Town Hall Meeting The Second

[winebar]

WHO: Everyone willing
WHAT: van Zieks trying to catherd, again, in order to Establish Law & Order.
WHEN: Sometime in the Summer between the various events.
WHERE: the forest, outside van Zieks' farm.
WARNINGS: chaos mostly, more will be added if needed.

[A week or so after the chaos of Hot or Not, each farm will recieve another missive from Barry Z himself, chief buzzkill, who clearly learned nothing from how things went last time. It reads as such;]

To All Parties Brought to the Island by the Harvest Goddess,

Tomorrow at 11AM sharp, please arrive at the location indicated on the map shown of the reverse of this document. The topic of discussion on the table is the potential establishment of some form of social contract and body of law. As before, I cannot force attendance, however, I would again hope everyone sees the benefit in being involved in this discussion.

Sincerely,
Lord Barok van Zieks, Esquire

[And again as before, there's a map on the back. This time leading one to van Zieks' residence, an orderly forest farm with a nice stable currently housing the horse van Zieks rode in on to make himself the boss of things, apparently.

At the time of the meeting, there are two tables that were clearly brought out from inside. There are... snacks? Van Zieks is not a chef, you will have these strawberries and fried mushrooms and you'll like it, I guess. There was an attempt. Van Zieks himself is still dressing in his less fancy- but still absurd for this weather- three piece suit.]

Than you all for coming. I understand that the topic I have put on the table may seem... needlessly dire to some, however, in the case that something does happen, it would be far better for us to already have a system in place. I do not think we currently require any sort of active police force, but rather that we should have some sort of agreed set of behavior in place, and then elected individuals to adjudicate any potential disagreements.

As far as a social contract, on Mr. Trahearne's advisement, it would follow thusly; [He pulls out another paper to read from.]
- Do not cause unsolicited physical harm to one other.
- Do not harm or otherwise disrupt another person's farm.
- Do not damage, destroy, or unlawfully take possession of another person's property.
- Do not vandalize or otherwise disrupt communal spaces for us or the townspeople.
- Do not behave in such a manner that would elicit broad reprisal against the group as a whole from the townspeople or the goddess.

If anyone has any other thoughts, feel free to share them. I feel that this is basic enough that even those of you more prone to... rebellion can agree to it.

The second matter is to discuss how to handle if someone does break these rules. While I have made clear before my prior experience with the law, I understand that a system like this can only function if there is trust in those enforcing it. Thus I think that the authority should be given to whoever the group as a whole feels most comfortable entrusting it to. So I open the floor to nominations for that responsibility.

Finally, I'd like to make clear why this is necessary. I have spoken to the goddess, and as long as it does not directly interfere with her and her means, she has no intent of intervening if something were to happen to one of us. We are not her "people," the residents of the town are. Therefore, it is imperative that we work together to protect ourselves.

[And now he will step back and hope that some productive discussion happens.]

Comments

[sluice]

A vampire? [ Like some fairytale creature? Tartaglia's all eyes and ears now, his drink left untouched on the table. ] Tell me more.

[ Are you a vampire, Mishka? What truly are vampires, even? ]

[yourlenore]

( heheh )

I'm not one myself, but they run the country. They can't go out in daylight, so I've heard - which is why they thrive so well in a country without any. Have you heard of them? Blood-drinkers, seducers - creatures that wear human skin to walk among them... Well, the populace is their eternal dinner, so it is what it is.

[sluice]

[ There's a whole lot to unpack here. The cinching point lies just ahead, though, while Childe contemplates places in Teyvat utterly devoid of natural light. Enkanomiya, the Chasm, and the Abyss, were all either devoid of life or overflowing with darkness, but this is something he's never encountered. It's a bit of a reoccurring theme as of late. ]

I haven't. [ Nothing like this, anyways, stuff that better belongs in storybooks. ] What does that make you?

[ Eternal dinner? ]

[yourlenore]

Vampiric property on loan. Perhaps?

( HANDWAVES... In that looseygoosey drunk way. )

My blood isn't - wasn't drinkable, so I have little use as herd. That would leave me, then, to die - but I was taken up by new masters, and so, here I am.

[sluice]

Seems you have some experience with falling under the command of one keeper or another. [ Going away to belong to someone else? Tartaglia smiles haphazardly in the curl of his fingers, unrelieved. Sticking to the roof of the mouth and the back of the teeth is all the sentiment in him. ] My master would never allow me to lower my guard, even in sleep. She'd scold me viciously, and then we'd have to spar. Several times, I thought I'd be slain by her hand.

