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An Idea Called Porcu
Topic Started: Apr 15 2013, 04:23 PM (1,806 Views)
Porcu
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

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A group of four men, grossly overdressed, approached the private residence with a guide leading the way. The sight, even just from their present position, was unbelievable and the sun, though having already begun its descent, warmed the skin and tickled it along with the cool breeze that swept in from the sea. One's nostrils filled with mist, but not like the harsh mist of the Baltic. No, this was different. Pleasant.

The four men were all too proud to take off their jackets and ties and withstood the collection of sweat that smeared across their backs and chests, gripping their shirts and underwear tightly. They were at the mercy of their guide, who walked at a brisk pace, but content in the knowledge that their destination was finally within sight.

Silence greeted the small group once they arrived and they were given strict instructions as to how to proceed. Off came the now foul smelling jackets and same with their ties. Resistance was only given when shirts and pants were asked for.

"Very well, then. Shoes and socks off." the guide, clearly a servant, said in acceptable Greek.

The group was shown the way to the pair of bathrooms within the residence and took turns showering and freshening up. Loose-fitting clothing was provided for each (embarrassingly for one the size provided was just small enough to make it awkward) and only as a group were they then taken up a set of spiral stone steps to a large room which gave a splendid view of the sea and the surrounding landscape. A thin, somewhat pale, figure stood at the stone balcony and looked out, the breeze catching his hair and lightly tossing it about. He wore a collared shirt composed of light material and pants that seemed both dashing and comfortable. He stood barefoot on the stone floor, as did the four men.

"Dominus, your guests have arrived." the dark skinned servant said in Greek, taking a deep bow, before stepping back to retrieve glasses for drinks.

The men were nervous, but they had informed themselves as best they could prior and felt that they were prepared. Oh, how they were wrong! When Atratinus turned in place the sun rolled out from behind a cloud and blazed brilliantly.

An intake of breath. The sudden chill - despite the warm rays of the sun.

The four men bowed in turn, not nearly as much as the servant, and confidently shook the hand of the Porcuian President. Starting from Atratinus' left, the men were Lucius Aemilius Paullus, Marcus Claudius Marcellus, Publius Cornelius Scipio, and Publius Valerius Cato.

"We thank you for taking the time to see us, Praesidis." Aemilius Paullus said with a low hum. A bear of a man in his youth, he had managed only to keep his deep voice as the years progressed.

Atratinus said nothing, but nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"We note the growing discord in Ariminae." Cornelius Scipio added with a grin that Atratinus took offense to.

The President's ears jumped at the title Cornelius Scipio had used for the capital. One did not hear if often, not for centuries, and only then in remote corners within particular social circles.

"And we believe we can help." Valerius Cato said with a definitive motion.

Simple reclining chairs had been swiftly brought in by additional servants and a cart full of snacks, breads, cheeses, meats, and fruit was wheeled in. Centrally located and within easy reach of all, the servants left the food cart and had only to pour the first cup of wine before being excused.

Atratinus gazed at his guests for a moment, they held their cups awkwardly at half the pose necessary for cheers. Finally, he raised his glass and saw how relief swept their faces. However, he was the last to drink.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

"Help?" Atratinus finally responded. "In what way?"

Atratinus already had some idea what the group of men - powerful men - wanted to propose, but he indulged them as any gracious host would.

"Why...We intend to get you elected President!" Aemilius Paullus said with a roar.

To say that the four men before Atratinus were important men would be a fantastic understatement. More important than their vast wealth, than their political and business connections even, these men were representatives of a noble group of families whose ancestries were documented clear back to the ancient Roman Empire and Republic. The ancestors of these men quite literally founded and built from the ground up what has come to be known as the Republic of Porcu. Over a millennium later, these families still held the pride associated with their ancient names.

And, oh, how prideful they are! Had it not been a Cornelia that had held the reigns of government for an unprecedented (and unsurpassed) amount of time centuries ago? Had it not been an Aemilia who laid the very foundations for the Republic's massive and unrivaled public transport system? Had it not been a Claudia who had provided the world with quasi-miraculous advances in medicine and physiology, just as a Julia had bravely stood against an unbearable Church and a repulsive monarchy and heralded the re-establishment of the Republic?

Despite liberalism and the advent of the modern age, it still meant something to be of the gens Julia, Flavia, Licinia, Postumia, and Servilia, among others. One's status was not provided a title, as the King and Queen had, but it carried just as much, but often more, weight. Those who could draw their lineage back to the foundation of the Republic could extent their reach to all corners of society - government, military, civil, business.

It had been these families working together who had managed to have Parliament craft and pass legislation dividing the Porcuian citizenship into two class. The annexation, or re-integration depending on whom spoke, of the independent states of the EU/HPCO had been Atratinus' idea, but the reaction to the consequences of that action was formulated by similar men as those before the Porcuian President.

In their eyes, the Republic had begun to slip, to slide away from what had proved greatest in terms of advancing the prestige, the honor, and the power of Porcu.

"I am already President, Lucius Aemilius." Atratinus said dully. "Our Parliament is only at its midpoint, there is still time for me to continue."

"Yes, but that's not guaranteed, particularly since you have no legitimacy beyond the measures you took when Lucius Germanius Cea was disgraced and removed from the presidency." Cornelius Scipio countered.

"And who is to say that Parliament won't unite to force your hand?" Claudius Marcellus added, finally speaking up. "I can easily imagine you staying on as Prime Minister and calling for a special election for the presidency. That whore Gularis has come to you about that, hasn't she?"

"Enough of that, Marcus Claudius!" Valerius Cato yelled, genuinely annoyed. "Canae Ardea may come from the country, but the Ulpii Gularii are a fine Porcuian line with no immediate fault. The way you speak of her is repulsive."

"You would be wise to distance yourself from Lucius Germanius, despite your friendship. That man has corrupted you enough." Aemilius Paullus added.

A short silence descended over the group. Olives and bits of cheese were eaten with some awkwardness and the four gathered around the Porcuian President watched how loudly they sipped their wine. Atratinus couldn't help but smile, revealing those unnatural teeth, for he was enjoying himself.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, Marcus Claudius, the former president has indeed approached me over the possibility of calling an early election." Atratinus said after another moment. He drank liberally from his cup. "Parliament is immobile and I do not suffer."

"Ah, there you are wrong." Valerius Cato said. "You are right to say that the public's approval of Parliament will continue to slide in this extended limbo, but your poll numbers have already begun to slip."

"I am viewed above the petty conduct of Parliament." Atratinus responded.

"You are nonetheless a parliamentarian yourself and at risk of losing significant public support and appeal." Aemilius Paullus said.

"What is your suggestion then?"

There was a pause before Cornelius Scipio shifted in his chair and spoke. "Although we had hoped to get you to run openly for president, and trust us you would have won, we have an alternative."

Atratinus lay reclined in his chair, his empty cup of wine in his lap and his gaze directly ahead. A cold sweat began to develop on Cornelius Scipio, yet he carried on.

"Our present system of government is not outdated, but in need of adjustments. Understandably, a vast bureaucracy has grown as increasingly complex situations have emerged over the centuries. Remarkably, however, there are still traces of the republic of old: aedile is still the title we provide our own secretaries of various government offices and ministries and praetor is still a prestigious office of the law, with the praetor urbanus the chief attorney of the State.

Now, what if we were to expand the list, reflective of a proper cursus honorum, and eliminate the seemingly insurmountable gridlock of Parliament?"

"What do you call for precisely, Publius Cornelius?"

Does that mean he's interested? the proud Cornelian thought with amazement. "Well...Let us use the analogy of a central committee, a group above Parliament that is charged with the management of the State such as is done by the executive now. Consider 10 quaestors, 3 aediles and an additional curule aedile, 3 praetors and the current praetor urbanus, 2 consuls, and finally 2 censors..."

"And one Praesidis, of course." Aemilius Paullus added with a grin and a motion to bring a handful of crispy baked bread pieces to his mouth.

In reviewing the concept in his mind Atratinus preferred silence and so hushed someone whenever they opened their mouth to speak. It wasn't very long before the Porcuian President spoke again.

"While this will not require an amendment to the Constitution, it will require parliamentary approval."

"Will? So...you think..." Claudius Marcellus began before being interrupted by Atratinus.

"Yes, I see the advantages of this proposal."

"We understand that some accommodations will have to be made at the start." Aemilius Paullus said.

"But we thank you for your decision." Valerius Cato added.

By now the sun was dipping over the horizon and a chill soon set in that forced the group of men further inside. A few more glasses of wine marked the end of the discussion and before long all had retired for the evening - all except Atratinus. He instead made his way down to the beach and slowly walked along its border with the sea. The water was cold at first, but he gradually became accustomed.

There were details to work out and a plan to formulate. Atratinus would not sleep that night.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

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The unusual hot spell that had graced the Porcuian capital was long gone and the normal had returned. Not quite bad, the weather was nonetheless aversive enough that none complained about having to stay indoors for the day.

Earlier in the week the President of the Republic had called for a closed-door meeting of all the national coalition and party secretaries. This came following another failed maneuver in Parliament to form a governing coalition. Both the liberals and the socialists had decided to take votes independently - and both failed as expected. A great deal of grumbling now began to roar, albeit slowly, from the streets of the capital. Sensing a ripe opportunity, Atratinus took charge and utilized his powers under the Constitution.

All had eaten before attending and so only cups and small containers of water were provided to the political leaders as they funneled into the meeting room where Atratinus was waiting for them. Himself a member of Parliament, the President was not actually capable of summoning anyone, merely requesting, but his call was not taken to be anything less than a call to attention. Despite the reservations of men like Crassigensis, the media was touting the meeting as a last chance opportunity to salvage a stable government and a way forward, and declining to attend would only reflect badly on him and his party.

One by one, Gularis, Piscus, Benedictus, Crassigensis, Flaccus, and Cethegus strolled in and took their seats after providing a short bow to Atratinus, who stood with his arms held behind his back and with his eyes slowly moving over each in turn. Interestingly, the latter two party secretaries, the first of the schismatic conservatives and the other of the standard far-right republicans, respectively, were cousins - their common thread being members of the gens Julia. Whereas Priscus and Gularis seemed calm, Crassigensis sat tight-lipped and with a stern look on his face.

"Let us get started then." Atratinus said softly as he seated himself, drawing the full attention of those present. "The present situation in Parliament is disgraceful."

The frankness with which the President opened his statement stung, some more visibly than others.

"That is not to say that anyone in particular is to blame." Atratinus continued. "Rather, our present state of paralysis is a shared burden, something for which I hope we can finally take full responsibility for and eliminate. We owe Porcu that much. By the end of this meeting I hope that we will have the foundations of, if not details for, a stable government."

Flaccus and Cethegus gave each other deadly looks, while Pricus shifted in his seat. Crassigensis sat unflinching and Gularis took a sip of water.

Atratinus drew in a deep breath and slowly shifted his position forward. "Our electoral laws need reform and Canae Ardea has already forwarded some interesting proposals, though I am not entirely convinced that such proposals will be enough to cement stability for future elections. What we need is a central committee capable of executing the will of the Parliament and People of Porcu without being bogged down in the silly bickering that currently grips its ranks."

"Spit it out already, Vopiscus Tarquinius!" Crassigensis barked, his short patience already tried.

Atratinus glared directly at the communist leader and drew a hardened swallow from the robust man. "As I was saying, I propose an enlargement of the cursus honorum and its vestment with the full powers of the State. Twenty-three individuals will collectively manage the affairs of the Republic, obviously with some differential delegation of responsibilities."

"What do you mean by 'enlargement', precisely?" Priscus asked.

"With modernization Porcu has adopted and evolved the political systems of previous regimes, with the effect that a sizable number of Ministries now exist, all headed by their own Minister. We also have innumerable parliamentary committees that do little than leech off of the Treasury by ordering investigations that do little productive, all these headed by their own chairmen. There have even been a proliferation of titles, such as 'Secretary', 'Minister', 'Vice-Minister', etc., but we do not use any of these in the sense that the Americans did or that most other nations do. We still use 'Aedile' as an official title, as we use 'Quaestor'. The specific responsibilities of each has changed, naturally, but there is no reason to continue to confuse matters more. Add onto this the fact that these are not standardized: five aediles manage affairs in one province, whereas 30 are employed in another.

"From the ranks of Parliament 10 quaestors, 4 aediles, 4 praetors, 2 consuls, 2 censors, and 1 praesidis will be drawn to act to execute the affairs of the State."

"Censors?" Benedictus said with surprise.

"Consuls?" Gularis said with eyes wide open.

"Drawn how?" Priscus asked sternly, his excitement well contained to all except for Atratinus who read him easily.

"By secret ballot, as we currently elect the Prime Minister, my dear Manius Tricostus." Atratinus replied. "The positions will be filled by a single vote, with the top vote-getter given the title of curule aedile or praetor urbanus if running for either of those positions specifically."

"What do you envision the responsibilities of these offices to entail, Praesidis?" Flaccus asked.

"Quaestors will be charged with the affairs of the Treasury: financial, economic, and monetary policy will be tasked to this group. Aediles will take the heavy burden of running the various Ministries of the Republic. Please take note that I plan to consolidate several Ministries in order to increase efficiency. In short, the daily administrative functions and responsibilities will be seen to by the aediles. Praetors will act as the legal arm of the State, though they will also be tasked with the oversight of the overseas SARs, providing regular reports back to Parliament and to the President. Consuls will serve as a second face for Porcu in international affairs. They will be granted full diplomatic flexibility and may conclude treaties with foreign entities. Their decisions, however, may be vetoed by the Praesidis. Lastly, the censors will provide final approval to all party lists prior to each election and will manage the membership roll of Parliament. They may, if necessary, provide support to the praetors and aediles in their functions."

