The Round Table (Jane)

[Franky]

Ash 13, 121

These two weeks since the meeting with Jane had been a bit of a blur for Franky. He was somehow both working more and working less at the same time and it didn't make much sense to the Hobgoblin. But in those two weeks, he'd managed to finally hire on a full staff. And now, here they were, just around shift change after lunch rush, the tavern temporarily closed for him to hold this meeting.

Everyone was sitting around the table, many had met each other by now, but most hadn't met everyone yet. There were a number of snacks from many different cuisines available on the table, and everyone had a drink of their choice. Franky was standing behind his chair, looking around at everyone, a smile on his face. To his left, Weston, lounging back in his chair, Evzark, still wearing his apron and toque, both stained, was snacking on some fried okra. Further out was the rest of the kitchen staff. On Franky's right, sat Glasha, sitting up straight as one would in the military, followed by the prim and proper Meriel, with her somehow even more perfect posture, a soft smile on her face. After that was the rest of the serving and bartending staff.

"Thank you all for coming to this round table meeting of the staff of the Hobbled Gobbler." Franky brought his hands up, palms up as he continued, making eye contact with a different person every so often. "We have finally reached a full staffing for the first time ever. And I cannot be more thankful for each and every one of you that took this chance with me."

Franky paced a bit on his side of the table, "Many of you may not have met or had time to meet properly, as you all hit the ground running. That is why we are having this meeting now. To get to know one another, and so we can all be on the same page, and work on this the right way."

Franky gestured to Weston, "This here is Weston, he's the general manager. He will be handling the majority of the day to day management of all three teams."

He continued onward, "This is Evzark, one of the finest chefs in all the land, and the Head Chef. He is responsible for the kitchen crew, and in there, his word is law." Franky then introduced every member of the kitchen staff. Then he was off to the other end of the table, "Old Glasha here is running the bar and her team," which he proceeded to introduce. "And finally, we have Meriel, our Service Manager, overseeing the servers and housekeeping." He introduced each member of the service team by name, even the servers that were part time or Franky knew would probably flake out eventually.

Moving back to behind his own chair, "There are few rules here that apply to everyone here, myself included. I expect everyone to be respectful of one another and what we have here. I expect everyone to be communicative and honest." Then a sly grin, "And I expect everyone here to work hard, so we can make that money. It's why we are all here after all. And here, a high tide raises all boats, so if the Gobbler is doing well, it will be reflected into everyone's wages."

Franky looked over to Meriel, "I'm going to hand the floor over to Meriel. These last two weeks have been a transition period, but now we are going to move in a more guided direction. Meriel, would you mind laying out your plan, please?"

With that, Franky sat down, giving the floor to Meriel.

[Jane Farraway]

Ash 13th, 121. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer

The new and varied faces of the staff that surrounded Jane was just as exciting as it was intimidating. When she had suggested that Franky hire more staff, she had envisioned a few extra hands, but now over a dozen new employees filled the bar. Looking around, she smoothed the front of her dirndl and locked eyes with Meriel. Her new supervisor gave her a knowing nod as Franky spoke. The Service Manager had gone out of her way to know Jane, seeming to appreciate her poise and manners, and she in turn, and had asked for assistance in the upcoming meeting. While the barmaid had grown comfortable with speaking to customers, she was still slightly nervous to present in front of these strangers.

Meriel perked up as Franky gave her the floor and the prim and proper elf pulled her suede gloves tight onto her hands, giving everyone a cordial smile as she stood up.

“Lovely to see you all. I'm so grateful the entire staff has had the opportunity to meet and be introduced to one another. I for one can say with confidence that I'm looking forward to get to know each and every one of you!

A few smirked, some nodded, and others looked completely disinterested. Meriel waved to Jane to step forward, along with Weston and Oaky, the latter of which wore a bitter look on his face as he dragged his feet. The General Manager gave him a stern and silent expression and the boy picked up his pace reluctantly. Meriel lined them up according to height and adjusted various parts of their outfits before standing back to admire them.

“Now!”, the elf clapped her hands together and looked about eager, “Since the Hobbled Gobbler has grown to some prominence, I feel it's important that we dress to reflect our success. My volunteers here are wearing examples of the new uniforms that will be expected of your stations going forward. Millie, do a turn won't you?”

