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Enigmatic Correspondence
Topic Started: Dec 1 2011, 11:35 PM (864 Views)
Porcu
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

"Yes..." the gentleman said slowly, taking a moment to adjust his glasses. Moff Kuat was confident he had made his point, though there was no outward sign from the gentleman. There was a desire to reply to the Moff, but the gentleman kept himself in check.

The return to the airport was uneventful, and yet the Moffs felt it necessary to comment on various landmarks. The gentleman had seen enough and kept his eyes either focused directly in front of him or closed. It appeared that the gentleman's departure had already been communicated to his pilot, for when the three men arrived on the tarmac the jet was all set to leave. The gentleman gave a final bow as a polite goodbye before climbing the stairs, anxious to leave the Authority and the Continent.
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Porcu
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

Night had fallen some time before once the gentleman had made it back to Stockholm. Customs was unusually slow and unorganized, but he was not in any particular rush and had no appointments to keep. It was while he was walking past the city hall that the gentleman got the urge to make a journey to Patavium. Perhaps it was because he did not feel in the least bit tired, or possibly because he obtained a particular pleasure from visiting, but in any case he made his mind up and changed course, proceeding down a neighboring street.

Suddenly, four youths stepped out onto the main street from a back alley. The hoods of their sweatshirts are pulled over their heads and their jackets open as they block the gentleman’s path. A ball cap prevented the street lamps from revealing one of their identities.

“Let’s go, man. Empty your pockets.” the youth standing out front barked, his voice suggesting his sex as male.

The gentleman simply stood in place, his hands held behind his back.

“We’re not joking!” the same youth said with a chuckle. As reinforcement, another youth pulled out a knife, its long blade reflecting the light of the street lamps.

“We don’t wanna hurt you; just empty out your pockets.” another youth added.

The gentleman silently unlocks his hands and raises them slowly up in the air, but does nothing further. His disinterest at the threat before him irks the leader of the young thieves into yelling a number of obscene threats, finally order his comrades to proceed to emptying out the man’s pockets themselves. The gentleman does not move as two youths get on with the business of taking his cell phone, wallet, and papers, only staring straight ahead at the young leader who stayed back.

Excited at their success, the two retreat back into the company of their friends and hand their leader the stolen items. One by one, the youths then disappear back into the same alley, leaving the gentleman alone once more. He drops his arms, locking them behind him again, and continues on down the street.

He eventually stops in front of an old church tucked in between two renovated townhouses. A yellow sign attached to its front, next to the door, dated the building to the early twelfth century. He climbed the short steps and, despite the time of night, easily makes his way inside. Only a few candles near the altar light the church and the clacking of the gentleman’s shoes against the stone floor are the only indication of his presence as he proceeds down the aisle and takes a seat at one of the benches midway through. He unbuttons his jacket before resting his knees on the kneeler and bringing his hands up as if in prayer.

The gentleman is soon approached by the parish priest, who stands quietly next to him for a minute.

“Good evening, Vopiscus.” the priest said, greeting his guest with a smile. “It is good to see you again.”

“I trust all is well?”

After a moment of silence the priest said, “You know, they say that although Nixon the Elder was not a pious man, when he went into a church he spoke with God; however, when you go into a church you speak with the priest.”

“Priests vote. God does not.” the gentleman replied.

The priest smiles widely at the rebuttal before asking how the gentleman is doing. Still kneeling, he tells him about his chance encounter with the young thieves from before, drawing a concerned look. Reassuring the holy man that he is unharmed, he ends the story there, lifting himself slightly so that he may sit on the wooden bench. The two men talk peacefully for a little longer.

“Would you like to confess?” the priest asked.

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary.” the gentleman replies, taking a moment to button his suit jacket and bid the priest a good night.

The gentleman slowly exits the church and continues down along the same street as before. Wishing to check the time, the gentleman moved to reach for his cell phone, but realized its absence a moment later. He maintained his cold, stone-like façade as he slowly crossed a large square. On one end sits the Museum of Contemporary Art of Stockholm, a famous and popular tourist attraction and cultural artifact, on which a large twenty-four clock is displayed. The clock’s giant glass arms are beautifully outlined by lights and despite being far away the gentleman can roughly surmise the time. His estimation is proven correct as the clock strikes and two long, heavy dongs ring.

The gentleman traversed the remainder of the square and started to ascend a staircase that lead to a monorail station. The bright white lights of the station contrast heavily with the soft orange glow that radiated from the street lamps below. Making his way onto the platform, he does not wait long before boarding a train that smoothly pulls into the station. Taking a gaze inside before he entered, he spotted a young man and woman sitting together as well as a homeless man, seemingly asleep.

He stepped onto the automated train and headed to the very back of the car, the couple sitting a few rows ahead of him while the homeless man sat tenuously in a seat off to his right, almost ready to topple into the aisle. As the train effortlessly pulled away from the station, the gentleman turned his attention to the sight just outside.

Compared to the magnificence of Patavium or Valdemarsvik, Stockholm is still a city that expresses its old European heritage. The low skyline sparkles with the light from the street lamps, gently outlining every block, every district, the whole city through.

Continuing on without so much as noticing the numerous stops the train had made in the meantime, the gentleman began to check the stations and realized his desired stop was the next. He silently bid a good night to the two young people, who continue to chatter and giggle with each other, and the drunkard who miraculously still rested asleep at an awkward angle in his seat.

Much to his disapproval, the wind picked up once again as he descended the stairs from the monorail station and walked a couple of blocks to a station for commuter trains. Having entered the station, but unable to swipe himself through the electronic gates with his public transportation card, the gentleman first stopped at a kiosk conveniently located in the main lobby and charged the amount needed for a ticket to and from Patavium to his bank account after providing the necessary information. Securing the return ticket in his jacket pocket, he fed the departure ticket into the electronic gate and moved through once the thick metal flaps fold into the gate.

The few people who are to be found inside the station pay him little attention. Before long, a night express train was ready for departure and was soon flying through the cold, deserted night with the gentleman aboard. The outskirts of Stockholm pass by within a few minutes of leaving the gate and he focused on his face that stared back at him from the window. Thick rimmed glasses outline eyes that unmask the souls of most people he encounters and the generally expressionless façade that looks back at him leaves much to be desired. Thankfully, dark hairs still outnumber grey hairs by a wide margin, all combed back, all held back without much effort or assistance. Professional looking no doubt, Porcu’s (arguably) most powerful individual looks more the part of a man who is wandering aimlessly or is lost, soul-less and radically disengaged from the world that comfortably – and uncomfortably at times – bathes others.

