Starving Artists
Tenebrae - Wednesday, July 27, 2016, 10:31 AM
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* A04: Theatre District *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
While the area contains more than theatre, it is most known for its dueling play houses and established, theatrical families. Competition for talent, especially known actors and playwrights, is fierce. An example of these long-standing, yet well-entrenched feuds are the Flightwright and Flame's Hope--two theatres built within a hundred years of one another yet separated by more than ideology. Owned by opposing families, the various troupes have been unofficially "at war" for over a hundred years.
Ribbons in Ceinara's vibrant colors grace the mismatched and often run-down streets, attesting to the District's colorful and creative background. The buildings possess no single style. Though not the quality in Upper Alexandria, this District possesses a thoroughly bohemian spirit and style amid its contrasting landscapes.
Aside from several well-known theatres, artists and crafters of all sorts make their homes here, as much for company as cheap rent. Callers-out stand on street corners, announcing the latest play, with what's in production reflecting the tone of the times and often, current politics. Street musicians abound, playing instruments or, for more visual artists, offering portraits for a few coppers to silver. Present, too, are Muses and their ilk, whose blessings the houses and various artists compete for.
The very center of the district is home to an open stage, an area raised a few feet from street level and worn flat. Anyone may perform here, and many do, though it's often an area for musician's gatherings and general lounging.
It's free bread day for the starving artists, or this is what appears to be happening over near the Flightwright. A mechanical affair that looks for all the world like a large steel and bronze gazebo on mechanical spider legs stands at the crossroads between two streets, and Fazahd - surrounded on all sides by large baskets of fresh bread - is handing out loaves to a long queue of painters, actors, dancers, and more. It's hard to make a living in the arts, after all.
"But I don't even know what that means!" Munch protests weakly, as he is politely, but firmly, escorted from the Hope Theater. Not that much short of a titan could force the metal man to leave, but polite words and a firm, if nervous, look send the golem on his way. Peering about, Munch heads his way towards the excitement over by the Flightwright. One thing about Alexandria, nothing stays boring for long.
Yelrona has arrived.
It's free bread day for the starving artists, or this is what appears to be happening over near the Flightwright. A mechanical affair that looks for all the world like a large steel and bronze gazebo on mechanical spider legs stands at the crossroads between two streets, and Fazahd - surrounded on all sides by large baskets of fresh bread - is handing out loaves to a long queue of painters, actors, dancers, and more. It's hard to make a living in the arts, after all.
Fazahd works quickly and methodically, handing out the same parcel to each: bread, one loaf. Millet, one small sack of. One small wheel of cheese. There's a lot of silver that's gone into this, but if the priest feels the loss - assuming he's paid for it himself - he gives no sign. There is only the constant parceling. Man's like a machine.
"But I don't even know what that means!" Munch protests weakly, as he is politely, but firmly, escorted from the Hope Theater. Not that much short of a titan could force the metal man to leave, but polite words and a firm, if nervous, look send the golem on his way. Peering about, Munch heads his way towards the excitement over by the Flightwright. One thing about Alexandria, nothing stays boring for long. <repost>
Eyeing the setup a few long moments, the metal man makes his way around the side, less interested in the food than the person handing it out. "So.... what are you doing?"
Yelrona was, until very recently, performing in a relatively out-of-the-way part of the large open-stage area that street performers collect in. Out of the way not by chioce, but as a consequence of the subtle and not-so-subtle mechanisms that the more established performers use to control their preferred spaces. So when the stage started emptying out, she noticed... and when the audience did the same, she noticed even more.
Following the crowd, she finds them sorting into lines to receive bread-baskets distributed by a familiar face. She smiles and approaches the bread-dispenser. "Do you have a calendar for your various acts of public service? Or is it just as the spirit moves you?"
"I am feeding people." He doesn't even look up, though he shifts a bit to give Munch room to look. "You are Munch. We have met before." Fazahd hands another parcel out. "If you're going to gawk, however, you should be assisting me."
Yelrona doesn't get a look, either, as he continues to process the crowd. "I act as needed. And, when resources are available."
Munch nods, and shrugs. "Okay. What needs done?" He's a simple guy, with simple needs. Something to do counts.
Yelrona looks up at the tall golem (to be fair, practically everyone is tall as far as she's concerned) and nods. Why not? "Sure, happy to help." She stakes out a spot nto far from Fazahd and waves the next person in line over, a willowy young man with spiky hair. She hands him a basket, which he takes with the air of someone who hasn't had a solid meal in days.
"Each person gets one loaf of bread, one sack of millet, one wheel of cheese," he says to Munch. Fazahd has them arranged in neat stacks around him, easily gotten at - by himself, or by others, it would appear. The priest seems prepared for volunteers, and offers no complaint as Yelrona gets into the act as well. "Hand them out as I do." And thus the work was tripled. That line is sure to get moving now.
"So how long have you been doing this," Yelrona asks conversationally as she fills and hands out baskets. While not nearly as focused on the task as Fazahd, her hands move quickly and surely.
Munch has exactly two skill sets. Breaking things, and hurting people. So it takes the golems a few moments to get into the rythmn of handing out food. But he has no ego in such things, perfectly willing to try again and get it right. He does make a point not to smile however, that usually doesn't come across as reassuring when you have razor fangs.
