Cyanic ignited eyes, baggy and quite exhausted, nevertheless remained awake, staring at the ceiling up high as if it too stared back. The foreigner laid in bed within this moonlit bedroom, the curtains having been left open this time.

  What a long day this one had been, indeed… The irony of a single day—meaningless and insignificant with respect to everything else—feeling so tiresome and impactful for one who otherwise had practically infinite time was not lost on her.

  Truly, was this how every day felt for the denizens of this place? Their short and finite existences of endless abstractions and imagined constructions… She did not know, and quite frankly she did not care to know.

  Yet her mind remained trapped in reflections, nevertheless. Unable to relax or rest.

  Her cyanic eyes drifted as she turned herself to the side, still laying; there she saw atop the side-table, that so-called ‘token-marker’…just laying there as much as she. Indeed, that same token-trinket thing that spy of a patron had given her… When did she even put that there, she knew not… It was likely an automated action done without active cognition.

  Nevertheless, looking at it made her feel… Ugh. Truly, to think her senses and instincts and everything had become so…clouded by that constant…shroud infesting everywhere around that she had no point realized what he was truly doing…

  Or rather, no… She could not blame anything more than herself, for it appeared once again hubris had made her underestimate the potential…threat of the locals—the denizens of this…profane playground.

  Grabbing that token-marker into hand, she rolled herself back onto her back; she raised her arm up with that marker in hand before her eyes, analyzing what she could see within the revealing moonlight.

  Hm… Tiny numbers and letters were engraved, she noticed; they spelled not words or anything legible, but there was a pattern. It was a code, most likely; a unique identifier sequence, probably. Had she actually taken the time to inspect what that spy of a patron had even given her that day, these were rather suspicious details she would have noticed no doubt. Yet she had done no such thing…

  Hm… The foreigner began to reflect…

  By that spy of a patron’s own words, it seemed there was an implication that he had an initial interest of some kind in her former associate, once known as ‘Gunslinger’. Perhaps he had been searching for her specifically; though, the implication of that would be he had—somehow—successfully tracked her to this very city…

  Indeed, if a denizen, without any form of genuine technologies, could successfully track them to here, then…

  Regardless, that spy of a patron had only popped up less than two or so months ago, well after her former associate had…disappeared. If he was looking for her, then, obviously, he was unable to find her. However, he did find the foreigner; it seemed he developed some kind of…interest, consequently—one evidently clandestine and not reproductive.

  And everything he had done since then… Evaluating, prodding, all of his antics and annoying interactions with her… They had all, in fact been, forms of information gathering and behavioral assessment. And even though she could not admit this reality, his…deductions of her presumed ‘style’ of combat were…not even that inaccurate.

  Although, she would hardly consider herself to be a ‘skilled fighter’… For the standards of those like her, she would consider herself more subpar frankly. Unlike her former associate, direct combat engagement was not actually her specialization or even purpose; rapid mobility, evasive agility, and adaptive flexibility: being an always-on-the-move evasive little bug in any and all environments, with an often explicit objective of staying out of direct combat… Instead, other things tended to do the fighting for her…

  Nevertheless… What that spy of a patron was planning; what his true intentions were; what his true interests in her even were; such remained shrouded in shadow… All that was apparent, all that was known, was that he wanted her to keep this very token-marker and to inspect this guild of adventurers… She did not know if there was any connection between him and that guild, though it could be possible…

  ? Mah… ? With those muttering breaths, the foreigner tossingly placed that token-marker back onto the side-table. ? Síc mox videthéon… ? Well, she will just have to see.

  Although she had every reason to distrust both him and that so-called ‘guild’, something deep down within her mind’s shadow felt so very… Indeed, compared to whatever the Collegium was offering, this potential path seemed…slightly more…interesting, perhaps.

  You cannot admit it…

  That you, in truth, do have that itch within you

  Unsatiated by everything so far…

  Yearning for a stimulating scratch.