Eventually, the glow of Patavium can be seen from his view inside the train. At breakneck speed, the train roars forward toward a towering metropolis of modern and futuristic delights and designs. The atmosphere at night of a city whose metal and glass structures rose into the clouds, whose latest architectural masterpieces served as new wonders of the world, and whose fantastic display of lights calmed and provided him with a sense of irrevocable peace stood as his primary sanctuary.

Rated as one of the most eco-friendly and progressive cities on Earth, Patavium could boast for hours about its various public, private, and joint projects. Annual festivals brought the best architectural minds together and various exhibitions and contests kept pushing the level of technological sophistication of the city.

The maglev train quietly slowed as it floats past the outer districts of the city, finally approaching and entering the grand station a short time later. The night was still young for the gentleman, who descended from the train along with a sparse collection of other people – all businessmen or woman as best as he could tell. Considering the sheer splendor of the station, with its aesthetic lighting displays, its interactive, electronic maps, and its general technological sophistication, the gentleman was not surprised to see a greater number of people gathered here compared to the simpler, but classical station he departed from in Stockholm. A number of young people wander the corridors and entrance hall of the station, chatting lightly and innocently amongst themselves. A security guard or two kept an eye on things, the cameras that hang overhead assisting them in their duties.

The gentleman slowly walked through the station and directed himself towards the main entrance. His stone gaze fixed ahead and his arms locked behind him, he was surprised when something bumps into him and he turned to find a small child, no older than three years, on the cold floor. The child burst into tears, having bumped into the gentleman without seeing him and becoming a little surprised herself. The gentleman drops his gaze to the child before trying to help it back up. The mother of the little girl quickly approached with a nervous expression on her face.

“I apologize, sir.” the embarrassed mother said, attempting to console her daughter at the same time.

“Quite alright.” The gentleman replied in between the cries of the little girl, whose composure is quickly regained with the help of her caring mother. “Are we feeling better?” he asked the child softly when she stopped crying and her mother dried the last of her tears.

The child stared back at the gentleman silently, seemingly transfixed by him, and her mother took the opportunity to apologize once more before returning to her husband at the far end of the lobby. The gentleman quickened his pace in leaving and takes a moment to scan the buildings that surround the train station once he exists.

Breathing in the cool air, he pushed on through the city. The sparkle of lights, both near and far, of stationary buildings and passing vehicles amazed him and he began to feel alive. As he passed through a shopping plaza, the number of young people out and about increases for a short time – none throw him any surprised or unwelcome gazes, none point him out to their partners or friends, none give him any attention.

Eventually, he came to a large opening. Behind him rested the northern half of the city, while immediately in front of him sat the southern half. Separated by Lake Ariminae, the two halves of Patavium looked joined if one were to go by the reflection in the lake’s waters. Unlike other cities, Patavium is not surrounded by an outer beltway and instead has one large super-highway pass through the center of the city and the lake while smaller freeways flow around the outer districts. The central, large highway hosts sixteen lanes and passes directly through the city, at a level approximately two stories below ground level. Usually separated from the traffic and pedestrian activity above, occasionally the highway is revealed in pedestrian-only areas of the city via a glass separation.

The gentleman peacefully gazed out into the lake, the rush of red and white lights contrast beautifully with the heavenly display courteously provided by the southern half of the city. After standing for some time, he moved to a nearby bench and remained until the warm rays of the rising sun greet him.
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Porcu
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

Sitting on a couch with a close advisor on one side of him and an attractive, but disregarded woman on the other side, the gentleman gently held his right hand out in front of him. A row of finely dressed men and women stand before him, each one waiting patiently for their turn. A middle-aged man stepped forward and bows deeply before falling to one knee and taking the gentleman’s hand. Kissing it, he gave him thanks and praise, standing to leave only once he has taken another deep bow. The ritual continued until a woman appeared from behind the gentleman and whispered into his ear, dropping a small paper in front of his face for him to read over.

The gentleman shifted in his seat and stood. The line of people faltered and nearly overwhelmed him as he began to exit the room, each person taking any available opportunity to get to him. Only a lucky few manage to grab his hands, while the rest are kept at bay by a pair of guards. Moving swiftly through a number of packed rooms full of tuxedos and stunning dresses, the gentleman advanced through the historical and ornate residence without stopping and soon found himself at a side exit.

Flanked by two guards in fine tuxedoes he left the building officially titled as his residence, though, ironically, he spends as little time within its walls as possible. He leaves behind a lavish night party, with its hired dancers and escorts, its bloated guest list and synthetic personalities, and its thick scent of decadence.

“Right here, sir.” one of the guards said, directing him to a back alley after their small group had walked for several blocks in an average Stockholm night.

The alley led to a small opening that rested between two houses and before the gentleman are two figures, one a middle-aged man and the other a highschool student, judging by their composites. They rested on their knees against the cold stone pavement, their hands tied behind their backs, their heads kept down out of fear. Beside them stood several men, all quite cheerful in comparison to the poor souls before the gentleman, and one casually pulled out a cigarette from his pocket.

“I kindly ask that you return that cigarette to your pocket.” the gentleman said, his soft voice breaking the silence that engulfs them all.

“It’s just a cigarette…” the man replied with a grin, moving to take out his lighter.

“He said to put it away.” one of the gentleman’s guards grumbled, forcing the man to angrily stuff the cigarette back into his coat pocket.

After a short silence, the man spoke. “So, this is that rat bastard that stole your wallet and your other stuff…It wasn’t too hard to find him. This piece of shit next to him is his father.”

As the man continued one of the other men stepped forward and handed an expensive wallet over to one of the guards, in addition to a modest cellphone. The guard then turned it directly over to the gentleman, who promptly leafed through it and put it away inside his inner coat pocket – though not before noticing a few banknotes were missing.

“Why did you drag the father here?” the gentleman asked.

“Huh? Oh…He got all defensive when we told him his son was nothing but a lousy thief…”

“I never would have imagined my son to be a thief! I certainly didn’t raise him to steal!” the middle-aged man bellowed defensively, a nervous pitch to his voice.

