Chapter 3: 3. Processing

Rorri

 

The ‘processing office’ was little more than a pitiable wooden shack with a crooked sign nailed to the entrance. The human guard pointed and grunted, slapping the stack of papers into the foreigner’s hand. Rorri gave him a polite, confused nod, then cracked the door open and slipped inside.

Only what sunlight peeked in from between the slatted windows lit the dingy office. Weary patrons, mostly elves, occupied the dozen chairs in the waiting area, with another eight or nine people standing around the perimeter. A few of them intently watched the door opposite of the entrance. Some seemed to be locked in a desperate battle against sleep, and others turned to stare at Rorri, as though he were an exotic plant that had evolved the ability to walk. Though his eyes could finally rest from the burden of the midday sun, his nose suffered from the mysterious odors locked into the humid air. He couldn’t say whether it was a worthy trade.

Behind a plain wooden counter to Rorri’s right sat a wrinkled human man, deeply invested in a book. The counter stopped just below his chin, making him appear unusually small in relation to the room, and he seemed not to have noticed that someone had entered. Rorri stood there, fidgeting with the papers, waiting to be acknowledged. He cleared his throat loudly, waited a while longer, then finally spoke, hoping that the human would understand his language.

“Erm… hello?”

The clerk held up his finger. Rorri watched the man’s eyes scan the text slowly and deliberately, and after an uncomfortable fifteen seconds or so, he marked the page with a scrap piece of paper, closed the book, and raised his gaze.

“Can I help you?” he asked in flawless Elvish.

“Uh – y-yes,” Rorri stuttered, shifting his weight. “I’m here for… processing, I guess?”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place, then.”

As the clerk fumbled with something below the counter, the door across the room scraped open, and from inside emerged a round human female. She called out a phrase in the guttural human tongue, paused, then repeated in Elvish:

“Twenty-one!”

One of the patrons, a lavender-skinned elf, jumped from his seat and followed the woman into the other room, shutting the door behind him with a shhhkUMP.

“Here’s your number, ser,” the clerk said, sliding a small folded paper across the counter. Rorri opened the paper and squinted at the two unfamiliar runes painted in watery black ink. “It’s forty-two,” the clerk explained. “Make yourself comfortable. There’s water in the corner if you want it.”

“Erm…” Rorri pulled his lips into a thin frown. “They call the numbers in sequence, then?”

“Of course,” the clerk said, settling back into his chair, book already in hand.

“How long between numbers?”

The clerk sighed. “I don’t keep track, ser. Just have a seat.”

“…Okay.”

A formerly-standing patron had already taken the lavender elf’s place, their neck hooked over the chair’s back as if they hadn’t sat for centuries. Rorri clicked his tongue in his cheek, rolled up his papers, and crept to an empty space on the wall. He nearly tripped over a sun-burnt human who stank of fish, but managed to adjust his footing without so much as a stumble.

Of the eighteen elves in the office, fifteen had cool, pastel-colored skin, varying pinks and blues and violets, with only three warm tones present. Rorri wondered if they might have been from different woodlands across the world, though he was certain they weren’t from his. He alone sported the earthy brown complexion of a Belethlian elf, similar to that of some humans, though any resemblance ended there.

Rorri already had to fight to keep from staring at the humans’ bulbous noses, flat ears, and stiff hairs bursting from the bottom half of their faces. In his centuries of life, he’d only ever seen one human, a merchant who’d traveled to Belethlian in search of exotic flowers. As far as he knew, the man never made it out. It was easy to lose one’s way there. The most inviting flora had a tendency to intoxicate, and none could claim immunity to the allure of the forest’s bed…

“Where are you from?”

Rorri twitched as the voice ripped him from his scattered thoughts. The powder-blue elf to his right watched him with a curious smile, her wavy white hair partially obscuring her face.

“Oh, uh – Sorry,” he stammered, dropping his gaze, as his mind wrangled with her airy, lilting timbre. “I’m from Belethlian.”

“The jungle?” she asked.

“Erm, it’s more of a forest, but yes,” he said.

“I’ve never met someone from a forest before,” she said, absently spinning a ring on her left hand.

“I guess that’s not surprising,” Rorri said. “We don’t really come out much.”

The woman nodded, but offered no response. An uncomfortable silence passed. She didn’t turn away, but Rorri just stared at the floor, knowing he ought to keep talking. He was just so tired…

“Are you going to ask me where I’m from?” she prompted with a small chuckle.

“Right, s-sorry,” Rorri said, face flushing. “Where are you from?”

“Anthatal,” she said. “Not so far from you, actually.”

Rorri pinched his brows together, struggling to recall the name. It was familiar, but distant, like he’d heard it in a dream – the closer he got to remembering its meaning, the further it scooted away.

“I’m not sure I know it,” he confessed, a strange sense of guilt tugging at his neck. The woman gave a small hum.

