agentlelog | walking in a field of fog

Entry tags:

walking in a field of fog

Who: You and Fayura
When: Today, a week after the Strangers' arrivals
Where: The Queen's Residence and the Old Town Bazaar
What: Q&A
Warnings: n/a

EARLY MORNING, THE QUEEN'S RESIDENCE
The morning is cold and dark. Inhaling the frigid air is so shocking that those who aren't expecting it cough and wheeze with their first breath. No one really wants to make their way to the training field. Even the Queen's court moves sluggishly, but move they do with muttered recriminations against Allairavar. Cold weather doesn't stop training.

A warming spell around the field keeps it warm enough to practice, and bobbling witchlights and steady e-line floodlights keep the darkness at bay. All along one side of the practice area are weapons with blades live and dulled. The court eases onto the field alongside the Strangers with sighs and grumbles aplenty. No one likes practice on chilly mornings, but they like Allairavar's retaliation against tardiness even less.

Everyone has paired off by the time Allairavar strides out of the manor home with his arm around a woman's shoulders. In the harsh e-line lights and softer witchlight, it's clear she hasn't been well and still isn't entirely healed. Sunken golden eyes scan the field, and her expression is vaguely nauseated. She trembles, either from weakness or discomfort, as Allairavar pulls away and calls in two bladed sticks—weapons caught somewhere between sword and ax.

"Let's go," he tells her, and she takes one stick from his hand as court and Strangers alike look on.

Another male follows them in, sleekly predatory in his slow prowl around the practice field. A dangerous look glazes his eyes, and he circles the whole field once before making a second, tighter pass around the marked off area where Allairavar and the woman square off.

Members of the court trade wary looks, sharing them with the Strangers. More than a few murmur things like, "Verim will go for his throat if he pushes her too hard," and, "Should she even be out of bed yet?"

It seems Allairavar's rule for training is absolute. Even the Queen takes part. Under his watchful eye and tutelage, they run through a warm up that clearly exhausts her, but when he asks if they should stop, she snarls at him and pushes on for another five minutes. Only then does she sit off to the side of the field and begin stretching.

As she lifts from a leg stretch, she catches your eye and offers a small, shy smile. "Would you like to stretch with me? Allairavar's workouts are always hardest the first day back," she says softly.

Allairavar's exercises may be hard, but she looks like she's seconds from collapsing from exhaustion. If she spent this last week resting and still looks so wan and thin and weak, her initial injuries must have been severe.

MID-AFTERNOON, THE BAZAAR PAVILION
Snow drifts lazily through frigid air. Though temperatures hover around freezing, the Old Town Bazaar bustles with activity. Slowly, people rebuild homes and shops burned by the Hunter Guild, and for perhaps the first time in the past fifty years, sentiment has turned against the Hunters.

Strangers out and about in the Bazaar hear:

A landen woman, to her friend: It's not right what the Hunters did, burning down our homes, too.

A well-to-do Blood male, at a food stall: …believe what that pompous Grand Master has to say about a Queen of the Blood.

There's some commotion toward the center of the Bazaar, where the Queen has settled at the pavilion with a group of landen and Blood children. Her only guard seems to be the elegant man seated across from her at the pavilion's wooden table, his eyes watchful as the people pass by.

The Queen herself looks unwell. Though she wears a bright smile and her golden eyes glitter with laughter, they are sunken and dark smudges circle them. Her arms are thin, little more than skin wrapped around bone. In spite of the freezing weather, she wears a tunic with wide sleeves that pool around her elbows as she holds up a small plank of wood and tugs at a ribbon embedded in it. Here, in the chilly winter morning, the woman who brought some twenty Strangers across the vast distances of many worlds looks very human, very mortal, and very fragile.

Her eyes meet yours as she looks up, and you feel a gentle brush against your mind. No matter how familiar or strange mental communication is, no matter how disconcerting or easy you find it, the touch strikes you as incredibly polite. *We can talk, if you'd like,* she tells you over a psychic thread.

Should you join her, you find respite from the cold. A warming spell makes the pavilion pleasantly toasty, explaining why no one wears a jacket and, maybe, the Queen's clothes. She's dressed plainly in a loose, knitted tunic and fitted breaches. She wears no coronet and no visible jewelry except for a golden chain that tucks beneath her tunic.

