kawa~ inspiration #133
Feb. 21st, 2006 11:17 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
annarti.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
yrae
Title~ What's Your Government Doing For You?
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still mine
Notes~ kawa~ 133. Another one of those ideas that's been sitting in my spoiler book, waiting to be written. This one since July 5 last year.
~ ~ ~
Nol stuck his head into the archery range, certain that at least one of the Own would be there. “Garuk?”
The archer let his arrow loose at the target before turning around, eyebrows raised first in question, then surprise. “Official,” he commented.
Nolryn spread his arms loosely and looked down at his royal uniform with a shrug. “Majesty’s got me doing some official business in the city tonight. Can you let the boys know I’ll be late to the ‘Thrai?”
“How late?” Garuk asked, crossing his legs and resting one hand on his hip.
The prince shrugged again. “I have no idea. I refuse to let it go for more than a few hours though.”
Garuk nodded. “Sure. What are you doing exactly?”
“You’ll see when I get to the ‘Thrai,” Nolryn answered, turning on his heel and waving goodbye. He sighed heavily and groaned as he mooched over to the stables. The stable hands had already saddled Mongrel for him, and the painted stallion seemed uncharacteristically placid this evening. Placid by Mongrel’s standards, at least.
He rode down to the docks and set the stallion into a walk, eyeing the various riverside pubs that were scattered among the tangled ropes that passed for a road system in this part of the city. It was a good enough place to start, since he’d theoretically be able to find all types of people at the docks.
Figuring they all looked much the same anyway, he swung down from the saddle and tied Mongrel to the railing that ran along the outside walls all over the docks, specifically for tying up camels.
He took in a deep breath before brushing the canvas door of the rather modest pub aside, but he didn’t immediately attract quite as much attention as he’d expected. It wasn’t as bad as a southern districts pub—there was no way Majesty could make him go down there for the purpose he had in mind—but it was certainly rough enough that his official royal uniform stuck out like a sore thumb. The patrons near the door had at least started mumbling their confused exclamations.
“Best get this over with,” Nol muttered to himself, then picked an unoccupied chair to stand up on, stuck his blank sheet of parchment under one arm and clapped a few times to gain the attention of the tables at the rear of the pub with their backs to him.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “I’m sure it doesn’t take much to guess that I’m Prince Nolryn. His Majesty and I wish to learn of any issues or problems that may be facing the average Raykinian. The minister for roads and transports can tell us that one particular street needs paving, but you are the people that use the streets. The minister for agriculture can tell us that grain stores are high this year, but you are the people who actually farm it.
“The ministers can only tell us so much; only you can fill in the gaps they miss. So,” he shook out his stick of charcoal, preparing to write, “Talk to me.”
The pub’s patrons were silent for a moment, then they began to murmur quietly amongst themselves.
One man seated at the bar rased his empty beer glass. “I want cheaper beer!” he shouted enthusiastically.
“Free beer!” a woman added, drawing a cheer from the other drinkers.
Nol shook his head with a wry grin, but scrawled “cheaper beer” onto his parchment anyway. He’d expected that one to come up. “Don’t we all?” he agreed.
“Donkeys!” another man shouted, this time drawing laughter from the crowd.
Nol paused, his charcoal hovering above the paper as he raised his eyebrows quizzically at the farmer who had raised the suggestion.
“Donkeys?”
The farmer shrugged. “Well, camels are too stubborn for my liking, but we can’t have horses to plough the fields, so donkeys are the next best thing. Like a small horse with big ears.”
The prince grimaced as he thought this over. “More like a small camel with no hump. They’re just as stubborn, but you can’t ride them to town. Oh, and they’ll wake you up at all hours of the night.” He shook his head, half to emphasise his point, half remembering many a night in Kazin when he’d been woken up by the deafening “hee-haw” of a donkey. “You’d be best to stay with your camels.”
The farmer’s shoulders slouched as his dreams of owning an almost-horse were shattered.
One woman up the back who’d been playing dagger toss folded her arms, a smug expression on her face. “I’d like to see your coin being spent on us rather than your imperial self.” The patrons nodded and voiced their agreement.
Nol blinked slowly. He’d been expecting this too. “You mean my coin, or treasury coin?”
Half the pub snorted derisively and exchanged shrewd glances. “There’s a difference?” one smart-aleck near the front commented.
“Yes,” Nol said with strained patience over the snickers of the crowd, “There is a difference. I’m paid with treasury coin—hey! I’m paid with treasury coin, the same as everyone else who works at the palace. Chefs, army personnel, healers, launders, masseurs, the Own… everyone who works at the palace is paid with treasury coin.”
The snickers were sounding more disgusted now. “You expect us to believe you’re paid the same as the launders and the chefs?”
The prince took a deep breath to stop himself from visibly losing his temper before he answered. If it was just one person, fair enough, but to a whole pub, with his official royal clothes on, it probably wouldn’t be the best idea. “No, I’m paid the same as the fourteen other guys in the Own, not a copper more.”
They weren’t convinced.
“Being in the Own pays more than enough on its own; I don’t need anymore, so that stays in the treasury, and goes back to you.”
“How generous of you,” someone in the front muttered, but Nol ignored them. He wasn’t here to defend the Own’s pay yet again, and he didn’t trust himself to keep a level head in arguing about it either.
“Any other issues?” He tried not to ask this through gritted teeth.
“Why are you still a bachelor?”
“Yeah, wasn’t your hrai-dani two years ago?”
Nol couldn’t help slapping the sheet of parchment against his forehead as he swore quietly. This was going to be a long, long night.
