Tea & Paperwork

Fun-Raising

Neuvillette gets a little handsy underneath the table at a fundraising dinner.

CW: Contains Smut

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Wriothesley has the pleasure of usually being passed over when it comes to state dinners with one exception.

"So, the Fortress of Meropide as you know," he begins, "is mostly an autonomous zone. We make Meka for Fontaine and are well-compensated for that, but we still govern ourselves, making finances difficult to manage at times. Monsieur Neuvillette is kind with any proposed budgets, but there is a reality that most are unwilling to speak of—there are just too many inmates and too few resources."

Fundraising dinners. Wriothesley is a charismatic man and friendly enough, but wining and dining rich Elites to fork over donations to keep the cogs of Meropide well-oiled is certainly not his preferred activity. The former administrator did not bother which is why when Wriothesley was younger the Fortress was a mess of gangs and the ill-repute.

He's guided it into better times, yes, but change comes at a cost, and that's occasionally rubbing elbows against the fancier fare found within Fontaine's court.

At least he is not alone this time. Navia gives him a look of pity from where she sits across the table, politely dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. Clorinde looks as though she'd rather be anywhere else—and Wriothesley knows she would be. Polite, yes. Conversational... no. Furina makes up for it, though, by easing the way of conversation just as she would a stage play, but she lost a lot of her heft with the death of her title.

Neuvillette is quiet. Contemplative. He has seen Wriothesley at work, spinning his words in the way that he does plenty of times, but this is the first fundraising effort set into motion since Focalors died and Neuvillette stepped into her shoes as the reigning Hydro Sovereign. Not that he's never had influence, but this time, his influence has sway, not that Wriothesley expects him to step in.

The food is bland. The wine is subpar but it's what the budget allowed. Everyone picks at their food politely but Wriothesley thinks he should've taken up the Traveler's offer of inviting Chef Xiangling over and taking her for a spin.

"I'm sure that you looked over the reports I sent to you before this dinner," says Wriothesley. He's answered by a litany of murmurs and nods as nameless faces confirm that they at least received them. "As you can see—"

"Why don't you cut to the chase, Your Grace?" one woman cuts in. She's older, with a sharp gaze and hair piled atop her head. Wriothesley wonders how much money she spent on the stuffed bird that graces her hat. "It is no secret that you've come begging for money. So, tell us, what are the... enhancements—" She says the word as if it pains her. "—that you plan to implement?"

Wriothesley feels his jaw tense but wills himself to remain calm. "Ah. Begging—that may technically be true but do we need to say it so plainly? Would you call it begging if another benefactor requested your patronage for a new park in the Court?"

The woman's expression sours but she does not retort, and Wriothesley smiles. "To answer your question, though," he continues, "the changes we are considering are basic at best, mostly intended to improve the lives of those living in the Fortress."

"Criminals, you mean," says another man with a frown.

"I'll kindly remind you that not everyone within Meropide has been on the wrong side of the law—there are families who make their home here unless you think that children should be considered as such."

Soft tittering across the table. Clorinde's eyebrows rise high and she chugs a swig of her wine. Navia looks anywhere but his face, and Neuvillette—well, he looks as placid as ever, seemingly distracted by his thoughts. This is why Wriothesley hates these sorts of functions.