  -|||-

  A new day; a new beginning for many, though largely the same for most.

  Beheld before her sight was rather the strange and elaborate building. It was neither large nor small, being quite wide and having at least two floors. Windows were a plenty, especially on the ground floor where the windows operated more like walls if anything, being so wide.

  The foreigner could already infer from what she observed through these wall-for-windows, but she nevertheless approached the signpost just outside the entry door, leaning in… ? …‘ath Erutneudarz Dyleuge…fw’ath Tnowky fu Zaucdyleif’? ? she read out loud those words inscribed in local language; ‘the Adventurers’ Guild of the County of Coastfield’.

  Yep. This was it; that so-called ‘Guild hall’ facility.

  Finding it had turned out to be somewhat simple, having utilized the tried-and-true method of asking randoms around until one inevitably pointed the way. However, pinpointing its location and actually reaching it were…two different affairs, and… Indeed, actually reaching this facility required quite the walk.

  The Guild hall was located halfway across from where her apartment building was situated, well beyond her…former employment facility—that tavern—, and in a different chunk of the outer-city. This chunk of the city in particular did not appear to be the most well-maintained with respect to the rest, although it was not completely neglected either; it was in some kind of middle-state between the two.

  The building itself was situated within its own isolated pocket of a plaza of sorts, as if an insular hole within this urban sprawling sea, and it stood out in quite contrast to the surrounding area. Indeed, although the foreigner had not the proper descriptors to really…define or describe, she nevertheless could note the…stark difference in this building’s design, style, and general…sense compared to the any other building not only within this immediate area, but also this entire city.

  Elaborate, sophisticated, yet also utilitarian and pragmatic with a sense of…unnecessary complexities here and there. In many respects, it was what the locals would describe as ‘Far Western-esque’, however the foreigner recalled the denizens remarking that the Adventurers’ Guild’s unmistakable design and aesthetics predated contact with that Far Western continent by…several thousand years.

  Nevertheless, this building in particular had clearly witnessed much better days.

  The foreigner sighed, standing before that entry door—or double door, rather… It was one door at the scale of two. She could hear all those noises and voices emanating from within… She contemplated and cogitated, a strange deliberation and hesitation emerging deep down within, all for reasons she could not truly comprehend despite their evident causing of her stall.

  Intaking a deep breath, she exhaled and relaxed her being; no more deliberation, only decisive action. Springing open that double door, she thus stepped in without delay… And almost immediately as soon as that door closed behind, she was so greeted with a fury of so many denizens and their unrelenting noises which turned out to be far louder than she had initially presumed when standing outside.

  Truly, it was as if she had abruptly been struck by a cloud of slugging pellets that not only slapped her around, but pierced her deep within. However… This was nothing at all compared to that tavern; she could tolerate it, and she did tolerate it…

  Standing in place calm and with grace, the foreigner’s mask-obscured eyes thus scanned around this newfound environment…

  The interior of this Guild hall was, well… It was the interior of a Guild hall belonging to the one and only Adventurers’ Guild and certainly looked as so in all the most unmistakable aspects.

  Elaborate and fancy, much like the exterior, but also more ‘rugged’ and ‘rustic’. It was, again, ‘Far Western-esque’ as many denizens would describe, despite, again, predating the Far West. There was also a strange scent in the styles and aesthetics that screamed ‘administrative bureaucracy’.

  With respect to the size of the building itself, this main area seemed rather compact even if spacious. Directly to the front right of the primary entry door was the rather wide and long main counter area, flanking behind which were additional doors leading to other—likely restricted—sections of this facility. To the right of the main counter was a large and stretched board affixed to the wall, pinned upon which were many sheets, papers, and such.

  Directly to the left of the main counter—and thus technically more to her front—, down a very small set of stairs, was what appeared to be a social hub of sorts, filled with many wooden tables and noisy denizens to accompany, oozing from which was a rather…familiar mind-inhibiting stench that smoothed the very wrinkles of her own brain.

