(mini-event) THE COALITION OF REFUGEES

[natha]

THE COALITION     On the day of the council, there are markers tied with ribbons in the colors of both Olympia and Wyver that line the paths from the cities to the South Outpost, meant to guide anyone with an invitation to the first meeting of the Coalition of Refugees. While during the previous festivities of the gala the Great Hall was sharply divided between Olympians and Wyverns, the differences between the factions are not so apparent now. Inside, the hall is decorated with a more subdued mix of the white and gold of Olympia and the red and black of Wyver. Banners, pennants, and bunting drape from the ceiling and wind around wooden pillars. To one side of the hall, there are tables set up with drinks and finger foods — refreshments for the guests, for after the opening speech. A raised platform has been set up at one end of the room, flanked by contingents of both the Royal Guards and the Knightryders standing at attention side by side, differentiated only by the make of their armor and the colors they wear. Ashti, Shenya, and Heryn stand waiting for the arrival of their monarchs, pointedly ignoring each other; notably, Raysc, Shanrian's son and the leader of Mythi's Fangs, is conspicuously absent. Staff members cluster to the side of the stage, waiting for the speech to begin. A whisper drifts over from a woman in one of the Olympian groups: Do you really think the Empress will try to negotiate for Nithor's skull? The man she's speaking to shakes his head and scoffs, answering: Ha! Not a chance. She thinks it's too soon, who knows if this peace will last. Besides, there's no way she's willing to give up Ysevrai's heart. A horn sounds, and the staff members subside, glancing around to see if anyone's overheard. A moment later, and Simwe and Shanrian make their appearance, walking together to the stage for their speech. Aha… we have quite the gathering here, do we not? All of our heroes in one place… This may be an unprecedented meeting, but it seems as though it will be a productive one. Let us begin by thanking all of you for your contributions to our cities in recent times. Since your arrival, you have weathered the plague that swept through our cities and aided us in finding its cure; you have withstood the scorn of those who were meant to shelter you turning against you, and helped us quell riots in the very hearts of our homes; you have been taken right off the streets and endured hardships too terrible to tell, and have proven heroes in bringing our people safely home. You have done much for us, and shown yourselves loyal beyond many who were born within our walls. We will allow your voices to go unheard no longer! Today— Today, we will hear you. You have demonstrated both strength and valor in equal measures — it follows that you will be wise as well, and it is that wisdom that we wish to hear brought in council to our cities. You are gathered here to look beyond our history of violence and hostility, to see beyond the prejudices we hold. We hope that with your clearer sight, you'll keep in your hearts the betterment of both of our fair cities, rather than allow pettiness to hold sway and lift one over the other. Those gathered here are deemed worthy by action and by the trust of your brethren: a council. Amongst yourselves, decide what matters most to you about your lives within the cities. Discuss what changes you wish to see, and how those changes should come about. Reach an agreement, put your motions to us, and should they be feasible, we will see what sort of effect your ideas will have. The two proposals with the most support among your fellows will be those we implement, so argue your reasoning most convincingly! And remember, this is your chance to impress us. If your advice is sound, we will look to you again. At this, both rulers fall silent, and withdraw to a balcony to oversee the proceedings. This is not their meeting, after all — this is something that only the refugees can determine the outcome of. FINAL OOC NOTES     Welcome to your first chance to have a voice in the NPC governments, Players! Your task is, as a group, to decide the two most important IC issues you would like to see Olympia and Wyver address, and then put forward a plan of action for how to improve whatever those problems are, which will then be implemented in May. Since these are strictly Olympian and Wyvern issues, topics should still adhere to the Natha's policies of not revealing anything about the Storm or the Natha's existence, but beyond that, you're free to propose any topics you think should be addressed about your characters' way of life in the cities — after all, haven't the Orbiters sent you here to make a difference and improve life on El Nysa in their stead?

Comments

electric slides in here

[summertimeblues]

[Richie spends about half of her soapbox pitch marveling over the notion that a native Wyverian would be so even keel about peace. From the few forays he'd made down south it all seemed rather bone clubs and bar brawls, might as right and sippin' mugs of blood. There were dissenters in both cities, naturally, but after spending how many months hearing nothing but nationalist threats it's rather refreshing.

Then it dawns on him that no, the only people here outside of the brass and their resplendent leaders were the refugees. It's just the dragon ring and the dress style that had him fooled. Her speech matches the tone of all these medieval minstrels and crown-toters, too, so sue him for being the dunce.

Perhaps it's why she's also one of the few taking a real swing at the proceedings. She fits into the scene like nobody else yet.]

