#chlam

The cabin was just like the romantic imagine of Abe Lincoln's childhood home, inside and out. One single room. A humble kitchen with a gas stove. A rocking chair and a couch by a fireplace. A wooden dining table. There was one bed that was occupied by a human woman who was not going anywhere anytime soon. Her name was Chelsea, and she was suffering from mono. She was out with her friends on a spring break hiking trip when she contracted the virus from mistaking someone else's drink with hers down at the main resort lodge. She also had a high fever.

"I wasn't expecting any company." Chelsea huffed. "Thank you. I needed it. You have no idea how lonely it gets." 

"Your fever is pretty high. Do you have any medicine?" Mal asked. 

"I-I already took some Tylenol. But a cold, wet wash-cloth would be nice." Chelsea answered. Mal wet a wash-cloth and placed it on her forehead. Mal and Chlam laid down together on the couch. "I'm not as tired as you, so why don't tell us a good ghost story?" 

"Ghost story?" Mal blinked. "Alright. Well, this one comes from Priestess Fresco's father. He said that it came from a vision he had of his apriot-batrii who lived in a small village in a place called the Philippines."

"So it's a Palus, not a Palii story?" Chlam asked. Mal nodded. "Interesting. Usually the Palii have such vivid accounts." 

"There have been accounts from various villages of three cloaked figures who come to house to house in the bleak dead of night. They are named the Kumakatok--door-knockers. One figure is known to be a beautiful woman, the other two are elderly men."  Mal paused. "There are no known accounts of people answering or talking to them. However, they are known to be a bad omen, in which the most ill or the eldest of the household would soon die. It's been recorded that sightings of them deceased after World War II because there were less houses for them to knock on. It's also been known that some villages took to painting white crosses on their houses to ward the Kumakatok away. This led the trio to knock on the doors of hospitals, churches and schools." 

"That's it?" Chlam asked. 

"That's all, I'm afraid." Mal confirmed.

"You're a really good story-teller." Chelsea said. "You're Panarians, aren't you? I've always wanted to visit Panaria, especially Paint. I hear Loips cloth is even more soft than silk! And the music is just to die for. But alas, I was born on Yatar." 

"Yatar? That's an aqua-planet! One that humans often use to export fresh water?" Chlam asked. Chelsea nodded. Yatar was a human colony that was covered in a ice sheet with a bundle of fresh-water underneath. Humans lived in a bubble underneath the ice-sheet. They were known to export freshwater and ice to other human colonies. There were some oil reserves that humans also used to export. Humanity had colonized dozens of 'Aqua-planets' or 'Aqua-moons' almost identical to Yatar. Most of these planets didn't have an intelligent native species, so they were dominated by a human population. 

"Yeah. My parents work in a water-port, managing aqua-reproduction. That's my major, actually." Chelsea nodded. "I go to Yatar State."

"I see." Chlam paused. "We're a huge hub of tourism." 

"It's better than where I'm from. We don't have various cultures or stories like you do-" Chelsea chuckled as a knock came at the door. There was a dead silence as they turned to Mal. Chlam pulled out the Silent Violin, which had a bow as sharp as steel so it could double as a sword. "Who's there?" a trio of cloaked figures stood there. 

"YOU FUCKERS!" Chlam spat and plunged at them. They immediately unveiled themselves to be a medical team from Yatar State--three female nurses, all above the age of thirty. "Is Chelsea Umtera here?" 

"Y-Yes." Chlam blushed. "I guess I'll leave you alone."

"Thanks for stopping by." Chelsea smiled.

---

Chlam and Mal drove until they reached a tiny village that didn't even have a hotel. So they parked behind a diner. Chlam rolled down the window to catch some fresh air. A few hours before dawn, they heard footsteps approach the car. It was again a trio of cloaked figures. "We want to know the location Mr. James Bradford, a ninety-year-old who lives in this area."

"He shouldn't be too far. It's a tiny village. Just go knockin', I'm sure you'll find him." Chlam muttered.

"Thank you." the trio ran off.

120 AD

Suetonius laid in his study, awaiting a slave to bring him a scroll by Livy so he could record some notes. He was finished with the rough draft that told the life stories of the first twelve of men who ruled Rome as gods. He bit the side of his cheek in frustration. Since he lost Pliny, his dedicated sponsor and one of his biggest fans, six years ago, times of trouble--namely writer's block--were especially difficult.