Fayura offers a quick smile in your direction as she guides the end of the ribbon in her hand through the thin strip of wood in a twisting loop. She offers a soft-spoken explanation to the children before inviting them to try—and inviting the Blood to explain the magic to the landens, too.

As the children turn to their task, Fayura turns to you. "I'm glad to see you made it through the Hunters' attack relatively unscathed." She sets her plank down and taps her mug. Steam beings to rise from it and she lifts it to her lips with a sigh. "And I apologize that I wasn't there to greet you." A wry smile tugs at her lips; her appearance is, in her mind, enough of an explanation for why. "How have you found Draega?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[She laughs—a genuine, honest laugh, because he's right and it's absurd and there's nothing she can do but laugh.]

I figure a month, maybe two, and everything will be sorted.

[Lips quirked in a half smile, she chuckles again and shakes her head sadly.]

In books I've read about politics and how aristos used to handle things, mediators were often mentioned. A third party that wasn't invested in the conflict so much as the resolution. That sparked the idea, but there's no one in Terreille who's neutral. You're either Blood or you're landen.

I get it. Take some people that might as well be landen - irradiated spider blood and other weird nonsense aside - power them up so they can hold their own against the Blood, and boom, instant mediator squad.

[He's trying to be less sarcastic now.]

It's going to take more than just neutral mediators. You understand that, right? For instance, in my world, the ways most countries moved past this much open violence and dysfunction - it involved massive shifts in the laws and culture, which were usually followed by more violence until things slowly got better.

You don't even have a bill of rights. You don't even have a law against murder. You don't have a system of government that allows the people to have their voices heard or have any actual power in their decision-making. Most of the kings and queens and royals in my world back home either kkkct [He slices his finger across his throat like a blade] were deposed head first, or they slowly lost power over time, and many governments were replaced with ones where people vote for leaders and sometimes vote on specific important issues.

[He adds quickly.]

I'm, uh, not suggesting democracy's practical here - yet - when you're probably a more neutral leader than anyone they'd vote for, but you haven't even started the baby steps towards human rights and a representative government.

[She has no idea what "irradiated" means, and "spider" and "blood" have so many, well, Blood connotations, that most of what he's saying doesn't entirely make sense to her, but she nods along with him anyway.

The eager agreement starts to fall away as he continues speaking. Fay's expression closes, and though she keeps her thoughts tight to herself, it's not hard to read her frustration. She feels like she's being talked down to. She can't contradict him, because she asked for this. She asked for these people to come here and help, and he's helping, it's just not the help she wants. Like all people faced with the reality of her choice, she's mad about it.

But she swallows her pride and forces herself to listen. To hear him.

If nothing else, this idea of voting for leaders seems interesting.]

I want to know more about... a bill of rights? And... [Fay pauses for a long time.] Democracy? [She repeats the word he used, but on her tongue, it's heavily accented English. She gave the Strangers the common tongue of the Territory when they came, but "democracy" doesn't exist as even a concept here. Her language has no word for it.

She squints.] A law against murder... Mmm, there used to be Protocol in place to help stop that, but we've lost so much of it. [Even so.] You were an aristo in your world, then? Someone who... represented others in government? [She's trying very hard to use his words.]

No no, I was, uh - well a lot of things.

[Maybe he should explain what a few of those are.]

I worked a lot outside the system. There were bad people that were sometimes too powerful for our law enforcement to fight and I stopped them and handed them over to the police. Sometimes they were so good at the illegal stuff they were doing the law couldn't touch them and I had to expose them.

Technically, what I was doing was illegal, but I needed to know the law a little to work with law enforcement, get the bad people sent to jail.

That was my one secret job. Hero stuff.

In my jobs that weren't a secret, I was sometimes a scientist, someone who invented things or worked with chemicals like the landen. But I was also sometimes a news photographer or a journalist. Photographers take pictures of major events as they happen and they get printed with stories about what happened. Journalists write the stories.

Do you have journalists here? All I've heard on the wizar - [He realizes she doesn't have the right cultural context for "wizarding wireless] farcasters is gossip stuff, light weather. Nothing really hard-hitting enough to make it sound like real journalism.

Edited 2019-02-08 14:41 (UTC)

[The tension fades out of her, and she's back to eagerly listening. The ideas Peter shares with her are foreign but fascinating, and now that's she no longer feels like he's beating her up (gently, and necessarily!), she's much more receptive.]

