"A mayor is a power," Hark sighs from their seat on the windowledge, "And London desperately needs power. It’s either this or ask the Prime Minister on the Surface. Gladstone may have been able, but Rosebery is useless and Salisbury is ancient. Much better to have someone down here who can act. Still, one is beginning to fear that none of the candidates truly care for poor London."
Nearby Hark’s plus-one is having no such fears. Hebediah positively bombards all who will listen with praise for the bishop. "…Any chap who can smack a ball for six against Summerset’s finest surely deserves the vote! Not to mention his tiger-wrestling prowess or his singular ability to twist the laws of biology into a lamarckian model! Mayor? The man’s a saint!" edited by Hark DeGaul on 7/16/2016
"There might be power," the Mirthless Colonist coldly expounds, "But in this particular case I’d say a mayor won’t contribute any significant amount of it."
"Face it, if the surface world wanted anything to do with us, they would’ve reached out already. We’re stuck down here managing this damp and dark cavern, and the only significant contributions we have to the world above are the terrifying tales that leave this place. Devils, monsters, men of stone, a Zee so great it would have to stretch partways to Russia, but can somehow only be reached through the Cumaean channel?" The mirhless Colonist mirthlessly chuckles. "I wouldn’t believe it either, were it no that the bandages on my self occassionally remind me of these things. No, we’re a myth at best to the topsiders. And any power that London has is power confined to the Neath."
“I like the bishop. That’s why I won’t vote for him. I fear politics is not where he’s best and would only weaken him. Politics is not for saints. I due to admit I find it odd that the PM doesn’t have more open representatives here. We have for more then just terrifying stories for the surface - if nothing else, there is mushroom wine.”
Amelia simply stares at Hebediah without commenting before focusing on the discussion. "Don kno bout being completely locked out from ta surface," she comments to the Colonist. "Thar be many o’ news spreadin’ bout ways ta get what ya miss from ta surface. Be it from experts tha haff found ways to make it wiff little material or…" She looks around. "Bit o’ illegal trade. Can’t say ‘ow anyone can manage tha wiff tha way fings work down ‘ere. But yer right. I can’t fink o’ ways London has gained any power since it’s fall. Mayor could be a start o’ somefing. Just naught sure what."
She shrugs before looking to Dirae. "Aye, best fight anyone can ever hope ta gain. But I fink politics isn’t worth ‘is time. He’s a boomin’ voice naught a powerful stand, if’n ya kno what I be sayin."
"The crowd loves her," the Colonist coldly states, "She’s got the poise of a messiah and promises the lower classes everything and more."
"You’d think," he considers his words carefully, "You’d think that an earthly lady like herself could do no evil."
"But I’ve met her once," He continues, "I went through a lot of trouble to gleam information on those nuns, and eventually I managed to worm myself into an audience with her." If the Colonist was solemn before, he’s certainly at his most funereal now. "That woman is nothing if not cold, I could see it in her eyes. She’s in it for herself, and herself only."
The Colonist is silent for a while, but continues just before one’d think he was done talking.
"Of course, nihil sub sole novum. She wouldn’t be the first to betray others for the sake of her own interests… or the last. What worries me, is the power that being a mayor would grant her personally." Once again, the Colonist chuckles. "She’s got an eye for secrets, and a mind for blackmail and scandal. It doesn’t matter whether she’ll give the classes what she’s promised, a lady with the kind of power and backing like she has could do the kind of damage the anarchists wish they could do."
"Ye make it sound like Jenny be tha next Gracious Widow wiff that talk," Amelia responds with a chuckle. "Jenny be blackmailin’, ta Contrarian seems like a puppet, and ta Bishop seems to be played by those he loathes. Seems like what we can expect down 'ere ta me. Whether she takes ‘er word ta laws naught my issue. Anyone wiff a podium will do tha. Better if she uses tha kind o’ strength ta blackmail tha higher ups in tha chain. But I can’t really see tha fer alarm when tha masters do tha same year round anyway." She shrugs and turns to Dirae.
"Thas tha mystery ta me. Mayors above tend ta govern a town. Down ‘ere though… seems a bit o’ a tricky fing. We already haff tha Masters governin’ trade 'n tha like. 'Ow will a mayor make a difference?"
While everyone is busy discussing the candidates, an impeccable dressed gentleman with a charming smile enters. No one dares to question if he belongs there or not. He is just too handsome and sure of himself.
No one sees him pocketing everything he can from the nibbles trays, with swift sleights of hand. edited by Professor Strix on 7/16/2016
“The Masters will doubtless try to pocket the mayor, but they can’t shut them out completely,” Hark mutters with a wave of a hand, “The mayor must have a say or else it will look to the public like the Masters don’t care. Of course they don’t, but they still want to continue trading and not have to put down any more riots, so they’ll make it look like the mayor is doing more than they actually are. That at least gives the nominee some wiggle room.” They reach for a canape, and growl when they find their plate empty.
“It’s not about the power, old bean!” Hebediah tells Dirae, so forcefully that the charming gentleman nearby fears his eardrums might shatter, “It’s the principle of the thing! I dare say the bishop won’t be able to attempt his plans while in office, but a vote shows the support he has! Each man and woman is a soldier to the cause and all that!”