"You've forgotten the President." Benedictus noted.

"The praesidis is the embodiment of the State - of the Republic and the Parliament and People of Porcu. The office will be supreme in the cursus honorum." Atratinus replied.

"Are these offices open to popular vote?" Crassigensis said.

"Only the office of the praesidis will be open to direct popular vote." Atratinus said. "The election process will remain exactly the same in that regard. The rest of the offices will be voted on, as I said earlier, by secret ballot."

There was a degree of silence before Gularis motioned to speak. "You had mentioned incorporating some of the reforms I suggested?"

"Yes; although this 'central committee', if you will, is in command of the State, Parliament must nonetheless have a ruling majority capable of seeing through necessary legislation. To that effect, I believe that the party or coalition with the largest percentage of the national vote will automatically receive 45% of the seats in parliament, with the rest being divided up proportionally between the other parties."

There was a roar and a flailing of hands from one or two individuals. Crassigensis flatly refused to consider the proposal, while Gularis and Priscus pressed for a larger automatic share of seats. Benedictus sat quietly, whereas Flaccus and Cethegus both yelled at Atratinus for his open support of "the Left".

"You'll doom us!"

"We will not bow down to pressure designed to erode the will of the people!"

Despite the yelling, all immediately hushed themselves and grumbled in whispers when Atratinus spoke again. "A 55% majority will still be needed in order to pass legislation. It will still be necessary to gather support outside your respective parties."

"Which is why I have pushed for the automatic allotment to be 50%!" Gularis said with a strong motion of her hand.

Priscus had his arms folded in front of him and massaged his lips while he thought, a concentrated look upon his face. Crassigensis was fuming and red in the face; contrarily, Benedictus sat calmly - he knew his party would get little if anything out of such a reform for the time being. The Greens had taken a wallop at the polls in the last elections and their minds were already focusing on the next national elections. The two far-right leaders sat to lose quite a few seats between them as well but seemed to take it in stride.

Atratinus could see that the prospect of personal prosperity and honor was being to glaze over the thoughts of Flaccus, Cethegus, Priscus, and Gularis. Truthfully, all he needed was the approval of Gularis and Priscus, for they together held the reigns of Parliament, but he wanted a decisive victory.

"We will now close the meeting for an hour." Atratinus said after a moment. "You all will remain here and produce an agreement that will see near unanimous support in Parliament. I have drafted my own list of individuals I would like to see serve in each office, but you will together draft your own list. I will return in an hour and we will have this business concluded. Food and drinks will be brought immediately."

...

It was an amazing coup for Atratinus. In the end the list that the group of leaders had worked furiously on for an hour differed not at all from the list that Atratinus had written up earlier. His predictions were spot-on and he was pleased to see that the leaders were in much better spirits at the conclusion of their discussion and negotiations. Still, a number of changes would have to be made. Space was needed for the 'clients' Atratinus had recently made.

The media captured an image of visibly tired but content political leaders. Their exit from the Presidential Palace was protracted due to the swarm of journalists who burst into the halls and impeded the progress of each to their motorcars. One of only a handful of documented instances when Atratinus smiled was caught that late afternoon.

A sweeping torrent of rain descended on the capital and the whole country that night. It wasn't the usual cooling rain of late spring or early summer, however; rather, it was the chilled rain of a fast approaching winter.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

It was rare indeed for one to be invited to the parties hosted by the senior of the Aemilius Paullus clan, something which Atratinus was sure to repay in some way in the future. The weather had recovered since that awful torrent of rain the week before and a splendid night had unfolded - made all the better by a gentle breeze.

The costume party was being held in one of the many residences of Lucius Aemilius Paullus, the private villa in question lay to the northeast of Stockholm, and was entirely surrounded by lush woodland. The reason provided for the extravagant party was to celebrate, specifically, Aemilius Paullus' election as Censor and, generally, the assumption to positions of power and importance of individuals like Gularis, Piscus, Cornelius Scipio, and Claudius Marcellus. Aemilius Paullus liked very much to flaunt his wealth and used any occasion he could to gain a certain reputation for himself, though he would only admit to such in private quarters. Himself dressed as a jolly Saint Nicholas/Pere Noel, Aemilius Paullus roared with laughter as he greeted each of his guests one by one.

From armoured knights to caped crusaders (not the Teutons - no one would dare), from goddesses to animals of various species, the costumes were all relatively different and interesting. While Gularis had chosen the goddess Diana (many secretly wished for a Venus) and graciously accepted the gazes of many, Atratinus easily grabbed everyone's attention with his costume of a petty slave. Instead of being neatly brushed to the side and back, the President's hair was wild and scattered. Instead of sporting the modest suits he always doned, Atratinus worn a simple tunic that hung over his thin but curiously well portioned physique - a tunic that stopped well above the knees and was held in place by a leather belt. His glasses stood out as awkward, but alas those he needed.

Never an item for gazing eyes, Atratinus took the looks of those he passed with a hidden joy. How was it that no one had taken note of this aspect to Atratinus? Not able to bring themselves to say that he was attractive, the most anyone could admit to themselves was that he was (and would continue to be) a man of surprises. And yet, there were those who secretly hedged their bets as to what lay just behind that thin layer of tunic. Could it be that Atratinus was brave enough to sport nothing underneath!?

Music, food, and drink was followed by more music, more food, and more drink. The services of various performers were generously paid for by Aemilius Paullus and it was much to his delight that they kept the guests going during the evening. Roars of laughter mixed with hoots of those who had begun to cry and thunderous applause brought each act to a wonderful close. The Aemilius Paullus residence was large enough, naturally, to accommodate those who wished for a respite and it was here that the host of the festivities found Atratinus speaking with a young woman. Aemilius Paullus neither turned around nor hid from sight; he simply hug back and watched, curious as ever to see what this animal before him was capable of.

Atratinus, truthfully, had been cornered. He rarely was advanced upon as aggressively as he was currently and it was always a wonder to him when it happened.

"Praesidis...May I call you Vopiscus Tarquinius? Did you think of this unique costume all by yourself?"

Her hands held a drink precariously; oh, they wished to move elsewhere. A stunning woman of impeccable birth, she was the middle daughter of the recently elected Praetor Marcus Aurelius Cotta. The father was a humble man and for that garnered everyone's respect, but he was also an ambitious man and had thrown his meager support behind the senior Aemilius Paullus and his close cousin Marcus Aemilius Scaurus. For this he was helped in jumping onto the tracks of the cursus honorum. The middle daughter of Aurelius Cotta, an Aelia Aurelia, took much after her father and always kept curious investigators at a comfortable distance. However, upon looking at Atratinus she had lost those walls of stone and iron. Or, rather than losing them, she welcomed a battering ram to come and break through them.

Atratinus stood not much taller than Aelia and looked away when she tried to lock her eyes with his. He knew what those eyes of his could do. "Of course you may. And, no, actually, I had help in thinking of this costume. I wonder if I dressed to plainly, considering how well some others have dressed. No doubt, you took some time with yours - stunning."

Aelia had chosen to model herself as a soldier, though she was a bit scant on the full uniform and it took no time at all. She didn't like that he avoided her eyes, but she forgot that and took the compliment greedily. "Hmm, no, I think your costume is a welcome addition to the throng of usual fairies, princesses, warriors, and togaed ancient senators."

"Yes," Atratinus said with a smile, "there are many who fancy themselves as patricians of old." A light chuckle followed by a short sip of liqueur.

"That haughty Manius Tricostus walked in with such a cheesy grin on his face!" Aelia said. "I hope my father put him in his place." she added with a determined look. A sip of wine for herself. Try as she might, she couldn't get those fabled eyes of his to look at her.

"Well, he is an American Indian tribe Chief, so I don't think that would be a problem." Atratinus added.

With no follow-up, Aelia decided she would have to press the conversation. Why was he being so difficult? Oppius Decimus Maxentius said he had gone straight for the Archduchess of some German state-or other and nearly devoured her, had her lapping from his hands. "I hear you aren't out and about very often; freely I mean, I know you're very busy! Just...how do you keep so well? You don't diet, do you?"

Atratinus gave himself a look over. "No, I'm not out nearly as much as I probably should be. I'm not on any special diet or anything either. What do you suppose I eat, Aelia Aurelia."

Aelia could spot no blemish on his beautifully cream colored skin and let her eyes, again, sink to the line where the tunic ceased and well-formed thighs began. The wine had begun to catch up to her, yet she took another sip in the hope that it would cover her gaze.

"Well, you know, some say you're more like a vampire. Your physique, more specifically your skin, and manners."

"And what do you say?" Atratinus replied, interested by the response. For the first time he brought his eyes away from the empty space around them and saw what a pair of brilliant green eyes the middle daughter of Aurelia Cotta had.

"Oh..." Aelia began, her surprise at finally having said something to catch Atratinus' full attention gave way to a mesmerizing discomfort. So, they weren't lying when they said he had grey eyes, truly! They caught her and wouldn't let go. "I say it's an interesting theory. It requires proof though."

"I'm listening." Atratinus said, his eyes shifting slowly down to Aelia lips, then her neck, and finally her chest.

"I'll need an ice cube from your drink." Aelia replied. Once she had a small bit of ice in her hand and handed her wine to Atratinus to hold she undid another couple of buttons to her shirt and military tunic and slowly rubbed the ice across her chest. The ice melted like butter across her skin and water dribbled down in streaks, outlining her breasts even more.

Aelia reached for another ice cube and proceeded to rub another across her chest before it fell to the ground. Without losing a moment, she fell to one knee and went to reach for the ice cube before looking back up at Atratinus, still holding on to a drink in each hand. Her eyes caught his and she saw with great excitement how his traveled just a little lower than eye level.

Biology took over.

Aelia blushed heavily, her heart suddenly racing, but Atratinus had awoken from his daze and spun around. He set Aelia's drink down on a nearby ledge and made his way to exit the patio. When he saw Aemilius Paullus standing at the far end with a giant grin on his face Atratinus sworn to every god he could think of.

"I'm glad I caught you, Volpiscus Tarquinius."

Atratinus took note of the double meaning and mustered all his strength not to lash out. "As I, Aemilius Paullus, what may I do you for?"

"A moment of your time, please?"

Atratinus nodded. Back to normal - calm and utterly stoic. Yet, he still felt it necessary to adjust himself when seated - Aelia's effects lingered apparently.

"I simply wanted to thank you for your support in Parliament. You carried through exactly as you said you would. It goes without saying, but do let me know if there is anything you need." Aemilius Paullus said, still carrying the scene of a pleasantly surprised Aelia and a deeply embarrassed Atratinus in his mind.

"I am certain that I will require your assistance in the future, for such is our business, Lucius Aemilius." Atratinus replied. "I thank you for a pleasant evening, but I believe it time that I left."

Aemilius Paullus smiled another of his smiles - something Atratinus had come to hate in the last few minutes. "Oh, now? The night is still young. Come, Volpiscus Tarquinius, I'm certain you haven't met some of the newly elected aediles or quaestors. Now is a perfect opportunity."

"No. I'll be taking my leave now. Thank you again, Lucius Aemilius." Atratinus said flatly.

...

Because of his costume Atratinus elected to take his private motorcar to Patavium instead of the train or the metro. Patavium, as usual, was a sprawling, densely packed collection of steel, glass, and lights. Even from the expressway the President could pick out the tower whose top floors belonged to him - the existence of and the contents of which were known only to him and a single other individual.

Up he went. A special keycard for the elevator granting access automatically to floors that weren't indicated in the choices of lighted floor buttons.

Not having changed from his costume, Atratinus strode past an empty workspace and into the maze of shelves that contained, possibly, the greatest private collection of books, government transcripts and documents, and private files. Much of what this library contained wasn't even known to former presidents such as Gularis, Vinirimus, even Nixon. Moving through a whole row and emerging at the far side, Atratinus turned and eventually found what he was looking for: a television that hung on the wall, flanked on one side by rows and rows of books, file stacks, and collections of documents and on the other side by large windows that gave a stunning display of the city and the lake below. The same lake, in fact, which had gotten its name from the original name of the Porcuian capital those many, many centuries ago: Ariminae.

Atratinus settled into his seat opposite the television and worked the remote until he was able to play a video file. The President saw himself bed ridden in one of Stockholm's better hospitals only to sudden to wake up from a deep sleep with doctors and nurses all around. The view was clearly from the camera placed at an angle inside the room.

Atratinus watches as, having awoken, he is soon swarmed by medical staff eager to speak to him. He swats them away, though he is pained in doing so, but not before insisting that his wallet be handed over to him. Wearing nothing save his underwear, Atratinus picks his wallet from the outstretched hands of a nurse and then orders everyone to leave. Not a second had passed once all the medical staff left when Atratinus burst into tears.

Atratinus paused the video. He remembered it vividly and the thought once again brought tears to his eyes.

Oh, the loss of his wife - his light, love, and life - was many years ago and it had happened at a point when no one now knew it as anything more than a rumor. Perhaps that added to his mysterious appeal in an unconscious way. Atratinus didn't think of this at the present moment, however, and removed his glasses and set them aside with tears streaming and falling onto his tunic.

A form came up slowly from the side, a tray with two cups of tea held out as an offering. Holding the tray was the keeper of the library, the one who maintained it and had years ago decided not to revel in its secrets. She had an old history with Atratinus.

She watched him for a few minutes more and let his acute misery spike before it abated naturally. The tea was only warm now, but that didn't matter. Handing over a handkerchief, she waited for Atratinus to blow his nose and dry his eyes before handing over the cup of tea and its saucer. The tea was a strong brew, she had chosen well.

Wanting to hear about the party (she had suggested his enticing outfit after all), she nonetheless focused on what she knew Atratinus was thinking about.

"Why do you do this?"

