Character Name: Xanthe Lantonnen
Age: 34
Gender: Female
Height: 5’5
Build: Bony hands and a thin torso with short, thick legs.
General Appearance: Average height perhaps if she was human, and yet, she is taller than her satyr father and shorter than her elven mother. Russet skin, small chest, and with dark eyes; her hair is short, ruffled and often dirty. Her face appears alien and far too sharp for most, a common feature of those in her village - few have had their blood touched by the softened features of most humans. She rarely removes her shoes and wears long woven skirts and dresses due to her half-satyr lineage ‘blessing’ her with partially-form
ed hooves, and a thicker pelt on her legs than is able to be maintained. The clothes she left her village in were a ruffled feminine top, a long woven skirt, and old worn shoes.
Personality: Xanthe, unlike many of those in the village she was raised, is inquisitive and often makes spontaneous decisions. Although open-minded and warm of heart, she often makes bad judges based on old superstitions.
History:
Xanthe was born in Eitaeld, an isolated Aeaean village on the outskirts of a forest. She was raised deep in tradition and with no education other than in the skills needed within the village, and although she was rebellious from a young age, many of the traditions and superstitions became a part of her. Her only contact with the outside world was the occasional visiting trader, or the odd troupe of elven gypsies from the forest nearby – much to the delight of all children in the village, a delight that continued into adulthood only for her and few others.
At the age of 10 all children in Eitaeld go through a week of ceremonies where their skills and powers are assessed, before awarding each child with the designation of their life-long profession and a festival at the end of the week. Xanthe was found to be a talented weaver and embroiderer, with the lesser-praised ability to create temporary visual effects if she were to sew stories into cloth as she told them (those in her village were more excited by those born with more “practical” powers, most especially telekinetics and others who could make work lighter and lessen the village’s need to trade for tools). She was given the title of weaver and storyteller.
With each year that passed, Xanthe grew hungrier for knowledge that most of those in her village were content not to know. She had heard of a city that her village called Beleg’caras ({the} Great-City), but a group of gypsies one year had whispered that it was more frequently called Krung Thep. While a storyteller herself, she just as often loved to hear stories of the outside world told to her be travellers – although attempts to repeat the stories to other villagers fell on deaf ears. She heard that Krung Thep was a city of culture, a place she could find new knowledge and a new life: a place very unlike the only place she knew.
She saved every spare coin she had from selling her cloth and quilts, eventually having enough to begin her journey the next month a Krung Thep-bound trader was said to be passing. She packed the clothes on her back and her sewing supplies, some wine from her father’s profession and some bread from her mother and set off.
Other: Xanthe hopes to rent a small and affordable space to set up shop in Krung Thep, although she knows it is likely she may only be able to afford a place in welfare housing with a rented stall in the market until she has enough funds.
It was a regularly busy day at the immigration office that day, several people sitting around, doing things that people do when waiting to be seen. Every once and a while a name was called out by a person appearing at the mouth of the corridor leading to the offices where the interviews were taking place. An Asian woman in her 30s appears and looks carefully at the paper she is holding, then calls out: "Xanthe Lantonnen," pronouncing the first word in a somewhat Chinese way, "shan-thay."
Xanthe rose from her seat, lifting her small bag of sewing supplies onto her shoulder as she walked, awkwardly, to the entrance of the corridor. Approaching the woman, she curtsied and smiled. "I am she," Xanthe replied, adding meekly that "my people pronounce my name more like kszann-thee, although I have been told that people from and near The City have the many ways of their homelands to speak the same name, and so I will accept either."
The lady smiled as Xanthe approached, and nodded. "Ksann-thee," she mimicked to learn the pronunciation. "My name is Mary," she said and led Xanthe to a small office room. "Please take a seat," she pointed to the chair by the front of the desk, as she herself went to sit behind the desk. The room was small, a little bit cramped, but made as cosy as it could with a potted plant and some drawings by a child pinned to a cork board. Before turning to her computer Mary asked Xanthe: "first I must ask, are you comfortable speaking English? This building is fitted with spatial translators, but if you need, the government can issue a personal one for your use here in Krung Thep." She spoke with an unspecific English accent.
Xanthe tested the seat with her hand before sitting with some bemusement upon it, the seat was quite unlike any within her traditionalist village, moreso than the one she had been sitting in moments previously. While settling herself she replied, smiling: "I speak English as it was taught by traders, as well as the old woodland language of my village; I won't need a translator." She admired the drawings on Mary's wall, drawing was something she was never talented with, and so even the simplest child's drawing seemed as or more impressive than her own. "The drawings on your wall are lovely" she added.
Mary looked up and looked at the sketches, almost like noticing them for the first time - they had become invisible to her and having attention drawn to them by someone else really brought out the tender feelings that she had had when receiving them. "Thank you," she smiled gently, "they are gifts from my children, for birthdays and Mothering Sundays," she explained and looked down to her computer again, but the smile didn't vanish from her lips. "Okay that's wonderful about the translator. Do you have any other form of education?" She asked looking up.