The question gives Fazahd a moment's pause, though it's hardly enough to disrupt distribution. "Since I arrived in Alexandria," he replies. "Perhaps two years? But it has taken time to develop sufficient resources to begin work of any effective scale."
Yelrona nods. The intensity of his manner gives her pause, as she can easily imagine this man deciding that "developing sufficient resources" might require taking control of the city come day, but on a small scale she finds it rather admirable. "Here you go, ma'am," she says to a middle-aged gnome, one of the few residents of the city shorter than she is. "Perhaps you could -- oh dear," she interrupts herself as she sees two tall beefy men begin to shove each other in line.
Aya has arrived.
Munch falls into an easy rythmn once he gets the hang of handing out food to those in line. He may not be exactly designed for this specific task, but repetitive operations are sort of the thing automations excel at. "So...why are you handing out food?" As a scuffle starts in the line, he peers with professional interest, but stays quiet, perhaps not quite grasping the details of what's happening.
"I was here first, greenie!" shouts one of the pair, a muscular human with oddly well-styled curly brown hair, before shoving the second -- a slightly smaller orc with a shaved head -- in the chest.
"Because the arts are very hard to succeed at, and many are poor," Fazahd replies. "Hence the term, 'starving artist'. He, Munch, and Yelrona are distributing baskets of food to a long queue of artists and performers in the shadow of a machine that looks rather like an ornate gazebo with mechanical spider legs. Or maybe a screened-in porch. Whatever.
And now there is a scuffle, and the priest shifts from quiet dispenser of nutrition to...uh...well. Drawing himself up to his full height - and he wasn't short to begin with - the priest draws from the depths of his robes a gleaming, ornate warhammer with a head in the shape of an angry xorn. "YOU WILL BEHAVE YOURSELVES," he thunders, brandishing the hammer not like a weapon but like a badge of office, "OR YOU WILL NOT EAT. SHAME BE UPON YOU!" Well. There's...there's that.
GAME: Fazahd rolls intimidate: (11)+3: 14
Yelrona tilts her head at Fazahd, as do the two scufflers. The latter quiet down. She revises her concerns about Fazahd deciding to take over the city some day up a few notches.
Munch glances mildly to Fazahd, to the pair in the crowd, to Fazahd again, and continues, as if there hadn't been an interuption. "Okay. So, if the arts are hard, why not do something else?" Granted, this is a golem talking. He doesn't need to eat. Moreso, this is Munch, when he does eat, he will literally eat anything. The concept of 'starvation' is a bit distant. Then again, so is 'job'.
Aya tends to avoid lingering in this district overlong: it is merely a location between origin and destination. It is also a garish and loud destination, typically filled with people seeking coin for little effort, whether through charity, entertainment, or thievery.
The commotion draws her attention to the queue of streetfolk. It looks to be that charity is the most in vogue at the moment. Annoying, but preferable to hordes of cutpurses.
Satisfied, Fazahd hangs up the hammer again, and as though the outburst never happened begins to distribute food again. He glances over to Munch. "Flesh life, much like constructed life, often have purposes that they cannot deny and must live for. Unlike many constructs, however, we must find our purpose rather than have it programmed or otherwise provided by design. But then again, intelligent constructs also often find themselves pursuing a purpose different from their design - this is what the soul is all about."
Machines? Having souls? Well, that's something new coming from a priest.
Yelrona nods. "Right. I mean, I don't know much about either constructs or souls, but I do know that sometimes the arts are a calling," she adds. "I mean, I make money through the Guild, but I perform... well, some of the Luckbringers call it 'being part of the joke, rather than the butt of it.' Being part of the community, rather than standing aside from it." She shrugs. "Also it's fun!"
Munch considers for several moments. "Shouldn't your purpose be something you're good at? I mean, trying new things is fine, and it's okay if ou aren't good at all of them. But if you're bad at them, then not only are you not being productive, but it's not fun to keep doing things you're bad at. You should find a purpose you're good at, and enjoy."
Aya walks her way towards the ... contraption around which the greedy are lined up, and those facilitating the greed. Morsels of the conversation reach her as she nears. "Those here must be good at begging, so they must be having fun?" she asks the semi-rhetorical.
"A purpose in a soul's demand. We cannot always choose how good we might be at it, unfortunately. Which is why I am feeding the people, and not at the temple praying. I believe that the Father can see what I am doing here, and realize that it is tending the machine that is the populace, which is not metal but made of life and faith."
And...oh, look. "We are not at home to mockery," he says, his voice flat. "If you wish to assist, do so. Otherwise, kindly do not distract these people with your jeering."
Yelrona raises an eyebrow at Aya, and seems about to say something when Fazahd handles the job admirably. She smiles at the Forge before returning to her line.
Munch considers a few moments more, and shrugs. "I don't get it. Maybe I was just built well to handel my purpose. Maybe I was just lucky to be good at what I enjoy. Maybe it's just different for golems. But if this helps, then I'm okay with lending a hand, even if I don't really get it. I learned a long time ago I should do what good people advise, even if I don't understand. Later, when I do understand, I'll be glad I did."
Aya arches one showy brow. "Mockery? I simply stated an observation." One hand gestures in the direction of the construct. "It has a point. They should do what they enjoy, or are skilled at. If that skill were performance or art, they wouldn't be standing here, fighting over food."
Munch falls quiet, listening, and helping until the food is all gone. Or until he gets bored. But if the ideas continue to be voiced, that's not likely.