the anachronistic tailor

The Socialite considered, considered the implications of the question and what the Tailor might want in an answer. His thumb ran along the top of the handle of the cup, feeling the bumps and curves over and over. "Well, it's... complicated. The Surface is everything like the Neath and yet nothing at all like it. People will always be people, I'm afraid. We bring with us our prejudice, our fear, our hopes, our entire lives. There are likely plants and animals that seem alien to you that would be perfectly normal to us. The seasons are different, but quite similar. The world is wider, but somehow less varied. The society we built up above is mirrored in different ways down below. For every person of every origin, the Surface and the Neath are different. Freedom in some aspects means limitations in others. There exist strange and unknowable leaders. There exist intolerable, confusing laws. There exist shops and bazaars, urchins and gentlemen, socialites and tailors. The water is somewhat safer, but only somewhat. Language is strange, but how strange is a language that creates licks of fire? The only true difference is the sun. The sunlight is warm and burning and frigid and distant and everwatchful. It lights the world in vivid colors, when the fog and rain doesn't obscure it. But, even then, you can tell the difference between day and night. The light is near constant, save for the fluctuating hours of night. Even then, the moon carries some of the burden and the stars the rest. The Neath and the Surface are very alike."

The Socialite cleared their throat. "Of course, feel free to ask more specific questions. I do not mind talking of it. It helps to put the experiences here into perspective, one might think."