Empyrean Iris Story Collection Vol. 3

Narobi

Narobi sat resting her cheek on her open palm, elbow resting on the chair arm next to her. She was really trying to pay attention, she honestly was, but the man's voice had long ago devolved into a serious of noises unrecognizable as anything more than white noise or TV static as she stared through him towards the back of the room and the open door. Sunlight streamed down from above and onto the tiled floor inlayed with delicate patterns and colorful reliefs. Large plants dotted the outside of the room still and drooping in the oppressive summer heat spilling in through the open doors and windows. It would have been nice if the air conditioning was on, but her father was like a desert lizard, and had always proclaimed that he loved the dry heat.

While she didn't hate the heat and much preferred it over the few times she had experienced cold weather, she would definitely have preferred a heat range in the low seventies.

She rested her hand on her other arm and sighed tracing the dust moats with her eyes, when that was not enough to satisfy her, she sat up straighter and then secretly reached into the folds of her clothing seeking out the hidden pockets she had sewn herself to withdraw a small handful of gears, springs and washers, by which she contended herself for the next fifteen to twenty minutes.

"Thank you, Mr. Diallo I will be sure to take your concerns to the UN the next time I visit."

Narobi lifted her head as the meeting concluded and quickly stowed away her handful of washers back in her pocket, hiding the little bird she had managed to construct from the springs. Her father stayed straight and erect until the man left before slumping down in his seat and sighing. Two armed guards moved to close the door plunging the room into cool shadow though the heat still permeated the room.

King Issa Konate was a tall, well built man in his mid-fifties with hair shaved nearly to his bare scalp. Much of his frame was hidden under a draping of traditionally inspired fabrics dyed in vibrant oranges, yellows and reds. Despite the colors, what he wore could not have been considered ostentatious, as vibrant colors were a common and preferred style of the region. If he was out on the street he could have been mistaken for anyone going about on their business, his open toed sandals exposing dust stained feet, It was that time of year again, and you could never seem to keep the stuff out of anywhere, especially when her father insisted on keeping the door open.

He turned to look at her and she stood straighter smiling at him.

His eyes narrowed.

"You weren't paying any attention were you?"

Her smile fell a bit, "Yes?"

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, while she watched him in concern. Her father had taken the throne at a young age, probably in his mid-twenties sometime near the end of the pan Asian war. While it had been his father that had originally negotiated with the UN, it had been his responsibility to slowly integrate their little slice of the world into the worldwide government body as seamlessly as he could. But of course, this was politics, and nothing was ever really seamless, and the premature greying of his hair was making that pretty evident.

"I wish you would try just a little harder. These are going to be important to you one day when you take my place."

She huffed and leaned back in her seat kicking her feet idly over the tiles. Sunlight shone through her orange dress. Her favorite color was green, but yellow, orange, and red looked best on her. She liked to think they made her look like some sort of sun goddess. It was an idle fantasy she had had since childhood dreamed up while playing in the gardens with her sister and the other local children, "I'm sorry I.... tried."

Had she really though?

When was she finally going to admit to her father that this is not really what she wanted to do with her life? What she was going to do, she wasn't sure, but she certainly couldn't see herself being a politician. In fact the vast majority of their politicians were elected these days. Her father really only held a ceremonial title, though he was popular enough among the NAC, (North African Coalition that he had actually been democratically elected to be their representative to the UN as WELL as their figurehead.