nexus_crossings | (no subject)

"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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"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.