them to other countries. I think it's inefficient to use the public space because it's limited and adds an element of danger to the goods. When I take over, I hope to expand the company into shipping, so we can cart the goods from one place to another on our own ships.”

“What sort of things were you hoping to do while here in Porcu?” Schweizer asks, setting the pasta to cook.

“Well, I'm not sure. I guess I'll do what you do. I just signed up for the football team before coming here. I'm not sure what else there is to do.”

The light chatter continues for another few minutes before there is a knock at the door.

“Ah, that must be Esquilinus…” Cato says while turning and disappearing for a moment to open the door.

Bucco clearly hears Cato and this yet unknown girl exchanging greetings and in another few seconds is struck by the sight before him, for it turns out to be the same girl he saw at the football sign-ups. He covers up his surprise, but not before Wermuth sees his face and gives a knowing smile as he makes the connection.

“Good afternoon everyone!” Esquilinus declares in a voice Bucco immediately finds pleasant.

“Hey, Esquilinus…” Schweizer answers from the kitchen. “I’m glad you were able to make it and have lunch with us.”

“Football registration took a little longer than I anticipated, but it seems we’ll have a good couple of squads this year.”

“Plenty of potential players?” Wermuth asks.

“Um…” Esquilinus mouths with a nod. “We’ll probably have to have extended tryouts.”

“That’s great!” Cato exclaims. “Oh, I don’t think you’ve met yet, but this is Bucco Antonino. He’s visiting from Venice and will be with us for the year.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Esquilinus says with a slight bow prior to extending her hand for a handshake.

Bucco almost jumps to return the bow and shake hands. “I signed up for the football team a little bit ago. I think I saw you there.”

"Oh? Are you going to try to make the men's team then?"

“Yes. I was co-captain of my school’s team back in Venice.”

Before the conversation can go any further, Schweizer announces from the kitchen that lunch is ready and in another minute sets down a large bowl filled with pasta and fried zucchini on the table that Cato and the others had prepared. She dishes out the pasta on five plates and passes them around. Another plate with prosciutto and salami is on the table, as well as one for bread. Schweizer leaves and returns from the kitchen with a pitcher of water and a small bottle of wine for everyone to share.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

Lunch begins enjoyably enough with Schweizer’s excellent culinary skills leaving little room for prolonged discussion, everyone busily savoring the meal. A few minutes pass before Bucco takes the initiative to spark a discussion.

"So you asked earlier what I intended to do while I was here…What is there to do?"

"Well, there isn't much to do in Milan, except for museums and parks. There are some descent shopping areas, but that's no way for a man to have fun!" Wermuth answers with a smile.

"Those museums and parks happen to be internationally recognized as among the best, so they're pretty damn good. And aren’t you forgetting about our professional sports teams?" Cato says.

"I'll have to go by there one day." Bucco responds after taking another forkful of pasta, helping it down with some wine.

"I think Patavium is more of what you're asking about." comments Schweizer.

"Yeah, Patavium is a huge city with plenty of skyscrapers and neon lights at night. It's beautiful after dark." Esquilinus adds.

"Patavium is enormous and there's always something to do. Drinking, as you may have figured out, isn't too much of a concern here. I think we Porcuians handle ourselves pretty well, even with regard to drugs." says Wermuth, before asking for some bread.

"Besides that," Cato butts in, "there are the standard clubs and bars, as well as karaoke bars, movie theaters, parks and restaurants. Patavium is also host to a professional hockey and football team."

"Drugs? What do you mean?" Bucco says with a confused expression, referring back to Wermuth’s comment.

"Here in Porcu there are establishments where one may take a variety of recreational drugs, such as marijuana or LSD. I haven't gone in some time, but there are medical guys there to provide safe doses and to watch over things. There's also a limit to how much you can buy, so it's actually pretty safe." Wermuth responds.

"Recreational drugs? How could taking drugs be considered recreational?! In Venice, such a thing is frowned upon, and drug trafficking is strictly forbidden. Are you saying it's legal and that you've done it?"

“Oh, yes. The government rakes in more than enough tax money through its marketing and distribution. There has only ever been one reported death from an LSD overdose and none from marijuana and drug related crime is near non-existent here. Like I said before, I really do think we Porcuians are very good at handling ourselves. Now, I’ve taken LSD once and marijuana a few times and had great experiences, but there’s also the cost to think about. It’s not exactly the cheapest activity.”

"Drugs are harmful, though. There could be long term effects not immediately noticeable. Does everyone do this?"

“Almost everyone…” Schweizer says, twirling another bit of pasta around her fork. “Wermuth is right though. Drug related crime is really low and, from what I’ve read about other countries and their drug policies, it seems that such behavior elsewhere is done unsupervised, which is potentially dangerous for the users. At least here, there’s hardly any chance that you will wind up at the hospital or worse.”

“Eh…” Cato exclaims in agreement. “From what I hear, the cost of paying for the monitored administration of a drug in a psychoactive bar pales in comparison to the cost of buying drugs in the street. Not only that, but you have no idea what that stranger is selling you, while you can be sure of what you’re buying at a bar. I also find it interesting how you feel you can speak knowledgably about this topic when you probably have never engaged in such behavior yourself nor have never lived in a country that allows its citizens to.”

"Who says I've "never engaged in such behavior"? The mafia has a strong presence in Venice and drug trafficking is profitable when dealing with an island city. The government can't stop them because they own the water-taxis and control public transportation. The water-taxis also provide the high schoolers of Venice, like me, jobs. Since the mafia knows they can get away with so much, they have shipped drugs in taxis in plain daylight, making sales with the passengers. I've seen it on my own taxi many times. I've seen the drug-crazed ones asking for more and the calm and collected ones making the deal and getting out quickly. There was plenty of opportunity for me to try it myself, with so much passing through the boat on a weekly basis. So I can say truthfully that I've both witness and experienced the effects of them, and it's not all that great. A government that allows such things to occur has failed its responsibility to "society". In that respect, both Venice and Porcu have failed."

Cato is surprised by the rather personal response Bucco gives and doesn’t push the matter further, choosing to take a long drink of wine over a rebuttal.

"So how do you all know each other?" inquires Bucco, understanding that his last comment may have offended his guests, or worse, made a bad impression on Esquilinus.

“Well Cato and I have known each other since we were very young.” Schweizer responds, looking across the table at Cato.

“Yes, those were good times – we would spend hours playing in the park. I’ve always enjoyed your company Schweizer.” Cato says, causing Schweizer to blush slightly. “Now, I’ve known Wermuth for a few years. How long has it been, my friend?”

“Almost five years I think.” Wermuth retorts. “We’ve certainly had some fun.”

“And you?” asks Bucco, turning to his side facing Esquilinus.

“Oh, I’ve known Schweizer a long time. Not as long as Cato, but we’ve been close friends for awhile.”

"What do you all plan to do in the future? Are any of you planning on leaving Milan or Porcu?”

The Venetian’s question draws a wide range of responses from his hosts and Bucco feels that almost everyone is set on one or two possible paths. Everyone except Cato. Bucco finds that Schweizer has her eyes set on nursing school, while Wermuth is considering studying business at the university level, the hope being he could one day start and run a successful company. Esquilinus is realistic about her options, though being an excellent and top rated football player she knows that her chance of building a career from her love of the sport is zero as a professional women’s football league currently does not exist in Porcu. Such a league had been created in the past, but the experiment failed miserably and the idea has never gained much support across the country since. With that in mind, she informs Bucco that she would be content with a teaching position at the elementary level. Cato, however, gives an answer you might expect from a politician, one that answers everything and nothing at all.

"How's the football team? Do you travel a lot for it, or is it mostly local?" Bucco asks specifically to Wermuth and Esquilinus, continuing to drive the conversation.

“Our school has generally done well against the other schools in and around Milan. As you saw earlier, there are practice fields located at the school, but actual matches occur downtown in a huge sports complex. So, there isn’t too much traveling and even when we visit teams from other cities the train is so efficient that it takes almost no time at all.” Wermuth answers.

“There are four other public schools here in Milan that are our rivals and, unfortunately, we haven’t captured the city title for some time. It’s not that our team cannot win, it’s just that we can’t seem to win those critical matches down the stretch of the season. Hopefully, things will be different this year.” Esquilinus adds.

“Yes, so do I. Hopefully, I can be a part of it. So now I know that Wermuth and Esquilinus play football, what about you two?” says Bucco, referring to Cato and Schweizer.

“I’ve never really participated in any sports. I tried football and swimming when I was little, but I have not kept up with them.” Schweizer answers back.

“I was on the school’s hockey squad for a little bit of time before I quit. Hockey is really the only sport I’ve played…” says Cato, keeping his focus down on his plate of pasta.

“Oh, really? Why did you quit?”

There was a sudden and awkward silence at the table and Bucco immediately guessed he had treaded on delicate ground.

“Well, you see…” Schweizer began. “Cato’s mother passed away a couple of years ago from cancer and that’s partly why he’s living here with me and my father.”

“Schweizer please!” Cato barks, still keeping his gaze straight down at the table.

“Bucco was asking an innocent question, Cato. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to tell him.”

“Ah, well then! Why don’t we just paste some flyers around Milan notifying everyone!”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

As Cato drains the rest of the wine in his glass and promptly leaves, Bucco looks at the others gathered around the table and takes note of their facial expressions. Everyone seemed relatively calm, despite Cato’s outburst, and within a few moments a pleasant mood was once again established.

Lunch ends on a good note and everyone except Cato helps Schweizer clean up. Light chatter continues until the dishwasher has been started, the table cleared and cleaned, and thanks are given to the hostess. The sunlight of this late-August day beams brightly and Wermuth exclaims how sad it is that they must return to school for their afternoon lessons. Schweizer leaves the kitchen area to find Cato and let him know that they are leaving for school, while everyone else gathers their things. To avoid a possible confrontation with Cato, Bucco suggests that he begin walking back to school, but is firmly held back by Wermuth, who tells him that Cato isn’t very capable of holding a grudge and would be fine with everyone walking back together.

Soon enough, the five students find themselves walking along a busy sidewalk back to school. Esquilinus and Schweizer lead while the three boys followed behind. Occasionally, words are exchanged between the two groups but, for the most part, the two young women carry their own conversation while the gentlemen do the same. Hardly any time passes before the group arrives back at school, but the afternoon sun has heated them considerably and so they take refuge in the darker, cooler school building. After passing by their respective cubbyhole to change shoes and check for letters or notifications, the five students proceed to the set of hallways designated for the senior classrooms.

On the stairway there, however, the group finds a cluster of boys blocking the path. Boys of all three levels crowd around a person unseen by Cato and the group at the bottom of the stairs, but one who is garnering plenty of attention. As Schweizer questions what is going on and before Cato can take a step up the stairs to investigate, Wermuth throws out his arm, holding back Cato and catching the attention of Schweizer, Esquilinus and Bucco.

“What?” Cato asks.

“Do you smell that?” Wermuth responds.

A look of confusion resonates among the others and Cato replies, “No.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t expect you to know,” Wermuth says looking at Cato and Bucco. “but I would expect Schweizer and Esquilinus to.”

“What are you talking about, Wermuth?” Esquilinus asks, just beginning to sense what sort of gears are spinning in his head.

“Why, that smell is none other than the newest scent from Lafanté, Cremé de la Orient!”

As Cato laughs heartily and both Esquilinus and Schweizer sink their heads as if to say “Oh, no…”, Bucco cannot piece together what is going on.

“My god…It must be her.” Wermuth says in a scene fit for theater.

“Huh?” Bucco finally gets out.

“Don’t you understand?!” Wermuth nearly shouts, grasping Bucco by both shoulders and looking straight at him. “Lefanté hasn’t yet premiered their latest scent for the fall and there’s only one person in the world who would be able to wear it before its official debut next month.”

“What? How can you tell? It might just be another perfume.”

“Ha! My Venetian friend, I can correctly identify over 200 different women’s perfumes and all those of last season. This smell is none of those, meaning it must be a new one. Now, how can an average Porcuian like me be humbled by the extraordinary scent of a new perfume before its official debut?”

Bucco simply gazes back at Wermuth before Wermuth shouts, “Because the person wearing that perfume is none other than Pisdoé Giselle, the sexy model and daughter of Pisdoé Maurice, advertising executive for Lefanté!”

Wermuth then rockets up the stairs and begins to jockey for position among the other male students as Cato and the others follow. A healthy an d well built individual, Wermuth does not have too much trouble forcing his way to the front of the crowd and neither do Cato, Schweizer, Esquilinus and Bucco, following right behind Wermuth. The mystery individual causing the monstrous traffic jam is indeed Pisdoé Giselle, who is trying her best to keep the horde of adolescent boys at bay. She sedates a few by offering an autograph, but most of her words are lost amid the ocean of hormones rushing through the boys’ veins. Sensing an opportunity, Wermuth utilizes his size to force himself to Pisdoé’s side and place himself between her and the other boys. Pisdoé momentarily takes cover behind Wermuth, but as the crowd of hormone-crazed boys continues its advance Wermuth decides to take drastic actions.

“Cato, standby for evasive maneuvers!” Wermuth shouts.

From near the back of the crowd, Cato confirms the order and hurriedly gathers the others, saying “Wermuth has gone into Phase 2…We need to move toward the classrooms upstairs.”

“What’s Phase 2?” Bucco asks, trying to follow Cato and the others out of the thick crowd now gathered.

“Phase 2 is the second part of Wermuth’s deluded notion of how to pick up women. Phase 1 is proper identification of a woman, mostly likely one in distress, while Phase 2 is the rescue of said woman. Phase 3 is the final part where hours of pleasure are given by the woman as a sign of her immense gratitude.” Cato responds, bounding up the remaining steps leading to the first of the senior hallways.

Below, the crowd has slowly closed the distance between themselves and Wermuth and Pisdoé and, with a loud bellow, Wermuth scoops Pisdoé into his arms and cradles her as he smashes his way through the horde of boys. The first line goes down hard and that scene coupled with Wermuth’s bear-like roars quickly melts away the rest of the crowd, allowing Wermuth to scale the remaining stairs and join Cato and the others.

“Ah! My skirt!” Pisdoé screams.

Though Wermuth could not see it from his vantage point, holding Pisdoé the way he was exposed her panties to Cato and the others, making Bucco and Cato flush and Schweizer and Esquilinus rush to aid Pisdoé.

“Thanks…” Pisdoé says after properly adjusting her uniform.

“You’re welcome. Listen, I could not help but notice how you’re wearing the latest scent from Lafanté, you must be Pisdoé Giselle.” Wermuth responds in a voice only he could think was charming.

Pisdoé laughs before placing her hands on her hips. “And what if I am?”

“Well, I haven’t seen you around here before and would love to show you some of the sights of Milan after school – there’s plenty to do around here, you know?”

“Um…That sounds like a good idea.” Pisdoé responds. “Who knows, we may even find time to exchange scents.”

Bucco swears to see steam rising from Wermuth’s ears, also noticing the expressions of shear surprise on the faces of Cato, Schweizer and Esquilinus. “Uh, Wermuth. Shouldn’t we begin practicing for the football tryouts after school?”

Wermuth slowly turns to face Bucco and gives him a death stare. Pisdoé interrupts before Wermuth can grasp the Venetian by the throat. “That’s such a shame. I was very much looking forward to our little date…”

Realizing his life is in danger, Bucco darts down the hallway with Wermuth in hot pursuit. Alone with just Cato, Schweizer and Esquilinus, Pisdoé formally introduces herself. The three introduce themselves as well before Schweizer and Esquilinus begin flattering Pisdoé, stating how they wonderful she always looks and how they buy and wear various Lefanté products.

“So what’s someone like you doing here?” Cato wonders.

“Well, my father wanted me to try the public schools and live a little more normally. You see I’ve had private tutors for years.”

“We hope you like it here.” Schweizer comments. “What class are you in?”

“Class 3F.”

“Oh, oh…” Esquilinus and Schweizer say simultaneously, while Cato lets out a laugh. “That’s Wermuth’s class.”

Pisdoé simply laughs too, brushing off the news as inconsequential. “He seems like a nice guy, funny too. Besides, he did save me from that mass of guys earlier.”

The bell rings, signifying the five minute window before lessons recommence, and Pisdoé bids the three others a good day as she hurries off to find her bag and to get to class. Esquilinus, in Class 3C, also bids farewell to Cato and Schweizer and heads off to her first lesson of the afternoon. Bucco suddenly reappears, tired and sweating slightly, curious how he managed to make it back. “Dedìa, this school is so big.”

Cato and Schweizer exchange a laugh as all three prepare themselves for the stretch of afternoon lessons while heading back to Class 3A.
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Telosan
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The rest of the school day went quickly as it was shorter than the morning session. Bucco bade Cato and Schweizer a good day and went outside to deal with Wermuth, wherever he might be. It was nearly impossible to find him since the school grounds were swamped with students flooding out of the school. As they started to wander home, the crowd dispersed and Wermuth came into view. “ Sciào. How’s your shoulder?”

Turing to face Bucco, “Fine, but it hurt for a while. I wasn’t expecting that, to say the least.”

After having been chased by him for some time, Bucco had pulled a waste basket from the side of the hall behind him and into the path of Wermuth. He had hit the floor shoulder first and stood quickly, just in time for Bucco to land a punch on the same shoulder that had collided with the ground. Bucco then ran ahead, trying to get back to the others, which he eventually succeeded in doing.

“It was all self-defense. I had to stop you from trying to kill me, lest you regret for the rest of your life what you did to your poor Veneçiàn friend,” Bucco joked as they started walking. Less than half an hour later, they arrived at Wermuth’s house and Bucco went up to his room to start the homework they had been assigned. As he pulled out a chemistry book, he couldn’t help but think that he’d never have received such work on the first day of a Venetian school. A couple of hours later, he had completed his work and went downstairs to find Wermuth. Not finding him, he wandered around the house, this being his first chance to really look around, since he had arrived so late the night before and not cared about touring the modest townhouse.

The house was very modern and simple, the polar opposite of his own ornate and antique home in Venice. For one, the first floor was a small shop Wermuth’s parents owned, where they sold groceries such as fruits and vegetables, as well as several kinds of bread. The second floor, where Bucco was now, consisted of a combined kitchen and dining room, a decent sized living room, and a small bathroom. There a small television sat in a plain cabinet with all sorts of knick-knacks the Wermuths had collected over the years. In the corner a desktop computer was softly humming, an ever present nuisance. Upstairs there were three bedrooms and a full size bathroom. Bucco had not seen the inside of Wermuth’s room yet and knew not to go into the elder Wermuths’ room. His own room was a rather simple guestroom. He had a bed, a nightstand with a digital clock, and a desk where his laptop he had brought from home was currently resting.

Taken together, the house seemed to have an extremely modern, clean, and, for lack of better words, impersonal feel. It seemed just like every other house. There was no architectural decoration, no brilliant painting, no antique furniture, and no flourishing history tied to every object. There was nothing extraordinary about the home, but no one seemed to care, not the neighbors, or the residents. It was so foreign to Bucco, who had grown up living in history, surrounded by objects of unknowable worth, with every building seemingly trying to one up the other as they passed through the centuries. It seemed as though society had conquered these buildings, telling them all to be the same, just as it had conquered the human race and told them all to act the same, if only to watch the hilarity that ensued from the inevitable stupidity that would arise. The houses of Milan seemed to reflect the “blending in” mentality and it irritated him so.

His thoughts were interrupted when Wermuth came out of his room, having finally finished his homework. “So, shall we go practice?”

The two grabbed a football and walked to the park about ten minutes away. There, started by kicking the ball around, passing it and stealing it. They tried to score goals while the other attempted to play the goalie, a role neither was terribly good at. Bucco was a bit surprised at the power Wermuth could put in a kick, sending the ball flying far over their heads. In turn, Wermuth had commented on Bucco’s footwork and ball control, something he had taken for granted after trying to practice on the scarce space in Venice, having had to keep the ball out of the canals and going around the many people that walked the city. They practiced for a while before taking a break to get a drink and rest in the warm grass, yet another thing Bucco was unused to.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

The two decide to utilize the couple remaining hours of sunlight to their advantage and put in a solid effort for their first practice. Tryouts for the school’s football team are set for the following week and both Wermuth and Bucco are determined to make it onto the team, despite the large number of competitors for the few spots on the team. Each new season, only the team captain of the boy’s and girl’s team and a handful of chosen players are kept and guaranteed a spot on the team. The selection process usually lasts an entire afternoon and each spot on the team is highly contested.

Too soon for both Wermuth and Bucco, the sun begins its preparations for its descent over the horizon and marks the time at which many Porcuians prepare for dinner and a quiet evening, though during school breaks the evening and night hours are utilized much differently. A gentle breeze cools the two adolescent boys as they return to Wermuth’s house and are warmly greeted. The evening is normal enough for Bucco, he first enjoys a delicious cooked meal with the Wermuths and then retires to his room. Later, Bucco finds Wermuth in his room studying.

“Still working?”

“Yeah. I want to make sure I haven’t overlooked anything before tomorrow’s lessons.”

“They assign a lot of work, don’t they?”

“Huh? This isn’t much at all…Thing is, we third years have to also prepare for the university examinations, but there’s no extra time set aside for that. Trust me, time is going to get real tight here soon with all the studying and football, should we make the team. You’ll come to love the breaks when we get them.”

“Well, I just wanted to see what you were up to and if you wanted to watch some TV?”

“Sure. Give me a minute to finish this and I’ll join you downstairs.”

Bucco takes the lead and descends the stairs, finding his way to the living room and plopping himself down on the couch facing the television. In another minute, Bucco figures out how to work the remote like an expert and is surfing the rather limited listing of channels when Wermuth joins him.

“So, have you found anything?” Wermuth asks.

“Gnaùn, it doesn’t seem like there’s much choice.”

Bucco finally settles on a station that is wrapping up the late night news. Though classical Latin is also spoken in Venice, Bucco runs into some difficulty completely understanding the Latin used in reporting the news, the Porcuian accent being heavily influenced by the other languages utilized in the Republic. However, Bucco quickly becomes lost as the subsequent broadcast is in French. The program is some sort of game show or comedy, judging by Wermuth’s occasional outbursts of laughter – that much Bucco gathers - but he is unable to piece together any meaning beyond the figures he can see on the television screen. After the program ends, Wermuth informs Bucco of his intention to retire for the night. Deciding he too should go to bed, Bucco shuts off the television and follows Wermuth upstairs. They bid each other a good night and enter their separate rooms; Bucco shuts the door behind him and climbs into bed.

...

The rest of the week advances rapidly enough and though Bucco is surprised to hear that regular school is even held on Saturday and Sunday both he and Wermuth are able to get in regular football practice at a local park after school. Cato is still somewhat antagonistic towards Bucco, but never outright rude, and Schweizer tries her best to include Bucco in their conversations during lunch. Wermuth does not always dine with the others, choosing instead to try and complete the seduction process with Pisdoé as its target. Esquilinus, being pressured earlier in the week by her family to run for the student council, also cannot enjoy lunch on a daily basis with the others, using the lunch hour to finalize the documents necessary. Nonetheless, there are moments throughout the day when quick greetings and exchanges can be made, so each student feels connected even as they adjust to the rigorous schedule of the new school year.

After having been forgotten, the day of the football tryouts catches both Wermuth and Bucco slightly off guard. The school day had been particularly difficult that day, with chemistry laboratory and the usual set of lectures, and the two football hopefuls were glad to finally have it come to an end. Wermuth and Bucco certainly are nervous as they make their way to the football field after having changed and sign themselves in, anxiously awaiting the start of the tryouts.

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Telosan
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The crowd of hopeful football players swells as latecomers trickle in. You could tell who had been on the team the previous year, as those students chatter about past games, what they did in those games, and the like. They always manage to make it sound as if they were the MVP. If these players are half as good as they claimed, Bucco had no doubt that he should’ve been seeing the Tropaeum Mediolanum (Trophy of Milan) in the glass case near the front door of the school every morning. They also talk about how rigorous and difficult the practices are, causing some of the other boys to grow nervous, which is probably their intention. Fortunately, Wermuth and Bucco are immune to such talk, as Wermuth was on the team last year and Bucco is confident that he is at least the equal of these other students in football terms. On the field next to theirs, the girls are gathering for their own tryout. Their words are drowned out by the distance between them and him and by the conversations of the other boys around him, but it appears as though the girls are much less worried about making the team than most of the boys.

A little while later, the coaches and team captains, Equilinus included, come out of the school and gather their respective group of potential players. The boys’ coach is also Wermuth’s Calculus teacher who, Bucco remembers from a previous conversation with Wermuth, is described as an extremely thorough and hard to please individual. Bucco only welcomes the challenge. The coach starts by having each student try to score a goal, each student starting from the mid-field line with two players that were chosen from last year to return without trying-out, attempting to keep the student from doing so. Quite a few students are weeded out this way, cutting down the group considerably, though Bucco and Wermuth are safe for now. After a few more drills, the group is divided in two so a mock game can be played. The returning players from last year are to be the goalies and referees, while the team captain assists the coach in observing the students. Wermuth and Bucco are assigned to different teams, but Bucco decides he won’t go easy on his friend, knowing the same would be true the other way around.

The game progresses as one would expect any game to go. As it goes on, however, the skill level and physical fitness of the students becomes more and more readily obvious. There is actually a couple that had to sit down on the field, their chests heaving as if coming up from a long, long dive in a lake. Bucco comes across Wermuth a few times, with the first few encounters always ended with Bucco stealing the ball, thanks to his superior footwork. Later on, however, Wermuth begins passing the ball when Bucco nears, kicking it farther and faster than Bucco can himself. At one point, Bucco is waiting near the opposing goal as his teammates run down the field, the ball barely ahead of them. He glances to the girl’s field and sees Equilinus looking in his direction. He looks back in time to see the ball flying towards him. Bucco bounces the ball off his chest and moves closer towards the center of the field to score a goal. A boy on the other team comes from out of nowhere and tries to kick the ball away, but instead causes the ball to go airborne, tripping Bucco. At the last second before he hits the ground, the ball comes down near him and he headbutts it into the goal, just micrometers between the goalpost and the goalie’s outstretched fingers. When he stands and glances back to the girl’s side, Equilinus is looking away at the students trying out for her team, leaving Bucco unsure as to whether she had seen the play or not and greatly disappointed as he is sure it was the latter.

The game ends three to two, in Wermuth’s team’s favor. As all the boys nearly lynch the helpless water cooler, they breathlessly talk about their chances of having made the team. All the students, boys and girls, are called over to the coaches, who are ready to announce those who had made the team. As they call out names, there are dozens of cries of approval, disbelief, and disagreement all mixed together in response. Bucco pays little attention to the names of the others students, listening only for his. When it is called, he fells triumphant and ceases listening to the coach altogether, as he no longer has anything interesting to say until all the names are called. Afterwards, they are told when the first practice would be and that they had best be there or they would be off the team before the season even begins. When the boys are walking home, Bucco learns that Wermuth had also made the team and they celebrate their success with a short one on one match in a field nearby Wermuth’s house. As the day wanes and the sky fades into the likeness of the dying embers of a fire, they return home for a well-deserved rest.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

The definition of a well-deserved rest, however, differs from culture to culture and in this case, after the successful tryouts for both Wermuth and Bucco, a well-deserved rest meant a night out in the town. Milan is one of Porcu’s largest cities, a center of fashion, modern, medieval, and even ancient architecture, as well as art, theater and music. Like any other Porcuian city, Milan glows brightly after sunset and her streets fill with both locals and tourists looking to enjoy their evening.

Still riding an emotional high from successfully making the school’s football team, Wermuth and Bucco triumphantly enter Wermuth’s home. The good news is quickly spread to Wermuth’s mother and father, who themselves are preparing to close the shop for the evening. Wermuth tells them that he and Bucco intend to celebrate by navigating the streets of Milan after a hot shower. With one shower to share between them, Bucco makes sure to take a quick but thorough shower, leaving plenty of hot water for Wermuth. No more than thirty minutes later, the two adolescents are ready to hit the town, Bucco dresses in a simple black shirt and jeans while Wermuth dawns a polo shirt and long, but breathable pants. Before leaving, however, Wermuth sends Cato a quick text message, asking him if he’d like to join in the festivities.

“Alright!” Wermuth exclaims after receiving Cato’s response. “Looks like a guy’s night out! This’ll be fun.”

Wermuth and Bucco wait for Cato inside a local café for approximately ten minutes before he shows up.

“Salve Cato…” Wermuth says once Cato joins them.

“Hey, guys. So what’s on the plate tonight?”

“Well, Bucco and I both made the football team and I think that a proper celebration is in order. Bucco still hasn’t seen much of Milan, so this should be fun.”

The three gentlemen decide to take a bus into Milan’s commercial center from the café they met in, which is located just around the corner from Wermuth’s house. On the short ride, Bucco and Wermuth trade turns in explaining what happened earlier that day in the football tryouts. When Wermuth is talking to Cato, Bucco gazes out the window of the bus and takes in a host of different sights. Bucco is reminded occasionally of his own Venice, as Milan is also littered with piazzas and majestic marble fountains, its city streets varying from brick or stone pavement to the modern pavement mixture of asphalt, concrete and stone gravel. Interestingly enough, Bucco finds Milan’s layout to be one vastly similar to any Italian city, though the blending of old and modern infrastructure is unique and something that does merit his appreciation.

Hopping off the bus amongst a large crowd, the three boys slowly navigate their way to the opposite side of the street, where Wermuth assures his friends lays an excellent bar. The street is quaint enough, like many Bucco saw on the bus ride downtown, and the bar seems welcoming. Upon entering, Wermuth quickly makes his way to the counter and exchanges greetings with the bartender, whom Bucco imagines to be a good friend. Bucco feels somewhat left out when Cato also greets the bartender by name, but the Venetian is introduced soon enough.

“So what can I do you for tonight Wermuth?”

“A round of beers for Cato and our newest friend…Saso, this is Bucco Antonino. Bucco, Saso Marco.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Saso responds with a smile, producing three large containers of beer.

“Any good options tonight, Saso?” Wermuth asks after a long drink.

“A couple…But what makes you think you’ll be any luckier than usual?” the bartender gibes.

“I shall have you know that I just made the Mazzotto football team.”

“Well then, I bid you good hunting.”

“Deo juvante…” Cato responds with a chuckle.

Wermuth then runs off into a crowd of young women, leaving Cato and Bucco behind. Cato explains how, though Wermuth is well intentioned about spending a good night with the boys, he always loses himself if beautiful women enter the scene. Cato himself is quite used to Wermuth’s personality and over the years has learned to find it a rather enjoyable. Bucco asks if, by coming along with him and Wermuth, Cato left Schweizer alone at home. Cato responds that Schweizer had talked to Esquilinus just before he left, but he was unsure exactly what came out of the conversation. In any case, he was happy to spend some time with Bucco and Wermuth, even if it was only to see Wermuth bumble around with women.

After some time, Wermuth returns to the counter where Cato and Bucco had already made themselves comfortable. Ordering another beer, Wermuth sighs but doesn’t get out a single word before Cato remarks, “So how was it this time?”

“Another Dies Irae…”

“It seems like you lasted some time though. Usually you’re back at the counter much earlier.”

Wermuth simply shook his head, downing a full beer before Cato and Bucco. The Venetian would later find that a standard beer in Porcu is sold in a half-liter glass. Somewhat upset from his earlier rejection, Wermuth then demands that the three boys leave. Inquiring as to where they will travel next, Bucco is told by Cato that Milan’s main shopping district is just a few blocks away. Bidding his bartender friend a good night, Wermuth takes the lead in exiting the bar.

A few minutes pass before a huge city square opens before Bucco’s eyes. On one end, immediately to his left, sits the Duomo, or cathedral, of Milan. On the other end, sits a large triumphal stone arch, where Cato informs him the shopping district lays inside, also known as the Galleria Vibulanus. The enormous city square is lit up by the multitude of street lamps, the lights of various restaurants and shops, and by those illuminating the Duomo. The bright lights beaming out from the Galleria Vibulanus readily welcome the three young students as they cross the large square and pass underneath the arch. Immediately, Cato, Wermuth and Bucco are surrounded by shops selling everything from high-end electronics to adult products, from books to men’s and women’s fashion. Almost any conceivable product can be found within the Galleria Vibulanus, Wermuth informs Bucco, as the three slowly walk deeper and deeper into the shopping district.

Eventually, the boys arrive at a point where a giant glass dome sits directly above their heads. Here, one finds a host of cafés and restaurants, where Bucco spots many people either eating a full dinner or taking a rest in a coffeehouse, as well as an entrance for the metro. Looking around, Bucco notices that no less than eight glass arched streets separate in different directions from this central point.

