braymitch thornathy. (grever) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-12-22 18:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, !plot: as i lay dying, bram thornton, mathieu rozenkatz |
we’re fucked but we say that we’re fine.
Who: Councilmen Mathieu Rozenkatz & Bram Thornton
What: Holding down the fort and trying to keep up public morale during the plague. (One of these councillors is much better at it than the other.)
Where: One of the city clinics.
When: Early December, before the return of the cure party.
Rating: G.
Status: Complete!
The clinics were overwhelmed, that much was obvious. The plague was an exhausting fight, one they couldn’t tackle with bows, spears, and swords. There was nothing to level their weapons against, no easy target; their enemy was insidious and unseen, creeping its way through the city. But there were still ways for the fighters to contribute. “Another over there,” Bram shouted, watching the bristling fighters lifting crates of supplies (no cure, not yet, but the mages’ compounds could at least offset the symptoms). The men waddled off bow-legged, shoulders set against the wooden crate as they hefted it towards the nearest cart. A pair of other fighters kept an eye on them, hands resting near their weapons and gauging the mood of passersby. Fights over medicine weren’t unheard of—tensions were rising in the city while the populace fidgeted and waited for the results of the mission into the mountains. The door swung open as another white mage left the back exit of the clinic; while they did, Bram heard the sound of a familiar lilting voice drifting out into the street, all easy public projection. It made the dragoon pause. Bram considered, weighed his options, and then pushed open the door, entering the employee-only area of the clinic. Mathieu had just finished his speech by the time the other councilor came back through and, back turned, one arm raised to wave to his impromptu audience (surprise guest appearance by one bardic councilor seemed like a fair thing to take note of around here, even at a time like this), he didn’t even notice the other man at first. It was only as Mathieu turned to go check on the progress of the guild’s science-savvy members that his face lit up in recognition. Well, well! Bounding over to Councilor Thornton, him in his usual finery and the older man looking stoic and gruff as ever, he gave a friendly wave in greeting. No sense acting dour around here, he had already decided, even under such drastic circumstances. He was brought up to this position to lift spirits, after all, not the opposite. “Well met, Councilor,” he said, offering a polite handshake as greeting. “And how fare you and yours today?” He nudged one shoulder over to where the fighters were busy hauling around supplies. “Busy as always,” Bram said, hands folding behind his back rather than giving a wave in return. (Serious handshake or bust.) Mathieu was like an effervescent spring, bubbling up and buoying the atmosphere in any room; Bram, on the other hand, could be a severe dampener on any occasion. This occasion moreso than most. Still, he tried for a grim little smile (possibly the best he could offer with a wife ailing at home). They were all fighting on the same team here, no matter how wet behind the ears the bardic councilor might be. “Pep squad today?” “Doing the daily rounds,” he insisted, giving a sweeping gesture to the halls beyond. “Checking in on the guild members and their hard work and progress.” Mathieu slipped his hands in his pockets and seemed well determined to balance out the dour forces permeating the area—whether or not a certain older council member was inclined to aid. Now that his attention was no longer divided on the audience he’d left behind, the younger man took a good look around. They’d done their part for these efforts as well. Bards Guild members, men and women who took up science instead of the finer arts, had been spread about to aid in treatment efforts. And, of course, as Mathieu peeked around to note where a bard or two might be placed to lift spirits as it were (or find a way to turn a profit), other opportunities remained open to his guild as well. Everyone had their place, he reasoned, looking up to Councilor Thornton with a polite smile. “I’m surprised to see you here! But since Faram has decided to put us two together, what do you say we take a walk around?” He fought the urge to nudge the man with his elbow. Bram looked back to the door as if searching for some sort of guidance, but there was none to be had. Still, he knew he would relent—this was one of his new colleagues, and it was worth getting to know mssr Rozenkatz better. “I finished my own rounds outside,” the older man finally admitted. “Was checking on the supply transport. So might as well take a walk. How are you adjusting?” The dragoon cast the bard a sidelong look, taking in the floppy brown locks, the youthful face, the perpetual smile hovering on the man’s face (though Thornton was always tempted to call him ‘boy’, as if Rozenkatz were another mischievous squire under his charge). “Everyday finds us a new challenge to overcome,” Mathieu said optimistically, as if he had gleaned some new philosophy from a scroll on his desk and was intent to delivery it as his own clever wisdom. “Hm.” Bram stood at his side like an unmoving monolith, eyeing the rows upon rows of withered patients, the bustling mage attendants and occasional bard like a splash of colour in the grim surroundings. “Never seen anything like this before.” “And Faram provide, we’ll never see its like again,” Mathieu said, encouraging the elder councilman to follow along with the wave of his arm. Grim assessment was not his standard, regardless of what the pair bore easy witness to. What purpose what it serve, either him or his guild, he reminded himself, to look stricken by the sight? He took a deep breath and made a point to meet the infirm eye to eye, offering a generous smile of encouragement. Surely, these leaders would come together and find the best solution to alleviate their woes, or so the thought behind the appearance was meant to provide. “No new troubles to make note of today? No strange demands by my guildmates here, I hope?” Mathieu eyed the science equipment in the corner, realizing how particular some could be about transporting such things to and from the labs. “Some odd requests, but it’s to be expected from your lot.” If the offhand remark was offensive, he didn’t seem to notice. “I’ve no ruddy idea what the difference is between an Erlenmeyer, Büchner, or Dewar flask. But they said it matters, so I sent a few people out to get the right ones.” As they took a meander around the inside perimeter of the building, Bram tried to follow the younger man’s lead, and the result was almost comedic: his craggy face striving to twitch into some semblance of a reassuring smile, rather than patients waking to the sight of council faces drawn with concern and dire premonition. Despair accomplished nothing, he reminded himself. Each day was another grudging step against despair. He was terrible at it, however. Bram’s voice dropped, sinking below the level where others could casually overhear: “Though we’re just holding off the symptoms. Until they return.” There was no question of which they he was referring to; they’d sent out their best and most intrepid, which included several members of his surrogate family. “Until we hear the good news at their return,” Mathieu chirped, striding alongside Councilor Thornton like a cheery beacon of light. His efforts to get the other man to perk up hadn’t been entirely wasted, he noted after a time, and it gave strength to his inward confidence (regardless of any passing comments made). He stopped to shake hands with one of the fighters milling about, who looked both slightly confused and shocked by the sudden action. Mathieu left the man looking dumbfounded and carried right on as they were. “Good news for all of us, and right in time,” he declared, as if to pose for a moment as an orator. “My guildmates will prove an invaluable asset to the effort, as I know yours will as well. Have faith, mein freund!” Bram watched Mathieu as he gesticulated and semi-performed, strutting and preening—this level of chipper was alien to him, the bard’s energy running at a constant and dizzying level. But it was mildly contagious, in that Bram found himself still trying to lift up his spirits in Mathieu’s precedent, to have faith, to set a good example (no matter how his thoughts kept dragging themselves back to doom and gloom). “You’re very cheerful, mister Rozenkatz,” he said, stating the obvious, but with a wondering tone. “Why thank you, Councilor Thornton,” Mathieu said graciously. He stifled back the urge to give a small bow for the sake of his performance and continued to lead them along the hall. “Shall we continue along this way? I think it’s about time we see what the rest are up to back here…” Poking his head around the nearest corridor, he made sure not to lose the elder councilman along the way. Mathieu forged ahead like a theatrical director or ringmaster ushering a long-suffering pet, Bram trailing along behind him. At least it was an ample distraction. |