My new one lets me take the day off, as opportunity allows.

[ A nice change of pace! ]

[yourlenore]

( He raises an eyebrow, both intrigued by Childe's previous circumstance, and the general similarity of their own. Always nice to meet someone else on a leash.

Still, he laughs. )

You, as well. ( To the keeper remark. ) Perhaps it is by the hand of your past master that the foundations of the technique grew so exceptional? Suffering is sometimes a necessary thing.

( Like, yeah, that sounds awful, but he can marvel at skill in battle when he sees it. )

I cannot say my current employer is as generous with yours with time off, but they cannot push me around so much, now that my skill makes me less disposable. On occasion, I can delegate to my men instead. I weed out incompetents often enough - they can usually manage things that are not important enough.

I suppose this is the same for any organization, however.

( If he were a full-time accountant, he'd probably be saying the same things! Such as it is. )

[sluice]

Well, business is business. The higher up you go, the more privileges and renown you'll gain. You become valuable. [ Indispensable? ] Something like that.

[ Warm to the touch, Tartaglia's acting so cold. His head tilts lower than the drink after he's taken another corrosive swallow, indulging in the heady burn. ]

Where I'm from, strength equates to usefulness. It's the only way to remain in good graces... though it hardly matters what anyone else thinks.

[ Most people just aren't that special. ]

There's no end to what I long for. I guess you'd find me insatiable, Mishka.

[yourlenore]

Sounds near what I'm used to. You either sink or swim, yes? Even if you must drown the others about you.

( He thumbs the rim of his glass, a little too deep into his cups to really realize its affect on him. A problem, for someone with effectively no tolerance.

He lets what Childe says hang cool in the air between them, for a moment. )

Do you wish to fight again? Your desire seems a gaping maw, and I can't imagine I satisfy you; still, you might like one of the tricks I've regained, just to pass the time.

[sluice]

Aren't I lucky? You're kind to me today.

[ As if that wasn't already the case? It should elicit more distrust, but he's mellowed out from the liquor, waving the matter away with a languid hand. He craves attention and feeds off of bloodlust, of course he'd lose sight of the grander picture with a sixth of his mind dissolved in alcohol.

But Tartaglia hasn't lost his touch, even when ceding to another sip. ]

You're welcome to try. I'll take whatever you're willing to give. [ A fight, a trick, a cross between the two. When he sets the glass down, his smile is lit up, playing at the corners of his mouth. Playing at joviality, when he only concerns himself with how to devour the strong. ] ... I can't imagine what would satisfy you.

[yourlenore]

I'm always kind.

( In general, to everyone? To Childe, in particular? Unclear. Not that it really matters, anyway. The way he flits about his words always seems a little insincere - not to be deceptive, so much as he is, insincere, by nature, whenever he presents himself as anything but an encounter in the woods.

He doesn't lust for battle, maybe, the way Childe does; violence is simply his nature. Stretching skin from pole to pole to posture as a proper person does not change the thing he is. He wonders if Tartaglia is the same - he had felt different, in nuance, when they fought.

Not like him precisely, but still some neighbor. In some way Mishka envies him— how wholly he throws himself into his wants. )

The thing I want...

( The insects writhe beneath his skin, impatient, as ever, but sharply contained. His teeth scrapes against the glass with how his sip lingers in his mouth, not so much thinking but moving through flickers of liminal feeling. )

... I don't know. Or... I guess, I do know how to go about finding it, but I'm avoiding it. ( He says lightly - easily - even if this thing they refer to is the worst thing he can think of. ) I wouldn't come back from it, you know. All I'd want to do is harm.

( If he just let himself be the thing he is - he would not be satisfied, but he would be on the path to it. How long has he wrestled with that need; kept it firmly leashed? )

Hey, is your master the reason you're the way you are? ( Insatiable, violent, strange... Childe can take his pick of implication. ) Or have you always, always been like this?

[sluice]

No one would keep me company if I was really so awful.

[ Did someone else do this to him? No. Tartaglia's a mess of selfishness and immaturity and overwhelming bias by his own hand. ]

I know I can be hard to be around. Maybe it's in my nature to be difficult? I'm not a nice person.