“What did you say this place is called?” Bucco asks Cato, who had luckily found a place to sit on a nearby bench.

“This is the ‘Galleria Vibulanus’, named after the main architect. It serves as Milan’s prime shopping area and, as you can see, is absolutely huge. Four stories worth of shops, restaurants, cafés, bookstores and bars are located here. One could spend days wandering around and still not visit every store. This galleria connects eight major city squares…”

“Dedìa …” Bucco whispers in amazement.

At that moment, Wermuth returns to the others after a little excursion, a noticeable wobble in his step. It is not difficult to realize that Wermuth has passed his limit, and his liquor stained breath indicates the precise reason of his undoing.

“Looks like you’ve had enough for the evening…” Cato laughs, as he rises from his seat and gives his friend a pat on the back. “Come on, let’s walk a bit.”

The small group of boys continues down one of the glass arched streets, the wonderful architecture of the galleria rising high on both sides, before arriving in front of a lingerie shop. A look at the name indicates its position as a top fashion label and Bucco realizes that the street he chose happened to be the one containing Porcu’s premier fashion labels, as well as other famous, though less prestigious in the eyes of Porcuians, foreign fashion labels. This particular section of the Galleria is known world around as Via Monte Napoleone and several of the world's top fashion houses have their headquarters, major offices or large emporia in the street.

The group stops because Wermuth’s libido, somehow still in control of the man, is entranced by the large poster of a model sporting some of the latest designs hanging in a window beside the entrance. As Cato and Bucco try to coax Wermuth away from the window, who else should step out of the shop but Schweizer and Esquilinus, each carrying a large shopping bag with the designer’s name and logo scrolled across the side.

“Hey there!” Esquilinus says, waving her hand at Bucco and Cato. “What are you guys doing?”

“We’re…” Bucco begins to say before being cut off by Cato.

“We’re trying to get this idiot away from the window.” Cato barks, deciding to leave Wermuth alone.

“Oh?” Schweizer says, shifting her position so she could get a better view of the poster Wermuth was drooling over. She lets out a chuckle while Esquilinus acts disgusted.

Suddenly and without any apparent reason, Wermuth snaps back to normal and notices Schweizer and Esquilinus. Extending his greetings, Wermuth asks what brings the two girls out, explaining that he, Cato and Bucco are celebrating the successful football tryouts that day.

“Same for us…” Schweizer responds. “We thought we’d celebrate with a little shopping. We were just about to head out for dinner.”

“Shopping, eh? Let’s see…” Wermuth says, moving closer to Esquilinus to take a peek inside her bag.

Without reservations, Esquilinus opens the bag and pulls out the pair of panties she bought along with the matching bras.

“Pretty fancy.” Wermuth says, a smirk crawling across his face. “Too bad you still have the breasts of a ten year old.”

Bucco shifts his focus towards Wermuth, as Esquilinus gives a solid punch to Wermuth’s midsection, a bit worried as to where the conversation may lead. “No one asked for your opinion Wermuth. Some people like small breasts, you know?”

“Ah, yeah? Name me one person.” Wermuth says, massaging his abdomen.

“Cato, you like small boobs right?” Esquilinus asks.

“Actually, I prefer a good handful…” Cato responds, waving his hand in front of him as if he was holding a small ball.

“Like Schweizer’s?” Wermuth adds, knowing the embarrassing effect it would have on her.

“Exactly.” Cato responds, prompting Schweizer to blush intensely.

“What about you, Bucco? You like my small breasts, right?” Esquilinus asks, focusing her attention on the Venetian.

Bucco stares at Esquilinus in shock for a moment or two. "Uhh, yes, of course. They're…uhh…a perfect size for you."

“Good size?!” Wermuth quips. “There’s hardly any substance to them. I have bigger boobs than she does.”

Wermuth’s last comment invites another sharp blow from Esquilinus, who gazes back at Bucco and moves over to him. Bucco looks over at Wermuth with a smile spreading across his face, he too wanting to get in a small punch. Esquilinus moves over and grabs Bucco’s arm and interlocks it with hers, stating how kind he is with a laugh.

“Hey, he just told you what you wanted to hear…” Cato says.

A sharp gaze from Schweizer keeps Cato from continuing and soon enough Bucco and Esquilinus take the lead, arms interlocked, while the others lag behind. Rather than shelling out a ridiculous amount for dinner within the Galleria, the group decides to have dinner in a restaurant in another part of the city, taking the efficient metro system and arriving in a matter of minutes. A small, rather empty looking restaurant is chosen and it turns out to be an excellent choice. Though incredible food is easy to find in Porcu, there are still those places tucked away in the city that seem to set an unobtainable marker in terms of quality and taste. A large pizza is shared amongst the five adolescents to begin the meal before each orders individually. The taste of the food, the atmosphere of dining peacefully al fresco, and the sheer luck of finding such a restaurant make it an obligation for the group to go into the kitchen and personally thank the chef for the meal. Each person makes an effort to try and remember the name and location of the restaurant as they leave and take the metro back to a station within walking distance of their respective houses. Stepping out from the metro and onto the street, the group separates for the evening and everyone bids each other a good evening, eager to see each other the next morning at school.

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Telosan
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Nothing extraordinary happens for the next few days. Bucco goes to school, spends lunch with Wermuth, Schweizer, Cato, and Esquilinus, or some variation of the group, and goes home, occasionally practicing football with Wermuth. That Wednesday, three days after the night in the city, the students of room 3A had a short test covering the material the teacher had relayed in the first couple weeks of school. Though the test was inconsequential in the long run, it worried Bucco as it was in French, a language he has absolutely no experience in. He was able to pick out a few words, Venetian being somewhat similar to French, but he was largely in the dark as to what the test was about.

At lunch, Bucco catches up with Schweizer and Cato as usual and they wait for Esquilinus and Wermuth. Once the group is assembled, they go to Schweizer’s house for lunch. While the girls are in the kitchen preparing the meal, the boys sit in the living room with Bucco talking about his house in Venice.

“My house is in the Sestiera Cannaregio, in the northern half of the city. My family’s property can be considered large by Venetian standards, but it could never measure up to the grand palaces. It sits along one of the canals and my father owns 3 gondoli, as well as a bissona he uses for business.”

“In what way would you say Milan is like Venice?” Wermuth asks.

“Milan is a crowded city, like Venice, but it has space to expand. Like the Galleria Vibulanus we went to on Sunday. Such a place would be very unlikely to ever be built in Venice because it would have to cross over a canal in order to fit and the procurators of the different sestieri would never allow it.”

“How do the Venetian girls compare to those we have here in Porcu?”

Bucco chuckled; leave it to Wermuth to ask such a question. “Well, I would say they’re about equal. I can’t say for sure, having lived around Venetian girls for so long I’ve grown used to how they look. Porcuian girls are different and thus more interesting to say the least.”

Before another question is asked, the girls come out of the kitchen and announce that lunch is ready. The boys go over to the table and are greeted by a small feast of fish and rice. There is plenty to go around and as the group starts eating, another conversation is struck up, this one about school. Eventually, Schweizer brings up the test that Bucco, Cato, and she had taken.

"What did you think about that history test, Cato?"

“It was alright. Most of it was just a restatement of what the teacher said last week.” Cato replies. Turning to Bucco, “And you, Bucco?”

“I didn’t answer a single question. It was in French; I can’t read or speak French. I’m lucky to have even known what language it was.”

“Didn’t you study a bit before coming here?” Cato says with a tone of voice that doesn't sit too comfortably with Bucco.

“Well I know Latin, Italian, and some German. I figured it would be enough.”

"I'm sure you'll be fine. It was just one test and you're a smart guy..." Schweizer says.

Wermuth interjects, "I'm not a particularly good teacher but I could try and help."

"You must be kidding..." Esquilinus interrupts. "You'd bore him to death or start ranting about women. I think I’m the most qualified person to be teaching anyone. After all, I do hope to become an elementary school teacher. Would you like me to teach you, Bucco?”

“That’d be great. When do you think we could start?”

“Does after football practice work for you?”

“After practice is fine. I look forward to it.”

Later, after school, Bucco goes out to the football field for the teams’ first practice. Once both the boys and girls teams had assembled, the coaches assign each player a practice team. As Bucco had learned from Wermuth, the practice teams are year-long coed groups made out of the players from the school’s official teams. Unfortunately, Wermuth is assigned to the other group, but Bucco is elated to discover that Esquilinus is on his own team, the respective team captains having to play as well. Though this is the first practice of the season, they do little more than pass the ball around. The coaches have other beginning of the season tasks to do, such as setting up the different locker rooms and distributing the uniforms. The shirt is checkered, as all of Milan’s high school teams are, though the Scuola Superiore Mazotto’s alternates purple and white. The shorts are solid white with a purple seam on the bottom and the socks are also white, but with a purple stripe up the side.

Once practice is over, Esquilinus walks over to Bucco. “So, if you’d like to come over to my house today, we can start working on your French.”

“Alright, I’m ready to leave whenever you are.” Bucco says, waiting as Esquilinus goes around and says good-bye to her friends.

As they start to leave, Wermuth gives him a smile and a thumbs up. Bucco waves back and continues on. Esquilinus’ house is a bit further than Wermuth’s and Schweizer’s, so they take a bus. On the way, they talk about Milan. Bucco asks if there are other such gallerias as the Galleria Vibulanus scattered around Milan and Esquilinus responds with an explanation that, in fact, the Galleria Vibulanus is the only one of its kind in the world. When they finally arrive, Bucco sees that Equilinus lives in a large apartment complex. Upon entering the single story but elongated apartment, Esquilinus directs Bucco to the living room while she goes to her room and fetches a couple of French books and work booklets. As he is looking around, Bucco jumps when a voice comes from behind him. Two girls, Esquilinus’ younger sisters Bucco guesses, had come from another room. Bucco introduces himself as a friend of their sister and learns that one is 5 and the other 7. When Esquilinus returns, she attends to her sisters, bringing them into their own room to work on their homework and tells them to let her know if they need help, before sitting down with Bucco and opening the materials she brought.

A few hours and couple of pots of tea later, they are finishing up the lesson and Bucco believes he had picked up a good deal of words and phrases, though the language still sounds strange to him.

“It’s getting late. You should head home before its dark.”

“Vaƚe, see you in school tomorrow.” Bucco replies with a smile.

Esquilinus responds with a slight bow, adding that she too looks forward to their next encounter. On the way back to Wermuth’s house, Bucco runs through the entire lesson in his head, glancing briefly at the notes he took and trying to commit them to memory so that Esquilinus may be proud of his progress.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

As classes progresses and Bucco becomes accustomed to the schedule and rhythm of Porcuian society, there are a couple of things that swirl around in his mind. First is the upcoming football game against Scuola Superiore Amalfo, another Milanese school, while second is the upcoming school break. The school year had begun in mid August after an extended summer break and continues for six straight weeks before the students and staff may enjoy a week-long break. After that week, classes resume for another six week period, followed once again by another week-long break.

Over the course of the first few weeks, Bucco had taken notice of the amount of hard work that most of his peers put into their studies, rarely overhearing conversations about parties or fun trips to the beach. Bucco had been informed that the Porcuian education system is not one where everyone is expected to attend college after graduation, as indeed the high school curriculum is intensive enough that most jobs in Porcu only require a high school certificate. Interestingly enough, and evidenced by Porcu’s strong economic standing and high worker productivity, Porcuian high school students seem to be on an intellectual par with university students of various other countries. The self discipline of knowing when one needed to work and study and when one could relax and play was something that Bucco had come to notice and admire about his hosts.

The bell sounds as another lesson comes to a close, the students of Class 3A eager to stretch their legs after a rather boring math lesson, and the usual five minute break in between lessons is observed. Cato turns and informs Schweizer that he is leaving to go to the restroom, quickly exiting the room and hurrying down the hall. Further along, he sees a small group of girls gathered along the window side of the hall. Cato tries his best not to overhear the conversation, but as most students choose to remain inside the classroom during the five minute break the relative emptiness of the hallway carries one’s voice rather well.

“Pisdoé, I wish I had skin like yours…It’s just so soft.”

“Yeah! What exactly do you use?”

“Nothing that you couldn’t by yourselves at an inexpensive shop.” Pisdoé answers back to two of the girls next to her.

“Aww…That’s not fair. Why do you have all the good looking genes?”

Cato passes by the group without incident, but on his return trip from the restroom he finds the girls still gathered outside their classroom. The girls continue to trade compliments, mostly directed at Pisdoé, before deciding to head back inside their classroom. Pisdoé remains standing in front of the window, leaning back slightly with her elbows resting on the small window sill.

“Shouldn’t you go back inside as well? The next lesson is about to start…” Cato says, not stopping or slowing down.

“I will. We still have a minute or two.”

Cato continues on, but suddenly gets the strange sensation that Pisdoé wishes to say something else. Turning around, he brings himself next to her, standing with both hands in his pockets. Pisdoé shifts her gaze to the ground and, just then, the bell rings signaling the beginning of the next lesson. Without a word, Cato turns and begins to walk back to his classroom, but Pisdoé calls out to him.

“I never got around to properly thanking you and your friends the first time we met. You did help save me from that horde of guys…”

“Don’t mention it. Besides, it’s Wermuth you really should be thanking.”

“No…I insist. There’s the premier of the Lefanté Fall Collection coming up. It’s the second night of our first school break, Tuesday night. I’d like it if you and your friends could come.”

Without so much as a smile, Cato thanks Pisdoé for the invitation and adds that Schweizer and Esquilinus will be thrilled. It is not the case that Cato is upset as Pisdoé thinks, only that Cato did not see why he has to giggle uncontrollably like most boys and girls tend to do around Pisdoé. With a simple wave, Cato and Pisdoé return to their respective rooms, though their late arrivals bring about very different responses from their teachers. Pisdoé is only made to recite the first stanza of a famous poem the philosophy teacher had been having them study for a few days – a relatively simple and easy task. However, Cato’s punishment is worse.

“Now, some of you may be asking how exactly does…” the History teacher explains, being cut off by the sound of Cato opening the classroom door and entering. His tardiness draws a disappointed look from Schweizer. “Ah, Mr. Cato…So nice of you to join us. I was just getting ready to explain to the class the forces behind Hans Kesselhörster’s surprising electoral victory and ascension to the office of the Presidency.”

“Sounds interesting, please don’t let me stop you.” Cato sharply rebuts, knowing full well that the History teacher was never one to be lenient with the school code of conduct.

“Oh, it is. Since you find this material to be so interesting, why not provide me with a small ten page paper on the legacy of President Kesselhöster? Single spaced, 12 sized font, in Latin due by…Oh, let’s say first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll be expecting it on my desk bright and early.”

“Yes, sir.” Cato says through gritted teeth, amid the light chatter of some students and the taunting laughter of others.
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Telosan
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“Welcome the start of this year’s football season! As always, the schools will be competing for the prestigious Tropaeum Mediolanum. Today, we have the two teams of Scuola Superiore Amalfo up against Scuola Superiore Mazotto’s.” The announcer went on and on, distracting the crowd as the teams prepared for their games. Both Wermuth and Bucco were passing a ball back and forth, willing the time to pass, with the rest of the boys on their team. The girls were playing first, so some of the boys had shown up out of uniform, planning to change later. While the boys stood around passing a ball, talking, catching up on homework, or whatever they had settled on to pass the time, the girls were farther down the field, doing stretches and last minute drills.

The complex itself was larger than Bucco had imagined. Such a structure would never be seen in Venice, if only for the sheer impracticality of it. The building was gargantuan, housing two football fields, two hockey rinks, a swimming pool, and a tennis court. A few food and drink vendors were opening their boots at various locations throughout and almost every one of the many doors of the complex was constantly open, letting in a near continuous stream of people. The bleachers that walled in the sides of the football field that the Amalfo-Mazzotto showdown was about to take place were quickly filling with people, the relatives of the players, teachers, classmates, newspaper reports, and Milan locals who just had nothing to do that particular evening.

The girls started jogging around the field, exchanging comments with the boys everytime they passed. On the last lap, Bucco calls out, “Bona fortuna, Esquilinus.”

“Thanks, Bucco.” Esquilinus replies with a smile as she runs to catch up with the rest of her team.

Once the game started, it was difficult to keep up with what was happening. The players seemed to become blurs of purple and white, the Mazzotto girls, and yellow and blue, the Amalfo students. The first half was like this, mostly uneventful as both teams were fresh, but by halftime the girls of both schools began to wear down. During the halftime break, the coach discussed strategy with them as they gulped down cups of water. The score was 1 to 0, in Mazzotto’s favor, but the coach never let on that he knew that by the way he complained about the game so far.

The second half was much better, in Bucco’s opinion, but the coach seemed to focus on the many close calls near the Mazzotto goal and the missed shots on the Amalfo goal. Regardless, they won 4 to 0, Esquilinus having scored one of the points. The place suddenly swelled with people as the crowds got up to move around before the boy’s game. Bucco did his stretches and jogs around the field with the others and when the game was ready to start took his position at as a midfielder. When the whistle blew, the ball soared over the heads of the players as both teams tried to get it first.

The game was hectic. Several times Bucco and his teammates had managed to get the ball near the Amalfo goal after much effort, only to have it batted back to their side in seconds. He was tiring from running back and forth so many times; if only the Amalfo team had worse defenders. When the whistle blew for halftime, Bucco welcomed the moment to relax, but didn’t relish the thought of facing the coach. For the entire duration of the intermission, the coach yelled until he turned blue. He had reason to, the score was 2 to 0, Amalfo. When the whistle blew again for the second half, his parting words were a threat to make them all run laps around the field if they couldn’t turn the game around.

Shortly after resuming the game, the Amalfo players stole the ball and drove towards Mazzotto’s goal. Just as they were about to shoot, Wermuth, playing defense, took the ball back and passed it forward to the midfielders. Bucco and several others passed the ball back and forth as they made their way down the field. It just so happened the ball was with Bucco when it came time to shoot. Just as he was about to do so, the Amalfo defender, a well-built giant of player, came from the side and made an attempt for the ball, but Bucco passed it away before he could get at it. Having been busy making the pass, he was unable to get out of the way of the defender, who plowed right into him. As Bucco dragged himself to his feet, one of the Mazzotto players scored a goal.

The triumph was short-lived, however, when the Amalfo team managed to make another goal. A few moments later, the game ended and the coach proved to be a man of his word. The boys started their run around the field, Bucco’s side still hurting from the collision. Once the coach finally decided they had suffered enough, he let them collapse where they stood and gave his end of game speech and told them when the next practice was. As Bucco and Wermuth started to walk home, aching all over, Wermuth pointed out that the school year’s first intermission started tomorrow. The remainder of the night was spent talking about their plans for the week long break.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

“Cato…Wake up…”

“Eh?”

“Come on. Breakfast is ready…”

“Ah, Schweizer…We’re finally in our first school intermission. Can’t I sleep ten more minutes?”

“Nope.” Schweizer says flatly, walking over to the window in Cato’s room and thrusting open the curtains. The bright morning light shines directly onto Cato’s face, making him retreat into his covers like a vampire back into its lair. “It’s such a beautiful day; I wouldn’t want you and I to waste a minute of it.”

Cato slowly crawls out of bed and makes his way down to the stairs, joining Schweizer for breakfast. Eggs boiled just enough to solidify the whites but keep the yolk liquid are on the menu this particular morning, complimented by the obligatory toasted bread and coffee. Cato thoroughly enjoyed his prepared caffé latte and warm breakfast, expressing his delight several different times. It is somewhat awkward for Schweizer to be alone with Cato, but she enjoys their time together while her father is in Singapore on business.

“So, what do you want to do today?” Cato asks Schweizer once breakfast is over and he is helping her clean up.

“Why don’t we go to the park today? Maybe Wermuth, Esquilinus and Bucco can join us.”

“You like that Venetian, don’t you?”

The question is a bit too blunt for Schweizer, even though she is quite used to Cato’s direct personality. “What do you mean? He is living with Wermuth and is a classmate, after all. I consider him a friend. What do you have against him?”

“He reeks of self-righteousness.”

Schweizer drops the subject and doubles her cleanup efforts, much to the dislike of Cato. An hour or so passes before Schweizer informs Cato that everyone will be going to a local park and having a picnic.

“Esquilinus will be over soon to help me prepare lunch. Is there anything you in particular you want to eat?”

Cato, who had been reading, shakes his head. “No, I’ll be alright with whatever you girls decide to prepare.”



“My, that was delicious!” Wermuth exclaims, laying flat on the blanket spread out on the ground and rubbing his stomach. “Simply fantastic, Esquilinus and Schweizer.”

Both girls smile back, happy to hear their work is appreciated. The usual group is gathered underneath the shade of a large oak tree, a gentle, occasional breeze sweeps over them and keeps them cool. Every now and then, goosebumps stretch across their skin and the sensation is a thoroughly pleasurable one. As one gazes around, the brilliant sights of the park each call out for attention. Slightly rolling hills surround a large lake with a fountain in the center and a gravel path swings throughout the park. Bucco and the others, seated underneath a tree Wermuth had spotted, have a wonderful vantage point and can easily spot other locals enjoying the beautiful Sunday afternoon. Some are gathered on the bank of the lake hugging or laying close together, others sit on benches strewn about the park watching their children run freely, while some simply stroll on by. Just another day in paradise.

“Yo, Cato! You have those invitations Pisdoé gave you, right?” Wermuth asks, still resting on his back.

“Yeah…They’re in my room at home. Don’t worry.”

“Good, ‘cause I am not going to miss tomorrow’s premier. Do you realize how restricted that invitation list is?”

“Isn’t it kinda weird that a few regular high school students are going to attend such a high scale fashion show?” Bucco butts in.

“Yes, kind of.” Schweizer responds, taking a sip of juice from a small carton. “It should be fun though; I mean, Lefanté is world famous and I really like some of their bags and sunglasses…It’s an honor to attend.”

Esquilinus lets out a little squeal of excitement as she thinks about the main event the next evening. Wermuth feeds her excitement by stating the likely odds that she will appear on television, with all the reporters and fashion journalists that will be in attendance as well. As Esquilinus covers her face out of embarrassment, everyone shares a good laugh. Time flies by and in no time the sun begins its descent in the sky. As the group talks and tries to settle on plans for the evening, it is made known that Bucco and Esquilinus had planned on meeting and furthering Bucco’s language studies. To no one’s surprise, Wermuth has nothing scheduled for the evening, but he does suggest a visit to the public baths as a way to relax and welcome in the intermission.

“Great idea Wermuth!” Schweizer exclaims. “Afterward, we can meet at my house and have a nice dinner.”

With that, the group slowly packs up the two baskets and folds the blanket back up, deciding to take a scenic detour of the park on their way to an exit. Once back on the streets, amid the normal bustle of traffic, the group parts ways, with Bucco following Esquilinus, Cato and Schweizer heading home together and Wermuth leaving alone. They promise to stay in touch and to meet up later to finalize their plan for the evening.

A short bus ride later, Bucco enters Esquilinus’ apartment after her and makes himself comfortable. Sitting on the ground in front of a small table located in the room, Bucco wonders where Esquilinus’ sisters are. Before long, Esquilinus arrives in the room and kneels down beside Bucco, setting the series of booklets and workbooks on the small table in front of them. Just as Bucco asks where Esquilinus’ sisters are, she gets back up and goes to the kitchen, procures two glasses of iced tea and brings them back, setting them down on coasters.

“Hey, Esquilinus…Where are your sisters?”

“Oh, they’re at a daycare.” she responds nonchalantly. However, Esquilinus immediately takes note that an elaboration of some sort is needed. “Both my parents work. My father is a mechanical engineer and works for a company in Turin, while my mother is a waitress. My sisters are also off from school this week and there are days when I have to watch them here at home and there are other days when I drop them off at a nearby daycare.”

“How can you make plans? I mean, if you have to watch over your sisters…”

“No, it’s not that difficult. I worked at the same daycare last summer and they are very good and keep long hours. Usually, either my mother or father picks up my sisters on their way back from work.”

With that, the lesson begins in earnest. Esquilinus is impressed with Bucco’s progress, even after just a few lessons, and praises Bucco for his effort. Bucco, in turn, continues his best to learn a language he knows he will need as long as he is in Porcu. Towards the end of the lesson, Esquilinus receives a call on her cell phone and, after establishing that Schweizer is on the other end, helps set details about the group’s visit to the public baths that evening.

“Who was that?” Bucco asks, certain it had to be one of the other friends.

“Schweizer…It’s settled that we’ll leave around 8 – 8:30. Afterward, we’ll travel back to Schweizer’s house and have dinner.”

“Sounds great.”

A couple of hours later the lesson wraps up once Bucco finishes with a few sentence exercises. Esquilinus returns to the kitchen to refill her cup with iced tea and finds Bucco prepared to leave when she returns. Thanking Esquilinus, Bucco gives a short bow and heads towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Home. I thought I would change beforehand or at the least bring a pair of swim trunks with me.”

“Oh, you won’t need them. Everything is provided for at the facility.”

Bucco continues to stand by the entrance before Esquilinus says, “I was just about to watch some TV. You can join me if you like.”

Bucco’s heart skips a beat as he accepts, placing his school bag back on the ground and walking over to the living room. He sits beside Esquilinus and watches as she flips through a few channels before settling on what appears to be a government channel.

“What is this?” Bucco asks curiously.

“It’s the government channel that broadcasts sessions of Parliament. Some think politics is borning, but actually, I think it can be very entertaining sometimes. Porcuians learn some debate skills in school and it shows…Here, watch.”

Esquilinus nods her head in the direction of the TV and Bucco quickly understands her point. Soon enough, the ballet that is a Porcuian Parliament session unfolds. Questions are asked in all the languages utilized in the Republic and so too are the answers, much to Bucco’s frustration. After a few minutes, Bucco believes he understands the sort of entertainment Esquilinus was referring to before. The Members of Parliament roar and laugh, jeer and taunt; they take turns promoting their own agendas and programs while subtly insulting the opposition. Esquilinus has a few good chuckles before changing the channel, remarking that even she can only handle watching occasionally and for short periods. The remainder of the time until the two are scheduled to meet up with Schweizer, Cato and Wermuth is spent watching various programs across a couple of channels. The shows provide Bucco with another excellent opportunity to improve his listening skills, particularly with his newly acquired French.

After some time, Bucco checks his watch and states the time to Esquilinus. With a few minutes left before they are to meet up with the others, Esquilinus and Bucco gather their necessary things before exiting the apartment. Esquilinus carries only a small purse, while Bucco carries his school bag he uses to store the notes he takes during his tutor sessions. Esquilinus informs Bucco that there are private lockers available at the public bath house, so he will be able to store his bag and clothing in a locker.

The two encounter Schweizer and Cato on a street near the bath and walk the remaining portion of the trip all together. The building is a modest, somewhat modern building and does not immediately give the impression of being a public bath. Before entering, Cato sends Wermuth a quick text message asking him where he is. No less than thirty seconds later, in typical Wermuth fashion, the last of the group members arrives, informing the others of the cause of his delay. Again, to no one’s surprise, Wermuth had seen a youthful beauty in a park on the way over and just had to stop over to say hello. Fortunately for the rest of the group, that was all Wermuth was able to say before being sent on his way by the unknown beauty.

Sharing a laugh at Wermuth’s expense, the group enters and proceeds to the central counter in the entrance. Everyone hands over a small card to the person behind the counter to have it scanned, one used to access public services such as the metro, the above ground commuter trains, the buses and, in this case, the public bath, and promptly separate into their respective sexes’ locker room.

Men and women enter their respective locker room and generally take a locker to store their purses, bags, clothing and shoes. They then enter a large, open shower room and wash themselves thoroughly, exiting the same way they entered and grabbing a towel on the way out to the bath. The towel itself is modest and covers just enough, the women’s being longer than the men’s. There is a final meeting and resting area, for those who wish to take a break from the hot water of the bath, before one enters the large bath room.

Stunning classical roman architecture and a huge mosaic decorates the interior of the bath, the fresh, hot water being kept in a large stone and tile pool. As Cato, Wermuth and Bucco run into Schweizer and Esquilinus in the lounge area just outside the bath, they see, to their relief, that the bath is not crowded this evening. Though one would not be able to tell from just a glance, businessmen, blue collar workers, lawyers and students all enjoy themselves in the hot water of the bath and the warm steam emanating from the bath. Cato and the rest of the group enter the bath room and walk over to a free area where they can all sit together. Bucco is slightly surprised by the level of openness showed by his friends, but certainly does not complain about having nothing but two towels separating him and Esquilinus.

“Did you guys hear about that earthquake in California?” Wermuth asks, comfortably settling into the water.

“No…” Cato responds, as Schweizer just shakes her head. Esquilinus asks how many people were hurt.

“Oh, it wasn’t too bad. It mostly just startled people when they were at work or at home…To think that we can build buildings nowadays that are essentially earthquake-proof. Incredible.” Wermuth trails off.

“Huh?”

“I was just saying how incredible it is. It wasn’t too long ago that hundreds of people would die in earthquakes that regularly hit California.”

The conversation continues lightly enough, each person sharing one or two details about their days, whether that be a simply observance or a larger thought. Things continue to settle down and soon Esquilinus spots the necklace that hangs around Bucco’s neck.

"Ah, that’s a cool necklace Bucco. What is it?" she asks.

"It's a pendant. The front has a raised picture of Saint Mark and the back has my name engraved in it."

"Did you get it as a gift?"

"Yes, my nòno gave it to me after a visit with the Evangelist archbishop."

"You met the archbishop as well or was that just your grandfather?" Cato interjects.

"My grandfather, when he was elected to a single term as Procurator of our siesteri. The archbishop blesses each as part of tradition."

"Still dabbling in superstitions and religion, eh?"

"There's a difference between superstitions and religion, Cato."

"Not really, both are massive impositions upon society from those who choose to live in fear and ignorance."

"Superstitions are single myths tied to individual objects or occurrences. Religions are a collection of beliefs based on the actions and words of a superior being as well as those who perform acts in the name of that being. Society already lives in fear of itself and ignorance is a human flaw that touches many people in the world. Maybe fear of a god is a good thing; it could cause people to unite instead of fearing each other."

“That may be true for Venetian society, but certainly not for Porcu. Our Republic was founded in direct opposition to the established Christian order long ago. I agree that ignorance is a flaw of mankind, but whereas those of us who have shed ourselves of the guilt-ridden veil of religion can wisely admit how little we truly know, it is the religious who claim to have everything already answered for them.”

Sensing a rapidly declining spiral, Schweizer interrupts as politely as she can. She is not uncomfortable with the subject itself, but rather with the possibility of having the distance between Cato and Bucco grow.

“Just ignore Cato, Bucco.” Wermuth says as a follow up to Schweizer’s interruption. “I apologize if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Not at all…” Bucco replies. “What sort of beliefs do you have?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to completely rule out the possibility of a god, but…”

“You can’t rule out the possibility of a god that loves you, looks after you, and intervenes in your life and such?” Cato butts in before Wermuth can finish.

“As I was just about to say…But I find the possibility of a theistic god rather improbable.”

The remaining time is well enjoyed in relative silence and all the stress and problems accumulated throughout the day by each person diffuse out into the hot water of the bath. Even Cato is visibly relieved and refreshed from the bath. The rumbling of Wermuth’s stomach acts as the signal for the group telling them it is time for dinner. Wermuth asks Schweizer what is on the menu this evening and his eyes widen with joy when she responds with, “Cognilio alla Cachatore.”

An exquisite dish to look forward to, to be sure, each person takes the few moments left to savor the hot water of the bath before climbing out and proceeding back to their respective genders’ locker room. Fresh, dry towels greet each person once they reenter the locker room, allowing them to change and wait patiently near the entrance for everyone to finish. Schweizer and Esquilinus are the last ones out, no doubt because of the effort needed for a proper touch up.

A much more pleasant conversation is shared by everyone at dinner along with the usual, excellent cooking of Schweizer. If one were to gaze at the five young students gathered in the townhouse of this bustling metropolis of Milan, one would be hard-pressed to imagine how they could not be extremely close friends whose relationship spans many years. Everyone seems to be simply and beautifully happy.
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Telosan
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The Foremost Intellectual Badass
On Tuesday morning, Bucco woke up the same time he would have for school. He was among the few that worked better with less sleep, only needing four hours a night. As usual, Wermuth was still asleep, snoring loudly, though he vehemently denied it every time Bucco mentioned it. Since it was so early; the sun was only just now rising, Bucco let him be and went downstairs. Since the Wermuths were grocers by trade, there was always an abundance of food in the house, and Bucco had little trouble finding an apple to serve as a light breakfast. With not much else to do, Bucco started to work on the homework assigned for the break. It seemed pointless to him, since most of it was just a restatement of previous teachings, but he did it nonetheless. By the time he had finished, Wermuth had stirred, making quite a racket that could be heard one floor away as he stumbled about in his usual morning daze. Once he found his way down the stairs, Bucco asked if he had any plans for the day.