Shouldn't we make sure it's not just the two cities doing all the electing as well? There's other settlements getting caught in the crossfire. They may be smaller, but they need a voice if their asses will be on the line.

[Richie waves haphazardly at the motley crew surrounding them.] Same goes for us expats. If I'm going to get snatched out of the comfort of my own home and shot up with needles, I want a congressman I can mail angry letters to about it. At the least.

ayyy so smooth

[dorzalta]

[ It's rather unintentional that she 'fits into the scene.' Standing within court is as natural to her as breathing, though being the one not sitting upon the dais (figuratively, in this instance) has grown to be a foreign concept to her. Not so long ago, however, that she's forgotten what fear tastes like. And not so long ago that she's lost all understanding for negotiations.

This man who steps up and speaks does so in a way that she struggles to understand. Foreign words: congressman, expats, being shot up with needles. Well, the latter she's some understanding of, having worked with Claire in the clinic back in Olympia. The rest, alas, flies straight over her head. Nevertheless, there's a pleasing lilt to his tone, and his words, though strange to her, are also sweet to listen to. ]

It certainly shouldn't be the cities doing all the decision-making. There should be neutral parties involved as well, seeing as they're to be affected by such negotiations in some way. Any who neighbor the kingdoms and wish to have a say, either now, or later. [ She's not knowledgeable enough of the lands, but knows there are likely cities or towns resolutely avoiding such conflicts. ] The refugees deserve representation, as well--not just those of us who were directly affected by the kidnappings.

I imagine His and Her Grace would either like to attend, or would choose individuals to stand in their stead.

[summertimeblues]

[There's a moment where she gives him a blank — for all that he's gifted with gab, Richie scarcely measures his words before he uses them. Even in a place where people consistently ask him to stop, rewind, and break down the play. But then the woman picks up the ball and volleys back. She's gotten the gist and so Richie carries on none the wiser to his failings.

At least for now.

He nods in affirmation.]

That sounds solid enough. I'm no expert on all this political merry-go-round, particularly when it's Kings and Queens and not an elected official in sight, but... [You're out of your element, old boy. Richie goes silent for a moment as he tries to work out his worries, carding his hand through his hair.] I can see this sort of thing getting shunted to the wayside, too. It'd be a cinch to put up a table and chairs for the reps and close the doors on them when it comes to anything important. There'd have to be some guarantee...official duties. Something of an overhaul to the way things are run, so that there's room for their input.

[He pops his hands on his hips and gives a dramatic sigh, switching over to the humble Irish cop. That one's become something of a default for him now, when the other nine-hundred and ninety nine of his voices go missing and he can't think of anything regular that's worth saying.]

Far be it from a empty-pocketed laddie loike meself to tell the Lahrds on high how to carry out the law. Give me a ring-a-ling when yeh've turned the tahlk to whiskey and women, and Oi'll teach ye a thing or two, sure an begorrah.

[dorzalta]

There would. This council would need to hold some political power, and if backed by His and Her Grace, I imagine that would be one step toward achieving that goal. We've other bodies in the cities who hold sway. How did they gain that power?

[ That would be her biggest concern: the group being brushed aside. She wouldn't allow it. ]

Emma made mention of a guard. Neutral. They could, if many believed it to be necessary, reinforce the decisions made. No doubt there will be those who would resist. We've seen the guard in both Wyver and Olympia are self-interested, at times. It's what's led to the abuse of some refugees.

[ Any momentum she's gained in terms of discussing her idea further blow away like smoke on the wind. He speaks strangely, suddenly, and half of the words sound more like gibberish than words to her.

She's left staring at him, with furrowed brows. Whiskey, law, women. The rest of it's beyond her.

So she clears her throat and forces a smile, so as to avoid being rude. ]

I'm afraid that's a language I cannot fully understand-- [ A pause for his name. ]

[summertimeblues]

[He goes still for a moment, flummoxed. Then he bursts out laughing.]

Shit! Sorry, old habits dying hard here. You've never met the Irish, have you? Probably never will at this point, they didn't see fit to save many of them from the Storm now did they? [He holds out a hand to shake.] Rich Tozier. Please forgive the gaffe, it's always been a struggle to hold back a joke.

And you are?

[Obviously no one familiar with Earth and all its mighty nations. That much is certain. She doesn't look like an alien, but she could very well be some kind of sorceress, or an elf. Depends on how eager the cosmos is to test his patience for bullshit today. She looks like she belongs on a fantasy paperback, all got up in fourteenth century finery with silver hair to match that silver tongue.]