Jane blinked and then awkwardly turned around, the skirt of her dirndl flaring out slightly, and she tried to not make eye contact with anyone in the crowd. Meriel began walking around her.

“A traditional dirndl for the ladies. Classic, yet fetching. Ivory or cream blouse, sienna or burgundy dress, and red or green bodice, gold or black lacing. White apron at the waist. Ivory or cream stockings, brown or black laced shoes. The hem shall sit no higher than the knee, and the neckline should show no significant cleavage.”

“Too bad”, Haroth smirked, leaning back in his chair.

“That goes for the gentlemen as well”, Meriel stared at him pointedly, “Buttoned or laced shirts for all male staff shall be fixed at the neck with no more than two eyelets loose.”

The Lysanrin frowned and raised a finger to speak but was cut off by Shel, her face twisted with annoyance.

“Ok, I am NOT wearing that.”, she snapped. Glasha nodded her head with a grunt, “Same here.”

“Not to worry, ladies, you're something of an exception as bar staff. Weston, if you will?”, Meirel gestured to the man, who nodded and turned around as Jane did.

“Ivory or Cream buttoned or laced top, black vest, black slacks with black belts for the gentlemen, black skirts to the knee for the ladies, black bowtie, black laced shoes. Shirts shall be tucked in and sleeves no longer than the wrist and no higher than the elbow. This uniform will be similar to that worn by male serving staff, but in browns or burgandy instead of black and minus the bowtie.”

Gug sniffed apathetically and Brix hummed in agreement, but more objections rose. Weston raised his hand and looked around the room, hushing the din. Meriel smiled at him appreciatively, a light flushed to her cheeks.

“Weston, of course, as a manager will wear something different. He was just kind enough to humor me in this”, She patted his metallic shoulder affectionately and he almost smiled, “Now, Oakleigh, won't you?” The teenager rolled his eyes and loosely turned in place.

“For the kitchen”, Meriel said, leaning towards Evzark and his crew, “Black short sleeved shirts, black slacks, all cotton of course. Black shoes with deep treads to prevent slipping. White jacket, double breasted with sleeves no longer than the wrist. Paired with an apron. Oakleigh, dear, you will wear the same, minus the jacket.”

The Head Chef clapped, “Finally! A real uniform, now we're in business!”, All of the kitchen staff seemed moderately satisfied, except Chestnut who was on the verge of tears.

“But it's so plain! It's so boring!”, the Fae squealed like a spoiled child.

“That is enough!”, Evzark snapped, “No one is going to be looking at you anyway.”

“Yeah, and no one is gonna be looking at me either. Why do I gotta wear a uniform?”, Oaky rose his voice despite Weston's warning glare, “And why is the robot here anyway? It doesn't need to wear anything!”

The impudent boy threw his hand out at Bob, who had been stiff and silent at the edge of the crowd. He was unmoved. Meriel, however, blinked rapidly and her face betrayed her indignation.

“You, young man, are just as much a member of staff as everyone else, as is Bob. And as for Bob, I will not have you insulting another staff member in such a manner.”

“No insult taken, madam. One might say that I am something of a, hmmm, robot...”, Bob whirled. His voice was raspy, yet languid and dry in a way that mimicked the fashionably indifferent cadence of the upper class.

“Oh, Bob, you're such a good sport, “Meriel clasped her hands together. She walked across the room to inspect the Awoken, taking into account the frayed suit he wore over his chassis.

“A new tuxedo might be in order, along with a good dusting and polish”, she said, picking at some lint that had been hiding in a crevice of Bob's sculpted hair.

“Hmmm, very good, madam...”, Bob gave a jerky bow in response.

As Meriel fussed over a Bob, a murmur of voices began to rise about the new uniforms. The responses were divisive but those that were dissatisfied made it know. The rabble intensified and Weston did his best to calm the crowd, but they were intent on being heard for better or worse. Jane looked around helplessly and glanced back at Franky, hoping that he might reestablish order.

[Franky]

Franky watched closely as Meriel commanded the room. He watched as she included the both the lowest ranking employee and the highest, aside from himself, in a demonstration. He could respect that, helped ground everyone and make them all feel as if they were equals in the business, even if with different roles and compensation. That was smart. He listened to her especially polite and flourish introduction. It was one of the reasons he hired her, her experience in higher society would be invaluable to him one day.

