Page 107 of Cerulean Truth
Then I considered it could be related to the incident itself. I had been bombarding James with questions about that night, and while he was clearly as frustrated as I was with the lack of answers (yet), I was confident he’d tell me when he could. Unlike James, I was convinced the Radicals had attempted to abduct me in relation to my untraceable translation.
But James insisted that only the Council knew about it, so either there was a mole in the Council (highly unlikely) or there was another motive we had yet to uncover.
So there was that, but our differing theories about my abduction didn't seem like a plausible reason for him to suddenly change our entire dynamic.
Maybe James’s physical attraction to me had simply…ended?
Gods, I hoped that wasn’t the case.
I stared out my window, and I watched as the last rays of sun vanished and the night overtook Cyclos in its hold. My mind wandered back to our fight after class. How he’d had the audacity to judge me for feeling lonely, or for not feeling, or for fearing to feel or for whatever it was.
Andthen. Then, he’d stood up for me like a lion defending his lioness.
If he truly didn't care, why bother threatening someone over my nickname? Why punch him out cold?
My mind was racing so loudly I barely heard the knock on my door.
James.
It had to be him. Who else could it be? I flung the door open with exaggerated dramatics, only to find Jackson there with such a serious resting face, it gave him an instant air of gravitas and thoughtfulness.
I raised a brow and inquired impatiently, “Jackson. Can I help you?”
Jackson raised his brow at my rude tone and responded in a soft tone, “It appears I’ve caught you at a difficult time.”
I let out a deep sigh and remarked, “Timing isn’t on your side today, that much is true. But I can hardly fault you for the confusing behavior of a ranting raccoon.”
“A ranting raccoon?” He smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Look, I am sorry to barge in here like this, but I was wondering if I could steal some of your time and talk to you over coffee.” He smiled, charm oozing out of him.
Letting out a deep sigh, I looked at him with weary eyes. “Sure, if can you make it something stronger than coffee?”
Jackson grinned. “Done.”
I walked out of my room and closed the door behind me. “Lead the way,” I said, holding out my hand.
As he did. All the way up to the Irish pub on the fourteenth floor.
When I pushed open the creaky wooden door, the rich scent of aged oak and hearty brews caressed me like a warm, comforting embrace.
Dim, flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, revealing intricate carvings of Celtic knots. The air was filled with the faint echo of lively folk music, played by invisible musicians, their melodies invoking a sense of wonder, resonating in my soul.
The bar itself was carved from a colossal tree trunk, with its polished surface reflecting the light emerging from the multiple lanterns hanging from the ceiling.
It was all very poetic, except for the patrons. The patrons were robust, tattooed men who clearly embodied the spirit of the Irish, and they made me feel more at home than ever. Some had tattoo sleeves on their left forearms.
“Are those Offensives?” I asked Jackson in hushed tones, nodding their way. He confirmed my suspicion, and I made amental note that their tattoos were on their left arms, unlike James, who had his on the right.
We sat down at the bar, and I ordered a frothy pint of Guinness, smiling for the first time that day. Jackson looked at me with an amused smile, then copied my order. The bartender, a grizzled and wise-looking figure, poured a deep crimson liquid into a glass which seemed to shimmer with its own inner magic.
I took a slow sip, savoring its rich, bittersweet taste. The atmosphere around me pulsed with the warmth of the place which had nothing to do with the temperature.
We sat in silence for a while, waiting for the other one to talk. Jackson was stretching the awkwardness a bit too long for my taste so I coughed a little.
“So uhm, you’re an Orator, right? What’s that exactly?” I asked, hoping to break the silence.
Jackson shrugged. “I imagine it’s kind of like a lawyer in the Human World, though we mainly occupy an advisory role now, with the Great Exposure and everything. Orators are well-versed in the arts of discussion, and law. We do have tribunals here, but they function differently from those in your world. Orators and observers are key components. Five to ten Orators typically present their version of the case, supported by evidence. Observers, three times the number of Orators, interpret the presentations to form a consensus on the narrative. This consensus is then presented to the tribunal, which determines and pronounces the consequences," Jackson explained quickly, like he didn’t really care.
I blinked. That sounded… weird.
