Deep Pockets donation - Varga (DTA)
May 21, 2022 14:16:21 GMT
Velania Kalugina, Derthaad, and 2 more like this
Post by Varga on May 21, 2022 14:16:21 GMT
Phillip rubbed his temples, focusing on the barely-there fire in his fireplace. It helped. The headache receded. He was an aide to Aurelia Archselon, for goodness' sake, why did he have to endure this? Attending to every single person who decided to shill out to support the Dawnlands' efforts to fend off the Gith. Thanking them, as if it wasn't the most logical thing to do to, well, not die!
He had a protocol to go through whenever a significant amount of money was received. He had it on a piece of paper. Which he lost on day 3 without noticing it, because he knew all of it by heart. To give a statement to sign that the money were given voluntarily. To tell the person how the funds will be used. To thank the person for their generous donation. And boy, some of these rich people liked to be thanked! Especially some sorts from the Daring Academy! He had to repeat the entire last part of the protocol twice for several of them. And then there were others who didn't want to be thanked, thankfully, but took it to the extreme. Like that drow lady who just stopped him mid-sentence with a snap of her fingers. He couldn't make a sound for an hour after that!
And this was his life now, 8 hours every day. Sometimes he found himself secretly wishing that the githyanki started their invasion with him just for all of it to end. But it was almost 4PM and the gith were nowhere to be found. Well, perhaps they would be considerate enough not to invade over the weekend…
His secretary brought some tea and biscuits. The feeling of a warm cup in his hand was reassuring.
"How many are left?" He asked her with a poorly concealed hopefulness in his tone.
"About eight," she answered brightly, and Phillip's heart sank.
He released a stuttered sigh and frowned.
"What do you mean – about eight? Is it eight, less or more?"
She stopped for a second, pondering this seemingly straight-forward question, her hand on the door handle.
"You'll see in a moment," she said, and poked her head out of the door. "Next please!"
She opened the door allowing someone in, and closed it from the other side. Phillip didn't see the visitor enter: at least no shape made itself visible over the back of the chair opposite him.
"Hmmm…" He pondered briefly. "I thought the Three-Headed Ettin proprietors have already donated…"
Before he could continue that thought, a cloaked figure jumped into the chair in front of him. Well, when one said 'figure'… It was more of a geometric shape. A cloaked ball jumped into the chair in front of him. The ball was approximately three-quarters of a foot in diameter and had a bushy grey tail.
"H-hello?" Phillip said in the general direction of the ball.
"Good afternoon, monsieur Phillip," the ball answered with a slight draconic accent.
The aide cleared his throat.
"Sorry, who am I having the honour to-"
"My name is unimportant, mon ami," the ball interrupted.
Phillip rubbed his eyes. "Who does he thinks he is? The Notorious D.O.C.? Greebo?!" He thought, almost hysterically. The man quickly took hold of himself, years of dealing with bullshit kicking in like the best fire brigade training. He raised a placating hand.
"Listen, sir, we can make your donation anonymous, but we would like to know whose money we-"
"No need. The money is donated by Chaos. Is all you need to know."
"CHAOS? That petting zoo place for kids?" Phillip said before he could stop himself.
"Parlor, s'il vous plait," the ball answered haughtily.
"Alright… And what sum would you like to-"
The ball made a high-pitched squeak. The door opened on its own accord.
"Now, wait a minute, my secretary…"
"She's otherwise occupied," the ball said menacingly. Phillip must have had a very alarmed expression, because the ball sighed and added: "She's having an emotional support break. Could always use one of these."
For the first time since this strange encounter started Phillip found himself agreeing with his interlocutor. Who was still a ball draped in a tiny, rather adorable looking cloak. As he pondered this troubling fact, two similar balls, smaller in size, appeared from under the chair and jumped on a coffee table. They put a voluminous rough looking journal in front of Phillip, and, jumping off the table, disappeared under the chair again. Phillip noticed one of them stealing a cookie on its way down.
He glanced from the cloaked ball to the journal, and back again, assessing the relative danger of both. Finally, he opted to go with the journal. He carded through several pages at random. The journal seemed to contain a number of sketches of exotic siege and anti-siege equipment: from Gehenna keeps and hellish moats of lava, to pirate ship man-launchers. Each sketch was accompanied by an assembly instruction. What the instructions lacked in detail or engineering precision they compensated in… accessibility.