  Stepping forward, the foreigner approached a railing of sorts that separated this slightly lower elevated social hub and its small set of four stairs from the main counter area, placing her arms over it as she peered…

  Sixty, maybe seventy denizens; such was this area’s total potential capacity, the foreigner estimated… Just judging from the ration of wooden benches, tables, and chairs, at least. However, there only appeared to be no more than twenty-five to thirty actually present. This tavern-esque segment had its own counter area, one less flashy than the main counter, from which these denizens retrieved their brain-impairing liquids.

  Hmm… This was probably why she herself had hardly encountered these so-called ‘adventurer’ types during her time employed at that tavern; they had no reason to visit such a facility when their base of operations provided an equivalent.

  Speaking of adventurers, she peered at those minding their businesses… Laughing, taunting, heckling, and making all manners of noises…

  Warriors, spellswords, crusaders, hoplites, assassins, rangers, maidens, spellcasters and freelancers, foreign exiles, disgraced knights, and so on… The list of the potential flavors of fighter and warrior one could encounter was endless, even if the foreigner herself lacked any such descriptors beyond ‘denizen combat specialist’. Diverse in their armament and armoring, albeit the majority were mundanely equipt… Although, she did notice a select few with what appeared to be…very much impractically heavy armor; so bulky and…chunky, yet they seemed completely unbothered.

  Hmm… Weird place full of weird denizens of different shades of primitiveness. However, within this amorphous blob of denizens, she did spot armored and armed ladies and girls amongst them… A pleasant indication, indeed.

  Although, speaking of ladies, she also noticed a different kind of specific-looking women. Seven in total, she counted; two, both terribly preoccupied, stationed at the main counter area; one stationed at the social hub’s counter; and four scattered out and about, attending to whatever necessary tasks.

  These were obviously the Guild’s ‘receptionists’—their principal administrative staff, from what she had heard. Indeed, the few adventurer patrons of her formerly-employed-at tavern had remarked of these so-called ‘receptionists’… Always lamenting about being unable to form reproductive compacts with them or whatever.

  Apparently, these Guild receptionists were always women, being one of the only occupations that were exclusive to females in fact; however, the selection process was…selective, and they were directly educated, trained, and professionalized by the Guild’s administration.

  And, indeed, they certainly seemed professionalized—and standardized.

  They were all fashioned similarly, being uniformed. White sleeves that hinted at a white-colored underlayer worn underneath a formal vest of sorts donned along an equally formal skirt of sorts that was colored identically to the vest, although of a slightly darker shade. Some had white gloves, some did not… All had black ‘stockings’ or ‘tights’ or ‘hoses’ or some other sort of similar undergarment legwear, their leathery shoes being black and heel-like.

  ‘Formal’, ‘bureaucratic’, ‘custodian’, ‘secretarial’, all such descriptors and indexes could be invoked. Their uniform was a fashion of dresswear exclusive to the Guild and, as with the rest of the Guild, was unmistakable to anyone in this continent. In many ways, their dresswear transcended merely being ‘Far Western-esque’, becoming almost as if it were a feminine style that somehow paradoxically emerged from the hypothetical future of Far Western professionalized fashion trends but intermixed with local fantastical elements and flavor.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Of course, the foreigner obviously had not any of such meta-contexts to make such a deduction, but even to her there was a stark contrast between the uniforms of these receptionists and the typical so-called ‘feminine’ dresswear she had observed in this continent so far, even in domains of ‘officiality’ and ‘formality’.

  Such notwithstanding, however, the foreigner found herself completely ensnared by one principal, and rather mundane, detail: their vests. The two main counter receptionists—or one now, rather, for the other seemed to have departed somewhere—had dark-blue, almost indigo, vests; the receptionist stationed at the social hub counter, however, had a red colored vest; while the others around, not stationed at any counter, had light-blue colored vests.

