RP:Schezerade Election
Part of the Vakmatharas' Jar Arc
Summary: Residents of Schezerade come out on a beautiful sunny day, even though there is a slight winter chill left on the air, so they may vote for their new leader of the city. Some avians seem to revel in the sunlight as if they haven’t enjoyed it in some very long months, but after the battle in Schezerade and the curing of Vakmatharas’ curses everyone seems hopeful… Maybe even ready for a change.
Glimmering Pathway
When the sun is high and the beams strike the marble pathway, tiny flecks of gold reflect and light up with path with a shimmer. The path leads on to the Chamber of the Raan, the great house of the Senators and people. The path bleeds with decadence, giving off the feeling that only the just and worthy should tread upon the ground.
The Glimmering Pathway before the Chamber of Raan has been transformed into a voting area where two long tables set before a row of partitions. Volunteers at the front table take down names and verify identification to make sure there was no double dipping going on and then residents of Schezerade are directed to the area behind them where curtained booths are set up for privacy. Each ballot has slots for new senate seats that need to be chosen and treasury, laws up for vote, many more boring political stuff - really. All the way at the end is ‘Schezerade Senator’ with three options, ‘Orlando Flewm’ (Vermillion’s replacement since he wanted to go and attack the city), ‘Brennia Smyth’ (fought against the attack alongside civilians), and ‘Write in________’
Brennia is here, but a little behind as she had just gotten back from Frostmaw late and is still a little worse for wear due to the recent battle. Bravely sporting a cut lip, scuffs and bruises on her hands and arms, even a stab wound to her wing, but no one could see the wrapped up wound at her left side of her waist under the professional suit she donned today. She walks up to the queue and the avian man before her turns, nods and looks ahead before doing a double take to which he smiled down to the candidate, “Miss Smyth!” He reaches out to shake her hand and goes on about how his daughter was telling all who would listen of Brennia’s bravery that night. He offers her to go ahead of him as well as a few citizens before him, but Brennia kindly turns them down, “thank you, but I am fine waiting.” She gives a half smirk while heavy lidded teal eyes glance around to many smiling faces - it sparked a happiness in her heart to see them able to enjoy the sunny days once more. Hinder notices her before being taken back and gives a wave with a bandage wrapped hand to which she gives a nod of acknowledgement. For the first time she felt optimistic even though her nerves were on edge and her left wing was killing her, but she appears to remain calm and peaceful. It’s her turn, she provides her identification and is handed a small scroll of parchment. In the privacy and silence of the booth she takes a deep breath and tacks the things she’s been campaigning for (or against) with the answers necessary and at the bottom… There is her name and suddenly it all felt surreal as she punched the hole next to her name with the quill. Rolling the parchment up and placing it in the slot before exiting the booth she sees a crowd of her students and guild members even though a good half of them aren’t residents, they are here to support her and cheer her on. For the first time in a couple of months she smiles, brightly and warmly at the gesture - even if she doesn’t win, this felt really nice. Corvo is next and does the same as Brennia did, but he knows his job isn’t over because the Flewminati are still under an investigation which he launched weeks ago.
Scandal | Avarix straightened his tie on his black suit before donning his tall black hat. Today was election day, and he would appear spic and span, nothing less. Keeping his wings to his back, each brushed properly, to the appropriate degree, he left his stately house, and journeyed toward the voting booths. Approaching the booth he makes his selection, and then upon finishing, makes his way to the Imperial Bank, where he so managed.
Kanna | “Are ye sure it's safe to be out here? I won't use my healing spells if ye end up with blisters.” An elderly avian woman grumbled as two winged children on either side patiently walked with her to the ballots. Walking a few paces ahead of the trio was presumably the hatchlings’ mother. Despite the age differences, it was clear to see from their facial structures that they were related. This seemed to be the only similarity though, as the mother was content to wear a bright red jacket, complete with red boots and accessories that made her almost look like a winter cardinal, while the old woman wore monochrome shades of beige. The mother spun around with an impatient huff, extending deep chestnut arms and throwing her head back to bask in the sunlight for emphasis. “Oui, Mamá, the curse has been lifted, see! No one is blistering.” The grandmother seemed unimpressed by the display. A wrinkled hand tightened around the top of her cane at the same time that her wings fluttered with annoyance. “Durgoth’s sake, Camellia, you’re as stubborn as ever.” Pale green eyes shifted down to her granddaughters. “Emmaline, Adeline, ye must keep yer parasols up, I don't want ye sunburned on the first day back out.” The flaxen-haired twins looked up in unison, their matching white sundresses contrasting perfectly against their dark skin. “Yes, grand-mère.” They even spoke in unison! The only thing that distinguished them now was the burnt skin on their opposite arms from the solar allergies that plagued the city for what seemed like so long now. On a curious whim to see if the talk of the allergy was true, the girls, at the time, had extended their non-writing arm out of the shadows and into the sunlight. Thus, Emmaline’s left arm and Adeline’s right arm now bore pale pink spots from the burns. Once at the front of the queue, the old woman steps forward. “Ah, no need for identification, Orianne.” A guard says with a dismissive wave. “Hrmph. After 3,000 something years, it's nice to see a lad with a smidgen of respect for his elders.” Orianne replies with a smug curl of the lips. She enters and naturally punches out the hole to vote for Brennia. She has been around long enough to know a sincere soul when she sees one. Shaelus help her if her dimwitted daughter couldn’t see past Orlando’s facade. The man could pass for a damn naga with those eyes of his. Camellia votes for Orlando, not completely trusting that stuffy Smyth with the future of her girls. The twins, though too young to officially vote, exchange glances and discreetly use their air magic to bring themselves ballots, where they punch out votes for Brennia and carefully deposit them with the others. It seems they have their grandmother’s wit after all.