“Maybe you saw us from a break in your canopies,” she said. “We were the city in the sky, just to your south.”

Rorri’s gaze landed on her feet. Her dirty toes poked out from under a long, flowing dress, calloused and covered in scabs. It didn’t seem right. She should have been wearing finely-stitched slippers, something befitting a princess, he thought.

“Were?” he prodded, shutting his eyes.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Your smoke choked us out of our towers. So, here I am.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered in earnest.

“It’s not your fault.”

Rorri glanced up. She was looking towards the entrance, eyes glimmering, without a trace of the curious smile she’d started with. He wondered if he had imagined it…

“I know who the real enemy is,” she continued. “Believe me, if I ever cross paths with a Duén, it’s their head on a pike, or mine. For Anthatal.” The corners of her lips crept upwards. “And for Belethlian.”

The fine hairs on his neck stood on end. Her gaze flitted back to him, but before he could say anything, the door opened, and the round human woman emerged.

“Twenty-two!”

The powder-blue elf unfolded the bit of paper she’d been clutching, then gave Rorri a courteous nod. “Good luck,” she said as she took her first steps towards the door.

Rorri returned the nod. “Y-you too…”

It wasn’t until she disappeared that he felt the heat of dozens of eyes on him. He sighed, slid down the wall, and buried his face in his hands. It was – and would continue to be – a long, long day.

 

*******

 

With his ‘processing’ finally complete, the office sent Rorri away with more papers, directions to his public housing unit, and the assurance that he’d have no trouble finding it. The few who still remained in the office stared as he departed, their weary eyes flickering with envy. The door creaked shut behind him, and he disappeared into the throng of people circling the city, eager to start his new life anywhere other than that awful, stinky room.

The Plateau overlooked the city with an elegant, spiral-topped Palace as its eye, and from beneath the Palace, as if between its legs, a waterfall tumbled, its distant hiss smothered by afternoon traffic. The streets were even busier than when Rorri had first arrived, despite the unnerving early darkness imposed by the Plateau’s shadow. Though the air was cooler and more hospitable – a welcome relief from the sunlight’s tyranny – he couldn’t shake the feeling that much of the day had been stolen from him. He supposed he’d just have to get used to shorter days.

Before long, his stomach howled. Rorri was used to skipping meals, but it had been over a day since he’d eaten. The last leg of his journey had covered a stretch of scarce wilderness thinned by loggers, but he imagined it couldn’t be too difficult to come by food in the city, with so many people needing fed. He eventually stumbled upon a barrel filled to the brim with apples, waiting for him on the side of the street. He plucked one up and inspected it: its aroma was subtle and sweet, its red skin firm, bright, and lightly speckled. It was nearly flawless by the standards one would set for an apple.

“Special today, ser! Two for a penny!”

Rorri turned to find a thin elf with soft pink skin rapidly approaching. She flashed him a toothy grin, though it clashed with her tired eyes and uncombed black hair, as if she had hastily painted it over her normal face.

“Two for a what?”

Her smile transformed into a sneer.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” she grumbled, snatching the apple from his hand. “I’m sick of you bloody migrants strolling in here like you own the place. Ain’t done your goddamned homework before comin’ here to slack off, have you? Do you really think you can just take what you want? Is that it?”

Rorri laughed nervously, shrinking away. “I’m sorry – I don’t mean to cause any trouble, I just – I just need to eat—”

“Don’t we all,” she spat. “Come back when you’ve got coin, Woodie. It’s bad enough the city’s just givin’ out shelter to you lazy pricks, but I’ll be damned if you’ll have anything of mine just ‘cos you’ve got a pretty face and nothin’ to your name!”

A few passers-by paused to watch, but quickly dispersed, as though they’d heard that sort of diatribe before. The apple merchant gave Rorri a hard stare, daring him to speak. He could only stand in shock and struggle for a response.

“Um, thank you for l-letting me know,” he finally stammered.

“Piss off,” she barked, then slammed a lid on the barrel and scooted it away.

 

*******

 

The Plateau’s shadow gave way to night, and Rorri hadn’t the faintest idea where he was. He had been wandering for hours in and out of run-down back alleys, and each attempt he made to solicit help was met with silence and hasty getaways. One person was courteous enough to offer a ‘Sorry, I’m in a hurry,’ but apart from that, the citizens of Iridan were utterly useless, unwilling to even look him in the eye. He leaned into an unoccupied space on the Wall, aching and haggard, and gave a humorless laugh.

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“It’s fine,” he said to himself, running his fingers through his unwashed red hair. “I’ll just sleep here for the night, and keep looking tomorrow. It’s fine. It’s fine…”

The tall metal street lamps began lighting themselves – another strange show of magic the city offered – saving him from absolute darkness. He sank to the ground and pulled his knees in, desperate to lay down and rest, but his stomach gave another empty gurgle.