He watched the reactions of the staff as she spoke, and wasn't surprised. He remembered seeing a similar variety of expressions when he was both soldier and commander in the Imperium. Some things would never change. He smiled as Meriel mentioned the rise to some prominence of the tavern. He didn't mind some ego stroking, and it certainly wasn't an untrue statement. He liked the idea of the uniforms, and the ability to customize them to a small degree. Maybe that was just habit from his military days, but to Franky, the uniforms were a visible reminder that they were all in this together.

Franky withheld a smirk as Meriel shut down Haroth. Interesting to see the dynamics coming into play now. Shel, the obstinate one, a barmaid previously who simply wanted more money and less table tending. Gug uncaring, always following orders exactly, and Brix, always eager to show off his willingness to do what was commanded. And Weston quieted the room with the disciplined air of his former military station.

Objections continued to rise now, and now things were getting personal. It continued to grow, and Franky decided it was time for him to step in and be firm, in his own way. He smacked his palms against the table, not loud enough to startle or offend, but certainly to draw some attention to him. He stood up, clearing his throat, slipping his hands into his pockets, a disarming maneuver. He stood there, watching, waiting, as slowly, all eyes moved onto him, and the voices ceased.

"I want to thank all of you for showing how much you care about the Hobbled Gobbler and each other by providing your feedback. It's an important aspect of this business, hearing what works for everyone and for the tavern at large." Franky's face was soft as he looked around at each person who had spoken up in protest in some fashion. "After all, if we silenced your voices, we would never be able to grow and achieve more success here. That is not the type of business I am running here."

His face grew stern now, "However, in the spirit of that respect being given to everyone's right to speak their minds here, I require you to do so with respect. Speaking over one another, making personal attacks on each other and the like will not be tolerated. We must respect each other and the business or we will all find ourselves out on our asses. I will not be saying this again."

The stern thin line of his lips softened now, "Uniforms here important. Aside from the fact that it separates us from the holes-in-the-wall taverns, it signifies each of you as an important member of your team within the business, and as a member of the Gobbler. This shows to the customers that they are to treat all of you with the same respect that we treat them, and each other. And it allows us to elevate this business even higher. I had originally suggested a singular uniform for everyone," then he looked at Meriel as he spoke this lie, "Meriel here came in to offer up the customizable uniforms. She also has suggested allowances be made for cosmetics, hair, jewelry, and shoes." Franky knew he hadn't suggested it, but it would be good to strengthen Meriel's bond with the staff, as well as show that he could make mistakes and change them if someone suggested something better. "She did this so that each of you could make this uniform your own as well."

His hands slipped from his pockets, and joined his speaking, "I will be paying for all of these uniforms. They will be custom tailored, made to be both comfortable and durable. I want all of us to be dressed in the finest around, for in a place like this," while it might seem like he meant the Tavern, really he meant Zaichaer, "Your uniform is a type of armor."

And then his face grew into a smile, "All of you joined the staff here for a variety of reasons. Some of you saw something in me, others saw something in themselves, some wanted to improve their station, and others are looking to make enough coin to reach a personal goal. Your reasons are all important, and they all matter. It is why all of you are being paid higher than the other taverns in the area would pay you. That is very much intentional. I expect higher standards for all of us, but with that comes higher compensation."

Then a somber, almost sad look, "If you cannot abide by all of the things I have said here, if you cannot abide by the expectations put in place by Meriel and the rest of the managers, then I will pay out your severance and we can go our separate ways. But if you stay on, if you do these things, I promise that the Gobbler will achieve higher success than any other tavern in all of Karnor, and each and every one of you will reap the rewards."

He looked back at Meriel and Weston, "Apologies for the interruption, might we get back on track now, please?"

[Jane Farraway]

Ash 13th, 121. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer

The room jumped as Franky slapped the table, silencing all in an instant. Jane for one was especially startled, having never seen her laid-back employer respond to conflict so aggressively. His aspect quickly softened and it became clear that the gesture was more to catch attention than express anger and she could not say that it didn't work. Even the most vocal among them held their tongues, though their expressions still hinted a lingering dissatisfaction that yearned to be voiced. As he continued, the factions of the crowd seemed both placated and provoked. Several of the serving staff walked out, having lost patience in or perhaps realizing the depth of investment that Franky was expecting from his employees. It was by no means demanding, but those that left had showed very little enthusiasm for the job outside of earning a paycheck. It seemed to be a matter of pride for the other, more experienced servers, but their ego and sense of entitlement had already become a nagging issue in the few shifts they had worked. Still, Jane could not help but consider the walk-outs something of loss and she worriedly looked about the room to see that the serving staff had decreased by about a third of what it had previously been.