“That doesn’t excuse the fact that your son is a dumbass.” the man replied. “And that you’re a lousy father, a simple excuse for a man!”

“I’m sorry! Please forgive me!” the young adolescent yelled, trying to draw attention away from his father. “Please…” the adolescent said, pushing his forehead against the pavement.

After several unsettling seconds, the gentleman pushed his glasses up and massaged the inner corners of his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He let his glasses fall before slowly pushing them into place. Without a word or visual cue he turned to exit from the same way he entered.

“What?! You’re not going to do anything?” the leader of the small band of men shouted in confusion. After not drawing any sort of reply, he added, “Well, can we fuck them up a little then?”

“No.” the gentleman replied flatly.

He whispered to his guards to take care of things. Comfortable in the competence of their work and ability to follow directions, the gentleman returned to a larger side-street that eventually wound back towards his residence.
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The Authority of the Grand Moff
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2nd Lieutenant
 *  *  *  *  *
After giving it some thought, both Sienar and Kuat decided that the best course of action was the simply supply the Austrians with copy-built German designs, of the sort that they would be familiar with from their service with the Holy Roman Empire.

(And besides, if the Austrians turned out to be other from what they claimed, such would give KDY and SieSys plausible deniability....)

They thus sent the following secure message:

Quote:
 
STATEMENT OF PURCHASE

WEAPONS

3500 x G-36 assault rifle
35000 x G-36 assault rifle magazine
100 x M-60 heavy machine gun
1000 x M-60 heavy machine gun magazine
50 x LAW
50 x LAW rockets

VEHICLES

10 x M113 APC
2 x Marder IFV


Please review your Statement ASAP. Should Statement prove satisfactory, please prepare Payment: 50% required in advance, 50% upon delivery.
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Porcu
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

Vienna, Austria

The tension amongst the citizenry eager to exert their influence and strike for an independent state was palpable – Von Boul-Dier, Aehrenthal, and Waldschläger, as well as other Austrian leadership couldn’t believe it hadn’t boiled over yet.

Still, affairs in the Austrian capital were not good. Severe shortages of commodities exacerbated the strain felt by large swaths of the population due to rampant unemployment, and to all this the local city council and the larger, state Diet were powerless to control. In hearing the stories and rumors that circulated, Von Boul-Dier, at times, desperately held on to the belief that a brighter day would come sooner rather than later. It was an extremely difficult sell though, as one might imagine.

It was an unseasonal afternoon when Aehrenthal strolled into Von Boul-Dier’s office and handed him a fax that had just arrived from Stockholm. Looking it over and then gazing up at his visitor, Von Boul-Dier smiled.

“He did well, it seems.”

“I’m afraid I don’t particularly concern myself with weapons. Will those do?” Aehrenthal replied curiously.

“I’m much like yourself, but considering the number of local police, Austrian troops, and average citizenry we’ve pooled for any necessary stand this should be more than enough.”

“Our colleague requested an approval or rejection immediately.”

“Approved then. Also, inform Lieutenant Kenkle of these incoming shipments.”

“Right away.”



Stockholm, Porcu

“Did you hear about this mess in Austria?”

Numeritus looked up from his tablet computer and caught a glimpse of a businessman speaking with a colleague.

“It’s been brewing for a few weeks, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, since the fall of the Holy Roman Empire. It’s not very clear at all who is going to wind up in power. Rumors have it that with the massive unemployment there’s a good chance that a revolution will grip the country.”

“Nonsense! They’ve still got a functional and legitimate government and most of this chaos is understandable considering how recently the whole Empire crumbled. This’ll pass.”

Numeritus continued gazing at them from across the metro train, only shifting his eyes back down when it suddenly occurred to him that he may have been looking for too long. He had glanced over a number of headlines the past few days concerning Austria, but overhearing the two men talk piqued his interest. In the end, however, he was discouraged by the amount of unsupported speculation from supposedly reputable news sources and ended his query just as his desired stop came.

Would today be the day? Politics in Stockholm had become quite the fierce art during the past several days and, although he was never present, Numeritus was sure that severe arm-twisting and high risk backdoor negotiations were underway. Despite being an amateur at this level of Porcuian politics, he had managed to solidify only one position taken by most Parliamentarians: Cea is not to become Prime Minister again.

This alone was rather unhelpful, however, and Numeritus often wished he could be present for some of the high level discussions. Considering how exhausted Cesca appeared afterward dissuaded him from this thought but kept him as curious as ever.

A wonderfully cool evening greeted Numeritus as he exited from the Underground. The street lamps glowed warmly while light traffic hummed by, and across the way, sitting on a bench, waited Cesca and Vappimus. The latter waved as if to grab Numeritus’ attention, though the portly fellow was never one to go unnoticed in a crowd (of Porcuians at least), and cheerfully welcomed the third member of their group to a small open space on the bench.

“I’ll stand, thanks.”

Vappimus looked back at Numeritus with a frown, but Cesca spoke before anything was said in response.

“It’s done.”

“What is?” Numeritus replied.

“Our dear friend has the necessary votes. The hunt for a prime minister ends a little less than two hours from now.”

“Really? How?” Numeritus said, quite excited. He had poured over the news reports of the last ballot and many pundits were simultaneously worried and curious at the prospect of a fifth, sixth, or seventh ballot.

“Let’s not talk here.” Cesca said while standing. He buttoned his suit jacket and proceeded down the street, leading the way as Numeritus hung back with Vappimus.

“It’s all quite interesting, you know.” Vappimus began saying to Numeritus, ignoring what Cesca had said a moment before. “A good number of fools were worried that Cea would snake enough votes and take the ballot this next election.”

“I’m sure he made some very tempting offers.” Numeritus replied.

“Of course, but that’s not enough in this town. We’re Porcuians, and we’ve got pride. We also have our reputations to consider.”

“Politicians are of a single breed, Vappimus.” Cesca said, taking a quick look back at the two men tailing behind. “Look at us, after all.”

Vappimus scoffed at the reply and seemingly dug his head into his torso, multiplying the number of folds in his neck. For the next several minutes, all three walked in silence and appreciated the atmosphere that surrounded them. The weekend was near enough for many and the streets were filled with overworked businessmen, young students, and, though the hour was quite early, the occasional drunk.

