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"How does one make a city of unhappy people happy again?" Tyrion is sitting outside of a bar with a strange color drink in his hand. The Nexus is a very wonderful and exciting place from where Tyrion stands. And if there is one thing he loves about his visits here is a chance to experience something new to drink. And he just happens to be enjoying something that is very green in color and has a tiny umbrella. Sure, it is in a glass, and not a gold goblet or any other of the luxuries of being on the Queen's Council back in Mareen.

"I've been trying everything possible, and yet, Her Grace's subject is still quite unhappy. And if she finds out I've tried to placate one group of people, it only angered the rest." He lowers his head and he sighs while muttering under his breath. "I do hope she comes back soon to set things right." And he sounds like he craves a return to Westeros where he understands how the people there think and behave. Having a population of people that still see slavery as a means to an end is a lot different. So much for thinking them to be one of the same.

He lowers his head, and he takes a sniff of the sour apple flavored liquor. "And before one needs to ask, yes, I tend to think better when I'm drunk."

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"Doesn't everybody think better when they're drunk?"

Uh oh. Livers of the Nexus, scurry and hide, for none shall survive this particular encounter.

"Look, if there's one thing I've learned in my life, is that you can't make all the people happy all the time. Hell, you can't even make some of the people mildly content some of the time. Most people are stubborn, miserable bastards, and wouldn't know happiness if it slapped them across the face with a dead fish. All you can do is make yourself happy, and then try to spread it around, like fertilizer. My problem is, I'm a terrible gardner."

Tyrion lifts the glass up to inspect the contents a bit more, and he seems to be a little hesitant to take a sip. "I'm not sure if this so called drink will burn me from the inside out if I garner to take a sip." A drink that looks like wildfire should not be sold for human consumption.

He sighs and he puts the glass aside on the table besides him, and Tyrion fixes his red silks up. "Normally I would agree, but I'm up to my neck in trying to keep the fine people of Mareen from butchering not just themselves. And if setting Her Grace's fleet of ships afire was any indication, I can swear that they seek to butcher everyone who is currently running the city." The loss of the fleet in Slaver's Bay is still a sore point from the sound of his voice.

"If it was all just that simple, and I'm terribly sorry for asking question that is almost impossible to answer."

Tony tilts his head at the drink Tyrion is holding, and shrugs a little.

"Looks like a standard Midori melon cocktail to me, pal. And up to your neck? Sorry, that's not much at all, to be frank. Because you're hella short. You're determined to see what could go wrong, instead of what could go right. Suck it up, buttercup."

Tyrion snorts and he puts the drink drown beside him. "Everyone likes to make fun of a dwarf and they're not even original about it. And as much as I like to see things go right, I'm also at risk of being fed to two dragons if I fail or worse." He really doesn't want to end up going back to the fighting pits again, or end up as a fool of a Master.

His hand instinctively goes for his neck and he rubs it. "More like loosing my head or left hanging out in the sun for the crows to peck at my flesh as a reminder of what happens to someone who goes against what the people want."

Waylon shrugs. "If I tried to make a city happy then I wouldn't be known as an outlaw country singer." He starts honestly, referring to Nashville and how he bucked the system by doing his music his own way. He has come out of the bar with a beer of his own and he took a drink before continuing, "Its impossible to make everyone happy...all you gotta do is make yourself happy and do things the way you want to and not to be afraid of taking any risks."

Waylon chuckles at the last part and smiles friendly, "Well I would say the opposite at least for one of my friends Willie Nelson. He kind of tends to turn into a mean drunk. Names the Balladeer, but you can use Waylon."

Edited 2016-09-13 03:32 (UTC)

Tyrion's clothing that consists of fine red silks doesn't peg him from anyone from the 21st century. And Tyrion isn't brave enough to try his bright green drink, sure sour apple whatever it was did sound good until he got a good look at it. And he is just going to give Waylon a confused look.

"Waylon if it were only that simple, and keeping the city from eating itself and putting my head on a pike would make me very happy!" Running and pretending things were a-okay was never an option for Tyrion. And he pauses to think, is he still a Lord now or was that pretty much a done deal. Ah once a Lord always a Lord. "Lord Tyrion of house Lannister. Though I don't hear much of Lord Tyrion or mention of my house these days, so Tyrion will do just fine."

