Taking office
Posted: Sun Mar 22, 2009 12:25 pm
The day after ten thousand gold coins changed hands, the area around the Dutchal residence in Blackrock Nua begins to attract crowds. There had been oddly little in the way of announcement, and new Dukes are not all that uncommon a thing anyway; but it isn't every day that one comes along in this way. A new Dutch! An outsider! Who BOUGHT the office, practically bought Kildare itself! People are curious, of course. They want to see him, see what he's like. But no word had been sent out on when he would arrive.
Some of those who had arrived early, several builders who had come right after finishing a night shift (and a visit to a bar), had been lucky enough to stake out a spots near the entrance of the residence. The household guards watch them carefully, but the workers are not there to cause trouble; they had spread out a blanket as if at a picnic, watching, or trying to recover from hangovers, or drinking, or even all at once. Waiting, like the others.
A man strolls through the crowds nearby, with occasional interjections of "Oop, there," or "Beg pardon" as he weaves through. And he does indeed weave, walking with a pronounced rolling gait, as if the ground under him is not quite steady; the builders watch him with amusement, for at first they assume the man is drunk. As he comes closer, though, they see that his gaze is steady, though not overly focused; he slows to a stop near them. "G'tides to you," he greets them affably. "What's the party for?"
"There's a new Dutch in Kildare, didn't you know?" replied one. His eyes took in the strange man's attire; well-worn black boots; pants loose except at the tight hems, and apparently made of cotton, dyed some dark color (possibly once navy blue, but much faded if so), bound by a wide belt; a lighter loose white cotton shirt. Over that, a heavier long coat: a formal coat, vibrant blue, with black around the collar, cuffs, and lower hem, and trimmed with silver. On the shoulders are identical patches depicting a stylized bird with a fish in its talons, and pinned to the right lapel, near the heart, is a small silver spiralling shape. The pin is obviously polished almost religiously, but the rest of the coat is a bit battered-looking; often mended, but clearly old and used in decidedly non-formal situations. Completing the look is an archaic and especially disreputable-looking black tricorne hat, formerly with silver trimming to match the coat, but with much of it now frayed and tattered. The hat appears to have a few seashells attached to the brim by silver threads (remains of the trimming, perhaps), as well as a fishhook stuck in one of the rear corners.
"And all these people just for that?" asks the man. "Hardly seems worth the trouble."
One of the builders, still drunker than the rest, grumbles, "'Specially since he hasn't shown up yet. We've been here since the early morning and now it's midday. When's he going to show?"
The man nods, as if consider the question seriously. "Yep," he says. "Something ought to be done about that." He tips his hat to them. "I'd best be handling it, then."
They gape openly at him as he crams the hat back on his head, studiously straightens it, and then weaves his way over to the guards at the foot of the steps, who immediately move to block him. The workers hear one of the guards tell the stranger to back off.
"Nah, son, my way's through there."
"What're you here for?"
"There's supposed to be a coronation, isn't there?"
"Yes!"
"Well, I'm itching to attend."
"You can wait like everyone else."
"Now, look, I can show that I'm supposed to be in there. Just a moment-" The man fishes around in the voluminous pockets of his coat as the guards look on warily. "Ah-HA- oh. Nah, wait, that's the letter from this girl I know. Met her during portcall in Gensym. Sweet girl, but she can't spell a drop, you'd think with the schools there she'd do better... Ah, here we are." He brings out a formal-looking envelope, and removes from it a badly creased piece of paper, handing it to the guards.
The guards read it in shock, and then something approaching horror. "Oh. Er, we're so sorry, we-"
"Nah, nah, forget it."
"Did you, did you want us to announce-"
"Nah, I'll do it myself. Just keep watch, that's what you're here for."
The man rolls up the steps to the main doors, and then without going in, turns to face the crowd. "HELLOOO, FRIENDS," he bellows, "I'D LIKE TO- oh, thank you." This is address to an aide who had hurried to bring him a microphone. "Much obliged, g'tides to you. Now, where was I?" He faces the crowds again. "Hello, everyone! I'd like to say how impressed I am at how many people have come out, especially to wait so long! So, thanks to you, much obliged. I'm your new Dutch, by the way. Shyriath-Bukolos called Longwalker, of the ship Osprey Striking."
A long moment of silence follows, which slowly builds up into a dull roar of intense conversation.
"So, uh, a few things-" he fishes around in his pockets again, bringing out a pair of spectacles, a piece of paper, and a pen. "Now then. First off," and he seems to check a box on the paper as he says this, "I wanted to emphasize here that I don't intend to poke my nose into much. As I promised the former Duke, the current Barons of Kildare will keep their positions, from which I have neither the inclination nor the interest of dislodging them, unless of course one of them commits some breach of trust. I don't expect that to happen, of course.
"Also," the new Dutch added, "following from that, I expect that the internal affairs of the Dutchy as a whole will rest considerably in the hands of the Senead. Of course, I will reserve the right as Dutch to make such decrees as I see necessary, but overall I intend to use a light touch. When steering a ship, you grip the wheel neither too tightly nor too loosely." He checks off another box.
After a moment, a third check. "I would also like to assure the people of Kildare, and especially the previous Duke, that the votes he has already made on the bills currently at large in the Landsraad shall not be changed by me, partly out of respect for his wishes, and partly because I'd have voted the same anyway."