"This is my associate's notes. She would very much like if some of these contraptions were recreated here, in Daring Heights," the ball explained as Phillip was thumbing through the journal.
"Well… this is of course a possibility…" Yes, like an astral dreadnaught in the sky over Daring Heights was a possibility. And, looking through the sketches, he wasn't sure which possibility was more detrimental to the city's defense. "And why couldn't your… associate… attend this meeting herself?"
"Non, I am the one you want to be talking to." The ball stated confidently.
Phillip found himself unable to comment on the matter.
"Alright, but, you understand, this looks like a rather expensive equipment-"
"Ce la!"
There was another squeak, and the same two balls jumped on the table, this time with a sizeable pouch. The balls turned to leave, when one, with a black stubby tail, froze in place, turned around, and stole another cookie.
"My associate wishes to contribute five hundred gold pieces towards preservation of her, what's the word?..."
"Hometown?" Phillip suggested.
The upper part of the ball shook.
"Non! Loot source."
"Of course," the aide nodded, staring into the distance. He took a deep breath, and gave a protocol smile. "Well, in which case, on behalf of Daring Heights Council I'd like to thank your associate for her generous donation-"
"So here's a hundred fifty platinum," the ball stated confidently.
An awkward silence hung in the room. Phillip didn't want to break it. But he still had seven people to see before the end of the day. Each with their own level of bullshit to introduce, although Phillip was starting to doubt this one can be beaten.
"I… I don't presume to be an authority on all questions monetary," he said levelly, "but I'm pretty certain that a hundred fifty platinum equates to fifteen hundred gold."
The ball gave him an infuriatingly patronizing nod.
"Correct! Here's cent cinquante platinum. Fifty from my associate, and a hundred from me. Call it a personal stash. Need to protect the family, you see," he gestured towards the other two balls with a tiny paw.
Phillip's lips moved around the shapes of the words, but only half of them came out. Being polite wasn't easy.
"My deepest apologies… but… I was… unaware… that the city has such wealthy entrepreneurs… among its… animals…"
The ball was giving him a sardonic smile. Phillip wasn't quite sure how it was possible without showing the face.
"Phillip, mon ami. Your naiveté is amusing. Do you really think that one of the most popular destinations for Daring Heights children only makes profit every other month?"
Phillip could swear he felt several of his hairs go grey at that.
"We… You realise we can't accept laundered money?!" He said, fighting the indignation in his own voice.
"Laundered… Such an ugly word!" The ball rolled back and forth in the chair. "I prefer… stashed away. It's my money. I'm a full partner. Just because my associate doesn't know these money exists doesn't make it illegal. It's not like she ever asked."
"B-but…"
The ball nodded at the journal still in Phillip's hands.
"Trust moi, it's better she doesn't know she has the money to build a functioning catapult," he said with finality.
Phillip gave the ball in front of him an evaluating glance and released a shaky breath, his head falling to his chest in defeat.
"I'm going to take your word for it…"
"Bien! Then we will be on our way. I'm sure you know what to do with the papers. It's a pleasure doing business with you," the ball said, holding out a tiny paw expectantly.
Phillip leaned over in his chair to shake it, noting absentmindedly that the paw was exceptionally soft to the touch.
"We were never here," the ball said mysteriously, draping even deeper into the cloak and rolling off the chair.
As Phillip silently mouthed "WHY?", the door opened and closed again. The council secretary contemplated his life choices. He also contemplated starting to scratch off days without gith invasion on the walls of his room in sets of five, crossing off weeks after every weekend.
As he was pondering which wall would be best to start with, the door opened again. It was his secretary. She looked… surprisingly refreshed.
"Oh, dear! Sorry, boss, I completely lost track of time! There were these cute little fluffy things, and I just gave them a couple of chin scratches and then I looked at the timepiece, and half an hour has passed! Should I let in the next one?"
"In a minute, please," Phillip said with a reassuring smile.
She nodded, and disappeared into the hall.
Phillip sighed so deeply he felt dizzy for a second. Nonsense, he was a professional. He shook his head, erasing the entire encounter from his short-term memory. He'd have time to consider it when the long-term one kicked in. He cleaned up his coffee table, sorting a couple of papers that got scattered by the fluffy balls. One of the sheets has attracted Phillip attention.