Waylon nods, he can agree to that. Nothing in life is ever simple when it comes to making people happy or just well relationships in general. "Well I reckon seeing your head on a spike wouldn't make your loved ones very happy."

It was only then that Waylon took a closer look of how Tyrion was dressed, he certainly didn't dress like he might've came from the 21st century. If he were to give a time period, he would guess Medieval Era, somewhere there at least(he accounts for the possibility Tyrion made be from a different planet other than Earth whose culture was Medieval like in his universe). Being a time traveler, he has taken a few trips to that point of time on Earth.

"Nice to meet you Tyrion. So I take it your world is in the Medieval era going from your clothes?" He can also surmise that he works in someway for the government or at least has some standing if the Lord in front of his name was anything to go by. It also reminds him of how Rassilon might address him as Lord Balladeer if he was on Gallifrey and having a conversation with him.

Edited 2016-09-13 20:43 (UTC)

Tyrion just looks at Waylon as if he sprouted two or even more heads when he mentions things like medieval eras when it comes to his clothes. And he looks down at his silks, and he runs a finger along the fine collar. "I've got no idea what you're talking about. One of the finest tailors in Meereen was kind enough to make this for me after I gave her a handful of coin for it."

And considering the clothes to him are modern, Tyrion sounds confused. "Now if you're not right in the head." Tyrion ahs, as he reaches his hand into a pouch that's hanging from his pants and he reaches out for a silver dragon that he hands over to Waylon out of pity. "I'm quite sorry for your troubles."

"You don't." Furiosa doesn't consider herself a politician, but she's pretty certain on this point. Hopefully she can be forgiven for giving him a skeptical once-over. The question and his stature remind her of an acquaintance she doesn't entirely trust--but this is clearly not someone from her world.

The tiny umbrella in his drink also makes her skeptical, for what it's worth.

"You're a leader for your city? You remind people you're around to keep them alive, not happy, first. Then you find something else they have in common and use that to keep them united."

"Until Her Grace returns, I'm trying to help keep her realm from crumbling to pieces. Sure, I've got help, but there as stumped as I am." Tyrion has taken on the role of a politician like a duck takes to water, and it seems to suit him quite well for the most part.

His eyes dart from the umbrella, the wildfire like tint to the drink, and then back to the woman who is speaking to him. "If survival was of the utmost importance to them they would be willing to put aside the barbaric notion of slavery, and work to improve their lives. But instead both Master and former slave want to tear not only this city apart, but they would love nothing more than to remove Her Grace and us as well."

"If only she can return soon." He has never felt so helpless before. "And perhaps she might be able to put things right. Or my good friend Varys."

What he says about slavery makes her thoughtful, expression softening a little with approval. They have established there's at least one point they agree on. That'll do for a start.

Folding her arms (one flesh, one metal from the elbow down), she leans against the bar wall, relaxing a little. "It's a civil war you're facing, then? Tell me more. I've seen a fair bit of dissidence and infighting."

Tyrion takes glance at the metal arm, and he is never one like it before and the one his brother has is simply a stiff gold hand. But he is quick to look back up to Furiosa and he sighs. "Yes. And it is a civil war that is spanning not just one city I'm afraid."

"And unfortunately those cities have fallen back under the control of The Masters." He wonders how not only will they retain control of Meereen, but of the other cities his queen conquered.

Adia is not one to drink, although she looks like she could use it. Her clothes are modern by 21st century standards, but dusty and worn, as if she's spent too much time outdoors.

"Why are the people in your city unhappy?" she asks quietly. "Is there something you can do for everyone, and not just one group? If people feel like they're being treated unfairly, they'll never be happy."

Tyrion finally goes to drink his drink, and it doesn't burn him from the inside out like he thought it might. And it does indeed taste like a sour apple. As for the clothing part, it doesn't seem to be much of a bother for Tyrion.

"Slavery. And while I do agree that it was rightfully abolished, the former Masters are seeking to destroy the city in retribution for Her Grace's good work. And while I can send an army to wipe them out, I don't think that would be wise or would make Her Grace happy once she returns."

