[Author's note: I made one small, but significant edit to the first post. While grabbing his revolver and a camera in the last chapter, Tannehill also grabbed a pair of binoculars. This is the fun you get to have following along while I'm in the process of writing.]
Capital City sits between the confluence of two rivers that slide off into the Golden Bay that leads, in turn, into the Pacific Ocean. Its geography lies precariously between five gigantic hills and interconnecting flatlands. These flatlands aren't really valleys in the historical sense, which otherwise evoke a pastoral beauty, but rather sandy landings giving an eager hiker the illusion of a brief respite before the next hill begins.
The five hills themselves are roughly compressed into a six square mile perimeter with the surrounding area smoothing out quickly for several miles before reaching the foothills of more imposing mountain ranges in all directions.
Tannehill's office was located in the southwest corner of the city trapped between the deepest water of the bay, where all shipping traffic made its way, and the ocean. As the area was highly industrial, it was highly non-desirable, and, therefore, perfect for the rent Tannehill and Snell could afford.
Downtown was located in the northeast corner of the city, surrounding the highest hill in the city - and affording the best views for the most expensive tastes - and protected by the calm waters of the back bay.
Capital City itself was now a misnomer. When the territory was first incorporated, the city's location was a natural spot for population growth and a logical location for a capital due to the high population. As the territory, and then state grew - along with the political machinery that recognized the state's rich natural resources, agricultural possibilities, and temperate weather - many prevailing voices called for a "more centrally located state capital" to better serve the needs of the people. This "more centrally located state capital" was moved slightly east in a state that was six times as long as it was wide and still resided near the northern boundary of the state.
No mention was ever made that the ruling state party spearheading the move resented the opposing party's lock on city politics thus hindering their ability to govern without constant protests anytime the proletariat opposed a perfectly reasonable bill. Because the name Capital City had become common not only to locals but also the country at large, the state legislature decided to leave the name in place, if not partially as an albatross hung around its neck to indicate what purpose it once served and which now fell fallow.
Making matters worse, at least as far as Tannehill's commute was concerned, was that ward boundaries clustered around the base of each of the five hills. Due to years of intra-council squabbling that blocked the formation of a logical mass transit system, transportation depots terminated at the base of the hills and required transfers from one bus to the next. Times being tough, bus departures were often sparse. Further complicating issues - in order to yield ground to the more profitable cable car lines - the buses, rather than traverse the hills themselves, drove around the bases from station to station.
Tannehill had the option of using the cable car system that traversed the summit of each hill, but they too faced the same transfer dilemma at the base of each hill, were more expensive due to their scenic views of the city, and had equally difficult schedules as their bus counterparts.
All of this resulted in Tannehill's delightful trek from one corner of the city to the other during rush hour - a commute that for him lasted much longer than the mythical proclaimed hour.
A curious pre-teen girl across the aisle glanced up from a novel and over at Tannehill and spotted his camera and binoculars in the adjacent seat. Tannehill noticed the glance and responded.
"I'm an avid bird watcher." It could be true. Sure, night was approaching but he may have been returning from a day's worth of aviary fun. The girl turned back to her novel.
Tannehill, in an effort to distract himself from the misery still surrounding the city, state, and nation -and further awkward stares - from fellow passengers decided to read up on foreign affairs in the Capital City Beacon. "Nazis Enact Laws to Strip Jews of Their Citizenship" the first cheerful foreign headline exclaimed off the page.
"Yeesh," Tannehill muttered, placing the paper in his lap and wearily staring up at the hill awaiting his next depot transfer.
[Author's Note: This chapter is 713 words. The running total is now 1475 for words published. Don't worry. I've already started the next chapter.]
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