Meanwhile... (1/2)

Meanwhile, in Cylvania City...

“The motion passes,” Jericho said, walloping the post a good one. “The Rumpus Room facility shall remain closed for two months, and all personnel employed there shall be examined by duly-appointed Scouts to ensure that they are not mad.” The northern Ranger headed back to his seat, pausing to replace the gavel in its stand.

They'd installed the post once their only giant councilor had gotten bored and departed from the council. Prior to then the idea of hammering a chunk of wood to signal the resolution of an issue would have resulted in a wrecked room, at the very least.

Of course, this is far from resolved, Celia knew, as she studied the other side of the chamber.

She was entirely unsurprised to find Lady Gladys Easterlynn-Proudsmythe looking back.

Celia kept her face still, which took no effort at all, and eventually Gladys looked away.

So Celia looked over to Longcroak.

Longcroak was a gribbit, a three-foot-tall frog wearing a foot-long top hat that denoted his job and station. He was definitely avoiding Celia's gaze, and she knew why. Ever since Threadbare had stepped down from the Council, Longcroak had voted Gladys' way on every issue that had come up since then. And a LOT of issues had come up, suspiciously quickly. Celia was very curious to know what he was getting out of this... or less charitably, what Gladys had over him.

Her gaze shifted to Jericho. The gray-cloaked human was attractive, as they went. In his forties now, with a faint streak of gray starting to track through his dark brown hair. He represented Northern Cylvania, which was only now starting to recover from the devastation of the wars. He was already on his way out the door, weary of arguing and arguments, and she very, very much empathized with that. He was a neutral force, and Celia was fine with that. After what his people had been through, she couldn't grudge them stepping back from the brunt of the struggle.

“Toobad. Sosorry. Nextime?” a scratchy voice whispered in her ear, and a fuzzy hand poked her shoulder.

“Next time,” she said, smiling at Pleezetwomeetchu, the raccant elder who had literally fought tooth and nail to take his place on the council. He wore a mask that looked vaguely like a dog's face as drawn by a five-year old human, a wooden one with flappy leather ears and a cork muzzle, and carved just above its eyeholes was the word “Gudboi.”

And he was, he really was. One of the reasons that Council meetings took as long as they did was because they had to spend extra time explaining things to him, things that you could sort of take for granted that the other Councilors knew. But Pleezetwomeetchu was a raccant, and his species was fairly knew to this whole civilization... thing.

Mollified with her answer, the raccant rose, grabbed his cane by the wrong end, and started shuffling his way to the door. It hurt to watch him go, with all his aches and pains and tics that had only grown worse over the years Celia had known him. It reminded her of Mordecai... and she steered away from that pain, before it took her to a darker place.

Today was a good day. A GOOD day. And she'd do her best to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Looking around, she'd found that the two dwarven councilors had already left.

She wasn't sure what was going on with them, but lately they'd been voting against her more often than not. Not on every issue. But enough that she was starting to suspect something was amiss.

Are they noticing? She wondered, then pushed the treacherous thought down. She formed her face into a pleasant smile, headed for the door, and definitely did not think about the sound of porcelain shattering.

Celia knew that would come, though. She knew that the good wouldn't last. Because though the Council had finally, finally finished the day's business, the day wasn't over yet.

And that meant it was time to hear petitions.

As one of the Councilors (currently the only Councilor) for the central part of Cylvania, that meant that a good part of her job was to hear the problems of the citizens she represented. It was a callback to how the royal family had operated a few decades ago, back when King Halamundi had sat on the throne. He was remembered well for listening to the grievances of the people. He had also died quite early on as humans went, and Celia had to wonder if the two weren't connected.

And as she moved down the floors to the small offices that other people insisted on calling her audience chamber, she saw that the line was pretty long today. Very long. Already up a floor, around past the coffee pot, and well out into the part of the castle that was still-being-repaired, long.

For a second she considered running back and hiding in the cellar until they were gone. But it was too late, she had been spotted, and the people at the rear of the line were smiling to see her, some with hope in their eyes, others with frustration and weariness at the burden they'd had to bear that brought them here.

And all of them come for her. Come to see her.

Not for the first time, she regretted taking those levels of Model years ago.

She could DO the job. And it had helped her gain confidence and deal with high-stakes negotiations and other charisma-heavy situations more easily. She just... it had taken her entirely too long to find out that she didn't LIKE the job. Because once you got good enough at it you couldn't turn it off. You couldn't stop drawing eyes and attention to you, even when you didn't want them.

Celia had thought about trading the job out with Garon using his Guildmaster skills, but it would have left a void in her. That much stat loss, all at once, especially to charisma... she knew she couldn't handle it. Not now. Not until she was better. Not until she was sure she could survive it.

Crunch, went the sound of porcelain cracking.

That got her moving. And into her office, past the humans, dwarves, halvens, golems, and more exotic species that called Cylvania City their home. And each and every one offered her a smile or a wave, or a nod, or a grumpy “Hmf!” that was usually followed by a muttered “about time,” that nonetheless signified that their day had been improved by the sight of her.

“I can't take that from them,” she said as she moved around the office, animating the chairs and moving them into place, animating the broom and having it sweep its way across the floor for some quick cleaning, and hopping up onto the table to organize the snacks and drinks.

There were no snacks.

There were no carafes of water and tea and light beer.