Meriel had subtly winced when Franky introduced the concept of more customized options to the uniforms. Jane knew that this had not been in her plans and from what she had seen of the Head of Staff, she was not a woman who appreciated sudden changes. Still, she took it in stride and gave a light cough to compose herself.

“Yes, thank you, Franky. And special thank you to all who decided to stay. Your loyalty and foresight will not go unnoticed, I can promise you that.”

She looked out into the diminished crowd and folded her hands, “To elaborate, you are more than welcome to customize your uniforms however you like—as long as they do not come into conflict with the aforementioned guidelines, of course—The Gobbler values personal expression but we do need to maintain a sense of cohesion among staff.”

Chestnut perked up and raised her hand, but did not wait to ask her question, “ So, I could wear whatever accessories I want? Pins, necklaces, brooches, scarves?”

“Yes! Excellent examples!”, Meriel nodded.

The Fae squealed in elation, practically bouncing in her seat, “Oh, goodie! I have a friend who makes THE most adorable pins, she makes them out of beetles with the prettiest shells, oh but don't worry, she only uses the ones that die naturally since she raises them as a hobby, they're kind of like her pets which I know is weird but anyway I have ANOTHER friend who is WAY into silk printing and I have ALWAYS wanted an excuse to wear all the scarves she's given me over the years, you should--”

“Yes, yes, yes, we get it!," Evzark whipped out his hand, cutting her off, “But the moment any of that shit falls into something you're taking it off!”

“Oh, don't worry, Evzark, I won't let that happen. 'Food comes first', like you always say”, Chestnut replied coyly with a playful push to the bitter Goblin's shoulder. The Head Chef only grumbled, muttering in Goblish about needing a cigarette.

“Ah—yes. As long as it does not distract or interfere with your performance, you are free to accessorize however you like,” Meriel added.

“Oh yeah?”, Shel curled her lips mischievously, sensing the elf's discomfort. “So I can do whatever I want as long as it doesn't get in the way of the job, right?”.

“The option is certainly available to you, yes”, Meriel replied warily.

“Ok, so what if I want--”, The bartender trailed off, “To give myself an undercut, you know, shave a side of my head. And wear black lipstick--with a ring through my nose--and a couple eyebrow piercings?”

The Head of Staff visibly paled and incredulously asked, “Is that really what you want?”

“I don't know—maybe. I just want to know what my options are.”, Shel sneered, crossing her arms.

“Well, that is a...bold choice, but you also must consider how such choices would influence our guests, my dear, “Meriel said, unable to hide her disapproval, “It's best to be mindful of our appearance for those who of us who expect to receive tips.”

Shel scoffed, “And why would THAT get in the way of making tips? I've been in this business for five years, I KNOW what I'm doing.” She turned slightly to the rest of the room, as if voicing what others were thinking, “We're in the Knob.You talk like this is some bistro in the West End.” The various tittering seemed to confirm this in part.

Meriel pulled her lips tight, a slight flush to her cheeks. It was then that Weston stepped in, pointing a mechanical finger at Shel.

“You heard Franky, the uniforms were his idea. If you really have a problem with it, take it up with him.”

Shel rolled her eyes and muttered, “I don't know, I just hate the vest. And the bow tie, ugh...”

Haroth joined in, “I can live with the vest, but that button rule? The sleeves? We are all gonna end up looking like stuffed shirts and scare everyone away! I wouldn't be suprised if people would start thinking that the State took over and made the place into some kind of front to spy on everyone who comes and goes. I've seen more soldiers around than ever before, I mean, why wouldn't they think that?” The more he talked the more agitated he appeared to become as he broke out in a sweat. It seemed as though whatever substance he had taken to smooth over the meeting was making him react poorly to tension in the room. Glasha could only shake her head and shot Franky knowing look as if to wordlessly acknowledge Haroth's poor habits.

Those who were not invested in the uniform argument were beginning to grow bored, inattentive, and irritated. As others nitpicked trifling grievances, Evzark shot his hand up to speak. Weston loudly called his name as a que for others to quiet down and the Head Chef stood up on his chair.

