Royal To The Graves

[StaolDerg]

Two hours, fifteen minutes, twenty-seven seconds.

The mahogany stamp thumped against the file, leaving its crimson imprint upon the manila. From the table it was passed into the box with the other tax records, a sheer pit of numbers and letters. Another file transferred to its place. A brief read- nothing much. The village had paid its due. The collector had nothing to say. A few tons of grain, fruit, all passed the quality checks, some marginally. Stores were near empty when the tax was collected. The inhabitants would starve this winter. Thump, when the stamp. It cared only that these tan folders were processed. They are but numbers and letters.


Three hours. 

Ten starving from early famine.

Thump. 

Vocal resistance. Two arrested. Personal finances levied. 
 
Thump.

Nothing to report. Collection without incident.

Thump.

The stack in the box was gone, replaced by an empty one. An intern whisked the old one off to Department 5. The Inselni flipped the next record through, gaze pausing at the mention of a Greatfern massacre. The tax had still been levied. She recognized the names listed of those unable to pay the full amount. She knew some, old acquaintances. A long time ago, she would've been tempted to file a K-1154, a clerical error. It would've provided for them, given them back the food they needed so much to rebuild. But that was long ago and the dried blood of the stamp long rubbed against her claws.

A K-884, then. Government food provisions for one month. If they were without incident, they'd be able to apply for more. Her pen stopped at the amount of food to be shipped. Her lower horn tilted, feeling for sounds of someone watching. No one had been in her booth for some time- the interns only traced this route every two hours. The supervisor had preformed a surprise check-in only days earlier. Security disliked this section for the broken air conditioner. The chances of someone entering as she filed the request were minimal.

25 days. If they were smart, they'd be able to stretch the rations out to last through at least half the next month. They'd be hungry, but wouldn't starve as painfully.

She missed the old days. 


Four hours, forty-two minutes, eight seconds.

Her mug was empty for the sixth time. She got up to refill it. The corridor to the coffee machine in the B wing was dimly lit- it was a miracle that the eyesight of the interns was still intact in any form from leaving the building to cart paperwork to the other buildings in the campus. Stepping out into the atrium, she made her way to the queue lining up for the coffee machine. Each worker bowed before a large portrait of the Empress as they reached the machine to refill their cups and the Inselni was no different, stooping low before the spider's likeness. She rose to fill her cup, then swiftly headed back to her booth with the mug of lukewarm coffee. A grumbling broke out after her as the hot water reservoir ran dry.

As she sat, she took a sip. It was barely bitter, the cheap coffee barely rousing her.

Back to work.

The scar on her back itched.


Five hours, 

She wished they were allowed to listen to music still. The last bombing had set an end to that, a gramophone being used to set off a timed explosive at a local army base. No more music, the following directives had ordered. So there'd been only the hum of the florescent lightbulbs above their heads and the occasional groan of the broken air conditioner. Her lower horns twitched at every distant sound, but it sat still, numb to the sounds of papers being shuffled and doors being entered and exited.

No incident.

Thump.

Five more hours, she thought. Halfway through.

Not that anything would change.

Her horn twitched again.

Footsteps?

The door behind her opened slightly, a tired voice muttering lowly in her general direction. "Ipra, Kalpi isn't available."

The Inselni nodded faintly, barely turning their head to indicate their listening.

"You're taking his shift for tonight. Thanks."

The click of the booth's doors ended the conversation.

Ipra glanced at the mug. The coffee was nearly drained. The paperwork beside it stared at her through the reflection.

She though about the liquor store near her flat. It was probably near dry by now. She doubted they even had any crappy merlot left to sell by the time she'd get home.

Thump.

[StaolDerg]

Four more hours. She could tell by the
silence that had overcome the building. A few people were still about, but those stragglers would clear out by the hour. Ipra looked at her coffee, long since dry. She hadn't bothered to refill with the machine broken. Shuffling the pages in her hands, she passed it onto the other tray. Soon she'd be the only one left in the building.