Eventually, Cesca led the group to a small street vendor, whom it turned out he knew personally after many years of frequent visits and much appreciated patronage. Sections of clear canvas kept the interior quite warm, but more importantly it kept any conversation relatively secret from passersby. Having only known the socialist Parliamentarian for a short time, Numeritus was surprised to be lead here, as opposed to an upscale restaurant where private seating with no interruptions need only be inquired.

“Oleksiy, what’s on the menu this evening?”

“Good evening, my boy.” the elderly man said warmly when he noticed who it was. “Steamed vegetables – some fine potatoes came in earlier this week, fried chicken with my own hot sauce, some simple dumplings, and…let’s see…”

The old street chef rummaged through a few containers, picking up metal lids with his bare hands even though the food and containers seemed hot and clouds of steam would billow from them, before answering, “Ah, yes, some fried zucchini flowers.”

“Please…” Cesca said to his colleagues, motioning towards the food with his hand. “It’s on me.”

Later, Numeritus tried to begin eating, but decided against it when he noticed how pained Vappimus seemed to look struggling with the deliciousness of the food and the scalding temperature. Instead, he turned his attention to the elderly man.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Lucius Divenus Numeritus. May I ask where you’re originally from?” Numeritus asked politely.

“Ah, I’m afraid that’s one thing he doesn’t like to answer.” Cesca said, blowing on a piece of chicken before engulfing it.

The elderly man smiled and said softly, “That’s right.” He turned his attention to the young Porcuian in front of him. “The name’s Korotchenko. It may be easy to tell that I’m foreign, but I consider myself a Porcuian and so that’s as much of an answer I give.”

Numeritus felt slightly embarrassed and tried for a bit of his food. Again, however, Vappimus’ yelps of pain – this time for a large drip of sauce landing on the back of his hand – had him decide otherwise. On the other hand, he did venture to take a sip of beer and was cheered to find it refreshing.

“How often do you have your cart set up? I believe this is the first time I’ve noticed you here.” Numeritus asked.

“Oh, not too often. Cesca can probably tell you, but I set up at only a couple of spots throughout the city.”

“I see; do you need the work?”

“No, I don’t need the work.” Korotchenko replied. “Sure it makes me a little money, but I see a lot of interesting people and that about makes it worth it.”

“Do you live in the city?”

“No, I live in Patavium actually.”

“Another round!”

Cesca had finished a good portion of his meal, as well as a couple of beers. He was in an unusually good mood and his demeanor was unexpectedly contagious. Vappimus’ food had either cooled down enough or he had simply stopped caring to cry out, but after exchanging a story with Cesca he greedily dug into his foam box filled with food. Cautiously, Numeritus introduced himself to Korotchenko’s cooking and was genuinely impressed. Conversation drifted slowly, but eventually found itself settling upon the election for Prime Minister.

“It was chaos afterwards.” Cesca said, his eyes seemingly transfixed on the clouds of steam that floated just in front of him. “No one knew what to make of his sudden burst.”

“That can’t possibly be all of it though.” Vappimus countered, unconvinced. “Quintianus was predicting a huge pivot to Merenda or Cafanus, especially after that horrendous story involving Pinnes’ senior political aid.”

“No, no…” Cesca replied, shaking his head. “The traditional response when an election is close – and the safe bet by the way – is to cast ‘blank’ ballots. Merenda was always the choice of the Greens and, therefore, was never likely to gather the support necessary to carry the election. Cafanus, on the other hand, is experienced and intelligent, but Quintianus bungled his nomination and couldn’t sell him.”

“Better that Iccer, I would say.” Vappimus barked.

“You are absolutely correct. He is an idiot, anyone who spoke to him for five minutes would understand. Gularis has been a godsend for the socialists, but she’s made some terrible mistakes over the years. We could have grabbed the seat of government if we had been smarter.”

“Do you really believe Parliament would have elected another socialist?” Numeritus asked, quite curious. “I’m not sure that isolating the PDF would have been enough to garner the votes you’d need.”

“Perhaps…” was the totality of the reply.

Just then, a young professional poked his head through the canvas and moved to enter for a meal. “I’m afraid I’ve closed down for the evening.” Korotchenko said firmly. Unsure for a moment, the young man stood at the corner, but ducked out once it became clear he was not going to get any service.

“What was the vote count then?” the elderly man asked, turning back to the three men seated on stools before him.

“Don’t you watch the news?” Vappimus replied surprisingly.

“No.”

“What about the paper?” the portly parliamentarian asked.

“Yes, but I’ve forgotten.” Korotchenko shrugged.

Vappimus cleared his throat before announcing the results, jokingly imitating the manner and voice of the Speaker. “The results for this fourth ballot election for Prime Minister of the Republic are as follows:

TOTAL BALLOTS: 732
BALLOTS NECESSARY FOR ELECTION OF PRIME MINISTER: 366
REJECTED BALLOTS: 0
BLANK BALLOTS: 202

ICCER – 170
CEA – 238
ATRATINUS – 47
PINNES - 21
MERENDA - 17
CAFANUS - 14
PARSONIMUS - 12
MACMERCUS - 5
CINCINNATUS - 5
LANATUS – 1

The fourth ballot requires a nominee to obtain a total greater to one-half of Parliament to be elected. No nominee has reached that mark. Therefore, I announce that a fifth ballot will be conducted tomorrow at 21:00. This session is adjourned.”

A round of applause and a free beer followed the humorous act. Unfortunately, it was already time to leave just as the atmosphere had grown quite cordial. Happy to bring along their leftovers, Cesca, Vappimus, and Numeritus left the street cart with a warm wave. Korotchenko happily waved back and told them to stop by again. In proceeding to the Parliamentary Complex, Vappimus enjoyed his prize beer and Numeritus finished up the last of his meal. Quite the crowd had begun to gather in the square that sat in front of the Complex, a heavy mix of reporters and curious citizens, and it took some effort to make it clear across in order to enter.