“Alright, alright, the uniforms aren't perfect but we have bigger things to worry about!”, He pointed out Gug, “I need Mr. Head Server to get his people in line! They are running my kitchen ragged with all their coming and going and requests and mistakes!”

Jane looked away and picked at her cuticles. She had a strong feeling of what he was referring to. Gug, however, did not appreciate having both himself and his servers called out. He stood with a grunt and walked up to Evzark, who was thoroughly unphased by the giant who dwarfed him threefold.

“I have some concerns too. If we could talk about that.”, Gug said, narrowing his eyes.

[Franky]

Franky watched, unperturbed, as several of the servers left. He took note of the names, to ensure he sent them their severance payments. Not everyone was cut out for everything, if they didn't want to be here, he didn't want to press the issue. Their loss and he could find people who would. This room proved that if he needed to recruit, he could, and would. No need to dwell, Franky was already moving on.

Franky listened and waited. He knew there'd be more grumbling. There always would be. It was always impossible to please everyone in a group of people. And his job wasn't to please his employees. He was here to run a business, to make everyone at this table more money through the combined efforts of them all. Haroth's outburst though, warranted some words.

Franky could feel Glasha's eyes on him. "Haroth, the state is already monitoring us. They were before the Gobbler was built and they will continue to do so. Look around at this table, all of you." Franky gestured about them all, "We're not all humans, we're not the affluent and wealthy West Siders." Then he locked eyes with Haroth, "And if some people are worried we're a front for the state, so be it. Our job isn't to win over the hearts of every single person that walks through those doors." He then glanced around the table, "Look at our customer base. They look very much like us. Diverse, different, others, compared to the Zaichaer ideal."

He let that linger in the air for a bit.

"And that is one of the reasons we will see success. Do you know why the soldiers come here?"

He waited, then answered his own question, "Because they feel more comfortable here, with those of us of the Knob, with normal people working to create the absolute best experience for them. The fact that we're seeing more humans, and soldiers, arriving, is a sign of our success. And yes, we will draw attention from the state."

Then his face went stern, "Which is why we stay above board. They are, and always will be, watching. Many of you know that an empty excuse is barely needed to round up any of us. Don't give them one, ever."

Franky then turned to Gug and Evzark.

Voice calm but commanding, "Sit down, the both of you. Act your station."

Evzark's mouth as about to open, when Franky interjected, "Now."

The pair broke away from each other, sitting in their seats begrudgingly.

"Now, your departments are having issues with process and communication. That's what this meeting is for. Evzark, share the problems your department is having. Then Gug will do the same. And then Glasha will as well. I suspect that all areas are likely suffering symptoms of the same issues at hand. So let's fix them."

A soft smile, "Remember, it is us, all of us, versus our problems. Not us versus each other. As the Gobbler finds more success, you all will be rewarded more. We have to work together here, unless you want to be waiting your own tables Evzark? Or perhaps you'd like to hear nothing but complaints on the food, Gug? Air it out then we'll figure it out."

[Jane Farraway]

Ash 13th, 121. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer

How Franky could filter through all the noise without losing his mind, Jane did not know, as even she was losing her patience with the bickering that surrounded them. She rung the hem of her apron, anxious to do something with her hands as she listened to Haroth go on his paranoid tirade. For as irrational as it was, Jane could not deny how close he was to being right. She was, for all intents and purposes, an ally of the State. Most of the time she did not think of it, being so entrenched in the role of “Millie” that it did hardly occurred to her, but now she suddenly felt like an outsider, a potential “traitor” should her identity be discovered.

The room listened as Franky addressed Haroth's concerns, the Lysanrin drumming his fingers on the bar so loudly that Jane could practically feel the frantic rhythm. His words had something of a sobering effect and Haroth whipped his nose roughly and slicked down his hair.

“Yeah, yeah...I get what you mean”, he said, uneasy. It was clear that something was still on his mind, but he did not press the issue.

Gug and Evark raised their brows as Franky chastised them both. Gug gave a curt nod, sitting down swiftly onto a stool that seemed too small for him. Those that knew him would see past his cold stare and recognize the faintest sheen of tears that threatened to spring forth when insulted or frustrated. Jane had only seen it once before on a particularly challenging night, the one which had been the start of he and Evark's bad blood. Evark, meanwhile, seething, threw an unlit cigarette into his mouth and chewed the end furiously in an attempt to stifle his annoyance.