"Do what?" Atratinus said sharply, though not with any raised or barbed tone.

"Is all of this, what you're doing, for her? You know I've suggested you move on..."

"Yes, you've made that repulsive suggestion numerous times."

"What then?"

"It is and it is not."

"What?"

"For her; she had her own ideas and though I'm not entirely sure I'm doing everything as she would have liked I nonetheless imagine that she would be pleased."

Atratinus' companion felt now was her best opportunity to press. Some say he had killed before when the subject had come up, but she knew him well enough to know that he wasn't capable of that. "In what way is it not then?"

"It's more than her or I or you or anyone. It's an idea! An idea called Porcu. It's the Republic and our history. It's something that has kept with the people of this small country tucked away in Scandinavia for over 2000 years."

"And what is Porcu?"

"That is Porcu." Atratinus said pointing out the large window to the stunning metropolis below. "This is Porcu." Atratinus said with regard to the library. "I am Porcu. Just as you are, just as the millions and millions that have the blood of our ancestors running through their veins. It is our culture, our history, our past, and our future. Our idea is not that of the ancient Greeks and is more refined than that of the ancient Romans.

"Many subordinate themselves to one man, be it a king, a pope, or themselves. But we Porcuians subordinate ourselves to Porcu, and only to Porcu. We bend the knee to no one human any more than we bend it to the diluted abstraction of an ideal - a utopia. Porcu is our god, our king, our very lives. And though each Porcuian strives to enhance his own reputation, strives to be great in the eyes of his fellow Porcuians, in the long run it is all done to enhance Porcu, and Porcu's greatness.

"I fear we have lost a large degree of this. Men come and go, their terms on earth are fleeting. And ideals shift and sway with every philosophical wind. But a place can be eternal as long as those who live in that place care for it, nurture it, make it even greater. I, Volpiscus Tarqinius Atratinus, am a great Porcuian. But at the end of my life, whatever I have done will have gone to swell the might and majesty of my place - Porcu!. No person must ever consider themselves greater than the place which bred them. No Porcuian is greater than Porcu, our fair Republic. Porcu is the place which breeds great men and women, but what they are - what they do - is for her glory. Their contributions to her ongoing pageant. And I tell you that Porcu will last as long as Porcuians hold Porcu dearer than themselves, dearer than their children, dearer than their own reputations and achievements."

The silence that followed was total. Not another word was spoken, for there was nothing to be said.

...

OOC: There's no way I could come up with that speech. It's edited from a novel by Colleen McCullough entitled The Grass Crown. Thought it was 'porcuian' enough in flavor, heh.
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The Americans, if one were being honest, had yet to completely reconcile themselves with the fact that they belonged to a state whose seat of government was +7000km away and whose language, culture, and politics was as alien to them as the concept of a "United" States of America - the fief of Goreprime aside. And, curiously, despite the obvious differences and carefully worded admonitions to Porcuian officials, one noticed little discontent among the former citizens of the Confederacy.

The cities of Charleston, South Carolina and Savannah, Georgia were now linked in a single Special Administrative Region (SAR) and divided between them the duties of a capital. Their respective state flags had been replaced with a plain flag designed by committee and slowly their elected representatives were pushed aside by those sent by Stockholm. "Proper communication", it was maintained, necessitated "individuals whose loyalties were without question."

The political class, those well connected enough and intelligent enough to understand that resistance was futile, stepped aside without too much of a struggle and watched as radical changes came from on high. Changes to the tax code and healthcare, "reforms" to education, and the severe restriction to materials such as cigarettes and guns came in a fury of legislation that was approved with a single signature of the acting Governor of the SAR, who until recently had been none other than the King of Porcu himself. Many of the changes implemented were accepted openly or with little reservation, for it was the Republic who had managed to declare these two huge cities open to all who prayed for asylum and protection from the utter destruction and collapse of the great democratic power of the Western Hemisphere. However, there were items with which the local populace took issue - chief among them the elimination of their "gun rights" and the "reforms" made to their education system.

Learning classical Latin and Greek at one's own time was all very nice and good, but to have it mandated was a step too far. There were cries that within a single generation the sons and daughters of the Confederacy would totally forget the history of their ancestors, that their sense of community and belonging would be tied to Porcu and not to the cities and states where they were born and raised. Compounded by the fact that unparalleled restrictions to the purchase and ownership of firearms were real and not imaginary, many people began to openly complain, some going so far as to "prepare" themselves.

Reactionary newspapers and propaganda outlets sprouted from the confusion and worry that had seeded itself across Carolina-Georgia SAR. While still not even close to the majority opinion, those who spoke of the suppression of "Southern pride and honor" and the extirpation of southern culture were increasingly common guests on media programs and late night talk shows. These individuals spoke of the newly liberated blacks as being nothing more than chattel and grew terribly excited at the prospect of a "Confederate Revolution".

To those in Stockholm this was a regrettable development, but not one without a solution.

As a massive public opinion campaign got underway, there was also work to remove the repulsive elements of the remaining Confederate society in a more...permanent manner.
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"Marcus!" a portly man yelled from the comfort of his leather chair. Seated behind a heavy desk, he had no intention of moving. "Marcus!"

A frail man of mouse-like qualities suddenly appeared in the doorway. He held a thick folder in his arms and groaned as he shifted it slightly to a position that didn't make his arms scream quite as bad. "You called, Sir?"

"That I did." the portly man grunted. A salt and pepper colored mustache rested upon a marshmallow of a face. The man's eyebrows, the key to deciphering his mind, jumped in excitement. "Is everything ready for our esteemed guest's arrival?"

"Apart from the accommodations for the festivities tomorrow evening everything is set." the thin man squeaked.

"What do you mean, "apart from"? There's only ever one first impression, damnit!"

"It will be done before the new Governor arrives. I'll see to it personally, Sir."

The portly man grunted his approval and paused for a moment. "Say, Marcus, I've been practicing my Latin. 'Ave! Quid agis?' You should learn some too, I hear Porcuians go all weak in the knees when someone can speak proper Latin or Greek. Always beneficial to impress our friends!"

The thinly built assistant faked a smile and nodded his head in approval, remarking how noble his superior sounded. Marcus knew Latin, had studied it in university and was fluent actually, but why would his dense superior even bother remembering that? Wishing oh so very much to see his boss's pride shattered, Marcus voiced his approval at the noises made by his superior and secretly hoped to be present when the new governor bluntly told his boss to speak in his native English rather than fouling an ancient tongue.

...

Lucius Divenus Numeritus arrived in Charleston in grand fashion. Sharply dressed and clean shaven, the newly appointed Governor of Carolina-Georgia SAR walked into his new residence with supreme confidence. Preceded and trailed by a total of 12 lictors each carrying a bundle of rods with an axe at its center and its blade emerging, whose deep red capes contrasted beautifully against their white tunics, Numeritus marched into the Governor's residence and warmly greeted Julius Decimus Maxentius IV, the King of Porcu and the outgoing Governor of the province.

Both men wore a toga praetexta, it's color a stunning snow white and its stripe along one side a deep purple. A "reform" decided by the upper echelons of the cursus honorum, the wearing of a toga was now required of all men upon their elevation to the cursus honorum and to governorships, while women were to wear a modified, 'feminized' toga. Its appearance was meant to be rare, mostly as a show of prestige, power, and wealth.

Numeritus and Decimus Maxentius bowed to each other before the King and outgoing Governor presented a piece of paper. The document was the official orders of the Parliament and People of Porcu, calling for the previous Governor to return to Porcu after handing over the task of governing the province to their successor. The document, handwritten in ink and in a stylized manner, was signed by the President and both Consuls and contained the stamp of Parliament and was to be framed and hanged in the Governor's office until their governorship ended - marked by the arrival of another similar document.

After carefully handing over the document, King Julius Decimus Maxentius IV walked out of the Governor's residence flanked and guarded by his own group of lictors. The entire scene was witnessed by millions with the aid of television crews and the thousands in the crowd who were close enough to record the event with their cellphones and subsequently upload the video onto the internet. Porcuian flags waved furiously alongside the flag of the SAR and cheers filled the outgoing Governor's ears as he made his way to the motorcar which would take him promptly to the airport.

Truthfully, he was glad to be done with the former Confederates. While he wished his successor the best of luck, the King didn't want the young new Governor to outshine him.

Inside the Governor's residence Numeritus handed over the precious directive to an assistance nearby before turning his attention to the other individuals gathered around. Some were Porcuian, but most were American, and Numeritus began at once to collect names and to pair them with faces.

That Numeritus was a client of Atratinus was well known to all, a fact that easily explained his appointment to many, but no one was foolish enough to think that the young and handsome man didn't have his own merits. After all, the Porcuian President was a shrewd and calculating man and didn't welcome dunces and incompetents near him.

When his turn arrived, the Leader of the Provincial Assembly could only sputter out a nervous greeting to the new Governor, despite his mental practicing. His pronunciation and speech was so bad that Numeritus understood not a word and glanced at those to either side of the large man for assistance. None had understood, and to compound the matter they spoke no Latin, so a tall, thinly framed man took it upon himself to clarify the readily apparent confusion.

"Greetings, Honorable Governor! Please forgive my superior; although his Latin is wanting, he is a man of great enthusiasm. He simply wished to express his delight at meeting you, Your Excellency."

Numeritus smiled, which brought immense relief to the fat American. "Oh, such a wonder! Your Latin is excellent. What is your name?"

"Marcus Fulbright, Your Excellency. I studied Latin while at university in Atlanta. You are very kind, even though my accent is heavy and my style impure."

"With practice you will be speaking Latin like any proper Porcuian." Numeritus replied. He had almost forgotten of the rotund man before him, who gazed at him lazily like a fish. "Who is your superior, Mr. Fulbright?"

"The Honorable Samuel James McDunnaugh, Your Excellency. He is the Leader of the Provincial Assembly and has held that position since just after His Excellency the Governor Decimus Maxentius began his term."

Numeritus shifted his gaze to McDunnaugh, who stiffened immediately, and spoke in clear but accented English. "Mr. McDunnaugh, I would kindly ask you to keep to English until such a point that your Latin is deemed acceptable by the Honorable Mr. Fulbright."

Mouth agape, McDunnaugh stared back at Numeritus for a moment before finally nodding, the number of chins doubling whenever he dropped his head. Fulbright tried mightily but could not stifle a wide grin. Having done his part, he took a step back and melted in with the other assistants who had been called to attendance.

...

A splendid feast capped a wonderful day for Numeritus. Thanking Fortune, the young Governor made a mental note to call Atratinus on the morrow. Presently, Numeritus sat in a reclining chair on a balcony that gave him an incomplete view of the city. He had changed out of that dreadful toga long ago and now rested in a clean button-up shirt and dress pants, which was perfect as the hot temperature of the mid afternoon which had first greeted the Porcuian gave way to the cooler evening air. Nursing a glass of whiskey on the rocks, the new Governor stared at the city lights and digested his dinner peacefully.

A presence made him turn his head slightly and he called for whomever it was to step forward. The thin profile gave away the visitor immediately.

"Ah, Marcus...Please sit." Numeritus said in Greek, wanting to test the American, while pointing to a reclining chair just opposite his own.

"Thank you. You wanted to see me, Your Excellency?" Fulbright replied in as crisp a Greek as his Latin.

Numeritus mumbled a reply as he took a drink. "Give me your impression of your boss, Mr. McDunnaugh."

Fulbright sat up. His mind raced as to what Numeritus wanted, but he dared not delay long. "Well, he is a man of considerable importance here in Charleston and is well respected. He's an honest and driven individual...and ambitious. Although he's a bit rough around the edges, he's clever enough to get almost whatever he needs."

"Do you like working for him?"

"No." Fulbright said immediately.

Numeritus smiled. "Would you like to work for me?"

Their eyes couldn't meet because there was just enough darkness to cover small details, but both men looked directly at each other. "I would enjoy that very much."

"Mhm, then I'll see you promptly tomorrow morning in my office along with the rest of my staff. Don't worry about McDunnaugh, I'll sort out your resignation." There was a pause so that Numeritus could take another sip of whiskey. "I have a good feeling about you, Fulbright. Who knows, maybe you'll be valuable enough to merit a Porcuian citizenship 1st Class."

"Sir? I'm curious, were you given orders before coming here?"

"Oh, naturally. Every governor is given an idea as to the goals established for their respective SAR. Mine seems quite boring, but I'm excited to get started."

"And what is that?"

"Essentially administrative benchmarks. Implementation of Porcuian tax laws, the streamlining of government offices and responsibilities, a proper census - you know..."

"And you're excited?"

"Very much so. It's time the Americas were civilized again and infused with a healthy respect and adoration for Porcu."

Numeritus dismissed the gangling Fulbright with a laugh and swiftly finished off his drink. Groaning at the kick of the liquor, Numeritus spent another few minutes lying peacefully in his chair before making his way to bed. He slept wonderfully that night.
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"Cheers!"

In concert, the shots of liquor were retracted and their contents greedily swallowed. Only a few seconds passed before the glasses were again being filled with a potent liquor of Italian origin.

"Ahh, Lucius Aemilius, that's enough!" Marcus Aemilius Scaurus groaned, a look of disgust on his face.

Lucius Aemilius Paullus, a Censor of the Republic and owner of the recently constructed property, smiled while continuing to pour. "Come on, Marcus Aemilius. I won't have it said that a cousin of mine cannot hold his liquor."

Aemilius Scaurus sat up in his chair and lifted his glass with great reluctance. After drinking he tensed, as if about to vomit, but collected himself soon enough.

"A splendid meal, Lucius Aemilius, to match a beautiful estate." Publius Cornelius Scipio said.