As usual, Numeritus followed the two parliamentarians as far as he could and then bid them a temporary goodbye. On the surface everything was the same: tall, handsome, and build members of the Presidential Guard stood at the entrance to the chamber, a highly select mass of journalists and television reporters stood nearby and recorded all they could, swarms of assistants and aids handed briefings to their bosses and whispered bits of information, and a seemingly brief but important pause once Gularis came into sight. And yet…

And yet the air was different. The unknown collection of forced and genuine smiles hid something. The parliamentarians could see something not visible to others, or perhaps it was the other way around? Nonetheless, with the last of the bows towards the Honorable President and the clicking and shuttering of dozens of cameras, the doors of the chamber closed and all was instantly silent outside.

Showing his credentials to a security officer, Numeritus climbed to the observational level and took a seat in one of the rooms. It was surprisingly empty, but his attention was focused on the occurrences below.

Gloom was painted across some faces, whereas others expressed something mocking cheerfulness. Others, interestingly, showed what Numeritus could only guess as worry or fear. None of this was blatant, but from a given vantage point one does have an advantage in translating others. Soon enough, the proceedings began.

A heaviness settled inside the chamber to the point where Gularis turned to a member of her Cabinet and commented. “Oppressive in here, isn’t it?”

“I have no idea what it is, but quite a number of people seem unsettled.” the Minister replied.

With little enthusiasm and no interruptions (another oddity), the members of Parliament quietly followed along with the directions of the Speaker. No one rose and spoke when provided the opportunity and, therefore, the secret voting began sooner than one might have otherwise guessed. During the interval, as the votes were being counted, there was a gentle murmur that echoed throughout the chamber, but unlike previous ballot elections no one had stood to move about, nor had anyone thought it necessary to speak over others.

Complete silence reigned again once the results were transferred over to the Speaker.

“The results for this fifth ballot election for Prime Minister of the Republic are as follows:

TOTAL BALLOTS: 732
BALLOTS NECESSARY FOR ELECTION OF PRIME MINISTER: 366
REJECTED BALLOTS: 0
BLANK BALLOTS: 3

ATRATINUS – 438
CEA – 238
PINNES – 12
CAFANUS - 11
MERENDA - 8
PARSONIMUS - 7
MACMERCUS - 5
CINCINNATUS – 5
ICCER – 4
LANATUS – 1

The fifth ballot requires a nominee to obtain a total greater to one-half of Parliament to be elected. There is a nominee that has reached that mark. Therefore, I announce that a new Prime Minister has been elected by this democratic body. It is my pleasure to introduce the next Prime Minister of the Republic of Porcu as the Honorable Vopiscus Tarquinius Atratinus.”

Applause begins to fill the chamber and when Gularis stands the rest of Parliament follows suit. Numeritus gazes down from above but cannot locate the new Prime Minister. Moreover, many MPs clap robotically but look to each other for reference. An uncomfortable period of time passes before a noticeable direction of focus is picked up on by Parliament as a whole. In the front row, quite difficult to overlook one would think, stands a gentleman of modest appearances. Turning slightly from side to side, he bows and thanks the members of parliament.

Keeping with tradition, the gentleman moves slowly towards the seating row at the front of the chamber, arms held behind his back for some of the way, and steps up into the seating row currently housing the President and the ministers of her administration. One by one, they stop the gentleman and greet him with a handshake and a warm smile. One by one, they step aside with firm façades, no longer with smiles, and in the case of one minister with light chills. Gularis is not immune, but she continues the best out of all and smiles happily for the few approved cameras that record the event for posterity.

The gentleman arrives at his place and stands, allowing the applause to continue on. Momentarily turning to acknowledge the Speaker, the gentleman faces forward again and slowly slides his arms behind his back. The applause proceeds uninterrupted for some time.
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Porcu
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

A few days passed before all seemed normal again in the political corners of the capital. His Majesty the King, keeping with a long standing tradition, had invited the members of the new Gularis-Atratinus government to his abode to provide his support and a gentle reminder that the public expected integrity and honesty from their elected officials. Generally, the evening was pleasant and free of the normality surrounding political life, and the lack of eager journalists provided the opportunity for all to drop to a common level.

King Julius Decimus Maxentius IV greeted each of the honored guests personally, his beautiful wife beside him, and instructed each in kind to proceed for the rest of the evening with a demeanor of comradery and a desire to enjoy themselves. He himself wore a brilliant outfit, complete with decorated sash and an accompaniment of medals, while the Queen seemed radiant in a designer dress. Considering the cultural weight of the dinner and evening party, most of the male guests sported tuxedoes, while the women had the advantage of experimentation in dress design, color, and sophistication.

When the President arrived the King took the extra step of leaving the entryway and meeting Gularis halfway. A warm embrace and a light kiss on each cheek were in order and the King could not help but admire the stunning form of the Head of State until the necessity of greeting her husband forced him to refocus. The three spoke lightly for a couple of minutes before the King bid the influential couple inside as another distinguished guest arrived.

“Mr. Cesca, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

“An honor and a pleasure to spend an evening with you and Her Majesty.” Cesca replied, taking a deep bow. Stepping forward he embraced the King and exchanged light pecks on each cheek.

“What’s next?” the King asked quite suddenly, his tone low and inquisitive. “I very much hope Atratinus is a man of his word.”

Cesca quietly replied, “Our dear friend is reliable and honest; you’ll see the inner walls of Parliament soon enough. As for me, I’m off to the Foreign Ministry.”

“The world is a complicated place, Cesca. I hope you realize what nightmares Alcesus has had over the years.”

The parliamentarian smiled and bowed again before gliding past the King, warmly saluting the Queen, and proceeding into the palace. The sun had already set and yet the sky glowed like old embers when the last of the guests arrived.

Footage and pictures of the new Prime Minister were still scarce, but the King noted to himself that he appeared quite different in person than on screen. He was immaculately dressed, certainly, but his demeanor was slightly awkward and the aura that radiated from him was cold. Coming before the King, Atratinus bowed as all the others before, but not quite as low or for as long, and took a moment to adjust his glasses when he arose.

“Good evening, Mr. Prime Minister, and congratulations on your recent election.” the King said with a smile, bowing his head briefly in response.

“Oh, there’s no need for honorifics or titles. We’re both commoners.”

The King ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

“What guarantee do I have that your nominee, this Atratinus, will follow through?” the King asked.

“None beyond his word.” Cesca replied flatly. “It is no secret that you have entertained many a parliamentarians here in the palace in hopes of influencing the election, your Majesty. Gularis, Cea, Quintianus, Pinnes…they’ve all sat before you as I am doing now. Cea’s commands are absolute, whereas the other party leaders have fast wavering memberships. Despite their promises, none of them have any intention of satisfying your ambitions.”

