Italy.
Everyone's stomach growled at once. The hunger was real, and that could be used as a sneaky trick.
"Damn, too bad there isn't a delivery guy walking by right now," Mike muttered under his breath, but then noticed Ivan pulling a box out of his endless backpack — and grinning wide. Yeah, that guy was definitely useful.
"Exactly! This is the Motherland of Cuisine!" Inna exclaimed. "Born, raised, and schooled here — pizza!"
"With pineapple?"
"Not only! Pepperoni. And even spaghetti."
"What about emotions?"
"They've got plenty. Sometimes too many, but that's the symbol of Italy. Emotionality — it's a beautiful and unique trait of this glorious people. And of course, the signature hand gestures. Mafia (ultra video game!). Adriano Celentano. Opera. So much beauty Italy gave the world and… no, Mike, please, don't you dare bring that up…"
"Sorry, babe… but I can't help it! I just love that historical period of the '30s and '40s. Personally, I love Italy for the Colosseum! It stirs the broth inside me and makes me wanna roar like those ancient gladiators!"
As if on cue, his wife puffed herself up the same way, and together they looked like two enormous, furious toads. "Super" Mason let out a roar so loud it shook the entire block, making every passerby — including the Client and the Brother-in-law — recoil in terror.
"Don't tell me this is what I think it is…" whispered all the performers of this bizarre show, their lips pale and trembling.
New Zealand.
The movement shifted into something new, then into a whole cascade. Battle cries echoed again and again as the husband and wife slapped their knees and waved their arms in desperation.
The Brother-in-law leaned in close and whispered into his relative's ear:
"Hey, maybe I should check where the nearest shop is that does Maori-style tattoos. Or maybe it's better not to get one at all? Or maybe we just shouldn't do anything, and I'll just stand right here… being sad and silent."
"Shut up!" hissed the Client, pale with terror. "Let me listen. Through this song they're trying to tell us something. Memorize the words fast and run them through a translator so we can understand. Maybe it's a spell for finding oil fields."
The Brother-in-law sat down on the same bench as Ivan, scrolling quickly on his phone. Glancing at the guides' assistant, he asked for a bun to snack on. The guy, already skilled at repurposing the ketchup that had been dumped on him earlier, had whipped up a surprisingly decent burger.
"How long do you think they'll keep this up?" the Brother-in-law asked Ivan nervously. "I don't like it when they wander into the red-flag zone for sensitive readers — the kind where the offended audience doesn't just get offended, they sharpen their blades to give us all a rash across the body. And I'm terrified of that. So please, make them stop. I beg you!"
Ivan finished chewing the biggest bite, stood up, and clapped his hands together instead of answering.
And miracle of miracles — it actually worked! The haka stopped. The guides clutched their chests and panted after the heavy workout. Mike even lit up a little pipe and muttered approvingly:
"Mouthpiece! Man, I love that word."
Catching a quick look at Ivan, he saw the guy tapping his own head, and instantly understood what he meant.
"Hey, moneybag, you ready to keep listening?"
"If you hadn't mentioned I've got a lot of money, I'd be offended. But since you did, I'll forgive you again." The Client gave a gracious smile and turned to Inna. "Alright, let's keep this tour into the wilderness of the world going. Did you translate anything?"
That last part was for the Brother-in-law, who just giggled nervously and showed he hadn't managed to do it, earning a disappointed sigh from his relative. Meanwhile, Mike was already loading up his next round of "facts":
"Okay, I won't drag this out, especially after our assistant hinted about my balding head. Damn him and his hints! So, moving on—"