Adeline stood outside the hotel entrance and stretched, breathing in the somewhat fresh air and pretending that she was rejuvenated by the sunshine.
She was not. The sun burned her skin and stung her eyes.
Growing up in gloomy Belgarvia had made her—and other Belgarvians—so used to the relentless grayness, non-stop rains, and unwarranted cynicism that sunny weather and friendly people were not welcome respites, but flaws to keep whining about till time started folding on itself and imploded into nothingness.
It's a wonder why any Belgarvian ever went on holiday, unless to remind themselves of how good they had it back home.
Perhaps that's why they had colonized Natonia decades ago too. To teach themselves gratitude.
It shouldn't be surprising that Belgarvian students were especially fond of visiting developing countries for "volunteer" work. Their effort over those two weeks (or three) was doubtlessly real, as real as the photos they posted all over social media of themselves and the poor children they swore were life-changing to meet.
Typically, such students only wanted their lives changed once. At most twice. Adeline should know. She had been one of them.
Still, she would like to be a little less stereotypical. Just a little less. She was on a vacation after all. It's time to see new sights, hear new sounds, and experience new experiences!
She had grabbed her wallet—filled with her identification documents and her passport, she was sure—and hopped out of her hotel room in a pair of flip-flops.
Normal people might think it's prudent to stay behind, just for a couple of minutes, so they could monitor the hotel staff shifting their things to a new room.
Adeline, unfortunately, was not a normal person. Rich kids who grew up with servants tending to their every need usually had a skewed sense of privacy. Servants were less like other people (who could and might pry) and more like moving furniture who could think (but not too much) for themselves.
Hotel staff, obviously, were not really servants, but they belonged to the same category as servants.
'Not like I have anything irreplaceable with me,' Adeline reasoned. 'I probably won't notice even if they do take something, although I don't think they will.'
Her little stint with that horrible pair of default hotel slippers had reminded her that she needed—no, wanted—new shoes, so shoe shopping became the first thing on her agenda.
Adeline might look like a mess, but Natonians were used to tourists, especially their colonial overlords, acting like their worst selves.
So she was not standing out like a sore thumb. Her wavy hair, already unruly in humid weather, had been allowed to riot on her scalp—from the looks of it, the riot would develop into a full-blown revolution by afternoon when the heat hit its peak. She was also only clad in her thin nightgown, sans bra. 'Not like,' she grumbled, 'I need one. What's there to support anyways?'
But Natonians had seen worse, far worse.
At least she's still sober. At least she's not getting into fights with policemen. At least she's not naked yet (even if this changed in the future, at least she's easy on the eye). At least she's not vandalizing or vomiting on historical landmarks. At least she's not defecating on the graves of ancestors.
Just as Natonians had taught Belgarvians gratitude, so too had Belgarvians taught Natonians gratitude.
Truly, it was a beautiful relationship.
And Adeline would like to continue this relationship in her own small way. She shuffled her feet to the nearest mall and into the first shoe shop she saw.
This mall had been Cordelia's—good woman—recommendation and Adeline had accepted it without question. Its proximity to the hotel meant that it catered to travelers. The prices had surely been hiked up to eye-watering levels for locals.
It wouldn't be surprising if the hotel and the mall had a secret working relationship, but Adeline didn't care. Maybe Cordelia got something out of suggesting this hotel to guests. 'Good for her, honestly,' Adeline decided. 'She gives clear directions. She deserves some reward for that.'
What's the point of money if not to pay for conveniences? Adeline was above scavenging for "good" deals and discounts. That was reserved for people like Micah who saved money at the expense of time and comfort.
But no price could be placed on her comfort and her time, at least not the amount saved from such deals.
Adeline plonked herself down on one of the seats. "Show me your latest collection."
The sales associate was used to tourists acting like kings and queens and complied with nary a complaint. "At once, Ms! May I know your shoe size?"
As Adeline lazily sifted through the selection presented to her, her mood worsened. Not because none of the shoes caught her fancy. On the contrary, quite a few pairs did. The sales associate—Mary or Marie or Maria or Marianne—was really good at her job. Just a few off-handed comments here and there had been enough for her to accurately narrow down Adeline's tastes and preferences.
Like a good search engine.
No, what irked Adeline was the television screen blasting news in the eatery beside them. "Breaking news," the news presenter declared with routine calmness. "Flight BGV 115, bound for Natonia, has lost contact with air traffic controllers."
Years ago, while on a routine trip with her parents, Adeline had learnt that it was a common local practice to watch the news while eating. That was why a television permanently turned to a news channel—the more sensationalist, the better—was a fixture at any restaurant worth its salt.
Over time, this habit had become known as an intrinsic part of Natonian life. Many tourists happily joined in for a more immersive experience.
Not Adeline. It had been stupid to her then, and it's still stupid to her now.
"Both Kellynich Airport and Natonia Airport are desperately trying to resume communications with the aircraft. It is believed that disgraced Korean idol Hwang Taejun, also known mononymously as Zade, is one of the passengers onb—"
Adeline stood up without warning, leaving Marian panicking at the thought of lost commission, and stomped to the offending eatery. She marched straight up to the counter, looked into the nervous eyes of the part-time teenager who had the misfortune of meeting such a customer on his first day at work, opened her mouth, and—with not a single trace of shame—asked, "Hey, can you turn off the news? It's pissing me off."