Hues of Progress

Lawkeeper's Office 

This is a small office hewn out of the granite, the texture of the walls left rough and mostly unadorned. A wooden desk with a highback chair sits just to the side of the door. Near the back of the room, a decent sized alcove has been formed, blocked by a metal, hinged grating with a primitive-looking mechanical lock. A stone staircase winds off from the back corner, presumably to the apartment above.

A faint whisper of inquiry reaches through the doorway, bearing the familiar mental signature of the Intermezzo. ~Voluanfel, do you have time?~

Voluanfel tilts his head slightly, stopping in mid-strum on his latra. He sets the ovular stringed instrument, framed in ornately carved wood, on the table and rises to his full height. ~Enter,~ he sends.

Two figures file in, the tall stiff-moving form of Volorualanaya first. She smiles, clothed in serene green-pink light; both she and Volosordogne following her have an undeniable air of satisfaction about them. The short Overture hurries past the other, moving up to the desk with a grin on his face.  he says, 

Voluanfel lifts his generous brows, awash in an aura of lavender, and an easy smile drifts across his careworn features.  the Coda inquires.

Volosordogne laughs quickly, almost a childlike note of delight in his voice. Sudden high gold surrounds him, and he glances at the tolerantly smiling Volorulanaya before turnign his crimson-tinted gaze back on the Coda.  he says with some satisfaction, 

Voluanfel nods slowly, settling back into the chair behind his desk, his own aura dancing with silvery gold for a moment before shifting to a neutral warm parchment hue. The wooden chair, handcrafted and held together by wooden bolts, seems to grunt just slightly under his weight. The spokes of the high-back creak as he leans against them.  he says, lacing his fingers together.

The female moves forward now and Volosordogne glances at her and steps back with a wry flash. Her expression is somewhat grave, though that could simply be an accompaniment to the red twinges at her joints as she leans her weight against the desk.  she starts slowly,  Her aura smoothes to a placid, thoughtful green; Volosordogne's sigh is not quite audible as he refrains from fidgiting.

The yellow shifts to a brighter hue as Voluanfel nods in response to the female's statement. 

 Volorualanaya says quietly,  she smiles a little mischeviously, pink flaring around her in watercolour tones, 

Voluanfel ahs and nods, his aura shading slightly burgundy as he reaches out of habit for a scroll and quill. He shifts forward in his chair so he can access a small pot of greenish-blue ink. Dipping the quill point once, twice, a third time, he then says,  Watching patiently, the Intermezzo picks up after a moment, her voice very slow and calm,  Her aura trends slowly to a faint copper-shaded blue as she goes on,  During the speach her glance moves back to Volosordogne; he looks more resigned than happy now.

Voluanfel etches the curving letters upon the scroll in the traditional, formal vertical fashion, the calligraphy falling down the page like the curling foam of a spilling waterfall crashing down unseen rocks. He begins the second column, which builds from a base to a spire before making the third column plunge. But as his hand prepares to make that dive with the quill, he glances up at his comrades. <What strikes the consensus as controversial about any of these mandates, save for the fact that they are mandates placed in the hands of a precious few?>

Volosordogne breaks in, his expression quickening with shivers of low smoke oranges, <That is the largest of the worries, Coda. There's a tension in the people now; they are frightened both of the problem and of the only solutions that anyone can name. There are restrictions to individual freedom that trouble me, but-> At a glance from Volorualanaya he breaks off with a sigh, his aura dimming with traces of pinkish brown. <-but,> he finishes, <we see no other solutions, and no consensus need be binding.> With a nod and a continuance of that implacable serenity that dissolves the air around her with green, the female murmurs, <should there be a problem, it is best to be prepared. It is difficult for so many to come to a quick, rational decision and that is what will be needed should somethign occur.>

Voluanfel nods agreement, a dour blue cascading about him as he continues the journey down the third column. <I have no illusions about the greater will of the Vollistan people,> he says, swirls of purple pulsating through his aura as he finishes the column and places the scroll under the glow of a flickering candle, to dry. <If the consensus shifts, we must shift with it. The tempo and key may change, but the performers must keep pace and tone.>

With quick, almost angry assurance the shorter Vollistan interjects, <That will never be in question.> He quiets quickly, though, with a faint chuckle and another wry flash. The Intermezzo murmurs with a trace of pink returning to her light, <We will all be glad to turn our minds to other things for the brief interval while this consensus holds. IT has been a difficult year. We becomes more controversial now, though.> HEr voice drops lower, and she straightens stiffly to recite with extreme care, <All races may freely come and go on Vollista, and all individuals of all races. All races may apply to become citizens of Vollista. Knowing harm to a fellow sentient being may lead to the barring of a citizen's freedom of passage on Vollista.> She pauses for breath, the shattered blue-reds that came with the last sentence easing.