[dorzalta]

[ His laughter is loud and warm, tugging a faint smile to her lips in response. Were it not for Yara's attempt all those months ago to shake her hand, she might grow confused and hesitant over that as well. It's what men do, in her world. And so rare were her encounters with women, she'd been near certain that shaking hands was not, in fact, a common way to greet a person.

That doesn't stop her from taking his hand, however, once he extends his. ]

Daenerys Targaryen. [ The titles run through her mind, but she foregoes them in this atmosphere. ] I've never met the Irish, no. They're a people from another city in your world, I imagine? Or are they a House? What is their sigil? [ He's, Irish, she takes it. ] I'm sorry to hear there aren't more of them here.

[ Don't get her started on the dragons, Richie. ]

[summertimeblues]

[What a letter jumble that was. Tolkien would have gone stiff as an Ent at the sound of it. He gives it a repeat just for solidity's sake.] Daenerys.

[Richie shakes his head.] Oh, no no — Ireland was a whole other country, across the sea. Lots of them moved to America, which is where I'm from, you've probably met a dozen or more of us by now, judging by statistics. One of the police officers when I was a kid, Mr. Nell, he was right out of the old country. I nicked his accent for giggles when I was about yea high. [He holds up a hand, indicating a child of that nebulous prepubescence, approximately ten to twelve.] I'd forgotten all about it until I made a visit home. Haven't been able to stop using it since I woke up here.

[The literalness might be lost in the light conversation, but it's believable as some ordinary forgetfulness. The truth was up until a few months ago, he wouldn't have remembered Mr. Nell any better than what was really waiting for them under the sewers. They had met him that grim summer, so he had been scrubbed from Richie's brain by force until those slumbering recollections were needed. And now that Richie was here, and It was up there — now that it seemed the power of his voices could work on more than one singular monster, Mr. Nell's prattle was living in him stronger than ever.

That would be a lot of nonsense to start off an introduction on, however, and not much of it is safe to share. He waves the matter off.] But I'm babbling. Where are you from, Miss Targaryen? What's your house, what's your sigil?

[Since she's putting such importance on the stuff, he may as well ask. With a fluorescent grin he adds:] Mine's the bald eagle.

[dorzalta]

I see, so Ireland is on one side of the sea, and America is on another. It sounds similar enough to my world, where the Narrow Sea separates Westeros and Essos. You would hear a thicker accent further north in Westeros, I'm told. I can't say the one you've mimed is anywhere close to Jon Snow's, but they've a similar lilt to them, I suppose. [ She pauses, her brows arching. ] Eagles can be bald?

[ Well, it's a rather strange sigil to claim, but she inclines her head in acceptance, having no reason to doubt him or believe that he's saying anything in jest. Surely, his grin is because he is friendly. He's been that way since the moment they began talking, after all. ]

I am from House Targaryen, my lord. [ For he must be a lord if he's a sigil, no? ] And our sigil is a three-headed dragon. My family hails from a long line of dragonriders, as we are the blood of the dragon.

[summertimeblues]

Westeros? That's...oh damn, now where have I heard that one before? [His finger taps his chin.] The little red-headed girl. Well, hardly little, she's exactly my height. Sansa, I think? I believe she said something about a Westeros. And I think I've heard the name Snow before, but I've never made the acquaintance. I'll keep my eyes peeled for the guy, see which way he's lilting.

[He opens his mouth with every intent of setting her right — she's older than Allura and not half so dim as Cam Buckland. But it's harmless, isn't it? Wasn't like PETA put a moratorium on fibbing, and even if they did he's certain the Storm decimated the movement.]

Yes. Plucked as a holiday turkey. Some kind of deformity, it's a one in two-hundred phenomenon, but don't let that fool you. They're still feisty as all get out.

[She goes one and he gives an obligatory,] Just Rich is fine. [but the rest has his own brows furrowing. The look he gives her is a near perfect mirror of the one she'd gifted him just moments ago.]

Hold on — are you speaking metaphorically, or literally? Is dragon blood running through your veins? [Let us all hope not. The taste of it he'd had was like gargling motor oil and it fucked something fierce with your head. No thank you, never again.

But of course if it's dragons from her actual home, they're probably a different brand than the Wyverian blights here. Nothing to do but give an awkward chuckle, gesticulating to the finery around them as he flounders in his failings.]

Pardon my ignorance, but with this crowd anything is possible. Dragons were the stuff of kid's stories back home, so this is all murky territory to me. Everyone's got some big surprise up their sleeve.