The property, completed only a week prior, was simply another beautiful villa in a rather large collection owned and enjoined by the senior family member of the Aemilii Paullii. It rested on the outskirts of the port city of Syracusae, a recent addition to the Republic by referendum, and had an unbelievable view of the sea. Just like his other properties, this one would be rented out to friends, clients, business partners, politicians, and whomever else could pay.

"Absolutely." Publius Valerius Cato added.

"Many thanks, Lucius Aemilius." Marcus Claudius Marcellus chimed in.

"Oh, think nothing of it. It's good to take a retreat from Ariminae on occasion and I wanted to see Syracusae - the last time I was here I was just a boy." Aemilius Paullus replied.

"Has Atratinus decided what is to become of Cossyra, Melita, Syracusae?" Aemilius Cesca asked (OOC: simply referred to as 'Cesca' in previous RPs).

"They are going to be integrated into a single SAR with a single provincial governor acting as administrator." the junior Consul Publius Cornelius Scipio replied.

"Presumably that means that Mons Calpe will be governed separately?" Claudius Marcellus said.

"Yes." Cornelius Scipio said before adding, "Although I doubt that a governor will be sent to either until elections in Porcu are concluded."

Aemilius Paullus' face became sour. "I don't like the rumors that are already circulating - Valerius Flaccus as a serious contender for President? Please..."

"What about Villus Crassigensis?" Aemilius Scaurus said with a laugh. "That man has as little chance of winning as a fish does flying, though he's been trying for years."

"Servius Aemilius, has Atratinus said anything about running?" Cornelius Scipio asked with a serious look on his face.

Aemilius Cesca paused a moment before answering. The loyal socialist leader was a brilliant administrator who had served both Gularis and Atratinus well. He was a distant relative of the others of the gens Aemilia and knew that his presence here was solely due to his knowledge of Atratinus and his understanding of the inner workings of Parliament - his blood was too watered down for them to consider him 'one of them'. Nonetheless, if he wished to advance his career, which he certainly did, Cesca knew he had to cultivate his relationship with these men.

"Atratinus, as you can imagine, has kept entirely silent about the matter. Even though he's been busy recently with diplomatic meetings and discussions, traveling to the Baltic State not too long ago, I think the idea has crossed his mind. Honestly, I think it's a pointless exercise for you to continue wondering."

"How is it pointless?" Aemilius Paullus said. "We have to know if we're to properly organize support for him and his campaign. Elections aren't a cheap affair, Servius Aemilius."

"But that's precisely it! He doesn't want your help if he has set his mind on running."

"Rubbish!" Valerius Cato said.

"Well, he may not want assistance, but surely he realizes that he's going to need it." Aemilius Scaurus. "He's not such a fool as to turn down what would prove to be the difference from victory and defeat."

Cornelius Scipio spoke next. "What of Canae Ardea?"

Aemilius Cesca smiled. "Ha! Of course she's going to run. She felt cheated in her loss to Lucius Germanius Cea and is determined to win this time around. She's been quite successful in her efforts at recruiting volunteers and organizing grassroots organizations. She's even been sure to reach out to the new Porcuian citizens of the provinces."

"I imagine there will be five or six candidates, like usual, and that the socialist leader will be Atratinus' toughest competition." Aemilius Paullus muttered. "Atratinus has enough current popular support to see him into the second ballot, but if what Servius Aemilius is true than it will be a close election indeed."

"That is assuming that he decides to run." Aemilius Cesca added.

"What if he doesn't?" Valerius Cato asked. "The presidency is the summit of any Porcuian's political or military career and anything else he gets elected to is a step down - point of fact. Even a governorship would be an insult for a former president, since the position is meant for former consuls or praetors."

"Then you simply fail to understand who he is." Aemilius Cesca said flatly. "The man has held a position of one kind or another in almost every ministry and office this Republic has, many of which no longer exist since we've recently consolidated them, and he's utilized his time and experience to learn, to plan, and to strategize. Not a moment is wasted."

A silence descended on the men sitting around a beautiful wooden table and, truthfully, all were pleased to take a moment to gaze up at the blanket of stars that hung suspended in the sky. Atratinus was a still a puzzle that few wanted to consider and even fewer attempted to solve.

"Are you familiar with the poem 'How Doth the Little Crocodile' by the English writer Lewis Carroll, Publius Valerius?" Aemilius Cesca asked.

The arrogant Porcuian praetor shook his head and waited with a confused expression for Cesca to elaborate.

"How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in
With gently smiling jaws!"

Aemilius Cesca recited in his wonderful English, translating for those unused to English only when he was done. "I think that may be the best explanation I can give of the man."
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Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felix closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the cool, comfortable evening air, the tuxedo that hugged his thin, muscular frame feeling much less like a straightjacket than it had a few minutes before.

It was surprisingly warm for late autumn and while most trees and shrubbery had already shed their leaves there were a number of hold-outs that held tightly to the reminders of earlier seasons. The event, another one of the legendary parties thrown by the chief of the Aemilius Paullus clan, was an annual occurrence that, again, neatly categorized those in the upper echelons of Porcuian society into an "in" and an "out" group. Not being extended an invitation was ostracism of the Porcuian kind - subtle, but powerful. Especially for those who thought themselves as members of that special social club. What a terrible strike to one's pride, not to hold those perfumed envelopes and scented parchment invitations!

Currently a mere quaestor, Sulla knew his invitation was more a sign of respect to his family's name than himself personally. He stood rather tall, but proportionally splendid. His time as a swimmer at university served more than to add to his lackluster academic effort or his impressive way with women; it gave him a regular schedule - something he maintained even years after swimming competitively ceased. An ambitious man, Sulla came to meet Atratinus the way many others did - purely by accident. Yet, from that experience he came to understand something very important: Atratinus was not a force to be reckoned with lightly. Sulla knew, as many others felt, that Atratinus had fabricated a case against Cea and worked with unbelievable ease to bring him down from power. Sulla remembered vividly when he was a newly elected parliamentarian, sitting and watching his colleagues drag the President of the Republic down from his deserved pedestal - he had won the election fairly, after all! - and remembered how sick he felt. Not anyone could prove Cea's innocence, and the skill with which Atratinus worked left a chill in Sulla.

How he had caught his breath when it was reported in the newspapers that Atratinus was not running for the Presidency. Others sighed with relief in quiet corners, but Sulla held his breath. Gularis, Priscus, Flaccus, etc...They thought themselves safe - Atratinus was gracefully stepping out of the way. Sulla knew better.

"Here you are!" a gentle voice cried out. "I lost sight of you for a moment. It can get terribly hot in there."

Sulla turned to find an elegant woman with stunning blue eyes and a sea of blond hair smiling brightly at him. He returned the smile and stretched out his arm, finding her waist before pulling her in close for a light kiss. What others generally considered to be Sulla's latest, perhaps greatest, conquest was in fact a highly driven lawyer with an impressive academic career. Sulla specialized in the netting of beautiful women with simple intellectual dispositions, so this latest match came as a surprise to many. Only her modest family background gave the essentially regal Cornelius Sulla concern.

Clytia purred as Sulla kissed her, speaking again after a moment. "It's starting to get late and Atratinus still hasn't shown up."

Ever since hearing that he was bringing her as a guest, Clytia had kept asking to be introduced to Atratinus. When asked what drove her interest and curiosity, she had responded with remarks about the gossip that surrounded him from other females, especially the daughter of Marcus Aurelius Cotta, as well as commenting on the laws he had seen passed by Parliament.

Sulla chuckled, "It's impossible to know what that man is up to or what he's thinking."

Having taken the time to reflect and appreciate the wonderful country air, Sulla led Clytia back inside the vast residence belonging to the evening's host. Many windows were open to allow ventilation of the large rooms which strung along the residence, but many where shut as the number of insects rose with the setting of the sun and the gradual cooling of the air. Drinks and snacks were everywhere and no expense was withheld - typical of the elder Aemilius Paullus - and soft chatter filled one's ears, as did the melodies of the music provided by a live band.

Sulla did his best to make his way around to all the figures he knew would be immensely powerful in the coming weeks and months, perhaps years. He joked and laughed with his distant relative, with whom he shared his nomen, until he nearly spit out his wine and he pushed Gularis on the philosophy of the Italian socialist Gramsci until he felt that she was sufficiently impressed with his knowledge of the man and his ideas. No matter if they were mere parliamentarians or consuls and censors, now was the perfect time for Sulla to make a lasting impression. After all, he had designs on moving up the cursus honorum and felt that any result save coming out on top of the voting list was failure. The aedileship awaited him.

It was already late by the time the President arrived to the event - very few were those who had decided their time was better spent elsewhere. Greeted with wide smiles, a plethora of extended hands, and a few winks, Atratinus entered the Aemilius Paullus household as if a hero. The President stood tall, though he was only of average height, and radiated confidence, though he said very little and his face contained not an inkling of expression. It took some time for the majority of the guests to return to their previous conversations, since many wished to greet the President and see if they could get him to a private meeting. No one had ever gotten Atratinus' open support, but that did not stop people from trying.

Atratinus floated slowly from one room to the next, his glass never lacking in wine, until he eventually happened upon Sulla and his guest. Sulla smiled, revealing a perfect set of teeth, and extended a hand towards Atratinus, who took it and shook it properly though it was easy to sense the President's annoyance.

"Best of luck to you, Cornelius Sulla; I expect someone of your caliber to place highly in the voting list for aediles." Atratinus said without the need of an introduction by Sulla.

"My thanks, Praesidis. Please, let me introduce you to Clytia Potius Fusus, a lawyer at the Urgensis law firm in Taurinorum."

Clytia beamed and waited for Atratinus to acknowledge her before sticking out her hand. In her excitement she shook the President's hand too vigorously and caused him to spill some of his wine onto the luxurious carpet. Horrified, Clytia stood with mouth agape and struggled to find words. Lucius Aemilius Paullus, whose carpet it was, laughed.

"Bound to happen at one point or another, my dear! Not to worry, my maids will get to it." the elder Aemilius Paullus said, his thick neck jiggling while he chuckled.

A team of maids descended on the spot where the wine had spilled just as the group was guided onward by Aemilius Paullus. Atratinus had said not a word, his face given away not a single thought. He departed from Sulla and Clytia's company just as quickly as he had arrived. Sulla turned to her and tried to comfort her, but she was devastated. Yes, it was a simple accident, but her first impression had to be perfect - had to.

"Fucking lawyers." Sulla thought as he verbally tried to comfort Clytia.

Across the room, just at the cusp of a balcony that gave a splendid view of the countryside surrounding Ariminae during the day, Aemilius Paullus gently pulled Atratinus off to the side. The jolly Paullus wanted privacy, but thought that pulling the President totally away from eyesight would be seen with suspicion.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Aemilius Paullus whispered to Atratinus, his face betraying none of the rage that was building inside him.

Atratinus took another sip of the excellent wine provided him and softly voiced his approval before addressing Paullus' question - there was no sense in playing around. "I don't want to be President."

Aemilius Paullus let his face sag and looked on with utter confusion. "What? What the fuck does that mean!? You understand that I, Marcus Claudius (Marcellus), and Publius Cornelius (Scipio), among others, expected you to cast your name?"

"Yes, I do."

"You understand that we felt that there was an understanding between us?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And I don't feel like it. I've done most of what I've set out to accomplish. There's no undoing most of my reforms, so I see no reason to continue."

Aemilius Paullus was in shock. He gazed on at Atratinus, who turned his attention at the others standing and conversing in the room, and was about to speak when it dawned on him that he would most likely regret opening his mouth at that particular moment. Aemilius Paullus exhaled and left Atratinus at the entrance to the balcony. In one swift motion, Atratinus drained the remaining wine in his glass and set the empty vessel on a nearby table before walking out onto the balcony. Apart from the light that spilled out from the residence, utter darkness greeted the President as he came to the marble rail and placed both his hands on it and leaned forward slightly. One could feel the chill of approaching winter and then forget it after having gazed up at the endless sea of stars in the night sky.

Although he now felt the presence of another on the balcony, Atratinus remained close to the rail and waited in silence. When, after a minute passed, there was still nothing said Atratinus peered over his shoulder to find someone he hadn't expect. Once he realized he had been noticed, Sulla stepped forward and stood beside Atratinus at the marble rail. Both were fair in skin and hair, with Sulla standing taller - more impressive. While Atratinus' eyes were colored a pale grey, Sulla's were a deep blue. Atratinus carried heavy glasses on his face; Sulla had not the need even of contact lenses.

"You can tell your lovely date to stop worrying." Atratinus said, looking out into the wilderness just beyond the balcony.

Sulla chuckled. "She very much the perfectionist."

"How like a lawyer."

"Tarquinius Atratinus Praesidularis..." Sulla said very formally.

"Oh, just call me Atratinus." the President interrupted.

"Atratinus, I wonder what sort of understanding you had with the elder Aemilius Paullus."

Surprised, Atratinus stood upright and turned to Sulla. "Impressive...and rather blunt. Wield that sword carefully, Lucius Cornelius."

The double meaning of Atratinus' response was not lost on Sulla. The younger gentleman waited a moment before speaking again. "I apologize if I've tread on personal matters."

Atratinus seemed to think for a moment before shaking his head. "No. Aemilius Paullus and I had a misunderstanding. You see, they wanted me to run for President. Doing so would have brought me their total support and a likely election victory."

"And you don't want that." Sulla declared rather than inflected as if a question.

"Precisely."

"So what will you do?"

Atratinus grinned. "Probably declare myself for the consular election, though I haven't discounted placing my name in the pool for the governors."

"It didn't seem like Aemilius Paullus took your decision lightly."

"As he shouldn't, but no, he did not." Atratinus turned once again so that he was facing the black wilderness. "How I lust for a challenge once again."