“Franky is right”, Meriel joined in, “This meeting is more than just coordinating a proper uniform. It's clear that we have had some—greviences that need to be addressed. So please, Evark, if you would.”

The Head Chef sneered and tossed the soggy cigarette into his breast pocket. He narrowed his eyes, scanning both Gug and his staff. With a snort, he dug the cigarette back out and twisted it with his fingers.

“Now—I can respect that we are trying to be more...”, Evarks voice trailed off, digging deep to find a shred of tact, “To be more polished than the average bar in the Knob, yeah? I like that even. It would be boring if all we served were pig knuckles and bread heels—BUT!”

The grackle turned about, sweeping a finger across all he locked eyes with, but especially Jane, “This is not a resort! The kitchen cannot make whatever food the customer wants just because we have the ingredients! Each night we have a menu and we stick to it, because if we don't, if we try to—let's say, remake a sauce because someone doesn't like that it has mushrooms in it, then we fall behind. You servers complain enough about that so you must understand how that feels!”

He popped the cigarette back into his mouth, “And speaking of that, for as worried as everyone is about getting their orders, the window is always full of plates waiting to go out! I cannot tell you how MADDENING it is to have someone yelling about an order they put in 2 minutes ago when I can't even see who is yelling at us from how many are stacked up! Does that food not matter? Who's worrying about what's already made?!”

“Evark is right”, Gug said reluctantly, giving a heavy sigh, “Food is not going out fast enough. I have seen what he's talking about. It's every server's responsibility to take food out to tables, even if it's not your own. That said, the kitchen has not made it easy for us. Most plates do not have their tickets with them so it takes more time to know which table they are for.”

“Isn't that your job to remember?”, Evark spat defensively.

“It's not simple.”, Gug grunted.

“Maybe it'd be easier if certain someones did not try to “accommodate” for each and very little request they get! Yeah, you get an extra copper but it's tying us up! You have to learn how to say “No!”. “NO you cannot have this without meat”, “NO we cannot add extra filing to a pie!”. Be reasonable!”, Evark ranted, clapping his hands to emphasize his words.

“Be flexible”, Gug said flatly. Evark turned two shades of red through his green skin.

“Every well and good, gentlemen!”, Meriel chimed in, “I'd say that's enough for now! We'll get back to it when we can. Glasha, do you have anything you'd like to add?”

The veteran bartender knocked the bar top and stood up, “It sounds like we've had it easier. The bar's a smaller space to control, but we've had the same issues with backlog. Drinks sit on the counter and you can't always stop drunks from thinking it's theirs. Or stealing them.”

Gug nodded, “We'll work on that.”

“Appreciated”, Glasha nodded back, “I can see the other problem that Evark's talking about too, but I don't think it's the servers fault. These new customers, the soldiers, the people outside the Knob coming it, they have different standards. They're harder to please—picky. And they're starting to scare off some of the regulars. I've seen more than a few people run out the door the moment they see the bar full of ZDC boys.” Murmurs of agreement joined her.

“Franky, I don't doubt for a second that we're gonna be successful. But I think that's why the uniforms are worrying a lot of people. It feels like we're losing our roots, and that the Gobbler is not going to stay very “diverse” for long.”

[Franky]

Franky listened passively. The problems they were expressing seemed easy enough to fix, but he wanted them to fix them, together. And he had full faith and confidence that they would do so. They were already working on it, he could see it in the faces of the department heads. But here came the true crux of the problem. The humans, the soldiers. Franky knew it had always been the problem, but it was one that he'd been hesitant to address. Humans were, obviously, a far more protected group.

Uniforms of the tavern staff versus the uniforms of the oppressors.

The diversity of his workers and clientele was important, as was the elevation. Elevating their business would help to elevate the community. But how to retain what makes the Gobbler the Gobbler? He took a deep breath, "I appreciate all of you working together on these problems. And bringing your concerns to the table. The loss of diversity and disconnecting from our roots is deeply concerning for me. It is important that we not become that which oppresses us. We must celebrate and raise up what is important to each and every one of us."