“The Lefanté premier is tonight, but besides that, I had told Argentaro Massimo that I’d play a round or two of football. What are you going to do?”

“Misìmi necài cognóser, maybe I’ll go for a walk.”

Wermuth nodded and took an apple for himself before heading out. Once the door closed, Bucco was alone once more. He reached for his jacket, a black windbreaker with small gray etchings on the shoulders, and left soon after. Wermuth’s house was just inside the downtown area on the northeast side of the city, so it was only a comparably short walk to the Galleria Vibulanus, where Bucco intended to window shop until he was bored or out of time. The city was very noisy and not helpful in creating a peaceful atmosphere. Since Venice had no automobiles, the many sounds of buses, trucks, and cars had been incredibly bothersome when he first arrived, but now he had become accustomed enough to get by.

Once he entered the Galleria, the tall buildings blocked the sound a bit, though it was replaced by the chatter of Porcuians milling about the massive shopping complex. He ducked into a few stores here and there, but nothing interested him enough to buy anything. He didn’t really need to do anything to prepare for the night’s event, while the girls would be more likely to near a borderline insane state in a frantic search for a dress suitable for the upscale party. His evening attire was already laid out; a pair of black slacks and blazer with a white undershirt. Just as he finished this thought, Bucco heard a familiar voice behind him and turned to see Schweizer and Esquilinus walking along, talking about what they were going to wear to the party.

Bucco slowed to let them catch up. “Bonaséra, Esquilinus, Schweizer. What are you two doing?”

Schweizer replies, “Good morning, Bucco. We’re looking for something good to wear for the premier tonight. You?”

“Just walking around, seeing what there is to see. Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

The three went through countless stores, their conversation crossing a wide range of subjects. Bucco did his best to keep up with the current topic, providing his opinion and asking for theirs on several things. Finally, they came to an upscale and fashionable clothing store. Bucco followed the girls in, who eyed several of the dresses. Esquilinus picks one out and goes to try it on with Schweizer in tow.

“What do you think?” Esquilinus asks as she and Schweizer walk out of the changing room in the dress.

Bucco looks up to see Esquilinus standing at the entrance to the changing room’s isle. She’s wearing a somewhat plain white dress that reaches down to just above her knees. The strap goes over her left shoulder, leaving the right bare. “You look nice. Are you thinking of getting it?”

“I wish, but it’s too expensive. It’s 230 denarii.”

Bucco suddenly remembers the six weeks of allowance he has saved up, having only spent a bit. He has the equivalent of several thousand Porcuian denarii. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can just find another, cheaper dress.”

“I insist. I have plenty of money and nothing to spend it on. I can pay for Schweizer’s, too.”

Both girls were reluctant to allow him to pay for their dresses, but eventually gave in. Bucco paid for the dresses in denarii, having exchanged his ducati for the Porcuian currency before setting out for the day. Esquilinus had settled on the white dress she tried on earlier and Schweizer had found a maroon, strapless dress that also hung down to her knees, with a rippled design across it.

Once they had left the store, the girls continued to thanks Bucco for the purchase, no matter how many times he said it wasn’t a problem. They found a men’s clothing store and went in, since Schweizer had to buy a suit for Cato as well. Esquilinus picked out several, most of which Schweizer didn’t think Cato would like. They both consulted Bucco as to what he thought would be best. Once they settled on one, they sent Bucco to try it on in Cato’s stead. He changed quickly and walked out of the changing room for the girls to see. After they had finalized their choice of the suit, Bucco again offered to pay.

“You already paid for our dress, Bucco; you don’t need to pay for Cato’s suit.” Schweizer objected.

“It’s alright; I’ll take care of it.”

Bucco paid for the suit as he had for the dresses and the trio moved on. As the day continued, the girls bought a handful of accessories and some perfume, all of which Bucco paid for. Esquilinus had stopped trying to convince Bucco to let them pay, and Schweizer eventually did so as well, though she was much less comfortable with it than Esquilinus. Before long, the sun started its decent and the group parted ways, heading back to their houses to prepare for the evening. When Bucco returned, he and Wermuth started getting ready. About an hour later, they started to walk to Schweizer’s house, where everyone would be meeting before going to the party together.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

“My, you are stunning…”

“Thanks Wermuth. Do you like this dress?”

“Absolutely, the color suits you perfectly. I’m sure Cato said this to you quite a few times already…”

“No, actually.”

Wermuth fires a glance at Cato, who is leaning against the kitchen counter facing the dining room area. “You should be ashamed of yourself Cato. To live with such a lovely creature and not be courteous; you are truly an ungrateful bastard.”

“Would you like to switch places? I can live at your house with your parents and Bucco for awhile…”

“No!” Schweizer shouts.

Wermuth understands and plays along with Cato, realizing himself that Schweizer would not want Cato to leave. He does his best to produce a few tears and says, “For all that I’ve done for you, Schweizer…I thought there was real chemistry between us.”

“It’s not that…” Schweizer says, blushing slightly.

“Hey everyone!” Esquilinus calls from the entrance. Expecting Esquilinus, Cato had kept the door unlocked to allow Esquilinus to enter the townhouse on her own. “I’m so excited!”

Bucco, who had been in the bathroom, returns to where everyone else is gathered. “Shouldn’t we get going soon?”

Cato agrees, noticing the time, and starts pushing everyone to get their things so that they would have plenty of time. Schweizer and Esquilinus grab their purses and quickly look themselves over with the small mirrors provided with their makeup kits - both radiate a treasured combination of youthfulness and sex appeal. As the group exits from Schweizer’s home, Cato closes and locks the door behind him, finishing with a comment on his suit.

“You like it?” Schweizer asks. “I’m glad…Bucco helped Esquilinus and I pick it out for you.”

“You helped them?” Cato says, turning to Bucco.

“Yeah, we weren’t exactly sure about it, so we had Bucco try it out for us.”

“You wore this?!” Cato barks, regretting his previous comments about ‘really liking it.’

The group continues on, walking at a very easy pace. The location written on the invitations that Pisdoé had given Cato indicated that the Lefanté premier was being hosted in a very upscale hotel near the Galleria Vibulanus. The invitation did not state who else would be in attendance, but Cato is fairly certain that such fashion events draw in a solid number of celebrities, professionals and executives.

The evening air is just slightly cool, but by walking, Cato and the others feel nearly perfect. Soon, the group arrives in the large piazza where the city’s Duomo and the Galleria sit on opposite sides of the square. Traversing the piazza and walking just a bit further lands the group directly in front of the hotel, one visited quite frequently by movie stars, directors, and fashion executives and occasionally by the leading political figures of the world. Cato, followed closely by the others, makes his way to the entrance of the hotel. A small carpet is set out for those high class figures which slowly and continuously arrive by car. As expected, there are plenty of cameras, photojournalists and reporters. Schweizer is so nervous she is almost terrified, while Wermuth cannot wait to get on the carpet and in front of the cameras.

Stopped just short of the walkway and entrance of the hotel by a guard and an organizer with a clipboard, Cato is made to produce the invitations he was sent and everyone is made to provide identification verifying the names they give to the gentlemen with the clipboard. Indeed an unusual sight, the five students are finally allowed to pass with a final radio confirmation, slowly walking to the runway. The surprising sight of these five youths snatches the attention of the reporters and photographers away from the Porcuian actress who acts as the modeling face of Lefanté, much to her displeasure. Cato and Bucco wave shyly, stopping their slow pace only once, while Schweizer tries to hide behind Cato. However, with a little encouragement from a couple of the photographers, Schweizer too waves and relaxes just a bit. Esquilinus enjoys the attention, smiling brightly. Wermuth, meanwhile, is further back along the carpet walkway. Cato looks back and is slightly confused, but only until he sees Wermuth lock arms with two models that had just arrived.

Shaking his head and chuckling, Cato continues to slowly move along the carpet towards the entrance of the hotel, waiting for everyone else to follow along. With a call out by Schweizer, Esquilinus joins her, Cato and Bucco, though all four then have to wait for Wermuth to catch up. Beaming like a man who has just won the lottery, Wermuth proudly and deliberately waltzes around the photographers, displaying the two gorgeous women he has locked onto his arms. Only when threatened to be left behind does Wermuth move along past the photographers and up the short steps leading to the entrance of the hotel. Once there, he asks the models to go on ahead, telling them that he’ll find them later.

“Wermuth, what are you doing?” Cato asks.

“What?” Wermuth chuckles. “Oh, the girls…”

“Yeah, how did you manage to do that? You guys looked like you were together.”

“Audentes fortuna iuvat, meus amicus.”

Cato just laughs before dropping the matter. The guests of the party are all welcomed individually in the hotel lobby as Lefanté executives move about and greet the high profile guests. Just as Cato looks around for any signs of Pisdoé herself, a voice calls out to him from behind. He turns and finds himself directly in front of Pisdoé, whose superb dress accentuates every lovely curve of her body. Cato is slightly surprised by her beauty and stops short of complimenting her directly; allowing a slight flush of his face to convey what he doesn’t want to say.

“I’m glad you were able to make it Cato.” Pisdoé says.

“I’m honored to be here, as is everyone else…”

Schweizer then discovers Pisdoé herself and begins to thank her for the invitation. Esquilinus, Bucco and Wermuth join quickly enough and also deliver their many thanks for the honor of attending the party.

“Like I told Cato, it’s the least I can do. I feel like I owe you guys for being so nice and for saving me that one day.”

“Oh, no problem at all, my love…” Wermuth says in his funny, but serious attempt at a manly and charming voice. He moves forward and grabs Pisdoé’s hand, raising it to his mouth, but fails to kiss it due to her quick reflexes.

“Would you like something to drink?” Pisdoé asks of her schoolmates. Receiving a positive response, she beckons one of the many waiters over and hands a glass of champagne to each person. “Cheers, and to a wonderful school year!”

After a quick toast, Esquilinus and Schweizer ask a few questions about Lefanté and the party. The group discovers that there is to be a full fashion show with a runway, models, and all. Pisdoé is to walk a couple of times, displaying some of the new styles for the fall. Some time passes and while Pisdoé had moved on to greet and chat with other guests, Cato and the others continue to lounge around and chat. Wermuth soon wanders off in pursuit of the models he had met earlier and occasionally Schweizer is approached by other guys. The latter occurrence does not bother Cato at first, but as he sees her laughing sporadically he quickly grows agitated. He then turns to talk to Bucco and finds him in conversation with Esquilinus. Perturbed and uncomfortable, Cato calls over another waiter and grabs himself another glass of champagne, downing the drink rather quickly. A call is then made informing the guests that the fashion show itself is set to begin.

As orderly as a mass of well dressed people can, the guests move about and slowly funnel into a large conference room, which had been transformed and installed with a large catwalk and adequate seating. Hearing the announcement for the show, Schweizer ends the conversation she was having with a handsome man before returning to Cato’s side. With Bucco and Esquilinus right behind them, Cato and Schweizer enter the conference room and find the nearest seating they can. Almost instantly, however, a gentleman walks over and calls out to Cato.

“Sir, Miss Pisdoé has arranged special seating for you and those of your group. Please follow me…”

Confused, but pushed on by Schweizer and Esquilinus, Cato gets up and follows the gentleman to a section of front row seating. The gentleman bows with his arm extended outward, pointing to the open seats, and Cato takes the lead in sitting down. The four students now have a clear and unobstructed view of the runway from the right-hand side of the platform, but the immediate concern of Cato’s is the location of their loony friend Wermuth.

“I shall go find him, sir.” the gentleman replies.

In no time at all, Wermuth plops down in the last seat and turns in Cato’s direction. “Why did you have to go and do that for?” Wermuth says to Cato, leaning across Esquilinus and talking loudly because both Bucco and Schweizer are also sitting in between himself and Cato.

“Huh?”

“Those girls were from St. Petersburg Cato! Russia! You know how those Russian women are…‘Oh, it’s so cold here in Porcu. Would you care to keep us warm with your strong embrace?’” Wermuth says, the last bit being in his best Russian accent.

Esquilinus looks over at Wermuth with suspicious eyes, beginning to sense what sort of gears are churning in his head. “Wouldn’t you suppose with them being Russian that they would be accustomed to the cold? Besides, you do realize that September has just begun and the weather outside is still warm and pleasant?”

“Well, of course it is outside! But what of the temperature in the hotel room we would share? They would be tightly pressed against my body, clinging on to me with only our body heat and passionate embraces keeping us warm…”

“Somehow, I get the sense that you’re assuming quite a bit...” Cato says, ending to the start of a track of club music. The lights in the large room dim and the stage lights shine on the catwalk. Moments later, the first of the Lefanté models struts out onto the runway to a short-lived applause. Model after model parades up on the catwalk and while Cato, Schweizer, Esquilinus and Bucco are honored to be seated in the front row of such an event, Wermuth’s mind focuses on the fact that he has never been this close to some of the most well known fashion models in the world. Before long, Pisdoé can be seen walking across the runway, giving a little wink to Cato as she passes, not without notice from Schweizer.

The music continues to blare and occasional bouts of applause introduce the changing of clothing style. Light, casual clothing was the first set showcased by the models, followed by heavier dress, including coats and jackets. Both men’s and women’s fashion is presented on stage and sometime later a slight upbeat in the music and another light round of applause introduces the last of the articles of clothing in Lefanté newest Fall collection: women’s lingerie.

As each of the female models makes her way across the runway, any grogginess or sleepiness Cato, Bucco and Wermuth may have felt after enduring a near endless parade of irrelevant, in their mind, clothing is instantly wiped away and replaced with their undivided attention. Schweizer and Esquilinus are equally interested, but only because with the fast-changing nature of women’s fashion it is important that they stay up to date with all the different trends. However, they quickly get a sense that the boys are near a vegetative level of consciousness from the abundance of visual stimuli. Attempts to shake them out are met by a light push back with the hand, as if to silence the girls. Pisdoé is the last model to step out onto the runway and there could not have been a finer person to finish.

Wearing a risqué and incredibly sexy pair of deep red panties with a matching brassiere, Pisdoé waltzes down the runway to the delight of every male in attendance. Schweizer becomes slightly embarrassed as Pisdoé pauses near the end of the catwalk where Cato and everyone is seated and does a few playful turns, hands on her hips. Esquilinus is also embarrassed and looks to her left, seeing Wermuth with his mouth hanging wide open. Her embarrassment, as always, turns into anger but she is able to restrain herself from hitting Wermuth. That is, of course, until Pisdoé blows a playful kiss at Wermuth and short-circuits the remaining portion of his brain left to inhibit his libido. With his libido free and shocked into overdrive, it diverts a large amount of blood to a section of the body well known to have a mind of its own. This quite obvious and noticeable physical response makes Esquilinus snap and lash out at Wermuth in a fit of extreme embarrassment. Though Wermuth now lies on the ground, the show continues and almost no one takes notice as Pisdoé still commands their attention. Finally turning and making her exit off of the catwalk, Cato and Bucco are unable to take their eyes off of Pisdoé’s well shaped rump as she disappears to the dressing area behind the runway.

With that, the music ends and there is a very long round of applause as the show’s chief organizer takes to the stage and thanks the crowd with a deep bow. Bucco and Cato clap like everyone else but still wear an expression of shocked delight. Wermuth climbs to his feet and is now free from the tyrannical grip of his libido, though he is both confused and surprised to find his member still in a full salute. Esquilinus again is shocked and strikes out at him once more.

Ten minutes pass and the crowd gathered in the huge conference room begins to slowly exit out once the finalities are through. There is a reception held in the lobby like when the guests first arrived, but because many are tired and because it is getting late there are not too many guests that decide to stay longer. The question of whether or not Pisdoé wishes to see her schoolmates and bid them a goodnight is answered when the same gentleman from before tells Cato that the lovely Miss Pisdoé is changing and would like him and his friends to remain a little longer. Fewer than five minutes later, Pisdoé arrives in the lobby more modestly dressed and greets Cato once more.

“Hey!”

“Hello Pisdoé.”

“Did you guys enjoy the show?”

Cato is initially unsure how to respond, fully aware of his reaction during the last part of the show as both Schweizer and Esquilinus explained everything to him. Wermuth, on the other hand, switches back to his charming mode and quickly fills in the gap in the conversation. “My love, even though we were sitting down, we were giving you a standing ovation.”

Cato and Bucco flush red for a split second while Esquilinus’ blood pressure begins to rise. Pisdoé laughs off the comment, covering her mouth slightly with one hand, and responds, “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed the show and I’m happy to see you all here.”

“So now that the show is over, are the festivities done? Is there something else you have to get done or are you free?” Cato asks, more interested in possibly stopping by a café for a late night coffee with everyone as a sort of mini-celebration.

“Why?” Pisdoé responds, though a second later a smile creeps across her face and she leans in close to Cato. “Oh, I think I could make some time for a private…more intimate…show.”

Cato blushes a deep red color and he just now feels the pressure of Pisdoé’s breasts against his chest. Everyone stands in shock while Schweizer blurts out, “I think what he meant was if you were free to join us for a late snack or coffee!”

Pisdoé, who had been looking at Schweizer, turns her head back and slightly up at Cato with her seductive smile and eyes. “Is that so? Such a shame…I was really hoping you would accept.”

“We understand if you’re busy and can’t join us…” Schweizer says quickly, though interrupted by Pisdoé.

“Not at all, I would love to grab a coffee.”

All six students proceed to exit the hotel and begin their walk along the street. Wishing to avoid the high prices of the cafés in the piazza of the Duomo and Galleria Vibulanus, Cato directs the group to one of the many side streets branching off from the main street on which the hotel lay. Cato points out a couple of cafés but each is rejected by Wermuth, who mentions one he is familiar with not too far from their current location. In no time at all, they arrive in front of a small café with a few tables sitting just outside the establishment. The six students sit at a table and another minute or so passes before a woman exits from the café to take their order. It is another couple of minutes before the waitress returns, placing a small espresso cup down on the table for each person. Cato goes ahead and pays the bill before settling down in his chair to enjoy his espresso.

Soon, there comes a series of shouts and cries from down the street. The group ignores the incident at first, but as a small crowd gathers just up the street curiosity takes over. Finishing off his espresso, Wermuth is the first to stand and walk ahead, followed quickly by the others. As the group approaches the scene, not surprisingly occurring just outside the entrance to a bar, there are two police officers wrestling with an unknown man as people continue to gather around. Further inspection reveals the identity of the unknown man, though it is he himself who reveals his identity.

“Tiberius?” the man says in a raspy voice. “Tiberius, my son, is that you?”

Cato instantly freezes in place, embarrassment and anger boiling up inside him. The man calls out again, “Ti…Tiberius…Tell these officers there’s been a serious misunderstanding.”

Cato slowly steps closer, almost afraid.

One of the police officers barks out in German, “Is this man your father?”

Cato just stands there in silence staring at his inebriated father. The officer repeats, this time in Latin, “Young man, is this man your father?”

“Yes…” Cato says softly. “What happened?”

The manager of the bar now bursts out and takes a moment to assess the situation. “Ah, good…I’m glad to see you gentlemen have taken care of this scoundrel!”

“What happened?” Cato repeats.

“Eh? Oh…Well, this man came into the bar a couple of hours ago and was perfectly normal and respectful, but once he started drinking he didn’t stop. He kept to himself at first, but then started verbally lashing out at people. It was when he tried to grab a young woman that I tossed him out and called the police.”

“What’s going to happen to him?”

The second police officer takes the opportunity to answer that question, “Well, he’ll certainly be spending the rest of the night with us and any additional time will depend on whether that young woman wishes to press charges.”

“Tiberius, this is all a misunderstanding…” Cato’s father cries out as he is picked up off the ground, his hands handcuffed behind him. The officers take no further time in placing Cato’s father in the back of a police car, carting him away for the night.

Cato doesn’t look back at the others before entering the bar. As the crowd of people who had gathered slowly dissipates, Wermuth and the others are hesitant to follow Cato inside. Their hesitation buys time and just as they have all prepared themselves to enter, Cato bursts out from the bar. Without so much as a gaze at the others, Cato walks away. Schweizer calls out to him, but to no avail. Bucco then runs forward and catches up to Cato, placing his hand on Cato’s shoulder. Cato responds with a well aimed punch to Bucco’s jaw, knocking him to the cool stone pavement. Readjusting his suit, Cato continues to walk away and further back Wermuth places his hand on Schweizer’s shoulder to keep her from pursuing Cato herself. Esquilinus and Wermuth help Bucco back to his feet as Pisdoé looks on.

It is on this sad note that the rest of the group splits for the night. A last round of ‘thank you’ is given to Pisdoé before she says farewell. Esquilinus then departs, leaving Wermuth, Bucco and Schweizer. Wermuth asks Schweizer if she’ll be alright and repeats the question after she says ‘yes.’

“He’ll be fine, don’t worry. Just go home, go to sleep and you’ll find him asleep in his bed tomorrow morning.”

Schweizer thanks Wermuth before he and Bucco bid her farewell for the night. Within fifteen minutes, Schweizer arrives back at her house and steps in, but cannot bring herself to retire for the night just yet. She does take some time to wipe off her makeup and take a hot bath before putting on a robe and waiting downstairs, but she cannot rid herself of her anxiety.

The clock reads well past 2AM when Schweizer is awoken by the sound of someone working the lock on the door of the townhouse, she having fallen asleep in a chair. Schweizer gets up and walks over to the corridor right besides the stairs leading up to the second floor and near the entrance just in time to see Cato close the door behind him and lock it. Without a word, Cato removes his shoes in the small entrance area and steps up into the house. His eyes meet Schweizer’s and she steps forward.

“I was worried about you.” Schweizer says softly.

“I’m fine.” Cato rebuts.

“I mean, after you hit Bucco you…”

“I said I’m fine.” Cato says firmly. “It’s late. You should go to bed and get some sleep.”

“Are you thirsty? Can I get you something?”

“No.” Cato says, removing his tie and suit jacket as he climbs the stairs to his room, leaving Schweizer alone at the bottom.

Schweizer quietly sheds a few tears, not for herself but for Cato, whom she knows deep down wishes to vent his emotions but cannot bring himself to.
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Telosan
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The Foremost Intellectual Badass
After the previous night’s festivities, Bucco and Wermuth return home in comparative silence. Bucco had already been made aware of Cato’s deceased mother and his strained relationship with his father several weeks earlier, when the subject had come up at Schweizer’s house over lunch. He thought things were better now, so the encounter with Cato’s father had played out unexpectedly. In hindsight, he supposed he shouldn’t have intervened, but that was against his character. Cato’s punch had conveyed what words couldn’t have. They had never been on good terms to start with, so he would have to think more about his actions with Cato from now on.

When morning dawns, Bucco checks his jaw, which hadn’t swelled or bruised, but a barely noticeable red mark shows where the hit had landed. Like the morning before, he takes a walk through the Galleria, but doesn’t run into anyone this time. Around noon, he returns to find Wermuth in the living room with the phone. “Who are you calling?”

“Pisdoé. Shhh, it’s ringing.” Moments later, someone on the other end answers. “Hey, I’m Wermuth Rolf, I was hoping I could talk to Pisdoé...I go to school with her. Hello? Damn it! He hung up on me again!”

“How many times have you tried?”

“That was the sixth time. I want to invite her to Patavium with us.”

“Here, let me try.”

Wermuth hands him the phone and moves over so Bucco could sit. He dials and waits for someone to answer on the other end.

“Pisdoé residence.”

“Hello, I’m Bucco Antonino and I’m calling on behalf of a Venetian shipping company. I was present at the Lefanté premier yesterday and was hoping I could speak to Miss Pisdoé about future promotional events and possibly distributing the new product in Venice.”

“Very well, sir. I’ll let her know you’re calling.”

To Wermuth, Bucco says, “She’s coming. Here”, as he hands him the phone.

“Oh, hello… Pisdoé?” Wermuth begins. “Oh, man! My love, you are a difficult person to get a hold of. What!? I'm no loser! Wha...What's that supposed to mean? I’m Wermuth…The one who rescued you from those guys at school. You know what...I...I was going to invite you to have the time of your life, but I guess you'd rather spend the rest of the intermission stuck up in your penthouse all alone, eh? Well," Wermuth interrupts himself with a chuckle. "I suppose I could tell you, since you put it that way...Listen, the gang is planning on visiting Patavium for a couple of days and I wanted to know if you'd like to come along. Really? You sure? Alright, great! I'll...I'll work out the rest of the details with the others and get back to you. May I have your cell phone number, just so I don't have to go through a security check again? Uh huh...Yeah...Ok, sounds good. I'll talk to you later. Bye."

With that, the two boys pat each other on the back for a job well done and go upstairs to pack their bags. They’d be in Patavium for three days, so Bucco packs the sets of clothes he likes the most, which isn’t too hard, as most are similar to each other, as well as other things he would need and goes back downstairs. He and Wermuth watch a few shows on the television while they wait until it was time to go.

Around mid afternoon, the boys walk to a café near the metro, which they would ride to Patavium, to wait for the others. They are the first ones there, but Schweizer and Cato arrive shortly after. Bucco greets them and looks to Cato, hoping for a sign that last night’s incident had been forgotten, purposely or not, but Cato refuses to look at Bucco, and his responding greeting is somewhat stiff. He appears slightly withdrawn, but when he and Wermuth begin talking, he seems to relax a bit. Schweizer looks tired; it is obvious she had not gotten a full night’s rest. As Wermuth and Cato chatter away, Bucco talks to Schweizer. “You look tired. Did you wait for Cato to come home?”

"Yeah..." Schweizer says, adjusting her hair nervously. "It wasn't a problem though; I just wanted to make sure he would make it back alright."

“How late did he get back? I was a bit worried about him, too. I don’t know him as well as you do, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.”

"Oh, he has these episodes occasionally but yesterday night's was bad. He arrived around two in the morning, I think..." Schweizer responds, clearly a bit uncomfortable with the current conversation.

Noting her reaction, Bucco apologizes, “I’m sorry, if you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll be quiet. I’m just worried I made things worse; that I shouldn’t have intervened.”

"Not at all. Cato may not realize it now, but what you did was very thoughtful and it shows you care." Schweizer chuckles before continuing, "That was something I should have done, but I suppose I've just become used to him occasionally acting like that and I've learned to just leave him be..."

They talk a bit longer and Esquilinus arrives soon enough. Wermuth insists they wait, though, and Pisdoé appears on the corner across the street, carrying two large bags. Wermuth rushes out to help her and takes her bags for her. By the time they board the train, Wermuth’s face had turned a bit red from the exertion of carrying both his and Pisdoé’s luggage.

They find a section of six seats on one side of the carriage, three facing the back of the train and three forward, with a small table between them. Bucco takes the window seat on one side and gazes out at the dark tunnel, occasionally interrupted by flashes of light as they passed a lamp every couple kilometers or so. Next to him is Cato and Schweizer is on the other side of him, in the aisle seat of their row. Across from him is Esquilinus, who also has the window seat, with Pisdoé in the center and Wermuth in the aisle seat. Schweizer is reading a book, though Bucco can’t quite make out its title. Esquilinus has her laptop on the table and the reflection in the window shows that she is checking her email and aimlessly surfing the web. Cato, Pisdoé, and Wermuth, who is obviously thrilled to be sitting next to Pisdoé, are talking about something, so Bucco tunes in.

"So, which teacher do you like the best?" Cato is saying.

"I think...Yeah, I think Voorhoeve is the best teacher. She's funny and interesting. I'm not much of a scholar, but she really makes philosophy an interesting class. What about you?" Pisdoé responds.

"Garat, hands down. I've never been able to follow mathematics until him. He's the first person that's been able to make numbers make sense to me."

"Well, you know my favorite..." Wermuth tries to interject, but is interrupted by Pisdoé.

"Really? You mean you're not having trouble with the stuff Garat is going over now?"

“No, why?”

"Well, would you be opposed to helping me? I think we'd make a great study team..." Pisdoé continues.

Wermuth starts to say something again, until what Pisdoé had just said registers in his head. His jaw hangs open in shock as he looks from Pisdoé to Cato and back.

When the train finally drags itself into the station, the group walks up the stairs into the comparably blinding light of day. While the others seem to recover, Bucco still remains slightly blinded, even after the immediate shock of the sun. Lights and signs are everywhere: traffic signs, traffic lights, billboards hanging off the buildings advertising this product or that, all reflected by the windows running from the ground level to the roofs of the extremely modern towers. The sounds of the city assault his ears, more cars and buses than he had ever seen in Venice’s mainland cities round corners at terrifying speeds and in the opposite direction of what he’s used to. Bucco follows his friends to a hotel where Cato and Wermuth had made reservations earlier in the week, paying with money collected from everyone so that they each paid equal amounts.

When they start to go through the door, Pisdoé objects, “We’re staying here? Why don’t we just go to the place my father owns? It’s much more comfortable than this.”

“We have reservations for rooms here and we’ve already paid online.” Cato responds as he continued through the doors. Pisdoé follows reluctantly.

They get their keys from the front desk and go up to their rooms. Wermuth goes with the girls to their room first, since he is carrying Pisdoé’s luggage and help them into their room. Next door, Cato and Bucco let themselves into their room, leaving the door open for Wermuth who walks in shortly after. The bathroom is just to the left of the entrance, with a large closet to the right. Walking in a bit, they come to the main and only other room, which is furnished with two beds along one wall, a nightstand between each, a couch with a pull-out bed and a long dresser/vanity with a television on it on the far opposite wall. Past that, there are two cushioned chairs with a table between them facing the television. There is a sliding glass door behind the chairs that leads to a balcony that has a chair sitting outside. They unpack in relative silence, with Wermuth making occasional comments about how much fun they were going to have.

After unpacking, they meet in the hotel lobby and discuss what they want to do for the rest of the afternoon and that evening. Cato mentions a contemporary art museum a few city blocks away and Pisdoé immediately agrees. Schweizer mentions interest in it as well and Wermuth also decides to go along, no doubt because Pisdoé was going.

Esquilinus is undecided, however. “I was hoping we could do some shopping. I’ve heard of some great new stores that opened since the last time I was here.”

Seeing a chance Bucco speaks up, “Well I could use some clothes that are more in line with Porcuian styles. I’ve been wearing the same clothes I brought from Venice, but the fashion is different from place to place. Would you like to help me find some things?”

"Sure, Bucco. I'm probably not the best person to ask about the latest in fashion styles, but we'll walk around a bit and see what we can find. Ok?"

Happy for the opportunity to spend the rest of the day with Esquilinus, Bucco almost misses what is said next, but manages to catch enough to fill in the blanks. The group decides to meet at the Antevorte Tower, a skyscraper currently under construction that is expected to be so advanced, the blueprints could’ve been taken right from a sci-fi book, and go their separate ways. Several blocks away, Bucco and Esquilinus enter a massive shopping center, one that dwarfs the Galleria Vibulanus back in Milan, and has nearly as many floors underground as it does above ground. They go from store to store, browsing the amazing varieties of clothing and other items for sale. Esquilinus points out several things for Bucco, all of which are supposedly “in” as far as Porcuian fashion is concerned. He tries them all on and buys a few. They go to stores for Esquilinus as well and Bucco does his best to help her find things that she looks fine in; though he thinks she looks beautiful in almost anything. As before, Bucco wants to pay for whatever Esquilinus chooses, but she doesn’t allow it. Since he had such trouble the first time insisting to pay for hers and Schweizer’s dresses, he drops the subject this time and lets her spend her own money.

After walking through hundreds of stores, talking about innumerous topics and laughing about dozens of different jokes, they find a clock mounted above one of the doors of a shop and see they ware running a bit late. They gather their bags and start in the direction of the Antevorte, its skeletal frame looming over the tall buildings that surrounded the massive plaza. As they continue to walk, Bucco’s thoughts run back to the incident the night before. The issue had been troubling him on and off for some time and apparently Esquilinus notices the change in his attitude enough to question him when they are a block or so away from the scheduled meeting place.

“Bucco? You okay, what’s wrong?”

“Gnénte. I just keep thinking back to last night’s events. I went to stop Cato, but I’m not sure if it was the right thing to do. I probably shouldn’t have intervened.”

Esquilinus drops her gaze to the ground, thinking of exactly what she wants to say. "Um... no, what you did was something that needed to be done. I feel awful about not saying something myself and I'm pretty sure Schweizer feels the same.”

