RP:Cenril Needs All The Help It Can Get

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc

Summary: Ansel visits the Mayor's Office to follow up on his offer to help at the Cenril Clinic in the wake of Kahran's attack. Uma, now sworn in as Cenril's 'interim' mayor, is flustered. Cenril is in disarray and could use the help - she writes him a letter of introduction.

The Cenril Mayor's Office

Ansel is standing outside of the mayor’s headquarters, he is pacing back and forth. Earlier, he had sent a letter that he would be making his way to the office, but he had heard nothing in return. Further measures had to be taken (fist slam)! Anyway, here he was; he was dressed to par. His camel coat over a grey blazer over a blue button-up and tie. Not too shabby. The man looked different than two years ago. More grown up. Anyway, the man makes his way to the front desk where a secretary may be penciling in appointments. “Ansel Anesko, I wrote to Mayor Uma about the Cenril Clinic?” He is twitching out of nervousness in his left hand, but it is hardly noticeable. This was a make or break thing. Either he was for a new life-start, or he was back in the mess of Venturil.

Uma's life has been in disarray. You try being a recently widowed single mother who is suddenly thrust into the limelight and nominated to be mayor-in-crisis. She gets many letters every day and lives dangerously in that she doesn't answer all of them. (She answers only those that her staff sees fit to answer.) Her backlog pile is growing, her people instructed to politely turn away any constituents who try to visit her in person. It's not personal! Ansel is lucky in that she literally encounters him as her assistant is telling him that she's in a meeting. Uma does not look 'in a meeting'; she is striding across the main room, albeit with great purpose, holding a latte. She looks at Ansel with wild eyes. "Hello, obviously I am not in a meeting, just frenetic, so sorry!" she cries, her smile sagging with self-deprecation. "Please, please," she waves him along with her, as she continues her purposeful stride into a conference room that is stacked with reports and news clippings about the attacks by Kahran. "I'm so sorry it's a bit of a hot mess here," she is evidently going a million miles a minute. She puts her latte down on the table, wipes her palms on her wrap dress, and extends a hand to shake Ansel's. She smiles, and it brightens her face, which is otherwise bearing all the hallmarks of a tired single parent who is also somehow mayor. "Ansel, was it? Cenril clinic, right? Do you have medical experience?"

Ansel reflects Uma’s wild gaze; her presence overwhelming. “Apologies unnecessary,” and on cue, he trails behind her in a skip step, while nodding to the assistant behind them now, of course. Walking into the conference room with the stacks on stacks of paper, folders, and clippings, he scratches his head. “Uhh, no worries, really.” The wolf shakes her hand in return. “Yes, yes, and yes.” He takes a short breath through this whirlwind – how does she do it? “I am wrapped in the Healer’s Guild, I was a volunteer clinician in Frostmaw during the war a couple years back, then I was called to Venturil to also assist in the medical field. I specialize in herbal healing,” vague, but she probably was courteous to his brief description. “Looks like Cenril could use some helping hands.” He laughs half-heartedly, gazing momentarily at the mess around them.

Uma makes a noise in the base of her throat that signifies that she is pleased with Ansel's answer. The last thing she wanted to do, now that she's having this impromptu meeting, was politely turn away somebody who's unqualified. She is hopeful that medical experience is actual medical experience; it tends not to be the sort of thing people exaggerate. As Ansel elaborates, she begins plucking folders and stray papers from the conference table and creating an organized stack of sorts. She levels a clinical smile on him as he finishes speaking. Despite the state of the conference room, she does not laugh. She gets the joke, but Kahran murdered her husband and mayor-elect, Fitz. He may have had an issue with writing sexts to random women, but he was her husband and father of her child. "Yes, I would say the city is very devastated," she exhales, tiredly. "As you can see..." she adds, trying to lighten the severity of her response. She reaches for a stack of letterhead and pen and begins, with brutal efficiency, to write out a note that will introduce Ansel to the clinic. "I am writing you a letter of introduction. How do you spell your last name? Anes- Aneska?" she queries, pausing to glance at him. "I am afraid I don't know what medical work at the clinic pays but I can tell you it does pay and we are very busy so there is overtime to be had-" At this very moment, her pen decides to explode blue ink all over her hand, her sleeve, and the letter. ARE YOU SERIOUS. Uma emits a choking sound that is certainly a suppressed sob. She does not move or otherwise cry. Collecting herself, she curses savagely, and then quite calmly looks toward the hall. "Marcie!" she shouts. "My pen exploded. On me. Help!" There is a scurrying sound. She smiles the same clinical smile at Ansel. "Oh, life," she says, dryly.

