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Radilo

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Badua, la Serenissima Repubblica di Radila
8:00 pm on a Thursday

Ms. Kipa's restraunt closed at 6 when the market did. So by 7:00, the sisters were able to head home. Aria was out by the Juilet balcony clacking away on her phone; Emilia was in the kitchen, cutting up carrots, onions, and celery for soffritto.

There was a loud knock at the door. Aria answered it, though only because she beat her sister to it.

"Hello," she said to the younger woman in a black robe standing in the hall, "why are you wearing a robe?"

"I'm a magistrate, I'm kind of a judge."

"Why are you here?" Emilia asked, finally arriving at the door.

"I understand that you are refugees, and might be less inclined to trust figures of authority. But please be assured that I am not here to hurt either of you."

"I asked you why you were here."

The young robed woman sighed, but quickly regained her composure.

"Young lady, are you Aria Colombo?"

"That depends."

"She's not in any trouble, we just need to clarify something with her."

"Yes."

"I'm going to have to invite myself in. I don't want to discuss private matters in public."

"Do we have a choice?" Emilia asked.

"Not really."

"Fine, come in."

Shutting the door behind her, the young magistrate opened the small briefcase she was carrying.

"We have to do this for three years after law school, be magistrates I mean. We have some power, but it's not much; we don't get paid a lot of money--we do the judicial grunt-work. They have us visit the houses of minors, instead of us having them brought in--wise I think. They say it's to build empathy, doing this kind of job. It works. I spend my days helping people who are and feel like they live precariously. I grew up in a upper-middle class family. It's been eye opening."

"We grew up comfortably, too," Emilia said, "we lost everything during the war. It's been eye opening."

"I'm sorry. But my visit, while mandatory, is to help you."

"What do you need with me?" asked Aria.

"There was a discrepancy in your records. Your citizenship papers say you were born in 2010, but your tax form says you were born in 2008."

At that point Emilia was giving Aria a heavy dose of side-eye.

"Mistakes get made," Aria said, smugly.

The young magistrate rolled her eyes so hard you could hear her eye cords straining.

"This is the reported net Income," the magistrate said, pointing to a bolded set of numbers. "Are you being paid that?"

Aria was silent for a few moments.

"Listen, kid, we don't really care that you're working underage, we just want to make sure you're getting fair wages," the magistrate said, somewhat exasperated.

Aria took the paper and flipped through it. "Yea, that's what Ms. Kipa pays me."

""Good, we don't want employers taking advantage of kids."

"I thought the Camorra handled that?" Aria asked.

"Aria don't!" shouted Emilia.

"It's fine," the young magistrate started, "the mafia can only enforce rules that exist."

She paused, and sighed a bit, before a smile appeared on her face.

"Welcome to Radilo, la Serenìsima is glad to have you. The judiciary serves the people."

"Do you want to eat with us, magistrate? We're making soffritto. And we're making plenty," said Emila, her expression softening.

"It's not usually acceptable for..." she paused and smiled, "fuck it--yes. That sounds lovely."

Aria and Emilia smiled.
 
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Radilo

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Repùblega Radèla, Sestiere Cannaregio, Ghèto Ebrei, Pałaso Casteli
Anno domini 1466

Most days Moses leaves around 9:00 in the morning. He has an office not far from the Realto market. I'm not entirely sure what he does. He says he's an actuary... I didn't press him for whose money he's working with, but I have a feeling I'm going to find out soon eneough.

Around 11:00 in the morning (Moses has a large Astrarium in the main hall, he purchased it in Badua). I had a pot of stew simmering on the stove for my lunch. I had inherited my mother's habit of making too much, but I could always reheat it tomarrow, or later in the evening... Moses might even want some if he drinks too much wine tonight.

As the stew was finishing up, I was sweeping near the front door, when I heard a knock. I was taken back abit bit. Most of Moses friends use the back entrance. Cautiously, I opened the door.

"Don Casteli isn't home," I said before the door was fully open.