  Since each of these receptionists seemed to have ‘amulets’ of sorts affixed around their collars that differed in gem, theme, and color which she had already inferred to be a likely designator for ‘position’, ‘status’, or ‘rank’, their vest colors therefore perhaps denoted something akin to their ‘role’ or ‘type’ or ‘branch’—their designated job, effectively.

  Hmm. The foreigner could not help but find this very mundane detail to be so…interesting, primarily because… Uniform or ‘coat’ color was utilized similarly as a designator for department affiliation by her and those like her; those with whom she was associated. Her former associate, for example, was a regular ‘blue’, whereas she herself was a special ‘violet’.

  Indeed, familiar… This simple mundanity, to use vest color to differentiate such designations, was a…semblance of familiarity within this alien sea.

  In fact, such was the strange sense she was…perhaps getting from this Guild overall. Within this otherwise alien and unfamiliar environment, there was…a vague feeling of…undefinable familiarity, particularly in the visual standardization, the pragmatic and utilitarian considerations, and such.

  Even so, however, this place was still, ultimately, alien.

  “Oh! Hello you! When did you even show up?” Abruptly, a loud greeting hail bounced about but targeted her specifically.

  The foreigner promptly turned and faced the direction that voice was hailing… That one main counter receptionist, still alone for her other had yet to return, waved in delightful glee. She was no longer preoccupied with those…whoevers and their whatever matters.

  “A new face it seems! Or…erm…masquerade?” The main counter receptionist gently shook her head; “Anyway, I am free now! So, come come!” She gestured her hand, beckoning at her with a smiling charm.

  The foreigner…stared somewhat blankly initially, her mind still…distracted. Though, refocusing her…well, focus, she relaxed her face and donned her own smiling charm; she thus promptly approached the main counter area and stood before that receptionist.

  “I am terribly sorry I did not notice you until now! I hope you were not waiting for too long, haha…” thus immediately spoke this receptionist, cordial and charming though perhaps slightly awkward, embarrassed; “I was terribly preoccupied… We have been getting busy lately, surprisingly, mainly due to an influx from other realms, and I am still kind of…new at this role, but…I digress…” She promptly ahemed, quieting herself.

  “Oh, uhm… It is fine!” the foreigner thus reassured, looking up at that…noticeably taller receptionist with quite the friendliness; “It was not too much of the time, and I am with the forever patience… Also, my head too can become preoccupied in many of the silly ways…” As had just happened not even moments prior.

  The receptionist lightly giggled at this remark; “Well, don’t you have a way of speaking…” She had a humored smile, though again ahemed; “Anyway! How may I help you this fine day, miss masquerade girl? You seemed to have been looking around, so are you looking for someone by chance, or…?” she thus enthusiastically inquired; “And just to be sure since…you do seem foreign, uhm… You do know where you are, rightly?”

  ? … ? Truly, why was ‘here to join’ the last presumption in the mind of these locals? Ugh, whatever… It mattered little to her. Exhaling gently, she maintained her feigning smile; “Yes. I…have the awareness of where I am. I am here because I am…interested in joining this…guild of yours” she thus cordially replied.

  Yet the receptionist immediately tilted her head in quite the blank stare, “Heh?” She peered at this evidently…petiteish, kind of weakish-looking, short-but-almost-perfectly-average-for-her-standards tavern waitress of an alien girl, evaluating up and down…being unable to see it. “I see…” Her voice was slightly more cautious… “And uhm… Why, if I may ask?”

  The foreigner’s stare almost flattened… “Uhm…” Did it really matter?

  “I mean, not to be insulting or anything, of course!” the receptionist quickly clarified; “It is just… Uhm… Cute-looking old-fashioned waitress-dressed girls are not really…the type of gal I would expect to…want to join the Guild—adventuring is…not an easy job, after all. It has always been remarkably dangerous and soul-taxing, but especially these days…”

  The foreigner took a slim moment, her finger gently pressed on her chin as she cogitated… Before her attention returned; “I am bored, and there is nothing better for me to do be doing. And I am in need of the work for the coin to pay my rent.” Her voice was so very blunt. “That is the reason.”