Voluanfel blinks, a quizzical pink veiling his aura as he reaches uncertainly for the still-drying scroll. <Shall I add that?>

A chuckle breaks from Volosordogne's corner of the room, and he mutters, <She's leading up to something.> Volorualanaya simply continues, <No one who has knowingly caused the destruction of another sentient being's consciousness through any means, be it poison, physical murder, or psionic attack may remain anywhere on Vollista save through special dispensation of the Coda, the Intermezzo, or the Overture.> Her voice is very steady, forced into the expressionlessness of recital, though shattering disquiet envelops her hazily through lingering whispers of green. When she stops, the male adds offhandedly, <that of course includes state-sanctioned 'military' murderers.>

The Coda's aura pales to near translucence and his jaw drops. <Assassins? What matter of dark pursuit do we contemplate? Yes, this era promises difficulty and strain, with solemn chords yet to strike. But do we truly anticipate the shrill sawing of strings to break the crystalline night?> He shakes his head, reaching once more for the scroll. He takes up the quill and dips it with a trembling hand toward the pot. It takes three tries just to get it *into* the pot. Once he succeeds, he begins etching letters from bottom to top in a fourth column. <Military murderers.> He sighs.

Volorualanaya subsides into silence for a time; Volosordogne takes over in a controlled quick spattering of words, his aura betraying the chill greys of fear and harsh red sppeckles very clearly. <I am /told/> he says, stressing the last word with a glance at the Intermezzo, <that violence is a habitual thing among humans. I cannot believe that those of our own race are capable of this darkness, but it is for that reason that that element can wound us so deeply should they come here - /and we have opened our doors to them now/. We are apparently an exceedingly accepting race, or some of us are. Some would welcome them with open arms!> Again his words subside, the intensity of them whisperign away into echoes and the bright dancing shades of his aura.

Voluanfel tilts his head, sliding the scroll back under the glow of the candle and taking up the latra perched on the table. Strumming the strings lightly, crimson sputters through his aura with dark undertones of cobalt. <Do not underestimate the grim capabilities of any race, much less your own. Look no further than our own past to what black malice we can achieve - and not even in the name of our own glory, but that of others.> He cradles the latra in the crook of his arm and says, <The resolutions are inked. Consensus is achieved. Do you require more of me this night, or may I resume my composition?>

Volorualanaya reassures, <It is only form now; there is some fair amount to be set down yet though.> She recovers her equinamity quickly, and already her expression is serene again; Volosordogne takes several moments longer, frowning through his silence.

Voluanfel smiles mordantly, shaking his head. <Volir light the way.> He then takes the latra from the crook of his arm and begins to pluck at the strings, devoting his focus anew to the song.

The shift in direction is accepted by Volorualanaya effortlessly; she listens with a rapid glimmering shade of brightness that matches the music in silence. The male's impatience breaks through quickly, though, and he bites his lip and runs a hand over his neatly braided hair. Finally he catapaults in the direction of the door, quickly, leaving with a muttered, <It's only formality now. My sister...> and leaves the two.

The Coda's long, slender fingers dance along the strings of the latra, evoking notes like teardrops on porcelain. His own aura eases through shifting shades of teal throughout.

Green shifts downwards, forest-dark strands weaving tendrils through depths of turquoise around Volorualanaya; the light eases up through her loose-woven silver robe with slow solemn cadence. Her eyes are closed, and a tiny smile smoothes the serenity of her lips.

Voluanfel opens his own eyes as the final plinking note is strummed, then places the latra upon the table with reverence and care, as if it were made from fragile crystal rather than the rough-hewn wood of the resilient Vollistan forests.

