“You did great,” Tarbo assured her. “You're a natural.”
Polce smiled nervously, and eyed the brown package in Tarbo's hands. These were the forms she had been chasing all these days; right there, in his hands. “Can't I just take one and—” She stopped and stared at the one paper sheet he also held. “Why do you have a large exclamation mark on there?”
“To get his attention,” Tarbo answered, and held it up high over his head.
“Who? What?” She stopped and stared down the large office floor when she saw movement.
An armoured elf ran into the room and came to a brusque halt in the doorway. Polce wasn't sure what exactly she was looking at: the elf wore red armoured pants, blue padded boots, an asymmetrically horned silver helmet with a pirate's eyepatch, and more rings than a circus accident. When he spotted the exclamaton mark, he ran at it in a direct line, jumping precariously over desks and clerks (to the latter's disgruntlement and dismay) on his beeline.
“Polce, I'd like you to meet Haksor,” Tarbo said, leaving some room for his friend to join. “Haksor is... special.”
“Um... hello.” Polce offered her hand in greeting, stunned by the myriad of colour and armour he wore. “I'm Polce.”
“hi :) u ned dup”
Polce blinked confusedly, and aimed her eyes at Tarbo. “What did he just say?”
“That's not really important,” Tarbo said, and handed the brown package over to Haksor. “Do your worst, Haksor.”
“kk 1sec”
“What the...? Did you just give him the A-5's?”
“Relax, it'll all work out,” Tarbo soothed her, and took a step aside to give Haksor some room.
Haksor, in turn, stuffed the brown package in his armour, and then took it out again. And then he stuffed the package into his armour again, and again took it out. And again. And again.
Polce slowly rolled her eyes to Tarbo. Tarbo returned a serious, dutiful look. The master plan was unfolding. The eagle was about to land.
Suddenly, a thick stack of paper, wrapped in a brown package, flew against Polce's chest. With reflexes honed for decades in catching wayward office apparel, she clutched the package with both hands and looked at it. Why did Haksor give her the package? Before she could ask, she saw that Haksor was still holding the brown paper package.
She blinked amazedly. “I... I don't understand. How did he—?”
“What happens with Haksor, stays with Haksor,” Tarbo cautioned, and he snatched another brown package that launched itself from Haksor's armour as he pulled it out again, still holding one of his own. “You keep yours.”
“lol item dup bug”
°°°
The meeting hasn't officially come to voting yet, but votes are already going around, and are closing to a majority. Your department head seems confused by the activity, not sure whether she should intervene and put to the vote whether an actual vote should be kept until a later time, or whether that process, too, should be put to a vote. The thinking process has her sufficiently embroiled to keep her from acting or, as it seems, doing much more than simply breathe.
Mioralynthia is more of a multitasker, and manages to breathe and take notes all the same, following the tally as people raise their hand and declare their vote.
Anleth slowly strokes her upper arm, calming the muscle she sprained from dragging Deroth away as decreed by the previous meeting. As a majority seems to approach, she prepares herself for... well, for anything. She prepares for a rush for the doors, prepares for a fight, and prepares at the very least to be awake when everything goes down; a herculean effort all the same.
“So far, I have that you've come to a majority on Devan,” Mioralynthia says, and taps her notepad with her pencil while counting the votes. “Devan, if you please?”
“Wait,” the department head suddenly says, peeking into the proceedings. “We haven't put it to a vote yet.”
“Everyone has already declared their votes,” Mioralynthia explains with a veneer of calm.
“But we haven't arrived to the voting part of the agenda yet.”
“The discussion and subsequent silence has gone on long enough; if people have declared their vote, they had the chance to alter it.”
Your boss lips her tongue inelegantly, staring witlessly at Mioralynthia. “But they haven't actually voted until—”
“Did you know sorceresses can detonate people from a distance?” Mioralynthia raises with a smile as fake as the queen's bosom.
“...I did not know that.”
“Not many people do. Shall we declare majority?”
Devan could see where this was heading. “There is a special place in HR for people like you, Calisson. I'll make sure to save a seat.” He collects his papers and pencils from the table, keeping a stark glare on Calisson, and narrows his eyes at him while he slowly takes a bite out of his ketchup-covered apple.
Anleth gently takes his arm and clears her throat. Devan takes another bite out of his apple, glaring at Calisson. With a sigh, the captain starts dragging the intern away and out of the meeting room.
Mioralynthia collects her notes and rises from her seat. “Very well. That concludes this meeting. You should return to your duties; we'll let you know when the next meeting starts.”
You follow the sorceress' example and clear out of the meeting room. The mood is slightly grimmer than last time but, like last time, the five of you remaining are also relieved to leave the meeting of your own accord.
But a great question still remained: what would happen now?
_______________
- -> Calisson
- Drainial
- -> Drainial
- Sleekdd
- Calisson
- Nelmeer
- Belial
- -> Sleekdd
- Meteor
- Chronological voting record
- Nelmeer: -> Belial
- Drainial: -> Calisson
- Sleekdd: -> Drainial
- Meteor: -> Sleekdd
- Calisson: -> Drainial
- Nelmeer: Belial -> Drainial
- Belial: -> Nelmeer
- Belial: Nelmeer -> Drainial
_______________
- Player list
- Meteor
- Calisson
- Belial
- Nelmeer
- Sleekdd
- Dearly Departed
- Lordanubis (loyal) - Morning 1
- Deroth (protector, loyal) - Evening 1
- Telrunya (loyal) - Night 1
- Drainial (loyal) - Day 2
It is now Night. Dawn will come on the 5th of April, around 19h UTC, or when all uses of abilities have been relayed to me.