  The receptionist hiccupped in a suppressed smirking giggle, her affect-mask nearly slipping from this remark… “Yeah, relatable…” her expunging breaths faintly whispered, before aheming.

  “I am capable of the fighting, also. I can shoot—I am the shooter… And also the runner.” the foreigner added.

  “Yeah, hmm…” The receptionist’s eyes peeringly squinted as she evaluated in greater analytical detail, leaning closer… “Hm… Actually, I can’t explain it, but… Hm…” She stroked her chin, letting her job-instilled instincts and inferences guide her sight rather than her eyes… “Yeah, you seem kind of dangerous in your own weird way…” she remarked, before springing back, sighing; “Copper quests these days are only collection oriented these days, anyway… Even if their safety can be dubiously classified, but—ahem… No, no, I think you will be fine!”

  This receptionist seemed to be concerned with the survivability and immediate viability of prospecting new Guild members, seemingly, despite there being no official policy mandating thus.

  “Albeit the others might…show an attitude towards a pretty-looking newbie, especially because of that masquerade—knob-munchers by all means, but they have good hearts…kind of—some of them, at least.” the receptionist added.

  “I believe that I will be able to handle myself. I survived being the waitress for tavern, so I should be finely!” the foreigner simply remarked, smiling with donned confidence.

  The receptionist giggled lightly; “Oh, yeah. You must be a real man-handler, huh?” she jested, before turning herself; “Anyway, one minute.” With rather the speed, she departed from her station and began to rummage through many drawers and cabinets at the desk section behind this counter.

  ? … ? The foreigner silently and blankly watched as the receptionist stacked and organized what could only be described as a legion of papers, letters, and formalized documents at otherworldly speeds that were, quite frankly, borderline classifiably anomalous, before bringing them all straight to her.

  “Alrightly!” the receptionist so gleefully said, placing that gargantuan stacked collection of documents onto the counter top with quite the plop. “I hope you came here with the time to spare ‘nd nothing planned, because the first-time entry admission and membership process may take upwards from two-to-three full hours or more! We just have so much needing to be covered!” Her charm had become increasingly alienated from herself, her delighted smile now more menacing.

  The foreigner stared blankly at what was effectively a mountain of massacred wood turned to processed paper… Ah… ? Síc videtùr ? She sighed; “Well, there is the time for me—ahem—I have the time, I meant to say” she replied cordially.

  “Greatly heard!” The receptionist smiled quite, though… She then turned her attention around, noticing a still rather…apparent absence. “Alrightly… So, uhm…” She returned her eyes to the foreigner, becoming a little awkward… “A certain someone is still not here, and I cannot leave this counter unstaffed, so… It looks like we might have to wait for her to return from her…own little adventure…” Her mask slipped a little in voice.

  “Uhm…” The foreigner evaluated around, identifying several other receptionists in vicinity… “Can you not have the others that are around…uhm…be given the place of you, then?”

  “Nope!” The receptionist shook her head; “See the color?” She pinched her vest demonstratively, “Only darkish indigos like me are qualified enough to staff the main counter. So, we have to wait.”

  Ah. So, the foreigner’s deductions regarding their vest color differentiations were correct then? Interesting… Although, redundant. “Well, uhm… Can we not, then, just do this…uhm…whatever this is…here?” she thus inquired.

  “No can do!” The receptionist once again shook her head; “Guild’s confidentiality policy mandates a one-to-one private session for all new membership admissions, general evaluations, and other processes like that. So… Again, we have to wait!”

  “I see…” the foreigner just…acknowledged.

  “Although…” The receptionist’s eyes fell to pondering… “I suppose we may get the basic matter out of the way in the meantime: your name.”

  The foreigner’s mind blanked momentarily, her head tilting… “Uhm, what?”