“How do you know?”

“What matters is that I do. Furthermore, you don’t trust them. Lastly, and most importantly, you don’t trust the actual nominees.”

“Atratinus is different, how?”

“Only in that he is a novel player.” Cesca paused, leaning forward from his chair. “You’ve heard the rumors and know that this election won’t drag out for much longer.”

“Let me think about it.”


Looking past the King, Atratinus gave a short wave to the Queen and silently walked up to her. He took her hand and kissed it gently, stepping back and politely bowing. She greeted him with a light kiss on each cheek and turned to watch as the King returned inside.

Refreshments and appetizers were plenty and in time a fair amount of light conversation engulfed the halls of the palace where the guests had been forwarded to. An awkward occurrence welcomed the arrival of the King, Queen, and Prime Minister. Whereas some smiled widely and held their glasses up as a toast, others merely nodded and looked away quickly. A fair amount of whispering accompanied Atratinus wherever he went, and, truthfully, this delighted him to an extent. Occasionally, one would attempt a conversation with the gentleman, but it would quickly become more of a one-way interrogation than a reciprocal sharing of information.

“That’s him, eh?” Gularis’ husband said to his wife. His comment turned her attention towards the Prime Minister standing a number of feet away.

“Yes.”

“He seems so…melancholy.” he added. “How did he ever get elected?”

The Chairman was fuming. A wonderful opportunity, in his eyes, had gone completely to waste. And who was this nobody? No, this certainly would not do at all. But…there was still the Presidency!

“Goddamnit, just who is this man?”

“Cea…” a suited figure whimpered in an attempt to calm the tyrant.

“My god!” Cea screamed. “Two hundred and thirty eight fucking votes…every…damn…ballot. I’m going to get hounded by those vermin on television.”

Across the table sat a large gentleman, patiently, with something to say apparently. He waited, however, for Cea’s breathing to normalize before answering his earlier query. “Sir, I did as you asked and – ”

“And what?” Cea interrupted.

“and I’m just baffled, sir. It’s like he’s real, but not, you know?”

“No…I don’t.”

“Whadda you mean?” another man seated at the table asked.

“It’s like…Ok, so, he’s a graduate of the University of Patavium…”

“Oh, that’s fantastic!” Cea yelled sarcastically. “Why don’t you tell me when he lost his virginity!”

“What were his fields of study?”

A nervous chuckle. “Can’t say, it’s not written.” As Cea seemed on the edge of breaking someone’s head in the man continued. “But it does say that he’s spent some time in various ministries and government agencies. If anything, he definitely knows his way around.”

“He’s got to have connections.” Cea replied in an even tone, catching everyone’s attention. “There’s no other way.”

“Well, what’s done is done. It seems rather silly to me to try and uncover some sinister plot.” an older man said at the far end of the table. “We’ll survive. Our poll numbers are still high, and Gularis still has plenty to worry about. This is temporary.”

Cea looked over and smiled. He sighed deeply and massaged his forehead before responding. “Quite right…The party is as strong as it has ever been and we’ve got plenty of road ahead. Perhaps this is a blessing, but in any case let’s try to make the most of it.”


“That’s the art of politics, dear.”

“I suppose you’re right.” he answered with a laugh.

Soon, dinner was ready to be served and access to the Grand Dining Hall was made available to the distinguished guests. Apart from the handful of seats immediately bordering the King and Queen’s, seating was open to all. The place of honor, however, was clearly designated for Atratinus and new glasses of champagne were brought for a toast at the end of his speech. Atratinus gazed out among all the guests and fixed his glasses before beginning.

“It is a profound honor for me to share an evening of pleasant food, drink, and conversation with His and Her Majesty, and with the distinguished guests in this beautiful hall.” the Prime Minister began, his soft voice impeding some of those seated further back from hearing him. “I know many of you are eager to appease your hunger and thirst, so I intend to be brief.

“Life is, in short, three things: absurd, ironic, and beautiful. Self-pity and hatred of the self is the root of evil and one must guard against this manifestation as best as one is capable of. Trust is the most difficult object to obtain in life and encapsulates it in its totality. Cheers.”

Atratinus held up his glasses to a silent audience. Gularis was the first to stand after a few moments, glass in hand, and she gazed intently at the Prime Minister. The King, Queen, and the rest of those in the hall followed until all held their glasses high. A cheerful, traditionally Porcuian, salute roared throughout the hall and moments afterward an army of servants entered from side rooms with plate after plate of exquisitely prepared food. Select foreign guests, especially if not already accustomed to the sophisticated cuisine of Porcuians, were temporarily in heaven and even Atratinus was noted to have, albeit momentarily, groaned in pleasure.

Numeritus considered himself extraordinarily fortunate, for sitting right beside him was a former President of the Republic (Vinirimus) and not directly across, diagonal to Numeritus, sat none other than Richard Nixon the Younger. Vappimus sat beside Nixon, but seemed more concerned with the level of wine in his glass than with the fascinating stories being shared by the powerful figures directly next to him. The recent election of Atratinus eventually was brought up and Vappimus was asked how he was involved.

“Oh…” he began with a long draw.

“You must really be thick headed; Listen! Cea is stuck where he is, yeah?”

A small group of parliamentarians were gathered around the portly member of the Liberals. He realized they were all paying attention to him, but he felt he had to be direct.

“Pinnes and those communists are barely treading water and even Gularis has admitted that Iccer is a terrible choice and one she regrets!”

“That’s only rumor. There’s no way of knowing if it’s true.”

“Only a rumor…” Vappimus replied slowly. “You think his steady numbers are by accident? The socialists have nowhere to go, but they’re not ready to abandon yet. Iccer is weak, everyone knows that.”

“So why not parrot the party line and ask us to support Cafanus?” another asked skeptically.

“Let’s be honest, ok, we Liberals don’t stand a chance at taking this election. Basically, we’re here to cockblock Cea and make sure a dumbass like Iccer doesn’t pass past the third ballot with a simple majority vote – not like that seems likely.”

“I dunno…” another said, seemingly capturing the feeling held by the others.

“Atratinus can do it…Listen, it really is up to you. If Cea or Iccer ends up Prime Minister don’t you come crying to me saying I didn’t warn you guys.”


