(AUTHOR'S NOTE: There was an entry on Saturday, all you weekday readers. You may wanna skip back a day before you proceed. Don't worry, it's short.)
… dreams…
… bah. Forget dreams. There are other things to worry about.
For the last few months I've been complaining that I have no reason to keep this job. That people don't need me anymore. That Dragomir the Mayor is about as useful as Dragomir the Guard - in other words, not useful at all. Everyone got along fine without me.
That's changed, now. I have a reason to be here. A purpose. And it's to make sure that this whiny little fucker I once called king gets what he deserves.
I can't adequately explain what I felt when I first saw Jeffrey the other day. Even my passionate entry from Friday doesn't quite cover all the bases. I was mad, yes, and I was determined, yes. For those first few seconds, though… when I recognized him… when I saw what he'd become… I felt pity. Only… pity. My gods, he's fallen so far.
The Jeffrey I remember was a proud, stupid man. He carried himself with shoulders upright, chin lifted, mouth usually held in a mischievous smile that boded ill for everyone else. Even when he was expressing his doubts and fears to me, back in the king's tower, he was still a haughty dude.
That's not the Jeffrey that lives here. The few times I've seen him - and since I decked him one in the face and knocked out one of his teeth, that's not too often - he's been defeated. He's dirty, he's smelly, his shoulder are slumped, there's a massive frown dominating his mouth and he looks like he bought his clothes from a beggar who just escaped a house fire. And the house was full of poo. His crown's made of cardboard, for gods' sake. This man couldn't fall any further.
I love it. I may be calling for a trial, and I'm probably supposed to be impartial, but I love it. Take that, you murderous nincompoop.
I've noticed, though, that his presence has sucked much of the joy out of my life. Or maybe it's just directed at punishing Jeffrey. I'm not sure. Either way, I spent the entire day yelling at people. Yelling orders, yelling commands, yelling requests, even yelling at Bora to please not put so much butter on my pancakes, my breastplate is getting tight, thank you. I'm not so blind that I can't recognize a drastic change in attitude like that… I just don't care.
I'm not sure how this is going over with my new second-or-third-in-command-I'm-not-quite-sure Evangelina. She's pretty tight-lipped at the moment. Might have something to do with the man whom she wanted to usurp being in town. Surely that will fill a person with conflicting emotions. Hopefully she can live up to being an advisor - I more or less want to foist mayorly responsibilities on her and Harold for the duration of ex-King Jeffrey's trial, which will happen as soon as I can make it happen.
You're probably wondering, diary… if you do wonder anymore… if I still intend to leave once the trial's done. The answer is: I'm not sure. I'm really not sure. It's amazing how quickly something monumental like this can reshuffle your priorities. How fair is it for me to retake my title when all I wanted to use it for is punishing a man I despise? Do I have to keep on mayoring now that I've reclaimed my floppy hat? Or can I hand the hat to my dad like I'd planned?
Do I even want to?
Gah, who knows. All I know is, I have to go talk to Daena and Celine tomorrow. They've been constantly surrounded by well-wishers and sympathizers since I ordered the arrest of Jeffrey, and I know they've been wanting to talk to me. I can't avoid 'em forever. Hell, maybe a quick chat will help me sort out my priorities.
Dragged back in again. At least it was for a good reason. And at least Eve is still here to cheer me up.
Sincerely,
Dragomir the Mayor
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