A young woman, not much older than me was standing there. She had long, straight black hair, and a very fair complexion. She wore a black silk robe, with a gold cord slung around her shoulders. She had a matching black toque resting on her head.

Initially her eyes were closed, and she was looking down. Once the door was all the way open, she lifted her head and opened her eyes. She had narrow, dark eyes. She was rather pretty. I hope I meet girls like her in the convent one day, I thought. She resembled those foreign merchants from @Tianlong , like Mr. Won, who Moses had over for dinner a couple of times.

"Oh I was hoping for that," the young woman said in a calm, soft voice. "Are you Isabella from the Island of Cattaro?"

"Y-yes..." I answered pensively.

"Are currently under the employ of Don Moses Casteli?"

"Yes... can I ask you a question?"

"That is allowed."

"Who are you and why are you asking me these things? Don Casteli isn't home, I'm just his maid."

"Oh I know, I wanted to speak with you, Isabella, just you. My name is Xuan Maria, I am a Giustiziere. My job is to ensure the well being of minors, women, and vunerable people--and ensure moral order."

"What's-what's a minor?"

"A person under the age of 16."

"Oh, I'd never read the term."

"You can read?"

"Yes, I hope to become a nun one day."

"Good that'll make this a lot easier. So you are 14, is that correct?"

"I turned 15 a month ago. Moses got me so drunk... oh sorry... we're not usually so debauched..."

"It's alright, we don't really press too hard about the petty moralizing, we're more interested in assuring that people are not being taken advantage of. So, Isabella, is Don Casteli paying you this amount of money, monthly?" she said pointing to a number on a piece of paper she pulled out of her purse.

I looked at it for a moment, "that's what Moses gives my family monthly. He gives me a bit to go drinking and buy some other things... um I mean..."

"It's fine, Isabella. So he is paying you more than fair rate. That's good. How many hours do you work a day"

"My work is on and off. I normally wake a 6:00 in the morning, and I am done by 9:00 in the evening. But most afternoons I am off between lunch and dinner."

"How many days a week do you work?"

"Usally 4 or 5, I don't work Sundays and most Saint's days."

"So Don Casteli respects Christian holidays?"

"Absolutely, Miss Maria."

As she was writing something in a small codex, the young Giustiziere looked up and responded, "my family name is Xuan, Maria is my given name."

"Sorry, I dont get to have too many conversationswith Orientals. So, Maria, what brings you to Radila?"

Maria's expression softened, "I was born here, my parents were silk merchants. You see..." she sighed, "I like girls. There's no future for me marrying back in Tianlong. I also don't want to be a nun. When my father learned that girls could study to become Giustiziere... it seemed like the ideal option for me. Since we deal mostly with women and children, they train women to carry out most of the gruntwork. The pay isn't great, and it's a stressful job. You often see people at their lowest... but it does give you a sense of purpose... and it makes you much more empathetic..."

She lowered her head, I staired at her for several moments, before she raised her head up and met my eyes.

I smiled back at her, "I'm making some stew for lunch... and I made plenty. Would you like some?"

"We're not allowed to... ah fuck it. Thank you, stew sounds wonderful now."

I smiled and welcomed her in.



Nothing really changes.
 
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Radilo

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Santa Maria Xavier Cemetery, Badua, Radilo
11:00 AM

Paula started bawling into her mother as the casket was lowered into the ground. Her mother was letting out a steady stream of tears, but seemed otherwise steady. Everyone who knew him knew who he was. They knew what he did, or at least could reasonably infer it. Still his death, even if not a surprise, felt weird. A heart attack? It was, in a perverse way, just too clean.

Lula, Chici, Aria, Lila, and Emma, and Tabitha all huddled around their little friend, offering her a coalition of support that, ideally, symbolized the republican resolve of their country. In a dark way, this sentiment was visible in the clearly awkward members of the Secret Service, who tried to discreetly attend the mafia Don's funeral.

As she stood distraught, alongside her father-in-law who looked as old as one could at the death of his son, M approached her. He tried to hand her an envelope.

"What are you doing here?" She hissed.