“…I played a token role in guiding some late votes to Atratinus. Not only was Parliament getting frustrated, but the public wanted a new government in place.”

“Very true…” Nixon said.

From across the table Numeritus smiled.



In the end it was a beautiful night sky that capped an already wonderful evening. The palace gardens were gently lit and an enjoyable walk for the guests, but while most utilized it for noble purposes there were others whose inhibitions had very nearly all gone. Such cases merely amounted to humorous stories that would be told to private audiences in future.

Atratinus had wandered to a corner of the gardens and now remained quite alone. The moon shone bright and complemented well the little lighting there was. He stared up at it and breathed slowly, outlining each individual crater he could with his eyes. Suddenly, a rustling caught his attention and the grinding of the gravel finally made him turn.

Rather than the handgun that glistened, it was the young and attractive face that he saw first. She was no one new. Her clothes were different, yet she was still poor. She had a vengeful gaze. Honestly, Atratinus did not expect to see her so soon.

“Surprised?” she said. He could sense it: nervousness. A quickening heartbeat.

“Yes.” Atratinus replied. He turned to her and brought his arms behind his back.

“Please, tell me in what way I ought to kill you.”

“That depends a good deal on how you wish me to suffer.”

“I don’t much care how –”

“Then it doesn’t matter in what way you go about it.”

“ – so long as you do.”

“Oh, you’re sure to do that if only you decide on it.”

There was a flash and a loud crack that rippled through the air. There she stood, legs slightly apart, gun raised. It was a direct shot, a beautiful shot, one that hit its target and achieved its desired result. There he lay. She had actually done it!

There she stood, lets slightly apart, gun raised. There he stood.

He moved forward and towards her. She held the tears as best she could, but there wasn’t much use. With her gun still raised, she dropped her head and listened as the crunch of the gravel grew ever louder. Without a word Atratinus stopped right beside her and waited. After the young woman could no longer hold up the gun, dropping it lazily to the ground, and after she had managed to compose herself a little, Atratinus held out a small keycard.

“Go to Patavium and enter Hamae Tower; use this in the elevator to access the top few stories. An elderly gentleman will greet you and point you in the direction of some information I think you should read and become familiar with.”

The young woman did not take the keycard immediately and so Atratinus placed it on the ground just in front of her. He stood and calmly walked away, slowly back along the way he came.

“Absurd, ironic, and beautiful.” he said to himself.
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Porcu
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

The shift to a calmer politics directly following the election of Atratinus as Prime Minister was brief. The Presidential elections were just around the corner after all, and it was easy enough to capture the attention of media personalities. Still, the public at large seemed less than thrilled at what amounted to early squabbling.

Things can change in an instant.

In all, 57 people perished in a horrendous blaze that swept through the Parliamentary Complex in the early hours of what turned out to be a wonderful spring day. Pristine and exceptionally modern, it stood as a clear indication of the Republic’s ascendency in international affairs. The damage was as much psychological as crude in lives lost.

It was truly astonishing, if one could step back for a moment, to observe the real and raw patriotism that erupted. Stark words to those responsible and genuine condolences from many nations reinforced the belief among Porcuians that justice would be had and that international solidarity was not dead after all.

Some knew the truth, but many more did not.



“Is there anything else I can do for you this evening?”

“No, thank you. Please, go home; you must be tired.”

An elderly man bowed before turning to leave. He picked up an empty teacup and its saucer on his way and quietly disappeared down a long, narrow passage, a tall row of books lining either side. In that late night hour he left behind a curious gentleman, who was lost in what he read. Once outside, he paused in the middle of the plaza and gazed back up at the towering structure – his neck and back never quite allowed him to see the top few floors.

Atratinus sat very comfortably in a chair at the edge of and in between of two rows of books, facing out towards the metropolitan jewel of Patavium. A worn text rested in his lap. He had fewer and fewer chances of late to enjoy such a tranquil moment, so he considered himself fortunate to have managed an entire day of it today. His breast tickled slightly as his cellphone vibrated and played a little tune.

“Hello?”

“Sir! Commander Connus speaking.”

“Yes?” Atratinus replied softly.

“There has just been an explosion inside the Parliamentary Complex; number of casualties unknown. There is also a fast growing fire. Communications intel says that emergency response units have been notified and are en route. My lieutenants and I have assessed the situation and have concluded foul play. Therefore, we respectfully ask permission to investigate before police and fire crews arrive.”

A pause before, “Granted.”



“Green light gentleman; let’s move!”

From a nondescript office building in downtown Stockholm, four blocks from the Parliamentary Complex that housed the Porcuian Parliament and all major HPCO administrative offices, five small groups of special ops exited. Spreading out from their common origin, two groups raced directly towards the Parliamentary Complex. Although it was late it was a clear night.

An assessment of the Complex verified the initial conclusion arrived at by leadership. The blaze was only spreading faster and faster and there was no doubt that the entire estate was at risk. Additionally, neighboring buildings would have to be evacuated if lives were to be saved. Pictures and video were captured by the operatives from a distance and a check of who was inside the building at the time was taken.

“Eyes sharp!” Commander Connus bellowed into his attached microphone. “Pakks says this was likely an explosive pumped through the ventilation or water systems. Since access to such systems was solely available to the maintenance crew, scheduled for a regular check this evening, we can narrow our hunt down.”

Whereas some operatives were in plain clothes and acted as surprised passersby, others stayed back in their black suits and dark helmets – eager to spring into action once the order was given. Those that had spread out took up strategic positions in nearby alleyways and along rooftops. They waited patiently for a clear sign.



“Marcus, we clear?” a slightly overweight man said, gazing intently to his left and then his right.

“Yup…”

Four men dressed in the honorable uniform of blue-collar workers exited from the Parliamentary Complex via a side exit that bordered a small grassy clearing. They emerged quickly but hesitated after. The rendezvous point wasn’t terribly far and the building they just exited burned bright, yet they didn’t immediately proceed.

“Can’t believe we did it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Lucius.”

“Guys, we can’t stay here. Come on!”



“Commander, this is Alpha-7. On rooftop overlooking west end of Complex. Group of 4 workers exited the building just now.”

“Alpha-7, this is Connus; provide close-up for positive identification for Command. Command, do you copy?”