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still mine
Notes~ kawa~ 133. Another one of those ideas that's been sitting in my spoiler book, waiting to be written. This one since July 5 last year.
Nol stuck his head into the archery range, certain that at least one of the Own would be there. “Garuk?”
The archer let his arrow loose at the target before turning around, eyebrows raised first in question, then surprise. “Official,” he commented.
Nolryn spread his arms loosely and looked down at his royal uniform with a shrug. “Majesty’s got me doing some official business in the city tonight. Can you let the boys know I’ll be late to the ‘Thrai?”
“How late?” Garuk asked, crossing his legs and resting one hand on his hip.
The prince shrugged again. “I have no idea. I refuse to let it go for more than a few hours though.”
Garuk nodded. “Sure. What are you doing exactly?”
“You’ll see when I get to the ‘Thrai,” Nolryn answered, turning on his heel and waving goodbye. He sighed heavily and groaned as he mooched over to the stables. The stable hands had already saddled Mongrel for him, and the painted stallion seemed uncharacteristically placid this evening. Placid by Mongrel’s standards, at least.
He rode down to the docks and set the stallion into a walk, eyeing the various riverside pubs that were scattered among the tangled ropes that passed for a road system in this part of the city. It was a good enough place to start, since he’d theoretically be able to find all types of people at the docks.
Figuring they all looked much the same anyway, he swung down from the saddle and tied Mongrel to the railing that ran along the outside walls all over the docks, specifically for tying up camels.
He took in a deep breath before brushing the canvas door of the rather modest pub aside, but he didn’t immediately attract quite as much attention as he’d expected. It wasn’t as bad as a southern districts pub—there was no way Majesty could make him go down there for the purpose he had in mind—but it was certainly rough enough that his official royal uniform stuck out like a sore thumb. The patrons near the door had at least started mumbling their confused exclamations.
“Best get this over with,” Nol muttered to himself, then picked an unoccupied chair to stand up on, stuck his blank sheet of parchment under one arm and clapped a few times to gain the attention of the tables at the rear of the pub with their backs to him.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “I’m sure it doesn’t take much to guess that I’m Prince Nolryn. His Majesty and I wish to learn of any issues or problems that may be facing the average Raykinian. The minister for roads and transports can tell us that one particular street needs paving, but you are the people that use the streets. The minister for agriculture can tell us that grain stores are high this year, but you are the people who actually farm it.
“The ministers can only tell us so much; only you can fill in the gaps they miss. So,” he shook out his stick of charcoal, preparing to write, “Talk to me.”
The pub’s patrons were silent for a moment, then they began to murmur quietly amongst themselves.
One man seated at the bar rased his empty beer glass. “I want cheaper beer!” he shouted enthusiastically.
“Free beer!” a woman added, drawing a cheer from the other drinkers.
Nol shook his head with a wry grin, but scrawled “cheaper beer” onto his parchment anyway. He’d expected that one to come up. “Don’t we all?” he agreed.
“Donkeys!” another man shouted, this time drawing laughter from the crowd.
Nol paused, his charcoal hovering above the paper as he raised his eyebrows quizzically at the farmer who had raised the suggestion.
“Donkeys?”
The farmer shrugged. “Well, camels are too stubborn for my liking, but we can’t have horses to plough the fields, so donkeys are the next best thing. Like a small horse with big ears.”
The prince grimaced as he thought this over. “More like a small camel with no hump. They’re just as stubborn, but you can’t ride them to town. Oh, and they’ll wake you up at all hours of the night.” He shook his head, half to emphasise his point, half remembering many a night in Kazin when he’d been woken up by the deafening “hee-haw” of a donkey. “You’d be best to stay with your camels.”
The farmer’s shoulders slouched as his dreams of owning an almost-horse were shattered.
One woman up the back who’d been playing dagger toss folded her arms, a smug expression on her face. “I’d like to see your coin being spent on us rather than your imperial self.” The patrons nodded and voiced their agreement.
Nol blinked slowly. He’d been expecting this too. “You mean my coin, or treasury coin?”
Half the pub snorted derisively and exchanged shrewd glances. “There’s a difference?” one smart-aleck near the front commented.
“Yes,” Nol said with strained patience over the snickers of the crowd, “There is a difference. I’m paid with treasury coin—hey! I’m paid with treasury coin, the same as everyone else who works at the palace. Chefs, army personnel, healers, launders, masseurs, the Own… everyone who works at the palace is paid with treasury coin.”
The snickers were sounding more disgusted now. “You expect us to believe you’re paid the same as the launders and the chefs?”
The prince took a deep breath to stop himself from visibly losing his temper before he answered. If it was just one person, fair enough, but to a whole pub, with his official royal clothes on, it probably wouldn’t be the best idea. “No, I’m paid the same as the fourteen other guys in the Own, not a copper more.”
They weren’t convinced.
“Being in the Own pays more than enough on its own; I don’t need anymore, so that stays in the treasury, and goes back to you.”
“How generous of you,” someone in the front muttered, but Nol ignored them. He wasn’t here to defend the Own’s pay yet again, and he didn’t trust himself to keep a level head in arguing about it either.
“Any other issues?” He tried not to ask this through gritted teeth.
“Why are you still a bachelor?”
“Yeah, wasn’t your hrai-dani two years ago?”
Nol couldn’t help slapping the sheet of parchment against his forehead as he swore quietly. This was going to be a long, long night.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-21 04:55 am (UTC)(He's not married cos War won't commit)no subject
Date: 2006-02-21 04:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-21 04:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-21 09:34 pm (UTC)