"It's a widow's pension, for your husband's service to his country."

"We don't want your blood money, not after what they did to him."

"With all do respect, ma'am, your husband had a history of high cholesterol and high blood pressure--our autopsy turned up no foul play. He died of a natural heart attack."

"You don't believe that at all, do you, M?"

M sighed, "take the damn envelope at least, it's not just monetary benefits that you and Paula will receive."

She nodded, "After this all, leave us alone, M, we want nothing more to do with any of you."
 
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Radilo

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Steamship bound for Nouvo Porto
Anno domini ~1939

Michael wasn't from the HRE, despite what his fake passport said. He was from the Frankish-speaking region of, ironically, Bourdignie. (That whole area has had a pretty rough time throughout history.)

Radilan foreign resistance fighters (who were in nooo waaay totally funded and equipped by the officially neutral Radilan Secret Service) had been helping smuggle kids and wounded resistance fighters to safety in, again officially totally neutral, Radilo.

When they found Michael he was pretty pathetic, wearing only rags trying to sleep behind some garbage cans.

"What sounds like a good imperial name?" Said the resistance fighter, lighting a cigarette.

"I dunno Vic--hey kid what sounds 'imperial' to you?" Said the other fighter, fidgeting with his SA32.

The young boy, still shivering even wrapped in the wool blanket the soldiers gave him, spit out the only name he could remember: "the imperial economic minister's name is DeVain." He did not know why he remembered that, he just did.

"Michael DeVain it is." The soldier said as he said finishing up the fake passport.


The boy came back to himself as the ship's horn blew.


Perast, Cattaro
Anno domini 1983


Isabella wasn't getting a lot of sleep recently. Baby number 4 might have been a bit too much. But then she thought about little Sophia's bubbly giggle and she felt better about it... a little bit better. She came back to herself, staring at the poor woman In front of her. She was working the night shift as a magistrate, so she could look after their kids during the day as her husband worked as an engineer.

This poor woman barely spoke either Radilan or Zaran and was terrified. Having been brought to the young Magistrata because of some discrepancy.

As slowly and as crisply as she could she spoke, "normally there is a small fine with this, but I am waving that. We have cleared the issue. You may go. You are not in trouble. These officers will take you home now," she said doing an exaggerated smile and thumbs up gesture.

The woman started crying and thanked her profusely.

As the officers from La Civica helped guide the woman away, Isabella sighed.

This does breed empathy, she thought. She did envy her husband's schedule, but she her internship had more flexible hours. So this was the best arrangement they could manage.

"Magistrata Lacé..." a man said, approaching her.

"Do you need assistance, sir?" She asked dawning her best customer service smile.

"No ma'am, I'm from the Statistical Policy Bureau. You have been randomly selected for a survey."

"Okay. I am more than happy to participate."

"Excellent, as part of this program, you will recipe an unconditional 300 livra a month."

"Um... that sounds wonderful... but if this survey is looking at some newly proposed welfare program... I'm a law intern, my husband is an engineer--we aren't rich, but we don't need money. We are comfortable and we're soon to be quite well off."

"Ma'am, the idea behind these random surveys is to see how they work at all socioeconomic levels."

"Okay... I guess I can't argue with free money..."
 
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Radilo

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Catholic Refugee offices, Nouvo Porto
Anno domini ~1939

His fresh cloths, given to him by the resistance, made him look the part of a young, working class subject of the Frankish Emperor. He was sitting along a long bench filled mostly with kids.

The girl sitting next to him was his age. She was similarly dressed in suspiciously new cloths. She suddenly turned to Michael, who was lost in his thoughts.

"You're very cute. Do you think I'm very cute?"

Michael was startled, but quickly regained his composure. He gave the girl a looking over, unsure exactly what the criteria of "cute" was, exactly.

"By the arbitrary definition of 'do I think you look nice,' I would deem you sufficiently cute to be classified as 'very.'"

"My name's Lulu. It's short for Lucienne. I'm pretending to be from the Holy Frankish Empire, but I'm from Pannonia."

