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Kneeling at the River's Edge // [Regalia: Eyes of Argos]
Apr 25, 2020 12:55:23 GMT -5
Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Apr 25, 2020 12:55:23 GMT -5
REGALIA STROMSTATT
Regalia Stromstatt, Mayor of District Ten, was elbow deep in paperwork. Her coffee mug - full, cold, congealing - sat just out of reach, on the farthest edge of the grand mayoral desk. If she wanted the fuel, she had to work for it. It was a good motivation, or it had been, hours ago. Now, with daylight fading fast, the real possibility of an all nighter loomed.
"Mason!" She called and through the double doors walked her nephew. Her quiet, studious nephew who had asked for an internship that she'd only been too eager to grant.
"More coffee. And if you can find a way to heat this?" She asked, eyebrows drawn up.
He looked askance at the mug. "I can put it on a pot on the stove, Aunt, but I don't think you'll like the results."
"Shame to waste it."
"Bigger things to worry about?" He offered, looking at the paperwork with distaste.
The Mayor exhaled heartily, nodded as he collected the cup, and dove back in. There were, despite appearances to the contrary, two piles: one a summary of the latest district taxes, and the other, campaign proposals for her re-election. It was very strange to think that she had been Mayor long enough to be contemplating another go at it. She toggled between the piles, never lingering too long on one or the other.
It kept her interested. It kept her from thinking about the plans she'd hatched with Oscar. If she thought too much about that, why, she'd never get anything done at all.
The phone rang, interrupting her very definitely not daydreaming about Oscar.
"Mas?"
"Mason?"
She looked up to quiet. "Oh, the coffee." She bit the end of a pen, dog eared a tax lien, and picked up the phone herself. "Mayor Stromstatt," she answered, sing song and oblivious.
The answering voice was harsh and pointed.
"Sorry, not to interrupt you - oh, but - yes, I under - sir, pardon me," she finally interjected. Ma would have been appalled, but at least she managed to keep her drawl in check. "I only need a date you want the extra food and supplies by."
A sharp bark.
"Tomorrow!?" She squeaked. "Sir, that's simply not - no, I've never - I'm, well, I suppose I was a baker before becoming a politici - no, I am the Mayor, thank you very much! Sir, please."
Regalia took a deep, centering breath. "I perfectly understand your request, but I'm telling you: it simply isn't possible. In a few months, absolutely. But tomorrow? Surely the other districts can be persuaded to help. Why, I'll put in a call to Mayor Bloom myself."
He spoke.
Something icy crystallized in her veins. "I won't be able to...? I see."
And finally, she did.
"Tomorrow," she said meekly, just as Mason returned with a hot mug of fresh coffee.
The call ended. Regalia put the phone down, not on the receiver, but on the desk. "Mason," she said slowly, as though language had become completely foreign. "Make more coffee. I mean, make all of the coffee. And then go wake the staff, and ask Oscar to come."
She stood up, looking down at the banal work she had been doing, and then right at her nephew. "We've work to do."
"Mason!" She called and through the double doors walked her nephew. Her quiet, studious nephew who had asked for an internship that she'd only been too eager to grant.
"More coffee. And if you can find a way to heat this?" She asked, eyebrows drawn up.
He looked askance at the mug. "I can put it on a pot on the stove, Aunt, but I don't think you'll like the results."
"Shame to waste it."
"Bigger things to worry about?" He offered, looking at the paperwork with distaste.
The Mayor exhaled heartily, nodded as he collected the cup, and dove back in. There were, despite appearances to the contrary, two piles: one a summary of the latest district taxes, and the other, campaign proposals for her re-election. It was very strange to think that she had been Mayor long enough to be contemplating another go at it. She toggled between the piles, never lingering too long on one or the other.
It kept her interested. It kept her from thinking about the plans she'd hatched with Oscar. If she thought too much about that, why, she'd never get anything done at all.
The phone rang, interrupting her very definitely not daydreaming about Oscar.
"Mas?"
"Mason?"
She looked up to quiet. "Oh, the coffee." She bit the end of a pen, dog eared a tax lien, and picked up the phone herself. "Mayor Stromstatt," she answered, sing song and oblivious.
The answering voice was harsh and pointed.
"Sorry, not to interrupt you - oh, but - yes, I under - sir, pardon me," she finally interjected. Ma would have been appalled, but at least she managed to keep her drawl in check. "I only need a date you want the extra food and supplies by."
A sharp bark.
"Tomorrow!?" She squeaked. "Sir, that's simply not - no, I've never - I'm, well, I suppose I was a baker before becoming a politici - no, I am the Mayor, thank you very much! Sir, please."
Regalia took a deep, centering breath. "I perfectly understand your request, but I'm telling you: it simply isn't possible. In a few months, absolutely. But tomorrow? Surely the other districts can be persuaded to help. Why, I'll put in a call to Mayor Bloom myself."
He spoke.
Something icy crystallized in her veins. "I won't be able to...? I see."
And finally, she did.
"Tomorrow," she said meekly, just as Mason returned with a hot mug of fresh coffee.
The call ended. Regalia put the phone down, not on the receiver, but on the desk. "Mason," she said slowly, as though language had become completely foreign. "Make more coffee. I mean, make all of the coffee. And then go wake the staff, and ask Oscar to come."
She stood up, looking down at the banal work she had been doing, and then right at her nephew. "We've work to do."
table coding (c) ghosty
title lyrics "Muddy Waters" by LP
title lyrics "Muddy Waters" by LP