Journalists? [She glances at Verim, and he puts together what Peter is saying before Fayura does.

Verim:] There are people who discuss the news of the day on the Far-caster network. [He calls in a newspaper, though it's nothing like what Peter would consider a newspaper: four exceedingly thin sheets of paper, delicate and tattery and just thick enough that the ink doesn't bleed through from one side to the other, folded together. The front page contains a bit of news regarding the fire and the Strangers, but most of the rest has to do with people offering their services. One will repair clothes in return for canned food. One will deliver letters in exchange for blankets.

Fay folds her hands under her chin, studying Peter intensely.] What do journalists do? [He's opening up a new world for her, and she's intensely curious.]

Wow. I've only said this about one other newspaper [the Bugle, natch] but I wouldn't even use this as toilet paper.

[How does he do this?]

[He holds up three fingers.]

Journalists do three main things. Number one: they present unbiased reporting of major events that happen. Basic recountings of facts. Disasters, discoveries of crimes, big attacks by criminals, things like that. Like this bit about the attacks and the fires - that's some basic crime reporting.

Number two: They're professional critics of basically everything - but still factual ones. If there are rumors a certain prince does very unfair or even evil things to the landens, the article might call the prince out for what he's done, but present facts - actual proof and reasonably trustworthy eyewitness accounts - to support their story. This is called investigative reporting, where a reporter follows on a lead - usually a tip by someone close to the situation. Then they dig deep to find out what's really going on and actual, solid proof to share. That way light gets shined on the problems going on in society since the only way to fix them is if people know they exist.

Number three: They editorialize, which is kind of like the second one, but it's where there's a little more wiggle room for opinions. The reporter will write an opinion about an important issue affecting society, but it's in a special kind of article that's noted to be their opinion so people know to not take their opinion as fact. The writer still has to support the opinion with facts and even though it's partly subjective they still can't outright lie.

So in an editorial they could maybe say "I must politely disagree with Queen Fayura's policy on bringing the Strangers, and here's why." But they wouldn't be able to lie about anything you've done or said or anything we've done or said. Editorials are a type of article that gets people thinking. Some might agree with the editorial, others might disagree, others might agree with some parts but not others, but it existing means they're thinking about the issue and deciding where they stand. Which again, makes people look at problems so they can be fixed. Most of the time editorials are written alongside an article that has just unbiased facts so people have that to base their opinions on, too.

[There. Journalism 101.]

You have to know a little bit of everything to be a good journalist. That's why I know a few things about the law. You have to know a little bit of history, a little bit of law, a little bit about government, how businesses work, how countries relate to each other...

You need to know the historical, legal, and social context to be able to report well on the story.

[He'd had the science and technology beat when he'd worked as a journalist for the Bugle, but some of his work had gotten a little investigative, when it came to issues involving scientific ethics, for instance. A lot of times he bopped the juicer leads over to a more solid investigative reporter (good ol Ben Urich mostly, who stayed in the business well past the point he should've retired) that had more time on their hands - especially if he planned to become part of the story by digging into it as Spider-Man. But he'd written a few exposes on scientific and medical issues, which meant knowing the law.]

All this stuff I'm saying, with "you need X and Y and Z" is because when you're a journalist you dig into what seems to be making things not work. Legal violations, ethics violations, social problems and issues with how people are treated, government corruption, businesses tricking people...

[He flaps the pitiful paper.]

It gets a lot longer than four pages.

[Fayura bristles again. The paper might not be what he thinks it should be, but it's a way for her people to communicate their needs and what they're willing to trade. Her expression shutters, but she doesn't shut him out or shut him down. Instead, she shifts toward polite interest. To truly weigh his words, she'll need time to separate the insult from the information.

What irritates her the most is that she sees a need for what he describes, provided it functions the way he wants it to.]

And who stops the untruthful stories? What stops Lord Grejor from bribing a writer with fresh fruit—or, more likely, blackmailing him into silence? What stops writers from learning and sharing secrets that damage the stability of the Territory? Or perhaps these editorials and this reporting will only divide the Blood and landen further. That doesn't help me.

[Fay props her chin on her hand, watching him.]

If you believe this will be helpful, show me. Prove it to me. My focus has to be on making sure the city is fed and doesn't tear itself apart.