“’Scuse me ser, are you lost?”

Rorri jumped, shaken from his brooding. A human woman with tawny skin stood a few feet away, holding a lumpy bag, her hair a mess of tight black coils. A young child shuffled behind her legs, peeking at Rorri with wide-eyed curiosity and fear. Between its pointed-yet-short ears and its round-yet-angular features, Rorri couldn’t quite tell if the child was elven, human, or perhaps both.

“Y-yes, actually.” He shakily rose to his feet, rummaging through his bag for his processing papers. “I was told to go here,” he said, pointing out the symbols of his address, the document trembling with his hands. The woman leaned in and scrunched up her face, straining to read in the low light.

“One-fifty-one, Arbiter’s Way…” She paused and clicked her tongue. “That’s just a block or two south of that boarding school near the market, if I’m not mistaken.”

Rorri gave her a worried, sidelong glance. She tilted her head.

“Are you new here, love?” she asked.

“First day.”

“Oh, bless your heart.” She hummed, poking her lip. “I think we’ve got the time. It’s not too far, anyway.”

Rorri’s eyebrows shot up. “Thank you so much,” he said with a slight bow. “I really thought I was sleeping on the street tonight…”

“Handsome lad like you’s got no business as a street rat,” she teased, scooping the child up to rest on her hip. Rorri gave an embarrassed chuckle and followed her like a hungry cat, his spirits lifting for the first time since his arrival.

“You’re from a forest, then?” she asked, keeping a leisurely pace.

“Belethlian,” he said with a nod. She paused, then leaned in, softening her voice.

“Is it as bad as they say?”

Rorri’s stomach flattened, eyes losing focus, a blurry impression of roughly-cut cobblestones gliding beneath his feet. His mind was watching a different scene entirely – the place he called home licked by fire and smoke – and he could almost feel its heat on his back again. His heart began pounding—

 

sprinting from the burning trees,

stumbling over vines and underbrush

 

He shook his head, willing the images away, though they still hovered on the edges of his consciousness like they always did.

“S’alright, love.”

The woman’s voice gently tugged him from his head. He glanced up to see the child reaching towards him, its tiny hand waving in the air.

“We’re all sufferin’,” she continued. “One way or another, isn’t nobody who’s not. Even them – the ones from the Obsidian – they’re sufferin’ down there, too.”

A mournful silence passed, broken by his stomach’s loud whining, accompanied by a sharp cramp.

“Are you hungry, dear?”

She gave him a knowing look. He nodded meekly.

“I knew the Spirit had me wantin’ this extra loaf for a reason…” She set her child down and pulled a plump loaf of bread from the lumpy bag. A gentle breeze passed over the two as she handed the bread to him. He felt an unfamiliar pressure behind his eyes, but with a deep inhale, it slipped away, leaving a grateful twinkle in its place.

“Thank you,” he said.

“It’s nothin’ at all, dear,” the woman said with a dismissive wave. “I expect someone’ll do the same for me when I need it. Now, get inside and eat, won’t you?”

She nodded towards the tiny, crooked house before them. Rorri’s heart jumped. He recognized the symbols on its door from the document he’d studied so intently in his wandering.

 

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“Best of luck to you, ser,” she said, holding the child’s hand.

“Thank you, ma’am, thank you so much!” Rorri called, watching her bob away, the child waving its innocent good-bye.

 

Obvious gaps showed around the corners of the house’s front door, and the rickety steps leading down to the garden-level entrance looked like any one of them might fall through at any time. A deep crack ran from the edge to the center of the street-facing window, foreshadowing the chill he’d find inside. Tiny shadows darted across the windowsill. Just mice, he figured, but their quickness sent a shiver down his spine.

Other houses like it suffocated the narrow alley – though ‘house’ was a bit of a generous term for such shoddy structures – and from inside his neighbors’ homes, he heard their loud squabbles, their crying babies, their bottles breaking and all manner of noise choking the night air. Tents set up down the way rustled with their occupants’ fits of coughing and jeering, and mysterious smoke, somehow sweet and acrid at once, plumed from the slits in their fabric doors. Though Rorri had arrived with no expectations, he couldn’t help his shock at the crowded, filthy scene, but he had nowhere else to go, and he couldn’t afford to be picky.

Rorri descended the perilous stairs and paused in front of the door. He twisted the doorknob, anticipating a soft click, but it silently resisted.

He turned it a few more times, hoping the first, second, third, and fourth attempts were all flukes, but it didn’t budge. The door was locked. He had not been given a key. Rorri sighed and leaned all of his weight into the door, cursing under his breath. It seemed this day would truly never end.

The door swung open. A surge of adrenaline coursed through Rorri’s body, preparing him for a collision, but it was not the floor or the wall with which he collided. Instead, he stumbled into the burly arms of a hairy, sweaty, bare-chested stranger, crushing the bread between them.

The stranger shouted something in Human, his voice deep and gravelly. Rorri recoiled, unprepared for such intimacy, and toppled back to the rickety stairs, but he managed to right his footing before he fell to his rear. The human guffawed and slapped his knee, his rough, sun-burnt skin crinkling around his eyes. The familiar fishy aroma hinted with subtle notes of bourbon gave away the man’s identity: it was Rorri’s neighbor from the processing office, the one he’d nearly tripped over. Rorri could only watch, dumbfounded, as the human wiped tears from his eyes and breathlessly called down the house’s only narrow hallway.

A tall, handsome, muscular elf emerged from a room on the left. A thick scar ran the length of his sharp, high cheekbone, stopping just behind his ear, and Rorri glimpsed at least two more on his chest snaking out from under his threadbare tan pajama shirt. His half-closed black eyes begged for sleep, and his silver-toned skin had the same mineral-like quality as the golden guard from the gate, faintly glimmering in the low candlelight. The human clapped him on his shoulder, causing the elf’s long, black braid to sway with his body. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, furrowing his brow.

“He wants me to tell you that what he said was, ‘woah now, sweetheart’. That was after he opened the door,” the elf said, his voice carrying all the passion one would when articulating how to assemble a chair.

“Then he said, ‘well slap me silly, you’re that fancy elf from the DRP’ – the Department of Refugee Processing, if you didn’t know – then, ‘you should have seen the poor lad’s face, looked like he just shat himself’.” The human snickered and nodded along, adding his own commentary that Rorri couldn’t understand.

“Then, he shouted to me, ‘you’ve got to get out here and translate for me, this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened’. And just now, he said ‘I really wish you could have seen it, I’ve never seen an elf look so squirrelly in my life’. And now we’re here.”

Rorri’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two strangers as he struggled to follow the dialogue, cradling the smushed bread like a child holding a stuffed bear.

“Oh, and my name is Adar,” the silver elf added. “Rhymes with ‘afar’.”

“Erm… yes, I can tell,” Rorri said, narrowing his eyes. “So… I take it this one doesn’t speak Elvish, then?”

“’Course I do!” the human shouted, though Rorri was beginning to think that shouting was his usual volume. He spoke the Elvish words accurately enough, but he made no attempt to enunciate as a native would, rendering his speech intelligible, but only barely, to the foreigner’s ears.

“Sorry ‘bout the bread, mate. Bit a’ salt neva hurt nobody, though, ay? Ha!”

The human circled to Rorri’s side and slapped him hard on the back, causing him to cringe and stumble.

“M’name’s Bilgewill Porter – call me Bilge.” He twisted and extended his hand out so that it hovered just a foot or so in front of Rorri’s abdomen. Rorri watched it nervously, anticipating another blow. Bilge dropped his hand with a sigh.

“Oh, fergodssake, wot’s it about elves today, ay? Bilge’s school’ah etiquette, lesson one: whenna bloke offers his hand, ye shake it, ay? Jus’ givit a good, firm shake.” He threw out his hand again. “Go on, have a go!”

Rorri hesitated and glanced towards Adar, who gave an encouraging nod. He took the man’s rough, calloused fingers, and gave them a light wobble.

“‘Ats progress I s’ppose,” Bilge said with a cheeky smirk, “but here, lemme show ya…” He grabbed Rorri’s hand and squeezed it with a violent, vertical shake.

“Ow!” Rorri snatched his hand back, caressing the pain away, as Bilge released a raucous laugh. Rorri eyed the silver elf warily, as if seeking confirmation that he would be expected to participate in this strange ritual.

“I sort of enjoy it, personally,” Adar said with a shrug.

“…Okay then,” Rorri said, shrinking away from them both. “Well, my name is Rorri, it has been lovely meeting you both, but I am exhausted, and I really need to sleep, so if it’s quite alright, I—”

“Oi, ya got it wif ‘at pretty blue lass, didn’tcha?” Bilge nudged the forest elf’s ribs.

“Yes, well, thank you!” Rorri tittered, the human’s words sailing clear over his head, as he shuffled past his housemates. “I’ll just be heading to bed now, so, erm, which room is mine?”

Adar pointed to the door across from his, then disappeared into his own room wordlessly.

“Ay, sweet dreams, lad!” Bilge staggered to the room at the end of the hall and slammed his door shut behind him, rattling the flimsy walls.

Rorri breathed a heavy sigh of relief and entered his bedroom. Piles of garbage decorated the alley separating this house from the next, and the scent wafted in through the crack in the tiny room’s only window, escorted by eerie whistling on the breeze. Rorri sat on the dirty wood floor, his bag still draped over his shoulder, and delved into the bread, stopping only to pluck a stiff black hair from his tongue.

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