[ Filth pollutes him to such an extent that he can't ever hope to come clean. Even when scrubbing his hands raw, that feeling won't wash away. Whatever wrongness exists in him is something he can no longer correct. ]

... Ah, it's just too bad! Once you let go, I'm sure you'd have fun. [ If he could converse with the rotting infestation of bugs hiding under Mishka's skin, he'd confide in them the joy of thwarting death again and again. ] The world isn't so generous that everything can be freely given. People can't afford to be soft-hearted when pursuing what's precious to them.

[ Running his finger over the rim of the glass like it's the serrated edge of a knife, Tartaglia's always daring the deeper cut. ]

Doing harm by others is normal when you think about it that way.

[yourlenore]

( He laughs. )

Well, if you find yourself all alone, you can come and find me. I've never had talent or interest in keeping people close.

( By trade he stands alone, and by personality he is simply - not - the sort of company a person wants to keep around, where he's from. The people in Crescent View are patient; they're nice. But he isn't all that great, and sooner or later they'll touch upon his skin and feel how it sinks in, and realist with derision that beneath the surface there is only rot.

Childe, though, doesn't seem the lonely type to him. Perhaps because he seems so persistent and indifferent— he seems quite set upon finding the sort of company he needs, even if he has to split them open to find it.

Childe's conclusion derives a soft "hmmm," from Mishka, neither thoughtful nor judgmental— nor does he really disagree. )

If you lost yourself to that violence— If you commit to harm upon harm upon harm, without end... and if, in the end, you couldn't recall that you are Tartaglia, you are Childe, you're quite good at making fish dishes, and you have your family in that wintry place...

Would that still be worth it, for you, in the end? Is that trade fair?

[sluice]

That far gone, would I be able to tell the difference? If our positions were reversed, would you?

[ Accept the consequences or refute them, he'll still be left with this itch like so much rancor riding his bones that tells him that he'll never be right until the day that he dies. Pouring into Tartaglia should be remorse but there's just nothing like that here, drowning in his errors. Every decision he commits himself toward is one that he tends to make for good. ]

No point regretting the choices I make. It's alright if I get what I deserve.

[ Deflecting, he's laughing rather boyishly, even if his gaze is molten lead and depthless and he's got this look on his face that better resembles a starved-out predator than anything resembling decent. ]

Must be lonely keeping others at a distance all the time, Mishka. [ Laying his hand out palm-side up, Tartaglia freely acquiesces. ] Come closer.

[yourlenore]

( He recalls still what it'd been like, to sink into that black mire. He had told himself— he was ready, and he could remember himself, and he would not lose himself to frenzy.

He had repeated to himself the names of those he knew: Adelis, Briar, Roche, Sasha; Adelis, Briar, Roche, Sasha; Adelis, Briar, Roche... and with each iteration, a name would fade, beneath the visceral sensation of his claws through flesh, heels through stone. He had held his composure dear, and yet, like an addict, he came to give his heart to violence. )

... You remind me of a moth to a flame. Would that I had your conviction.

( And he understands that, most of all. How a flame enraptures, and how it consumes.

The upturned palm, the offer, gives him pause. His demeanor in some regard is like an animal sizing up the person offering, testing the waters; with Tartaglia, he's not quite sure what to expect, save the obvious. But he doesn't expect either of them to extract weapons here, as much as his instinct and training tells him to meet every overture with expectation of aggression. )

I think I'd be much worse off, I think, with you.

( Yet, he puts out his hand, as if offering it to take. Pushing others away is a habit he's broken into himself; he doesn't come closer. Still, he broaches the distance. )

Would you make it worth my while?

[sluice]

Nothing's hopeless when you have something you must live for.

[ Obtuse and then provoking, his smile is so maddeningly full. Leave him alone and he gets so much more upsetting, mouthy and awful as he already is. How much Tartaglia longs for the ocean, when he'd rather be up to his throat in gruesome carnage, is surely an abominable thing.

Even he knows that this hunger lurking inside him will be his undoing, gnawing away at the first signs of weakness. But he's keenly transfixed and still seeing not much of anything at all. A bit monstrous, what with all of his humanity continuing to ebb away with time. ]

Just remember you started this!

[ Placing his mouth on Mishka's palm, none of the brutality comes out right. Instead, it's an intoxicated kiss on that upturned hand. It's heavy like the words he's spelling out into it, melancholic but cruel. If Tartaglia listens, will the locusts buzz under his attentiveness? ]

Goad me on some more and I'll be as mean to you as you like.