Getting Down to the Crunch (1/2)

“Then we are decided,” Jericho slammed the gavel down with frankly more force than it needed. “This council will not and shall not define the requirements necessary for a human to be a human. Furthermore, given the inconsistency between existing religious authorities, we shall not accept any definition provided by outside forces, even though they should be the gods themselves.”

Celia eased back into her chair, and carefully kept a smile off her face.

This had been a hard-fought debate. Easterlynn-Proudsmythe had come in ready to fight, and she hadn't been alone. Celia was pretty sure she'd spent quite a bit of money bribing Longcroak and Pleezetwomeetchu, given how quickly the Councilors had fallen in line. If she hadn't had the dwarves in her corner, it would have been a hopeless fight.

As it was, both sides had weathered the initial debates, and the swing vote had come down to Jericho.

He had sat, silent, listening to each and every argument. He had kept his face stony, giving no hint as to his leanings. And when the time came, he cast his vote without explanation or justification.

And now... now it was hard to say. But as he replaced the gavel and headed for the door, she thought he looked sad.

She shifted her gaze, and caught Easterlynn-Proudsmythe looking back at her. And there was sadness in her eyes, too. A mute appeal there that flickered and died as Celia watched. Then the woman blinked, and it was gone, replaced by frustration before the mask went up again and Celia lost any insight on what lay behind her eyes.

Longcroak and Pleezetwomeetchu were waddling off together, and she caught a snippet of conversation from them about the festival. The thought made her smile, as she thought of seeing Jean onstage again. The beastkin had spent a lot of time visiting the last few days, so much so that Celia was worried it would impact her rehearsals. But she had painted a glowing picture of the musical, and promised that Celia would feel like all her cares had been lifted away from her.

Celia didn't know about that, but the actress had been sympathetic and helpful these last few days. Always willing to listen, never being judgmental or asking for favors.

It had helped. It had gotten her through some bad times. She was starting to look forward to her visits, and the thought that Jean would have to eventually go away was distressing.

That took her to a darker place. She abandoned that trail of thoughts, though it took serious effort, and rose to her feet. Celia left before she caused a scene. It was a good day. A GOOD day. She kept thinking that over and over again as her feet rang on the floor, and she left the council chambers far, far behind her.

The gardens helped settle her mind sometimes, so she headed that way. But she never got there.

“Lady,” Jericho said, from behind one of the pillars in the main hall.

“Ranger,” she replied, sending him a tired smile. “I imagine you're glad that mess is over.”

“For more reasons than one,” he said, nodding toward the gate. “Walk with me? I see problems ahead and I'd welcome another mind to think on them.”

It was rare that Jericho asked her to do this. Something weighed heavy on his mind, and she followed him into the city. The streets were mostly empty, with the sounds of the opening acts of the festival in the distance, the Royal square full of performers and eager citizens ready to drink, eat, watch, and play. There was plenty of privacy in the most crowded part of Cylvania, and she watched Jericho visibly pull his brain together before giving voice to his thoughts.

“She's desperate and I don't know why,” Jericho said.

There weren't too many other she's in the equation, but Celia asked anyway. “Gladys?”

“Gladys Easterlynn-Proudsmythe.” He shook his head. “Our fellow councilor. Working for the good of Cylvania.”

There was enough bitterness in those words to make lemonade without lemons.

“Did something happen?” Celia blinked. Normally he was very measured when it came to his Council work. Jericho was the portrait of neutrality most days.

“She hinted that food shipments to the north might be a little slower if I didn't vote her way.” Jericho's mustache twisted as he grimaced. “She was desperate. Or else she would have known what a bad idea that was. What I'm struggling to understand is just why she's desperate.”

“I know. It doesn't make much sense. She got what she wanted from that human purity law. If she hadn't raised the issue again, tried to take this further, it would have stopped there. Now the purity law is useless, because of our decision today.”

“Purity.” Jericho studied the closed storefronts as they went. “Have you ever noticed how good people, truly good ones never really toss around that word so much? They just do good, and don't waste time trying to define it. It's only the weasels who argue about that, who try and define purity, and declare that this sort of good is better than that kind of good. They try to change the definition of good to fit what they're doing. They can't compete with folks who come to goodness honestly, so they try to change the idea to lift themselves above others.”

That was the most words she'd heard Jericho string together at once. Celia walked in silence, digesting it.

Then she decided to focus on the important issues. “She threatened to withhold food. Do you need aid from central Cylvania? The farmers are expecting a decent harvest this year, we can probably shift some your way.”

“Actually we don't,” Jericho smiled. “I might have been slightly overestimating our numbers in the last census. We're sitting on a small surplus that should last us through the summer, even if we lose shipments from the west.” His smile faded. “It won't last long past that, but it should be long enough to convince her we won't bow to that particular threat.”