Yoshika had been summoned to the vote by Brennia. He hadn’t been back in Schezergrade for long but after what he saw her do at the what he internally called the ‘Jar event’ he would be casting his vote for her. No one else could have done what she did and if there was gonna be a leader she should be the one. Walking in to the voting booth and pulling the curtain behind him he looks down at the sheet of paper. Yoshika---X Brennia, and into the voting box he put his choice.
Lionel | It’s not that Sela Morivan doesn’t like her name. It’s just that she’ll never know her real one. She chose hers, out of necessity, because her fellow avians insisted that she should have more than modest title once she was rescued from the lowland Cenrili slums and brought amongst her own people. Choosing a first name was simple; a scullion named Sela at the restaurant she’s employed in had been kind to her from the day she arrived here in Schezerade, but she passed away only months later. The surname was harder. She wrestled with staying simply ‘Sela’, mysterious woman from a mysterious background, but her peers impressed upon her the need for something more, something stronger. Morivan was a surfacer avian who’d been good to Sela once, years and years ago, giving her food and lodging without asking a question. He came and left like the wind, but she remembered him as if it were yesterday. Sela Morivan has never forgotten the rich goodness of Sela and Morivan, scullion and vagabond, and she’s taken it upon herself to live up to those virtues in whatever ways she can. Similarly, she’s sought them out in others, and when she finds them she latches onto them just as surely as she latches onto the warm rays of sunlight strengthening her wings now. She smiles, letting the wings flutter to feel that warmth as she approaches the voting booth. She’s known who to vote for from the moment she first laid eyes on Smyth; there’s something -right- about the bard, something Sela, something Morivan. “That’s all I need to know,” she whispers, prompting one of the poll workers to loft a brow. “It’s nothing,” Sela laughs, casting her vote for Brennia as lightly as another woman might toss leaves for tea. “May the future herald what the past forgot.” It’s something the dearly-departed kind old scullion once told her, and as Sela exits the booth, that hope hangs high in the air.
Bradyn | Tahirah was not among the working class of Schezerade, her family was wealthy and it afforded her the luxury of not having to hold down a job for any means of survival. Yet. One day her father would pass, that may still be years down the line, the family business would come to rest in her hands. Tahirah and her family shared many of the characteristics of the stereotypical avian: all were tall, gorgeous, intelligent, arrogant, and stuck with a superiority complex. Given that the family deals primarily in trade, the most logical assumption would be that Tahirah and her entire family would vote for the more cutthroat Orlando. A sales tax for non-cloud members does seem like something that would benefit the family business, it would drive up the price of outside goods and promoting locals to purchase from other locals. Yet something about Orlando has never sat well with Tahirah, and while she does not agree with every platform Brennia has taken on, she does agree with a majority. It is a good thing that these voting booths offered privacy because when a booth becomes available for the black-haired avian to cast her vote, the box that is checked is for Brennia Smyth. Her father would be disappointed, this new age thinking is just so backwards in his mind.