He smiled softly, "I see so many people who truly care about who they are, who care about their roles here, that care about this place that we all call ours. Look around, there's not one person here that came from a place like that which we have here. We're all building this new thing, this scary thing, this exciting thing together. And I agree, I do not wish to lose what we have going in the name of mere financial success. It isn't worth it."

A small sigh, "Our oppressors here wear uniforms," he knew Millie was here but it was something that needed said as well, "They wear the skin of humans. Too many of them and suddenly its just another human establishment, another typical Zaichaeri norm." A slight shift of the head to the side, "But if we begin trying to keep them away, we are just committing the same mistakes they make too."

And in that moment, an idea that had already been growing, blossomed, "We've already been celebrating important moments and days from the culture I grew up in. We celebrate some of the Zaichaeri as well." He cast his eyes on each person here, "But as your boss, I've been neglecting you all as well. Rather than cutting out those that make us uncomfortable, we need to further celebrate and elevate that which makes us, us. I want to hear ideas from each of you, things from your childhood, things from the cultures in which you grew up, things we can bring to the table, to better celebrate and represent you and your life. This place isn't about just me. It's about all of us."

A soft, apologetic line on his lips, "I've failed you. I'm not your boss, but I need to be your leader. I've been directing but not listening. Now, I am hearing you. I am listening. This is our Gobbler, our community, you have just as much right to any of it as myself. Share yourselves, and we will make the Gobbler a better representation of each of us, and not of the soldiers that bring us fear and harm. I am sorry, but I will do better. I will be better."

Locking eyes on Millie, "For all of us."

[Jane Farraway]

Ash 13th, 121. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer

A pensive silence hung in the room. The regret that Franky expressed seemed, at least to Jane, unwarranted. In her eyes, he had done everything in his power to make the Gobbler an inclusive space. The burden of success had only been attracting a less than typical audience for the Knob, which had been a growing source of contention among both staff and the customers, as Glasha had stated. Different tastes, different expectations, but still the human patrons that the Hobbler attracted were nothing like those that lived in the West End, or even the East End. Jane felt obligated to break the silence.

“Personally, Franky, I feel like you've done a fantastic job at representing our cultural backgrounds. The specialty nights we've been hosting are a testament to that, “Jane began. Instant looks of incredulity were cast upon her and she rushed to continue.

“From what I have seen of course! But, I think there may be some—misconceptions about the humans that choose to come to the Gobbler. They are not zealots of the State by any means. If they were, they would not choose to come here. Even the soldiers that come in are not of high rank, or very respected for that matter. The Knob is not exactly the most prestigious route to patrol.”

“Huh, yeah, that is true”, Weston reminisced, “Eastern patrol was always grunt work. That or “disipenary action” for anything from tardiness to insubordination.” He paused thoughtfully and smirked, “Wouldn't have expected you to know that much about the Armed Forces, Millie.”

“Oh! Yes, well—it's just something you notice after enough time in Zaichaer! Even as a civilian you just...pick up on these sorts of things”, Jane stumbled in a near panic.

“So how is anyone supposed to know that the soldiers who come in are harmless? A uniform's the same to everyone else in the Knob.”, Haroth insisted on his somewhat paranoid mindset, “Before them, the only humans that showed up were the people that Zaichaer decided didn't matter to them. And even some of them have their beef with us, but we all knew that they were only a rung above us.”

“He's right”, Brix interjected. Usually such a soft voice would have been drowned out by the more extroverted bartender, but Haroth paused and curiously raised an eyebrow, allowing him to speak.

“Humans are just as distrusted here as we are in any other part of Zaichaer. There are exceptions but that cannot be given to them as a whole. How can we when they cannot even give us that chance”

“Perhaps that's all the more reason to show Zaichaer how wonderful non-human culture can be? And more than that, perhaps we can start including more traditional Zaichaeri fare into our menu? Show how similar our tastes can be? I'm no cook or—or mixologist by any means but I am fairly certain that no one in the Knob has tried--”

“Hey, hey, hey! Have you been listening?! That is not the issue at hand here!”, Zeerd exclaimed. Jane slunk back, embarrassment burned into her cheeks. The Grackle Chef then snatched the cigarette that Evzark had been chewing out of his mouth and swallowed it whole, much to the consternation of his superior.

“We are not trying to integrate human anything into the Gobbler! We are trying to run this place by the Knob FOR the Knob! Meeting “The State” half-way is what we're worried about! We aren't obliged to do anything for Human tourists looking for localized Zaichaeri fare.”

