Hey guys! We just want to explain what's going on! We (writexmusic and NefariousOne) are co-writing this story. In co-writing, we are also REWRITING. So it's important that you view this story as something completely new. Scratch every preconceived notion of this story, and start fresh. It's important that you read everything again from here on out, just so you know what's going on, because it's quite different! Thanks guys, hope you all enjoy it!
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I found myself again stumbling through the streets of Rumein, lost with no sense of direction.
Where was I going to eat? More importantly, where was I going to live? How was I going to live?
As I wandered through the unfamiliar streets, I noticed the city was a lot more crowded than it was yesterday. The roads were blocked off for the parade, but that didn't stop people from pushing there way in. When they could no longer drive, they parked their cars and traveled either by bicycle or foot.
Thanks to international mass consumerism, I was able to spot a crowded Starbucks down the block. My bladder wasn't going to survive the duration of that line, so I fought my way through the mass of people, and hurried off to the bathroom. After I did my business, I washed my hands and face, changed into fresh clothes, and tied my hair up in a ponytail. When I was done, I went off to tackle that insane line.
The tall, older man who stood in line before me obviously had no patience. He kept adjusting his casual suit and tie, tugging well-made fabric in every direction. Even though he was taller than most of the people, he would stand on his toes, get a look at the front of the line, then moan and mutter to himself. He did this over and over again. Although he reminded me of my grandfather, I found his mannerisms extremely irritating. I was suffering through this too, but you didn't hear me moaning and groaning.
"Would you believe this . . . unbelievable," he whined to me. He repeatedly slapped his thigh with his rolled up newspaper. "All of these people for that bloody parade."
Identifying his proper British accent, I said, "I'm guessing you're not from around here."
He raised his tired eyes at me. "Actually, I am. I came here a few years ago on a business trip from Bristol, and just never got around going back. Been living here ever since," he explained proudly. "I just don't believe in all of this tradition and customs . . . it's rubbish if you ask me. Sure, back at home we have the Queen, but at least she's a respectable human being." He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair.
"What do you mean?" I asked, as we both took a step forward with the line.
"Right, I'm guessing from your American accent, you're not from around here," he mocked, poking fun at my previous ignorant comment. I blushed slightly from embarrassment. "This whole royal family is mad. Unlike England, they actually rule the country, but are incapable of doing so. They're all fools if you ask me. Corrupt and idiotic. Let me ask you, before you came, had you ever heard of Percucia?" He asked, as he peered down at me. I shook my head. "Of course not. There's a reason for that. Percucia has gone to the dogs. And it's because of the ruling family that all of these natives worship like Gods. If the royal family actually did benefit and improve the country, I'd be more understanding."
By the time he finished, we had reached the front of the line.
"I see," I replied, soaking all of this information in. "Thanks for explaining it all."
"Hey, it was a pleasant way to pass the time," he said to me. He ordered his food and coffee, and took it go. "Do enjoy the rest of your time here."
After he left, I ordered myself blueberry muffin and a bottle of water. I paid with the coins the construction worker had given me, and still had a few left over. Taking my muffin to go, I escaped the packed bistro. The warm sun greeted me as I hit the bustling streets. I followed the masses as they prepare to watch the parade. I was on the corner of some main street. Some bubbly, teenage girl, probably a few years younger than me, was bouncing up and down in anticipation. She kept shrieking to her friend about how excited she was to catch a glimpse of Prince Stefano, the gorgeous heir to the throne (her words, not mine).