The drink seems incongruous in comparison to Tyrion's clothing, but Adia has learned not to question appearances in the Nexus. "Is it any good?" she asks curiously, taking a seat at the bar. She can rest for a minute, at least.

"How much violence are they causing?" she asks worriedly. "We've had human slavery in our past... it took a while for former slave-owners to get over their privilege."

"Horrible." Tyrion scrunches his face in distaste, and he puts the glass down and he goes to flag down a waiter. "And I'm sure a place like this might have plenty of wine." The talk of drink is far better than having to deal with what is happening in Meereen and the other cities along Slaver's Bay.

But it is hard not to think about it. "I see slavery seems to be a common problem among the many universes. But alas, there will always be those who seek to take advantage of those who are born without a gold coin in their mouth."

Adia smiles a little at the face Tyrion makes -- not to poke fun, but to commiserate. "I'm sure they will. I usually just drink coffee when I'm here. Or hot chocolate."

There's a small wince at his words about those who take advantage, perhaps even a bit of guilt on her face. "That's true," she agrees. "I wish it weren't so. Who abolished slavery, on your world?"

"I never had those before," says Tyrion about both coffee and hot chocolate. Then again, he is never really heard of the two until now. And he is just going to wait until his wine arrives, so he sits there at his seat and he reaches his hand to tug at his beard. "Slavery came to an end the moment the Andals set foot on Westeros I believe."

"But still slavers do come looking for someone to take back with them to Essos where it is still practiced. And if one were to be caught, both slaver and one selling said person into slavery." He moves his hand from his beard, and he makes a slicing motion with his finger across his neck. "

"You should try hot chocolate, if you like sweet things. Coffee is more of an acquired taste. They don't have them where you're from? Do you have tea?" Maybe he's one of the rare Nexus-goers who, like her, isn't from Earth.

"So it was an outside group who abolished slavery?" She frowns a little. No wonder he's getting so much pushback from the former slaveowners. "I'm surprised people are still risking the slave trade, if the punishment is death."

"This happened hundreds of years ago. And while it is seen as barbaric to most of us, the lure of coin can drive a man to do many unpleasant things." Tyrion knows this part all too well. And he's sure his father wasn't below the point of selling off a prisoner or two. Or it is something that was done without his name attached to it.

"Or by people who simply want someone gone without making too much of a mess."

Based on their clothing alone, they're from very different worlds, but Tyrion's words still resonate strongly with Adia. She takes a seat at the bar and sighs. "There's a war on my world," she says, "between humans and the robots we created. We treated them like slaves because it was cheaper and safer than hiring human labor. I'm hoping that if we get the chance, we won't make the same mistake."

Tyrion looks a little confused at the mention of 'robots' having no idea what they are. And even more so if they were 'made'. "How does that differ from using an ox to plow a field, or for a horse to pull a wagon?"

Adia is taken back by Tyrion's question, even though it's something that her own people have said on occasion. "Cylons are as intelligent as we are, with similar emotions. And if a horse could speak and tell you that it didn't like pulling the wagon, you'd at least consider stopping, right?"

"Then perhaps I should have used a hammer and anvil or any other tool forged by a person as an anology and not a horse or goat." Tyrion has his hands full when it comes to dealing with people. And he takes another sip of his wine. "If a horse were on the level of a dragon, then their place in society would be reconsidered. And I still know nothing of these Cylons other than they were built to help people with hard labor."

"It'd be a good analogy if they weren't sentient," Adia says quietly, looking somewhat apologetic. "Our worlds sound very different, in that respect. Cylons were originally beings made of metal... humanoid in shape. Somehow they gained a... a 'spark of life' and were able to think and feel, like a human. They wanted to be treated better, but their creators denied that they really were thinking for themselves, and still treated them badly. Do you have anything like that on your world? An inanimate object given life?"

"I see. Then I can see your point. And as far as I know, there has been nothing like that where I come from." Tyrion almost seems to visibly shudder that the thought of some powerful magics bringing to life something like a statue or worse. "Thinking of the statues of both Westeros and Essoes suddenly becoming like us is horrifying."