It was his protocol.
He glanced from it to the empty chair in front of him, scrunched the paper into a tight ball and threw it into the fireplace without even trying to hide his satisfaction.
"Next, please," he called into the reception hall.
He had a protocol to go through whenever a significant amount of money was received. He had it on a piece of paper. Which he lost on day 3 without noticing it, because he knew all of it by heart. To give a statement to sign that the money were given voluntarily. To tell the person how the funds will be used. To thank the person for their generous donation. And boy, some of these rich people liked to be thanked! Especially some sorts from the Daring Academy! He had to repeat the entire last part of the protocol twice for several of them. And then there were others who didn't want to be thanked, thankfully, but took it to the extreme. Like that drow lady who just stopped him mid-sentence with a snap of her fingers. He couldn't make a sound for an hour after that!
And this was his life now, 8 hours every day. Sometimes he found himself secretly wishing that the githyanki started their invasion with him just for all of it to end. But it was almost 4PM and the gith were nowhere to be found. Well, perhaps they would be considerate enough not to invade over the weekend…
His secretary brought some tea and biscuits. The feeling of a warm cup in his hand was reassuring.
"How many are left?" He asked her with a poorly concealed hopefulness in his tone.
"About eight," she answered brightly, and Phillip's heart sank.
He released a stuttered sigh and frowned.
"What do you mean – about eight? Is it eight, less or more?"
She stopped for a second, pondering this seemingly straight-forward question, her hand on the door handle.
"You'll see in a moment," she said, and poked her head out of the door. "Next please!"
She opened the door allowing someone in, and closed it from the other side. Phillip didn't see the visitor enter: at least no shape made itself visible over the back of the chair opposite him.
"Hmmm…" He pondered briefly. "I thought the Three-Headed Ettin proprietors have already donated…"
Before he could continue that thought, a cloaked figure jumped into the chair in front of him. Well, when one said 'figure'… It was more of a geometric shape. A cloaked ball jumped into the chair in front of him. The ball was approximately three-quarters of a foot in diameter and had a bushy grey tail.
"H-hello?" Phillip said in the general direction of the ball.
"Good afternoon, monsieur Phillip," the ball answered with a slight draconic accent.
The aide cleared his throat.
"Sorry, who am I having the honour to-"
"My name is unimportant, mon ami," the ball interrupted.
Phillip rubbed his eyes. "Who does he thinks he is? The Notorious D.O.C.? Greebo?!" He thought, almost hysterically. The man quickly took hold of himself, years of dealing with bullshit kicking in like the best fire brigade training. He raised a placating hand.
"Listen, sir, we can make your donation anonymous, but we would like to know whose money we-"
"No need. The money is donated by Chaos. Is all you need to know."
"CHAOS? That petting zoo place for kids?" Phillip said before he could stop himself.
"Parlor, s'il vous plait," the ball answered haughtily.
"Alright… And what sum would you like to-"
The ball made a high-pitched squeak. The door opened on its own accord.
"Now, wait a minute, my secretary…"
"She's otherwise occupied," the ball said menacingly. Phillip must have had a very alarmed expression, because the ball sighed and added: "She's having an emotional support break. Could always use one of these."
For the first time since this strange encounter started Phillip found himself agreeing with his interlocutor. Who was still a ball draped in a tiny, rather adorable looking cloak. As he pondered this troubling fact, two similar balls, smaller in size, appeared from under the chair and jumped on a coffee table. They put a voluminous rough looking journal in front of Phillip, and, jumping off the table, disappeared under the chair again. Phillip noticed one of them stealing a cookie on its way down.
He glanced from the cloaked ball to the journal, and back again, assessing the relative danger of both. Finally, he opted to go with the journal. He carded through several pages at random. The journal seemed to contain a number of sketches of exotic siege and anti-siege equipment: from Gehenna keeps and hellish moats of lava, to pirate ship man-launchers. Each sketch was accompanied by an assembly instruction. What the instructions lacked in detail or engineering precision they compensated in… accessibility.
"This is my associate's notes. She would very much like if some of these contraptions were recreated here, in Daring Heights," the ball explained as Phillip was thumbing through the journal.