"Hi Lulu, I'm Michael, I'm from Alssance in Bourdignie. I am also pretending to be from the HFE. Were you helped by the Italian soldiers too?"

"I was. They said it was revenge for their enemies... I liked that."

Michael smiled, "I like that too."

"Do you want to request being kept together as friends?"

"What does that mean?"

"I'll show you when I'm called up."

After a little while Lulu was called up to the counter. "I'm friends with Michael sitting next to me. Can we be placed in the same orphanage?"

The young nun manning the counter smiled. "Of course, Michael can you come up here?" He approached the counter, "so you and Lulu want to be placed together? You were friends before?"

"Yes," he said, "she is very cute."

She blushed, and smiled mischievously.


Perast, Cattaro
Anno domini 1983

A year of extra income was a boon for the Lacé household. 300 lira might not seem like much to a middle income household but they were able to use it to pay for more childcare. (Their mothers, though willing, were stuck on their farms watching out for their own younger children and local grandchildren.)

"You'll pass your basic competencies about six months early," the Senior Magistrato said.

"Really?... I'm doing that much better?"

"It's noticeable you're getting more sleep... aren't you?"

"I guess I am... I hope whatever program they're assessing, they keep."
 
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Radilo

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Nuovo Porto, 8th Quartiere Café Franc
Anno Domini 1995, about 10:00 AM

"I'm suprised you're as unbothered as you are," Senator Isabella Lacé said sipping on her espresso. She was the freshly minted Blue representative from her home island of Cattaro.

"People are not exactly banging down the door to get advice from a man thrown out of his own party," former Prime Minister Michael DeVain said, chuckling.


"You'll be appreciated. I appreciate you."

"Really?"

"That universal income helped me get through my time as a Magistrata."

"I'm still opposed to the income caps." He said, smiling.

"Maybe I'll get rid of them."

"You do seem to mimic me. For all your warmth in person, you cut the image of a stone cold technocrat... you even have an adorable husband you've been with since childhood."

She snorted, "we were the two 'smart kids' in our little village. The two adorkable bookworms, bound for university. It was inevitable, really, that we would get togeather. The sex was also very good."

"Ha! Lulu was--is the sweetest woman on earth. In the orphanage, her bed was next to mine. Even when we were nine, she'd sneak into my bed at night and we'd cuddle. Oh don't give me that look--it was innocent. We didn't fuck until we were well into our teen years. And even then, it was mostly oral--couldn't risk a pregnancy." Isabella actually laughed for a few moments, a rarity, "we went to class togeather, we even worked together. At the orphanage you could help take care of the place and they'd give you some spending money, but you made more working. We washed dishes at some café. Bruna was the woman's name... she gave us a lot of food. Eneough even to take back and share. The economic boom after the war was a magical time. I'm glad we didn't squander it... as so many of my former fellow partisans wanted to."

"I remember my childhood. It was charmed, even working in the fields was... oddly comforting... is that exploitative?"

"Probably," he said, necking his Fernet Branca.
 
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Radilo

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Badua, la Serenissima Repubblica di Radila
9:00 AM on a Tuesday

In Radilo, as a reminder--the wealthiest country in Europe as measured by GDP per capita, refrigerators are a sign of middle-class status. Needless to say, air-conditioning is a goddam luxury. The Doge's Palace has to use window units because of structural issues.

As a record-breaking heatwave lingered over Gallio-Germania, Radilans took the most logical course of action--and declared a national holiday. This was actually standard policy: if it got hotter than 35° (95° in freedom units) all business and government agencies shut down, with the exception of medical services, petrol stations, and any entity that provided "cooling services," such as Gelato shops and water parks.

In most of the Serene Republic, people flocked to the beach, but in land-locked Badua gangsters drank beer and played cards in meat lockers. Father Rocco pounded white wine in the Church's cellar. University students taking summer courses made bubble baths out of fountains and had squirt-gun battles on campus greens.

Aria was waiting impatiently by Juliet balcony for her sister to finish putting sunscreen on. The heat was already insufferable. Just out of curiosity she looked up air conditioners on her phone.