The Sous-Chef, practically frothing, turned to his Head Chef, “Evzark! Remember when we talked about making Nesting Frog Roast, but decided it was too extreme for the menu? Are we cowards?! Let's make it! Let's do it!”

Evzark laughed and responded in Goblish, “I like where you're going but we are not using that recipe of yours.”

“There is ONE way to make Nesting Frog Roast and you know it!”, Zeerd snapped.

“It has been awhile since I've had something from home,” Dirdy mused.

“Nesting Frog Roast?! Oh, that sounds much fun!”, Chestnut chirped. She too spoke in Goblish but it was rough and broken, “How often I want make real Cricketsnaps like what we had in the Court of Summer, but human and non-human have not the preference. Only are they afraid because once eaten they jump in space but the taste is amazing!”

Shel cringed inwardly at her babble and commented snidely to Brix, “Wow, kind of weird to hear so much Goblish at work. Finally feels like we got the “Gob” in Gobbler, am I right?”. Brix only frowned.

“The world runs on Common. There's no use in speaking Goblish if we can't all understand it.”

“I agree”, Meirel added, “It's utterly counterintuitive to solving our communication issues, refreshing though it may be.”

“A refreshing change it is still and best when keeping Humans far”, Haroth purred in broken Vallenor, his tone a bit too flirtatious towards the Head of Staff, who smiled bitterly. Jane's ears burned at the Vallenor she heard, the only other language she knew.

“Are we trying to keep Humans away?!”, Jane asked, exasperated. She glanced at Weston and Oaky. Weston stood stoic, his arms crossed. He had likely heard such sentiments before and if he took it personally, he did not show it. Oaky meanwhile, shifted uncomfortably, drawing inwardly into himself with an ever growing scowl.

Another silence struck the room. Jane looked about and sighed, searching for words.

“I know we have been looking for a compromise but perhaps that might be part of the problem? I've no idea what “Nesting Frog Roast” is and yes it does sound rather extreme...but that might be what we need? As for everything else that was said, well, Franky, I suppose I'll leave that for you.”

[Franky]

Somehow, it seemed, that the opposite sides of the argument were so close to coming together on this. "We will not exclude anyone who follows the rules and boundaries we set in place, human or not. We must be better than those who are oppressing us, and remember that oppressors keep their own people locked in place too. Even nobility often falls into the gilded cage."

He smiled, making sure to look at each person in turn, "But we must not give up who we are, we must not sacrifice what makes us special. This idea of truly owning our identity is one I will happily stand behind. One I believe in." Looking over at Evzark, "Start making Nesting Frog Roast, Cricketsnaps, and anything else we love. We will celebrate that which strengthens us and makes us smile. And if anyone doesn't care for it, they can go eat and drink elsewhere. We do not need to drive them away intentionally."

He looked over at Jane, "And we will make sure to occasionally have some traditional Zaichaeri fare, though perhaps with the Gobbler spin on it." Franky looked around, "After all, several of you have been born and lived here your whole life. I'm sure there's meals that are just as beloved on West End as they are here."

Franky stood up now, as he was looking to wrap up this meeting, one he found quite refreshing and productive. "We need to support each other, to learn more about one another. We take care of each other and we learn the things we like, don't like, we learn how to best work together and communicate."

He smiled, "Maybe some of you are doing this solely for the money, and that's fine. But I am not, and I suspect those of you still at this table are not as well. You're here because you believe in what the Gobbler is and what the Gobbler can be. So we're going to make it happen. Make this place easier on one another. When we reach that point, it will stop being a job, a grind just for a paycheck. You'll see it, you'll see how each of you smile as you show up to work, your head will be held high, and that will find success in our customers."

He gestured around to the big room, "This place is ours. It is where we can go to be safe and ourselves no matter what. Come thick or thin, the Gobbler will still be here for each and every single one of you, and for the people of this neighborhood we call home. I promise this."

Franky slapped his hand on the table as his way of concluding the meeting, "Let's get back to it. I look forward to seeing what you all bring forth."

[Aegis]

REVIEW TIME

Franky
Lores: 8

Loot:
Injuries:

Points: 10

Comments:


Jane
Lores: 8

Loot:
Injuries:

Points: 10

Comments: