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Metropolitan Koinonia

Chapter Text

It was not a small world. It was all connected.

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New York was dressed to kill most crisp on her six inch heels running down fast streets and no time to spare. She was going everywhere quickly and had everything to do.

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DC was crumpled and had been wearing the same suit for three days. There were sweat stains under the arms. She was wading through minutia very slowly.

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DC and New York were lovers of old. On again, off again.

DC thought New York was too hard and quick. In her rush to the new, she didn't think through all the implications. New York thought DC was so very, very, very, very slooooooow. She couldn't get anything done out of trying to think through everything.

That was the off again.

When they were on, they were a power couple running on time.

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DC attended conferences constantly. She'd met Minneapolis thousands of times. There was always an awkward moment when they first met, but that soon passed and they chatted like old friends who wanted something.

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Minneapolis had a hundred shades of blonde highlights in her hair, and a you betcha smile.

She was doing an intervention for Fargo's identity issues. Again.

She did her best. She called Sioux City once a week. She had a standing club date with Toronto and Regina.

She always brought cookies to the bake sale.

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Fargo did not have issues. She was just conflicted over her borders and Minneapolis needed to stop butting into her life.

Fargo said that, but Regina told her that she didn't mean it.

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Regina's name rhymed with vagina. She had some issues with that. Especially when Planet Vancouver crank called her at two in the morning, and trilled out, "Morning, Vegina." Then claimed in the morning that it hadn't been her.

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Vancouver and L.A. had a thing going. It was steady. It was light with sudden moments of passion. Mostly, it was that Vancouver put out for Science Fiction shows.

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San Francisco (S.F. to her friends and never call her Frisco) glared down the bathtub of the Central Valley and over the Grape Vine and hated. L.A. took her water. She was tanned and superficial and, and, and she didn't even notice that S.F. was looking down on her!

It was why S.F. Needed a high speed train to bring them closer.

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San Francisco was wearing a black turtle neck of cruelty free wool, chunky glasses of Google Glass, a string of chunky Tibetan prayer beads, a long black velvet skirt and no underwear.

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Oakland really wished that San Francisco would cross her legs.

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Berkeley was wearing a hand loomed 12th century smock, hose, kirtle, gown, surcoat, girdle, and bonnet, while talking on her iPhone. She elbowed Oakland and giggled, "There is no There, There."

Oakland adjusted her powder blue hat, which matched her deeper hue blue pantsuit and said, "It was Not funny the last time either.

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Oakland wasn't especially close to Honolulu.

They'd had a moment once. Years ago, during the war. Oakland remembered it fondly and sometimes pulled out the old pictures.

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Honolulu was wearing luauh formal, which wasn't all that formal. But since her interstate highways couldn't exactly go between states, she did wonder what everyone was so stressed about.

It was a small world and wasn't as if there were any rush.

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Tokyo had an odd relationship with Honolulu. There was of course, The Incident, back in The War, but these days, Tokyo didn't talk about it.

But it could get lonely out in the sea and Tokyo always took Honolulu out for a good time. Pity they had so much to drink that no one could remember it the next day, which meant they had a good time.

Tokyo was always finding sand in strange places for days after.

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Kyoto wore a kimono not because she was better than Tokyo. Of greater culture and of more refinement. She cherry blossom smiled with a red-gold tinted leaf for the poetry of it.

Tokyo didn't notice her own lack of refinement. She was far too busy and needed more neon in her dress. Perhaps flashing in a pattern.

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Kyoto went to a hot spring with Taipei. The relationship had lasted exactly that long, and no one talked about it later.

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Taipei tilted her face down and laughed with her mouth covered. She wore jeans and a silk shirt painted with a curl of tea. She thought herself plain with no idea how beautiful she was.

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Taipei was pen pals with Bangkok. DC had arranged it years ago, and Taipei had kept up the letters. She liked writing letters and sending them away.