"800 lira?" she thought to herself, "this one is only 9... oh, no 9 Ducato... dammit."

Aria and Emilia grew up with air conditioning. Window units, sure, but they had it. "Growing up comfortable in a poorer country had some benefits over being poorer in a rich country... no fuck that... I like this place more... air conditioning in a war zone is the least the universe can do..."

"Ready to go?" Emilia asked as she put her sandals on.

Aria rolled her eyes and nodded.

"You're not going to wear shoes?" Emilia asked, noticing Aria's bare feet.

Aria wiggled her toes, "Tabitha said it is better to toughen up your soles in the summer. Besides we're going to be swimming in the canal, what does it matter?"

"Right now, when the stones on the road haven't been pounded by the sun, sure, but when they are baking hot... not so much," Emilia responded, her head cocked.

"Fine," Aria said, again rolling her eyes and grabbing her sandals.

Emilia couldn't help but chuckle as they made their way out of their apartment and down the stairs.

The Canale Baccigalone was actually a branch of the Badua River, but, as it went straight through town, its banks were manmade and it's flow controlled. Because of environmental regulations implemented in the 80s, it was clean enough to serve as the landlocked city's "beach."

Once they arrived, Aria ran off to join her friends, who were already splashing around in the canal. Emilia dipped here feet into the cool water and took in the scenery. For as rough as much of the working class neighborhood she lived and worked in could be... Badua was still deeply charming. Even their own proud, but poor neighborhood. Even rich kids from elsewhere noticed. Heck, sincere and earnest university students were now in competition with local gangsters for who were better tippers.

Even without air conditioning, this was hard to beat. A girl about her age walked by hawking chilled mini bottles of prosecco.

"I'll take 2," Emilia said.

"Four lira."

A bit of money changed hands and Emilia resumed watching her sister play with her friends. She unscrewed one of the little 200 ml bottles and enjoyed drinking the crisp, sweet, bubbly liquid therein. She finished it faster than she meant to... so she opened the other one.

"She'll be back around," she thought as she sipped.
 
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Radilo

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Badua, Radila
Aug 12-15

For four days the citizens of the Most Serene Republic enjoyed a late summer sloppy drunk to cap off the vacation season. True, it was nothing like Carnevale or even the Christmastide feasts, but the Feast of the Assumption was still a big holiday.

Aria had volunteered to be a part of the procession, walking barefoot alongside her friends, all of them, especially silly Tabitha (who had suggested this whole mess to the rest of them), next to the Virgin float. Aria wore a wreath of white flowers in her hair and even donned the traditional red, white, and green tunic. It was a silly display, but one that was deeply felt. Aria was even moved by the brass band's trumpeting behind them. She felt liked she belonged to something... she was home... she was a member of a community... she was amongst friends. As each bit of gravel bit into her young soles, she accepted each little spark of pain as a reminder of her new commitments. It was an overly political thought, but Aria's joy and misery had always been determined by politics. Why should these moments of joy be any different?

Her sister, normally trying to be sheltering had given up and spent the whole feast drunk alongside her friend Zita. Ms. Kipa's restaurant was only open for a few hours in the morning during the feast, the same as the market. And given how drunk Ms. Kipa got... no one was sure what the clientele was actually given... or even asked for. Needless to say, Emilia was proud of her sister.

It was the kind of festival that Radilans would never forget forgetting to remember.
 
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Radilo

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Repùblega Radèla, Sestiere Cannaregio, Ghèto Ebrei, Pałaso Casteli
Anno domini 1466

The sun was just starting to peek through my window. Maria was still sleeping, so I quietly dressed and brushed my hair, and quickly left my garret. It was a small but cozy room that actually afforded me more personal space than I was use to, having grown up sharing a one room cottage with my parents and siblings (and whatever animals needed to stay warm).

I made my way to the kitchen, to my surprise Moses was already awake. He was sitting at the small table by the stove intently reading a letter. Upon making eye contact with him I realized that it wasn't the case that he'd awoken early, rather that he hadn't yet gone to bed.