Lanara :: Cordelia Cinderbough meanders through the crowd, her stark white wings wrapped tightly about her slender frame, as she eyes the polling center with curious, cobalt hues. Cordelia had grown up in the western area of Schezerade,and likely would have been running for some type of political office, herself, as she had grown up rich, priviledged, and a Princess, from a nearby land. However, she had married a lowlife peasant that had taken all of her families riches, as well as any chance she ever held of using her prestige to enforce her beliefs upon others. Although she was in her upper fifties, she didn’t look a day over thirty, and her nearly icy demeanor softens as she’s the next in line to cast her vote. Schezerade needed a change, and although she didn’t believe in every single thing this particular avian was either for or against, she thought there was much that the resident’s could benefit from, if Brennia Smyth were the next senator. And so, she twirls a platinum curl around her pointer finger, and smacks her crimson painted lips together, before checking the box to the left of the name, and casting a vote for ‘Brennia’ the avian that had promised to bring change to the lands. The poll worker approaches to see if she required any assistance, and Cordelia merely wraps her fur coat tighter abouter her frame, her wings twitching in annoyance. “Do I look like I need help?” After fixing the worker with a pointed stare, she huffs, and exits the area, having done her duty for the day.
Niall | Joan's pitch black hair was teased and tall, braids of beads and colorful feathers waved through out and all of it pulled into a high and long ponytail that swayed in the space between her dark wings. She tilted her face to the sun, her eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man and her eyeshadow as smoky as a forest fire, and let the golden rays soak into her soul. She turned to the blonde avian woman beside her and her red lips curled into a smile. "Marie, they're not gonna let you vote with that thing," Currie, whose eyes were lined dark and her hair dyed white blonde to match her wings, picked at the forged ID with her black fingernails. "I don't get it. What old bag put an age limit on having an opinion anyway?" She hooks a hand in her low slug, pinstriped pants and pulled her purple lips into a pout. Joan leaned into her girlfriend and smacked a kiss on her cheek before tapping out a cigarette for each of them. They smoked quietly for a while, smiling at the scowls of the other citizens queued in line near them. "I can't wait for a woman be be running the show," Currie says, stamping her cigarette out under her heeled boot. "Especially our headmaster," The avian girl chatted about Brennia and the bardic college until Joan elbowed her. "We're up," A rush of nerves spun through her as she entered the booth. She looked at all the names on the parchment and felt herself getting a little dizzy. She ticked the boxes at random until the end. She marked her X near Brennia's name and turned the ballot over, drew an offensive doodle and titled it 'Screw the Patriarchy' before leaving with Currie, who didn't get to vote or keep her fake ID.
Alvina | Nasr Seraphim doesn’t agree that the avian’s should have to travel to vote, especially after the messy Schezerade madness. News of Vermillion’s attack during the jar cleansing concert has just been icing on the cake. Even if he hadn’t ruined his chances with that idiotic and selfish action, Nasr would -not- have voted for him. He had those eyes, you know the type. The dead eyes that psychopaths have. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had more blood on his hands than they knew. Even though the curse has been lifted, she wore a thick shaw and sunglasses. Her wings fluttered nervously as she waits in line, ID in hand to be queued in the right line. She sees her fellow avians in their queues, various conversations filter to her ears but she chats with no one. Not even the nice poll worker who takes her identification with a smile and ushers her forward to the line on the far right. Her hands clasp her shaw’s tails anxiously, heeled boots tap against the smooth tile flooring. The sooner she checks the box, the sooner she can go home to her black out curtains and her bromeliads. Time ticks by at a tormenting pace and her turn brings her before the list of various runners for various positions. The only thing she’s sure about is that Brennia woman. They’d never met in person but her name was the heroine title in all the gossip she’s heard about that Vermillion fellow. She was the one responsible for curing them of the sun’s vicious rebuke. Her shaking hand marks the box beside Brennia’s name carefully, the others are considered with only the knowledge of a gossip - based in no fact, but only the prejudice of what she’d heard others say and how much she personally liked their names.
Daermon | Qvoathe made his way slowly towards the polling area. The red headed avian had little patience for fighitng his way through the crowd, his black wings folded close like a cloak as he was jostled for perhaps the fifth time in as many minutes. He sighed, about to say something, about to let the fire of his hair out through his voice, but instead he looked up, feeling the sun and smiled a rueful smile. Perhaps it could be allowed to pass this time. It was a special occaision after all. As he made his way finally to the booth, he selected the chilly Miss Smyth. She seemed cold and unapporachable, but her politics made sense to the younger avian. He punched his quill through, then slid his ballot inside. Once done, he stepped away, unfurled his wings and took to the sky, happily enjoying the sunshine that had so long been denied.