“I'll pretend I didn't hear that,” Cecelia murmured.

“It's fear, in the end, though, and that concerns me,” Jericho murmured. “Fear of change. Her and the folks backing her using it to whip up her folks. Trying to build a sort of human solidarity against this new order we've got.”

“They're a part of that order. What's the point in singling humans out? They're our people.”

“She doesn't want to see it that way. We went through the same training under Melos, Celia. You remember those classes. How to most efficiently kill or exterminate gribbits, dwarves, orcs... nevermind that we never had orcs to worry about after the Oblivion.”

“I remember.”

“She and her people want humans to be more. To be special. Because if they're just another part of Cylvania, then she'll lose a lot of power and control. She'll lose ways to manipulate the people she's got fearing dwarves, and gribbits, and golems, and YOU. And she needs them to fear you. She needs you to be her enemy.”

Celia frowned. “I'm nothing to fear.”

“You're wrong,” Jericho said, stopping and kneeling beside her for a second. He put the side of his hand on her slim shoulder. “You're the face of the future, Miss Gearhart. She'd fear you for that alone. But you're beautiful, and smart, and immortal, and unchanging. How could she not be threatened?”

Celia stared at him, meeting his eyes. Worried for a second that he was coming on to her.

But she saw no love or misguided lust in him. Just worry.

“She was sad, when she looked at me,” Celia said.

Jericho's mouth tightened. “She doesn't hate you. Even respects you, in her own way. But don't think that will stop her.”

“Stop her from what?”

He squeezed her shoulder. “I don't know yet. But I know some of the people who are pressuring her, and they won't like what's happened here today. Watch yourself, Celia.”

Then he stood, and with a whisper of his cloak he left, into the shadows and gone as only a ranger could disappear.

“Wow,” came a voice from behind her. “He's good.”

Celia whirled around, readied to defend herself...

...and stopped, staring in surprise at the short catgirl doll that stood behind her, hands on her hips, grinning insolently.

“He's good but I'm better, desu,” said Kayin. “Didn't even see me!”

Celia stared at her, then darted forward and hugged her tightly. “You silly cat! Where have you been? How have you been?”

“MeOW! Careful with the squish, I've got vials full of poisons. Uh, I'm good. But I'm here on business, desu.”

Once released, Kayin dusted herself off, and resettled her camo cloak around her plush form as she spoke. “So uh, not to add more dire warnings to your heap of troubles, but I've been looking into stuff for Garon and he just got a hot anonymous tip. You might be having a small problem with pirates tonight...”

After Kayin explained matters, it wasn't a good day anymore.

Little quirks and tics of Jean's behavior, certain moments that Celia had noticed and glossed over came back to her mind and started to add up. And the conclusion that she had to draw from all of it was inescapable.

She thanked Kayin, hugged her again, and went on her way but all the while she had her face settled into the mask she wore when she didn't want Threadbare to worry about her. That familiar stiff set, that adjustment of the sliding porcelain plates that made up her “muscles,” that face she showed to the world when everything had fallen away into that black pit in the back of her mind.

For a second she debated just turning around and going home. But no, if this whole thing was about kidnapping her, then they'd just come later, and maybe hurt the neighbors or the city watch. No, this way would get it over with quickly.

The noise of the festival rose up ahead of her as she pattered her way through the streets, joining the flow of traffic as people left their jobs for the day and went to go blow off steam. She got looks and murmurs and smiles, and she waved back, her own false smile firmly affixed to her face, but her mind was far, far away into that black pit and she barely registered them. They didn't crowd too close or try to engage her, though. It was festival time, and for once she was the lesser attraction.

Midway through the crowd, dodging legs, hordes of screaming kids, and random pets that people had brought to a very overstimulated place, Celia snapped out of her funk, just for a moment. The frustration of having to navigate the crowd turned her hollowness into anger.

She probably thinks I'm going to be easy to take, Celia thought, her lips twisting with bitterness. But I'm damned if I'll be damseled so easily.

Ducking into a tent latrine, and collecting some very strange stares from the line, she took a quick moment to fire up her defensive buffs.

“Flexible Pose. Always in Uniform.”

It wasn't much, thinking it over, and after putting them in place she went and purchased a set of tiny knives from a vendor who'd discovered that golems didn't mind paying extra for properly sized weapons. Then it was back to the latrine, and she chanted as she held up each blade. “Animus Blade. Invite to Party. Kingsguard.”

Under her dress they went, sliding into place on each limb like long needles, and she decided to tuck the fifth and final one into her hair.

It was sharp, and cut a few strands as it went, and Celia wondered if she really wanted to harm Jean. This was only a kidnapping, after all.

“It's better to have options,” Celia said, stepping out of the latrine and tossing on a quick “Clean and Press,” to make sure none of the smell followed her out.