09-23-2022, 01:14 AM
Helga Kallaste stepped out of the car, bundled in thick winter clothing and clutching a clipboard in her left hand. She sighed deeply, taking one last look at the warm interior of her Vadu before marching into the village in front of her. The city gate at the entrance boasted the name of the town: Chetim. There were four other villages in Otika with the same name, and Helga had to collect a census from each of them. She hated every second she had to spend in this barren wasteland. She suspected something was deeply wrong with Otikans – nobody sane would willingly choose to live here.
Suspicious glares and muttered insults greeted Helga as she made her way toward the center of town – she was an interloper, only there to remind the villagers that they were still a part of the Trans-Sastovian Commonwealth. The first person she asked for directions turned around and walked away, while the second pretended she wasn’t there at all. It took twenty minutes of aimless wandering for Helga to stumble into one of the town’s deputies. It was impossible for Commonwealth Armed Forces Otika, the military unit dedicated to pacifying the rebellious republic, to maintain a garrison in every city. Being assigned to CAFO was seen as a punishment at best and a death sentence at worst, with its ranks composed solely of Vertanskans and Solavanians to prevent reprisals. To work around this limitation, CAFO often relied on native Otikans as auxiliaries in areas they couldn’t afford to police.
The deputy in front of Helga did not inspire confidence in the woman. The short man wore a leather overcoat at least two sizes too big, with a crumpled cap and a tin badge with the paint peeling off. He spat a wad of chewing tobacco onto the dirt road, hastily fixing his hat and puffing his chest out. Helga resisted the urge to roll her eyes and addressed the man in Vertanskan. “I need to find your municipal building. I’m a census taker. I work for the federal government.” The man stared gormlessly at her, and she screamed internally. Of course, the only person willing to work with me is a snow-eating moron. She closed her eyes, trying to remember her therapist's advice and calm down.
Helga spoke again, loudly and slowly. “Do. You. Know. Town. Hall?” Recognition dawned on the deputy’s face, and he chattered away in his mother tongue too quickly for her to understand. “Uh-huh, uh-huh.” She nodded disinterestedly before holding her hand up and interrupting him. “Need directions.” The man paused, racked in thought. “It is… north.” He pointed vaguely in the distance, taking off one of his deerskin gloves. Helga sighed in relief, fishing a coin out of her pocket and pressing it into his hand. “Finally. Thank you.”
Helga returned to the city outskirts, where she had parked her Vadu. The town hall was further away than she thought - it would be easier for her to drive there first. The woman pulled her keys out of her pocket and walked to the driver’s side before stopping abruptly. A note had been pinned to the car door, held in place by an antler stabbed through it. “LEAVE.” I wish I could. I don't want to be here either. The woman grabbed the horn, yanking it free with a grunt and tossing both it and the note aside. She got in the car, turned the heater to max, and drove back into the village.
Suspicious glares and muttered insults greeted Helga as she made her way toward the center of town – she was an interloper, only there to remind the villagers that they were still a part of the Trans-Sastovian Commonwealth. The first person she asked for directions turned around and walked away, while the second pretended she wasn’t there at all. It took twenty minutes of aimless wandering for Helga to stumble into one of the town’s deputies. It was impossible for Commonwealth Armed Forces Otika, the military unit dedicated to pacifying the rebellious republic, to maintain a garrison in every city. Being assigned to CAFO was seen as a punishment at best and a death sentence at worst, with its ranks composed solely of Vertanskans and Solavanians to prevent reprisals. To work around this limitation, CAFO often relied on native Otikans as auxiliaries in areas they couldn’t afford to police.
The deputy in front of Helga did not inspire confidence in the woman. The short man wore a leather overcoat at least two sizes too big, with a crumpled cap and a tin badge with the paint peeling off. He spat a wad of chewing tobacco onto the dirt road, hastily fixing his hat and puffing his chest out. Helga resisted the urge to roll her eyes and addressed the man in Vertanskan. “I need to find your municipal building. I’m a census taker. I work for the federal government.” The man stared gormlessly at her, and she screamed internally. Of course, the only person willing to work with me is a snow-eating moron. She closed her eyes, trying to remember her therapist's advice and calm down.
Helga spoke again, loudly and slowly. “Do. You. Know. Town. Hall?” Recognition dawned on the deputy’s face, and he chattered away in his mother tongue too quickly for her to understand. “Uh-huh, uh-huh.” She nodded disinterestedly before holding her hand up and interrupting him. “Need directions.” The man paused, racked in thought. “It is… north.” He pointed vaguely in the distance, taking off one of his deerskin gloves. Helga sighed in relief, fishing a coin out of her pocket and pressing it into his hand. “Finally. Thank you.”
Helga returned to the city outskirts, where she had parked her Vadu. The town hall was further away than she thought - it would be easier for her to drive there first. The woman pulled her keys out of her pocket and walked to the driver’s side before stopping abruptly. A note had been pinned to the car door, held in place by an antler stabbed through it. “LEAVE.” I wish I could. I don't want to be here either. The woman grabbed the horn, yanking it free with a grunt and tossing both it and the note aside. She got in the car, turned the heater to max, and drove back into the village.
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