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Madison Scott-Clary 2021-08-26 13:15:11 -07:00
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writing/post-self/toledot/secession/sys/True-Name/001.html
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<article class="content">
<h1 id="true-name-2124">True Name &mdash; 2124</h1>
<p>The next meeting spot for the Council of Eight was in a rooftop bar. However, given that that rooftop bar was in the midst of a block of apartment buildings and vertical malls that had simply built with shared walls, such that there was a cubic half-mile of stair-climbing, elevator rides &mdash; down as well as up &mdash; and trestles that bridged buildings of lower height than higher ones, it was more adventure getting to the venue than the meeting itself promised.</p>
<p>Still, The Only Time I Know My True Name Is When I Dream climbed.</p>
<p>The apartment buildings ranged from serviceable to gutted, and more than one time, she had to step carefully through a path cleared in rubble. She could not decipher whether this was due to abandoned renovations, some unknown battle, or the simple degradations of time.</p>
<p>The malls offered different dichotomies. Some of them were sparkling new with speakers that whispered to her in Mandarin and lights that shouted in her face, while others played placid muzak through halls lit only by emergency lights, darkened storefronts yawning onto scuffed and over-waxed parquet floors.</p>
<p>She wondered who it was that had owned this sim, what collective it was that had decided to mash all the best and worst multiple clashing centuries worth of Kowloon Walled City and the North American Central Corridor.</p>
<p>And then, the rooftop bar. Despite no vehicle entrance to the complex, this was situated on the top level of what appeared to be a car park straight out of a mid-western American airport, complete with one or two of those vehicles that seemed perpetually parked, ones that had lingered for months or years, accruing a parking debt of thousands, tens of thousands of dollars.</p>
<p>The bar itself was something of a pop-up, with walls and ceiling of corrugated plastic held together with rivets and tape, a bar-top that was a few two-by-eights set across a trestle, fronted with further corrugated plastic to keep the patrons from kicking fridges or sinks out of alignment.</p>
<p>The drinks: early 2100s hipster bullshit, all intensely sweet or riddled with smoke-scented fizzy water or long strips of seaweed twirled or clams within the ice, steadily making the drink more and more savory over time.</p>
<p>True Name found it all confusing and jarring. She liked it.</p>
<p>Debarre was already at one of the tables &mdash; similarly cobbled together &mdash; sipping something that seemed to be all foam. He waved to her as she entered, and she waved back, heading to the bar to pick up one of those seaweed concoctions before joining him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;That looks fucking gross, Sasha.&rdquo;</p>
<p>She laughed and shrugged. &ldquo;I am True Name, but yes, it really does. If we are going to meet in a place that gives me a headache to walk through, it is probably best that I get something with&hellip;protein? Is that how this works?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Uh, sorry. Yeah. True Name.&rdquo; The weasel splayed his ears and averted his eyes. &ldquo;Can we talk about that sometime?&rdquo;</p>
</article>
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<p>Page generated on 2021-08-26</p>