“Whether or not it was the right thing, you sure took the smart route and stayed out of arm’s length.” Bucco jokes to which Esquilinus gives a little laugh.

"I'm not intimately familiar with Venetian culture, but here in Porcu it's quite rude to make someone's personal affairs the butt of a joke." Bucco looks from Esquilinus to see that they had arrived at the meeting place and that the others had beat them there. At this moment, Cato is standing in front of the rest, looking thoroughly agitated.

“Sorry, Cato, I wasn’t intending to make fun–“

"Shut it! I'm fucking sick of you!" Cato yells at him, his words followed closely by a punch. Bucco takes a hit to the shoulder and brings his arm up fast enough to block the next fist. The shouts of their friends can be heard in the background, but neither Bucco nor Cato can make out what they are saying. Bucco does his best to block the punches, but decides that he can’t continue on the defensive as Cato will probably go on until Bucco makes a mistake, so on the next opportunity he has, he throws a punch of his own, catching Cato in chest. They trade punches until they come to a man-made canal half a block away. The canal is under construction as part of the city’s beautification project, so no water currently rushes through. Bucco goes to trip Cato, but he jumps to the side and tackles Bucco instead, causing them both to roll down the side of the embankment. When they reach the bottom, Wermuth runs down to them and is finally able to pull them apart. By the time Wermuth succeeds, both are bleeding from various cuts here and there, but nothing major.

They climb out of the canal in an awkward silence amid the confused gazes of onlookers, which persists through their walk back to the hotel. Cato walks swiftly ahead of the group, while Bucco lags slightly behind. Arriving at the hotel, Cato goes straight to their room, while Bucco and Wermuth bid the girls a good night. In the hotel room, Cato is already getting into bed, so Wermuth readies himself for bed as well when he enters. On the other hand, Bucco claims he can’t sleep and takes the chair in the makeshift living room near the glass door. There, he waits the night away, watching the lights of the city glow and shine below, completely indifferent to the two boys’ fight.
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Porcu
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

The next morning Cato wakes to the sound of Wermuth coming out from the shower with a towel covering his midsection, but mistakes him for Schweizer, whom he is used to having him wake him every morning before school and even during school intermissions.

“Ahhh…Schweizer keep it down. I’ll be up soon…” Cato says with the raspy voice one gets while not fully asleep nor fully asleep.

Wermuth gives Cato a surprised look, but decides to play along knowing Cato still has not awoken completely. Wermuth does not say anything, but simply approaches Cato and sits next to him on the bed. Wermuth softly strokes Cato’s hair, receiving a weird sort of vocalization of pleasure, until his eyes open and reveal an expression of utter surprise. Wermuth stands, but has a hard time keeping himself up as he is laughing so hard. Cato makes a few verbal threats, but cannot reach Wermuth, who steps back to avoid being caught by Cato. The commotion causes Bucco to wake up, stirring a bit in the chair he fell asleep in the night before, and look across the room.

“Oh, god! Your face was priceless!” Wermuth bursts out, still trying to control his laughter.

Cato, fully awake and fully embarrassed, looks over at the alarm clock on the nightstand. The time reads 9:32AM and as Wermuth steps out of the bathroom in a clean pair of underwear he informs his two roommates that breakfast would only be served for another hour. Bucco asks about the girls, to which Wermuth replies that he’s certain they are already down near the lobby eating breakfast. Opting to skip a shower for plenty of time to eat, both Bucco and Cato hop out of bed and throw on a t-shirt and pants, following Wermuth downstairs to a room next to the lobby where a breakfast buffet is being served. Just as Wermuth thought, the girls are just about finished with breakfast, having enjoyed a wide array of muffins, cereal, toasted bread and jam and the obligatory morning caffé latte. The boys fill their plates with various things before walking over to the table where Pisdoé, Schweizer and Esquilinus are sitting, setting their plates down and moving over some chairs for them to sit. Soon, a light conversation begins after a round of good mornings.

“You two seem to be doing much better.” Schweizer says about Cato and Bucco, referring to the fight the day before.

“Just drop it, ok?” Cato barks back, digging into his plate.

“So, what’s on the schedule for today?” Esquilinus asks, changing the subject.

“I hadn’t planned on anything in particular…” Cato says.

“Why not another museum?” Pisdoé suggests.

“What about shopping some more?” Esquilinus butts in.

Both girls’ ideas are tossed aside, but not completely.

“What about just exploring the city?” says Bucco, taking a bite of a blueberry muffin. The approving expressions around him inform the Venetian that his suggestion will be their plan. “I dunno, it’s just something I think is better to do; just walk around freely and see what you run into, see what you can find.”

Breakfast concludes peacefully enough, though Wermuth does raid the buffet as thoroughly as a Viking pillages an enemy village. The group of friends slowly return to their respective rooms and change, with Bucco and Cato taking turns with the shower. An hour or so later, everyone seems set to go and the group is blessed with wonderful early fall weather in the stunningly modern metropolis. Cato and Wermuth dress conventionally for the time of year and Bucco wears a simple pair of grey trousers, a white button-down shirt with a collar underneath a grey light summer jacket. Schweizer took a risk by bringing a light summer dress with her, but the risk pays off as she is absolutely radiant walking along the sidewalk in the warm sun. Pisdoé is more low-key, wearing a light blouse and jeans, and Esquilinus wears one of the outfits she bought the day before when she was with Bucco, a low cut dress with a large belt resting around her midsection and a thin sweater completely unbuttoned on top of that.

The group begins their day journey by gazing at one of the large information/tourist boards located on the side of the street, finalizing where exactly they wish to go first. In no time, they arrive in the Accadia District, a section of several square blocks where one would find the latest in electronics, including computers, music players, cell phones and other innovative gadgets. Standing on the street below, each person strains to lean their head back far enough to gaze at the top of the numerous buildings. It had been some time since any of the Porcuians had visited Patavium, so Cato, Wermuth, Schweizer, Esquilinus and Pisdoé are just as shocked as Bucco is in seeing some of the items on sale throughout the numerous stores that tower above the bustling streets.

In one store, Pisdoé gazes out of a large glass window and across the street at another building containing a music store. Suddenly desiring to expand her digital music library, Pisdoé rounds up everyone else and tries to get them to follow her. There is some hesitation as neither Cato nor Schweizer are willing to just up and leave the current store, ride the escalators all the way back down to street level, walk across the street and then take escalators all the way up. The process wouldn’t be difficult, only slightly stressful due to the sheer number of other shoppers and tourists traveling around.

“Oh, you don’t need to do all that…” a voice mentions to the group. “There’s a walkway connecting this building to the one across the street.”

The group turns to find a young salesperson and promptly thanks her for the help.

“No problem,” the salesperson replies. “It’s actually something pretty recent, but I think it makes a world of a difference. Yeah, there are elevated walkways connecting most buildings here in the city and it should make your day a little easier. Plus, they just look cool!” she finishes with a smile, pointing the group to the corner of the store where such a walkway was conveniently placed.

Encased in glass and containing a row of decorative shrubs on either side, the walkway provided ease of movement around the numerous buildings, but also provided visitors with a wonderful view and a peaceful environment. Exiting from the walkway landed the group in the entrance to a movie theater, something none of them expected and making them exit swiftly. Once back in the large central corridor of the building, Pisdoé immediately finds the store she had seen before. She darts in, followed slowly by Cato, Schweizer and Esquilinus. Bucco is just about to step in the store as well, not doubt partly because of the person standing just outside the music store enticing passersby to enter, when he notices Wermuth’s disappearance. Looking around, Bucco spots Wermuth across the corridor in another store browsing through a magazine and therefore decides he can stop worrying.

Inside, Pisdoé is sampling an album, swaying lightly back and forth as the headphones wrapped around her head provide a catchy tune, Cato looks at various accessories for his digital music player and Schweizer stands off to the side talking with Esquilinus. Bucco approaches the two girls and informs them of Wermuth’s whereabouts when they asked about him. It is just then that Wermuth reappears, a magazine curled in his hand.

“What have you got there?” Schweizer asks.

“This? Why, it’s the latest issue of Ψ.”

“Wait, what?” Bucco asks.

“It’s a men’s magazine…” Esquilinus interjects with a slightly disapproving tone of voice before Wermuth can respond.

“That’s right Esquilinus, and just look who recently modeled for them…” Wermuth says, flipping through the magazine until he comes to a page he had bookmarked with a small fold in the corner.

Schweizer, Esquilinus and Bucco look at the page displayed and see Pisdoé resting naked on a bed with silk-sheets, a single blanket covering her intimate areas. Despite his feelings for Esquilinus, Bucco cannot help but give the picture a solid look over. The picture is part of a set Pisdoé had done for the magazine in conjunction with an interview article. Wermuth pulls the magazine back and greedily scans the other pages as Schweizer and Esquilinus talk and agree on the nature of Pisdoé’s unsavory profession while Bucco laughs lightly. Soon, Pisdoé arrives, having purchased and transferred an album of music to her personal computer where it could be uploaded onto her digital music player. She isn’t the least bit surprised by Wermuth’s taste in reading material, but when Cato also joins the others she suddenly becomes nervous.

“Hey, Cato! Take a look at this…Collige virgo rosas, no?” Wermuth says, presenting Cato with a page of the magazine where Pisdoé is wearing just a pair of tight-fitting boy shorts, her back to the camera and her arms raised up by her head, a tantalizing shot of her breasts peeking out from the side.

“Give me that!” Pisdoé says slightly flushed, reaching out and grabbing the magazine from Wermuth’s outstretched arms. She immediately takes note of her strange outburst and tries to dispel any suspicion. “But you know…” she whispers to both Wermuth and Cato, drawing them close. “Pictures may be good, but I’ve heard nothing compares to the real thing…”

Wermuth is instantly frozen in place, his eyes and mouth wide open, steam seemingly escaping from his ears. Cato simply shrugs Pisdoé off with a chuckle, telling her it isn’t nice to lead men on like that. That incident aside, the group tours a few more levels of the current building they are in, finally getting hungry and deciding on a simple, relatively inexpensive, sit down restaurant for lunch. Naturally, the food is wonderful and no one leaves the restaurant and the building unsatisfied. Curious to see more of the city, the group walks until they find a monorail station. Raised above street level, the monorail station, and indeed the train itself, are another modern feature of Patavium. Boarding without hassle due to their public transportation cards, the choice of taking the monorail turns out to be a very good one. Zipping along, Cato and the others are able to see much of the city they could only dream of seeing by foot. The train is packed with tourists who seem to be amazed by the effectiveness of Porcuian public transport, though the locals themselves seem less thrilled, no doubt because of their daily exposure to the system.

The rest of the daylight hours are spent wandering around as much of Patavium as possible. Fueled by iced tea and bottled water, additional museums, shops and attractions are visited and the group even enjoys a nice, relaxing stroll through a scenic park. Compared to the first day, the mood amongst the friends is light and gay; there are even a few glimpses of Cato’s talkative, joking and playful side. The bright orange shade of light that paints the sky signals to the group that night is fast approaching and another side of the city will soon show itself amid the neon and florescent lights of the city and the brightness of the moon above.

Within the hour, the group is back at their hotel and after forty-five minutes or so the girls are finally prepared for a night out, catching up with the boys in the lobby of the hotel. The girls are essentially wearing matching low cut dresses, ones that highlight their thin, incredibly attractive figures. All together now, the group exits and begins their tour of Patavium at night. Deciding quickly that a bit of drinking and dancing is to be on the agenda, Cato finds a small Oriental food stall on a side street and orders up a few different plates. The food is surprisingly delicious and Bucco appears to be a natural manipulator of chopsticks, whereas Cato and Wermuth struggle immensely with the thin bamboo sticks. Wrapping up with a collection of positive fortunes from their fortune cookies, the group proceeds to their destination for the evening.

On the route, however, the group passes an establishment where the recreational use of psychoactive drugs is permitted. Recalling their lunch discussion from some time ago, Cato suggests that they take a quick stop inside. Schweizer doesn’t seem to mind either way, deferring to the others. Wermuth had been set on showcasing his dance skills, but his interest is suddenly piqued by this unexpected opportunity. Bucco is very much against entering, but Esquilinus points to a menu of sorts set outside the drug bar, as they are colloquially known, much like a restaurant’s evening menu. A whole list of drugs is detailed, including precise dosages and prices, a firm warning and assurance of the professionalism of the medical staff on hand wrapping up the information card and printed in large font at the bottom. Considering the purchasing power of the Porcuian denarius, the price of partaking in such an activity, considered a taboo in many other countries, is deceivingly high – not something the vast majority of Porcuians can afford to do on a regular basis and something they could lose a lot of money doing if they aren’t careful.

“So, how about it? Wanna give it a try?” Cato asks.

"Of course not. Wasn't this talked about several weeks ago? It's not a good idea." Bucco responds.

"Huh? Don't you see they've got professionals working here? Besides the possibility of a bad trip, nothing bad can happen." Cato says.

"Professionals or no, accidents still happen. This is something that shouldn't be risked, regardless."

Cato lets out a single, loud laugh and shouts, "Ha! Should I cite some statistics?"

"Are you really that set against it? It could be better than what you think. Things may not be so great in Venice, but things are run differently here." Wermuth asks as lightly as he can.

"LSD is still the same, regardless of where it's taken. I don't want to see anything happen to anyone, but I can't stop you. If you go in, I'll be waiting right here."

Cato steps forward to enter, but stops when Schweizer talks. "Cato, wait..."

"Come on, man. There's no reason for us to go in and have Bucco wait out here alone." Wermuth adds.

"Are you sure you don't want to go in?" Esquilinus inquires, turning to Bucco.

"Yes, I'm sure. I've seen what this can do to people. I won't have a part in it."

"Alright then, I'm not going in." Esquilinus says.

"What?!" Cato shouts.

"It's no big deal, Cato. Come on..." Wermuth says, putting his hand on Cato’s shoulder.

"Who knows what the lines are like at the clubs..." Pisdoé says, looking on ahead down the street.

"It's no trouble Bucco. We just want to stick together and have fun as a group. If there's anything else you're not comfortable with just let us know." Schweizer whispers to Bucco as the group continues on.

Cato grudgingly accepts the group’s decision and continues on down the street to avoid an argument with Bucco. The decision to skip the drug festivities doesn’t bother Schweizer or Esquilinus in the least and Wermuth’s focus quickly turns back to executing his moves perfectly on the dance floor. Suddenly, Pisdoé jumps ahead of the group when they come to a busy intersection, waving with her hand to another street where the location of the club she knows is located.

“What’s over there?” Wermuth asks, curious because the group had not specified a particular nightclub to visit beforehand.

“I just remembered about this one. It’s called Dionysus. I’ve never been myself, but it’s supposed to be very cool.” Pisdoé responds, leading the others across the crosswalk and into the desired street, one only accessible by foot.

It comes as no surprise to Cato and the others when they approach and spot a long line that stretches out from the entrance of the club. Three well-built gentlemen guard the entrance and are quite precise in how many they let in at any given point. Pisdoé steps out of line briefly and together with the others attempts to bypass the line. However, she is rebuffed. Though she is a model, she doesn’t carry the immense social weight that a superstar does. It is at this moment that Pisdoé’s name is called by someone behind the group.

“Pisdoé? Pisdoé, hi!” comes a call from a slender young woman, one wearing large sunglasses even though the sun has long since departed the sky.

“Finne? Oh, my! How are you?”

“Just fine, thanks. It’s been awhile. How have you been?”

“Very good…”

“So what are you doing here? Do you have a shoot? Oh, are these your friends?”

“Yes, these are my friends...” Pisdoé answers, introducing each member of the group one by one. “We’re here for fun; we’re on break now.”

“Ah, I see.” Pisdoé model friend replies while gazing at the entrance of the club, not surprisingly still packed with people in line. “Are you thinking of going in?”

“We want too, but the line is massive and the bouncers are being pretty stingy tonight.”

“Let me handle this...”

Ms. Finne, Pisdoé’s modeling friend and superior, approaches the three bouncers and without hesitation provides her name and identification. The bouncers immediately step aside and make room for her to enter, commenting on how honored they are that someone like her would choose their establishment. Ms. Finne makes sure that Pisdoé and the others enter before doing so herself, thanking the bouncers and assuring them that a good word would be put in for them. Once inside, Cato and the others find themselves in a whole new world, one of bright lights and darkness, pulsating music, dancing youths and areas to sit and relax. There is a small entrance way just inside where club workers are busy helping patrons with their jackets, purses or anything else. The girls hand over their purses for safekeeping, but not before they provide the payment for the evening. Pisdoé’s modeling friend appears to have already made arrangements and takes a few moments to talk to Pisdoé before moving along into the club, waving goodbye to the others. A thank you is extended by everyone to Ms. Finne and the group is ready to step foot into the club.

“Do you know what that smell is?” Wermuth says, placing his hands on his hips, his classic grin stretching across his face.

“Nope.” Cato replies bluntly.

“Good, ‘cause neither do I and I want to find out…”

Wermuth jumps into the crowded club, the layout of the building being focused around a huge dance floor centered around two bar areas and multiple areas with tables and chairs. A second floor is reserved completely for those wishing to take a rest, a third bar and plenty of chairs, tables and couches being provided. Wermuth does not need any alcohol in his system before shedding his inhibitions and stepping onto the dance floor, whereas the girls, Bucco, and Cato move over to the bar for a drink. Pisdoé utilizes her heavenly physical traits to quickly secure drinks for Schweizer and Esquilinus, leaving Bucco and Cato to fend for themselves. It is not long before Pisdoé sets her finished drink down on the counter and tries to drag Cato onto the dance floor. However, Cato does not budge, insisting he’d much rather enjoy a drink and watch from afar. Putting on a sad expression for a moment, Pisdoé laughs before walking over to the floor. Esquilinus and Schweizer finish their drinks just as Bucco manages to get himself and Cato one. Turning to Bucco and Schweizer, Esquilinus grabs one of each’s wrists and begs them to join her.

“Come on! Pisdoé and Wermuth are already out there having fun!”

Lifting his drink as a salute, Cato watches as the three friends fuse with the mass of people gathered on the large dance floor. The club suddenly becomes very dark and the intensity of the lights over the dance floor increases, the music slowly getting louder and louder. Occasionally, the girls and Bucco are able to procure another couple of drinks and continue to dance the night away. Taking a sip of his drink, Cato gazes out at the dance floor, taking note for the first time that night how sexy Schweizer and Pisdoé both look. Schweizer stays close to Esquilinus and Bucco, her long hair swaying back and forth like her hips to the music, but soon is approached by a confident man and the two begin to dance together. Not far away, Pisdoé can be seen dancing with another man as well, one who tracked his way to the professional model when she first stepped out onto the floor.

”She’s quite a catch, isn’t she?” a voice says to Cato. Indeed, Pisdoé’s slender but curvy body radiates sex appeal, especially in the short dress she is wearing, and Cato feels slightly uncomfortable when looking at the man holding her close, Pisdoé grinding her body against his and swaying to the pulsating rhythm of the music. ”What’s this? Jealousy?”

“Hey, listen…” Cato says loudly, turning to his right to address the person who had been speaking to him. However, instead of finding a person leaning against the counter like he is, Cato sees an owl – a bright, psychedelic owl. Assuming he is the target of a practical joke, Cato takes another sip of his drink to try and calm himself, noticing that his heart is beating faster since that voice told him he was jealous of that guy next to Pisdoé.

”I wasn’t just referring to her figure. She’s a good person, intelligent and funny, even if she cannot show it quite yet.”

Cato turns again to find the same owl as before just sitting on the bar counter beside him. He looks about but doesn’t see anything suspicious from anyone, people are ordering drinks from the bar and then moving on. No one seems to notice Cato, no one pays him any attention, and yet this owl continues to gaze at him. The owl begins to preen its feathers, which constantly change colors from bright blues, yellows and oranges to deep purples, reds and greens. Cato downs the rest of his drink before ordering another, asking the bartender if the owl was his idea of a joke.

“Owl? What are you talking about?”

“This one!” Cato barks back, pointing to the owl sitting on the bar beside him.

“Listen pal, if you’ve reached your limit already and are going to act up I can have you kicked outta here real fast…”

Cato does not push the matter, certainly not keen on being thrown out for the evening from what genuinely was a great dance club. Obtaining additional drinks for the girls falls upon Schweizer and Pisdoé’s dance partners and Bucco himself, and when Bucco arrives at the bar counter he gives Cato an odd look before stepping back out with another round for himself and Esquilinus. Out of curiosity and frustration, Cato turns to the owl and asks, “What do you want? Is this some kind of joke?”

The owl looks up at Cato with its kaleidoscopic eyes and the same voice from before responds, ”With regard to your second question, no, this is not a joke and I’m afraid I cannot answer your first question.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

”Well, it is a rather broad and ambiguous question. Did you mean to ask what I desire at this very moment or did you mean to ask what I want for the future and life in general? As you can imagine, the possible answers to that question are almost infinite.”

“What are you?”

“Wrong question.”

“Who are you?”

“Ah…If you could only answer that question for me, I would be eternally grateful.”

Cato stands slowly sipping his drink, even more confused than before. He thinks back and is quite certain that he isn’t high; he and the others had not stepped into the drug bar after all. Cato gazes out at the mass of people on the dance floor. His eyes move first from Wermuth, who seems to be having the luckiest night of his life, to Pisdoé and Schweizer, whereupon his heart starts to beat a bit faster, to Esquilinus and Bucco, who have started to dance together. Cato can clearly see Bucco enjoying himself as Esquilinus begins to close the distance between them and grind her body against his.

“You know Bucco was only trying to help you. You shouldn’t be so antagonistic.”

“What?”

“Your scuffle from the previous night, when you saw your father acting rather uncivil. Our dear friend was only trying to calm you down as any good friend would. His intentions were pure.”

“How do you know about that?”

“How could I not?.”

Cato turns away, refocusing his attention to the dance floor while saying, “What the fuck do you know? You’re just a damn owl!”

After half a minute or so of silence, Cato looks over to his right and notices that the owl is gone, disappeared. Taking a few moments to gaze around, Cato cannot find it. Stunned, he orders himself another drink and looks back out at the dance floor and spots Bucco and Esquilinus getting rather close. Though Esquilinus may not have noticed, but how could she have not, Cato sees the very normal and healthy reaction any man would have to an attractive woman dancing dirty with him. He takes a moment to mull over the conversation he had, now that that annoying owl is gone, and inexplicably feels better. Looking back over at Bucco, a face of shear drunken pleasure, he doesn’t feel angry nor does he feel the need to spite the Venetian.

The night carries on to the rhythm of the music and everyone enjoys themselves thoroughly. Though Cato remains at the bar counter throughout, his attitude and mood vastly improves, the alcohol having something to do with that. Cato gazes at his wrist watch when the rest of the group finally steps off the dance floor and moves to round him up. 2:11AM.

“What say we head back to the hotel?” Wermuth says, his shirt drenched in sweat. “It’s pretty damn late.”

Cato agrees and does his best to support Schweizer and Pisdoé, who are both rather exhausted and still feeling the effects of their drinks, though to be honest, all five youths have a hard time walking out of the club in a straight line. Everyone gathers their things and are nearly overwhelmed by the pleasure of the cool night air once they step outside. Walking home will be an interesting task, but with Cato, Schweizer and Pisdoé assisting each other and Bucco and Esquilinus assisting each other, the group can rely on the sober Wermuth to guide them home like a shepard with his sheep.
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Telosan
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The Foremost Intellectual Badass
Bucco wakes up and is immediately struck by panic, until he remembers where he is. He calms as quickly as he had panicked, but replacing it is an aching pain. He must’ve had too much to drink the night before. When he is ready to open his eyes again, he barely sees Cato sitting up in his own bed, the room brightly illuminated as the window curtain is drawn back. Wermuth, the only sober one from their party the night before, is enjoying the reactions of his roommates, even up to the point when both Bucco and Cato try to kill him for opening the window curtain. Eventually, they hurry downstairs to breakfast, this time arriving before the girls. Just as they are sitting down, the girls make their appearance and join them. If any of them have a hangover from the night before, they don’t show it.

After breakfast, which is the same as yesterday, they discuss what they should do for their final day in Patavium. Several ideas are tossed around, but most are discarded.

“How about we all take a romantic cruise up the Rivière aux Feuilles, view the beautiful countryside and relax on the deck in the comfort of each other’s company.” Wermuth suggests, the grin on his face plainly showing that he is joking. Before Cato or Bucco could say anything, the girls speak up.

“That sounds like a great end to the trip.” Esquilinus says, with Schweizer and Pisdoé agreeing.

Bucco is a bit surprised that the girls take Wermuth’s suggestion, but the look on Wermuth’s face shows he wasn’t expecting it either. He, of course, has no problem with a boat ride since it means he could be near the water again. “Vaƚe, I’ll go find out where the dock is while you eat.”

“I’ll go with you.” Cato says as he stands and follows him. Bucco notices that Cato is acting differently this morning. Cato had a slightly better attitude towards Bucco the night before as well, though he had thought it was just because of the drinks. He is curious as to why he has changed so much and so quickly, but doesn’t ask on the off chance that he is incorrect and might start another quarrel.

Bucco and Cato find a Quantum near the front of the hotel. The Quantum allows users to buy tickets and make reservations to thousands of events throughout the city, the surrounding areas, and even other cities where Quantums were set up, as well as providing information on each one and a calendar featuring upcoming activities. It is a good thing that Cato had come along with him, since Bucco likely would not have been able to use the machine without him, as he is unfamiliar with the advanced interface.

They return to the table with their tickets as the girls are finishing their breakfast. Wermuth is trying to strike up a conversation with any of them, but unsuccessful at getting much more than a few comments. The dock that they have to be at is at the far end of the city, alongside the piers that jut out into the Rivière aux Feuilles. They have a few hours until the boat leaves, so they take their time and walk down the many busy streets. Billboards and light up signs flash everywhere, affixed to almost every surface. Smaller, less gaudy signs at street level inform passersby of the stores they are walking past. The girls drag them into a few stores every couple blocks, but don’t end up buying anything.

They arrive at the dock a few minutes before it is to leave. The boat is designed to resemble a scaled down cruise ship, in which it succeeds in almost every way. The sides are white-washed with a row of round windows running along it. Towards the bow and stern is ample deck space, clear of anything but a few neat rows of wooden reclining chairs (picture this, with armrests). The fore and aft decks are separated by the main structure of the ship that looms over the passengers lounging in the shade it casts. Doors on the side of the structure let passengers inside. The upper floors are off limits to all but crew members, but the lower decks hold a small restaurant and bar. Cabins are available for longer trips than the one they are taking now, but still available if passengers want to store their belongings. It is a perfect rendition of an actual cruise ship that could carry thousands, rather than the two hundred or so this one could hold.

Their tour is just finishing as the boat sets sail. They go up on deck to watch Patavium gently glide past, the city looking beautiful from the water. The reflections of the tall buildings along the riverbanks stretch out towards each other, as if the two halves of the city were a pair of many fingered hands coming together in an embrace. As massive as the city is, the boat passes the city limits in a short time, leaving the region’s urban gem behind. Bucco and the rest find a place on the deck to sit and relax; talking about what school will be like when they go back, the items they had purchased during the trip, and a host of other topics.

At lunchtime, they order food from the restaurant and bring their meals up to the aft deck where a few tables are set. By now, the boat had sailed beyond the suburbs of Patavium and the shore scenery reflected such. Now, instead of towers and spires, trees and other foliage paint the gently rippled surface of the river. The conversation moves to the scenery, since it is an uncommon sight for them all. After a while, Cato notices Wermuth is getting a little sunburn, and points it out by giving him a firm pat on the back.

“Minca! Why did you have to go and do that?” Wermuth yelps as he twists away in pain, throwing a short glare towards the rest of the group as they laugh.

“Sorry, Wermuth,” Schweizer says between giggles. “I think I have some sun block down in our cabin.” She and Wermuth go below deck to get the sun block, while Esquilinus and Pisdoé go to the side of the boat where a crowd is gathering to see something in the water, leaving Bucco and Cato at the table together.

"You enjoying yourself, Bucco?” Cato says, breaking the silence.

“Siorsì. It’s great to be on the water again.” Bucco responds, a bit wary because of Cato’s unusual friendly tone towards him.

"So, you miss Venice, eh? It isn't so bad here though, right?"

“Of course, I miss Venice, but Milan has proved to be an interesting place. I’ve never lived somewhere like that before.”

A short spell of silence falls until Cato speaks again. "You know, I've been an ass and I haven't really been the nicest of people...I...I want to apologize. I'm sure you had to go through, or maybe still are going through, a period of adjustment and I'm sorry I haven't made that easy for you."

“It’s alright, Cato. I intervened in your personal affairs; you had a right to be angry.”

"Your intentions were pure and even if I was mad, I should have never punched you."

Before Bucco could answer, Wermuth and Schweizer return, so Bucco just throws a final glance to Cato, who shows he understands. Esquilinus and Pisdoé return and talk about the animal everyone had been looking at, and the conversation continues as if nothing had happened. As the sun starts its long decent, the ship turns around to return to Patavium. For dinner, everyone goes to the boat’s restaurant below decks. Bucco, however, stays behind, claiming he isn’t hungry, while the rest go to dinner. Bucco sits in the forward most chair, slightly reclined with a notebook in hand, sketching the shore and river as they gently glided past.

He hears footsteps near him, but ignores them and continues drawing. The footsteps stop to his left and he feels someone sit down next to him in the chair. He looks over to see Esquilinus sitting next to him; her face close to his as she looks over his shoulder at his sketches. The chairs are large, but not intended to seat two people, so their legs and sides are pressed together. Embarrassed, he pulls the notebook to the side.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.” Esquilinus says.

“It’s alright. What are you doing here, though? Why aren’t you at dinner with the rest?”

"I just wanted to see if you were alright. You didn't really give a reason not to join us…” Her voice trails off.

“I’m fine, don’t worry. I just needed some quiet. Drawing tends to help me think, too. If you wanted to see it…” He moves over a bit to let her take more of the chair and hands her the notebook, which she takes and sees an uncolored sketch of the riverbank, detailed down to the ripples of the water, with a few of the many islands of the river and the mainland behind them and the trees on them and the small shack that stood by an old broken up dock on one of the islands. “It’s not finished.” Bucco says.

"It looks great. You must sketch a lot. "Is drawing a hobby you picked up recently or have you been doing it for awhile?"

“It’s been a while. I used to draw galleys and such from around Venice, like the ones from centuries ago. Then I drew whatever I saw around Venice, whoever happened to pass by. The last few months before coming to Porcu, I just drew empty streets and canals. They’re all in the notebook, too.” Esquilinus flips through the previous pages, commenting on a few.

"Milan is probably more of what you're used to seeing and drawing, but is Patavium nice too?"

“I haven’t drawn anything of Patavium yet. I’m not used to all the modernity and technology, so I’ll have to work on drawing that. But Milan is not just more of what I’m used to. I’ve started to draw people since coming here.” As he says this, Esquilinus turns to the later pages. Some of the pictures show a classroom, in which Schweizer and Cato are easy to pick out, others show all the friends together, just talking, or walking down the streets, and so on. “I couldn’t draw that in Venice. I didn’t have anyone that was interesting enough to draw.”

Esquilinus blushes a bit. "Thanks..." She turns and sits next to Bucco, handing his notebook back to him. "Here, I wouldn't want to deprive you of your notebook when there's such a beautiful sunset..."

Bucco turns to another page in the book and starts sketching the dying sun positioned perfectly behind the Patavium skyline as Esquilinus looks on. The ship sails directly into the ever darkening horizon and fast approaches the towering metal and glass peaks of Patavium, which shimmer in the red-orange light of the setting sun. Bucco feels blissful as he draws the fiery pillars on either side of the amber ribbon of a river and, though he does not know it, so does Esquilinus.
Edited by Telosan, Jul 13 2010, 01:55 AM.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

In returning to Milan, the group decides to take an aboveground commuter train. Just as convenient as the underground metro system in traveling from one city to another, but with the added thrill of seeing the countryside, the group utilizes their public transportation cards to grab a late train back. Zipping along, the group gets a good look at a few different neighborhoods of Patavium before the scenery opens up to the large fields surrounding the sprawling metropolis. Small towns and villages occasionally dot the landscape, incredible to think that such small rural areas could still exist in the Porcu of the modern era. If Patavium is any indication, Bucco is sure that it would not be long before such quaint environments disappeared for good.

The train arrives right on time and the tired high school students slowly make their way out of the station, welcomed by a clear and somewhat chilly night, heading back to their respective homes after goodbyes are given at a large bus station several blocks away. Everyone hopes to see each other a couple of times before school begins again, but no one looks much further than a good night’s rest. The more ‘traditional’, older environment of Milan eases Bucco, the neoclassical architecture providing a comfort and familiarity that only his native Venice can give.