  “Your name.” the receptionist repeated; “Surely, you have one, rightly? So… What is it?”

  “Uhm…” The foreigner’s posture became slightly awkward, her mind utterly freezing at such an inquiry… “Is having this name of the importance? Is it necessary?”

  The receptionist looked at her, silently and blankly… “Uh… Y-yea… Yes? Obviously?” Such a…question had struck her quite; “It is very important. We need a name for our records and identity register… These documents need signing, after all.” She was respectful but also frank.

  ? … ? Yet the foreigner stared, becoming even blanker… Truly, more than one full year—more than three-hundred and sixty-five standard days—stranded in this place, and only now, at this very moment, was she being asked for such a thing…

  Name? She needed a ‘name’.

  Theoretically, she obviously knew what a ‘name’ was, yet her mind nevertheless blanked completely. Indeed, the foreigner had no real ‘name’ in the local sense or usage. She had a permanent identification so-called ‘ping’ and occasionally an assigned ‘callsign’ during integrated operations, but no official or proper ‘name’.

  Although, hmm… She did have a ‘name’ of sorts… Kind of. However, it was merely something that her others had prescribed to her and had taken to…constantly refer to her as. Thus, an unofficial ‘pseudo’-name-like…label-equivalent… She did not know what to call it…

  Regardless, however, she was not going to be providing that; it was best to keep such a detail utterly irrelevant to these denizens, for she wanted to keep a clear separation between here and there.

  “Uhm…” The receptionist had already noticed how…long it was taking for the foreigner to answer one of the easiest questions in the known world. Sighing, she hunched forward and leaned in closer to the foreigner’s ears… “Listen…” she began to whisper quietly, “this is not sanctioned Guild policy or remotely endorsed, but… Most would-be adventurers don’t really give their real names, if that is what may be holding you so… They tend to give a ‘false name’ instead, since we have no real method to verify. Most come here wanting to start their lives anew, anyway… Become new people…”

  “Uhuh…” the foreigner…thus acknowledged in equal quiet whisper.

  “Now, of course, not that I am suggesting anything. I am just…remarking of this little-known tendency…” the receptionist, well, remarked.

  Hmm… Yet the foreigner remained stuck within her blanking head. This information, while useful, did not necessarily help… Indeed, her principal problem was more… How? How did one even go about…generating a locally proper name.

  Her former associate had a local ‘name’—several, in fact, ‘Gunslinger’ only being one pseudonym… However, she herself was never given one, even though she had asked about such priorly…

  ? It is one of those matters that you must think about yourself… ? These echoing words abruptly ringed into mind…

  Yet, the foreigner sighed… ? Nihil mentem advenit… ? She was at a total loss; nothing whatsoever was coming to mind; she simply did not know how to…

  Wait.

  ? Nihil…? Nothing… ? Nihilù. N?l… N?lù… ? she repeated… Nothing. Yet she was…approaching something.

  The receptionist could hear these gentle musing mumbles; “Are you… What? Mumbling Trinitarian or something? Pfft… What are you trying to be? An angel?” She was trying to be humorous.

  The foreigner, however, promptly looked at the receptionist; ? Ita ? N?lù ? méhi nomin erit, síc supposo ? she so quickly said, before…rapidly aheming; “I give sorry. ?N?lù?, that shall be the name for me, I guess…” she repeated.

  The receptionist stared kind of blankly… “Kneel-oo?” her voice repeated, conveying a sense of…uncertainty. “Alrightly, so, uhm… Taking steps back here, uhm…” She began to muse… “You mumbled something akin to… ‘nihil’ or ‘nihilum’ originally, rightly? I know some Trinitarian jibber-jabber, and that word is often reduced to ‘nil’… So, ‘nilum’, but…you just dropped the nasal?”

  ? … ? The foreigner just stared blankly.

