[R9, Morning, Civic Assembly] Equations [Ty]

knitting

“Msrah Mi Mulugeta, I say, have you been brawling drunkenly in taverns in The Gripe like your constituents on your evenings off?” asked the man with a pleased sort of smirk. “Ea, when one says he is preparing for a fight come election season it is rare to see it done so literally as you appear to.”

The rest of the elephants in attendance laughed at this. Msrah forced himself to smile bashfully and chuckle along with them. No gritting teeth or clenched fist here as he shook his head, “Yaka, Addisu, I am afraid the story is not nearly so daring or exciting as your imagination seems to suggest. A simple accident involving a loose paving stone.” He sounded eminently convincing of course and none of the Elephants would press him on it. All the same, Msrah had hoped that the split on his lip and the faint purpling of the dark skin around his deep turquoise eyes would pass unnoticed. Better to let them ask him outright though, he supposed, than whisper to themselves and construct elaborate and fantastical scandals the moment his back was turned and he was out of earshot.

There would be rumbles, naturally, oh yes. But the trip and the fall was the line he would stick to. Say it over and over until he believed it himself, even. If his fellow politicians had nothing better to do in this place than concoct stories about innocuous bruisings then they had no place in the business of running the city. Hulali’s sake. Hulali damn them all to drown in the floods. Msrah smiled his bright white smile and made his excuses as he made for his office.

Usually Msrah found the walk to the bowels of the civic assembly somewhat disheartening, a reminder of the ladders that were yet to climb between him and the thing he desired most. Respect and power, in his party, in this building and throughout the city. Today though, he was glad of it. Glad to be away from aside glances and whatever gossip his imagined in his paranoia to be forming. And better yet, as far away from home and that mad bitch of a wife as he could possibly get.

The party was still fresh in his mind and nothing he could do would shake it.

A room filled up with his father’s colleagues and other such influential people. Not an official Bull event naturally, but his father had leaned that way since he was a boy so there had been many party members there as well as conservative leaning business men. Though the occasion was as innocent as a precursor to Turamgrhit, simply an annual party held in the spirit of the holiday marking the anniversary of the start of one of his Father’s more prudent business dealings, Msrah had of course been in attendance with other motives in mind. As his father had bade him.

Schmooze, secure a few donations for the party with Father’s rich friends and the higher ups would smile kindly on him in the way that Hulali smiled kindly on the land in the flood season, bringing with him the promise of fertility in the new year. He’d appeared in his finery, as dashing as he had been as a student if not even better. Wearing his looks in the way that a fine wine aged. Chione, his wife, had been beautiful, elegant and jeweled as she held her graceful island neck high. And when she looked at him, she was dead behind the eyes. With only the faint curl of hatred present, like a maggot writing through a corpse.

Chione in her dress snaked all through his memory. Chione with her hands around the champagne glass. Chione laughing bitterly and then….

No. He couldn't think on it further, couldn't relive the rest of the night here. It would only get him riled up once more. Filled with an all consuming rage.

She’d gone too far last night. Too far. It felt as though something had snapped, finally, after the party. Felt as though that something was now broken beyond repair.

As if their marriage wasn’t broken enough already.

Msrah waited until he was safely behind the door of his office before he sat in his desk heavily and massaged his temples. “A coffee if you please, Gelila, do'mea” he bade his assistant. “As black as the night.” As black as his mood. As black as his wife's heart.

Rush

Gelila had just returned to Msrah's office from this and there. She had taken to his schedule rather easily. The various businesses he preferred and certain people he would not do business with. She had become his shadow and made sure his life was churning smoothly. At least his work life.

Hearing the door open startled her. She looked over at the ticking clock and quickly became confused. His meeting was supposed to last another hour, but here he was entering the office. His face sagged and he was obviously not in the best of moods. The meeting he attended was a part meeting so it couldn't have been political conflict. No, this looked deeper. Possibly dealing with Futo again? 

She had heard many stories in the past few days about the parties Chief Whip. None surprised her; not after what the enormous man had said to her the morning she was sent to Msrah. She had recently realized, despite being involved in the party for years, that the top level Bull Elephant members were almost as despicable as their counterparts throughout the Assembly. Sure, they wanted a Mugroba for Mugrobi, but they wanted power first. Gelila couldn't stand idly by and watch, but she had to it seemed. At least for now. 

She saw something in Msrah. Something that could change the face of the party, change the face of Thul Ka, and possibly even change the face of Mugroba. She was glad to be under his tutelage, even if he didn't know it. She was watching him, reading every move he made. She saw things the others wouldn't or couldn't. And this was just three days in. After months, she would be the person he trusted most and that's just what she planned.