He scans the paper for anything else, shrugs, folds it up and puts it, the pen,and the spectacles away. "Have a nice day, everybody."
And with that, he turns around again and weaves into the audience chamber of the residence.
Some of those who had arrived early, several builders who had come right after finishing a night shift (and a visit to a bar), had been lucky enough to stake out a spots near the entrance of the residence. The household guards watch them carefully, but the workers are not there to cause trouble; they had spread out a blanket as if at a picnic, watching, or trying to recover from hangovers, or drinking, or even all at once. Waiting, like the others.
A man strolls through the crowds nearby, with occasional interjections of "Oop, there," or "Beg pardon" as he weaves through. And he does indeed weave, walking with a pronounced rolling gait, as if the ground under him is not quite steady; the builders watch him with amusement, for at first they assume the man is drunk. As he comes closer, though, they see that his gaze is steady, though not overly focused; he slows to a stop near them. "G'tides to you," he greets them affably. "What's the party for?"
"There's a new Dutch in Kildare, didn't you know?" replied one. His eyes took in the strange man's attire; well-worn black boots; pants loose except at the tight hems, and apparently made of cotton, dyed some dark color (possibly once navy blue, but much faded if so), bound by a wide belt; a lighter loose white cotton shirt. Over that, a heavier long coat: a formal coat, vibrant blue, with black around the collar, cuffs, and lower hem, and trimmed with silver. On the shoulders are identical patches depicting a stylized bird with a fish in its talons, and pinned to the right lapel, near the heart, is a small silver spiralling shape. The pin is obviously polished almost religiously, but the rest of the coat is a bit battered-looking; often mended, but clearly old and used in decidedly non-formal situations. Completing the look is an archaic and especially disreputable-looking black tricorne hat, formerly with silver trimming to match the coat, but with much of it now frayed and tattered. The hat appears to have a few seashells attached to the brim by silver threads (remains of the trimming, perhaps), as well as a fishhook stuck in one of the rear corners.
"And all these people just for that?" asks the man. "Hardly seems worth the trouble."
One of the builders, still drunker than the rest, grumbles, "'Specially since he hasn't shown up yet. We've been here since the early morning and now it's midday. When's he going to show?"
The man nods, as if consider the question seriously. "Yep," he says. "Something ought to be done about that." He tips his hat to them. "I'd best be handling it, then."
They gape openly at him as he crams the hat back on his head, studiously straightens it, and then weaves his way over to the guards at the foot of the steps, who immediately move to block him. The workers hear one of the guards tell the stranger to back off.
"Nah, son, my way's through there."
"What're you here for?"
"There's supposed to be a coronation, isn't there?"
"Yes!"
"Well, I'm itching to attend."
"You can wait like everyone else."
"Now, look, I can show that I'm supposed to be in there. Just a moment-" The man fishes around in the voluminous pockets of his coat as the guards look on warily. "Ah-HA- oh. Nah, wait, that's the letter from this girl I know. Met her during portcall in Gensym. Sweet girl, but she can't spell a drop, you'd think with the schools there she'd do better... Ah, here we are." He brings out a formal-looking envelope, and removes from it a badly creased piece of paper, handing it to the guards.
The guards read it in shock, and then something approaching horror. "Oh. Er, we're so sorry, we-"
"Nah, nah, forget it."
"Did you, did you want us to announce-"
"Nah, I'll do it myself. Just keep watch, that's what you're here for."
The man rolls up the steps to the main doors, and then without going in, turns to face the crowd. "HELLOOO, FRIENDS," he bellows, "I'D LIKE TO- oh, thank you." This is address to an aide who had hurried to bring him a microphone. "Much obliged, g'tides to you. Now, where was I?" He faces the crowds again. "Hello, everyone! I'd like to say how impressed I am at how many people have come out, especially to wait so long! So, thanks to you, much obliged. I'm your new Dutch, by the way. Shyriath-Bukolos called Longwalker, of the ship Osprey Striking."
A long moment of silence follows, which slowly builds up into a dull roar of intense conversation.
"So, uh, a few things-" he fishes around in his pockets again, bringing out a pair of spectacles, a piece of paper, and a pen. "Now then. First off," and he seems to check a box on the paper as he says this, "I wanted to emphasize here that I don't intend to poke my nose into much. As I promised the former Duke, the current Barons of Kildare will keep their positions, from which I have neither the inclination nor the interest of dislodging them, unless of course one of them commits some breach of trust. I don't expect that to happen, of course.
"Also," the new Dutch added, "following from that, I expect that the internal affairs of the Dutchy as a whole will rest considerably in the hands of the Senead. Of course, I will reserve the right as Dutch to make such decrees as I see necessary, but overall I intend to use a light touch. When steering a ship, you grip the wheel neither too tightly nor too loosely." He checks off another box.
After a moment, a third check. "I would also like to assure the people of Kildare, and especially the previous Duke, that the votes he has already made on the bills currently at large in the Landsraad shall not be changed by me, partly out of respect for his wishes, and partly because I'd have voted the same anyway."
He scans the paper for anything else, shrugs, folds it up and puts it, the pen,and the spectacles away. "Have a nice day, everybody."
And with that, he turns around again and weaves into the audience chamber of the residence.