The rest of the intermission rolls on smoothly enough. Pisdoé travels during the remaining days, promoting Lefanté’s perfume and fall collection, while the others stay in Milan and relax. Wermuth and Bucco keep themselves busy with football practice at a nearby park, while Esquilinus looks after her sisters for most of the day. Though maintaining a slightly more liberal and highly advanced society, Porcuians are people Bucco finds to be honest and hardworking, responsible people who keep their promises and appointments as best they can. With all the commotion about drugs and a liberal view towards civil liberties, Bucco also finds Porcuians to be people who value their time with others, especially with family. Having dinner with Wermuth and his parents leaves a strong impression on Bucco and makes him believe that the couple of remaining days should be ones where Wermuth and the others spend time with their respective families.

Over the next couple of days, Bucco takes many walks, scouting much of Milan, and finds a number of intriguing shops and restaurants, making sure to create a clear mental note of each. He does this as a way of guaranteeing that his friends have adequate time to spend with their families. At some point, he stops by to visit and hang out with Cato and Schweizer for an afternoon, initially declining an invitation to dinner when night falls but finally accepting when pressed by Schweizer. Cato and Bucco are now much closer than before, any hint of antagonism having disappeared since their time in Patavium. In wishing to not be an inconvenience for Schweizer and Cato as well, Bucco takes the opportunity to visit Esquilinus on the last day of the intermission.

Greeted by her little sisters, Bucco is informed that Esquilinus is currently out grocery shopping. Though still only acquaintances with the younger sisters, Bucco is invited inside to wait for Esquilinus, due back in a matter of minutes. Feeling safe and comfortable around Bucco, no doubt due in part to words used by Esquilinus in describing the Venetian to her sisters, the two little girls bring out a puzzle for them to work on with Bucco’s assistance. The picture on the top part of the puzzle box shows a lion in the middle of a large plain, a small map of Afrika with the Sahara highlighted in the top corner. The puzzle is a piece of cake for Bucco and he does his best to help Esquilinus’ sisters along without providing all the missing pieces. A rustle at the entrance of the apartment signals Esquilinus’ return.

“Ave!” cries Esquilinus from the entrance.

“Soror!” reply Esquilinus’ two little sisters, running out from the living room to greet their older sister.

“Hey there! Who else is here?” Esquilinus says, dropping the bags she was carrying in the apartment to hug her sisters.

“That boy that goes to school with you...Bu-c-co...Yeah...” the girls say, alternating responses.

“Oh, Bucco, are you here?”

“Yeah…” Bucco replies as he arrives at the entrance. “Here, let me help you.”

Bucco takes some of the bags from Esquilinus and puts them down on the floor near the entrance, walking over to the kitchen to set them down on the counter, and returning to fetch the rest. In the meantime, Esquilinus removes her shoes and places them off to the side in the entranceway before stepping up into the apartment, guiding her sisters back into the living room to better check on things, and then returning to help Bucco with the groceries.

“My sisters say they were having fun and that you were a big help with their puzzle.”

“It was nothing really.”

There is a bit of silence, interrupted only by the occasional question from Bucco asking where a specific item should be put away. Finishing in no time, Esquilinus gets an idea.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner tonight?”

“What of your parents?”

“They’re working late tonight; my father may not even come home to sleep.”

“I don’t want to be a burden…”

“Not at all! I’m sure my sisters would be happy to have you around. Besides, who else is going to help them finish their puzzle?”

Bucco graciously accepts the invitation presented to him by Esquilinus and decides to return to the open living room area, which is directly connected to the kitchen, to help her sisters finish their puzzle. Ten minutes later the finished piece is ready for display and the beaming smiles of Esquilinus’ sisters signal a job well done. Looking back towards the kitchen, Bucco sees Esquilinus gathering all the necessary materials for dinner and wants to help. Though only possessing just enough culinary skill to sustain himself for two or three days if needed, Bucco makes his way over and asks Esquilinus how he can be of some assistance. Sporting an apron and wooden spoon, Esquilinus directs Bucco’s actions much like a general does with his men. Bucco is tasked with gathering any remaining materials and making some initial preparations while Esquilinus manages the tougher parts, where experience matters to attain a tasty, high quality meal.

The final result, after ninety minutes or so of excellent teamwork, is a wonderful dish of peperonata and rice. With healthy appetites abound, there is no difficulty in finishing all of the prepared food. Fresh fruit and a strong espresso cap off the evening and after a quick clean up of the dinner table Esquilinus takes a moment to tuck her sisters into bed. Bucco stays a little longer, helping Esquilinus completely finish the clean up, before sitting back down at the table. Esquilinus joins him and the two chat lightly about school, she noting how weird it will feel to return to school after such an enjoyable break.

“That said, I am looking forward to seeing some of my classmates.” Esquilinus adds.

Stéso chi. Aside from you, Cato, and the rest, I haven’t had the chance to talk to anyone else since the last football game. I wonder how many others went to Patavium.”

Esquilinus chuckles a bit, having been reminded of football and the upcoming round of games to be played by Bucco. “That reminds me…We’ve got a few games upcoming in the couple of weeks. Then there’s the usual school plays, musicals, concerts…There’s a lot of stuff coming up now that I think about it.”

“I imagine quite a few people aren’t going to have much free time for a while. I never joined any clubs, though, so the football games are the only thing taking up my time for now. How about you? Did any of the clubs manage to recruit you?”

“No, I didn’t join any clubs this year, though I have been tempted occasionally to join the writing club. No, I think I’m going to run for student council president.”

"Ti pol ripeter? What do you mean "run for student council president?"

“I haven’t told you yet? I thought I had told everyone about it…Anyway, yeah, I’ll be running for student president this year.” Esquilinus says, continuing once she notices Bucco’s expression of interest. “There are a whole host of candidates that run for the student council and then there are another set of candidates that run for the position of student president, which is the head of the student council.”

"How are the positions awarded to the different candidates? In Venice, student council members are drawn from a list of the most qualified people. The candidates for the scoƚàro dùca are chosen the same way and then elected. How does it work in Porcu?"

“That’s pretty interesting.” Esquilinus remarks in response to Bucco’s short explanation of the Venetian system. “The system here in Porcu is rather open. Anyone can decide to run for the student council or the student presidency. Election to the student council is straightforward but for the student presidency there’s a deadline where one would have to state their intention to run and then a period of a month or so of campaigning; you know, with signs and occasional speeches. Then there is a debate held amongst the candidates running for student president the night before the election day. There are usually four or five people running, so the debate isn’t too chaotic. The next day, after the votes are counted the top two candidates face off in a run-off election later that day, where the candidate with the majority of the votes wins.”

"That's interesting. Have you stated your intention to run yet?"

“No, not yet. I was still unsure about it going into the break, but I’m set on it now. I’ll state my intention once we get back in school. The next hurdle is putting together an election team, people who will assist me in designing and hanging up posters, handing out fliers, and preparing me for the debate.”

"I'll help however I can. Political campaigns are somewhat reserved in Venice because all the candidates are nobility. Everyone knows who they are already, so they don't often need to promote themselves. Venetian political campaigns are more of a time for the potential victors to gain allies in government during grand parties, not the support of the people, since the people already know who they'll vote for. Local elections are more democratic, though. I assume the Porcuian system is vastly different, but I will still do my best to be of assistance."

“Thanks Bucco, I definitely appreciate the gesture and I’m sure I could use all the help I can get. You wouldn’t have to worry about the campaigning part if you didn’t want to and you’re a great artist, so you could be person to design and draw the posters.” Interested at Bucco’s last comment, Esquilinus adds, “And what of the Doge? Isn’t he popularly elected?”

"The Doge is an elected monarch; he serves for life from his election, but he's elected by the Pregadi, not the citizens of Venice. The election process is long and complicated but, in short, 9 candidates are chosen, 8 from the ranks of the Pregadi and the 9th being the Doge's heir."

“Ah, I see…Here the President is popularly elected by a direct vote from the people, the same being true for Members of Parliament. The President serves a ten year term and Members of Parliament serve for two years. There aren’t any term limits; so many people seek re-election to Parliament, though it is very rare for someone to seek a second term as President.”

"So do the student council elections work similarly? Campaigns in Porcu are about promoting yourself as the best choice, véro?”

“Yeah, the elections work similarly, with heavy competition among the candidates for every possible student vote. I’ve heard from teachers that debating is an important key to success, much like in national politics here in Porcu. Thinking about it now kind of makes me nervous.”

“There’s nothing to worry about if you have people to back you up. Just be sure to let me know how I can help, Dogaressa.”

Understanding Bucco’s joking reference about the equivalent positions of Porcu’s President and Venice’s Doge and becoming slightly embarrassed as a result, Esquilinus laughs and nervously fixes her hair. “I haven’t been elected yet!” A short silence pauses the conversation before Esquilinus continues. “So, how’d you manage with the schoolwork we were assigned over break?”

"Ah! I completely forgot about it! I need to get back and try to complete as much as I can before tomorrow."

With a simple thank you and a slight bow, Bucco begins to exit from Esquilinus’ apartment, thoroughly satisfied with the evening. Nothing special had happened, but he is always happy to spend time with Esquilinus. Seeing Bucco to the door, Esquilinus also thanks Bucco for his company, giving a last wave and smile goodnight before closing and locking the door behind him thinking to herself, “Dogaressa, huh?”



“Bucco, please explain yesterday night’s assigned reading over the Third Crusade. Latin please.”

“Yes, sir.” Bucco responds to the history teacher as he stands from his seat. With occasional motioning gestures with his hands, Bucco explains, “Also known as the ‘King’s Crusade’, the Third Crusade was an attempt by Christian leaders to…”

School had recommenced and there is little time with which to slowly and comfortably get back into the rhythm of things. Heavy reading is once again the normality and daily writing assignments take their toll. Just a few days back into the swing of things and Bucco, Cato, and the rest of the group are already looking forward to their next break. There is, however, a few things that help divert the student’s attention from their heavy workload. Bucco and Wermuth have football to look forward to and, though still early in the season, the team shows much promise. Pisdoé has occasional bookings to look forward to, her reputation and name having spread since her performance in the Lefanté Fall Collection show, and Schweizer and Cato have signed onto Esquilinus’ election group for student council.

The student council is a rather prestigious group of seven students and becoming a councilmember, not to mention the council president, greatly boosts a student’s value as a possible university or workplace candidate. Notable student council presidents in past times have managed to petition the city for funds to improve the school and the surrounding community. The remodeling of entire schools and the construction of walking and biking paths has been completed in this way. Though the pressure to run for student council president originally stemmed from her parents, Esquilinus herself is now determined to become a successful student council president. Should she be elected, she may find juggling her responsibilities as the girls’ football captain and student council president difficult, but Cato and the others have no doubt that she will manage without a problem.

The bell rings a few minutes later, saving Bucco from having to continue with his description and analysis of the Third Crusade, and the students of Class 3A can enjoy a brief five minute break as their History teacher packs his things and exits, continuing onto another classroom. Bucco then turns and walks back to where Cato and Schweizer are seated, chatting for bit with them before hearing his name being called out along with Cato and Schweizer’s.

“Hey guys!” Esquilinus says, flashing a bright smile while walking over to her friends.

“Salve, Esquilinus…” Cato responds. “What brings you to Class 3A?”

“I just wanted to thank you guys for signing up to help me. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, we’re happy to help.” Bucco says.

“Isn’t the deadline for declaring yourself a candidate today?” Schweizer asks.

“Yeah. I’m going to turn in my application after school.”

The campaigning and jostling for support among the many students is to last for nearly a month, the election day already scheduled around the end of October. The current student president, a certain Claudis Marius Vex, seems to have a solid lead amongst the other candidates for student president. He is a popular young man, attractive and thin but not athletic, quick witted, and a skilled orator. Having been elected as student president the previous year, Vex quickly dispelled any concerns that a first-year student is not at a level of maturity sufficient to handle the responsibilities of the position. With confidence and the advantage of having proved his doubters wrong the previous year, Vex is well positioned to secure himself a second term.

“You’ve got a tough road ahead of you.” Cato adds.

“I know…” Esquilinus sighs. “I’ve talked to a couple of people already and Vex seems have a lot of support already.”

“Eh, don’t worry about him.”

"The campaign hasn't started yet, right? You still have plenty of time to gather support." Bucco asks.

“No, the campaign officially starts tomorrow, which reminds me…I’ve got to get some posters and fliers completed. There isn’t a moment to lose!”

“Well, discard me because I can’t draw.” Cato says.

“Neither can I…” Schweizer adds.

“What about you Bucco? Those sketches you do are great; would you please?”

"Ah, I’m sorry. I can’t do that… my drawings aren’t good at all…" Bucco hesitates, not being able to bring himself to accept her request. Cato, hoping to force Bucco out of his self-conscious spell, peaks around and spots what he believes to be a sketch pad in Bucco’s school bag. In one quick motion, Cato moves over and swoops out the Venetian’s sketch book, looking it over with Schweizer beside him. Bucco realizes the sudden disappearance of Cato and Schweizer and turns to see them gazing through his sketchpad.
Bucco is flushed with embarrassment at the sight of his drawings being looked over and immediately tries to retrieve the book. “Ciò! What are you doing?!” He exclaims as he jumps at Cato and Schweizer. Cato, however, passes the book to Schweizer and moves to prevent Bucco from taking the book back. Bucco can only look on as Schweizer and now Esquilinus flip through the book, leafing through page after page of sketches. Bucco relaxes back into a seat and simply waits for what he expects to be a rather blunt critique of his work.

“These are really well drawn, Bucco.” Schweizer says, still looking through the sketches. “I think Esquilinus would be hard-pressed to find someone better for the job.”

“But…

“Ah, come on! Cato and Schweizer won’t do it and besides, I’ve already seen your drawings and I like them.” Esquilinus adds as Bucco’s resolve wavers.

"... Ah, siorsì, I'll do it. Would you like me to draw different designs for you to choose from?"

“That would be great! Let me know when you’ve gotten a few done and we can meet up and look them over. Thanks Bucco.”

The next teacher, who turns out to be the German language teacher Mrs. Wahrsteiger, enters the classroom and her arrival signals the fast approaching start of the next lesson. In an effort to return to her classroom on time, Esquilinus bids the others goodbye with a simple wave and darts out, drawing a curious look from the teacher.

The rest of the school day proceeds normally enough, a couple of written essays in Philosophy class and a lively debate in Civics class round out the day for the students of Class 3A. As the final bell rings for the day, Cato and Schweizer inform Bucco of plans they had made with Wermuth, Esquilinus, and Pisdoé for that night. The idea of a night out to watch the local professional ice hockey team is Cato’s and as Bucco explains his ignorance of the sport Cato only gets more excited.

In meeting Wermuth by the gate at the entrance of the school after school is dismissed for the day, Cato, Schweizer, and Pisdoé learn that there is no football practice today – a rare break for Bucco, Wermuth, and Esquilinus.

“I’m not so sure it’s a blessing.” Wermuth says suspiciously. “Decanius [the boys’ football coach and the school’s calculus teacher] would be the kind of person to give us a day off and then slaughter us the next day with so much work. I’d rather have two difficult, but normal practice days.”

Bucco laughs lightly while the others look on with varied expressions. A few moments later, Cato shrugs and then begins to finalize the group’s plans for the evening. With a slightly cool crisp in the afternoon air, the group slowly walks together until, one by one, they have to go their separate ways.

“Alright, so Pisdoé you’ll get the tickets?” Cato asks as he and the others form a circle, making sure to cover all the details.

“Yup. My father is a season ticket holder and because he’s interested in showing potential business clients the city and culture he’s got a few seats always reserved. He doesn’t have any plans to use the tickets for this evening, so we’re good to go.”

“Great. The game starts at 19:30, but we’ll meet at Wermuth’s house at 18:30 and walk together to the game. Ok?”

A round of approving gestures concludes their brief meeting and the group slowly separates. Bucco and Wermuth continue to Wermuth’s house, greeting his parents in their local fruit and vegetable store before passing through and climbing the stairs located in the rear of the store, which connect the store with the second and third floor living area. Each young man enters his own room on the third floor and drops off their school bags before meeting each other in the kitchen/living room area on the floor below. Wermuth had not changed before descending the stairs, grabbing a small snack, and sitting down at the kitchen table, merely loosening his tie and unbuttoning his vest. Bucco grabs himself a piece of fruit and joins Wermuth, finally asking about the unfamiliar sport he is going to watch later this evening. Without flooding Bucco with details, Wermuth explains the basics of the sport.

“It’s an incredibly fast sport, isn’t it? Is it hard to keep up with?”

“Yeah, it is fast, but you get used to it after a little bit. I think that’s what makes it so exciting…”

Bucco goes over the information in his head, finishing off his snack before ascending the stairs to his room to start studying. Wermuth and Bucco both work diligently to finish as much of their school work as possible before it becomes time to get ready. Having previously informed his parents of his and Bucco’s plans for the evening, Wermuth changes out of his school uniform and begins to prepare a simple dinner for himself and Bucco. Initially unaware that Wermuth had changed and begun to go about fixing a meal, Bucco finds Wermuth in the kitchen after the smell of frying zucchini had reached the third floor. Thinly sliced and breaded, cooking in a layer of olive oil, the zucchini give off a rich smell and twenty minutes later the two students are eating linguini with fried zucchini, a simple yet tasty meal.

By the time they finish and clean up, it is nearly time to leave. Cato had sent Wermuth a text message informing him of his arrival with Schweizer and a few minutes after that a message is received from Pisdoé. Waiting for Wermuth to join him on the street just outside, Bucco soon spots Pisdoé walking over to him. Bucco is surprised to find the model, not in her school outfit or in an expensive luxury outfit but, in a polyester jersey that was only just too big for her. The jersey is a deep red color with a small blue band wrapping around the center of the jersey in addition to both arms, the blue band being bordered by smaller white bands. In the center of the jersey, resting right on the blue and white bands, is what Bucco assumes to be the logo of the team. Simple yet elegant, the logo is a small, white ‘H’ within a larger, red ‘C’, outlined with white and blue borders. Pisdoé greets Bucco as she nears and asks if he’s excited.

“I am excited, but I’m still not entirely sure what to expect.”

“I’m sure you’ll have fun. Les Habitants are a great team and fun to watch.”

With that, Cato, Schweizer, and Esquilinus appear on the scene, both also sporting the red home jersey of the hockey team. Bucco feels slightly left out in his dark pullover sweater, but feels even more so once Wermuth steps out of his parent’s store in a red jersey of his own.

“Well, this won’t do…” Wermuth says with a laugh. “Come on. There’s a team shop right next to the arena and we’ll get you a sweater before the game starts. Go ahead and drop off your pullover and change into a long sleeved shirt, the sweater retains a fair amount of body heat so you won’t be cold during the game.”

“Sweater?” Bucco replies confused. “If anything, I need a jersey like you guys are wearing.”

“Hockey jerseys are called ‘sweaters’.” Schweizer says.

Slightly embarrassed at the misunderstanding, Bucco hurries inside and changes, quickly returning to his friends. The group then sets off for the hockey arena and arrives a short time later. Unlike the general sports complex located downtown, the hockey arena is located within the framework of a building of neoclassical architecture and does not impose a modern, contemporary design on the surrounding area. That said, the building is still large and an enormous crowd is gathered around various doors which act as the entrances and exits of the arena. The group is fortunate to have had Pisdoé acquire the tickets beforehand, saving them much time and anxiety waiting in the line to purchase tickets. Cato explains to Bucco that here in Milan very few tickets are free and available before a game and the rush to purchase these tickets often creates frustration among those unfortunate enough not to have season tickets.

“In fact, season tickets are sold out for the next three years. I personally don’t bother to attend games unless one of the neighbors cannot attend and is kind enough to give Schweizer and I tickets.”

The group takes a quick detour to enter the team shop located right beside the arena and purchase a home sweater for Bucco. Though the Venetian insists on paying for the item himself, he is held in check by Esquilinus, who playfully wags her finger in front of his face. In no time at all, Bucco matches the rest of his friends and the group exits the shop, eager to enter the arena.

Finally arriving at one of the entrances, Pisdoé hands an usher the tickets for herself and the rest of the group. The usher scans the electronic bar on each, welcomes the students, wishing them a pleasant evening, and hands back the tickets. Soon enough the group is lead by Pisdoé to the section of the arena where they are to sit and watch the game. The selection could not have been better. Elevated enough to allow the students to gauge the entire ice surface without difficulty, yet close enough to pick out details, the seats are wonderful and Bucco begins to get excited as he looks around at the thousands of spectators entering the arena. As the set time for the start of the game approaches, the arena darkens and several spotlights swirl around to rock music, as various lighting features are also showcased. When the announcer calls the home team onto the ice, there is a surge and roar among the fans as the Milanese players take to the ice for a last minute skate. Starting lineups are announced and Bucco feels the ground beneath him shake from the roar and applause of the crowd.

Without let up from the fans, the game begins soon enough and slowly the crowd settles into a pattern of several different cheers as the game progresses. The first period is hard fought, with hits and shots on goal abound, but remains scoreless after twenty minutes. From their position in the stands, the group is in a perfect position to take in all the excitement. During the intermission, Bucco has Esquilinus explain to him who the visiting team is, how well Milan is doing in the current season, and a couple of other details about the sport and its history in general.

The second and third periods are much the same in terms of excitement and Bucco is reminded of fanatical football fans back in Venice as there continues to be no let up from the fans, who continue to cheer loudly for their team. However, as the third period continues to wind down without a single goal by either side, Bucco can sense that the home crowd is hungry for a goal. At one point, Milan is granted an advantage, a powerplay, something Wermuth had explained to him earlier. Though only two minutes in length, Bucco is a fast learner and can already begin to see the clockwork efficiency of the Milanese hockey team. As the powerplay advances past the half-way mark an opportunity presents itself for the home team. Reading the play half a second before, Bucco sees exactly what the players on the ice do and senses a goal is going to be scored. As he shifts in his seat to stand, one of the Milanese players passes the puck to another player at the top of the offensive zone, who immediately rips a one timer on net that sails cleanly passed the outstretched glove of the opposing goaltender and into the net. A celebratory explosion shakes the arena and amid the screaming fans and deafening goal horn Bucco cannot even hear himself think.

That goal proves to be the tipping point of the game, as another two goals are scored in rapid succession before time winds down. The final score is 3 – 0 in favor of Milan and the group is in high spirits exiting the arena. A final analysis of the game is provided courtesy of Wermuth and Cato, though the girls do spend a few moments commenting on the mechanics of the game as well. Making their way to a nearby café to order espressos, Bucco is surprised to find a large group gathered outside. On a large table sits a rather large and expensive television and it isn’t difficult to see that those gathered and those seated outside with empty plates, beer mugs, and coffee cups had been watching the hockey game on television.

As the students approach, Wermuth lets out a cheer, one Bucco had heard frequently in the arena, and is met with the same cheer from those gathered outside the café. Each manages to order an espresso after jostling for a table for a few minutes.

“So, what’d you think?” Esquilinus asks Bucco, understanding everyone is interested to hear what the Venetian’s impressions were of the sport and her loyal followers.

"You were right; it was an interesting game, to say the least. It reminded me of football, but at a faster pace and on a smaller field. The crowd was just as loud; my ears are still ringing. I'd like to see another game in the future."

The simple response is perfectly satisfactory for Esquilinus, who smiles back at Bucco and finishes her espresso. The group does not stay out much longer, chatting lightly amongst themselves and occasionally with others for a little bit – mostly because Wermuth becomes engrossed in a detailed breakdown of the game with another customer of the café. With the night getting late and a sharp chill descending upon the city, the students say their goodnights and part ways, eager to roll into their soft beds and in between their warm sheets.
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Telosan
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The Foremost Intellectual Badass
The water rushes up to meet him where he stands on the beach. The waves surge around his feet, ice cold in comparison to the warm sand that is now being washed away. Out in the distance, past the crash of the waves on the shore, a beautiful schooner cuts through the water with grace, its sails like white flowers in a sea of sapphire. From the deck, a girl is waving to him, though he can’t make out her face. She puts her hands to her mouth and calls to him…“Bucco…”

Bucco!

“Ai! Indóve ès mi?

“Now that you’re awake, perhaps you can pay attention? There’s a test tomorrow.” Mr. Lösse, the Latin teacher, says. Bucco already knows Latin, so he knew he wouldn’t have to pay attention and he’d still score well on the test. Regardless, he has to stay awake.

Shortly afterwards, the bell rings for lunch. Relieved, Bucco collapses on his desk, hoping for a moment’s rest before having to move again.

"Hey, Bucco..." Schweizer says softly. "Bucco..." she repeats a few seconds later; a little louder this time. Bucco waves his hand once to show he heard, but otherwise keeps his head down.

"Are you alright?" Cato asks.

Schweizer speaks again. "Did you get any sleep?"

Deciding they wouldn’t leave him to suffer, Bucco picks his head up. “No, I stayed up drawing the posters for Esquilinus. Then, this morning, I forgot them at Wermuth’s house and had to run back for them.”

“Wow,” Cato mutters.

"How many did you end up drawing?" Schweizer asks softly.

"Yeah, what do they look like? May we see them?" Cato adds just as the door to the classroom opens. The three turn to look and see Esquilinus walking towards them. Bucco grabs his bag and starts to search for his sketchbook. Esquilinus greets them when she reaches the group.

Sčiao, Esquilinus. I finished the posters.” Bucco says as he hands her his sketchbook. Schweizer and Cato move to look over her shoulder as she looks over the sketches. Despite having spent an entire night and thrown away several dozen copies, there are only three that Bucco was able to complete. The first sketch depicts Esquilinus passing a football down a field. Another student is on the receiving end at the side of the page, but Esquilinus is centered, with several opposing players gathered around her attempting to block the pass. On the next page Esquilinus is in a classroom, helping a classmate with microbiology homework, a subject she is particularly good at. Her hair frames her smiling face perfectly and she leans over the textbook, explaining some concept to a student who dutifully takes notes. In the last picture, Esquilinus is in the school’s aging library, speaking to a small crowd about the condition of the library and vowing to improve it after her election. In the background, the library’s poor and old condition is emphasized, with many unkempt shelves stacked with worn books.

When the three finish looking over the drawings, they glance back up at Bucco. “These look great, Bucco!” Esquilinus exclaims.

"Yeah, nice job. You can tell you put in a lot of work,” Schweizer adds, handing the book back to Bucco.

“It wasn’t that much work, but I still think someone else would’ve done better.” Bucco says, stifling a yawn. Cato’s phone chimes as he receives a text from Wermuth.

After reading the message, Cato says, “Wermuth’s asking where we are. We better get going.”

"You know, I was actually thinking of getting some things for the campaign done now, so I'll pass lunch. I'm going to go to the library... Bucco, why don't you join me? We can get these drawings copied and start posting them around the school." Esquilinus says.

“Are you sure, Esquilinus? What will you eat?”

“I’ve prepared a small snack, I’ll be fine.”

"Alright, we'll I'm getting hungry. If you're sure you want to pass up Schweizer's cooking then I would be more than happy to eat your portions as well." Cato says while grabbing his school bag. After Cato and Schweizer leave, Bucco follows Esquilinus to the library to copy his sketches.

They print a hundred copies of each, causing the librarian to toss a glare in their direction. Bucco takes the stack of three hundred papers and follows Esquilinus around the school as she staples the posters at strategic locations. The posters are heavier than he first thought and it’s not long before his arms start to tire. After about a hundred posters have been put up, Esquilinus stops at the top of a flight of stairs, deciding to take a break to eat her lunch. Thankful for the moment’s rest, Bucco puts down the stack and sits a few steps down from Esquilinus. He suddenly remembers that he hasn’t eaten anything since dinner the night before, having skipped breakfast to finish the sketches. On cue it seems, Bucco’s stomach growls, angry at being forgotten for so long.

Esquilinus bears an expression of surprise until she realizes it is not her stomach that cries out but Bucco's. Laughing, she offers Bucco what else makes up her small snack for that day, handing him an apple she conveniently picked up the day before from the shop run by Wermuth's parents. Bucco tries to deny that he’s hungry, not wanting to take what little Esquilinus has for her own lunch, but his stomach growls again, causing him to give in and accept the apple.

After almost two hours, Esquilinus and Bucco finish putting up the posters. With only ten minutes until the next class starts, the two part and return to their respective classrooms. When Bucco arrives, he finds that he’s early and only a few students have returned from lunch. Bucco goes straight to his desk and puts his head down on his desk again, tired, hungry, and aching from carrying the weight of hundreds of papers for so long.



That evening is the first football game since the break. To make up for the previous week, the coaches show no mercy and push their respective teams hard in the pregame warm-ups. Fortunately for Bucco, the girls’ team plays first, giving him time to prepare himself for the workout he knew he is about to endure. Wermuth seems unconcerned though and continually jokes the entire time.

The girls start poorly, allowing the other team an early goal. Despite that, the two sides are pretty evenly matched and much of the first half is spent running from one end of the field to the other, with neither side gaining a significant advantage. They manage to calm their coach down by scoring their own goal just before halftime, tying the score at one goal apiece. The tie holds through most of the second half, broken only when Esquilinus scores Mazotto’s second goal with approximately twenty minutes left.

With only ten minutes to go, the visiting team is getting desperate. They begin to play dirty, regardless of the number of penalties they receive, and it becomes obvious that the other coach had told his team to hold nothing back. Despite the amount of sketchy moves and low tactics, the referee can’t catch everything, and many fouls are not penalized. Several players get hurt, but most are able to continue playing after a few moments rest on the bench. By now, even Wermuth had stopped making jokes, taking a more serious attitude as the boys helplessly watched the brutal game from the stands.

Approaching the final stretch of the match, Esquilinus runs down the field, keeping pace with the ball in front of her. Off to the side, one of the opposing players rushes over in a poorly executed slide tackle. Rather than hit the ball, the girl strikes Esquilinus’ foot, throwing her off balance and onto the ground. She tumbles forward, the ball lost to the other team, while everyone rushes past her. Bucco leans forward in concern as Esquilinus pushes herself up, but falls immediately upon trying to stand. The referee blows his whistle and rushes to her side with the coach just steps behind. Bucco feels powerless in the stands with the other spectators, knowing anything he tries to do wouldn’t help. The first aid volunteers run over and, after a few moments, carry her off the field and to the first aid station located at the center of the complex. As they pass, Bucco can see tears running down her face.

Regardless, the Mazotto girls hold on to win, two to one. The boys’ match starts some time later, but Bucco’s mind wouldn’t stay on the game at hand. The first half passes rather quickly and the coach grills his team during halftime. As the second half begins, the game is tied, one to one, with neither side able to gain an advantage and, just as his colleague had for the girls’ game, the opposing coach orders his team to go all out. Not paying attention, Bucco is idly running forward when someone shouts to him.

“Bucco!”

His thoughts are suddenly dragged back to the game and he quickly speeds up to take the ball that is rolling past him. With the ball in his possession, he becomes the main target of the opposition and several players do their best to trip him and take the ball. Only his superior footwork saves him from falling and allows him to keep the ball. He reaches the defensive line and the number of players trying to stop him increases. Looking around, he sees no one to pass the ball to and decides he’d have to go for the goal himself. Just as he is about to shoot, someone’s foot hooks around his and a sudden hit to the back brings him down. His momentum rolls him forward too fast for him to protect his face and the ground is unforgiving.

When he stops rolling, he is sprawled face down with people running all around him. He tries to push himself up, but only succeeds in rolling over on his back. The brightly lit ceiling of the massive sports complex blinds him. He tastes blood, but can’t bring himself to sit up. His head hurts and he can’t concentrate. Sometime later, Bucco can’t tell how long, a few people appear in his view. His coach is talking to him, asking if he is alright, but he can’t focus on the words and, though they are loud and clear, they also seem to have been shouted from a distance. The coach disappears from his vision, replaced by first aid volunteers, who help him up and walk him to the first aid station. On the way, his senses start to return and he realizes his nose is bleeding, turning the lower half of his face and part of his jersey a crimson red. By the time they reach the first aid station, Bucco walks in on his own, insisting he is fine, but they wouldn’t let him leave until his guardians, Wermuth’s parents, sign him out first. He sits on one of the beds and waits, holding a towel to his nose. He looks around and sees Esquilinus on one of the beds near him, her ankle wrapped in a towel packed with ice. Her face is streaked with partially dried tears and, though she doesn’t appear to be crying at the moment, she is still teary eyed and has a tissue box next to her.