Kalpi had been gone for days now. The supervisor had expected his return the next day- everyone had- but it was as if he had slipped beyond the light of those still alive. Some probably thought he'd gone on Expedition, but it felt... off.

Her thoughts turned back to the work as she bled the inking book's felt into the stamp, free hand reaching for another file. A warm bed awaited her at home, its very prospect more endearing by the minute. Something to look forward to, the Inselni thought.


Time had blurred together. She was still counting the seconds, but the numbers meant nothing to her now. The desk looked so comfortable to rest for just a moment- the thump of the stamp kept her up enough to work. Her body felt like it was its own being and she only a spectator, remotely watching the most dull show in the whole of Ouhiri. Her actions slowed, sluggish with exhaustion.

She swore the lights had went out at some point. It was harder to see the difference between her closed eyelids and the room's dim fluorescent lighting...


Ipra awoke from her stupor to see that her claws scratched against the bottom of the tray. She rubbed her eyes, sighing as she eased herself up, leaving the cup as her tail flicked at the booth's thin gate, unlatching it. The corridor was cold and empty, lights off. She could navigate them just fine anyway, tracing against the wall as she made her way towards the exit, wrapping her cloak against herself, wings tightly tucked in.

The evening air was bitterly cold as she opened the door to what felt like an abandoned campus. She picked up her pace despite her exhaustion- the tram would be at the station soon, and she had no plan on sleeping on a desk. 

The ride home was quiet, marked only by the rocking and rumble of the street car. The few others aboard were virtually mute, awake and deep in sleep at the same time or collected against the corner seats, unmoving as they stared out the window at the city's lights.

Ipra went on foot at the eighth station. Her apartment wasn't far now. She passed the empty square, dozens of shops shuttered closed for the night. The moons cast reflections upon the water that had not yet drained into the clogged grates before clouds muffled them. She stepped through them.

To no surprise whatsoever, it was freezing.

Quiet relief. She spotted the sheet metal door that accessed her apartment complex, pulling out the key from her pockets. Up the stairs, down the block, through the door- home. The warmth smothered her as she shut the door, figuring to sit down on her bed to rest up a bit.

That was a mistake. A welcome one as she fell asleep in a dreamless paradise, an old friend to be embraced with all joys of memories spent.

[StaolDerg]

Ipra woke to clap of thunder outside her window, instinctively making her kick the blankets neatly folded at the end of her bed off as she scrambled upright, her lower horns ringing with excitement. Staring at the window with a haze of exhaustion still mottling half her mind as she stared at the window, a soft patter of rain bouncing against the glass.

Half-cursing her oversensitive hearing, she pulled herself to the side to stare at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Half past four. She didn’t live particularly far away from work, but she was more upset that she wouldn’t get more spare time before leaving for work. The clock should’ve woken her at the start of the hour. She gave it a good glare as she fumbled about for a change of clothes, exchanging yesterday’s set for a much simpler set of Wanderer clothing that she’d only stitched together a few months ago. The coat went over it as she made her way to the other room, sweeping the dozen-so empty bottles off her counter as she scavenged for a cup to fill with coffee.

Making her way to the building kitchen in the basement, she opened the shared coffee tin ration and doled out a morning ration with a spoon, being careful.

The kerosene lamp on the wall barely lit the counter, leaving her mostly grasping blindly for the coffee grinder in the shadows until she found it crammed towards the corner, the little drawer partway open. She gave it a quick inspection, hoping that something hadn’t started to fester inside from the humidity of the building. Thankfully there wasn’t, but she gave it a good clean with a towel anyway to be sure before she poured the coffee beans into the hopper and began grinding away with the crank above it.

