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“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will rule your life and you will call it Fate.”—CGJung
When he woke the next morning, it was to a Herald’s cry: “Pick up your trash, pack up your stuff! Site closes at 4 PM! Leave the place cleaner than you found it! You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here! Thank you!”
Marie appeared in the door of the tent: “Tea is ready, and the sun is out. The canvas may well be dry before we take it down.”
He stretched and groaned as joints popped and muscles complained: “That will save a lot of time and effort. My holiday is over...just about. I’d just as soon not have to set everything up in the parking lot to dry later this week.”
“Oh. Yeah, that’d be a pain.”
He rolled out of the bed and began to dress.
He contemplated returning to the Real World: ‘Or to the real worlds, all of them.’ He sighed: ‘Stuff to do.’
It was two days later; it took that long to sort out the trailer and do the laundry: ‘I’d forgotten how much work I used to do before and after those SCA campouts...”
He sat at the south side of a large round table in a room in a stoa at Red Warrior Guild Skolo.
He’d been awakened that morning by multiple calls on his MPS, the request for this meeting among them.
Other calls included a ping from his desktop, alerting him to news stories about the Homeless population of Eugene: ‘Seems that a bunch of the rowdier Borderers moved across the river into Springfield,’ he thought. He pondered that story: ‘When asked why, they said they felt harrassed in Eugene, so they fled across to Springfield.’
Now Eugene’s nearby neighbor was suffering from the BLM’s eviction of the Swampers, and they didn’t like it—not one bit: ‘The funniest part is The Mayor of Springfield accusing Eugene’s cops and Councillors of deliberately driving the Borderers over the Willamette. Not that that’s unlikely, but it’s funny.’
His shoulders ached: ‘Not from swordplay—I’m accustomed to that, again—but from setting up and tearing down that camp. I’m really glad I got out of there with dry canvas.’
He dragged his attention back to the present; he stared with some dismay at the trio of Red Warrior Guild Magistrae who had asked him for the meeting.
“Something wrong?” asked the Eldest of them (in appearance at least).
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