The streets making up the cities of Minstrel were often filled to the brim with the lower-class workers who basically did all the dirty work to serve an unjust system that favored people by birthright and not always by virtue. It was often that the system chose glamour over character - something that was reversed in Desierto. In Desierto, people yearned to be the front role models in terms of manners, hospitality, articulation, manners, manners, manners and etiquette. Being able to memorize all your ancestors and ancestresses showed intellect and a huge brain capacity, which many a young Desiertan would love to see in their future partners in love and life. Here in Minstrel, mentioning the one ancestor of yours who was worth bragging about was more than enough, really…
The sun was standing tall over the zenith, revealing the hues of three figures on top of a copper-covered tower. The copper had aged quite badly, and it was a bright, turquoise layer around the dome of the tower that these figures stood on. There was something odd about them… the sun’s rays seemed to bounce off of their skin, creating a mirage-like cloak that blurred their appearances, hiding them well from the population who walked about to pursue their daily goals. These figures possessed magic, clearly… but who were they?
The mirage-like hue would disappear if you were looking at the exact location where they were standing. Nothing was to be seen there, now… but one could always use their ears and hear a sudden raise in the commotion.
“Are you Jiriiru Jareemu?”
“Are you Jiriiru Jareemu?”
“Are you Jiriiru Jareemu?”
“Are you Jiriiru Jareemu?”
“Are you Jiriiru Jareemu?”
“Are you Jiriiru Jareemu?”
“Are you Jiriiru Jareemu?”
“Are you Jiriiru Jareemu?”
“Are you Jiriiru Jareemu?”
This would be repeated with a strong, Desiertan accent as these figures revealed themselves in the middle of the public roads. They wore such loose clothing despite the temperatures and customs in Minstrel, clearly signifying that they weren’t from around these areas. Their question was short and obvious; they were looking for a Jiriiru Jareemu. A Desiertan name.
“Are you Jiriiru Jareemu?” one of the entities who wore a jagged turban asked a young, little kid on the road whose cheeks said it all; dirt marks on his cheeks signaled his status in the society as under class, so obviously he wouldn’t want anything to do with these ridiculously muscular men wearing no trousers and shirts. The child shook his head quickly and ran away from the bigger male who sighed in disappointment.
“He is older than that, akhi!” another one of the three figures - one wearing a sleeker turban covering his head and connected to a scarf around his neck - informed his ‘akhi’, a term meaning brother, “Look for a Desiertan around our height and build! Tone of the skin too! And talk in Desiertan, so he won’t flee!” The man with the jagged turban nodded and looked around, hoping that their third brother had heard the same… but the third one was gone. Oh well, they still kept on asking people on the roads - this time, they asked in Desiertan:
”Hal ant’ Jiriiru Jareemu?”
The third among them - a man without a turban but donning a golden circlet with three gemstones, all three light-blue - had invaded someone’s house. A sudden scream echoed from the bathroom as he had just pulled back the curtain to face a woman in the middle of taking a shower. “Are you Jir- wait, you’re a woman-“
“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU PERVERTED LOWLIFE!!!!”
She swatted at his face with her free hand, but he grabbed it with ease before it landed on him. “Watch your hands, young lady! I’m just looking for someone! At the very least, you may be well-mannered enough to help me in my time of need-“
Another scream escaped her, and poor girl, she was stuck with a psycho.
Meanwhile, the entity with a jagged turban had come across a certain lady with violet hair. The two of them who were out on the street had scared many other people away with their appearances, their behaviors and the pointy bulges on their heads coming from their turbans. “Are you-“
“Amir! Haven’t I told you, already!? Jiriiru is male! Ignore the loose womenfolk here!” the man with the dome-like turban shouted at his brother with a stern tone in his voice, clearly annoyed by the lack of attention to detail. Despite honoring good manners, they sure were assholes…
WC: 760
@Vera Walden