The remark struck Sulla. Instead of saying what was on his mind, the handsome quaestor bid the President a good evening and escaped inside the warm residence. Soon after he had found Clytia he decided that their time spent at the party was plenty; however, just as the pair were preparing to leave - Sulla made sure to track down Aemilius Paullus and thank him wholeheartedly - there was a sudden change in the music playing throughout the many rooms and hallways of the residence.

The gentle sounds of violins and cellos gave way to the soft melody of a piano. A roar of whispers erupted from the atrium where the band hired for the evening was playing. Situated in the middle of a large ensemble sat Atratinus in front of a grand piano. With amazing precision and dexterity, the President's figures moved across the keyboard and played a moving rhythm. He sat regally on the piano bench, if one was capable of doing so, and was slow to build up the movement as more and more guests gathered in the atrium.

Aelia Aurelia Cotta caught the eye of Sulla as she twisted to get to the front of the crowd, right up beside Atratinus, her eyes gazing longingly at him. A general whisper carried through the crowd: what was he doing? It certainly was strange to see this side of Atratinus - a side no one had guessed existed.

'It's his farewell from politics.' one voice said.

'He's in love.' said another.

"Perhaps..."

"What is that, Ardea Gularis?" Sulla said to Gularis, who had managed to slide up beside him and had begun to whisper to herself.

"I was thinking...Perhaps, it was Schlesinger."

"I'm sorry?"

"The East German Chancellor." Gularis said, turning her attention to Sulla for a moment before turning it back to Atratinus. "Vopiscus Tarquinius did have a different aura on our return flight from Vienna only last week."

"What did the Chancellor say to him?" Sulla asked with real curiosity.

"Oh, I have no idea. I can't imagine what it would have been. A very intelligent and driven man, the East German Chancellor."

The music was growing and its intensity was become palpable to everyone stuffed in the atrium. Atratinus' hands raced across the keyboard, yet his brow remained dry and his glasses rested comfortably on his face. It was marvelous! Notes danced from the piano and Sulla looked on with amazement, as did everyone else.

With a final burst, Atratinus brought his impromptu musical score to an end and stood to the cheering and applause of everyone. He let this go on for a few seconds before holding up his hands in order to silence the crowd and then sitting back down on the bench. Atratinus proceeded to play the national anthem and led the crowd in a moving rendition, singing loudly.

The applause carried on for what seemed like ages.
Edited by Porcu, Oct 7 2013, 01:33 AM.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

Lucius Aemilius Paullus, Manius Tricostus Priscus, Canae Ardea Gularis, Publius Cornelius Scipio, Publius Villus Crassigensis, Publius Valerius Cato, Quintus Baebius Tamphilus, Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus, and Titus Albucius Thermus.

Two censors, two consuls, two praetors, a provincial governor, a metropolitan mayor, and a former business executive.

Such was what the voters had to choose from when the general election was held in the middle of December. A few, like Gularis, Priscus, and Crassigensis, were widely known, even in the far off provinces of the Republic. Others, such as Tamphilus and Ahenobarbus, were popular and well esteemed, but they lacked name recognition.

For many the lack of 'ATRATINUS' on that sheet of paper disseminated from the office of the Censors was mightily important - speaking more on the President's character than on anything else. Political pundits, television commentators, and journalists filled all forms of media with praise for the President.

There was no wondering how Atratinus had become the most popular person in Ariminae. To the average person his reforms were common sense, adding credibility and trust to a government whose reliability was under heavy fire, and adding reinforcement to an infrastructure which was noticeably crumbling on the edges. By all standards, Porcuian politics was rather tame in terms of bribery and corruption, especially in comparison to some of her neighbors on the Continent, but two recent high-profile cases had drawn intense focus to the matter, precipitating in the passage of additional regulations for provincial governors.

Such regulations, which now limited terms to a single year without possibility for another governorship for another four years, were at the root of the decision for Quintus Baebius Tamphilus when considering whether to make a run for the presidency. He was fortunate at not having been caught committing illegal acts by the parliamentary commission headed by the communist leader Crassigensis; yet, his immediate thought was not to cease the selling of prime business contracts or the selling of comfortable positions in government, but to run for the one position he knew he could use as leverage in pushing for the overturning of Atratinus' reform. Tamphilus was unimposing in character and speech, and it did not take a careful eye very long to surmise that his campaign was doomed from the start. The man was fortunate that he was appointed to his governorship, since he would have lost any election handily.

Titus Albucius Thermus, in comparison, was a heavyweight in social circles in Porcu. It had taken him a few years to learn, but one's family and standing, or lack thereof, was easily secured by the imposing faces which sat on the larger denominations of Porcuian currency. The Albucii were nobodies except come election time, or when it came to charity fundraisers, or when it came to the promotion of the arts, or when it came to...

Having made a name for himself and come from nothing, Thermus was the personification of confidence and charm. Modest physically, though quite sharp intellectually, he was able to control at what point during an evening he wanted to be noticed by everyone. Oftentimes Thermus would start out in a corner and keep to himself before striking out and magically capturing the attention of anyone he spoke to. A warm, soft smile usually was enough to ensure that Thermus was kept in high regard by the prime movers in the Republic. Of note was the fact that he was the only non-native born Porcuian in the race, having been born in the province of Narvik. His citizenship and status had been doubly checked by both censors (both his parents were Porcuians, upstanding but of the lower-middle class). Curious, those imposing faces on one side of a denarius were also useful in preventing any mention of his parents and their humble origin.

...

"Well, it's a setback alright." Publius Valerius Cato said with a shrug, lifting a few pretzels to his face.

"I was so sure he'd run." Publius Cornelius Scipio added. "What changed his mind?"

"There's a rumor going around that it was the East German Chancellor, or at least something that happened while he and Ardea Gularis were away in Vienna." Lucius Aemilius Paullus said. Always up to date with the latest gossip thanks to his wife, Aemilius Paullus had come to develop a sense about which rumors were true and which were not.

"Gularis can rot." Marcus Claudius Marcellus muttered with real disgust.

"Seriously, Marcus, shut the fuck up." Cornelius Scipio barked. Claudius Marcellus gripped the arms of his chair and sunk in a little further, his head cast downwards.

"You're odds aren't bad, however." Servius Aemilius Cesca said. A recent regular to the late-night discussions put on by Scipio, Paullus, and Marcellus, Cesca was easily the most political out of the group and provided sage advice. "My guess is that Gularis will manage to make it to the runoff election."

"Winning?" Valerius Cato asked.

"Very difficult to say, since none of the other candidates have nearly as much open popular support as she does. That said, it could eventually become a coalition of votes against her." Aemilius Cesca replied.

"Congratulations, by the way, on your successful election as party secretary. Good to note we have one among us in firm command of a political party." Aemilius Paullus cheered, raising his glass of wine slightly.

Aemilius Cesca dipped his head in Paullus' direction. "Many thanks; it was part of a negotiated strategy among our leadership. Gularis would have our support to run again for the presidency, but I am taking command of the party. It will be easy to drop her should she fail."

"I've noticed no press release..." Claudius Marcellus commented.

"Naturally, we don't wish to upset or unsettle our membership. What was decided was done behind closed doors; the public won't know until after the elections."

A steward gracefully arrived, making his presence known by a subtle clearing of the throat. He announced the arrival of another guest and quietly saw that they were brought to the group.

"Ah, Lucius Cornelius! Glad you could join us." Aemilius Paullus roared at the sight of Sulla. His current position did not allow him to rise to his feet quickly, so the rotund Paullus elected to remain seated.

Sulla smiled broadly and cast a quick look around to the different faces. "I apologize...traffic was heavier than I imagined."

"Should have taken the metro, Cornelius Sulla." Aemilius Cesca replied.

"What? And sat with the drunkards and ordinary populace?" Claudius Marcellus said with an astonished expression.

"I had not thought of it, but thank you Servius Aemilius." Sulla replied, defusing some of the tension from Marcellus' response.

"I hear you're eying to be aedile, yes?" Valerius Cato asked of the clean and trim looking Sulla.

"That's right."

"Good boy...One step at a time." Aemilius Paullus said.

There was a period of silence before Sulla broke it. "I'm sure you gentleman have heard of the latest news regarding Atratinus?"

A general expression of curiosity dawned on everyone else's face; "What do you mean?" came the uniform question.

"Atratinus is withdrawing from consideration as a consul."

Jaws dropped. "What do you mean?" came the uniform question again.

"I mean just that. Atratinus will not place his name in candidacy for the consulship. There seems every indication that he also will not run for Parliament."

"What nonsense!" Valerius Cato yelled.

"The man's too power hungry to vanish like that." Cornelius Scipio added.

Cesca sat with a pensive expression, his lips motioning occasionally as if to speak but not a word escaped. Truthfully, the only reason Sulla himself knew of Atratinus' plans were because the Great Man had caught him wandering outside the newly built parliamentary complex and told him straightforwardly when asked.

"What is he up to?" Aemilius Paullus asked to no one in particular.

"He best bears watching." Claudius Marcellus replied. "I don't trust him."

"Speaking of Atratinus, that was some performance the other night!" Valerius Cato said. "Absolutely wowed everyone there, including me."

...

Before too long the group had broken up for the evening, well advanced into the night, and parted ways. Sulla had noted Cesca's silence through the last part of their meeting and hoped to have a word with the man. Dismissing his driver and private motorcar, Sulla raced to catch up with Cesca when the latter had entered a metro station.

"Servius Aemilius; may I have a word?" Sulla asked, now standing beside Cesca on the platform.

"Certainly." Cesca replied with a smile.

The two spoke innocently at first, hopping onto the train when it arrived, and settling themselves down into a row of two seats. Sulla looked around the empty car before steering the conversation to Atratinus.

"I took note of your silence when I mentioned Atratinus' latest decision. What was on your mind?"

"I'm unsettled by this news." Cesca said flatly.

"Why?"

"Because Publius Cornelius is right, the man does not simply vanish or lay down."

"Yes," Sulla said with a touch of fear in his voice, "I'm afraid of what he's planning."

That comment provoked a curious expression from Cesca, who turned to look at Sulla. "Why afraid?"

"Well, he's capable of destroying anyone, so I can only think how he must be planning on unseating the President and appointing himself again. Brilliant way of avoiding popular elections."

Sulla sat and thought for a moment. "Yes, I'm afraid too."

The poem of the crocodile by Lewis Carroll repeating itself in Cesca's mind.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

For an unusually long period of time the Republic had remained quiet and reserved, a sort of diplomatic and political hibernation.

The general conclusions of the parliamentary elections at the end of the year were set on unstable foundations following the nationwide metropolitan elections and those elections in the overseas provinces. Whereas national elections were held in December, metropolitan elections were held at the end of January - providing a test of sorts for parties to gauge their success relatively as well as quantitatively. Even in the provinces, where the governors as chief executive were appointed by Parliament, provincial assemblies were a key measure of a party's success.

The political map of Porcu had become stained a deep crimson.

The Communist Party of Porcu and its sister parties in the various overseas provinces obtained a staggering proportion of the overall votes, highlighted by capturing with a solid majority the metropolitan assemblies of Capua and Asti, as well as obtaining a plurality of seats in the provincial assemblies of Avaricum, Narvik, Polinesinum, and Hong Kong & Macau. Successes were measured in other metropolitan areas, yet they stood as a leap forward for the party. Political analysts were divided over the chief cause of the surge; however, the death of Crassigensis was a leading candidate.

The general victory for the communists came at the expense of Gularis and the socialists, whose standing fell precipitously in several areas and whose confidence from their successful parliamentary showing the previous month evaporated entirely. In the lead-up to the general elections, a closed door meeting of the senior socialist leadership had taken place and a decision was made to provide Gularis unquestioning support in her bid for the presidency if she subsequently stepped down as Secretary of the Socialist Party. It was decided then that Aemilius Cesca would take the reigns of the party following the presidential election. However, Gularis' impressive victory served only to reinforce in her mind the necessity of her leadership within the party and serious quarrels developed as a result of her refusal to publicly step aside, as she had promised.

Until the metropolitan and provincial elections.

The socialists took the brunt of the communist wave and were left only with their 'home territory', the three metropolitan centres of Mediolanum, Taurinorum, and Vercellae. Gularis' standing within the party effectively collapsed and she relinquished her position as Secretary two days later. Aemilius Cesca assumed the leadership position of the Socialist party with a difficult road ahead.

Matters were rather static on the opposite end of the political spectrum. Besides the recent, but not total, collapse of the Republican Party in December, the far-right was well represented by the conservatives, especially abroad in the provinces of Araucanía and Carolina-Georgia. There was some rumbling of a change in leadership, but nothing materialized. Nonetheless, panic was rife among key figures on the Right when results of the metropolitan elections were announced. Sextus Julius Flaccus, Secretary of the Conservative Party, had seriously considered forming an official partnership with the liberals and democrats. Cooler heads prevailed. The centre-right leadership, rightly, believed that a full partnership with the conservatives would only add fuel to the general perception of the march of the communists. The liberals also had history to consider: a similar partnership several decades before had nearly sapped the party of votes and private funds. The liberals and centrists were fortunate to be led by the shrewd Tricostus Priscus.

...

"I think the tie you had on before looks better."

"Black?" Publius Vibius Pansa replied while keeping his attention on the reflected image before him. "What about no tie?"

"Mhmm..." a lean figure covered delicately by the bed sheets mouthed while shaking his head. "The rubra simía just died and you're supposed to wow them into electing you, remember?"

"You're right." Pansa, his eyes wandering to the reflection of that handsome and charming face just behind him. The young communist leader held in a chuckle at the thought of how much Crassigensis sometimes resembled an ape. "Someone is going to get elected Secretary...Might as well be me, right?"