"Already was brewing some for myself, sir. It'll just be a moment," she said smiling. "You look like you need some."

knitting

"And what delights do I have to look forward to today?" he murmured flicking through a paper on his desk. He touched his lip idly and winced as the wound stung afresh. So close to election day he prayed that it would heal in a timely manner. Bruises and beatings were the last things that he needed when touring through the city. But then again, how could he be expected to win an election, to make people love him when he still hadn't quite managed it with one young woman. His wife of all people. How could he be expected to take charge of a neighborhood and maybe even one day an entire party when he couldn't even keep his own household straight. 

The sounds of screaming in the bathroom filled up his memory, Chione holding the door knob pulled from it's place, brandishing it like a weapon, panting with her curls come loose from it's silk binding as she snarled. Divorce, she spat at him. Disgusting whore, he countered, degenerate freak. A stalemate. His entire marriage was a stalemate. Msrah put his hand instead on his temple and watched Gelila preparing the coffee instead. "Busy time starting in the next few weeks," he said by way of conversation only. "Have you done much for a real election campaign since you joined the party?" 

He tried to think back to himself at her age. Full of life and hope, all wide eyed and overflowing with wonderment at the inner workings of the political machine. Would have been nice to go back there, to view this place with fresh eyes once more. Would have been nicer still to go back to being the free young man he'd once been. And then, quite suddenly and without thinking he added;

"Are you married, Gelila?" 

Rush

She was about to answer his first question when the second was added abruptly. Why would he even bring up marriage? It didn't make sense. It had nothing to do with the current conversation. Something must have been on his mind. Gelila wasn't going to push it though. He was her boss and she was his assistant. She would answer his questions and do no more.

"I am not married, sir," she said with a small smile. "My parents had planned on betrothing me to another merchant family's son, but my decision to be involved in politics instead of trade threw a wrench into the machine, as it were." She groaned, slightly, for using one of the Pipefitter's much used idioms.

"And, on the subject of elections," she said broadening her smile a bit more, "I've never worked one, but I have read plenty of literature on the matter. I believe I can help tremendously. I am here to help you, sir. In any way I can."

knitting

"Mmm yes, I think it is better sometimes to stay unmarried in this business," he murmured to himself, a signature on a piece of paper, a stamp of approval to some new proposal arrangement or other. It deserved his full attention he knew that, as did the woman next to him but he was finding it slightly difficult. The girl, he supposed seemed genial enough. It was difficult, he supposed to negotiate a relationship with one's superior within the party as a woman. He'd encountered young upstarts and aides  who had immediately tried to become his very best friend in the hopes that it would somehow bump them up a little further even though he himself was hardly the head of the totem pole. Boys who would ask around and find out what sweets their superiors enjoyed at their desks, what sports they played and when so that they could engineer a casual meet up and a game.

 Quite frankly Msrah had been like that, but outside of work the genders did not mix. What interested a man, as far as he could tell, was of little interest to a woman and vice versa. It was slightly unfair he supposed, but that was the way of things. 

"You've read literature about elections?" he looked up at Gelila, a serious look in his midnight blue eyes as he made it clear that he was slightly skeptical of the merits of literature over that of real life experience. "And you can help tremendously. Just as you are one of the finest note takers in all of Mugroba?" here a slight grin- he was rather fond of the girl's sense of hyperbole. It reminded him of market traders. "Ea, go on then," Msrah sat back in his chair and opened his arms wide.

 "How would you help me? Pretend for a moment you were my campaign manager and tell me from the top of your head my best strategy for re-election?" His smile and his tone was playful but in all seriousness he was keen to learn more about the girl's political knowledge and talents beyond simply writing notes and fetching coffee. 

Rush

Msrah was a sly man and she respected that. He didn't get to wear he was in life, a representative to the Assembly, by not being cautious. But his comments made her stomach knot up and fill up with butterflies at the same time. He was testing her. Though, she was starting to think everything the man directed at her was a test in some way or another. This was obviously a real test. He wanted to see what type of political mind dwelt under her mass of tangled blonde hair. And she would oblige. 

"First," she said, sitting in front of Msrah's desk, "we make you a man of people." She smiled. A common phrase among every man with political dreams, but it seemed to be a lot easier said than done. "You represent the Gripe in the Assembly. Despite my love for this city and country, I will not deny that these least savory parts of our population call this place home. We need to appeal to them. But appealing to them wholeheartedly might hurt your political career if you ever hope to gain a different seat or impress any of the more well of citizens." 

She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. This was going better than expected. Her words were flowing out of her like the rivers flowing through the city. But she couldn't come across to eager. That would show more than she wanted. He couldn't know her true goals. Not yet, at least. 