  “Ah…” The receptionist grinned… “So, nothing is your name, huh? Is that the angle you’re going for?” she nearly giggled; “Clever, very clever… However… A name like that does not behoove a girl such as you, so… Hm…” She began to think… “Don’t mean to be intrusive or anything, but… How about…instead of ‘neeloo’, ‘neela’ or ‘Nila’? You know, the girly ‘-a’ that Far West names have…” she suggested. But before the foreigner could reply, she abruptly sprung in realization; “No, no, wait…” she canceled that suggestion, “What about: ‘Neeleea’? Or ‘Nilia’, in our accent… Same exact root, but with a much cuter girly suffix.”

  The foreigner titled her head slightly; ? Ita ?eù ?N?lja? énquitne? ? she repeated the name… ? Aut Nelía? ‘Nilia’—rect?, síc ?i? ?eù ?it? not ?et?. ? And she had perhaps ran into a slight…phoneme differentiation problem, but quickly overcame it by switching accents. “Nel… Nilia, Nila…” she continued to repeat, cogitating in mind…

  Hmm. ‘Nila’ was essentially ‘Nilu’, but the receptionist seemingly swapped the grammatical form from neuter to feminine… However, in the foreigner’s language, ?n?la? was the plural form of ?n?lù?, and… Indeed, her brain did not like that. ‘Nilia’ or ?n?lja?, however, did not exist as an true word, but, having formed from the same root, it effectively conveyed the same meaning while also being…singular.

  Hm. Indeed, of the two…?n?lja? had a…nicer sound to the ear or something, especially compared to ?n?lù?.

  The foreigner sighed… Frankly, it really did not make any meaningful difference to her either way. “Nel—Nilia…” thus she spoke, returning attention to the receptionist; “That name is fine… Or, that is to say, that is my name. Nilia.” Indeed, it was a sufficient pseudonym. “I give grace to you for helping.”

  “Greatly heard!” The receptionist smiled enthusiastically; “That is your first name for our records, then! However…” Her voice began to shift… “First name is one name, but we also need your family name—or ‘last name’ as some call it… Oh, and a ‘middle’ or ‘center’ name, if you have one.”

  ? … ? The denizens had…more than one name to call themselves? Seriously? Why? Why have two? Why…have three? Ugh… And her so-called ‘first name’ had already been cumbersome enough to conjure.

  The receptionist, immediately noticing foreigner’s freeze, once again leaned herself in; “Ahem… Just to give another tiny remark, uhm… From my experience, Far Westerners tend to give their origin or place of birth or significance as their ‘family name’—like a town or realm, or ‘country’ as they call it… Usually in a ‘of plus place’ construction, like…‘ze Alchidya’ or something akin to that…” she thus remarked; “I hope…you know what I mean…”

  The foreigner, however, nodded… “Yes. I understand what you speak…” Indeed, she understood perfectly well; however… ? Sed tale’st nulla relevan?ia vobés… ? Indeed, her so-called ‘place of origin’ was a detail utterly…irrelevant to these denizens and their domain.

  Wait. ? Nulla relevan?ia… ? Irrelevancy, relevancy. ? Et nulla relevan?ia est… ? She realized… ? N?l de relevan?ia… ? Springing as if it had spontaneously appeared to her, ? de Relevan?ia! ? she declared with a charm; “That is this ‘last name’ to me.”

  “…‘de Relevancia’?” the receptionist repeated with a slight tilt.

  “Eh…” Well, it was more ‘relevantsia’, but… “Yes. Basically thus.”

  “Neatly heard!” The receptionist smiled; “So, ‘Nilia de Relevancia’… That will be your full name for our records going forward, then, and the name with which I will be expecting you to sign these documents. Got it?”

  The foreigner nodded in a charming, “Yes! It is gotten.”

  Thus, it was so, ‘Nothing of Relevancy’ was to be the foreigner’s so-called ‘name’ for all intentions. Truth be told, she could not help but feel perhaps…a little…satisfied and humored deep down within…by this rather clever conjuration indeed. Though, of course, she could not comprehend it.