Work Text:
Elowyn fidgeted, running a finger around the cuff of her suit jacket. The speaker droned on. She flexed her toes inside her boots, trying to wiggle some circulation back into them. She shifted on the hard stone bench, pinching the material of her trousers between her fingers. Meredith gently tapped her fingers, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows meaningfully. Elo flicked her eyes downwards in a display of submission and apology. She stilled, trying to pay attention to the speaker. He stood at a podium in the middle of the room, his long grey beard curled and twisted into elaborate shapes. She frowned in concentration.
"And as you can see from the chart," he said, his tone as grey as his beard, "our grain yield is up by 13.5% on last year. This means we can afford to send the excess – that is, the 3.5% – to the Brewers of Stonebridge. This is per the request made on 15th of Unlocking, championed by one Reginald Scofield. It is my recommendation that we honour this request, but it is up to your lordships..."
Elo flexed her shoulders as discreetly as she could, glancing around at the other members of the council. There were a few coughs, a few drooping eyelids, but for the most part, the attendees of the council seemed far more alert than she felt.
Merri leant over. "Whut's th' matter wi' ye?" she hissed behind her hand.
"I'm gonna die of boredom!" Elo whispered back.
"Yer no' gonna die o'boredom. Would ya just sit still? E'n Dagrun doesnae wiggle so much."
Elo pouted. "I'm gonna die from dullness, and I'm haunting you first."
"Aye, ye would at that," Merri agreed, a flicker of a smile ghosting over her face before she schooled her expression. "Now hush. Beer's important, ye ken..."