Ashdale…it’s the name that the nonhuman world calls the basically tandem sized city hidden within Phoenix ‘cause you know…Phoenix, ashes…that sort of thing. There’s dozens upon dozens of entrances to Ashdale across Arizona. I parked in my usual parking garage as I made my way to the fifth level of the multitiered concrete structure to where one wall was entirely encased from edge to edge of a gorgeous, masterfully done mural of Hispanic culture: colorful flowers, portraits of important Hispanic figures like Cesar Chaves, Roberto Clemente, Sonia Sotomayor, Gloria Estefan and Frida Kahlo being amongst the most notable across the maybe fifty foot wide span of concrete, intermingled by things like sugar skulls, the intricate and beautiful papel picado (the stacked tissue paper flags that are intricately cut to form scenes and various depictions), the beautiful silver jewelry of Taxco and Guerrero, textiles and woven rugs from Oaxaca, the intricate vibrantly hand-painted animal statues called alebrijes also from Oaxaca, the best leather goods from León and Guanajuato, the vibrant and elaborate pieces of beaded art from Jalisco, Durango and Nayarit, pottery from Puebla, the intricately woven hammocks of the Yucatán, hand-blown glassware along with things like piñata, figures depicted in traditional clothing and doing traditional dances, adobe styled buildings and all sorts of other colorful and…incredible looking depictions of Hispanic culture.
I walked along the wall to where a gold arch was depicted in marigolds as children plucked the flowers to make the pathways for the spirits to their family’s ofrenda. There at the middle of the top of the arch was a hidden emblem of an intricate sun, which I reached up and tapped causing the flowers to glow as the wall shimmered into a large open archway which I walked through and found myself in the vibrant, colorful world of Ashdale. You can always get into Ashdale by pulsing magic into one of those sun shaped emblems.
Ashdale is basically a city that has the same values, the same tradition and glorification of Hispanic culture as the mural, but on a city wide scale. The streets are narrow and made of dark red flagstones, lined in high reaching colorful buildings of adobe style along the first handful of levels that slowly merged through eras of architecture as they rose up, endlessly spreading streets in areas that are grid patterned and in others where they are more freeform and confusing. Adobe met against curtain glass walls, open balconies met with huge electronic billboards, colorful flowers and paper lanterns clashed against strings of flashing LED lights and music filled the air everywhere you go, most of the time being a merge of all of the various streets around you into this deafening din, but it would fade into a singular song as you walk down a street before merging into a different one as you go down a different street. The scent of spices, plants and all sorts of things thickened the air: street vendors, street musicians, and open air markets where everywhere. You could find anything there…I usually buy a concha or two on the way to the shop, you just never find them fresher than here.
As you make your way through the street, there are thin alleyways at points ending in archways leading downwards, but far, far more hidden than everything else, there’s an…underside to Ashdale, people call it the Kindle because again, kindling, fire, ashes…phoenixes. It’s where everyone who has nefarious or not exactly legal work and business do their work. Its where people who have to consume various aspects of humans to survive buy their stores from nonhuman doctors who used their magic or various abilities to be able to sneak duffles of blood donation pouches or small coolers of organs out just to help their neighbors whom have to consume those aspects, a few morticians or cemetery workers shuffling coolers of human flesh harvested from those already dead to help those who don’t want to risk going without what they need and lashing out against humans. The Kindle is entirely lit by this strange green toned fire, everything is made of dark stone and all colors are muted, muddled and made washy making it seem like you were in some kind of sewer or something and everyone down there wears masks because of the fact it’s almost all entirely illegal.
In Ashdale, there are little micro-cities within its endless expanse that are devoted to the celebration of other cultures, there’s a few Chinatowns, a little Korea, little Italy, micro-Russia along with all sorts of other little areas like that. There is a tiny Egypt focused area, but…because of the fact I am an Egyptian demigod, I don’t exactly feel comfortable because there are a lot of people there who are monopolizing on the more…Hollywood stylized versions of my people’s culture. There is one this however that links all of them, there’s a massive intricate system of sky-cars in Ashdale, almost a trolly system, but all far above the roofs of the buildings, they would have been on the roofs of the adobe style bases, before the buildings expanded upwards, leading to that floor being nearly wall-less as it serves as the station for the lifts. I made my way up a winding turquoise colored staircase to a station as I ate the pan dulce I was currently eating for breakfast, today being a broca, which is a puff pastry dough twisted into a drill bit shape and liberally covered in sugar.
The sky-car softly rocked as the old, old wheels rolled along the cable, passing over the bustling streets, passing panels of electronic billboards and all sorts of various things, but my head snapped around as a billboard changed to an advert to a big cosmetics company in the nonhuman world, the person depicted in the ad was…was the man from the news this morning, the one with the long curly black hair and blue/hazel eyes, his eyes flashed glowing blue as he rose his hand and blew snowflakes at the camera lens which whited out before fading to a different ad.
“Excuse me” I said as I looked towards a very, very elderly minotaur woman who was currently occupied by knitting a little jumper with a cat on it.
“Yes?”
“Do…do you know who that is…on that perfume ad?” I asked motioning to a different billboard as that same advert moved to it.
“Oh, I’m not sure…Anya” she said hitting the shoulder of a much younger minotaur woman who was fussing with a baby in the carrier whom was wearing booties in the same knitted style as the jumper the older woman was knitted, “can you answer this young man’s question?” she asked, ma’am…I’m in my second century…I just look in my twenties, but who doesn’t like a compliment from a sweet old lady.
“The man in the ad?” the younger minotaur lady asked looking towards it, “Oh, who hasn’t heard that name bouncing around…especially today. That’s Anthony Varga…his husband is that hotshot CEO over in New York.” She said as she was still fussing over the baby, “He has the best Instagram, everyone was so happy for him when he started his modeling career. I’ve…always been a bit of a gossip-hound, so I always am looking for something interesting and he and his husband have…quite the story”
“How so?”
“Do you not…know who they are?” she asked, I shook my head, “What rock are you living under?” she asked with a laugh.
“I don’t really have a lot of…medica consumption in my life.” I said as I crossed my legs, a little sheepish at the comment.
“Well, Anthony has always been very, very vocal about how when he and his husband met he had no idea about our world, a Seer who didn’t know about the nonhuman world until he was in his twenties I mean…how often does that happen? Plus…well, us minotaur aren’t exactly in the sphere of their magics, Anthony and his husband, but…anyone can find out what they are with the right questions.”
“What do you mean?”
“Anthony’s talked about it before in interviews with nonhuman publications, when the two of them met…he was just a human.”
“And he’s not now?”
“Please…he’s a god now”
“What?” I asked extremely confused.
“Oh yeah, some god was messing with their relationship, so Kálmán as powerful of a being he is…being you know, the son of an archdemon, and all…killed that god and offered Anthony that gods immortality as a gift…and he took it, Anthony said that because it was winter when he took on the divinity he became a god of winter.”
“Son of an archdemon?”
“One of the big ones if I remember correctly, Mom, you know him better right?” she asked snapping her fingers, the elder woman nodded.
“Whom in the end of their first or second century hasn’t heard of him, the man’s in the middle of his third century and has been able to keep a very, very heavy presence sense he was a child.” The elder woman said, “All old people at least have heard of each other.”
“This is our stop, have a nice day, sir” the younger minotaur woman said as she picked up that large baby carrier as her mother rose, both of them having to hunch because they were both pushing eight feet tall as they stepped off the air-cart, though the elder woman stayed quite hunched probably because of her age.
“Son of an archdemon…and a god?” I asked myself as the cart rattled again and started moving again.
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