The Chronicals of Alaraf

The change in Ibn Arabi was dramatic, after somehow finding himself shorn down to a short, slick grey-black sinuousness.

    In “real life”, the seldom seen College vice-president, Duke Leto2 [President being Shah Leto the First of His Name, President of Alaraf, Totally not a recovered Iranian Gangster in Academia] was actually wearing matching clothing, A dark grey suit, striped with thin grey stripes, and even a charming v-necked emerald green sweater with black tie and collared white shirt smartly beneath…hiding his sloppy flannel in the very back of his closet.

       The hallways under the sporting complex started to smell like Dolce & Gabbana for the first time in over a decade.

       And it did not matter.

     Duke Leto2, although a successful ghost writer in his own right, could not compete with the Reality that was Baron Leto۳…Whom absolutely did NOT sign his name with a little black swan the way Duke Leto2 prefers.

     Duke avoided direct confrontations always; and preferred to make money by just writing about other people’s lives instead.

     Isolated in his office, while maintaining an air of socially aloof awkwardness peasants mistook for grace & mystique.

     By contrast, Baron had allegedly killed seven pedophiles with his bare hands with a tasbih and now served as the body guard for a former secret service educator, who was arriving shortly to give a lecture.

How inconvenient.

      He hoped desperately that Baron would not be in attendance but still double-cleaned his office [he had no intention of inviting anyone into] …anyway.

       Then, he became incredibly distressed as soon as it became apparent everyone was actually ignoring his efforts and gathering in Bird’s field for bonfire.

      Duke Leto2 Never said “Oh Fudge”…he was a marine combat medic a few tours.

His language was much more colorful.

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      Impromptu guest lectures by post apocalypse security personnel to intelligence educators was not exactly a set precedent but well tolerated.  The hall was packed, just as Dr. Bird stepped in and heard the damning words,

    “…which brings us to the inferior Chicago Techno scene of 2006, where Peace Love Unity & Respect became Profit, Leverage, Utilize, and Reject. Their music; inferior.  Their scene: the proto-profit edm model which counts as one of the seeds of the corporation takeover of Burning Man”

      “HOW DARE YOU!” Yowled ornithology Professor Bird, he smelled like smoke, sandalwood, shaving cream and was dressed likewise. Grey, barely civilian tactical gear- but with an absolutely perfect little goatee and mustache.

     “You CANNOT speak on the Chicago techno scene!”

      “Absolutely correct, officer Bird.  So, now we move onto the vaguely superior Barn & Box Industrial scene of central Pennsylvania before circling back to Deutschland’s evolution into the NDH dark industrial scene to be taught by Dr. Wölfe”

      “We are NOT moving on.  We are going to discuss the Chicago contribution to techno with accuracy & depth.  How DARE you.” he spat with contempt.

     Chaplain Reichhörnchen was glued to his camera feed, his bobcat, lapbound.

     “Did he just get Bird in front of a classroom…?”  and sure enough, there was Professor Bird, who had never taught more than two students at a time, was angrily defending the remains of the Chicago techno scene with the passion of a political scientist discussing Palestine.

      The students were confused but drawn to the novelty of Professor Bird actually teaching normally, in front of a classroom, and without anyone getting injured entirely by accident.  Also, he seeminly actually liked the subject-so much so, that Baron escaped without note.

     

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Mr. Butler was a YouTube star and the absolute heart of the college of Alaraf. His channel, “Mr. Butler, Fiqh & Tidy” had become the top cross-cultural Islam to mainstream crossover as a great Idol Imam shared mango-fudge recipes in great detail to an adoring audience of followers…dressed exactly like Mr. Butler.

   Baron arrived in ripped grey jeans, tactical belt, grey tank top, a black feild jacket with tiny Phoenix embroidery at the shoulders and pocket, and a burgundy bandana round the neck.

     Mr. Butler was dressed like a cross between a butler, a chef, and a servant from the Grand Budapest Hotel, but all in white.

    “You are not dressed appropriately for this class” stated Butler.

     “You have seen me in less when I had you chanting my badge number in Afghanistan.”

      “Oh, fudge.” replied Mr. Butler

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Apprenticed to Mr. Butler was  “The Viking Poet of Arabi” who just ended up being called “Viking” as both human and cat because no one remembers his legal name. [When the name “Nigel” was suggested, he hissed.]

….he wasn’t even a cat at the time.

    He just had a microphone in a dark room with an incense burner, a tiny decorative fountain made of aqeeq, and his tablet. glowing in the light of a single lamp on a simple wooden table with a Qur’an, a fountain pen, and writing paper in the drawer.

