In the town hall there is a section that only a select few members of staff have access to. Consisting of two hallways and eight rooms, the public had no idea it even existed, let alone dictated the majority of changes and regulations for their humble area. The hallways aren't unusual, nothing to write home about compared to the rooms.
The room we focus on today was a mess of signs, all written in the same handwriting and all featuring conflicting messages. The council used this room as a way of seeing how the decisions made in other rooms would fare among public opinions.
It was all a part of their process - see if one room wanted to make a decision, check another for the fine details, check the one beside it to see if there would be a death toll involved, check the room of signs to see the collective opinions of the decision etcetera etcetera until a decision was made and a new rule either implemented or removed.
While this process was lengthy and tedious it held far better results than the council simply using their own initiative. It had even helped to prevent an incident involving the deaths of seventy five people due to one room demanding they reverse the roads. That day the room of signs was full of screams, written in exactly seventy five different styles of handwriting.
Some days the room of signs was utterly blank, the public as uncaring and lifeless as the corpses they would one day become. On other days it was a mixture of "yes", "no" and "god who put these idiots in charge and where can we find them because they need a boot to the face pronto".
Lately every sign has had the same thing on it in the same writing style, scrawled again and again and again. Ever since the room of new laws decided that a housing estate should be built on top of a field lovingly named Hag's Nest. All the writing says is "don't dare wake her".
The room we focus on today was a mess of signs, all written in the same handwriting and all featuring conflicting messages. The council used this room as a way of seeing how the decisions made in other rooms would fare among public opinions.
It was all a part of their process - see if one room wanted to make a decision, check another for the fine details, check the one beside it to see if there would be a death toll involved, check the room of signs to see the collective opinions of the decision etcetera etcetera until a decision was made and a new rule either implemented or removed.
While this process was lengthy and tedious it held far better results than the council simply using their own initiative. It had even helped to prevent an incident involving the deaths of seventy five people due to one room demanding they reverse the roads. That day the room of signs was full of screams, written in exactly seventy five different styles of handwriting.
Some days the room of signs was utterly blank, the public as uncaring and lifeless as the corpses they would one day become. On other days it was a mixture of "yes", "no" and "god who put these idiots in charge and where can we find them because they need a boot to the face pronto".
Lately every sign has had the same thing on it in the same writing style, scrawled again and again and again. Ever since the room of new laws decided that a housing estate should be built on top of a field lovingly named Hag's Nest. All the writing says is "don't dare wake her".
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