Well first of all, there are laws against murder. That's important, it means someone who had a true story published about something they're doing wrong can't just go and kill the journalist, because killing people is illegal in general. The law also protects freedom of speech, so most things can be published without reprisal from the law or private parties.

And journalists who are unethical in some way - taking bribes - they usually get fired by the publisher or editor-in-chief responsible for the paper, usually someone that was hired because they've shown they're responsible. That also helps with blackmail - people can't blackmail a journalist if they're so squeaky clean they can't dig up any dirt on them. The big, juicy investigative articles - the ones that can cause the most damage - usually don't get handed to junior reporters. They're usually given to senior journalists that have spent years proving they're fair and unbiased.

[Some of the journalists he knew had their vices but most of them were pretty damn ethical. People like Ben Urich and Robbie Robertson were unshakable. Even Old Flat-Top had his principles on most things.]

But there are a few limits: it's illegal to encourage violence or illegal activity. It's illegal to say things that can cause damage to public safety. For instance, screaming "Fire" in a crowded theater if there isn't one isn't protected speech because it could risk a stampede. A lot of the same principles apply in print. You can't print things that would cause a public panic.

A lot of important things have rules and laws of confidentiality: private health information, certain confidential documents, state secrets. If someone in the president - that would our big leader - if someone in the president's cabinet leaks certain information the president has deemed confidential it can count as treason. They can go to jail.

[God, he's about to introduce the idea of the lawsuit, what's wrong with him?]

On a more personal level, there are laws against libel and slander. It means that if someone lies about someone else, and that someone else accuses them of libel - that's a written lie, or slander - a spoken one, the person that wrote the article has to defend what they wrote in court. If they have proof of what happened - multiple, reliable witnesses, maybe some kind of physical evidence - they can prove they told the truth. If they can't prove it's the truth, they have to pay a fine to the person they lied about. So journalists have to make sure it's provably accurate or all or a lot of their money - and even parts of future earnings - might have to go to who they lied about.

There are a bunch of little rules that help keep it from being total anarchy.

[He hopes he's made the sell.]

And don't knock editorials. The thing with them is they still have to be rooted in fact, which all the inflammatory gossip already going around isn't. Some papers also do something smart and provide editorials that have directly opposite opinions, so that both sides of the issue get their say. It means people can understand why both sides feel the way they do.

[From over his coffee mug, Verim gives Fayura A Look, and she reaches across the table to pat his hand as Peter talks. The Queen sips her coffee as she listens, wishing she had a web meant to retain auditory information so she can go back and review everything he's saying later. He's giving her a lot of information, and while she'll remember most of it, she knows she won't remember all of it.]

Your world seems very... [She pauses.] It has a lot of laws. [And a lot of concepts that don't exist at all in Draega.] If you think a newspaper would help, why don't you draft a proposal and bring it to Loren? I'm certainly not opposed to an exchange of ideas on paper as opposed to in taverns.

[Another pause, thoughtful and considering.]

I brought all of you here in the hopes that your lack of allegiance to the Guilds or the Council would help bridge the gap between the landens and the Blood. It's my hope that doing so is effective. But you must also understand that our world isn't yours. We do have laws, they're just not your laws, and the laws we have—and don't have—are the way they are for a reason.

I - I, uh. I'm sure there's probably someone better to - [Wait no. There aren't more qualified people to help with this. There are probably not many - if any - other people with experience working in the news business. Eddie's the only other one he knows for sure. Crap. He's just been a periodic tech journalist.] Never mind. I'll try to work something up.

[Maybe it'll at least be better than nothing.]

[He just hopes that's the only responsibility she expects out of him beyond the hero stuff. Please God.]

As for your laws...

[This one is harder to agree to.]

Laws - or a purposeful lack thereof - are always for reasons. That doesn't always mean the reasons are good ones.

[If they were good, maybe this world wouldn't be dying, locked into a 10,000 year downward spiral that she's claiming is culture.]

Why don't you have a law against killing for any reason other than self defense?

Edited 2019-02-08 22:00 (UTC)

[She smiles, clearly quite pleased with how this has turned out.]

Warlord Princes are notoriously temperamental creatures. [Instead of taking offense to this, Verim nods.] And they deal with threats very simply: by removing them. This can be anything from a table I stubbed my toe on— [At this, Verim interjects, with a sputtered, "You hate that table!"] —to the much more understandable woman forcing herself on him. Often, his first reaction will be to turn the table to kindling, and since it was cherry wood, it smelled quite delightful. Or, in the case of the woman, to turn her to pulp.