"By Jove! Thank the gods you've returned, Cyrus!" Suetonius let a sigh of relief out and his shoulders relax. "Wait, where's the scroll?"

"Well, this woman says that she has a couple of scroll that you'd find some interest in. May she come in?" 

"Do I know her? Is she the wife of anyone?" 

"Not that I know of, sir." 

"Mysterious, are we? Let her in." I need something to break through this writer's block or I might lose my mind. Suetonius sighed as Chlam came in. She immediately dumped the two scrolls on the Roman author's desk. The old man looked up at her. "Are you going to explain yourself?" 

"I come from the future from a moon in a solar system far away that's been colonized by humans." Chlam introduced herself. 

"You're a total looney." Suetonius remarked. "Even if you are from the future, what does any of this have to do with me? Why did you practically barge into my house?" 

"I need you to judge the accuracy of these two translations. One is done by me. The other is done by a woman named Persimmon."

"Wait...this is...my writing! How did you get ahold this!?"

"I told I'm from the future."

"Um, and you simply want me to read these two versions and see which one is more accurate? Very well, but why is there thirty pages missing from BOTH of them? Neither of them can outdo each other if they BOTH are missing vital parts from Caligula's reign!" Suetonius said. 

"...I don't know, I mean, that's all both of us had about Caligula." 

"What happened to the rest of it!? Practically half of its missing! It makes no sense!" Suetonius protested. "I just edited this paragraph, and it's no where to be found in either version!"

"Seriously, I don't know what happened."

"Well, find out what happened."

"Only one condition--can you tell me why your hair is magenta?" Chlam pointed to Suetonius' hair. He immediately puckered his lips and turned away. "I was born with this. Believe me, its been the subject of many parties I've been coerced by my sponsors into attending. And its not magenta. Its more of a bright plum." 

"I'd say its more of a shocking pink, I'd say." Cyrus argued. 

"The pain that comes with not knowing what your own hair color is. How am I to figure out the lives of others, so complex in nature and relationships, when I can't even find a single word to classify my own hair! And it refuses to grey or fall off, being the envy of the materialistic wives who pay mega-denarii for wigs! The cross I bear when I'm forced by my sponsors to leave my nice, quiet study!" Suetonius sighed. 

"Hey, we have a thing called paint palettes with special names for every color you'd image. If I come back and you find the official color of your hair, will you agree that my translation is better than Persimmon's?" 

"Yeah sure. If it'll get you out of my house and off of my tail." One less insane looney I'll have to deal with. Suetonius nodded. "Will you give me a written proof of evidence so I can shove it in her face?" Chlam asked. 

"Yes. NOW GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" 

--

Luckily, there wasn't much of a crowd at Home Depot. Our heroine Chlam stood staring at the paint colors as if she was looking at a stack of leftovers in her fridge. She rarely questioned a packet--after all, it was better safe than sorry. Suetonius had a different pair of eyes than her, so she could never be too careful. The more options she could muster up, the better a chance she had at exacting revenge on Persimmon. Who knows? Maybe a his hair will look lighter at whatever points because of the sunlight--or maybe it'll make it look darker.

---

"She's returned." Cyrus entered. 

"The lunatic from yesterday?" Suetonius asked. 

"Yes. And she has an entire cart of small, colored papers." Cyrus answered. Suetonius sighed, "Well, even if she's fixed on vengeance, at least she's honest. Which is more than I say about a good deal of people I've read about."

"Here." Chlam entered the study and plopped the cart down. "You can go through them now."

"Very well. Cyrus, fetch me a mirror." Suetonius ordered as he began to finger through and examine each piece of paper. Three hours into studying them and comparing each to his reflection, he announced, "I don't know what a 'fuchsia' is, but its the color of my hair--FORWARD FUCHSIA--to be exact."

"That great!" Chlam asked. "Please sign and write that my translation is better now?"

---

Chlam did manage to get her note from Suetonius saying that her translation was better, and she did finally find it in her to visit her hometown of Parasitic once again.

"Oh, Chlamydia, dearest! It's been too long!" Persimmon smiled nostalgically.

"Suetonius says my translation's better. Here's proof. Bye." Chlam handed the note to Persimmon and walked out the door.