[Completed] A U.S. expatriate is cast into a rainy, foggy corner of Europe. He went there on the pretense to work on his research, but he actually wanted to put as many miles as possible between himself and his ex.
The university he works for has fo...
8 a.m. was what they had said—and them being Tavetians, Art left his apartment five minutes before that.
Heat was building momentum in his winter clothing, even though he carried his down jacket over his arm.
After having parted with a small fortune at the sports outfitter yesterday, he now felt like a medieval knight in new armor. Black thermal underwear ("the basic base layer"), a turquoise snow bib ("with functional fly and plenty of pockets"), a fleece jacket ("warm polyester fleece meets your favorite sweater"), smartwool socks ("the frost fighters"), and winter boots ("kicking snow's butt")—they all competed to keep him warm and cozy.
At the ground floor, the front door stood open, and Art welcomed the cool air it admitted.
"Hey, neighbor!" Ralph, dressed all in carrot orange—but with contours more reminiscent of a pear than of a carrot—beamed at him from the porch. "Great gear you're wearing."
Ralph's mother wore contrasting pea green. "Good morning, Art."
They shook hands when a taxicab pulled up to the curb in front of the house—a large, black limousine polished to shiny perfection. Rashid emerged, smiling happily, attired in black and red trousers and a red and black jacket.
What a bunch of colorful painted easter eggs.
Rashid bowed, then motioned towards the vehicle. "Fine wintery folks, your transport is waiting."
A woman's laughter made Art turn his head to the door. Adriana emerged, clad in an all-white overall and an apricot scarf, followed by a red and blue Jake.
Greetings were exchanged while Art pondered on Tavetian fashion. In the city, the natives wore blacks or grays, cheered up by the occasional jeans blue. In compensation, they seemed to crave garish colors when venturing into the snow.
"Okay, let's split up into our cars. Mine's over there, the red one." Jake pointed across the street at a sports car—a blood red chassis, all spoilers and mean metal muscle, crouching on bulbous, black tires. A bad-tempered, flat-brained, vicious predator designed to scare the rest of the road's users into hiding.
Ralph whistled. "Cool ride."
"Thanks." Jake nodded. "It only has room for two, though. I suggest that Adriana here comes with me, while you others take the more... comfortable option. If you agree, that is..." He smiled at the white-apricot woman.
"Absolutely." She beamed.
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The taxi's interior was roomy enough for the four of them. Agatha Meier's janitorial office and her prerogatives of age and gender, all of them wielded ruthlessly, had earned her the privilege of the front seat. Ralph and Art shared the bench at the rear.
The cityscape passing outside the car's window wore its usual gray, the low-hanging clouds casting doubt on their plans for a sunny day in the mountains.