Sčiao, Esquilinus,” Bucco says to get her attention. She looks around for a moment before seeing him and he waits until she finds him before continuing. “Are you alright?”

Esquilinus laughs lightly, working quickly to dry her eyes and cheeks. "I've been better." She then notices the towel he was holding to his nose and asks, "What happened?” pointing to her own nose so that Bucco understands what she is referring to.

“Someone put their foot in my way and pushed me when I went to shoot the ball… at least I think that’s what happened anyway.”

"Oh... it isn't anything serious, right?"

“I don’t think so, but these èbeti won’t let me go.” He pauses a moment. “What about you? It looked like you took a pretty bad fall.”

"I'm better now, but I'm still not sure exactly what's wrong. I'm pretty sure it's something with my ankle." Esquilinus responds, though she continues when she notices a slight expression of concern in Bucco's eyes. "I'm sure this'll heal right up. It's a bit swollen right now; that's why I can't walk or put too much weight on it."

To ease Esquilinus' mind a bit and pull her attention away from her injury, Bucco informs her of the girls' football game, detailing how the rest of the game had gone and how the Mazzotto girls were able to pull off a victory. This good news immediately cheers Esquilinus up, much to Bucco's delight. He goes on to tell her about his game up to the point when he was taken out and just as he finishes Wermuth walks into the first aid station, calling out lightheartedly, “So how is everybody?”

Within a half hour, Esquilinus’ parents arrive in a Geminus (Audi) Wagon. Bucco gets off the bed he is sitting on to help Esquilinus up. He and Wermuth carry her to her parents’ car and help her in. Her father thanks them and Esquilinus waves as they drive off. No sooner than when they pass out of sight, Wermuth’s parents arrive, their Van der Claufre (Citroen) XM slowing to a stop in front of them. The moment the car stops, Wermuth’s mother jumps out and gushes about how terrible Bucco looks and whether he is alright, much to Wermuth’s chagrin.

On arriving at Wermuth’s house, Wermuth’s mother sends him straight upstairs to clean up, as he is still bloody from before. He scales the stairs, but feels dizzy by the time he reaches the top and steadies himself with a hand on the wall. Wermuth, standing right behind him, asks if he is alright, to which he insists he is just tired. He goes down the hall to the guest room he is staying in and turns on the light.



The room jumps. Bucco slowly opens his eyes, confused as to why the room is moving at all. Above him he sees a gray felt ceiling and realizes he is lying across the backseat of a car. Turning his head, he sees Wermuth’s parents in the front seats. He is about to say something, but his brain suddenly seems to remember it is in pain and rushes to remind his poor consciousness of the fact. His head had never hurt this badly before. He stays quiet and, shortly after, the car slows and eventually stops. The Wermuths’ get out of the car and half drag, half help him out of the backseat. He stands with their support and they walk into a brightly lit building with people rushing in and out.

Inside the red-painted room, nurses rush about and patients lounge, waiting their turn. Wermuth’s father goes up to the counter and gives them Bucco’s information. In a few minutes, Bucco is in a wheelchair, being rushed down the halls. The lights pass quickly overhead causing his head to hurt more, so he closes his eyes but manages to stay awake. They move him about and eventually bring him to a room where he is told he’d be staying for the night.

Finally resting in the hospital bed, Bucco stares at the ceiling for a bit as he tries to gather his senses. After some time, the pain in his head lessens a bit, no doubt due to the pain medication he had just taken. Without the mental block the pain causes, he feels more in control and sits himself up to look around the room. The clock reads eight thirty; it is about a half hour since the football game had ended. The room is small, but only slightly crowded despite being sparsely furnished. Aside from his bed, two armchairs sit to his left, between him and the window. To his right is the door to the hallway. The other side of the room is a mirror image to his half, featuring the same furniture and a single window in the same layout.

He tries to think back to what happened, but the last thing he remembers is turning on the light in the guest room at the Wermuth’s house. He checks his shirt; it is still the blood stained jersey from the football game. The more he tries to remember what happened, the more his head hurts, so he gives up trying and lays back down, resting his hands on his head in a futile attempt to push the pain away. At some point, Bucco has no idea when, he falls asleep.

Someone was calling him again. What was it with people calling his name this past day? He tries to ignore it, but eventually decides to give in and open his eyes. The shades to the windows are drawn and the light instantly causes his head to hurt. He rolls to his side, away from the window, and covers his face with his hands.

“Bucco? Is that you? Are you alright?”

The voice is familiar and he can easily hear the concern in the words. He fights the pain and looks up to see he is not alone in the room. Across from him in the other bed is Esquilinus, looking at him with a mixture of concern and slowly fading surprise. She must’ve been sleeping when he arrived, or he probably wouldn’t have missed her the night before. Finally, the surprise registers and Bucco sits up quickly.

“Esquilinus!? What are you doing here?” His head rushes to remind him he is not ready to move so quickly yet and he involuntarily lowers his head and brings his hands to his face as another wave of pain crashes through his brain.

“Oh!” Esquilinus says with concern. After a few moments, Bucco looks back to her and states that he’s fine. “Well, uh… my parents brought me here yesterday night and had my ankle checked and tended to. The doctor said I could have gone home, but he suggested that I stay overnight."

Bucco notes the splint on her leg. “Is it broken? Does it hurt?” Esquilinus responds that her parents were told that her ankle is cracked. She’d have difficulty walking for a time while it healed, but she was otherwise fine. Esquilinus hesitates a moment, but then asks Bucco as to why he is here as well. Bucco informs her of the events after they had parted at the sports complex, including what he had been told by the Wermuths’ during the point of time that he couldn’t remember. Though his head pulsates and he can't make out Esquilinus' face clearly, he can tell she is concerned about his condition and only keeps her thoughts and emotions to a minimum so as to not worry him. When he finishes, he does his best to dispel the look of concern in her eyes, insisting that he is fine.

The rest of morning is spent talking about more trivial things, such as Esquilinus’ bid for student council, Bucco’s sketches, and a wide range of other topics. Just minutes after noon, during lunchtime, a knock on the door announces that visitors had arrived and both are surprised when Cato, Schweizer, Pisdoé, and Wermuth stroll into the room together. As they are walking in, Wermuth is saying, "...So then this other guy says, 'Hey! We're not finished!' and goes to grab Bucco. You should have seen him! A couple of quick jabs and this guy was on the ground!"

"Uh huh..." Cato nods, skepticism ripe within his response.

"Of course, I kept back to make sure no one else got involved, but Bucco has a hell of a right hook. It's unfortunate that they went after him with three guys after that..." Wermuth continues as if Cato hadn’t said a word. Schweizer dashes past once they were fully in the room and runs to Esquilinus’ bedside, attacking her with a hug and a full barrage of questions about her condition. Pisdoé follows closely behind, asking how Esquilinus feels as well.

"I suppose it's fair to say that they play dirty both on and off the field?" Cato adds.

"Exactly." Wermuth says, turning to Bucco with a twinkle in his eye, something Bucco had come to recognize when Wermuth is having a bit of fun.

“Wha-“ Bucco starts to ask, but is interrupted by Schweizer, who had finished checking up on Esquilinus.

“Bucco! Are you alright?! Wermuth told me all about it. It’s a shame some people are like that.” She says, not leaving Esquilinus’ side.

Wermuth continues before Bucco can say anything. "Just look at him Schweizer! Bloody nose...He probably has an awful headache...Those bastards sure did get what was coming to them." Wermuth says, waving at Bucco with his arm for dramatic effect. "You do look awful though..."

Wermuth keeps the charade up for several more minutes before Cato tires of the obvious joke. Once the act is dropped, Schweizer realizes she was tricked and, with her face flushed with embarrassment, proceeds to do her best to land Wermuth in the hospital room next door. Despite this, Wermuth laughs as he defends himself, calling out to Cato to help him, who simply stands to the side with a smirk. Both Pisdoé and Esquilinus are laughing, and seeing the latter greatly cheers Bucco. The group eats lunch together in the joint hospital room until the others have to return to school, leaving just Bucco and Esquilinus again.

Around midafternoon, a nurse comes in with a phone, saying that they managed to contact Bucco’s father and that, according to protocol, Bucco has to speak with him. Bucco does his best to argue his way out of having to talk to his father, but is ultimately unsuccessful. Resignedly, he takes the phone from the nurse.

“Good afternoon, Antonino.”

A familiar voice greets him in Venetian from the phone’s earpiece. The voice grinds his nerves, but he responds regardless. “Good afternoon, father.”

“This injury will not interfere with your studies, will it? I’m paying too much money for you to simply sit idly in a foreign hospital.”

“I know that, father. I cannot control the actions of those around me. I didn’t throw myself head first to the floor.”

His father’s voice starts to tense. “I don’t expect you to control those around you. I expect you to be more aware and not allow yourself to be injured. You’re too valuable to just act so recklessly that way.”

“I’m too valuable to whom? You? Or the business?”

Infuriatingly, his question is met by a chuckle. “You’re too direct. Asking such blunt questions; it’ll make dealings difficult in the future. Is this what Porcuian schools are teaching?”

Now Bucco is shouting back into the phone. “DAMNIT! Can’t you ever once stop thinking of the business?! You still didn’t answer my question!”

“It’s not a question that needs to be answered, Antonino. But, since you insist on being so uncouth, I’ll give you a forthright answer. The business, of course.”

“…” Bucco quiets. “That’s the answer then?”

“You know me, Antonino. I’m not known to lie. I’m a man of my word, if nothing else.”

“A man of your word. Well then, you will continue to honor the agreement that we made before I came here. I will continue playing football, just as I will continue my studies,here in Porcu. When the time comes, I will take the company and you will step aside. I will run things as I see fit.”

“Ah, finally he speaks sense! It’s good to know my money isn’t going completely to waste.”

“Just one last thing, though.”

“Oh, what’s that, Antonino?”’

After having been calm the last half of the conversation, both the nurse and Esquilinus jump when Bucco suddenly shouts, “FÒTARE TI!! THE FIRES OF HELL WILL BURN OUT LONG BEFORE YOU’VE ENDURED THE AGONY YOU DESERVE, YOU GODDAMN PLUTOCRATIC PEON!!!” and throws the phone at the wall, where it lets out a high pitched crack on impact, followed by the satisfying sound of a handful of plastic parts scattering across the floor.

Another nurse comes from the other room to check that everything is alright and assists the first nurse in picking up the destroyed phone. Bucco throws a glance towards Esquilinus, who looks away immediately, suddenly interested by something outside. He realizes this is the first time he had gotten angry in Esquilinus’ presence and worries he may have frightened her. Though his conversation with his father had been in Venetian, the language’s similarity to Latin, Italian, and French, as well as the fact that Porcuians were fluent in all three, left little doubt that Esquilinus had been able to understand most of what was said. In the strained silence of the room, Bucco lays his head back down on the pillow and mutters, “…piàtaro…”

Two or three hours go by and still neither says anything. Bucco, because he had nothing to say, and Esquilinus is unsure what to say without making the situation worse. Thankfully, Esquilinus’ parents arrive to take her home, having cleared it with the hospital staff. The room is quiet and foreboding without anyone else there, but he doesn’t have to suffer long because Wermuths’ parents arrive a couple hours later to take him back to their house. He’s fit to go to school, according to the doctor, and he’s given a small bottle of pills to take when his head hurts. Once home, Wermuth’s mother insists he rest for the remainder of the day and, not wanting to argue, Bucco complies, content to let Wermuth do his share of the chores for the day.

The next morning, Bucco and Wermuth walk to school, as usual. A familiar Geminus (Audi) Wagon passes by, but Bucco doesn’t give it much thought. At school, Bucco remembers the incident the day before and realizes he hadn’t said anything to Esquilinus since then. He says goodbye to Wermuth and starts to head towards his classroom before he realizes that Esquilinus’ class, 3C, wasn’t too far out of the way. He takes a detour and finds 3C easily, in part due to the small crowd pressed up to the door. He knows Esquilinus is popular, so he supposes the crowd shouldn’t be a surprise. Pushing his way through, he makes it into the classroom and sees Esquilinus at her desk trying to ignore the people crushed up against the door.

Sčiao, Esquilinus,” he calls out as he walks towards her.

"Hey Bucco!" Esquilinus says with the best smile she can muster. The crowd of students gathered just outside the room, held back by her fellow classmates, embarrasses Esquilinus, though she is slightly flattered to receive such attention. "You look good, how are you feeling?"

“I’m much better, thanks. You?”

“I’ve had better days.”

Bucco pauses a moment before continuing, “So, I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I should’ve kept my temper in check.”

"It's ok..." Esquilinus says, though not fully convinced by Bucco's words nor by her response. The previous day's outburst is the first experience Esquilinus has of Bucco's volcanic temper towards his father and she has been terribly shaken by it, more from being caught off guard and surprised than anything else.

He isn’t satisfied with the answer either, but has already said all he could and so moves on. “So do you need any help? With a cracked ankle, it can’t be easy to get from place to place with a schoolbag to carry.”

"Oh..." Esquilinus replies, responding quickly as not to make it seem she is turning his offer down. "Yes, thank you."

“Alright then.” He is relieved that she would still accept his help. “I’ll come by at lunch then.” He makes his way out of the classroom and hurries to his, arriving just before the bell. The class is boring as always, but this time he is unable to force himself to pay attention and zones out, thinking how it is possible for his father to cause trouble in his life nearly an entire continent away.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

“Cato…” Schweizer whispers over to Cato. “Cato, is Bucco daydreaming again?”

Cato turns his attention slightly to the right, focusing towards the front of the class where Bucco is seated. Indeed, Schweizer’s suspicions are correct and the young Venetian is off daydreaming once again in a class that may be relatively easy for most students but is an important one nonetheless.

“Yeah…” he whispers back to Schweizer. Unfortunately, the Latin teacher had turned around from the blackboard to face and speak to the class and sees Cato leaning over to talk to Schweizer.

“Cato!”

“Yes sir?!” Cato says quickly, standing from his seat.

Mr. Lösse then proceeds to lecture Cato on the importance and significance of classical studies, ending with a note regarding those who do not pay attention in class and a stern warning for Cato specifically. “If I catch another one of you not providing your undivided attention, I will bury you with Latin coursework…Try me if you don’t believe me.”

Schweizer slowly gazes up at Cato, who does not dare move a muscle until instructed to by the teacher, and silently conveys her desire to snap Bucco out of his spell, lest his social life implode due to the sheer amount of Latin work he’d have to do. Seated in the back of the class, directly to the left of Schweizer, and only slightly further away from Bucco than she, it is Cato who has the clearest sight of Bucco and therefore becomes his responsibility to help.

Cato takes a minute or so to think and construct a sort of small, but dense triangular frisbee out of normal notebook paper, one that he hopes will sail true and strike Bucco’s head and wake him from his daydream. The distance is intimidating and the obstacles formidable; however, Cato calmly prepares himself to try and salvage his friend from a terrible fate that, if Bucco were to continue daydreaming, will be only a matter of ‘when’ and not ‘if’. Mr. Lösse turns occasionally from the blackboard, but only to survey the students, never stopping his monotonous lecture. Realizing that he cannot wait much longer, Cato winds up and throws the small paper triangle just as the teacher turns his head back to the blackboard. The noise of chalk against the blackboard hides the subtle sound of the paper frisbee in flight as it glides past several rows of students towards Bucco. Cato holds his breath nervously and in a superstitious attempt to not affect the frisbee’s flight, watching as time slows and the disk makes its way closer to its destination. Finally, the disk arrives true, smacking up against the back of Bucco’s head, slightly grazing his ear as well. As hoped, Bucco’s attention to reality is restored and his hand drops from his cheek as he turns to simultaneously check who had disturbed his peace and what sort of damage his head had absorbed.

Unable to contain himself, Cato lets out a celebratory roar, much to the delight of those students who had witnessed this past series of events reservedly. The Latin teacher, as well as the rest of the students who had not seen Cato’s magnificent feat, together turn abruptly to make sense of the outburst. Mr. Lösse provides an expression of near total anger, but Cato’s quick thinking is able to mitigate his certain punishment by feigning injury to his ‘funny bone’, hence the sudden outburst. The range of reactions, from those students who had witnessed everything from the beginning and are now trying desperately not to laugh to Bucco’s utter and complete confusion to Schweizer’s astonishment, is enough to melt even the coldest of comedic hearts.

Luckily for everyone, the bell signaling the end of the lesson and the beginning of the lunch break rings and the students hurry out of the classroom, some because they cannot contain their laughter anymore and others because they simply had to tell their friends. While Cato stands at the front of the class at a slightly lower level than the teacher due to the small platform located at the front of the classroom and is verbally assaulted, Bucco waits for Schweizer to approach before asking what all the commotion was about.

“Come on…I’ll explain while we gather everyone for lunch. I packed lunch for everyone, knowing that it would be really difficult for Esquilinus to make it to my house and back with her bad ankle.” Schweizer says, motioning her head towards the sliding entrance door of the classroom.

“I actually promised to help Esquilinus with her schoolbag. I’m going to quickly drop by her class.” Bucco responds.

“Ok, though you may also have to carry the lunch I gave her, depending on how she is feeling. She already knows where we’re going to meet for lunch, so just follow her. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Sometime later, the entire group but Cato is gathered together on the terrace of the school roof for lunch. A number of benches dot the terrace’s outlay and several small trees provide shade for the hungry students, who are forced to sit on and around a bench near one of the raised solar panels the school recently installed as there was not enough space elsewhere for all six students. By the time Cato makes his way to the others, Schweizer had filled Bucco and everyone else in about what happened earlier.

Wermuth stands and jokingly salutes Cato, adding, “You picked a hell of a teacher around whom to pull off a stunt like that. He would have eaten you alive if he had actually seen you. What did you use exactly? One of those paper triangles girls use to write notes in?”

“Yeah and I think I would rather have let him eat me alive than stand there for fifteen minutes while he yelled at me.”

“What did he say to you?” Pisdoé asks.

WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR CATO?! AN IDIOT!?” Cato shouts in a perfect impression of every student’s favorite teacher Mr. Lösse.

The laughter generated eases the mood and Cato is happy to finally be able to relax a bit with his friends. The lunch Schweizer had packed for everyone that morning consists of a sandwich cut vertically into several pieces stacked neatly by a medley of vegetables and fruit, a small portion of wheat crackers set aside. Separate small fruit juice boxes capped off the lunches, which are contained within an organized rectangular lunchbox Bucco had not seen before, with various slots or areas designated to hold different types and amounts of food. Schweizer had initially brought all the lunchboxes with her to school in a large bag, but had divided them out to everyone individually upon entering school and before the start of the first lesson. A sort of light cloth, each with a different design pattern, is used to hold and transport each lunchbox as a sort of artistic flair and Bucco is interested to hear how such cloths are traditionally used when transporting gifts, clothes, and lunchboxes.

A cute pattern of small ancient Greek soldiers decorates the cloth holding Cato’s lunch, which at this point is still unfolded and unopened, and Cato takes a moment to comment on the choice of cloth before thanking Schweizer and digging into his own lunch. The group eats and chats for awhile, with delicious food and a pleasant conversation to match under an enjoyable fall afternoon all wish to savor every minute of their precious lunch break. Towards the end of the break, Wermuth becomes impatient withholding a piece of information he had been waiting for the others to bring up and interrupts Pisdoé.

“You would think a day like today would be marked as a national holiday.” Wermuth says.

“Huh?” Pisdoé asks.

“What are you talking about?” Bucco adds.

“Wow! You guys actually forgot!?” Wermuth says with genuine surprise. Until then, he is under the impression that the others are being coy.

“Forgot what?” Cato asks.

It is at that point that Schweizer understands what Wermuth is referring to and her expression changes from one of confusion to an apologetic one. “Aww, I’m sorry Wermuth…”

“What is it?” Cato remarks.

“It’s his birthday today.”

As the rest of the group tries to flood Wermuth with their apologies, excuses, and happy birthday wishes, he simply sits with his arms folded and head turned to the side, eyes closed and pouting. Not even with Pisdoé playfully tugging at his shirt, does Wermuth quit acting like a four year old. It is only after a few minutes that the rest of the group remains completely silent without even so much as a word between themselves that Wermuth finally gazes back at everyone.

With a suspicious look in his eye, he asks, “So…Would you all like to make up for your terrible sin?”

A collective round of gazes makes Wermuth chuckle and drop the charade and ask again if the others would want to get together late that evening. After the conversation goes back and forth a bit, it is settled that the group would get together at Schweizer’s house at around 20:00. With regard to school the next day, it is decided that everyone will stay the night at Schweizer’s house and skip the morning lessons, returning after the lunch break. It is not advisable for students to skip lessons; however, Wermuth is the first member of the group to turn eighteen, the age of legal adulthood in Porcu, and so a little celebration is called for. Interestingly enough, the only advantages of turning eighteen in Porcu are gaining the ability to drive and vote. Alcohol, for example, can be bought by those of at least sixteen years.

Soon enough, the bell rings after taking its own two-hour break and signals the five minute window before lessons are to begin again. Wermuth runs over the plans for the evening one last time before everyone packs up their lunchboxes and joins the other students who had gathered on the terrace in re-entering the school building. A series of quick goodbyes sees each student head off to their respective classroom on time.



“Alright, that’s it for today! Please make sure to have read and answered the questions for tomorrow. Have a good afternoon everyone!” the final teacher of the day says as the students of Class 3A noisily gather their things and head out of the classroom.

“Bucco!” Cato calls out from across the classroom.

Bucco, who had begun to gather his things to exit the room, stops and waits for Cato and Schweizer to catch up to him. When asked what his plans are, since he usually waits for Cato and Schweizer before leaving, he answers that Esquilinus is hoping to get some more things done relating to her election campaign and that he had already told her he would help.

“Oh, well, there isn’t too much schoolwork for the evening, so we’d like to help.” Schweizer remarks, grabbing Cato and following Bucco to Class 3C where Esquilinus is waiting.

In fact, when the three friends arrive and peak into the classroom, they find Esquilinus encircled by other students, giving orders about what to print off in the library, what to hang around the school, and other activities related to the election. As Bucco, Schweizer, and Cato near and the students around Esquilinus decrease, Esquilinus waves to them and thanks them for stopping by to help.

“Who are all these people?” Cato asks, overwhelmed by the number of volunteers Esquilinus seems to have conjured up overnight.

“Most of them are first and second-year students who were planning on voting for me anyway, but decided to really help me out when they heard about my ankle. They’re just little angels!” Esquilinus answers, rustling the hair of a young student who had just come up to ask a question of his own at that last remark.

“Miss Esquilinus, Castanius and I have finished making the copies. Should we go ahead and start hanging them up?”

“That would be great, thank you. You are…Faure, right?”

The younger student nods his head before wandering back over to the corner of the room where his friend is. Bucco chimes in next, asking what he, Schweizer, and Cato could do. While Esquilinus outlines some of her recent ideas, many pertaining to the important and upcoming debate, Wermuth and Pisdoé walk in.

“Here you are!” Wermuth says, lifting his arm. “I was wondering where the hell you guys ran off to…I mean, I knew Bucco was going to be helping Esquilinus with her campaign, but for awhile I was wondering if you two had snuck off somewhere for some in-depth, personalized anatomy study.”

Schweizer blushes immediately, trying to disguise her face by turning her back and saying how absurd the thought is. Cato, on the other hand, realizes Wermuth is only joking and gives his friend a wide smile. However, Cato’s eyes then meet Pisdoé’s which seemed to carry a hint of surprise and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. This lasts for only a slip second as Pisdoé is soon giggling, much like Esquilinus.

“Since everyone’s here, why don’t we help out too and then we can leave together and meet up at Schweizer’s later?” Wermuth says, setting down his schoolbag.

With everyone in agreement about the wonderful suggestion, Esquilinus designates the others to various tasks, such as proofreading a speech of hers, drawing additional posters, and rudimentary pamphlet production. The only one left to designate work to after Esquilinus provides orders to everyone else is Pisdoé, who awkwardly asks what she can help with. As Esquilinus is thinking, another younger student drops by the small group of upperclassmen and motions to get Esquilinus’ attention.

“Miss Esquilinus? I have the survey information you asked for.”

“Great, let’s hear it.”

“Well, it still seems you’re trailing Vex, but if these survey numbers are any indication you’re closing the gap.”

In an effort to try and gauge the current popularity of the different candidates for student council president, each candidate has a small group of students who work to survey the student body and discover their voting preferences. The only times when this is done are before and after school and during lunch, as students file into and out of the school in large numbers.

Esquilinus gladly takes the small amount of good news in the report, noting how if things continue she may surpass Vex in votes on election day. Schweizer reassures Esquilinus that she’ll win, while Cato, Bucco, and Wermuth wonder what Vex is doing to maintain his advantage, what kind of campaign style he has.

“What if I were to go and drop by?” Pisdoé suggests.

“What?” Esquilinus responds.

“What if I were to pretend I was interested in helping Vex? I could try and see what sort of plans they’re coming up with.”

“A sexy spy!?” Wermuth says with wide eyes.

“That’s such a bad idea…” Cato remarks.

“What? You can’t be serious.” Schweizer comments, shocked at the idea of sending someone to actively spy on another candidate.

“Yeah, I don’t like this…” Bucco adds.

“What’s wrong?” Wermuth retorts. “If anyone can pull off a mission like this it’s Pisdoé.”

“I know…” Cato says. “But if she’s caught then it’s a huge scandal that will rain hell upon Esquilinus. She’d be finished.”

“Not to mention it’s a dishonorable thing to do.” Bucco adds.

“Guys…” Esquilinus says calmly. “Pisdoé is only trying to help. We shouldn’t tear her apart for that.”

A calm Esquilinus then thanks Pisdoé for the effort but adds that she would rather not deal with the repercussions of a failed attempt. Noting how disorganized some of the younger students had become in their volunteer efforts, Esquilinus suggests that Pisdoé and Bucco act as the captains of sorts, commanding the younger students but also keeping them well organized and focused on their respective tasks. Pisdoé is slightly overwhelmed by the support Esquilinus gave her before, identifying and defending her true intentions.

Progress carries on and Esquilinus is surprised at how much can be accomplished with a little discipline. Looking over the shoulders of her volunteers, Esquilinus estimates she now commands the candidate field with the most posters and flyers printed. Cato returns from a brief trip to the library, a solid stack of flyers in his hands, and is told to insert one in each student’s cubby, located just inside the school building. Here, there is a large entry vestibule equipped with shelves or lockers for each student's shoes, where they change from outside footwear to inside shoes. Since there is an assigned cubby for each student, sometimes other things besides shoes are left there, such as gossip notes or love letters.

“Don’t forget about these…” Esquilinus says, pointing to a pile of copies of Bucco’s sketches, given a bit of color by the generous effort of her volunteers.

Cato nods in acknowledgement, but wishes to take a small break first and sets down the stack of flyers he currently holds in his hand. He leaves the classroom and walks down a portion of the hallway until he reaches a water fountain and takes several long gulps of water. Refreshed, he turns around and quickly enters the room, swiping the stack of flyers he had set down earlier before exiting just as quickly. In order to get to the entrance area of the school where the rows of cubbies are located, Cato has to descend from the second floor and walk across most of the school. It is only once he arrives though that he realizes that he forgot the additional stack of copies Esquilinus wanted him to include and insert in each cubby along with the flyers he currently has. Once again, Cato turns and starts to make his way back to Class 3C.

At the same time, Esquilinus sees that Cato had come and gone, grabbing his own stack of copies but conveniently forgetting the one she asked him to take with him. With her injured ankle, Esquilinus is unable to personally deliver the copies to Cato, so she calls Schweizer over and asks if she would be so kind as to take the copies of Bucco’s sketches down to Cato. Schweizer naturally accepts and clutches the stack of copies close to her body as she dashes out of the classroom and down the long hallway. Though not an active person to the extent of Esquilinus, Bucco, or Wermuth, Schweizer is easily able to dart through the hallway and coast down the stairs. Meanwhile, Cato is talking to himself, kicking himself for forgetting the other pile of copies and wondering what sort of reaction Esquilinus will have.

Just as he approaches the edge of the stairwell, at a right angle and therefore unable to see clearly if anyone is descending, Schweizer pops out at near full pace and crashes into Cato, causing him to fall hard and her to fall on top of him. Luckily avoiding any major injuries and amid a shower of falling flyers and photocopies, both students regain complete awareness in quite a compromising position. In a wonderful example of physics, Schweizer is able to crash into Cato and subsequently be turned around, straddling him with her head towards his feet and her buttocks towards his face. Likewise, Cato recovers from a minor headache and spinning vision, raising his battered head slightly to find his nose mere centimeters from Schweizer’s private area. The skirts of the girls’ school uniform are not long to begin with, no doubt due to the decision of a lonely administrator, but Schweizer’s own skirt is completely pulled back at this point, her light blue and white striped panties gently outlining her genitalia in full view for Cato to see.

Schweizer is the first to realize the severity of the position she currently finds herself in, but is too shocked to move. Deeply flushed, Schweizer slowly peers back to find Cato’s face hidden behind her rear, he too frozen in shock. It is only when Schweizer realizes that Cato is becoming aroused that she lets out a scream. Purely instinctually, Cato jumps out of surprise and tries to free himself, driving his face into Schweizer’s genitals and setting his right hand on her buttocks while his left arm presses against the ground.

“Shit! Sorry!” Cato barks a split second after pulling his head back and realizing what he just did.

Schweizer, in turn, is surprised by Cato’s sudden reaction to her scream, her eyes widening and her teeth clenched, but in sensing his nose and mouth pressing up against her privates for that brief moment cannot bring herself to yell again. Cato’s own state of arousal increases while his face turns an even deeper shade of red and Schweizer takes the opportunity to slowly raise her torso and upper body, consequently bringing her genitalia and buttocks to rest on Cato’s sternum.

In the calmest voice she can muster Schweizer says, “You’ve still got your hand on my butt.” To which Cato instantly pulls back his hand. “This is embarrassing, eh?”

Cato chuckles awkwardly, silencing himself after a second or two. “Um…I think you should…”

“Should what?” Schweizer replies, gazing down at Cato’s face with her own flushed visage before gazing downward at his bulging erection.

“Move, I mean! I think you should be the one to move!” Cato says quickly.

Schweizer slowly adjusts and swings her right leg in order to clear herself off from Cato. For another minute, Schweizer silently sits right beside Cato on her knees while he lays there and tries hard to think of every possible thing to kill his erection. A younger female student arrives, one Cato remembers seeing helping Esquilinus, and asks what the commotion is about.

“We’re…ok…” Cato remarks, thanking God his member had returned to its resting state.

“Are you sure? We heard a scream and were worried that someone got hurt. Are one of you hurt?” the student replies.

“I was just surprised.” Schweizer answers still slightly flushed. “Thank you, but we’re fine.”

“Do you need any help picking up these flyers?”

“No.” Cato says bluntly. “I mean, if everyone’s worried and thinks someone got hurt it might be best if you just went back and reassured everyone. Besides, Schweizer and I can handle this.”

The younger student nods in agreement and promptly turns around, ascending the stairs and disappearing from view. Both Cato and Schweizer pick up and organize the flyers and photocopies of Bucco’s sketches in silence, with Cato taking both stacks at the end.

“I’m going to head back to the classroom…” Schweizer says, keeping her head down and gaze away from Cato.

“Ok…”

Cato watches as Schweizer ascends the stairs before slowly turning and making his way to the school’s entrance where the student cubbies were. He does not start distributing the numerous flyers and photocopies immediately and instead reflects on the awkward experience he just shared with Schweizer. With the group already scheduled to get together late that evening to celebrate Wermuth’s birthday, Cato only hopes that Schweizer will have recovered by then.



The darkening sky and tired looks among her volunteers suggests to Esquilinus that the time has come to wrap up their work and call it a day. She makes sure to stop by and thank each group of students, commenting on their hard work and its helpful and positive effect on her campaign. Bucco and Pisdoé had indeed served as model commanders and had even gained the respect of the younger students by the end of the day.

“Great work…Thanks again everyone! Please have a safe trip home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Esquilinus says bidding the last of the volunteers out of the classroom with a gentle wave and sincere smile. “And thanks to you guys as well…” she adds, turning to the rest of the group spread across the room.

Everyone else smiles back, stating how they were happy to help and how it was the least they could do. Schweizer and Cato had tried to act as though nothing had happened before, but are unsuccessful as Wermuth is able to pick up on various nonverbal queues indicating some tension between the two. A final check is given and once Esquilinus is sure that all the materials have been put away she grabs her things and joins the rest of the group outside the classroom. Exiting the school, the group naturally segregates into two smaller groups by sex. Wermuth, Cato, and Bucco discuss various alcoholic necessities for the celebration that evening and Schweizer, Esquilinus, and Pisdoé talk about recent social developments within the school.