The man opposite Pansa sat up and stood, taking a few steps forward before wrapping his arms around Pansa's waist. Pansa checked the time on the small clock resting on the drawer before turning abruptly and locking his lips with those of his partner. Slowly, Pansa descended, giving small kisses as he went along, until he found what he wanted.

"What about your meeting?" the young man moaned, his eyes shut and mouth agape.

Pansa only sped up.

...

It had been years since Aemilius Cesca had attended a football match and it was curious for him to consider just how much he missed viewing the struggle that ensued on the grass pitch below him. Attending the match with him were Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felix and Marcus Claudius Marcellus.

The midday entertainment was provided by two of the three professional teams that called the capital city of Ariminae home. One of the teams, dressed in red and white, was owned by a foreign financial tycoon, whereas the other was dressed in green and was majority owned by a formal supporter's club. The team in green, Παναρίμίναίkος (Panariminaikos), had been Cesca's club of choice since he was a young man and was quite natural considering his hometown football club was currently wallowing in the depths of the fourth level of Porcuian professional football. Founded by port workers and sailors in the mid-1800s, Panariminaikos was one of Porcu's most storied, successful, and widely supported football clubs. Whereas the other major team of the capital A.S.A. (Athletica Societa Arimina) or the Ariminaen Athletic Club (considering that the third team of the capital played in the second tier) has obtained the reputation a following among "higher class" Porcuians, P.A.O. (Παναρίμίναίkος Αθλητικός Oμίλος) or the Pan-ariminaen Athletic Club had become the club of skilled workers, laborers, and the "commoner". As such, Panariminaikos had come to symbolize the leftist political tradition, the football club's shamrock logo even having been used on occasion on political posters. Cesca was a home during a Panariminaikos match.

"I don't know how you can be so relaxed, Servius Aemilius." Claudius Marcellus said during a pause in the match. The conservative patrician had noticed how on occasion Cesca jumped in his seat following a build up in the play or a prime scoring opportunity.

"I realize the concept of relaxation and enjoyment are foreign to you, but you should understand that there is nothing to worry about." Cesca replied without looking over to the man seated to his right.

"'The Red Dawn'...That's what the papers have dubbed it." Marcellus said.

"Come now, Marcus Claudius. Not everyone has the same problems you do." Cornelius Sulla interjected with a wide smile.

"Easy for you to say! You liberals are always content. If you never set any high goals for yourselves you can never be disappointed..."

A dubious call by the referee elicited a roar that swallowed the rest of Marcellus' remarks and in the uproar an enthusiastic fan seated behind the three parliamentarians spilled the contents of the can he held onto Marcellus.

Claudius Marcellus dropped his head and groaned as the fury built. Cesca openly laughed, but Sulla was more diplomatic. The rest of the match passed without much of a fuss - the final score: nil-nil between the two titans.

Walking out from the stadium the three men chatted and walked, eventually passing a newspaper stand where Sulla bought the evening edition and greedily read the article summarizing the official Congress of the Communist Party and Publius Vilius Pansa's election as Secretary.

"Well, he's certainly no Crassigensis." Sulla declared upon finishing the article, handing the paper off to Marcellus.

"Have you met the younger Vibius Pansa, Lucius Cornelius?" Cesca asked.

"No, but I have heard that he has a capacity for political strategy that is potentially unrivaled."

"And who said that?" Cesca replied with a smile, knowing the answer already.

"Why, he did." Sulla replied, laughing.

"Hmmm...this portends decisively unpleasant things." Marcellus muttered.

"There's not much further the republicans can slide, Marcus Claudius, so I wouldn't worry too much." Cesca said jokingly.

"I wonder what Atratinus makes of Vibius Pansa the Younger?" Marcellus asked rhetorically.

...

Canae Ardea Gularis read over the same evening paper Sulla had bought and had come to a similar conclusion as Marcus Claudius Marcellus. Her political instincts told her that Pansa would prove too much to handle if he were allowed to throw his weight around - the issue being that his political weight had grown considerably.

"Perhaps you should consider a grand coalition with the liberals." her husband had suggested over dinner. "It's not preferable, certainly, but it's better than the alternative."

"The alternative being?" Gularis asked.

"The public perception that Pansa effectively controls the life of the government."

Gularis was extremely vulnerable, even more vulnerable than during her first administration. Atratinus had come to her rescue then, but she dare not resort to that again. Additionally, Atratinus was nowhere to be found. He had virtually disappeared in fact, his last public appearance was nearly three months ago.

Sleep did not come easily to the President that night and when it finally descended on her it was fitful and unpleasant.

The following morning Gularis was eaten alive during the weekly 'Questions to the President' in Parliament, an entirely novel and embarrassing experience. And who was it that raised some of the sharpest criticisms of a budding administration?

Publius Vibius Pansa.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

The air was dense and polluted. The light from the chandeliers appeared blurry, instead of being crisp.

At least it seemed that way to the junior Consul. Marcus Aurelius Cotta shifted uncomfortably in his seat. There was little indication that the hastily convened, marathon meeting of the Consilium would end anytime soon. It had started out as an emergency meeting on the developments in Austria, but quickly expanded to include all matters of the State. Each member, from the quaestors to the censors, had been asked questions. There had been some extended discussions, as there had been simple, one word replies. The discussion, however, had recently returned to Austria.

"Tell me, Marcus Aurelius, is there a possibility that we can come to terms with the Austrian Archduke?"

Aurelius Cotta's head shifted swiftly to his left. It took a moment for him to process the question.

"Madam President...I cannot see how this government could find legitimacy with the Archduke."

An utterance of approval exited the lips of the praetor Tiberius Claudius Nero. The quaestors Gaius Iunius Brutus and Marcus Livius Drusus drummed their hands on the table.

"Madam President," the aedile Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felix began, "the Republic must stand in solidarity with the Chancellor of the East German Federation and those in Austria who stand for liberty, democracy, and freedom. It must be the policy of this government to see Schlesinger return to Vienna as its legitimate leader."

"You would have us go to war then?" Ardea Gularis shot back, her eyes narrowing.

"Better now when the Archduke's grip is not yet suffocating." Cornelius Sulla Felix replied.

"We've already begun applying pressure to them through the seizure of the Loki platforms." the quaestor Marcus Livius Salinator answered.

"Yes, and now a small city is under occupation by Austrian marines." Publius Vibius Pansa added with venom. "There are still Austrian forces hunkered inside their bases to consider."

President Ardea Gularis sighed and massaged her face. She had suddenly grown tired of sitting and called for a recess. Outside of the lavish conference hall the Consilium used as its meeting place Vibius Pansa caught up with Aemilius Cesca.

"Finally a break, ne? I never thought we'd be given a moment to stretch our legs." the young communist leader commented.

Aemilius Cesca, the senior Consul and Socialist Party Secretarty, nodded. An assistant handed over a cool bottle of water, which the consul eagerly drank, before asking if Vibius Pansa required some water as well. After Vibius Pansa had taken a few drinks from his own bottle Aemilius Cesca shook his head slightly.

"I'm afraid we're doomed to follow Vienna's lead in this particular affair."

Vibius Pansa nodded. "Yes, but it doesn't have to be that way."

"Since when were communists such patriots?" Aemilius Cesca joked.

"Since I was elected Secretary, Servius Aemilius." Vibius Pansa replied with a smile.

"You spoke very little, yet I have the feeling you have your own suggestions for the President."

"Indeed; I applaud the President for her decision to invite an Austrian delegation here to Porcu, though I think Urgo is still too good a setting. However, it is imperative that we make our position clear and that we are prepared to exercise the fully capability of the Republic."

"A sign of strength?" Aemilius Cesca asked.

"The capture of Harstad, with the concurrent capture or death of Austrian forces, should suffice." Vibius Pansa said with utter seriousness.

"A war would immediately involve the Marslavans and there is no lust on their end for Austrian blood."

"I don't want their blood, Servius Aemilius; I want their fear."

Aemilius Cesca paused a moment and considered just how frightening that remark was. "There is Tarquinius Atratinus to consider as well. Open war would surely condemn him to death."

"You are close to the former president, are you not?" Vibius Pansa inquired.

"As close as any political contemporary is." the senior Consul replied. "Why?"

"I've been wondering what motivated him to the course of action he took."

"And you think I have any idea?"

Vibius Pansa merely continued to gaze at Aemilius Cesca, as if that would promote the formulation of an insightful response.

"The strengthening of the Republic is his only goal and motivation, though how he came to calculate that his actions would do that is beyond me."

It was immediately upon hearing the senior Consul's reply that the answer dawned upon Vibius Pansa. Excusing himself, the young communist grinned widely as he turned and made his way back inside the conference hall. On the wall, behind where President Ardea Gularis sat, hung an additional seal representing the Republic which first began to be widely used under Atratinus.

"You almost exclusively chose subtlety, but occasionally one has to be obvious and unmistakable." Vibius Pansa whispered to himself.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

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Flora District, Ariminae, Porcu

One of the oldest districts of the capital, Flora was where the Metropolitan Assembly of the Greater Metropolitan Area of Ariminae met on a regular basis. The aged district also hosted the Mayor's residence and had, until some years ago, neighbored the Presidential residence. Still, while many national administrative units had been moved to the newly created Forum to the city's east, the residents of the Flora district could still see the lovely architecture of the oldest of the Royals' official residences. Regia Accalia had stood the test of time, endured numerous wars, and managed to keep itself out of the public hands of the Republic. One of the few things still left to private hands of the Royal Family of Porcu, Regia Accalia was nonetheless a national treasure and a fantastic tourist spot.

The former palatial residence of the President of the Republic had been converted to a museum at the time of the Forum's completion and the area around it had been opened to residential development. The result was that several new, prohibitively expensive apartment complexes had been built in the neighborhoods that bordered the former Presidential palace and the ancient Regia Accalia in the near equally ancient Flora district.

From his apartment villa at the summit of an apartment tower, Theodorus Palilicius Graecus, known to many around the world simply as 'Lord Aldebaran', watched as the glowing lights of the metropolis below glittered and danced. His view, graciously provided by his benefactor the late King Julius Decimus Maxentius IV, provided a bird's eye view of the old Presidential palace and the Regia Accalia, yet also gave a stunning panorama of the Forum. Gazing upon such splendid classical architecture from time to time eased his occasional sense of homesickness. Having left his homeland in the final, agonizing breaths of the Greco-Roman Empire, Palilicius Graecus eventually found himself in Porcu. The news caught many by surprise - a chief ambassador of the Empire and close confidant to the Greco-Roman Emperor himself in the Republic?

Yet, the actual reasons were simple and enlightening. The trauma of the Empire's collapse, the dissolution of its foundations, had tired Aldebaran and he sought an atmosphere of stability and calm. However, the political embers inside him refused to die and, having gradually adjusted to this calm, the seasoned political animal began to salivate at the prospect of tackling the Republic's politics - widely regarded as a suicidal endeavor by foreign journalists, diplomats, and veteran political analysts and a purely masturbatory effort by the cynical. Indeed, a single year passed by the time Aldebaran revealed himself to the political establishment in Ariminae as 'Theodorus Palilicius Graecus' and began what would be a long, stimulating, and equal parts enjoying and frustrating return to the highest echelons of government.

...

"It's too bad Father couldn't join us..." Oppius Decimus Maxentius, the younger of the Princes, said.

"Yes, but he lived to see our new friend well established." Marcus Decimus Maxentius replied. "Who else will be joining us for dinner?"

Oppius Decimus sighed loudly and groaned. "The esteemed pig-of-a-man Lucius Aemilius Paullus, the decidedly unpleasant Senior Consul Servius Aemilius Cesca, and Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felix."

Marcus Decimus raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Nothing to say about the handsome and charming Cornelius Sulla Felix?"

"No." came the short reply. Both princes navigated around a tight street corner, their personal guards just in front and closely behind them. "He's a friend."

"You must branch out, even if only for appearances, frater. The quaestorship is a given for individuals of our standing, but ascension of the cursus honorum requires work."

"Yes, but...many are just...unpleasant." Oppius Decimus said.

Marcus Decimus paused, signaling to his brother to stop talking. Just a few meters from them the other invited guests were walking in their direction. The Crown Prince and soon to be King - that is if the Communists did not try to disband the Royal Family by force - moved to greet his colleagues. The exchanges were short, but satisfyingly polite. All five of the dinner guests were already several minutes late, so some haste was impressed into the rest of the journey through the well-lit streets and sidewalks of the capital. Finally, the group made it to the gates of the impressive apartment complex where Theodorus Palilicius Graecus lived.

Upon arriving at the top floor, an expansive space designed and built specifically for the Greek as a gift upon receiving his Porcuian citizenship, the dark suited guards detached from their masters and relaxed in several rooms set aside for them. The guests themselves were welcomed inside by a powerfully soothing scent and the helpful assistants hired by the newly minted Porcuian. Gifts of wine, books, fine jewelry, and an autographed set of handwritten notes by former President Nixon the Younger were collected and carefully set aside by another of Palilicius Graecus' servants.

The host was nowhere to be seen as the guests first filed into the atrium of the apartment villa, but a cry of wonder and surprise caught everyone's attention. From the next room Palilicius Graecus emerged in typical Greco-Roman formal attire holding the signed handwritten notes delicately in his hands.

"Which of you managed to acquire this?" he asked.

Aemilius Cesca stepped forward and bowed his head in acknowledgement. The Socialist Party Secretary and Senior Consul had done his homework and knew of the Greek's admiration for Nixon Julianus. Palilicius Graecus bowed deeply and thanked the Consul for his gift.

"My wine is the finest artisan quality from Free Gaul..." the obese Aemilius Paullus managed to stuttered in an obvious fit of jealousy, drawing a subdued chuckle from the two Royals standing beside him.

...