Volorualanaya remains very still as the sound dies away, her aura whispering down into subtly happy pale greens around her spare form. She waits, or perhaps savours the lingering chords of memory; at any rate she is silent for the present.

The candlelight flickers in tandem with Voluanfel's purplish aura as he inquires. <Is there something more? My journals await, but I have time, if required, to provide further clarity.>

With a slight nod the Intermezzo continues along the earlier track; only the lingering hues about her mark the shift in the path of the meeting. She drops into recital again, monotone. <There is. Self evident, now: All citizens of Vollista are entitled to raise their voice in the government, regardless of current location, age, gender, sex, race, or any other circumstances. All citizens of Vollista may leave the planet freely and retain citizenship offplanet for so long as they wish.>

Voluanfel nods slowly. <And others may claim citizenship from offworld. The tune of our world takes on a different pitch. Some may find it discordant. My time among the offworlders certainly made for an overwhelming experience, being lost inside an atonal arrangement with no discernable pattern providing a bridge of understanding. One swirling collision of notes after another. We will be much changed.>

<We are,> the Intermezzo affirms, her voice weighted, <always much changed. Volir sets us an elusive trail through unknown heights. We'll only pick out the path by seeking out where he is brightest to guide. There are so many distractions...> Her eyes are suddenly unveiled, the palest of tin, and her serene gaze seeks Voluanfel. <And it is your experience with the offworlders that will help guide us. Shall I continue?>

Voluanfel meets the gaze, reclines in the wooden chair and laces his fingers together. The tips of his long thumbs meet and his aura bleeds ripples of blue and green from that digital apex, overtaking the previous purple in an illuminatory flood. <Continue.>

First a long, steadying breath parts Volorualanaya's lips. When she begins to speak it is in that same steady expressionless rhythm as before, the words spaced evenly and clearly for the length of the speech. She goes on for some time: <The planetary government of Vollista will remain neutral in any disputes between other races, planets, and factions that are not directly concerned with the good governance of Vollista. Certain factions within the planet may desire to intercede in interplanetary affairs on their own behalf to the nest of their ability; so long as these factions violate no laws of Vollista or of the planets with whom they are involved Vollista recognises their freedom to do so. These factions, hwever, in no way represent the planet's will as a whole. Should these factions violate Vollista's laws in overzealous persuit of their goals they will be subject to the discipline of Vollista; should they violate the laws of another sovereign government they shall be turned over to the discipline of that government.>

Voluanfel knits his brow ever so slightly, warning orange sparking through his aura. <Who decides the difference between what is merely zealous as opposed to overzealous?>

With an orange that matches Voluanfel's exactly, the Intermezzo presses her lips together. A swallow traces motion down her lean throat, and she answers reluctantly, <The breaking of a law constitutes overzealousness. We must respect the aliens' right to their own laws within their own spheres.> Orange dissipates, blue and dove grey filtering through her robe; sh emurmurs, <It is a law built upon a law, alienlike, the first step towards creating a controlling entity that is now Vollista's will. I know this. How it could be different no one knows.>

Voluanfel nods, sighing. <But if Vollista's will shifts like smoke on a breeze, we will seem inconstant, out of tune with each other, with ourselves, with the greater cosmos. Great care must be taken with such decisions.>

Volorualanaya leans very slightly forward, stiff red throbbing accompanying the motion. <Voluanfel,> she says softly, a smile tracing through her eyes, <often that is no more than the truth. Discordance is the raw stuff from which tunes are spun, and it's always there in the background however we may hush it. The truth is always the best appearance to present.> She ends on a note of copper-warm, a shifting floating cloud of hope.

His own aura returning to parchment yellow, the Coda nods. <Volir light the way.>

The female stands gingerly, more red marking the process in lightning-flashes. <You'll need to tell me of your journey someday, Voluanfel,> she says, <before you weave it into one of your ballads. Now, though, my body betrays me. Vollista watch over you, Coda.>

Voluanfel smiles and bows his head, aura dancing with blues and lavenders. <And over you, Intermezzo.>

A trailing thought of goodwill extends from Volorualanaya, and she heads from the room smiling, her bare feet silent on the stone.