“You turned down Van Kukke?!” Esquilinus says, clutching her school bag and raising it to her face in disbelief.

“Uh…It just didn’t feel right.” Pisdoé responds. “He’s a nice guy and everything, but I just don’t have any feelings for him.”

Schweizer nods in acknowledgement as Esquilinus muddles over Pisdoé’s response. “Ah, you’re so lucky to be so attractive! Of course, I’m not surprised that all the guys want to date a model.”

“It’s not all that it’s said to be.” Pisdoé responds. “Plus, I’m not really looking to date anyone right now…”

“There isn’t anyone that’s caught your eye?” Schweizer asks playfully.

“Well…” Pisdoé replies, first looking in front of her at Cato, who is laughing at sometime Wermuth just said, and then gazing up at the sky. The gaze is a short one and innocent enough not to draw suspicion from the other two girls.

“My, my…So who is it?” Esquilinus says with glee.

“Uh…No one! Like I said, I’m not really looking to date right now. With my modeling career and school, I’ve already got plenty to think about.”

“That’s a good point Pisdoé.” Schweizer says. “With school the way it is, I’m not even sure how some people can juggle studying with a job. You must be good at managing your stress.”

“Well, after such a hard day today, I think winding down and letting loose a little is the least we could do for ourselves.” Esquilinus interjects. “I wonder what the guys are talking about…”

A bit further up, the guys are conversing lightly and laughing intermittently. Though their thoughts rarely strayed from the upcoming party, each one’s usual assessment of the school’s girls was shared.

“You gentlemen missed a most glorious scene the other day.”

“Was it in your class Wermuth?” Bucco asks.

“Yeah. Hoffberg was called on today to give her response to a question with regard to Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason…”

“She’s the really good looking girl who sits right in front of you right?” Cato asks with a smile.

“Haha, yeah…So, she was standing and talking and I got a small peek of her panties.”

“Woh! No way!” Cato and Bucco respond in unison.

“Gentlemen, she has quite the shapely and well-formed ass.”

“It’s probably a good thing that’s the most you’ll ever see.” Cato says with a laugh.

Slowly, the conversation switches to the festivities scheduled for later that evening.

“Do you need an advance of cash?” Wermuth asks Cato.

“Yeah, I might as well go and pick up the stuff now. So, some wine and spirits?”

“Uh…Here’s ten Denarii…”

“Oh, I’m not letting you pay!” Cato barks back as Wermuth pulls his wallet out from his back pant pocket and sorts through it to hand Cato a couple of bills.

“We’re having this celebration for you. It’s our treat.” Bucco adds, supporting Cato. He pulls out his own wallet and provides a paper bill for Cato along with several coins. Porcuian paper currency begins at the 10 Denarius level, with metal coins of varying compositions of gold and silver utilized for the 1, 2, and 5 Denarii levels.

“This should be good, thanks Bucco.”

As the time nears when each student is to spilt off and head to their respective homes, the two small groups briefly reunite and each person is given a warm goodbye, with promises of seeing them again later that evening. Before long, Cato and Schweizer are heading back to Schweizer’s townhouse residence with two grocery bags holding a couple of bottles of wine, some liquor, and fruit juice. Cato had initially planned on shopping alone, allowing Schweizer to return home first and get a start on her homework, but Schweizer insisted on helping him. Cato did find the gesture to be somewhat strange due to their recent shared experience, but he tossed all thoughts aside with the belief that Schweizer wished to simply move on and forget about what happened.

A few hours pass and in the meantime each group member completes their assigned homework and eats dinner with their respective families before gathering a few things and heading over to Schweizer’s house. As everyone is spending the night over, each person makes sure to bring their school bags and materials, which includes their school uniforms so that they can easily change and prepare themselves the next day. Pisdoé is the first to arrive. Though only somewhat earlier, she catches Cato and Schweizer still eating.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt...”

“Nonsense.” Cato replies, gulping down the last of his fruit salad. He waits a moment for Schweizer to finish her portion as well before standing and taking both bowls to the sink. “Would you like anything?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.”

Pisdoé makes herself comfortable on the couch in the attached living room area as Cato works to clear and clean the table and Schweizer takes her position at the sink, rounding up all the tableware, washing it, and placing it in the dishwasher. A light series of knocks at the door signals the arrival of another group member and Pisdoé goes to open the door. A bellowing “Hello!” from the doorway instantly narrows the field of possible guests down to Esquilinus and her bright smile warms the atmosphere upon entering the attached kitchen-living room area, leaving only the birthday boy to arrive.

Wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, Esquilinus plops down on the couch near the armrest, quickly joined by Pisdoé. Cato offers the two girls a drink, pouring a cup of wine for Esquilinus upon receiving a positive, and carefully handing it over. He then pours another glass and hands it to Schweizer before settling on the couch next to Pisdoé. Dressed in a tank top and skirt, with a light jacket on top, Pisdoé no doubt received an array of looks and gazes when she rode the metro and now she manages to steal a gaze or two from Cato. The group’s resident Venetian arrives shortly afterward, casually dressed in a dark t-shirt with a light design of swirls sweeping across the front and a simple pair of jeans. Greeted with a smile, a handshake, and an invitation for a glass of wine, Bucco quickly makes himself comfortable alongside the others in the central living room area.

Pleasant conversation dominates the next half hour, with brief breaks for a refill or two of wine. Soon enough, a much anticipated knock at the front door marks Wermuth’s arrival and in no time the festivities commence in earnest. The kitchen table is transformed into a card table and a full glass of wine stands at each person’s place. As Wermuth describes dinner with his parents to the entire group, Cato grabs a deck of cards and mixes them a couple of times. A curious look dawns Bucco’s face and Esquilinus and Pisdoé volunteer to explain the nature of the drinking game to him. Bucco smiles as the details of the rather simple game are laid out and he nods his head once he understands the rules.

“This is pretty simple and something to get us going. Depending on how long the game lasts, we could play a few rounds or we might be done after one…” Cato says with a chuckle, dealing out a number of cards to each person.

Sometime later, somewhat surprisingly, the clear leader is none other than Wermuth himself. Schweizer, Esquilinus, and Bucco have managed to keep most of their reasoning faculties, while Pisdoé and Cato begin to succumb to the pleasurable dulling sensation of the alcohol. Wermuth requests a change in music, the current pop hit that is playing not suiting his tastes. As the song is a favorite of Schweizer’s, she puts up a small protest but quickly lets the subject go when she sees Cato fall from his chair as he tries to tip back and change the song on the music player that sits on a small stand. Though not injured in the slightest, Cato garners the attention of everyone except Wermuth and Bucco, both whom share a hearty laugh together at their friend’s expense. The last laugh may reside with Cato, however, as in seconds both Pisdoé and Schweizer are at his side. Cato brushes off their concerned looks with a laugh of his own and a repetition of ‘I’m OK’, though he would not mind in the least if they wish to tend to him a bit longer. Cato’s eyes wander to Pisdoé’s chest, but he quickly draws them back up to her face when she speaks to him once more.

“You sure you’re not hurt Cato?”

“Yeah, I’m fine Pisdoé. Thanks.”

“Maybe you’ve had enough right now…” Schweizer says with obvious concern.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” Cato barks back, moving quickly to stand himself back up. “We’re just getting started!”

“Well said Imperator! The night is still young after all…” Wermuth says, raising his glass of wine as a toast of sorts.

Soon, the group abandons their card game for a round of dancing, with music generously provided by Cato’s own digital music library. The rhythmic pulses of the trance music provides a good guide for Cato and the others to swing their bodies back and forth, arms in the air and heads shifting from right to left and right again. True dance attempts are few and far between and most of them by Wermuth, who Cato swears is a better dancer when completely sober.

Time continues to fly at an unabated pace and only the breaks that are taken are those to catch a moment’s rest and to allow the film of sweat coating everyone’s body to evaporate. Schweizer had initially been somewhat preoccupied with the noise level, particularly with how the neighbors would react, but now she could not be distinguished from any other member of the group, all of whom were enjoying a thoroughly pleasurable state of stupor.

No one is quite sure who made the suggestion to stop or who first decided that they had burned enough calories that evening from dancing, but after some time Cato finds himself sitting on the ground, back against the couch, Pisdoé to his right. Cato notices how Bucco is strewn across a chair, his gaze fixed towards the ceiling, and asks if he is alright, drawing a quick response in the affirmative, adding a small note regarding a headache he is experiencing. After humbly accepting Cato’s offer of a couple of aspirin while falsely voicing the minor nature of his headache, Bucco remains sunken in the soft pillows of the living room chair. Wermuth quietly dances alone in a corner while Esquilinus and Schweizer are talking with each other, giggling and laughing occasionally. Wermuth moves over to where Esquilinus and Schweizer are and floats right above them until they take notice and try and shoo him away. He responds by trying to tickle them and instead only manages to get them to squeal loudly. Even with her bad ankle, Esquilinus is able to move over to where Bucco is and attempts to utilize him to protect her against Wermuth by sitting on him and getting his attention.

As Bucco takes note of Esquilinus’ thin, athletic build perched on his midsection, Wermuth attacks again and strikes at her stomach and neck, forcing her to kick out in an attempt to keep Wermuth at bay. The sudden shift of position is uncomfortable to Bucco and he moves to clear some space on the soft chair for Esquilinus. Alone and without an immediate ally, Schweizer becomes Wermuth’s next target and lands a few soft punches on his shoulders as he drives toward her. Wermuth laughs hardily as he picks Schweizer up and spins her around as she rests atop his shoulder. A few seconds later he sets her down and sits beside her on the ground in silence, seemingly exhausted.

“Bibo ergo sum.”

That voice.

“My, we haven’t had this much fun in quite some time, eh?”

Cato looks to his right and spots the same small, psychedelically kaleidoscopic owl as the one he saw previously at the dance club in Patavium. Cato looks back up and over at everyone else. Schweizer is chatting with Wermuth while Esquilinus and Bucco are engrossed in a discussion of some sort. Pisdoé appears to have dozed off, her head resting upon Cato’s shoulder.

“Oi! Do you guys see an owl by any chance?”

Bucco, Esquilinus, and Schweizer look over with confusion while Wermuth laughs. “Owl? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Did he say he’s hungry for owl?” Esquilinus asks, even more confused than just a moment ago.

“I’ve never heard of owl as a dish. Have you Schweizer?” Bucco asks.

“No.”

“Eat me!? Are you mad?!” the owl responds, rustling its feathers in shock.

“Nevermind…” Cato says, trying to end the discussion with a wave of his hand. He lays his head back against the top of the soft couch seat and closes his eyes, thinking to himself, “The owl isn’t real. It will go away when I open my eyes.”

“I am terribly sorry to disappoint you love.”

Cato hears the owl’s voice as clear as day and opens his eyes to find the owl’s large eyes locked with his. As Cato pulls his head back up, the owl flutters back down to the ground and positions himself in a small space between Pisdoé’s legs, where both her legs are on the ground with the knees pointing to the left and her feet towards the right and her left leg positioned slightly ahead of her right leg.

“What do you want?” Cato says in a low voice and with an annoyed tone of voice.

“Presently, what any sexually curious adolescent male wants, although I am of the impression that we have had this conversation once before.” the owl responds, moving slyly to take a peek underneath Pisdoé’s skirt. A whistling, cooing giggle by the owl brings Cato’s attention to its behavior.

“Hey, what are you doing? Stop that!”

“What? I take it you want a look too…Oh, no? Very well then, I won’t share.”

Cato simply grunts.

“You really should be happier.”

“Really? And why do you say that?”

“My, aren’t we shallow and self-centered…Please scan the room starting from your left and moving to your right. Unless I am seeing things, I count four of your fellow schoolmates who have thus far thoroughly enjoyed themselves in your company this evening. I do believe these individuals are your friends.”

“Well, yeah. Of course they are my friends.”

“And what of this lovely young woman resting on your right shoulder?”

“Pisdoé?”

“Is she not a friend as well?”

Cato sat in silence a moment, not entirely sure how to respond.

“Is she not a friend as well?” the owl repeats.

“It’s not that…It’s just…”

“You are not sure how she managed to wind up within your group of friends.”

“I’m happy she’s a part of the group; I mean, she is a model after all.”

“That she is…” the owl says, standing on Pisdoé’s left thigh and gazing directly at her breasts.

“At the same time, I feel as though she doesn’t entirely belong. Pisdoé’s on an entirely different social level than any of us and I can’t imagine why she wants to hang out with Schweizer, Wermuth, the rest of the group, and I.”

“Are we not overanalyzing? Is it not enough that she wishes to spend time as an equal with peers she finds entertaining?”

“No, I don’t think I’m overanalyzing things. There’s got to be better people for her to hang out with.”

“Better?” the owl replies while cocking its head to the side.

“Yeah…I dunno, I mean, how did she wind up being a part of our group?”

“Then let us hear what she has to say on the matter.”

“Huh?”

Cato turns but finds that the owl has disappeared, again with no trace of his existence. The music continues to play from Schweizer’s digital music player and everyone is conversing like before. Pisdoé, however, stirs slightly and awakens, looking up at Cato with a confused expression.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Huh?” Cato responds.

“I swear I heard you talking to yourself just now.”

Cato laughs, “Well, I am pretty drunk.”

Pisdoé laughs as well, “So am I. How long was I asleep for?”

“I’m not entirely sure.”

Schweizer’s music player follows the ending of one song with the rhythmic pulses of a trance hit. Wermuth’s night of dancing has not reached its end quite yet and he brings himself to his feet to dish out a few more moves. Esquilinus joins him and while Bucco remains stretched out on the comfortable chair, Schweizer polishes off the last of her fruit juice-liquor beverage.

“Would you say that the rest of us are your friends?” Cato says, looking to break the silence that crept in between Pisdoé and him. “Schweizer, Wermuth, Bucco, Esquilinus, and I…”

“What?” Pisdoé responds.

“Well, I’m glad to have had you along with the others recently. I know you could be spending your time with more exciting people, but I’m happy you could hang out with me and the rest of the group tonight.”

The night carried on until all energy had been spent dancing, drinking, and talking. Cato, as with the others, simply found a comfortable place to lie down at one point and immediately fell asleep. He would not be able to later distinguish whether or not it was a part of reality or a part of his dream, but Cato could swear he saw a cute, embarrassing smile crawl across Pisdoé’s face following his last remark.
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Telosan
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The Foremost Intellectual Badass
Bucco wakes with a start, taking in his surroundings. He sees the yellow gold walls of the room he is in, but doesn’t see much more before a throbbing pain washes over his head. Putting his hands to his forehead in a futile attempt to will the pain away, he looks up and resumes trying to piece together where he is. A blur of colors on the walls in neat squares and rectangles reveals what are probably pictures; paintings of flowers and fruit he remembers. The chair he is sitting on is in a living room with a black couch next to him and an identical one with another chair across from him. On the floor is Schweizer, sleeping peacefully with a velvety black pillow from one of the couches under her head. Ah, I’m at Schweizer’s house, he remembers, as the events of Wermuth’s birthday celebration flood his aching brain. On the far couch he recognizes Pisdoé, awake but resting no doubt due to a hangover. He realizes he has one as well; that, coupled with his concussion from earlier that week, is probably the cause of his suffering. He gets up and walks past the couch Pisdoé is resting on and into the conjoined dining room and kitchen. Cato is reading the newspaper, while Esquilinus is preparing food with Wermuth’s assistance. His friends accounted for; Bucco helps himself to an aspirin and sits at the table across from Cato, resting his head in his hands while he waits for the medicine to work its magic.

As his head starts to clear, Bucco looks into the kitchen again to see what exactly Wermuth and Esquilinus are up to. Wermuth is standing at the stove, facing away towards a pot in front of him, stirring what Bucco judges to be some kind of soup by the ingredients left off to the side. Esquilinus is facing him and Cato, at the island, cutting up fruits and vegetables of some sort. She glanced up at him and lets out a hearty greeting, as usual, causing Wermuth to turn around.

“Is Schweizer still asleep?” Esquilinus asks, to which Bucco nods his head.

No less than a couple seconds later, a light comes to Wermuth’s eyes, one that Bucco has come to recognize in recent weeks. As Esquilinus returns to preparing the healthy snack in front of her, Wermuth leaves the kitchen and makes his way upstairs. He returns to the first floor a few moments later with a piece of grey cloth in his hand. He goes into the living room before returning to the kitchen, minus the mysterious fabric he had gone upstairs to retrieve. Though curious, Bucco restrains himself from investigating, lest he tip Cato off to Wermuth’s prank, which isn’t a difficult task with his headache urging him not to move anyway. A few minutes pass and Esquilinus finishes preparing and packing the snack, which will probably be their lunches later, and joins Bucco and Cato at the table.

No sooner than she sits down, a piercing scream comes from the living room. Bucco looks over and sees Pisdoé sitting up on the couch, looking towards the floor, but the couch blocks his view of the source of the scream. Cato drops his paper and rushes to the living room with Esquilinus inches behind him. Bucco follows, but not before glancing at Wermuth, who is calmly walking over with barely contained amusement painted across his face. Bucco arrives in the living room to see Schweizer sitting up on the floor, her legs under her and slightly off to the side, holding a pair of grey boxer briefs out in front of her with a look of absolute shock and horror on her face.

Shocked and unable to speak, Schweizer continues to hold onto the pair of grey boxer briefs while everyone looks on. Pisdoé raises one of her hands to her mouth in disbelief and Wermuth stands in the back, smirking widely as if to give silent congratulations to Schweizer and Cato. Esquilinus initially stands nearby with an expression of confusion, though once she herself has pieced together the possible scenario from the previous night she gazes back and forth from Cato to Schweizer with a look of disbelief. Despite his continuing headache, Bucco quickly deduces that the briefs must belong to Cato and figures out Wermuth's intention.

"Aren't those boxer briefs yours Cato?" Wermuth asks as innocently as he can.

“Indeed they are,” Cato responds, a bit shocked himself.

"So what were you two...?" Wermuth says before being cut off by Schweizer.

“We didn’t do anything!” She hastily protests.

"Cato?" Wermuth says, turning his gaze to his friend.

"Well...I...I don't remember doing anything."

"You know, if you two wanted to get down and dirty you could have simply moved to another room." Wermuth adds.

"We didn't do anything!" Schweizer repeats.

"If you're fucking with us Wermuth, I swear..." Cato threatens.

"Alright, alright." Wermuth says with a wide grin, waving his hands in front of him.

A look of relief comes over Schweizer’s face, still flushed with embarrassment. Cato, too, is embarrassed over not having remembered whether or not he had done anything. Wermuth is barely able to contain his laughter as he explains how he took the undergarments from Cato’s room and put them in Schweizer’s hand as she slept. At the conclusion, Cato lands a solid punch on Wermuth’s shoulder, causing him to fall back into the chair, where he laughs at his own prank. Esquilinus throws a punch as well on behalf of Schweizer, while Pisdoé continues to observe the scene before her. Bucco chuckles as well, but decides enough fun has been had at Schweizer and Cato’s expense for now. He reminds Wermuth about the soup he is preparing and, as he leaves with Esquilinus, Bucco snatches the underwear from Schweizer. He tosses it to Cato as the two help her up and all head to the dining room to eat.

Following their late breakfast, due to everyone sleeping in and their decision to skip the morning lessons, they change into their uniforms and head out. Esquilinus’ ankle prevents her from making the usual walk to school, so instead she sits on the back of a bicycle driven by Schweizer. On the way, the rest have generic, everyday conversations; the girl’s about Pisdoé’s upcoming photo shoot and the boys about their football prospects in upcoming games. They arrive at school with a small stream of other students returning from lunch at home or with friends and part to go to their classrooms. Once Bucco is seated, he only survives about ten minutes of the classical Greek teacher’s ramblings before falling asleep as he sits, pen in hand and face towards his notebook.

The school day finally comes to an end, as announced by the bell. Bucco had been able to keep track of time by being woken by the bell at the end of each class and was about to write this one off as another change of lessons but notices the other students packing their things. He gathers his own belongings and makes his way out of the classroom. Suddenly realizing how long it had been since his previous French lesson with Esquilinus, he remembers that today is one of their meeting days and hurries over to catch Esquilinus before she leaves. Bucco finds her still at her desk as the rest of her class crushes through the door.

Buonasera, Esquilinus!” He calls out to her as she gathers her books.

Esquilinus looks over her shoulder to find Bucco smiling at her. "Hey, Bucco! How'd today's lessons go for you?"

“Ah, well… I slept through each one.” He confesses a bit timidly.

"I see..." Esquilinus responds with a giggle. "Some lessons can be pretty boring, but you should try and stay awake...You never know what information you'll end up missing."

Siorsì," he mumbles. "Speaking of classes, we meet today for another French lesson, véro?"

"Ah, you're right! We are scheduled for another French lesson, aren't we?" Esquilinus replies. "My father is supposed to come by soon to pick me up. Would you like to come along, instead of having to walk or take the bus from Wermuth's house?"

“It’s still a bit early for the lesson, but I there’s nothing to be done at Wermuth’s, so I suppose I can come along.”

Esquilinus stands from her seat and Bucco moves to grab her bag. With both their schoolbags over one shoulder, he helps Esquilinus out the front of the school to where her father’s Geminus Wagon is waiting.

When they arrive at Esquilinus’ house, her younger sisters are playing in the living room, having arrived home from school a few minutes prior. As Esquilinus and Bucco take over the dining room table for their homework before starting the French lesson, Esquilinus’ father moves the two younger girls to their shared room upstairs to work on their own schoolwork; after which he settles into the living room with his work laptop and begins tapping away on some unknown project. A couple of hours or so passes and, with their assigned schoolwork for the day complete, Esquilinus fetches her French books. They have only finished a few pages when Esquilinus’ father leaves the living room and announces that he would be running to the grocery store and gives Esquilinus a kiss on the head before leaving. Though he looks away, in part so Esquilinus would not be embarrassed, but also because he did not want to think about his relationship with his own father, Bucco’s present thoughts must’ve been clearly visible as Esquilinus asks, "Are you alright, Bucco? What are you thinking about?"

“I’m fine,” he responds and tries to change the subject. “What’s on the next page?”

“Are you thinking about your father?” She continues, pursuing the topic.

Bucco is silent for a moment, contemplating whether or not he should continue dodging the question and decides to let his silence be his answer.

"I didn't want to mention anything, but you kinda scared me when you were yelling at your father over the phone in the hospital. Have you two always been that way?"

“For a long time, at least. He was always heavily invested in his work, but at some point, he decided the family business was more important than the actual family, I suppose.”

"I'm guessing you don't want that then, judging by how you yelled at him over the phone?"

“He takes it to the extreme. In that same conversation, he was more worried about how he was losing money because of the football incident than the fact that I was injured. The only reason I’m paid any mind at all is because I’m his ‘investment’ in the future of the company.”

"So he's the one that sent you here? Do you not want to be here?"

“Since the company deals with foreign contractors frequently, he figured that if I finished school in another country, it would provide me, and in turn, the company, an advantage in business dealings by having an understanding of other cultures. I protested initially, but managed to work out a compromise, which included letting me play football; something he didn’t want me to do for the exact reason that I ended up spending a night at the hospital. However, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here. By being here I get to be far from him and had the chance to meet and spend day after day with you all.”

After allowing a short silence to settle and for her to decide that she would rather not push Bucco into a deeper or more emotional conversation, Esquilinus finishes off the current topic. "Well, in any case, I'm glad that you're here. It seems like you've had fun so far and I would think that you'd continue to have fun the longer you stay. I'm sorry to hear about your father though."

The conversation trails of there and swiftly returns to the French lesson. Esquilinus’ father returns with a few groceries and Bucco assists him in carrying them in, lest Esquilinus attempt to help him herself. They work for another hour before Esquilinus has to begin preparing dinner. Bucco tries to leave, but is invited to eat with Esquilinus and her family. To make up for his staying for dinner, Bucco helps in the kitchen, much as he did the last time he came over. After a wonderful meal of grilled chicken on a bed of rice and steamed vegetables, Bucco thanks Mr. Esquilinus for his hospitality and Esquilinus for inviting him again before heading home to Wermuth’s house for the evening.
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Porcu
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

As with every other morning during the school year, a simple, annoying, but effective alarm wakes Pisdoé from her slumber. A couple of days have passed since Wermuth’s birthday celebration at Schweizer’s townhouse and while in many other countries people are sleeping in or attending religious services of one kind or another, Pisdoé and other Porcuian youth prepare themselves for another day of school.

Lessons begin promptly at 9:00 and continue until the lunch break at noon, resuming after a couple of hours and finishing at 17:00. Pisdoé turns over in bed, rustling the sheets a little, and turns off her alarm clock. A gentle knock at the door follows and a moment later a maid slowly pokes her head into the bedroom and bids the young Pisdoé a good morning.

“Shall I prepare your breakfast Ms. Pisdoé?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

The maid backs out and shuts the door, leaving Pisdoé alone once more. Laying flat on her back, Pisdoé stares up at the ceiling for an unknown amount of time before suddenly kicking out her legs and sending the sheets that stretched across her body towards the back of the bed. She wears a simple yellow tank top that gently hugs her bare breasts and a pair of child-like panties decorated with a number of cute cartoon penguins. Pisdoé sits up and turns over, dangling her legs over the edge of her bed for a moment before pushing off with her hands. Her feet greet the slightly springy, but soft flooring of her bedroom, flooring not unlike the traditional tatami of Japan, and she makes her way over to her own, separate bathroom attached to her bedroom.

After a hot shower, Pisdoé continues her morning routine, addressing each physical requirement for a proper start to the day. Hair, nails, skin, and lips are all groomed and tailored to emit their specialized allure and sometime later Pisdoé steps out from her room after having changed into her school uniform. Her long, soft legs are covered to the mid-thigh by purple socks, arriving just under her white skirt and leave just a small band of bare skin between itself and the skirt. The stylish vest that embraces her tight midsection and full bosom is colored a deep, royal purple, bringing a full contrast to the white button-up shirt that hides underneath. Pisdoé keeps the top two buttons of her shirt unbuttoned, providing ample visual space to curious onlookers, and finalizes the day’s look with a black ribbon in her hair, always curious to see which is noticed first.

She looks over at her mother, who is already seated at the table, and gives a warm greeting to both her mother and her maid. The maid calls out from the kitchen and promptly brings Pisdoé a warm breakfast composed of an omelette and two slices of toasted bread. The maid runs back to the kitchen, a warm caffé latte brought out a moment later, and bows slightly once Pisdoé’s meal has been served. Pisdoé nods her head in acknowledgement before grasping the clean silverware to her left and right and digging into her meal. A large bowl full of various kinds of fruit sits off to the side of the table, leaving only two cups of coffee and a recently emptied plate between Pisdoé and her mother. A newspaper lays spread out on the opposite side.

A woman whose vanity clings to whatever remaining signs of youth her biology is capable of maintaining, Mrs. Pisdoé watches as her daughter prepares for yet another school day. Having not yet showered with unkempt hair swirling in all directions, she pulls out a pack of cigarettes from her night robe, draws out a cigarette, and lights it, blowing the smoke out the side of her mouth ever so politely.

“How are things?”

“Fine.” Pisdoé responds, calmly taking a bite of her toast.

“Don’t forget about your photo shoot this evening. Your father pestered me into reminding you, so please don’t miss it.”

“Very well.”

The same silence that had greeted Pisdoé at the beginning of breakfast now returns for an encore. Pisdoé keeps her gaze down towards her plate or towards the bowl of fruit that sits near the edge, its contents resting peacefully together with no visible quarrel between them. In the background, Pisdoé could hear the maid cleaning up in the kitchen before leaving, presumably to clean up and put in order Pisdoé’s bedroom. The Mrs. continues to puff away at her cigarette and sit silently in an aloof manner, her body at an angle to the table and her right leg brought up to rest on her left knee.

“School’s going well?”

“Yes.” Pisdoé replies, finishing off her omelette and toast.

“Friends?”

“What of them?”

“Oh, nothing. I just want to make sure you have good friends.”

Pisdoé nods her head slightly, reaching for her caffé latte and holding the cup close to her face.

“Any cute boys?”

“Huh?” Pisdoé says even though she heard her mother perfectly well, an image of a schoolmate flashing in her mind.

The Mrs. smiles wolfishly. Pisdoé then pushes away her empty plate with one hand and quickly finishes off the remaining portion of her caffé latte before setting down the empty cup back on its coaster. She rises from her seat and turns to head back toward her room. She finds the maid hard at work, gathering the wet towels from the bathroom and piling them with various other dirty laundries. Pisdoé takes a look at herself one last time in the large full body mirror, puts on a jacket, and makes a couple of final adjustments to her socks, her skirt, her hair, and her jacket sleeves. She grabs her school bag and gives a wave to the maid, who responds with a slight bow, returning to the kitchen-dining room area.

“Don’t forget that it’s your father’s turn to keep you.”

Pisdoé’s grip on her school bag tightens and she waits a moment before continuing on and making her way to the entranceway. Pisdoé’s shoes are paired neatly off to the side of the recessed area and she grabs them and centers them, slipping them on with ease. She does not look back into the large, luxurious apartment as she silently opens the door and steps out.

A chill, brought on by the occasional wind gust, greets Pisdoé as she exits the apartment complex and makes her way over to her usual bus stop. Like every other day, a small crowd is gathered inside and around the shelter that sits alongside the sidewalk of the busy street. Already mid-October, Pisdoé thinks of all that has happened in the short amount of time she has been in school with Cato and the others. She does not have to wait long before a bus that is heading in the direction she needs to go pulls up beside the shelter. Another gust of wind pushes Pisdoé onto the bus and she immediately spots a seat and sits down, a middle-aged businessman to her right and a woman to her left. Straight ahead of her another Mazzotto student is seated, the young man’s purple tie a dead giveaway, but his occasional gaze at her legs paired with his unfamiliar face makes for an uncomfortable trip. Pisdoé makes a conscious effort to keep her legs tightly together while gazing over to her left, looking outside the windshield of the bus as an untold number of people make their way to work.

The sunlight that penetrates the grey cover over the sky does little to illuminate the usually colorful and bright city, the varicolored leaves that decorate the trees this time of year seemingly coated in a neutral, grey tint, as the bus finally arrives at the stop closest to the school and Pisdoé stands and waits a moment before stepping off the bus. The student who had sat across from Pisdoé on the bus follows closely behind and Pisdoé tries her best not to stop and say anything to him. Finally, however, the young man builds the courage to lightly call out to her.

“Um…Ms. Pisdoé?” the young man says sheepishly.

Pisdoé stops and turns, feigning a smile.

“Oh, wow, it is you…Uh…I was wondering if I could have an autograph.”

Pisdoé lightly taps the one outer pocket her school jacket has to check for a pen and though she fakes not having one, this young man came prepared. Noting her inability to find a pen before resorting to opening her school bag, the young man pulls out a marker from his inner-jacket pocket and holds it out to her. Pisdoé takes the marker and waits for the young man to hand over a folded up magazine, not surprisingly the very issue of Ψ where Pisdoé had modeled semi-nude and the one Wermuth had bought on one of their days in Patavium. In opening the magazine to the initial page of the section dedication to her photo shoot and interview article, Pisdoé takes note of the bent corner at the top of the page before applying her signature to an open space beside the opening photo of her resting naked on a bed with silk-sheets, a single blanket covering her intimate areas.

She closes the magazine and hands back both it and the marker. The young man’s eyes glow as he retires the marker back to its home inside his jacket pocket and holds on tightly to the magazine with the other hand. He voices a quick thank you before bolting on ahead, leaving Pisdoé alone to cross the remaining distance from the bus stop to the front gate of the school. As she draws near, she makes out a familiar laugh, one she knows and recognizes. Her heart beats slightly faster and she grows slightly nervous, though among physical characteristics her posture improves and she raises her gaze from the ground.

Just before Cato and the others break into sight, a pack of second-year girls manages to catch up to Pisdoé and surround her. They incessantly comment on her physique, her hair, and her grace. Pisdoé smiles and thanks each of the admirers. Cato and the others are not to be found as Pisdoé, surrounded on all sides, crosses the front gate and stands directly in front of the school building. She sighs silently before utilizing the remaining free time before the start of morning lessons to converse lightly with the group of girls around her. All compliment the young model; however, some feel obliged to provide their own beauty tips and anecdotes, with some bluntly asking for Pisdoé to provide a good word for them to her manager or photographers.