In the time remaining before dinner was ready, the guests had taken the opportunity to explore the large apartment and the beautiful scenery it provided. Once dinner was at the table, the guests were invited out to dine on the balcony, the same balcony which gave the stunning view of the Forum and the sprawling metropolis of Ariminae below it. The night air brought a slight chill, but accommodations were made without hesitation and everyone was subsequently able to enjoy their meal al fresco.

Conversation was relatively light and pleasant, though occasional sojourns into philosophical or political matters were taken. The real discussion took place at the conclusion of desert, with wine and several spirits flowing freely at the table. Already the moon hung in the midnight sky and complemented the soft glow of the Forum's lights. Finally considering himself lubricated enough, Aemilius Paullus kindly dismissed the servants and attendants, though making sure they kept the alcohol on the table within easy reach.

"Well!" the rotund and enormously wealthy head of the Aemilius Paullus clan bellowed, easily drowning out the side conversations of those around him. "I want to again thank you for your generous invitation and your splendid dinner. Theodorus Palilicius Graecus! Faber est suae quisque fortunae.[1]"

A roar met the toast and all drank before Aemilius Paullus continued. "I have heard rumors of your planned entrance into our labyrinthine politics."

"You have heard correctly." Palilicius Graecus replied with a grin.

"Do you plan on joining any political party?" Oppius Decimus asked.

"My particular political identity is not as important to me compared to my desire to enter the political arena and wrestle with my competitors, all the while providing what assistance and wisdom I am capable..."

"Strange, though." Cornelius Sulla Felix interrupted. "Do you hope to advance the interests of the Republic?"

"Our friend is a learned and experienced disciple of realpolitik." Aemilius Cesca said.

"Like Tarquinius Atratinus." Marcus Decimus Maxentius added.

"Only to a degree." Aemilius Cesca replied. "Palilicius Graecus, what do you make of these papers released to the media just a few days ago."

"Regarding the Armed Forces? Well," the Greek began following a quick drink, "the situation seems fairly obvious to me: while the Republic holds some slim advantages relative to comparable defense forces the reality is that the Republic is generally slow in managing the technological advance of its military. The Russians, for example, are always in a state of research, development, and production - their capacity as a major world military power is a direct consequence of their decision to maintain an exceedingly high level of defense spending."

"What of Austria?" Cornelius Sulla Felix asked.

"The emerging Austro-Hungarian-Croatian Empire is a direct reflection of Karl II - its actions are the manifestations of the Archduke's long considered plans. Recent revelations of their expanded defense spending is no surprise."

"Marslava is still the anchor of Central Europe and commands an industrial advantage the Austrians can temporarily offset via military might while Vienna further develops its own industrial base." Aemilius Cesca said.

Palilicius Graecus nodded. "There is little doubt that the leak of the Directorate-General's paper was deliberate, however."

A low murmur of agreement echoed around the table. A soft, cool breeze passed over the balcony.

"Well, what do you gentleman make of Vibius Pansa's electorate advances?" Palilicius Graecus said, deciding to stir the conversation in a new direction.

Eyes shot in the direction of Aemilius Cesca, who laughed nervously as he finished off his drink. The Greek realized his blunder and attempted to set aside his question, but the damage was already done.

"No, no..." the Senior Consul replied with a short wave of his hand. "We were entirely unprepared. He's very well organized, Vibius Pansa."

"You cannot possibly hold yourself to blame." Palilicius Graecus said in an effort to ease the Consul. "Where was your base of support and why couldn't Ardea Gularis revive that grassroots campaign which worked so well for her during her presidential run?"

"That bitch." Aemilius Paullus muttered, downing an entire glass of wine.

"She was too busy sitting inside her new residence doing god knows what." Oppius Decimus Maxentius added. Although he had privately cheered on the catastrophic collapse of the socialists at the polls, he was presently exercising the advice his brother had given him.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Aemilius Cesca said, gazing across the table at the younger of the Maxentii. "Truthfully, I don't know why the President was less than helpful. Nonetheless, nothing should be taken away from Vibius Pansa."

"Do you think the communists will make additional gains?" Marcus Decimus asked of Palilicius Graecus.

"If you look at data collected from the overseas provinces, it would seem that the Communist League has absorbed as much as it can. If there are to be any more gains it will have to come from Porcu proper."

"I just can't see that happening..." Aemilius Paullus replied forcefully, his glass once again empty.

"Neither can I." the Greek added. "However, even if their support dissipates, I imagine Vibius Pansa will make a serious run for the presidency."

Oppius Decimus Maxentius groaned. "Oh, don't tell me that Gularis will make yet another run."

The vulgar use of only the cognomen made all beside Aemilius Paullus and the younger Prince wince. "We still have to decide our presidential nominee at our grand congress next year." Aemilius Cesca replied. "The Honorable Canae Ardea Gularis assured our leadership that she will not campaign for another nomination."

"You'll likely have strong opposition from one of your sister parties during the nomination process." Cornelius Sulla Felix said.

"I do fully expect that to occur." Aemilius Cesca replied.

A slight lull in the conversation was enough for Palilicius Graecus to stir the discussion away from inter-party politics. The hour had grown quite late, but the host was comfortable letting his guests ware themselves out on their own. Eventually the time came to part ways and accommodations were hurriedly prepared for those who desired to spend the evening at the apartment villa.

In the end only Aemilius Paullus had settled on staying the night and his host came to find the obese gentleman fast asleep on a couch in a room adjacent to the apartment's atrium. Despite the efforts of himself and his personal assistants, the Greek and his house staff were unable to move Aemilius Paullus to one of the guest bedrooms, subsequently giving up and leaving him to sleep on the couch.

Palilicius Graecus, drunk and tired from a night of interesting conversation, collapsed in his bed a short time thereafter. Even while asleep, his mind continued to hum and his excitement at his new political life only grew.

[1] - "Every man is the artisan of his own fortune." Appius Claudius Caecus
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Regia Accalia, Ariminae, Porcu

"How is this even an issue?" the youngest child of late King and the younger brother of the current King said exasperatingly.

"Our politics do not agree. I am and will always be your brother, and for that you will always have my love, but this move is rash." the current and newly crowned King of Porcu replied. "My goodness, you haven't even been elected as an aedile!"

For those who did not have leftist sympathies, the political atmosphere in Ariminae had become toxic and oppressive. A few days prior the largely red Parliament had passed a piece of legislation which, among other things, had stripped the Royal House of Maxentius of yet another residence. This time the estate in question was located in Polinesinum and the legislation called for it to be temporarily refitted as a place of housing for those dispossessed by a recent, particularly strong storm. While King Marcus Decimus Maxentius IX did not approve of the way in which his family's property had been taken and re-purposed, he publicly accepted Parliament's legislative action, adding that he would visit the affected islands in the hopes of raising the moral of the islanders.

The young Prince Oppius Decimus, on the other hand, did not take kindly to the efforts of Parliament. It was only at the insistence of his mother that Oppius Decimus kept his mouth closed. Oh, how he had wanted to scream. Scream at the slow, cruel murder of his family and what had been theirs for centuries. Scream at what amounted to a calculated extermination.

"So?!" Oppius Decimus bellowed. "Many other have run with less experience. Besides, the purpose is not to win, but to change the dialogue. We need to start standing up for ourselves, for God's sake!"

"What you're suggesting will only quicken the rate at which we are singled out. A monarchic candidacy for the presidency will only serve to raise suspicions of our intentions. Look no further than Austria." Marcus Decimus replied.

"We are not Hapsburgs! Nor are we Romanovs! We have the pride of being Porcuians..."

"Which is why your plan is, at the very least, disgraceful. We Porcuians put ourselves at the service of the Republic, at her feet, and work for her glory. You are only working for yourself. You would tarnish the Office of the President, a position which dates back over 1200 years!"

"The protection of our family does not mean an end to our ideal of the Republic!" Oppius Decimus was nearly shouting with rage. "Still, at least other royal houses fight to preserve their existence!"

There was suddenly a heavy silence in the private study of the King.

"Do what you will." Marcus Decimus said finally, softly.

"Will you not help me, frater?" came the somber reply.

...

Theodorus Palilicius Graecus, or 'the Greek' as he was referred to in social circles, was hurried and late. Very unusual, yet understandable when one considered the unusually maddening traffic within the capital that day. "Of all days...", he muttered to himself as he rushed for the nearest metro station. Despite being quite congested as well, the Greek knew that he would arrive sooner than if he had stayed above ground. At the moment he empathized with his driver. It would likely be nightfall by the time he arrived back home.

Theodorus Palilicius had still not yet grown accustomed to the frantic nature and seemingly chaotic organization of the Porcuian metro. Nonetheless, its efficiency was unmistakeable. Curiously, it was only when pressed for time that the Greek used the metro and, even more curiously, took notice that no one seemed to, well, take note of him. A former Lord in His Imperial Majesty's court at Constantinople, Theodorus Palilicius had begun to dip his toes into the Porcuian political and social scene and had already made numerous appearances on national television programs. There had to be people who recognized him during his occasional journeys underground, yet not one person approached him or even gave him more than a cursory glance. He suddenly remembered something he read about the former President Tarquinius Atratinus, that the President had been known to wander openly very late at night with little to no security detail and that he enjoyed such sojourns immensely.

While immersed in his thoughts, the Greek realized that he had missed his stop and cursed at himself for his luck. Making for the nearest door, Theodorus Palilicius managed to escape from the subway car at the next station. Fortunately, his destination was not terribly far, so the decision was made to make the rest of the trip by foot. Unfortunately, in ascending the stairs to the station's exit to street level the Greek was recognized from afar by a journalist from one of the many political newspapers. Despite his insistence at only wanting to chat, the journalist was strongly rebuffed by Theodorus Palilicius, who knew instinctively that journalists were rodential, whether through disposition or training.

"Where are you off to, domine?" the inquisitive, young journalist asked, trying to keep astride of the Greek.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Nah...I had planned on cruising the metro for a few hours, but when I saw you I thought to myself, 'Hey! Why not see what the latest political darling of the Republic is up to?'"

"I'm afraid I'll have to leave that up to your imagination." Theodorus Palilicius replied, noting an opening in the sea of strangers before him and, without pause, jumping ahead and leaving his curious attendant behind.

The Greek surfaced from the metro and eventually made it to his destination: the Forum. The scene was impressive, the architecture stunning, and the vibrancy of the surrounding area palpable. As Theodorus Palilicius ascended the stone cobbled streets towards the parliamentary complex he grew calmer, yet more excited; he was still growing accustomed to walking in his area of the capital and was hopeful that he would come to know each stone, each statue, each block of marble intimately by his innumerable passages through the beating heart of the Republic.

Finally arriving at his destination, the Greek was welcomed, somewhat worn and sweaty, inside a beautiful marbled building. He was led to a conference room by an attendant and entered slowly so as to not disturb a presentation by the senior Consul. Nonetheless, Aemilius Cesca took note of the Greek's entrance and paused.

"I apologize for starting without you, Palilicius Graecus." the senior Consul said.

Flushed, Theodorus Palilicius stood at the back of the room and moved his gaze over everyone present, all the members of the Consilium. He bowed deeply as he spoke.

"No, please; I apologize for being late and for interrupting. I was careless in planning my arrival."

"Please..." a soft voice called out to him. "Sit."

Theodorus Palilicius nodded as he moved around the table and sat next to the President. Conscious of the sweat that made his shirt cling to his back, the Greek only felt himself sweating more. Still, at least the temperature of the room was such that he would gradually come to stop perspiring. Truthfully, Theodorus Palilicius had not missed much and his capacity to quickly analyze multiple pieces of information were a tremendous asset. He was quick to jot notes concerning the senior Consul's presentation and the subsequent debate that followed. The meeting was entirely focused on foreign policy and the Greek understood that his insight and advice were going to be solicited from the members of the Consilium, and eventually it did come.

"The incursion of Austrian forces into Illyria is troubling, but there is little beyond symbolic measures, short of war, that we can take to address this issue." the Praetor Gaius Julius Caesar stated.

The President nodded her head in acknowledgement before turning slightly to her left. "Palilicius Graecus, your thoughts?"

The Greek looked over his notes for a moment and then set down his pen before looking up to address those seated around him. "This particular situation is not something unexpected and is a natural continuation of a policy which actually begun under the late democratic, republican government of Austria. I think there is general agreement here about whether or not Austria has the right to self-defense, particularly against a widely labeled terrorist organization, since the Republic has itself had to defend itself against a similar enemy."

A groan was easily heard among several present. The memories of the Tanganorium Civil War were still easily recalled for some.

Theodorus Palilicius continued, "So, it is not reasonable for this government to oppose the Austrians on those grounds. However, the methodology is within the proper limits of criticism. It is on this that any opposition must be based, in my opinion."

"Do we know when the Marslavans will ask to convene the Plenary Assembly to make their suspicions public?" Gaius Claudius Marcellus, a Quaestor, asked to no one in particular.

"In two days time." the junior Consul Marcus Aurelius Cotta replied.

"But surely our own intelligence is evidence enough to confront the Austrians..." the Aedile Lucius Valerius Flaccus said.

"Confront how exactly?" the fiery Quaestor Publius Vibius Pansa asked pointedly.

"Tullius Cicero, aren't there additional measures we can take to put more economic pressure on them?" Valerius Flaccus said.

"Technically yes, but there's no reason to think it will do anything to change the Archduke's plans. Nonetheless, the Austrians should be feeling the pressure of an acute oil shortage due to our control over the Loki platforms." the bulbous, yet powerfully intelligent Aedile Marcus Tullius Cicero replied.

"I'd say it's about time we booted them out of Norway." Lucius Appuleius Saturninus, a Quaestor, commented.