She poured the grounds into the kettle beside her, tapping the little drawer empty into the paper filter before sliding it back into the grinder and setting it back against the wall. Whoever was the last to use it at the end of the day would clean it anyway. Ipa took the metal vessel with her outside, headed towards the local pump, half-asleep as she shivered in line behind the other early-risers. Some had lamps hanging from belts, giving some light for the others, but most were accustomed to the streets- the old stones of the streets were more than familiar ground to them and could probably find their way home blindfolded if need be without tripping once. At least a few were leaning against one another as they waited, some quietly chatting with puffs of white emanating in the frigid morning rain. In all honesty, she would’ve gone to the rain catcher on the roof of the building, but she couldn’t be bothered to exhaust herself to jump the whole way up just for coffee- especially that the ladder up had collapsed about a month ago.

The rain was getting worse.

She’d pulled a wing over her head when it had started to really pour, not exactly bothered by the water washing about her talons. A tug on her other wing directed her attention to a newcomer behind her- some poor kid sent by their parents to fill the buckets slung on both ends of the stick over their back. Without a word she pulled the child closer, draping her free wing over them from the downpour as they waited their turn at the pump, now only a single turn away.

She let the child go first, still holding a wing over them as she pumped their buckets full, then her own comparatively small share afterwards. As she rose and left the pump, the child tentatively following aside her, Ipra motioned towards the neighborhood ahead, asking, “Where?”

A small hand pointed them in the direction of another slum, which only cost the Inselni ten minutes before they came to the child’s building, the Inselni leaving then in the care of parents before making a rapid stride back to her own building.

She returned to a stirring apartment, a few others having risen to the cold morning, though she most definitely the first among them with the full kettle in hand. Greetings were muttered in low voices as Ipra placing the kettle over the coal-fired stove and gathered some tinder from yesterday’s newspaper, forcing out what spark she could muster in her body, showering the handful of tinder within the iron belly in a shower of embers and smoke.

“Terrible. Three out of ten,” someone behind her commented.

“Shut up,” she grumbled irritably, coughing up smoke. There was a soft chuckle as she prepared herself to try again, this time spewing a short ball of flame into the stove and setting the tinder alight instantly to a warm crackle.

There was appreciative clapping behind her as she initially tended to the flames before finally shutting the little windowed door and seating herself with the other tenants around the table as they waited for the coffee. All had a mug before them, some napping on the table as they waited. For the Inselni, it was a familiar feeling- familial, comforting.

It reminded her of older days, better times, an Expedition family laughing around another table. Bottles of ale before the working-aged adults, the elders laughing to old jokes and holding the children on their laps. Full bellies, full cheeks- full lives, free of the cycle of a modern life…

The whistling of the kettle roused her, looking up to one of the Crown at the table snatch up the vessel and pour each person their share, equal to each. Small notches in the ceramic walls determined their limit as each person gratefully whisked away with their cup, some sipping them on their way back upstairs.

Ipra gulped her whole ration down in a single turn, setting the mug in a washing rack to be cleaned later- whenever that was. If she had been earlier, she would’ve had time to maybe work on her project…

Heading back to work for the day, she began the walk towards the tram, too tired to dream but not enough to sleep. The square was bustling, as was the station when she arrived. People were crammed together like sardines aboard the trams, leaning on one another to sleep. She joined them with the same intent, but found her thoughts wandering instead.

She'd had the opportunity to join the Royalists eighty years ago. She wasn't bound to the new Queen then- she was still a Martial serving in the royal military, a quartermaster for a remote outpost in the middle of the Mogahol Badlands. Nothing would've been in her way to simply get up and leave for the border provinces, or even abroad. 

Yesterday she'd probably had the lives of hundreds on her hands by the decision of a stamp. She could've misfiled the paperwork at any time and sabotaged the system to protect the villagers. But she hadn't- she'd only done the minimum to avoid the guilt of having done absolutely nothing to protect her fellow people, and even then only at old acquaintances did she act at all. She found herself wondering if she did believe the government posters that her duty was to sacrifice.

She'd assumed tears and sweat, not her morals.

Ipra grit her teeth. Inselni were prided on their persistence- after all, what else to do with such a long life? So honor she'd stand for, yes, but for what?

For Elenria, or for Takpoe?