"We need to find a nice in between for you, it seems. Especially if you want to have a future after this election. And we wouldn't want you getting too messy. Even the voters of the Gripe like to see their representatives have a bit more dignity than they do," she said, smiling softly. 

"We'll need to have you do something that will keep the higher up members of the government respecting you, all while making the people in the Gripe think you're one of them . . . even if you are an arata. And to do that, I'm going to need to learn a bit more about you."

knitting

"So I must please both groups at once," said Msrah, pulling himself up from his chair and striding around the desk to lean on it. "But therein is an issue, is it not? Moderate policies do not mark out Bull Elephants, surely you know this by now? One could make the argument that wishy washy politics and fence sitting does not make for a strong impacts in the minds of the voters. Aim to please one group and you risk isolating the other it is true, but by aiming to pander to both runs the risk of appealing to neither." 

From his tone it was hopefully clear that Msrah intended to engage the woman in a debate more than anything as opposed to simply shutting her down. It was the way of politics of course that one needed to argue their point expertly, to stick to it and execute perfectly thought through answers to rebuttals and arguments.Despite arguing against her he did incline his head once he was finished and laughed thoughtfully.

"It's a good idea, ea, I will give you that. So long as you had the means by which to do so. Solutions," he said, not a little serious as he reached a lesson that he was keen to impart. "It is one thing to have an idea but to craft it into a workable solution is quite another. Solidify your speculation. Image is vital, in all things. What would you need to know about me, then, in order to pull off your remarkable feat of political tightrope walking, Gelila?"

Rush

He was good at this. Of course he was. You didn't get to be one of the youngest elected officials in Assembly history by not knowing how to play the game of politics. Knowing politics in theory, like Gelila did, was nothing compared to knowing it in practice. He truly did have so much to teach her. It would possibly be best for him to run his own campaign and she'd just fetch his coffee.

No, she thought, staring across the desk at Msrah. His dark skin was sleek and smooth. His navy blue eyes peered at her, waiting for her response. They were almost black and the line between his pupil and iris became blurred at points. These were the eyes of a man who would be famous someday. Eyes for the history books. 

Their gaze met and she looked down, gathering her thoughts. Sadly, no none came to her. Instead, it was like she became trapped in a labyrinth of geometric patterns. The polished stone floor had a pattern that stretched into the room from the outside hallway. It was an old pattern, something stretching back to an older era. Msrah's desk had a similar pattern on it. The desk must have been as old as the building, yet it looked brand new. It didn't even have any personal touches on it.

Finally, her mind came back to her. And she said the only thing that made sense at the moment. "Well, I believe I'd need to know . . . everything. What's your life story?" A small smirk appeared on her face.

knitting

It was odd to think that he'd thought she was shy to begin with. The more he listened to her talk and saw the gears going around in her head he could see that his new assistant was anything but. She moved past all of his teasing with an ease that surprised him and gave his question such careful thought as opposed to simply stammering through it. Pity that she was a girl, he thought errantly. She could have been on to something here at the party. No doubt though that she'd be bullied into some marriage before long though, even between all her talk of political machinations she would be. As his own wife had. How much easier though, he thought wistfully, his life might have turned out to be if she had been brave enough to say no to them to begin with. 

 "Yaka," said Msrah with a small shake of his head. "Yaka I do not think I will tell you my story." But he was smiling. By all accounts the room ought to have been stifling, old dark wood among old tiles in a shoe box enclosure where the air sat low and almost choking on the body, where little sun filtered through the small window and yet he felt a strange new jolt of energy. This was fun. More fun than backroom dealings and committee meetings. Though his father argued that he was born to be a politician, Msrah didn't sometimes wonder if what he wasn't born to be was a political candidate. Talking policy and spin and such was more his style and always would be he didn't doubt. 

"I'll give you the facts and it's for you to come up with the story," clapping his hands together stopped learning and stood, spinning around to look at Gelila, holding up one of his strong large fingers. "I was born thirty eight years ago right here in Thul Ka. Specifically in Cinnamon Hill. My father is a merchant, dealing in perfumes and soaps. He has been successful. My childhood was comfortable and I was educated well. I took the telling at seventeen and studied philosophy politics  and economics at Thul Amat and was on several sports teams." He was galvanised as he walked, a man who quite clearly had a flair for public speaking. Voice as clear as a bell and low and melodious as musical notes.

"I joined the party as a young man soon after my graduation and worked under several key members. From then I stood in an election four years ago and won. By a large majority." He flicked his nose as though remembering. "I have a daughter, Mekeela. She is six and as pretty as a seashell" and then, thinking annoyed of the cut on his lip. "I'm married. To Chione. An island woman. Have been for ten years."