A Conversation at Sundown (Amali - Elenria)

[malloc]

The sun was setting over the capital of Amali, Capannoli, and with it many workers were at home, resting, eating, being with family, and, if they were a young adult, "out on the town", as it were. It was Ramiel, so many of folks had the following day off or a half-day at work, depending on their schedule. Only universities and primary schools were in session with a full day of work. Of course, not everyone taught on those days, and many classes were scheduled around Ramiel. In primary schools, it was a day of exploration, reserved for field trips or guest lectures by local university professors, private scientists, and industry leaders, or for apprenticeships in the arts or sciences for the older kids. At the university level, only the poor first years had classes on Ramiel, much to the chagrin of their professors who also would rather be conducting research or grading or preparing for their higher level classes for the next week. Most of these first-years also lived on campus, in a new housing facility that the university had been authorized by the city.

Luckily for doctor Santino Palerma-Martoulis, a professor at this fine university teaching philosophy, political science, and economics, he had no classes to teach. To make it easier for the international students, he just went by "doctor Santino" or "doctor Palerma". An older man, being in his late fifties, with graying, well-kept hair and a full-beard trimmed neatly to his face. Off to his left sat his cane, a simple dark oak cane with little in the way of personalizing, having been injured in his early twenties in an industrial accident. His office was a simple affair; simple curtains, a simple heavy dark oak desk, bookshelves filled with books relating to a myriad of topics, and a coat-rack-and-umbrella-holder combo near the door. Two chairs sat on the other side of his desk, facing a much smaller one for students to pull out work or write on papers to explain ideas and questions. A third chair sat in the corner, off on its lonesome self. He took this day, in particular, to read through papers from his Developmental Economic class, a new one being offered as he was a pioneer in this field. Between him, a professor in Ulster-Gaelia, and a professor in Lusatia, they had developed a field to help poorer nations achieve rapid industrial advancement and modernization. Most of the papers, though, were flat out boring, being dry and bland, resulting in him taking a much needed break to look out the window at the illuminating city below. He reminisced on one paper: so extraordinarily off base as to suggest that a world of modernized economies was detrimental and that there must always be lessers. What were they teaching those kids in Galra? He had done his best to be an impartial grader, but the lack of citations from anything except Galran texts, which were mostly baseless propaganda from their "Department of Excellence" upon further research, made it difficult to give them anything higher than thirty percent. Even the fresh-off-the-boat Kumo girl's paper was more well researched, and even proffered a potential avenue for the Yanji Empire that lacked a direct military invasion by her people.

But there he stood, leaned against the sill of the window, coffee black as the night sky before electrification in hand as he watched the lights slowly flicker to life to fill the metropolis with artificial light. A marvel, he thought, being that he was old enough to remember when only the capital buildings and industrial centers had lights to illuminate the insides. Most of his coworkers and friends had left, one Myktran man waving to him as he walked by the door on his way home to his family. Four more papers sat on his otherwise tidy desk, awaiting his red pen and final grade.

[StaolDerg]

Isiko still had trouble getting used to the streetlights- back home in Elenria, most people would carry lanterns or rely on their Inselni neighbors to light the gaslights in the evening. It felt eerie to stroll in the streets of a modern city in that sense, and though he well understood the principle of electrical power and engineering, it did not seem anything less magical to him. He wondered to that extent if he'd ever get used to anything of the modern world. Electricity, dense public transportation systems, those horseless carriages that rumbled along the roadways. All of it alien, even though he'd been here for weeks now. 

He turned his focus back to the street ahead of him as his talons clicked on the paved sidewalk, trying to ignore the looks he got from other pedestrians as he hurried along towards Professor Palerma's residence. He'd heard that there were still Inselni as far away from Elenria as Pomazanniki. Surely one of his kind wasn't that rare?

Or perhaps he was just thinking too much.

He paused as he reached a street corner, noticing the signs had changed at this intersection. Frowning, he reached into one of his tail bags, retrieving a hastily written note- the Professor's address. Comparing it to the street sign before him, it hit him that he'd overshot by a block. 

Sighing, he turned around and started back the way he came at a light jog. Yes, too much thinking.

As he finally found the right building, he came to a slow halt, staring at the knocker. In all honesty, he wasn't sure if he was still welcome at this hour. This wasn't Elenria- in Elenria, you'd expect at least three people in a building to be awake at some point in the day. But this building didn't like the multi-generational home he'd grown up in. What if they'd all gone to bed? What if the Professor simply wasn't accepting visitors at this hour?

He found his hand hesitating before the knocker, clenching, hesitant.