[She sips her coffee, clearly unbothered by the situations she's explaining.]

If the woman did try to force herself on him, no price will be demanded by the woman's family or the Queen who presides over the immediate area. Even the dead can't hide from a Black Widow's tangled web, and the truth will out. But if he killed her simply because he could, then a price will be demanded to repay the loss. Sometimes, that's a life for a life. Sometimes, it's a request for service. Regardless, a price will be paid.

Our society balances on a knife-edge of trust. A good Queen protects the males who serve her and cultivates an atmosphere where behavior like the woman's isn't tolerated. But we've had so many bad Queens, and then no Queens at all, that we've forgotten what we are and how we should behave.

Just because one alternative is blood feuds, that doesn't mean the one you're going with is the best alternative. Your talk radio has charming little tips on how to curtsey enough to avoid getting splattered by a prince over next to nothing. The landen aren't safe. They know it. They seem to think all it would take is causing them to stub a toe.

[It's not hard to pick up. Even the way that dumb auction was handled, the way the landens he and Percy fixed the roof of, acted. It spoke volumes about this society. And that poor half-blooded kid...]

Where do you think their hate comes from, your majesty? It may be unfair how bad it is or how far they spread it but I think you know it has roots in something real, in how they feel they're not valued. And even if you fix the culture, if there's not something enduring to protect people - all people, landen and Blood alike - like laws that are difficult to change, it might change back by the next queen.

[A wash of temper fills the pavilion, startling even the children. Fayura's expression tightens because Peter isn't wrong and it makes her mad. The landens are afraid, they don't think they matter.]

I will not wipe out all the Blood to start fresh. [Her voice is soft and filled with sorrow.] I will not end one people to protect another. So I will consider your laws and how I might adapt them to my world. [Because she asked for the help of these people, and to disregard them would be petty and stupid no matter how much she now wants to.] Perhaps in your proposal to Loren for a newspaper, you would also include some of what we've discussed?

[She calls in a notebook and a fountain pen. Verim takes both from her. "Do you want me...?" he asks, and she nods. He starts writing in the books, jotting down some of the topics Peter has brought up.]

And, please. Call me Fayura. I don't like to stand on formalities. [This line that she has said to so many now seems like a paltry thing, a reminder of how small and insignificant she is in the face of this looming change.]

[Peter winces slightly but it's not out of fear. It's because she seems to genuinely care and anger that deep usually comes from a place of pain.]

[With great power, etc cetera et cetera. This is a massive responsibility to be saddled with - saving a world. It has to be painful watching things fail.]

[He knows hat that feels like, albeit on a much less apocalyptic scale and with conflicts that are more easily foiled by one man. You carry a weight and it never leaves your shoulders, you can never set it down, it's just there.]

[And the failures never leave you.]

That's not a bad idea. Your world probably needs to change because it wouldn't have gotten this bad if things worked the way they are. But it's still your world and if you lift a few ideas they still have to be ones that work for it.

It has its own past and that means it'll need have its own future.

[It can't be a carbon copy of somewhere else - and it's not like his world isn't without its flaws either.]

I'll try to give you as much as I can. I'm not the most qualified but I can get some basics together. [He feels like he's caused her enough anger, so he gets up to leave.] Wow, I really just got myself assigned a lot of homework, huh.

[Self-burn.]

[He's not wrong.]

Perhaps laws that will protect us from ourselves. A new Protocol, since much of the old one has been lost.

[Fay laughs a bit at his homework comment, inclining her head.]

At least the assignment came from me and not Loren. Thank you for the ideas, Peter, even when they upset me. It's important to have people disagree with me. [Verim snorts. Fay ignores him to give Peter a wave.] Enjoy the rest of your day.

Thanks for listening. [A pause.] It's a good sign.

Leaders that like being disagreed with... well, there might be hope for this place.

[He hopes she means it. It's just always so hard to tell. But if she does...]

[He walks away, muttering to himself:]

Now all you have to do is try to rewrite the bill of rights and a list of journalistic ethics. From memory.

Edited 2019-02-09 00:34 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

walking in a field of fog

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

and wrap?