local time: monday 31 october 2022, 11:00
location: city center. leoran consulate.
referencing: @tiagoixora‘s post
One of the city’s white robots arrives with a package for the Leoran Council. This, in and of itself, is not unusual; though the amount of time it takes to reach Gloria Gallo is. Thanks to prying from the Collective under the guise of checking for bombs (Gloria does not believe for a single solitary second that anyone would bother to bomb the Leoran Council, no matter what happened yesterday), it is hours after she first learns of the package that it finally arrives on her desk.
Already irritated that the co-investigation headed by Starfleet and the Hunters has gotten absolutely nowhere, she is in a foul mood when she unwraps a painting of a woman. Snorting, she props it up in one of the plush blue chairs in her office and takes a step back to scrutinize the piece. Is that supposed to be Amala Thevar?
Emotions duel within Gloria. On one hand, Amala has long been a vocal mouthpiece for the Collective. She has no sense when it comes to politics on an interplanetary playing field, and has been starstruck by the Collective’s fancy gadgets and shining promises. Gloria may not be familiar with the particular brand of bullshit the Collective weaves, but she’s headed political movements since long before the other councilor was born, and she knows a venomous snake when she sees one.
Yet, recently, Thevar had shown much more sense than Gallo had given her credit for. Faced with a drugged population, including that spriteling of a nepotic Starfleet General, she’d had the wherewithal to immediately alert the rest of the council so they could showcase a united front. Leora was strong-armed into the alliance with the Council, but showing their population they could get along was more important now than ever. They had decided months ago peaceful incorporation was better than brutal war. That decision had to be right, so they needed to showcase their cooperation.
No matter how much it grated.
Lips pressed into a thin line, Councilor Gallo snatches the painting off her chair and strides out of the office. Her slippered feet are silent against the Consulate’s reclaimed wooden floors, but her presence alone is enough to send anyone in the hallways scurrying out of the way with bows of respect. When she arrives at Councilor Thevar’s door she knocks twice before entering, hardly bothering to listen for a reply before the door is swinging open.
Plopping the painting down upon Amala’s desk, Gloria begins. “Well, I imagine you’ve seen the complaints about you pouring in over the feeds. They’re a little much but I think venting online is healthier than sending deranged caricatures to the council through our robots.”
She pauses, eyeing the painting again as she smiles. “Though I suppose you can take solace in the fact that even though most people want your head on a spike, there’s at least one person who wants to fuck you.”
The shambles that was the Food & Wine Festival is a blot on our Leoran culture! It's clear that there's only one person responsible for this and it's Councilwoman Thevar. Does she know the effects of Dorian? Does she care? No! She only wants to advance her own Collective bias. This cannot stand. - citizen F.B., highgold
Amala rolls her eyes. “The only people that sign things with their cultivation levels are Fucking Bastards, citizen F.B.” She mutters to herself in annoyance, a finger swiping on her tablet further down the forum. She knows that she shouldn’t be reading the messages, even if some aren’t as hateful as others.
I'm not a native but I feel honour-bound compelled to tell you that not only is it a disgrace that the Council (and in particular Councilwoman Thevar) allowed this to happen on a planet that prides itself on being well-nigh-perfect, but the response was shameful! You could stand to take some lessons from other species. This is a public relations DISASTER. - One Who Knows
“Public relations disaster my ass.” On paper, and video recording, Leora and the Collective were more unified than ever. Even if the bonds were still made of wet paper. “One Who Knows nothing, apparently.” A snort and she shakes her head, scrolling past that statement too.
WE HAVE RECEIVED YOUR MESSAGE SISTER AMALA! WE STAND READY TO RESPOND! WE MUST NOT LET THE MOMENTUM OF YOUR DORIAN INITIATIVE FALL FALLOW! GIVE US YOUR SIGN AND WE WILL MOVE! [xx*flP]
Amala’s previously amused smile fades as she reads the message. “Well that’s concerning..” For one, she’s an only child; sister to no one. Secondly, and more importantly, it’s been years since they’ve seen hints of extreme rhetoric like this. And the timing for it now is cause enough for concern. Her fingers tap on the tablet, sending a linked copy and a clip of what information she’s able to pull from the account to both the council’s own cyber security team and to Starfleet’s. It’s only one message, and it’s likely nothing, she knows. But there are enough mentions of a ‘we’ in it to give her pause. Extremist groups are never just one person. And she doesn’t love the idea of one setting it’s sights on her, no matter their intention.
Two firm knocks sound at her office door, and she barely gets through her answering call of “Come in.” before the door swings open and Gloria Gallo waltzes in. She sets the tablet down on her desk just in time for it to be covered by whatever it is that Gloria’s brought with her on this unexpected visit.
Mildly taken aback by the sudden.. gift? Delivery? Amala sighs as she squints at the artwork; lifting it after a moment to give it a proper look. “This got sent to you? Strange.” She offers in lieu of the proper greeting that she had yet to receive.
Art may not be her strong suit, but she’d hardly call the piece a ‘deranged caricature’-- truth be told, she thought it was lovely. There’s an undeniable essence in the wildness of the brush strokes, the vibrancy and depth to the colors-- she’s flattered, but she knows better than to tell Gloria that. Nor will she tell Gloria that, lately, scoring an invite to her bed hardly required this much effort.
“Careful, Gloria.” Amala turns her own saccharine smile up to her colleague, leaning back in her chair as she does. “A weaker mind might think you were jealous.”
“We know better of course.” What Amala does take solace in is: if this painting truly is some sort of public declaration of lust-- it’s probably been so long since Gloria Gallo seen such a thing that one of her aides had to be the one to tell her so. Though that thought too, is left unsaid.
“Besides,” She starts again, gently setting the painting aside for the moment. “You clearly haven’t seen some of the latest messages to come in.” Once again, she lifts her tablet in one hand while the other taps away; sending a screen shot of the last text she was looking at to Gloria. She can tell by the way the elder’s eyes loose focus that she received the image. “It appears as though I’ve inspired some sort of cult. And we all know what those can entail.” The tablet is set back down onto her desk, and Amala folds her hands over her stomach, casually leaning back into her chair again. With a shrug of her shoulders she adds, “There’s bound to be at least a few people who want to fuck me.”
Sensing that she’s poked the beast too many times, Amala changes gears. “I’ve already sent Starfleet and our own analysts the original message. Hopefully between the lot of them, they can pull enough information from it to find out who sent it and if we really do have a cult or some new group to deal with. Don’t worry.”