“Roger that, Commander. Positive identification underway.”

One only had time to scratch their nose before a reply echoed through each operative’s headset.

“Positive identification confirmed; the 4 targets are not staff of the maintenance crew. Repeat: targets identified by Alpha-7 are not staff.”

“Alpha-7, Connus here. You are clear to engage targets. The rest of A-group will move in to apprehend them.”



The rounds silently and accurately impacted each of the four men running across the clearing. Imagine their terror! They were completely focused on making it to the other side and then, with no warning of any kind, a sharp pain reverberated through their entire body. One reached for his knee with a yelp, for example, while another groaned loudly and gripped his shoulder.

Menacing figures raced towards them from the surrounding darkness. In unbelievable pain, one man tried to stand and run only to have his legs shot. Another began to scream at the top of his lungs until he was silenced.



“Listen...Listen!”

“We are, just let it out.”

Another tug and another nail gone from a fingertip. The screams continued.

Off in a corner, hidden away from sight, stood Atratinus with his arms behind him. He had watched as each of the captured men who had posed as part of a maintenance crew were brought in one by one and questioned. He had returned to the capital earlier by private helicopter and, therefore, had a little time to generate an idea of what could have possibly occurred, and for what reason. He was pleased to hear that his guess was correct, but genuinely surprised at what had occurred just a few hours before.



Cea had not moved in a couple of hours and none of those around him wished to question him about it. His wife had retired for the evening some time ago, leaving the task of checking whether he was still alive or not to the pair of maids that remained.

Suddenly, the Chairman stood and marched across his large apartment to an office space, picking up the phone that sat at the corner of his desk. He dialed a number and hoped to get a quick reply.

A scruff voice sounded from the other end, “Hello?”

“I haven’t heard anything, Servius. Any news?!”

“I wouldn’t worry quite yet. There are a number of possible reasons why they didn’t rendezvous.”

“Many of the reasons I can think of are bad. I want to take some precautions.”

There was a long sigh. “I’ll make some calls. I assume you’ll still be up, so I’ll contact you in an hour.”
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

OOC: I'll not be resurrecting this thread to go over things already mentioned, but to dig a bit deeper into the politics of the Republic while Atratinus wields considerable power. It should serve to keep you (relatively) abreast as to what's going on in the capital. As always, I hope you enjoy reading.

IC:
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Atratinus never really liked being inside this particular area of the Presidential palace. In fact, he rarely liked being inside the Presidential palace at all. Obligations, such as they were, and appearances, such as he was forced to present them, were a terrible combination as of late. Naturally, the thin but firm man with thick glasses and a cold, unreadable facade was pleased at his new-found power. Yet, oh how he desired to be back in the shadows - the man no one payed attention to and no one cared about.

Different times.

Nonetheless, the wealth of information he had access to and the army of willing (and less willing) subordinates had increased. With each new face in Parliament and each successive party congress that elevated another to the heights of national leadership more secrets availed themselves. Some were well managed, most were not. The Porcuians, Atratinus once told a senior diplomat from Russia, were not a unique species of man - as much as they chanted that to themselves and paraded it about and as much as other nations believed it to be true - no, they were a people just as envious, insecure, corruptible, and callous as any other on the face of the Earth. The Russian was a pleasant guest and took the remark as a joke, with a chuckle. What was more difficult for the Russian to take lightly was what Atratinus added.

"Not like you Russians, however; no, we see the enjoyment of a tortured encounter, a death played out slowly and with a steady hand. Whereas you Russians, brutes and mongoloids though you are, are much more efficient in the execution. Quick, if not thoughtful, dedicated, if not careful."

The Russian's face had soured considerably once having taken account of Atratinus' soft, calculating voice and tone and realizing that he had not been joking. Atratinus turned to face him, their eyes locking and holding. "An icy embrace" was how the Russian wrote about it later that evening in his journal.

That was years ago, and perhaps a memory worth forgetting. It did please him, however, to recount the diplomat's expression of damaged pride and sudden nervousness.

A tap on the shoulder. The warm steam of tea filled his nostrils. Gathering himself and glancing about, Atratinus suddenly realized he had lost focus of those around him. The same gentleman, save one, who had helped catapult him into his position as Prime Minister. The agenda this time? What else except for parliamentary elections?

"Forgive me, Numeritus."

"Quite alright, Sir." Cesca and Vappimus looked on from their seats across from Atratinus. Numeritus continued. "The recent changes do not affect the overall dynamics of this election cycle. Crassigensis and the communists will not play a major role in national elections, though there is some speculation that they may take a few seats in various metropolitan assemblies."

"That said," Vappimus added, "the rift between the conservatives and the republicans is real - and growing." Despite subtle hints from Atratinus, the jolly Vappimus had only seemed to have gained weight instead of taking better care of himself and shedding them. "A definite split will not be easy on the conservatives, as they are very much financially dependent on the republicans, but I see a high probability that they will run separately."

"And the liberals? It must have been difficult to swallow having a centrist take the reigns for the first time in a few generations." Atratinus replied.

"Polling shows us in a statistical tie with the socialists and leftist democrats. Funding has gotten better and the leadership is confident."

Atratinus shifted his gaze to Cesca. Yes, the man was running the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, but he was a ranking leader of the socialists and was always kept abreast by Gularis. The clean and sharply dressed Cesca shrugged and noted that he and his party were as confident as the liberals in a victory.

"Excellent." Atratinus said softly. "This only increases my likelihood of holding the office of Prime Minister."

"Perhaps, but there are whisperings." Numeritus countered. "Some are arguing that centralization of power is dangerous and want to destroy any concept of a precedent being set..."

"But the precedent has already been set." Vappimus said.

"I meant the precedent for both offices (President and Prime Minister) to be held simultaneously at length."

"They want me to choose?" Atratinus asked, genuinely curious.

"Some no doubt fancy a run at the Presidency, but I haven't heard anyone mention anything specifically."

At the end of the evening two things were perfectly clear. First, the parliamentary midterm elections would likely result in another evenly divided Parliament, essentially securing Atratinus continued employment as the Prime Minister of the Republic. Second, there were the initial rustlings of a coming storm - something Atratinus had not had to deal with for some time.

Names, no less objectives, were unclear and Atratinus did not liked to be surprised - at least, a majority of the time.
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