Kreekitaka | Look, it wasn't like Dravis Downe was unthankful to Brennia for putting together the team that ended the curse. But it wasn't like he wasn't aware that she kinda also started this whole thing to begin with. And then there was that weird matter of how she called herself "Raven" for a bit. Didn't feel stable. Or safe, really. And this Orlando fellow--Dravis didn't have a hecking clue who he was, who he stood for or how deep the guy's pockets were tied to corrupting influences. Neither of these people, he had decided as he approached the voting booth, ought to be elected. Of course, one of them would be, but he couldn't in good conscience vote for one of them. He did, however, have a candidate in mind. He had been out on the street when the fighting broke out, a keeper of the peace, and he'd done his duty to bring the invaders in, and he'd fought alongside an incredibly brave individual--an individual who had done battle without even having wings, and who was also apparently very experienced in leadership. He stepped up to the voting booth with a bright grin, took his ballot, checked the "Write In:" box, and very proudly wrote "KREEKITAKA THE UYEER" in the blank space, in plain view of everyone, before dropping it in.
"Sweet mother of Sven," said the person next to him in disgust, who must have glanced over at Dravis's ballot, "you must be out of your mind!"
Hudson | Damien Laurent came here straight from yoga, at which he was one of two men (the only straight one, though), and has his mat rolled up and slung with a strap over his shoulder. He is a lanky avian with dark hair that he keeps long and in a man bun. Damien is holding a coffee which he takes black and has a stray full of spares for those in the line. He gets his teeth magically whitened, you can tell when he smiles. He chats up the woman ahead of him. He's exactly the kind of guy who will disclose immediately that he voted for the woman candidate. It pays off: he obtains her contact information. At length they must separate and he heads into the voting booth, where he scores his voting ballot exclusively along his party lines and votes for Brennia.
Thamalys carved his way through the throng without too much of an effort, the diverse variety of onlookers moving away from him much as water making way for the prow of a sleek ship. Aside from the rather unfriendly look painted on the face of the Spellblade - that was no news, after all… - the attire of the latter was rare to be witnessed within Schezerade’s social occasions: a shiny masterpiece of mithril, painted in light blue and white, upon which a ridiculously long purple cloak happily swayed into the crispy breeze which found its winding way into the Pathway. That, was the livery of the Tzurs, the once elusive Mages of the Flying City, and was not necessarily meant to be shown anywhere other than the Training Grounds - or, albeit more rarely, within the walls of the University. This was the reason why the walk of the Blue was accompanied by a substantial parade of shaken heads and disapproving looks. Not that the Healer was expecting anything different, but it had to be done that way, to show that what did remain of the Royal ranks was not indifferent to the election. A thing of the past, but the elders, some of whom were overseeing the vote themselves, would have probably noticed - and hopefully drawn some sensible conclusions. The best part was, the name of the Winged Beast had been wiped out from each and every register within the whole of Schezerade, the very only documents validating the existence of the Blue, his heritage, and his deeds, buried deep into the Library. Perhaps the Spellblade did expect to stir some chaos in showing up demanding the right to vote, but having to argue directly with a youngling no more than fifty years old was a bit annoying. “I do apologise, Sir, but the rules are adamant, and your name is not on the list” went said youngling, the only thing separating him from a rather fuming Thamalys the wooden table upon which ton of paperwork stood, together with seals, and wax, and more. “Surely you do not need to bother about names and lists? Or are you suggesting I just came by mere chance in possession of this armour?” answered with a low growl the Spellblade, both hands placed on the table, the knotty mass of his dreadlocks swaying ominously in front of the youngling. “Let him”, said a third voice sharply enough, this time coming from an impossibly old Avian, perched on a wooden chair a few steps away, hidden within a nest of documents and stationary. The elder did not even raise his eyes - he just spoke, while keep embellishing a particularly expensive piece of paper. The youngling opened his mouth as to say something - but he gave up soon after. Instead, he just handled a piece of paper and a quill to the Blue. The latter gifted the elder with a rather intent stare - which did not last long, though. Making sure to shove as many Avians away while moving toward the voting tents, the Spellblade cast his vote - to Brennia. Much of her was still unknown to the Winged Beast, and yet her will to lead was strong, her intent to further the Avians’ ways true. This, the Healer was willing to acknowledge. Enough for him to let aside the recall of a powerful spell and a weird night at the Library - yes, she knew a number of tales about the Blue best kept forgotten, but perhaps the time was ripe for the latter to re-enter Schezerade’s society in any case. A risk worth to be taken.
The final voters finish out the day just as dawn was shifting in the cold skies overhead and the volunteers begin counting the votes, but while everyone is occupied in gathering the ballots from the boxes a shifty eyed one stuffs their box with a bunch of pre punched ballots. A couple hours go by and the counting is finally over, but one volunteer looks at the stacks of parchment suspiciously as it made no sense, Brennia was a shoe in! Guess it’s all a matter of opinion, “deliver the winning news to Mister Flewm and the bad news to Miss Smyth…” The couriers are given the small scrolls of parchment and sent on their way.