The Aeaean smiled as the pictures were explained, but chewed on her lip and blushed momentarily when the question about education was raised. "I was taught many physical skills when I was a child, but.." Xanthe fiddled with the straps of her sewing bag for a moment, "In the years since, I've only been self-taught: in weaving and embroidery. Not many of us are expected to leave home, and so we do not learn anything of the mind or pen save for the skills needed for trade or magic." She thought perhaps her lack of education was too much to admit if she wanted to get anywhere in any modern city, let alone Krung Thep - but her eyes always betrayed any half-truths and lies she attempted.
Mary held her hands above the keyboard, then put them down, a little unsure how to record Xanthe's answer. "Hmm, excuse me for pressing the matter further, but it helps us to know how we can help you and what we need to provide for you in order to help you integrate to the city," she apologised before asking "but are you literate? Can you read or write?"
A worried expression passed over Xanthe's face before she answered "I apologise for avoiding the subject, but I cannot currently read or write at all in English" she paused, diverting her eyes, before continuing "and I am only capable of very basic reading and writing of only magical texts even in my village's language."
"That's alright," Mary said with a friendly tone, then paused for a minute to think, then wrote illiterate, able-bodied, trained in crafts in Xanthe's file. "So what are your plans here in Krung Thep?" She asked, moving on to the next segment of the interview.
"I plan to eventually rent a small building to sell my crafts" Xanthe replied, gesturing towards her bag of tools, "but I was not able to save up as much money as I would have liked - and so I think I may only be able to afford welfare housing." She took some time to think before adding: "I think... if market stalls are not too costly to rent... I may have enough money to trade in the markets until I can afford a building."
"And we can set you up for the Housing after the interview," Mary said and typed the information into the computer. "It sounds like you've thought it through before coming here, I hope it works out for you," she added. The phone on the desk rang, Mary looked at it and pressed a button to silence the tone. A little phased by its interruption, she took a small pause, then remembered what she was going to say next. "Have you heard much about the history of Krung Thep?"
Xanthe watched as the phone rang — they were rare in her village as they were only used to call the outside world in emergencies — and even then only a handful of homes were pleased enough with the modern world to possess one. "I have heard many stories from visiting gypsies over the years," she subconsciously moved her hands as if she were weaving while she thought further about her answer, "but I do not know how much truth was in them because they would change each time they were told. I think would need some help separating the truths from the fantasies..."
"Well, there is a bicentennial celebration of the Greatest Event coming up, and I am sure there will be exhibitions and other information shared in abundance during that," Mary said with a smile. "I was just wondering that perhaps you were coming because of the celebration. How did you come to Krung Thep?"
Xanthe's sharp face brightened considerably at the news "Oh that sounds wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Distant and modern news doesn't travel well to Eitaeld. When it does it isn't shared — we.... they are very traditionalistic. Even travel to the outside world is rare, I had to save for years to ride here with the monthly trade caravan between here and my homeland." she realised the mention of years may have been confusing, and so expanded: "I had to save many coins before they would be worth spending in Krung Thep, they are worth a lot less compared."
Mary nodded and tried to stay neutral. This was always the hard part about the job for her, not getting too sympathetic with people's stories. 'People are living perfectly happy lives every where, everyone struggles on some level, Krung Thep is not the heaven on earth that everyone should homogeneously strive for' she hammered the thought to her head. She glanced at her computer screen to remind herself what she was supposed to talk about next, but her curiosity won the battle for her attention and she inquired Xanthe about her background: "so did you leave a lot of family and friends back in... Eeteld?" She asked, trying to mimic the pronunciation of the place Xanthe had mentioned.
"In Eitaeld" Xanthe emphasised the pronunciation as eye-tailed, although the 'l' was almost silent in her soft elven accent; "my friends were mostly travelling traders and gypsies. I wasn't very popular amongst most in my village save for children and other storytellers, we would joke that the others were afraid they would catch our dreams and modern thoughts as if they were a great illness." She thought fondly of the bread and wine she had been given by her parents before she left, now only crumbs and empty bottles: "I do miss my mother and father terribly - I would guess that they miss me as well, as I have no siblings so far to fill my place."
Mary listened attentively but the phone rang again right when Xanthe was finished. Mary looked at it, frowned and said "I'm sorry, I have to pick up." She answered the phone and her expression and voice were half irritated, half worried. She was curt on the phone, as if trying to suggest to the caller that they should not have called. But she didn't do that for long when her replies became more alert, such as "oh no!" and "I'll... I'll be right there" and her face went pale. "She looked at Xanthe across the table, a little unsure as to what to do, then said "please, excuse me for a moment," and she left the room with a hurry in her steps that she kept from turning into running.
Xanthe had waited politely while Mary was on the phone but watched worriedly as the phone call finished, politely and confusedly nodding as Mary excused herself. She sat awkwardly in her seat for a moment, before sighing from the short release of interview pressure, and turning around to see what she could of what was going on.
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