Magistrate; Pastries; The Good Citizen

originally posted March 26, 2007

As of today, the sixth day of En'Kara, I am the Magistrate of the People. I may now add that to the growing list of roles that I fill; Poet, Playwright, Whoremonger, Magistrate of the People. I suppose it was no true feat to secure the office as I ran unopposed, but I am assured that at least one citizen, not myself, pledged a vote to put me in office. I received a nice bottle of Turian wine this morning with a note from the Lady Tamborn. She is of the Bakers. I like Bakers. They bake things. I am not much for pastries and the like, but it is not unpleasant to purchase a honeyed cake or some such thing for one's women now and again. Once per year or so. One must endeavor not to coddle them.

"Here is a bit of honeyed cake. Right then. Carry on."

Of course there are fellows that are wont to consent to every wheedle and every whine of their women. Scarcely does a slave have the icing licked from her lips before she is pleading for another taste. To each his own, but I cannot say that I understand it. Gruel is nutritious enough. And filling. It is designed to provide the nutrients a slave girl requires for the maintenance and health of her body. I cannot say that I am aware of it's taste, but I can aver that when I put the women on half rations they seem uniformly depressed. After a time, they will even beg for their full rations. That seems proof enough that it is palatable. Perhaps, to a slave, certainly a starving slave, it is even delicious.

I have finally finished the play, for which the first auditions were held the day before last. I have decided to call it The Good Citizen. As I suspected, with the first hand of En'Kara only now just ending, actors looking to fill the roles were sparse. I am confident the numbers in the coming days will increase. A second call for actors is scheduled for the end of this hand as well. I had thought one of the parts was well-suited to Phineahas, but I have not seen the fellow about for several hands. With the murders and arsons that have occured over the past three hands, I have started to wonder if the vagabond Story Teller told a tale that was taken the wrong way.