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Bangkok was wearing something beautifully tailored out of silk with flip flops.

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Bangkok could hardly breathe. Crowded with people no one admitted were there.

Her lover, Chiang Mai, was the pretty one.

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Chiang Mai did not sometimes call Bangalore in the middle of the night just to hear her voice.

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Bangalore was there to work long hours answering questions for whoever called in.

She had a picture of Geneva on her cube wall. She wished they were dating. Geneva had been together with Mumbai for years.

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Mumbai was having a colourful affair with Dubai.

Every day, they sent each other flights full of people in transition. They never stayed.

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Dubai was splendid. Her clothes were made of a bubble that couldn't possibly burst. Please, pay no attention to the boxes behind the dunes and the dusty abandon of cars at the airport.

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Abu Dhabi would warn her sister, Dubai, that she didn't always need new clothes. She'd warn her, but Dubai never listened.

Still, Abu Dhabi was willing to bail out Dubai's credit card bill one more time.

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Abu Dhabi sometimes spent weekends with Cape Town.

They had a standing get together during Shark week.

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Cape Town was a new woman. She was an old woman. She was wearing a cotton print dress and trying to figure out her own style.

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Cape Town had a long distant relationship with Cairo, who sometimes seemed to think that Cape Town was an old girlfriend from the Old Kingdom. This was what happened when dating someone as old as Cairo.

Cape Town had seen pictures of Punt and graciously accepted the Myrrh perfume when it came.

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Cairo had had a rivalry with Rome since the Roman era, which told you how long this had been going on.

Neither of them remembered who started it (it was Rome), but these days it took the form of drinking coffee in a plaza, playing long games of chess, and bickering.

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Rome was wearing a black linen dress, which had seen better days. Frayed at the hems and with tomato stains on the skirt.

She loved every single one of those stains and would never try to soak them out.

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Rome had gotten Paris started. She called sometimes to remind her of that. They would reminisce about old parties and grand adventures.

Paris always smoked a cigarette after one of these calls.

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Paris never gave into desperation and only wore what absolutely suited her. Each piece tailored to suit her boulevards. She had no idea why she had a reputation for rudeness, but thought perhaps those who said such should stop for a while and order coffee or a glass of wine and watch the world go by.

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Paris and London were not dating. They were not involved. They'd been enemies for nearly a thousand years.

It wasn't dating to build a Chunnel just so they could spend more time together. It wasn't dating to send flights of tourists back and forth.

They weekended together sometimes. That was all. Stockholm should stop saying they were in denial and admit they were together already.

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London rang the hour and popped the buttons on the busk of her steel boned corset and exhaled the freedom of being able to breathe, but the steel was still in her spine. She let her hair down and dangled her feet in the Thames back from biological death.

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London and Dublin could be friendly now. They could talk without something blowing up.

They were letting things stay cool for the moment.

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Dublin had a thing for Reykjavík. Just a thing. She'd never act on it.

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Reykjavík was wearing a brown knit sweater and really sensible shoes. When New York asked how she was handling the economic crisis, she shrugged and replied, "Better than being blown up by a volcano."

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Reykjavík and Rio had nothing in common and weren't particularly close. But they both loved a good time, and when they did get together, it was a fun party.

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Rio sashayed down the beach late into the night in a loose little string and silky float concoction with a drink and a laugh. Work hard. Play hard. Dance fast.

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Rio visited Bridgetown once, but they didn't speak the same language.

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Bridgetown wore a battered batik print dress and a coral necklace between the devil and the deep blue sea.

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Bridgetown was good friends with San Juan. It hadn't always been that way. For a long time, San Juan tried to keep Bridgetown out, but eventually those barriers had fallen and now they visited all the time.

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San Juan loved New York. Just loved New York. Love. Love. Love.

Sometimes New York was a little too busy to call. But then New York would give San Juan this look, and she knew the love was there.

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It was not a small world. It was all connected.