There were no fresh cups or hand towels or doilies or plates or anything that could be used to enjoy the nonexistent snacks or beverages.

This was the third day in a row that the staff hadn't delivered the refreshments, and Celia felt her painted eyebrow twitch.

Yes, there was a festival coming up. (And that was a whole different basket of worms,) and yes, they were running behind on any number of things, but judging by the length of the line some of the people in it had been waiting overnight again.

“It's just simple courtesy,” she said. “That's all. Basic hospitality. That's all I want for them. And I'm not going to get it.”

In the past she could have sent Threadbare down to sort it out, or let him man the desk while she went herself, but now there simply wasn't any time. Not until another Central Councilor was chosen, and not even then, maybe. The process was taking far longer than either she or Threadbare had expected, and...

Celia put her hands to her temples, and did her best to ignore the chiming of porcelain on porcelain as she shook her head until she didn't feel like screaming. Pushed it all down until she didn't feel quite as overloaded. It was a temporary fix, but it was what she needed right now, as she dispelled her animus on the furniture and went and opened the door.

And then she met with her people. One by one she led them in, and one by one they gave her more work to do.

It started with a minor grievance about how a neighbor had built their house, and the exact line of a property, which was fairly minor as things went and nothing that required a Council intervention. Celia sent him to the city planner she'd appointed a few months ago with a note that told the planner to send someone around to survey the property. The man complained loudly about getting the runaround so Celia added a barely noticeable little mark on the paper that would tell the planner to check the man's tax records as well, and make sure they squared up with what he saw on the property. She'd found that the most entitled people who came to her office were usually somewhat... forgetful when it came to taxes. At any rate, soon he was on his way and she was shaking her head that this had even made it to her desk. It was hardly Council business.

The next case was trickier. It was from a woman whose father had passed away, but lingered on as a ghost. The family had taken the opportunity of Cylvania's new necromantic advances to solve the issue of his haunting their family mansion by getting him a golem shell, and helping him become a doll haunter. Which on paper was a glorious solution, and for a while they'd been very happy to have Paw Paw back with them.

But then they'd tried to sell the mansion, and Paw Paw didn't like that idea. REALLY didn't like that idea. Now he had gotten money from an old treasure cache that he hadn't disclosed in his will, hired barristers, and was trying to sue to get the mansion back in his name. Which was problematic because he had left all his worldly possessions to his daughter in his will, and the family was taking the stance that the barristers he was hiring were being paid with THEIR money, and to please stop, and THAT was being argued too...

The more Celia listened, the more she felt the remaining shreds of her good mood vanish. She knew that this would have to get elevated to the Council, she knew how the vote would go in the end since it was a clear example of something that would be solved by dwarven law, and she knew, she knew that she would have to fight tooth and nail and work out deals with the other Councilors to keep Easterlynn-Proudsmythe from trying to throw in more things that would hurt golems and doll haunters down the road.

She'd already done enough harm with that stupid human-restrictive marriage law. This would be like giving her more arrows for her quiver.

But... it would have to be dealt with. Celia promised to raise the issue after the festival, which the woman didn't like so much, but Celia stood firm on that. She pointed out that mentioning that the issue would come to Council would cause Paw Paw's barristers to slow their roll a bit, so either way she'd be walking out of here with a win.

The woman sighed and left without even a thank you, and Celia took a few seconds to scream into a paper back she kept in the back for these sort of occasions.

Then she opened the door for the next supplicant, and an enormous mouse doll walked in. It was three feet tall, and it wore a patchwork dress full of pockets and a bonnet that looked like it could smuggle a cake. As toy golem bodies went, this was a plus size.

Celia put on her best smile, shut the door, and waved toward a chair. “Hello. I'm Celia Gearhart. What's your name?”

“Oh bless my buttons, Miss Gearhart! I'm Karen Mousewife but folks just call me the Mousewife, it's easier that way!”

Golem, Celia knew. She'd been a little thrown by the various random tics and twitches the mouse doll had been giving off. That was how you could tell the difference between doll haunters and golems usually, by their body language. Or lack of it. Though the more experienced ones had started deliberately picking up little tells here and there to help living folks empathize with them, so that small rubric she'd discovered was slowly becoming obsolete.

But none of that mattered now, because it was the Mousewife's audience, so Celia climbed the little staircase up to the chair behind her desk, sat on the stack of pillows, and nodded to the new arrival. “Welcome, the Mousewife. I'm glad you took the time to see me. Please tell me what's troubling you.”

“Oh! Well nothing's troubling me really, thank you Miss.”

Celia waited a bit.

The Mousewife smiled at her.

Celia waited a bit longer. Then she cleared her throat.

The Mousewife smiled at her.

Celia gave up. “I... see. No, wait, I'm sorry I don't. This is the part where you usually tell me that something's troubling you and you want the Council to fix it, and I try to send you away happy.”

“Oh, well I'm already happy, maybe that's the problem.” The Mousewife tugged her whiskers. “Crackers and cheese, am I doing it wrong?”

Celia laughed. She couldn't help it. But she couldn't stop laughing, and then her head was in her arms, and then she was sobbing. And then before she knew it, she was being cradled in the Mousewife's arms, sobbing, as the enormous mouse woman was rocking her.

“Oh there there, oh hush now, oh hold on I've got a cracker for you little one... no, wait, sorry, that wouldn't work. Oh dear. OOOOohhhh dear.”