At home, he'd been raised that community and family were two sides of the same coin. To pave roads for his descendants and shore up the beams of his living relatives was his life's purpose- to raise and protect the road for the future was his duty. To work, uphold, and persevere. Not to fight, but to wait, watch, and learn. That Kumosenkan had occupied Elenria was not a tragedy- it was a conscious sacrifice made by the Queen. Some said it was to put down the Greatfern nobles once and for all, others that it would modernize Elenria to compete with the world. But who gave her that authority besides the buried weapons of a hundred bygone armies and conquerors to gamble with the lives of his fellow people? Legacy must be maintained, he'd been taught- and where was the maintenance in a throne if the nation it served was subjugated? What was the point of serving an empire that grew without ever a sign of ceasing? What if they never collapsed as the elders predicted?

In Elenria, under the Kumo schools, he had learned everything practical to keep a job, but nothing more. He had learned of how Kumosenkan loved Elenria and carried it upon its back up the mountain to civilization, yet gone home to family who reacted to the Empress' name with looks that never reached his eyes and praise for the spiders that were stale and sour. And it was not hard to see why. His father would work twelve-hour shifts at the mines for five days a week and go home with a ninth of what he'd worked for, with heaving lungs and a racking cough that sprinkled the dinner table with dark blood. He'd watched small columns of servants deliver great heaping platters of food to Kumo residences, smelling of only what he could dream of as he walked home from school to eat a bowl of dried fish, stale vegetables, and a small bowl of hard-shelled rice. If the Empress cared, then what was with this disparity? He'd sit on his bed, ever frustrated that nothing was done.

But here, in Amali, Professor Santino had given him an idea by naming the State as the beneficiary of the public's development. He'd been introduced to the ideas of a democratic society, of republics and the public consensus. His essay had been stuffed with the results of sleepless nights rifling through texts of theorists and philosophers, borrowed from the library in heaps. 

And now, on the day after it had been turned in, he'd only ended up with more questions than answers. He understood the basic concepts of what he'd studied, but not how to apply them- so he'd tossed and turned after getting back into his dorms, only to slip out of bed and walk the whole way to the Professor's house to ask more questions.

Well, he'd come all this way. Better to be embarrassed now and learn early than be embarrassed later and learn too late.

[malloc]

'It's getting late,' Santino thought to himself, downing the last of his coffee.

"I'll finish the rest of these papers when I get home," the graying-haired man said to no one. He looked at the four remaining papers on the table, then decided he wouldn't finish grading tonight but in the morning.

He grabbed his bag, shuffled over to his desk, and set it on the chair behind his desk, neatly and carefully packing the papers away. A divider sat inside the bag, and he made sure to have the graded papers separate from the non-graded ones. An odd distribution, given that only a few papers remained, but something he always did. His shelves were always stacked with similar literature: all developmental economic texts together, all micro, all macro, economic philosophy. Santino's personal library at home, as well, likely rivaled that of the university's library in terms of economic literature. The central government rarely banned books, save something akin to an illegal sequel to People of the Waning Sun where the author successfully appealed that the novel was essentially stolen, so texts from all manners of eras, philosophers, economists, and laymen. Some had more merit than others, some were insane ramblings of those who never quite understood how economies and people worked, and some helped establish more fields.

He grabbed his cane, and his mug, and walked out of the office. He closed the door, set the cane on the wall briefly to pull out his keys, and locked it before hobbling off to the station. A mostly-quiet and uneventful ride home, as all nights were. Sometimes he'd be accompanied by or meet a colleague or student on the train, but for the most part he just partook in guilty pleasure literature. Cheap imported novels meant for as wide distribution as possible. A large chunk of them sucked, but a few he happily gave his attention. His current book of choice: House of the Dying Sun.

---

No one was home at the Palerma-Martoulis residence; or at least, none ready to receive visitors. Despite its larger size in comparison to most other homes, it wasn't as opulent as one would expect. A large home, yet simple materials and construction that would otherwise blend in with the surrounding area. The home did have a nice yard that was well kept, rows of hedges reaching just over the fences, blooming flowers in the garden, and a hearty looking rose bush with a placard below it. Santino's own children had moved away to various other parts of the nation. One remained in Capannoli, serving as a representative in the central government for the state of Leone. Santino's wife had died of the Scarlet Fever around five and a half years ago, and was one of the last people to do so. A complication of the disease, he was told, that likely caused her immune system to start attacking otherwise friendly tissue in addition to the disease, or at least that's the story the autopsy told. Otherwise, the disease is largely allowed to run its course with medical and comfort support. The spread of penicillin in Amali has rendered the disease largely inert, with the death rates related to the disease falling rapidly and, to Santino's knowledge, has not had a death since around two years ago.

Clonk clonk clonk.