Checking the time on her small wrist watch, Pisdoé bids a good day to her schoolmates and enters the school, walking over to her individual cubby to change shoes. A large pile of letters and folded notes greets her when she opens up her locker and a couple float to the floor before she can catch them. Gathering them all and placing them in her school bag, Pisdoé changes shoes and begins to make her way to class. Guys and girls alike call out to her as she passes quietly through the crowded hallways, responses varying from a wave to a group of male students, to a smile to a pack of girls, to a simple nod to a young, male teacher. It is impossible for her to move from one end of a hallway to another without attracting significant attention and while before she may have tried to hurry on through she now takes her time in arriving to class.

Resting near the end of one of the hallway designated for third-year students, Class 3F greets Pisdoé as it does every other student of that particular class. Light chatter fills the room as Pisdoé makes her way to her seat and is instantly met by two fellow classmates.

“Hey, Pisdoé! So, what are you going to say to Schneider?” one of the girls asks in a whisper, sitting down at the desk right beside Pisdoé’s.

“What do you mean?” Pisdoé responds.

“Rumors say he put a note in your locker.” the second girl rebuts, leaning slightly against the desk the first girl sat down at.

“Oh, well, I haven’t looked through them yet…”

“Oh, but you must!” one girl cries.

“Yeah! I mean, I could understand you turning down Van Kukke…but Schneider is a dream…” the other says.

The two girls giggle amongst themselves as Pisdoé opens up her school bag to pull out her notebooks and pencils, taking a glance at the large stack of notes and letters that she had placed inside. Pisdoé quickly sets aside her school bag without further thought and the arrival of her neighboring classmate sends the two girls back to their own seats, a wave from each replied to with another feigned smile.

Pisdoé turns to gaze out of the window and into the grey sky, her mind focusing on nothing in particular though several concrete thoughts manage to plant themselves for brief moments at a time. The arrival of the first teacher, coupled by the ringing of the bell a minute or so later, signals the start of the school day. As Pisdoé shifts her attention from the dreary weather to the front of the classroom, she feels a light pressure on the back of her shoulder. Looking up, she sees Wermuth strolling past with a bright smile. A genuine smile creeps across her face and when Wermuth reaches his seat and is scolded by the teacher for his tardiness a light chuckle sneaks out as well.

Most of the morning lessons pass with relative ease, one rolling into another and then another in rapid succession; however, Philosophy is another matter. The day’s lesson calls for a full debate on the nature of free will and the teacher makes it clear that a wide discussion with input from everyone is expected. The students stay stationary at their individual seats, but the opportunity for speaking jumps freely from one student to another. The lively discussion takes up a vast majority of the time and both Wermuth and Pisdoé manage to provide some interesting points to the greater debate.

Another lesson follows soon afterward and before long Pisdoé can sense herself counting down to lunch, a time in which she and the other students can simply relax for a couple of hours. Due to Esquilinus’ ankle injury, the group is left to spend their lunch break at school, choosing most days to eat on the terrace of the school building. The day’s suspect weather, however, vetoes this option and leaves Pisdoé and the others with little choice but to remain indoors. When the bell rings to signal the end of the final lesson before lunch, Wermuth gazes back at Pisdoé and moves to stand beside her desk. A quick succession of text messages between Cato and Wermuth solidifies the group’s plan to meet Esquilinus in her class and eat lunch there.

Pisdoé stands and follows Wermuth out of their classroom, moving behind the large mass of students who are either shifting positions around the school as they are or leaving the school entirely, to return before the commencement of afternoon lessons at 14:00. A couple minutes later, and after having passed numerous student couples littering the hallways with their public displays of affection, Pisdoé and Wermuth enter Class 3C, noticing Cato, Bucco, and Schweizer have already arrived. Quickly modifying the position of two additional desks, Cato and Bucco create space for the two late arrivers, with Schweizer setting out their prepared lunch boxes.

“Thank you so much Schweizer.” Pisdoé says.

A grunt from the hungry Wermuth conveys his sense of gratitude.

“Sorry guys, but I just couldn’t wait…” Esquilinus says to Pisdoé and Wermuth in reference to her having already started to eat, playfully sticking out her tongue.

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Pisdoé responds, unraveling the cloth covering the lunch box and opening the lunch box Schweizer prepared. “Bon appétit!

Without further ado, Wermuth digs into his lunch and he and Pisdoé join the others in their pleasant conversations. The usual miscellaneous list of topics is covered throughout lunch, with interesting and not-so-interesting stories exchanged and laughs shared. Looking occasionally at Bucco and Esquilinus, who are seated next to each other, it becomes apparent to Pisdoé that both have grown close to one another, their comfortable demeanor and smiles betraying their emotions to her. And while Pisdoé is genuinely happy and content, she grows somewhat jealous, for her own qualities have not managed to attract the sort of characteristics she herself wishes to discover in another. She sits next to Wermuth and across from Cato and Schweizer and her pulse rises slowly as her mind turns to the latter two friends.

What should she expect? A late comer to an already established and well-knit group of friends, Pisdoé cannot help but ponder the notion that she still does not fit, or daresay belong. She gazes outside in the vain hope of seeing a ray of sunlight pierce the melancholy blanket across the sky, only to find that the rolling clouds of grey do not abate. Nor do they care to.

“Hey, Pisdoé, are you alright?”

Pisdoé returns her attention to the five other students gathered around her, smiling nervously and apologizing to Cato and the others for their concern. Cato’s inquiry demands a more detailed reply; however, Pisdoé satisfies him with a simple answer, after which she returns to her lunch and to the conversations at hand. Lunch passes more rapidly than Pisdoé had expected, the steady return of students and the bell providing irrefutable evidence to the fast approaching afternoon lessons. She neatly packs her lunch box back up, tying the cloth that had initially housed her lunch as best she could before returning it to Schweizer. Esquilinus thanks everyone for their company, vowing that her ankle would not keep her grounded much longer, and initiates a cascade of thanks to Schweizer for, once again, packing lunch for the entire group. Schweizer blushes slightly, assuring everyone she was happy they enjoyed it.

“Damn that was good…” Wermuth says to Pisdoé as they walk along the hallway back to their classroom.

Pisdoé nods in agreement as the knowledge of her own lack of culinary skills fills her mind. The rest of the school day is normal enough, a test in Physics considered to be the low point of the afternoon, and Pisdoé is in good company when she welcomes the end of the last lesson with a yawn and a silent cheer. The rumble of chairs and desks, school bags and students, swamps the air as Pisdoé slowly puts away her notebooks and writing utensils. The stack of love notes and letters keeps her focus until Wermuth slowly walks by, leaning against the desk neighboring Pisdoé’s, and asks if she is joining him and the others in helping Esquilinus afterschool with her election campaign.

“Ugh, I can’t.” Pisdoé replies. “I’ve got a photo shoot I need to get to, so I won’t be able to help out today.”

“That’s a shame. I’m not quite sure if I can command as much attention and respect from the younger students as you can.” Wermuth says with a grin.

Sensing the sexual undertone of Wermuth’s reply, Pisdoé asks, “And what do you mean by that?”

“Let’s just say that certain anatomical features command much more attention, and therefore respect, than others…”

“Yes; let’s just keep it at that, eh?”

Wermuth adds that he will let the others know of her engagements and tells Pisdoé that she should have fun. Wermuth then darts from the classroom, giving Pisdoé a wave and a classically-Wermuth smile. Only a handful of students remain in the classroom by now, most of who simply talk amongst each other. Pisdoé sits quietly for another minute, though she does not understand entirely why, before she pushes back her chair and stands to leave. Her distraction draws the gazes of the remaining students, who promptly salute and shower her with good-byes and good-days. Pisdoé enters the hallway with the understanding that despite Wermuth’s childlike fascination with the female physique he is a person she is happy to call a friend.

Pisdoé walks through the sparsely filled hallways and descends a staircase, finally making her way back to the main entrance where the student cubbies are located. Opening the locker brings several new notes into view and Pisdoé sighs as she packs these into her school bag as well. She changes shoes and shuts the locker door, coming face to face with a young man, very attractive and well polished with a clean shaven face and stylized hair.

“Apologies Pisdoé...” the young man says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Not at all; what’s up Schneider?”

“Nothing really. I just wanted to know if you’re on your way out. My friend left in a hurry and didn’t wait up for me. I was hoping you and I could walk home together.”

The young man is charming, certainly, but his innocent eyes and soft face do nothing to sway Pisdoé’s disposition towards him. Add in the fact that Pisdoé had not yet given the bounty of notes and letters a look through and her anxiety begins to rise. Nothing about the young man puts her off; rather, it is simply that her mind rests on other things – and other people.

Pisdoé humbly declines the young man’s offer, continuing on about her previous engagement and ending with a note about how she would consider his offer for a future date. Swiftly rebutted, the young man withdraws. Pisdoé quickly moves to exit the school building, thinking over in her head how instilling a false sense of hope could possibly be the worst thing she could have done, and arrives on the sidewalk, crossing the street at the nearest crosswalk and heading toward the downtown area by foot.

Pisdoé’s photo shoot for the evening will be one well in advance of its scheduled debut. Posing for a winter clothing catalogue, Pisdoé expects to don boots, jackets, sweaters, coats, and other apparel, all of various styles. Her modeling career is still in its infancy, but as her father’s namesake there can be little doubt as to where she derives her influence. Pisdoé walks on, eventually reaching the central fashion district of the city once the sky sheds its grey overcoat to fit on a black one. The street lamps that light the city of Milan at night are a treat for tourists and inhabitants alike. Pisdoé has always enjoyed the surreal atmosphere that the night can bring to the city, the subtle dance of darkness and lightness filling Pisdoé with an unforgettable array of calming and peaceful feelings. Compared to the brilliant neon lights of Patavium and Valdemarsvik, Milan gives off a simple, yet blissfully radiant yellow-orange glow from afar. As Pisdoé continues on, cars drive past and commuter trains roll on by, the range of sounds that are particular to the city at night resound in her ears and instill new energy in her.

Eventually, the building where Pisdoé is to make her way peaks around a street corner. Businessmen and women rush past her as she walks on, reaching the front doors the same time a group of workers is leaving. Pisdoé respectfully steps off to the side and waits for them to exit, yet not one person slows to hold the door for her. Laughing heartily, the group of workers carries on, quite possibly to a nearby bar for a round of beers after a long day at the office. Pisdoé opens the door and steps inside, the chill of the fast-approaching evening held at bay by the comfortable temperature of the building’s interior. An enormous atrium greets Pisdoé as she walks to a nearby escalator and rides up to the second floor before catching another and riding up to the third. There she finds the office of the photographer she is to work with after a brief search and knocks on the door, entering when a soft, female voice calls out. Pisdoé checks in with the photographer’s secretary and sits for no longer than a minute before the photographer himself, a certain Jean Claude Rojin, famous throughout Europe for his extremely high quality work with famous models and actresses, appears and welcomes Pisdoé. A man whose skin seems to have aged faster than normal chronological time, the photographer stinks of cigarette smoke, his rustled hair and bushy moustache providing little in the way of attractive traits.

Pisdoé bows out of respect and follows the photographer out of his office, riding the elevator with him to a higher floor where his studio is located. On the way, he mixes their conversation with idle chatter and useful bits of information about the fashion industry in general. He outlines his goals for the evening and asks if Pisdoé has the time to dedicate to a high quality photo shoot. Though various school assignments now occupy her mind, Pisdoé states that she does indeed have the time necessary to produce the high quality results the photographer has in mind.

He smiles and guides her toward the dressing area, where two other women stand waiting. The female assistants work on Pisdoé’s hair and her make-up after she changes from her school uniform into one of the numerous outfits she will be photographed in. Pisdoé gazes into the mirror in front of her, bright light radiating from bulbs attached around the edge, and her mind begins to wander. Not on anything in particular, but rather like a dream, which some philosophers and psychologists of old imagined was the way the brain made sense of all the external and internal stimuli of the day. Information contained as visual and auditory stimuli was subsequently rearranged and broadcasted as best as the mind could do. Seemingly trivial events took on a newer, central focus and emotions were heightened to the point where they themselves drove the sequence of the dream, all other psychic energy conforming to the overriding authority of the emotion currently in play.

Pisdoé finds herself on a white background canvas that rises a meter or so above her head and also rolled out a couple of meters past her feet. Incredibly bright lights shine on her soft skin; the photographer beckons her to step forward and take a new pose. Pisdoé complies and the flashes of the expensive camera signal a new photograph one by one. A change of outfits here, a new style of hair there, a suggestive pose here, a playful twinkle in her eyes there. The minutes pass and yet the flashes of the camera never stop. Pisdoé ultimately finds herself sitting once again in the chair directly in front of the changing mirror. The two assistants now work to pack their things and retire for the night, Pisdoé’s wristwatch laying on the small table to which the mirror is fixed reading the time as a quarter past nine. She gazes back into the mirror, but is unable to let her mind wander for the calls of the photographer drag her back to the present.

After washing her face and clearing herself of the make-up and lipstick, she changes back into her school uniform and promptly joins the photographer in an adjacent room near the photography studio itself. The two work to select the best amongst the volume of pictures taken that evening and all the while Pisdoé receives input from the photographer regarding her style, attitude, and general composure during the shoot. She is thankful for the feedback, particularly since it seems honest and constructive, and voices such. The photographer replies with a smile, placing his hand lightly on her lower back. Sometime later, a solid collection of photographs has been selected and chosen. Slight digital modification is used to brush over small ‘defects’ in Pisdoé’s appearance and it is not long before the heavy work is completed.

“All that’s left is to send in these photos and finalize the last few details with the publishers…” the photographer says, trailing off as he prints off a set of the photos and packages them in a manila folder.

“Thank you so much Mr. Rojin. I appreciate the opportunity I got to work with you this evening.”

“Hopefully it isn’t the last, eh?”

“Right.” Pisdoé replies with a laugh.

“Listen…” the photographer continues, holding the manila folder by his hip. “I’d like to thank you for a wonderful job as well; you were great. Why don’t you let me put this folder away in my office and we can go out for a drink?”

The night, though still young, had certainly grown older in the time from the end of the photo shoot to the present. Pisdoé’s internal warning system is activated by the advances of the photographer, his face – no, his eyes – leaving no doubt as to his true desires for the remainder of the evening. Understanding the position the man occupies highlights the difficulty of the choice presented to her. A natural through practice, Pisdoé feigns disappointment, explaining the rather long night of schoolwork ahead of her with a smile and occasional giggle, going so far as to communicate her false desire to join him with subtle body language.

“Oh, I understand completely. No matter, I’m sure we’ll work together again soon.” the photographer ends with a wolfish smile, his thick moustache hiding the top spaces of his teeth, which are stained a heavy yellow.

Pisdoé bids the Honorable Mr. Rojin goodbye and good night, consciously leaving the large studio area neither too quickly nor too slowly. It now dawns on her how fast her heart was racing previously. Standing stationary in the elevator provides the opportunity to consciously evaluate her physical condition and to try and relax, though the slow change of lights highlighting the current level at the top of the elevator car does little to help. Sooner than it seems, Pisdoé is back on the first floor and walks quickly to exit the same way she entered.

The night is dark and chilly, mostly due to the occasional breeze which Pisdoé guesses hasn’t let up since that morning, but the soft glow of the street lamps and the outline of various buildings due to the lights turned on in the inside work to relieve the built up stress Pisdoé still has pent up. She walks for a time, in no particular direction, eventually finding herself in a gigantic square. In one corner stands an arch, an entrance to the grand Galleria Vibulanus, while all around are cafés and shops of one kind or another. With the urge to continue her walk, Pisdoé crosses underneath the large stone arch and into the Galleria’s vast glass enclosure. Even now, thousands of people litter the space underneath the stunningly beautiful glass canopy as most stop occasionally, but only to look at the items on display. Pisdoé has wandered through the Galleria many times before, but now that she thinks about it she never has actually crossed its entire length. Not quite that adventurous this evening, Pisdoé continues on until she arrives at a small area where there is a connection to the metro system. She notices the number of different couples that dot her view of the different cafés as she descends the stairs and spitefully thinks of them as fools, spending a good sum of money on a simple espresso or alcoholic beverage they could easily get elsewhere.

The Porcuian metro system, as part of the world’s largest, most efficient public transportation system, is tiered in three levels, with subway trains running in all directions, and connects every major city in the Republic. As Pisdoé approaches the subway ticket gates, she pulls out from her school bag a small card holder, designed by a respectable Porcuian fashion company of course, and subsequently takes out and swipes her public transportation card on the electronic reader on the top of the gate. The metal flaps swing and fold up into the gate, allowing Pisdoé room to pass through and connect with her train. A brief look at the sizable, electronic schedule set off to the side tells Pisdoé to head down one floor, with a three minute wait before the next train arrives. School bag in hand, Pisdoé weaves her way through the crowds ascending from lower levels and descending along with her.

Just as she finds her way to the appropriate platform, the train comes to a stop and its doors swing open, seemingly injecting a full dose of individuals onto the platform. Pisdoé’s thin physique certainly aids her in getting onto the train before a sharp bell signals that the doors are about to close. A few more seconds and the subway train roars back to life, moving swiftly through the dark tunnels lighted by a large bulb every half kilometer or so. For now, Pisdoé is forced to stand, though when the opportunity arises following another emptying of the train at the next station she takes an open seat without reservation.

Her trip is to take approximately twelve minutes and for much of the time she sits quietly. About halfway to her destination, the train arrives at a regular stop, opens its doors, and then closes them again half a minute later. Pisdoé brings her gaze upon an elderly woman who is left standing after a young man callously occupies the last open seat. Rather than calling out to the woman, Pisdoé waits until they make eye contact and then communicates with her hands that she is willing to give up her seat. The grateful woman politely thanks Pisdoé and switches places with her, leaving Pisdoé in the uncomfortable position of standing directly in front of the young man who had previously denied the elderly woman a convenient place to sit. Unfortunately, the young man is not alone, evidenced by his laughs and conversation with another young man directly beside him. Together they give brief glances at Pisdoé, who tries to cover her skirt and legs with her school bag, but is unable to due to the train’s occasional sharp movements, which require her to use her hand closest to the young men to hold the railing along the top of the subway train car. As she grows more embarrassed and more uncomfortable, Pisdoé simply does not look down at the two young men, who steal an occasional peak no doubt.

A couple of stops before her own, Pisdoé remains standing in front of the two young men. As it is their stop, the young men move to stand, one taking the occasion to grasp Pisdoé by the waist and buttocks in order to steady himself as he rises. Having had enough, Pisdoé strikes out at the young man, landing a solid slap across his face. The blow catches the young man and his friend off guard, with the former returning to his seat. Pisdoé moves fast to exit the train before the bell signals and is able to step off just as the subway train pulls away, the two young men still inside. Pisdoé slowly makes her way back up to street level with the escalators, swiping her public transportation card one more time at a gate so that an exact fee can be electronically charged to her account. The night, dark and chilly, greets her once more with an open embrace and Pisdoé turns to travel the remaining distance between herself and her father’s apartment by foot.

Arriving hungry and tired, Pisdoé finds the apartment empty for the most part, a small amount of light emanating from her father’s bedroom under the slit at the bottom of the door. Pisdoé crosses her father’s bedroom as she makes her way down the short hall to her own room, overhearing the voluptuous moans and cries of a female guest, a coworker of her father most likely. Pisdoé turns on the light and places her school bag on her bed, emptying it of the number of love notes and letters she had received that day at school. She turns and enters her attached bathroom, turning on the shower and re-entering her bedroom. Despite her wishes, she cannot bring herself to vent her emotions. The spectacular view of the city of Milan from her bedroom window high above the city is not enough to calm her mind. She undresses, scattering her clothes everywhere, and walks back into the bathroom. The steam of the hot shower fills her nostrils and temporarily helps her to calm, as does the feeling of the water running down her back. Pisdoé stands there for a time, neither caring to lather up nor to move, her arms crossing one another in front of her breasts and the hot water continuing to race down her immaculate body.

Eventually, she does start about the business of properly washing herself and exits sometime later, the television barely audible from her father’s room across the hall. Pisdoé dries herself and ritualistically, unconsciously even, works to apply the final touches to her evening routine by spreading on lotion and other feminine essentials. She changes into a simple t-shirt and thong and moves from her room to the kitchen where a clock presents the time as 00:34. Not surprisingly, there is little to be found in the elaborate refrigerator her father owns, leaving Pisdoé with little choice but to order out. Unheard of for native Porcuian businesses even today, the option of ordering ‘take out’ began with American businesses when economic and political channels were opened between Porcu and the Confederate States of America. Porcuians much prefer their own cuisine, but the added revenue that foreign businesses get by providing a late night option keeps them in a relatively competitive position compared to ‘host’ restaurants. Finding the number of a nearby Chinese restaurant on a list of restaurants her father kept in the kitchen, Pisdoé punches it into her cell phone and quickly orders a meal, making sure to add the restaurant’s number to her contact list for future reference once she is finished.

Pisdoé returns to her room, passing once again in front of father’s bedroom, and begins on her schoolwork. Luckily, she is able to knock out a decent portion of it before her cell phone beeps after receiving a text message. In ordering, Pisdoé had requested that the food carrier send her a text message to signal his arrival and to avoid having him ring the doorbell to the apartment and she now rises from her bed and walks over to the door, opening it and paying the middle-aged Chinese man before closing the door behind him with her food secure in one hand. She makes her way back to her room once more, but this time shuts the door behind her before plopping down on her bed. Eating and working, Pisdoé does nothing else for the next hour or so, flipping from one notebook to another, from one page of text to another. Discarding the empty food containers in a trash can on the opposite side of the room, Pisdoé returns to her bed to find a missed text message on her phone.

“R u awake?” the message reads.

Noting the sender, Pisdoé picks up her phone and calls. “Hey, Cato?”

“Evening, Pisdoé.”

“What’s going on?” Pisdoé replies with a slightly nervous tone.

“Ah, you see…It’s this damn philosophy text. I’m just not understanding it.”

“Oh; did you want to run through it together, see if I can help you fill in whatever parts you don’t understand?”

“That would be wonderful.” says the relieved voice on the other line.

Pisdoé spends the next ten minutes going over the reading for Philosophy with Cato, highlighting important points and arguments and clarifying various areas of confusion. In the end, Pisdoé hopes her assistance is enough.

“I definitely would not have gotten that on my own. Thanks so much Pisdoé.”

“Not a problem.”

“By the way, we missed you afterschool today. Esquilinus is making some major progress for the school elections.”

“I can imagine…I was busy today and wanted to be there helping Esquilinus with everyone else.”

The conversation grows silent for a moment before Cato starts to bring it to a close. Just as Pisdoé bids Cato goodnight, he mentions one last thing on his mind.

“Oh, I wanted to tell you at lunch, but you seemed kinda out of it today so I didn’t think of saying it, but I liked that black ribbon you put in your hair. I thought it was a cute touch.”

“Huh?”

“Well, thanks again Pisdoé; you’ve saved my ass for tomorrow’s Philosophy lesson. Sorry again for calling so late. See ya tomorrow, goodnight!” Cato says, ending the conversation and hanging up the phone before Pisdoé can respond.

Pisdoé brings down the cellphone from her ear and closes it, looking over the clothes scattered around her room. In gathering the pile of love notes and letters from that day and standing to toss them all away, she spots the black ribbon she had worn that day and curls it around her hand after picking it up off the floor, slowly returning to her bed and laying down.

Without another thought, she turns, grasps the nearest pillow, and begins to cry.
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Telosan
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The Foremost Intellectual Badass
The next couple weeks are a blur. The end of October rapidly approaches and with it the student council elections. Esquilinus’ campaign begins to take up more and more of the group’s time, as all involved work to give Esquilinus the best possible chance of victory. Aspiring underclassmen, eager to offer their assistance, appear in ever increasing numbers; a good sign of the success of the campaign thus far. Bucco continues to direct those placed under his watch, ensuring their tasks are completed satisfactorily. Most of the time they are putting up posters to replace those that had been damaged or taken down and can be found handing out flyers. With a map of the school at hand, Bucco figures he must have looked like a Venetian general, planning the defense of the building from an unknown enemy. He sends the volunteers with flyers to strategic chokepoints and corners, outside the cafeteria and offices, and anywhere the he figures would give each supporter a better chance of reaching the most number of people. At times, he wonders if he was taking it too seriously, but enjoys himself nonetheless.

With the election a week away, a new weapon is introduced to the campaign’s arsenal. Numerius Marius Lanatus, a well-known student whose immense popularity gave him quite a voice in the school, comes forward and agrees to publicly support Esquilinus. Bucco has doubts that Lanatus can help with the campaign to any significant degree by contributing so little, but he is not one to turn away help when it is so sorely needed. However, as Lanatus refuses to assist in hanging posters or distributing flyers, Bucco sees little use for him. Despite his lack of work, he notices a large increase in students filling up the volunteer’s roster and Esquilinus’ place in the polls jumps up significantly. Perplexed, Bucco decides the look in on Lanatus and see what exactly he is doing and is surprised with what he finds. Passing Lanatus in the hallway, he overhears him speaking to a small gathering of students.

"...Like I said, I just think it's a matter of giving someone an opportunity." Lanatus says to the group.

"Really? Vex has already done a lot and he knows what he's doing." a skeptical sounding student replies.

"Certainly, but Vex is a second-year and I have no doubt that he'll run again next year. The man is good, no question about it.”

“You just like her don't you?" a girl asks him, to which Lanatus chuckles.

“Well, she's definitely cute, but that's not why I'm voting for her... She seems to be a great team player, being the captain of the girls’ football team, and has some great ideas on how to update and improve this school."

"Well, that's all I need!" a male student bellows.

The others nod and voice their agreement and some drift away, while others stay and move on to another topic while Bucco continues on, shocked. Lanatus isn’t actually doing anything but explaining his opinion and only when asked, at that. Annoyed, Bucco continue on to the campaign’s makeshift headquarters in Esquilinus’ classroom. Esquilinus is at one desk talking to a few students, so Bucco moves on to the desk that serves as his base of operations, right next to Pisdoé, who is directing another group of volunteers.

“Hey, Bucco... what's up?" Pisdoé's asks with a little reservation, Bucco’s annoyance clearly visible on his face.

“Nothing." He says abruptly, continuing after a moment’s pause. "I'm considering removing Lanatus from the volunteer's roster."

“What? Why would you do that? You've seen how Esquilinus has jumped in the polls..."

“For one, he refuses to participate alongside the rest of us, instead choosing to use his popularity to influence other’s opinions. They don't necessarily want to vote for Esquilinus, they want to vote for her because Lanatus says he intends to do so."

“But isn’t that a good thing for Esquilinus?”

Redénçio! They're not supporting her, they're supporting Lanatus. They should be free-thinking individuals, not making decisions according to the opinion of another simply because they said it!"

“Are you certain you're a free-thinking individual yourself?" Pisdoé replies with a grin, subtly hinting at Bucco's feelings for Esquilinus. "He's still helping out. I mean, there's really no way of knowing if these people would have voted for her or not, but if Lanatus can get them to mark off 'Esquilinus, Aellae Menenius' on the ballot sheet then I think he's done more than enough."

"That doesn’t make it right. These students are allowing themselves to be led mindlessly. Morals aside, this grants Lanatus too much power over Esquilinus' supposed supporters. Popularity shouldn't matter this much; it’s giving power to a few individuals who may not deserve it."

"But Lanatus isn't forcefully making anyone listen to him. He's kept his mouth shut until now, even as tons of people kept asking him about what he thought about the election. Is it wrong that people genuinely seem to respect him?" Pisdoé says, the thought of her own popularity crossing her mind. "Also, do you know what Esquilinus thinks of this?"

“It’s worse that he’s not forcing them. They’re listening to everything he says as though his statements were orders from San Marco himself, and he knows it. It’s not inherently wrong for him to be respected, it’s wrong for him to abuse his power by manipulating those around him.” He pauses and glances towards Esquilinus, who is still surrounded by a small crowd of students. “And, I haven’t had the chance to talk Esquilinus yet.”

Pisdoé, about to reply, is interrupted by an underclassman under her direction returning from some task or other, so Bucco lets her return to her work. Looking up, he is shocked to see Esquilinus standing in front of his desk, having addressed the issues of the crowd that had been swarming her desk only a moment before.

“C’mon, Bucco!” She says, beckoning him with a wave of the hand as she turns and starts walking.

Uncertain as to what could be happening that his presence is needed, Bucco hurries to stand and catch up to her. In the hallway, she calls to Schweizer in the same fashion, who follows with the same expression as Bucco, hurrying to keep up. Noticing the look on Bucco and Schweizer's faces, Esquilinus, without losing a step, explains the reason she had called them along.

“I'm bringing you guys along for the last meeting for the student president candidates before the debate and election. Basically, these meetings serve as check-ups, if you will, so that the Election Committee can make sure that rules are being followed and that there isn't an unfair advantage for one student. The teachers on the committee answer any questions that candidates have and the meetings also provide an opportunity for candidates to speak freely with each other.”

After traveling down a few hallways, Esquilinus ducks into a classroom and Bucco follows her with Schweizer not far behind. The classroom appears normal and no desks have been moved from their proper locations. The far wall lined with windows appears to glow a faint orange as an indicator of the October sunset. At the front of the class stand three teachers, while a small gathering of students stand near the first few desks. In the front row are the candidates, Pulvillus, Veturius, and Vex, while the second row is filled by their respective companions. Esquilinus takes her place in the front row, next to Vex, while Schweizer, and Bucco sit behind her. The meeting begins almost immediately after Martininus, the final candidate, arrives with his entourage. The candidates introduce themselves to the teachers and everyone bows before taking their seats.

The meeting is rather boring and Bucco can’t decide whether his being there is an honor or a punishment. The teachers run through a list of priorities, most of which is a continuation from previous meetings, giving Bucco an even weaker grasp as to what’s going on. Most of the questions the candidates ask the teachers seem largely irrelevant to the campaigns, though Bucco is surely no expert as nearly all of his knowledge of democratic campaign processes was obtained in the most recent weeks. Three candidates bat questions back and forth, while Vex and Esquilinus sit quietly most of the time. Before long, though Bucco would say half an eternity had passed, the meeting begins to wind down to a close. As the teachers begin to pack up their belongings, the candidates and their companions start talking amongst themselves and each other.

“So, I noticed your latest jump in the polls Esquilinus..." Vex says with armed folded tightly across his chest, his eyes closed and his head tilted down. "I cannot say I'm surprised, since you’ve gotten the support of Lanatus, but I do wonder in what position you would be in if you had not solicited the advice of a monarchist."

"I think I've managed my campaign well so far Vex and I appreciate all the help I get from my friends and volunteers."

"I see your responses have improved." Vex chuckles. "This upcoming debate should be entertaining. However, I do think you would be infinitely better off if you were to stop entertaining the notion that a Venetian is in a position to give proper advice on a democratic process." Bucco stiffens in his chair.

"Bucco is someone who has contributed greatly to my campaign and I'm glad to have him assisting me."

“Yes, I can see how much you appreciate his efforts. From what I hear, your Venetian friend is more interested in gaining hours of sleep during class than learning. Regarding your campaign, I liken his contributions to those of a trained dog for the blind... and I shan't insult your intelligence by stating who is the trained slave and who is the blind master. To think that a Porcuian has stooped so low as to prostitute our liberal traditions away.”

Bucco stands up and faces Vex. “Scuxàr, but who do you think you are and what right have you to make such claims?”

Without looking up, Vex responds, “It appears your bitch has gotten agitated Esquilinus.”

“You’re a persistent piàtaro, Vex.” Bucco says, stepping away from his desk and towards Vex’s. “It’s best to quiet yourself now, before someone offers to help you.”

“Is that so?" Vex says with a smirk.

Moving swiftly, Bucco reaches down and grabs Vex by the shirt, pulling him to his feet. Unsurprised, Vex is still smirking and chuckles while his companions, still at their desks, are too stunned to do anything. Schweizer jumps up and runs to Bucco’s side, weakly tugging at his shirt and telling him to stop. A flicker of movement to his right causes Bucco to look over just in time to see Esquilinus rushing out of the room. He drops Vex, who thuds to the ground on his rear end, and runs after Esquilinus.

Aside from the occasional student or two milling about, the hallway is empty due to the late hour. At the other end, Bucco sees Esquilinus round the corner and he takes off in her direction at top speed. Just as he reaches the same corner, Cato appears and steps in his way.

“Bucco? Why is Esquilinus running?” He asks, perplexed. Stopping only to avoid running into him, Bucco sidesteps around Cato and continues on, but is unable to find Esquilinus among the many twists and turns of Scuola Superiore Mazzotto. Resignedly, he starts back to Wermuth’s house for the evening.
Edited by Telosan, Oct 10 2010, 10:48 AM.
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