But he suspects it is not something on such a big scale, and he squints just a little. "Am I missing something? Because I suspect these Cylons aren't giant statues. And trust me, if such a thing were to exist back home, what would become of the humans themselves. That is if a metal man were to do the job of a cook, smith, or tailor. And The Sevens forbid that there are metal whores."

"Not giants, no. Human-sized, and... well, some of them are made of metal, but some of them look like humans. Not by our design, though." She hopes it isn't too confusing. If Tyrion's world doesn't even have the concept of robots, Adia worries she'll have too hard a time explaining Cylons in more detail.

"Oh... that's something people were concerned about, when the Cylons were first built. But they were used for such intense, dangerous labor... I don't think any human would want that job, no matter how much it paid." She looks vaguely embarrassed at the phrase "metal whores" but tries not to show it. She gets the point Tyrion is trying to make. "My world has -- well, had, mostly -- machines that replaced quite a bit of human labor -- but it also improved the overall quality of life, and let people pursue more skilled professions."

Unlike most of the bar's patrons, Grace isn't there to drink. Anything alcoholic, anyway. She's still exploring the Nexus, and this evening's spot appears to be this place.

"I suppose...you do what you can for as many as you can. You'll never please everybody, I think that's practically impossible"

Not that Grace has any experience in leadership or ruling people, but she thinks it sounds like good advice. Very vague, yes - but not terrible either.

"I know that I can't make everyone happy, and if I tried I would go insane. But if I can keep them from burning the city to the ground then that would make me and everyone happy." Tyrion has since abandoned the strange drink, and he was able to get someone to bring him some Dornish wine to drink instead. The luxury of the Nexus is he can get a drink from almost anywhere.

He lifts the glass to his lips and he takes a drink. "And that there is proving to be a monumental challenge."

City burning was probably a good thing to avoid; at least he's got that covered. Thinking a moment, she tries again.

"What have you tried already? Is there anyone who can help you figure it out?"

"I do have help, and I've tried everything outside of showing too much force." Tyrion still has a feeling he's still going to be in trouble with Daenerys once she finds out her deal with The Masters.

"It would help more if I had a better grasp on their language like my good friend Varys, but there is only so much words can do."

William may not think better when he's drunk, but he certainly feels better, which is why he's sitting at the bar with bottles already amassing around him. Not too many, at least not yet, but enough. His dog is sitting by his stool, perfectly content just laying down to rest.

"From my experience, making sure they have food, water, and doing all their tedious and sometimes deadly work for them." He pauses to mull that over before taking a swig of his beer.

"Well, it works for small settlements, at least. Probably not the same for a city."

Three glasses of wine later, and the neon green drink having long since been left untouched except for one lone sip. Tyrion is on his way to getting himself drunk, and he simply sighs in William's direction. "Most of them have food and water. But it is more along the lines of those who have the most food and water wanting to use others to do the tedious and meaningless tasks for them."

He knocks back the last drop of wine, and he orders another glass of Dornish wine from one of the waiters.

"I would love to manage a small settlement over a sprawling city where I barely speak the language. But I'm sure the logistics would be the same, just one happens to have less people to worry about."

Brynja isn't quite drunk enough, but that's sure to change once she has tried every single drink in this bar! She never had so many choices - it would be overwhelming if she were the type to be overwhelmed. Instead, it makes her happy. She currently sits with a mug full of one of those strangely colored drinks. They tried to pour it in a tiny glass but she insisted on a Mug. She's a Nord, damn it!

But despite her jovial mood she snorts derisively at the question.

"Normally I'm all for tackling the impossible, but I say quit while you're ahead. Nothing is more of a waste than trying to make everyone happy." She sighs wistfully, though she's obviously being glib. "It is also far more of a headache than it is worth."

Tyrion is now on his fourth glass of wine, he's since left the horrible green stuff to simply sit beside the empty wine glasses. And there is being drunk and then being too drunk, but the latter never was much of a bother for Tyrion.

He turns his head to give a drunken glance over to Brynja. "But here's the problem, I've never knew when to quit. I could be a head by a mile, but I like to see things to the finish." Tyrion looks at the half-finished glass of wine in his hand, and he goes to finish it.

"Oh, I'll wake up with a headache the next morning, but this is the impossible that needs to be seen to the end."

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