"Suppose it be more o’ a stake ta see who can wiggle frough 'n get work done than." Amelia doesn’t sound too convinced by that. She turns away and tries to make for another drink when she spots a gent hovering about the trays. She shrugs and grabs some spored wine from a table before turning to the group.
"Tha be a bloody load o’ barnacles," she retorts to Hebediah. "A votes naught just ta show support, it means change and wantin’ ta haff someone represent ya. If’n ya vote fer every bloody bloke ya loved, ye wouldn’t go nowhere but down."
"Bah! The city’s as complacent as an overfed cat!" The mirthless Colonist’s usually hoarse and whisperish voice is raised into a somewhat more understandable tone. "The only support one has is the one that he can buy off or, barring that, the one that’s zealous and fanatical enough to be of no use in the first place."
He counts on his fingers. "The bishop has his damn Clematis league, spirited hooligans; Sinning Jenny has her nuns, and I’ve spoken with them, they’re not the bright kind, just the pious and violent one; and the Contrarian has the anarchists and the parts of the Tomb-Colonies that haven’t drank themselves into a stupor yet. Any vote that didn’t come from one of those three groups doesn’t mean anything, especially if it’s from high society."
The Mirthless Colonist pauses briefly to recollect himself and to sample the spore-toffees. "And even then, the Mayor will be a puppet, for ceremonial purposes at best, or as a way for the masters to get more pull from the people at worst."
Spore toffee is a tough treat, and the Colonist quickly flushes it down with more Black Wings Absinthe.
"Don’t worry about the alcohol, all it does is keep me preserved. Have any of you ever seen a riot at the Wolfstack docks? Fires exploits his workers and then sends Neddy men after them when they go for the sticks and the stones. They never win, but it’s good that they at least know they’re being exploited. Imagine what it’d be like with Jenny lying to everyone’s face that there’s no abuse, that there’s no inequality. Keep the lower classes complacent, that’s what the mayor will do."
Suddenly, the Colonist is something that approaches cheery.
"Say, all this talk about puppeteering and our lives being in someone else’s hands has reminded me, the Clay Puppeteer is performing down the street. Is anyone interested in watching a performance or two with me? My bandages so thirst for a taste of their beloved Parabola." edited by Infinity Simulacrum on 7/16/2016 edited by Infinity Simulacrum on 7/16/2016
The Dapper Escapist smiles apologetically when The gentleman berates him. He returns one canape as a token excuse. Them, he nonchalantly leans in a window, ostensively checking the beautiful women there. He doesn’t flinch when a voice comes from the outside.
“So?”
“She’s not here. Open your hands, I have something for you.”
A feminine hand appears from the shadows. The young man puts all the good he managed to out up his sleeve in this hand.
“You were stealing food?!”
“It’s not stealing when it’s free.” He shrugs. “When did you eat for the last time?”
“…Right, point taken. Keep you eyes open.”
The magician nods. He takes a canape out of his hat and nibbles it, thinking.
"I’ll pass," Amelia says curtly. "Not one fer shows lest its more than just watchin’ some blokes on stage." Or rather she’s not too keen on watching her fellow thieves work the crowd unless she’s aiding or a part of it. "Though always wondered why ta Colonies favored ta Contrarian. I kno why ta nuns flutter ta Jenny 'n tha Bishop haffs ta league. But tha Colonies just boggles me a bit. Seems an odd fing ta me." She shrugs and downs the drink in her hand. "Suppose odder fings haff happened."
"That’s because," the Mirthless Colonist quickly answers as he puts on his overcoat, "The Contrarian’s playing into exactly what a Tomb-Colonist wants. Venderbight and all the other little swats are terribly dull places to live, Tomb-Colonists live for entertainment, they drink poison and spar recklessly to escape the eternal boredom. You’d see why a contrarian fellow like the, er, Contrarian, who seeks conflict for his own enjoyment would play into the hands of us Colonists." With that, he grabs his cane and walks off. "I might be back later, but I’m not certain. There’s many thing London has to offer, and I’d rather not dawdle at a single place for too long." edited by Infinity Simulacrum on 7/17/2016
William Cubitt, who owned half of Wolfstack Docks and was reigning mayor when he was dragged to court in a messy affair involving the right to establish multiple ferries (he was against monopolies in this regard, largely because it wasn’t his). He did win though.
(Sorry, didn’t realise this was an RP thread. Feel free to ignore. 's true though.) edited by Teaspoon on 7/18/2016 edited by Teaspoon on 7/18/2016
[quote=Teaspoon]William Cubitt, who owned half of Wolfstack Docks and was reigning mayor when he was dragged to court in a messy affair involving the right to establish multiple ferries (he was against monopolies in this regard, largely because it wasn’t his). He did win though.
(Sorry, didn’t realise this was an RP thread. Feel free to ignore. 's true though.) edited by Teaspoon on 7/18/2016 edited by Teaspoon on 7/18/2016[/quote]
OOC: It’s the best answer we have so far.