Ansel might had made a step too soon over the fact that Cenril was a -disaster-. The wolf had heard about the murder of the mayor-elect, but he had no idea who Uma actually was. The man is standing with his hands idly stuffed in his pockets. He was not about to lean on a table or anything in the conference room. Yikes. “Yes, I’ve heard word. Made it all the way to Venturil,” he nods and then he gazes out a nearby window for a pause. “Anesko,” eyes look at her. “A.N.E.S.K.O – how it sounds,” he gives her a reassuring smile until the pen explodes. The choking sound is recognized, and Ansel’s heart almost stops. This woman was going to burst, wasn’t she? “Err,” he rummages around his body before he finds his satchel that he packs around, unclicking the buckles to search for a pen. “Please, take mine, least I can do. As for the ink, well,” he cannot say much there just a squinty and teeth gritting nod, but he digs a pen out and hands it over. “Looks like you have a full one – life, I mean,” beat. “I know I am just some rando, but if there is anything else I can do to help you and this town, besides the clinic, let me know - filing, delivering, whatever. As for income, I don’t require much pay as long as it supports my two boys – we live comfortably,” he smirks awkwardly. Can this get any more painful? He is almost cringing at her frantic needs. Let. Him. Help. Her. Or... Help. Him. Please.

Uma gratefully accepts Ansel's offer of a new pen. Her assistant, "Marcie," rips into the room with towels. Marcie wipes the area as best she can and wraps Uma's sleeve so that she can commence writing a new letter. Which she does, recovers her composure as if the ink-plosion hadn't happened. Picking up and dusting oneself off is a theme in her life as of late. There's no time for anything else! Stuff is going down! This is one of the easier times; the letter isn't very long and it's just ink. "You're kind to offer," Uma says as she signs the letterhead and takes it in hand to lightly blow on it. She holds the paper in the light to check that the ink's dry - it's the little things - before folding it in three parts and handing it to Ansel. "Here you are. I think if you're a medical professional, you should focus your efforts there. One thing at a time," she manages another careful smile. Like a gymnast at the end of a complex floor routine. She resumes wiping her hand, her lips moving, evidently murmuring a spell that causes the ink to better separate from her skin. Her dress is another story, in her view it likely can't be salvaged. She jerks her head toward the hall. "I'll walk you out. How old are your two boys?"

Ansel cants his head slightly in agreement with the woman. He tended to go overboard a lot. He acknowledges her willing to collect herself quickly. As she hands over the letter, the wolf grins and carefully snatches the parchment out of her hands. “Thank you kindly. And… I agree, though I live to be spread thin,” he reassures her, but he leaves it at that. Hazel eyes linger on the spell that she casts before him and his brows raise, but he is mute. “Sure,” he continues on in her direction moving to the hallway. “Dana is eight and Shia is ten – they are squirrely as ever,” he smiles lightly. He then pivorts to face her, walking backwards. “Surely I can take it from here, Mayor. I appreciate everything you have done for me in the split time that you had on your hands.” He reaches a hand out politely to shake her own.

As they walk toward the exit, Uma's mouth twists into a wry smile at the notion of being 'spread thin.' That's life for parents. She imagines having two isn't any easier. "Good to know I have that to look forward to," she remarks. "My son is three," she explains. They have reached the exit, and she pulls up her sleeve, a now inkless hand seizing his. "Of course," she responds, flashing him a gleaming smile. One never knows if the press is lurking nearby. "Thank you for stepping forward in Cenril's hour of need," she says, just before they part ways. When had she learned to talk that way? Somewhere, along the sleepless nights that had brought her to this point, apparently...