"Well… this is of course a possibility…" Yes, like an astral dreadnaught in the sky over Daring Heights was a possibility. And, looking through the sketches, he wasn't sure which possibility was more detrimental to the city's defense. "And why couldn't your… associate… attend this meeting herself?"
"Non, I am the one you want to be talking to." The ball stated confidently.
Phillip found himself unable to comment on the matter.
"Alright, but, you understand, this looks like a rather expensive equipment-"
"Ce la!"
There was another squeak, and the same two balls jumped on the table, this time with a sizeable pouch. The balls turned to leave, when one, with a black stubby tail, froze in place, turned around, and stole another cookie.
"My associate wishes to contribute five hundred gold pieces towards preservation of her, what's the word?..."
"Hometown?" Phillip suggested.
The upper part of the ball shook.
"Non! Loot source."
"Of course," the aide nodded, staring into the distance. He took a deep breath, and gave a protocol smile. "Well, in which case, on behalf of Daring Heights Council I'd like to thank your associate for her generous donation-"
"So here's a hundred fifty platinum," the ball stated confidently.
An awkward silence hung in the room. Phillip didn't want to break it. But he still had seven people to see before the end of the day. Each with their own level of bullshit to introduce, although Phillip was starting to doubt this one can be beaten.
"I… I don't presume to be an authority on all questions monetary," he said levelly, "but I'm pretty certain that a hundred fifty platinum equates to fifteen hundred gold."
The ball gave him an infuriatingly patronizing nod.
"Correct! Here's cent cinquante platinum. Fifty from my associate, and a hundred from me. Call it a personal stash. Need to protect the family, you see," he gestured towards the other two balls with a tiny paw.
Phillip's lips moved around the shapes of the words, but only half of them came out. Being polite wasn't easy.
"My deepest apologies… but… I was… unaware… that the city has such wealthy entrepreneurs… among its… animals…"
The ball was giving him a sardonic smile. Phillip wasn't quite sure how it was possible without showing the face.
"Phillip, mon ami. Your naiveté is amusing. Do you really think that one of the most popular destinations for Daring Heights children only makes profit every other month?"
Phillip could swear he felt several of his hairs go grey at that.
"We… You realise we can't accept laundered money?!" He said, fighting the indignation in his own voice.
"Laundered… Such an ugly word!" The ball rolled back and forth in the chair. "I prefer… stashed away. It's my money. I'm a full partner. Just because my associate doesn't know these money exists doesn't make it illegal. It's not like she ever asked."
"B-but…"
The ball nodded at the journal still in Phillip's hands.
"Trust moi, it's better she doesn't know she has the money to build a functioning catapult," he said with finality.
Phillip gave the ball in front of him an evaluating glance and released a shaky breath, his head falling to his chest in defeat.
"I'm going to take your word for it…"
"Bien! Then we will be on our way. I'm sure you know what to do with the papers. It's a pleasure doing business with you," the ball said, holding out a tiny paw expectantly.
Phillip leaned over in his chair to shake it, noting absentmindedly that the paw was exceptionally soft to the touch.
"We were never here," the ball said mysteriously, draping even deeper into the cloak and rolling off the chair.
As Phillip silently mouthed "WHY?", the door opened and closed again. The council secretary contemplated his life choices. He also contemplated starting to scratch off days without gith invasion on the walls of his room in sets of five, crossing off weeks after every weekend.
As he was pondering which wall would be best to start with, the door opened again. It was his secretary. She looked… surprisingly refreshed.
"Oh, dear! Sorry, boss, I completely lost track of time! There were these cute little fluffy things, and I just gave them a couple of chin scratches and then I looked at the timepiece, and half an hour has passed! Should I let in the next one?"
"In a minute, please," Phillip said with a reassuring smile.
She nodded, and disappeared into the hall.
Phillip sighed so deeply he felt dizzy for a second. Nonsense, he was a professional. He shook his head, erasing the entire encounter from his short-term memory. He'd have time to consider it when the long-term one kicked in. He cleaned up his coffee table, sorting a couple of papers that got scattered by the fluffy balls. One of the sheets has attracted Phillip attention.
It was his protocol.
He glanced from it to the empty chair in front of him, scrunched the paper into a tight ball and threw it into the fireplace without even trying to hide his satisfaction.
"Next, please," he called into the reception hall.