The professor perked up as he heard the metallic knocker to his home meet the metallic plating underneath it. Messenger bag slung around his torso carrying the papers, and walking cane in hand, he hobbled to the front entryway of his home. The older man's leg left leg was stiff as a board as his awkward speed walk bore him to his destination, albeit only slightly faster than his original walk. "Surgery", if one can even call it that in this era, largely consisted of putting the parts back together and to keep it all together, meaning the poor man's kneecap was permanently blown out. The dark oak cane thudded into the concrete ground behind the dragon boy. Well, probably not just a boy, seeing as Inselni live longer than humans, but Santino always referred to his pupils with child-like words regardless of their age. In his mind, he saw his pupils as child-like in their hunger for knowledge; otherwise, why else would they be at university other than to study and learn and uncover the mysteries of sentient races and the universe?

"Isiko?" The man called out in a gruff, but soft, voice, squinting his eyes. Inselni weren't common in his classes, making it easy to identify who they were from a general profile, so it was more of a question to confirm that early dementia or infirmity hadn't set in. He was also more surprised to see a student here, at this hour, on what is essentially a weekend night. He was always under the impression students preferred the day off, so never really thought to hold office hours.

"What can I do for you, my boy?"

[StaolDerg]

Isiko turned around at the Professor's voice, abashedly bowing as he saw Santino standing in the entryway to the property.

"Professor! I apologize, I thought you were home already. I was thinking about today's essay, and I... well, I could not rest thinking about it." 

The Elenrian's accent was heavy and though he seemed to have a rather decent grasp of understanding Common, he struggled to speak it all too well, pausing in his speech to grapple with the different words. He fiddled with his dress's sleeves as he tried to clarify himself before remembering etiquette. "Of course, I understand it's late, and I apologize for bothering you at this late hour. I can always come back when you're available."

[malloc]

"Nonsense my boy," the professor says, hobbling past him and pulling out his keys. He didn't seem to mind the Elenrian's demeanor or insistence to fix his cuffs. It was the end of the week, after all "You're more than welcome to ask them. I'll put on a kettle to warm some water. Tea, coffee, wine?"

The door clicked, the lock unlatched, and the door slid open. He turned to his student, motioning for him to enter, saying, "Now, we'll likely go down a rabbit hole here, so let's just start it off, hmm? What's your first question? Don't worry about seeming naive or dumb, you're just learning about the terminology and subject material."

[StaolDerg]

"I'll have some tea, thank you Professor." Isiko accepted gratefully, bowing. He followed the professor into his home, pondering which of his many questions to ask first.

"Well, during the Developmental Economics class research paper we were assigned, I went to the library to do my share of research," he began. "And of course, since my family in Elenria was rather well-off before the Kumo arrived, I thought that the Elenrian economic system was doing something right, so I started there.” He reached into the pockets of his coat and pulled out several stacks of notes, annotations of painstakingly copied passages from research texts jammed in what little space he could fit.

He flipped through them, pulling out one among them- a single page that had begun fairly concise and orderly, with small charts noting different statistics between the sources to determine the most accurate, only to descend into a chaos of question marks and circles about various unsolvable theories towards the end.

“I found instead that even before the Kumo arrived eighty years ago, our economy was unstable- people were bound to nobles who owned the land of the communities, and the roads, language, and industry were largely down to the individual communities that were circulated in.”

He realized that he wasn’t getting to the point and stopped himself. “Sorry, Professor. I suppose what I’m trying to say is, I found a book while researching, and it presented an interesting concept on the idea that the economics of a developing nation should only grow from the domestic situation: for example, if say somewhere like the UST were to develop a modern economy, it would first need to transform in terms of society and governance to fit new ideas. Simply passing on modern economics aspects of say, ah…”

Isiko paused, frowning. “What’s the word-” he briefly backtracked into his native Elenrian, muttering under his breath. “[Milling-valley? Foundry-line? No, it’s like a road for making things…]”

“...the industrial process,” he figured, continuing. “Would just give the standing authorities in the developing country- perhaps nobility of some sort- more power over the lower classes. Instead of modernization, the country would instead be passing further power to the already powerful, and risk making even more problems for itself. And looking at my home province, what they now call Luosen, I can already see what the author meant. So the point of my question is, what can be done? What could be changed to fix a developing nation’s government- we can’t let the peasants govern, because they’ll flounder apart fighting with one another over a cow. And we can’t give it to the nobles either because they’ll be busy trying to undermine each other. And a monarch doesn’t seem to fit so well anymore- we lost Akel the First, and because her successor was too young, we could not recover fast enough for following crises!”

The inselni finally held himself back. “I’m... I’m sorry. I got carried away again. But I’ve found myself frustrated, Professor. I was hoping that you could point me in the right direction.”