    …and now, a hand-scrawled note reading “Wolf Café Radio booth, 7pm” placed right on the microphone.   “Nigel” slipped the paper into his pocket and proceeded to record a series of Haiku based on the battle of Karbala.

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When he arrived at the radio booth, he actually met Officer Wolf, who was cross editing footage from Mr. Butler’s recent class on mango sorbet integrated with live ASMR footage of Deutschland’s top Aural expert, Doctor Whispurrs.

    Wolf totally did not care if other people saw him as a  Christian singer, a Sufi brother, a dark eyed Bombay or impossibly loud and fluffy siamese.  His career was built on hiding the fact he was half Persian, not by his own choice,  as he re-adjusted his top hat to show Nigel the Viking Poet of Arabi, how there was no difference in reception between Mr. Butler’s recipes in white and Wolf’s own brother, Doktor Wispurrs, chewing and slurping on mango slices far too close to a microphone for civil comfort.

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Around the bonfire, several raccoons and people dressed in raccoon costumes and pope-hats shared halal beef hotdogs, cocoa, and marshmallows in horrifying combinations.

      Mr. Butler brought a violin.

      Baron Leto۳ brought a viola and was showing off his tattoos.  His dead partner, a dancing orange cat, two crows holding religious symbols, and a long black feather that was now known as clearly NOT corvid in nature, especially when the sleeve was pulled further to reveal the shaft of the feather itself was simply a number that few understood: ۲

without further explaining, Baron restored his flannel shirt to his shoulders with the help of Dr. Fischadler, who somehow kept it from falling into the field while he sternly glared at the others around the fire in a sort of unseen challenge, unmet, as Baron righted himself.

       Violin in hand, instead of beginning with a piece well known, fiddlish, or classical- Mr. Butler started to play “Elverhoy” taking all the complicated parts himself on his lightweight instrument as Baron underscored it firmly yet politely with an alto-line.

       Bird arrived immediately- and didn’t know the words.

Nor did he know the words when they moved to a fierce & competitive Vivaldi Summer until Mr. Butler finally exhausted himself enough for the viola angled discretely away from the fire, to solo Winter I.

      Classical music is often wordless but high in expression.

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Duke Leto2 had bought a second lock for his office door, but no one was bothering him.  Yet.

Officer Chaplain-Braucher Robert Reichhörnchen submitted and fulfilled his own welfare check concerns on Leto2 by setting himself up a lawnchair outside of Duke Leto2’s office with a tumbler full of hot chocolate and a Tupperware full of leftover peacock schnitzel. Rob had zero intentions of sharing his schnitzel with the Vice President/ ghost writer of the university.

     In Rob’s reading pile was a hardbound paper “Is loving Redheads Haram when Canadians State they have No Souls?” By I. M. Tehrani

   …..along with the follow-up “Gingers are Murid-line Poaching Jinn, a Persian Retrospective”  by the same author as well as a boxed set of “The Agathon Krahe. chronicals” written over 14 years, until dastardly “Lord Villainry” from the prequels took away Duke Leto2’s radio clearances that hid the cries for help of POW’S into pop-fiction he used to curry favors with people whom barely spoke to him nor about him.

Rob had been waiting for the newest sequel for years; from the original author.

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Leto I had already met his nephew several times in the first 24 hours of his arrival on campus.  He helped organize it himself with Lord Commodore Fischadler, and left his own protégé, Leto2, entirely in the dark on these matters as an evident mercy.

Commodore Fischadler had arrived punctually and politely excused himself to the fancy guesthouse in the campus tower to rest- placing his hand briefly on Baron’s back in a well-recieved supportive gesture- Baron immediately stood a little straighter in his debriefing to the college president as the black scales on his desk trembled without outside movement except words.

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From Vice President Leto2’s office, he maintained the very best view of the football pitch which simulated social belonging through a triple reinforced window of an administrative office located in a sports stadium could.

      If the windows weren’t sealed so tightly, he might have heard the Fajr and Asr ritual feeding of the birds to the sound of a referee whistle.

      Peanuts, sunflower seed, and stale multigrain, gluten free bread for pigeons. The corvids and passarines were receptive, and each day, their numbers grew to the sound of the whistle and the taste of peanuts.

   “Panem et Circensus” whispered Baron as he changed himself into a butter yellow cat, with two colour, eyes, wearing a brown leather collar.

After all, he could look however he wanted when he was the author of his own destiny.