"Moses," I said, curtsying, "would you like me to make you a pot of mokka*?"

"Please," he responded somewhat curtly.

I took out a small cast iron pan and began to re-roast the beans on the wood stove. My father never bothered to re-roast beans, but Moses preferred it like that. I honestly struggle to taste the difference. Maybe they are a bit richer tasting... I'm not a connoisseur... and God knows my late father wasn't.

After about three minutes I put the beans in the grinder. I have to be careful because they're still hot for about a minute. After about three minutes of grinding the powder is fine enough to put into the press. My father was content on using a small copper briki, like the Pelasgians do, but Don Casteli purchased this obscenely ornate silver press from the Mohammadites**. It does make smooth tasting mokka, though.

The decanter was full after a press, so I filled up a small blown glass demitasse for Moses.

"Isabella, you don't need my permission to partake, pour yourself a glass and join me."

I smiled, but I would never dare use one of Moses's Murano glasses. Even if he wouldn't mind me breaking one, my unsteady hands would mean that hours of fine painstaking work would shatter. Besides I actually prefer the texture of ceramic demitasses anyway.

I sat beside him at the small table. We sat for a while, he squeezed a lemon in his mokka, and I stirred a bit of honey into mine. After some time he finally spoke.

"Isabella, I am happy you found a girlfriend. But if she wishes to visit the Ghèto regularly, she cannot wear her uniform."

I was a bit taken aback, "why?"

"The Jews who live here live in fear. Our status is always insecure."

"How? ...every Jew I know is secure in a valuable profession."

"They have to be or they could not survive. But the goings on here can be exploited by cruel bureaucrats. So people are weary. A Giustiziera, like Xuan Maria, is seen by many as a threat, even if she doesn't mean it. I know she is a sweet and well meaning girl, but when my coreligionists see her, they coil in fear."

Maria quietly had entered the kitchen by then, having heard what Moses said.

"I'm sorry, Don Casteli, I did not mean to cause anxiety among the Hebrews in Radila."


"No need to apologize Xuan Maria, just know that when you wish to visit your peasant girlfriend--it would be advised that you too dress as a peasant. No one finds peasant girls threatening. In fact," he said tossing me some coins, "go buy our Tianese friend a nice traditional peasant outfit. And get yourself something too."

He smiled at us, "go, I have more reading to worry about."

We smiled back, and quickly made our way to the cloth market.


*very old term for coffee
**old term for people from Harj
@Pelasgia @Tianlong
 
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Radilo

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Badua, la Serenissima Repubblica di Radila
3:00 pm

Two men were sitting in Ms. Kipa's café, switching between sipping espresso and ouzo. One was from Nouvo Porto and the other was from @Pelasgia , though each had spent the better part of three decades teaching and conducting research in Badua. They were on one side of the gowns vs. towns devide. Of course, even the most steadfast partisans would admit that the differences were fraying, especially given the large refugee community that, while boosting the towns' ranks, did even further weaken any nativism.

"I think the fever broke," said Prof. Kalogeropoulos, a sociologist.

"Do you think a treaty could do it?" asked Prof. Adalberti, a statistician.

"That might be a point of fluctuation, but I think now liberal Pelasgians have a clear stake in domestic political fights. People can express their anxieties in a concrete, practical way. Emigration was a way to express that, now there is an easier, less disruptive alternative. But we will have to see."

"Well that bodes well for the exchange. That and the general cooling down. Seems people were able to diffuse tensions..."

"Can I get you gentlemen anything else? Another shot of Ouzo maybe?" the waitress asked.

"No, just the check, Emilia. Grassi."

"Right away professor," she said taking some of their dishes away. After she deposited them by the washbin for Aria and Tabitha, she fetched the gentlemen their check.

"I'm sure the towns will be thrilled with an influx of prep school kids," Prof. Adalberti joked.

"Ha--they're not all prep school kids. Just the vast majority of them," Prof. Kalogeropoulos retorted.

After Emilia left the check, the men tipped well and left.
 
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