"That will put the Republic in an irrevocable state of war." Palilicius Graecus said sharply. "Beside, there is little use for removing the Austrian contingent from Norway. That's two full divisions, yes? Two full divisions that must be fed, housed, and maintained in territory unknown to them and in territory well away from the mainland."

"He's right." Tiberius Claudius Nero added. "The expense of maintaining that force so far from Austria adds to their expenditure."

"Furthermore, and more importantly, I am not going to send the Republic to war unilaterally over the situation in Croatia." President Ardea Gularis said. "Of course, should Austria declare war against Marslava than we will act to defend our allies."

"However, even that is problematic, Madam President." Palilicius Graecus added with a serious tone. "There's no guarantee that it will be, let alone stay, an isolated conflict. The Margraviate will ultimately become involved and there will be tremendous pressure on the other Germanic states to join - let us not forget that ultimately Prague is the roadblock that stands between the Germans and a Pan-Germanic Union. Unless we are willing to fully commit ourselves to the likely possible progression of events, then I would strongly advise against positioning the Republic."

The use of 'we' by the Greek did not go unnoticed by many in the conference room and while others soured at its use by the former representative to the Greco-Roman Emperor, others did not question the sincerity behind its use.

"Still," Palilicius Graecus added in a final comment, "it is also a possibility that the Austrians haven't grown as belligerent as many believe. A strong statement and show of force at the appropriate time may dissuade any escalation of force that would lead to open war."

President Ardea Gularis kept her gaze down while she mulled over several thoughts at once. She eventually sighed loudly and looked over at her colleague, the senior Consul. "I'd like to meet again in two days time, before the Marslavans speak in Toledo. Is that agreeable?"

"Absolutely, Madam President." Aemilius Cesca replied.

"Will you join us again then?" Ardea Gularis asked of the gentleman to her left.

"It would be my honor, domina."
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Boreanorum, Overseas Province of Polinesium, Porcu

To describe the breathtaking landscape, the crystal clear water, the white sand beaches, and the gentle breeze of these pacific islands as 'paradise' would rob them of their magnificence and would unfairly box them into one's own preconceptions of what God's domain might look like.

The indigenous populations of the collection of islands known as Polinesium or Porcuian Polynesia had experienced nothing but pleasantness with regard to their interactions with Porcuians. From the very first day of their collective establishment as a trading colony, Polinesium became, and has become, an integral part of both the spirit and flesh of the Republic. Polynesians, an ever practical race, gave much to the lighter skinned individuals who graced their pearly white shores and were content to listen to their oddly inflected language and pleased to see the regal nature of their traditional dress - how much their was to be learned!

Developing rather independently from Porcu proper, and from other more 'critical' trading posts, the islands of Polinesium and those who called it home came to naturally ascribe themselves a duel identity. There was no hesitation, no lack of enthusiasm, in explaining to anyone whom might listen that they were just as Porcuian as anyone from Patavium, Ariminae, or Taurinorum and equally as much a continuation of their ancestral, familial legacy. Polinesium was paradise, but it was also so much more than the superficial descriptions of travel magazines.

...

A lone girl of decidedly dark complexion remained motionless at the water's edge. Squatting with her legs far apart, the girl used her finger to draw various images into the hot sand. The sun beat down mercilessly and occasionally the cool water of the sea would lick her feet. The girl, thin and lanky, remained attached to the spot as a figure approached, its shadow covering most of her frame.

"Helena..."

The girl stood immediately and began to walk away. She kept her head down and did not bother to adjust the strap of her tank top which had fallen away from her shoulder. The figure which had approached the young girl watched silently from a distance as she slowly crossed over a mound of sand and finally disappeared from view. The figure did not follow, did not attempt to reach out, eventually turning its sight to the impressive towers of soil and trees which sprouted, imposingly, into the air far off in the distance.

...

Tu'i Manu'a, Mons Fareura, Polinesium

Marcus Claudius Marcellus returned to his luscious suite set apart from the main complex of the hotel and resort exhausted and desiring only a glass of wine to be enjoyed in the company of the expanse of stars in the night sky. Currently sitting as an Aedile within the Consilium, the often provocative member of the Republican Party eagerly anticipated the conclusion of the general election, hoping to stand for election as a Praetor despite the unwritten and unspoken understanding that one should wait at least two years in between the two.

While not the Secretary General of the Republican Party, the elder Claudius Marcellus was widely acknowledged as the most influential member of his party. Indeed, the greying gentleman had recently been profiled in a widely circulated magazine as part of the "Elders of the Right", individuals which included the esteemed Lucius Aemilius Paullus and the charming Marcus Livius Drusus.

Having showered and changed into a light tunic and pants native to the islanders of Mons Fareura, Claudius Marcellus ordered a bottle of wine through room service and waited patiently for it to arrive out on the balcony which afforded the Porcuian a splendid view of the sea on one side, the outskirts of Tu'i Manu'a on the other side, and the dark night sky above him. It was just as his wine had arrived that the middle aged paterfamilias received a short and cryptic message on his phone. Claudius Marcellus poured himself a full glass before retiring back to the balcony, bringing his phone and the wine bottle in tow.

"Publius...How are you, my friend? How are things?"

"Oh..." a depressed voice replied slowly. "Not terribly well at the moment I'm afraid."

"I gathered that from your message, but you'll have to forgive me...I don't know exactly..."

"It's Helena. I finally spoke with her today."

"Ah," Claudius Marcellus replied, adjusting his position slightly. "I see."

"Poor girl. She was very upset."

"Understandably so..."

"I meant to tell her earlier, Marcus."

"Did she approach you then?" Claudius Marcellus asked.

"Yes; she had apparently found a picture of me and her mother in a large box of valuables. Marcia called me yesterday asking me that I come and speak to Helena."

There was a slight pause before the response - the wine wasn't going to drink itself. "Give her some time, Publius. This is difficult for her, but I'm sure she'll understand."

"She wants me to take her back to Viroconium and then back to Porcu once my term as Governor expires."

A chuckle. "Well, you can't do that...Publius Valerius Cato, the adulterous defender of family values?" Again, a pause for laughter.

"I'm very much considering it." was the curt reply, monotonal but firm.

"What?!"

"Marcus, I've hidden her for nearly fifteen years and only gotten glimpses of her development. She's strong, intelligent, and determined; Marcia says now that she knows she'll find some way of tracking me down. Besides, it pains me to keep her away."

Claudius Marcellus bit his lip while his mind churned. "I believe you should reconsider. This could turn out far different that you imagine it, Publius."

"There will be some explaining to do, certainly, but the public will not penalize me, even if Octavia rightfully does."

"The laxness of the general public is not a refuge, Publius. Your image will be damaged, particularly in the party."

"Then it will be a case of the party betraying me, rather than the other way around."

Again, a pause and a deep drink of wine. "Where is Helena now? I'm guessing she wants to see neither you nor Marcia."

"I tried to talk to her and followed her around Boreanorum for most of the day, but I eventually gave up. As you said, she needs some time to digest it all. She's safe, however, even if she's wandering around. Marcia says she's been known to wander around the city until the following morning before returning home."

"I see."

...

In a dilapidated neighborhood of the Polynesian capital lay a small, but fairly popular local restaurant. Due to its location, the restaurant was not on many tourists' radar, but there was an occasional caucasian, black, or easterner who managed to wander into the small locale. The restaurant served local seafood dishes and was managed by an energetic single woman and mother of three. The hour was late when a strong knock came to the main door of the establishment.

Climbing over the man lying beside her and covering herself with a robe, the restaurant manager exited from her bedroom and walked down the long corridor which lay adjacent to the kitchen. She emerged in the main dining area and navigated around the low lying wooden tables strategically aligned as to maximize seating, eventually reaching the entrance and the source of the knocking.

"Who is it?" she called out from behind the locked sliding door.

"I need to speak to Publius Valerius." the voice called out in response.

"No one by that name lives here. I'm sorry, but..."

"This is very important. It concerns Helena."

"Who are you?" Marcia asked with a clear tone of concern.

"A longtime friend of Publius. We have never met."

"Give me a name!"

"Marcus Claudius. Publius will recognize that name."

A short time later Marcia, Valerius Cato, and Claudius Marcellus found themselves seated around a small square table in a private room located behind the kitchen of the restaurant. The two men sat cross legged, while Marcia rested on her knees, her hands comfortably in her lap. A single lamp illuminated the room. A nearby kettle held freshly brewed tea.

"You didn't have to make the trip, Marcus." Publius said, yawning widely. "I understand your concern, but I've thought things over and am willing to go forward with it."

"In what sense have you thought things over?" Claudius Marcellus replied sharply.

Valerius Cato sat up suddenly, the tone in Claudius Marcellus' voice drawing his focus. "This is my decision, Marcus. Along with Marcia and Helena."

"I'm afraid that's simply not true."

Valerius Cato narrowed his eyes.

"The decision would affect more than you and your family." Claudius Marcellus began. "It would affect me, and others such as Lucius Aemilius Paullus with him you've done considerable business with."

"Criticism of you or of anyone else would be wrong." Valerius Cato said. "Most people would easily grasp that..."

"I'm not interested in that, Publius. This is about principle."

"What do you mean to say?" Marcia said in her polynesian accented classical Greek.

"Helena will not be joining Publius Valerius."

"Like hell she won't!" Valerius Cato replied, suddenly energized.

"How long have we known each other, Publius? We've looked out for each other since childhood and have always worked together to resolve our problems."

"But this isn't a problem, Marcus."

"Oh, yes it is!" Claudius Marcellus roared.

"This doesn't concern you."

"It does very much actually. You might be prepared to throw away advancements in your career, but I most certainly am not. A stain on your reputation, however faint, is a stain on mine and is something I won't tolerate."

"What nonsense, Marcus."

A look of worry and horror swept over Marcia's face. "What do you mean you won't tolerate it?"

There was a slight pause before Claudius Marcellus sighed deeply, drawing the attention of Valerius Cato who had shifted his gaze to Marcia. "I thought it best to tell you myself, as opposed to you finding out through the papers."

Marcia knew what was coming and her lips began to quiver, whereas the realization was slower to penetrate Valerius Cato but no less horrifying. It was out of a sense of mercy that Claudius Marcellus continued without waiting to hear from those seated opposite him.

"Helena is dead."

In the eruption of emotion that followed it would be Marcus Claudius Marcellus that would remember every, single moment. From the stream of tears that ran down his childhood friend's face, to the wails of the young girl's mother, Claudius Marcellus could not escape. He couldn't escape when Valerius Cato began to lash out at him with clenched fists and he couldn't escape when Marcia threw the kettle of hot tea at him, scalding his hand and arm and part of his thigh. No, Claudius Marcellus could only wait.

The wait was long, but fully justified in his mind. He had seen to the elimination of a possible threat - the Republic would reward him for his efforts, that goddess to which all glory, honor, respect, and love is due.
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Forum, Ariminae, Porcu

Despite the biting chill of the morning air, there was little that could dampen the soaring euphoria that Vopiscus Tarquinius Atratinus felt as he walked confidently along the stone-paved streets of the Forum. The President had not known such excitement in quite some time and had to keep himself from grinning widely as he passed all too familiar faces.

The marble structures that dotted the Forum seemed to breath a life of their own in the bright rays of the sun. A clear, nearly cloudless morning greeted both victors and losers of the general election. The communists, for all their grandiose posturing, had held onto their parliamentary advantage by the thinnest of margins and would need every single socialist Member of Parliament to vote in step with them if they were to pass any legislation. Contrariwise, conservatives everywhere were overjoyed with what amounted to a coup - capturing 28,1% was truly significant.

"Praesidis...", Lucius Aemilius Paullus greeted Atratinus with a deep bow, interrupting his conversation with one of the winners from the previous evening, Marcus Livius Drusus.

President Atratinus extended his gloved hand and firmly embraced one of the individuals who would oversee the transfer of power from one President to another.

"Good morning, Aemilius Paullus." Atratinus replied. Try as he might, a slight grin did escape his lips. "Congratulations, Livius Drusus." the President continued, turning to the gentleman standing beside the portly Censor.

"Likewise, Praesidis." Another deep bow.

"I expect you'll easily land one of the positions for Aedile." Atratinus said, in reference to Livius Drusus.

"No, actually." came the reply.

Aemilius Paullus chuckled and proceeded to explain when a confused look crossed Atratinus' face. "Vibius Pansa has already laid claim to the aedile-ships. He's been reduced to buying the support of Aemilius Cesca and the socialists."

"Yes," Livius Drusus clarified, "but I also have several projects I'd like to see finished. The Republic's finances are no simple matter."

"The Republic is fortunate to have individuals such as yourself watching over her, Livius Drusus." President Atratinus said.

Time constrained the three to quickly wrap up their conversation and to begin to move inside the parliamentary complex. Once inside, assistants collected the President's belongings and replaced them with a folder containing the schedule for the day, as well as several important documents related to the proceedings of Parliament. Despite the imposing size of the interior of the main hall, the hundreds of parliamentarians and their legions of assistants greatly shrank the perceived area. Soon, a general call rang out and the heavy doors of Parliament were opened, allowing for the mass of men and women to file into the chamber. As the newly elected and recently sworn-in President, Atratinus waited just outside until he was introduced by the Censors, then slowly making his way towards the forward stage.

The applause was genuine, but not enthusiastic. There were no wild cheers, no whistles, no cheerful shouts. The President's reputation preceded him. To no one's surprise Atratinus declined to open the session of Parliament with an address, choosing instead to have the Censors proceed with the elect of the cursus honorum. From his place above the forward stage, Atratinus sat and watched as the secret ballot election of his cabinet, the Consilium, carried on without any delay. The President was pleased to see that the young communist leader, Publius Vibius Pansa, had within him the makings of a true organizer - no election went beyond two ballots. Of the senior leadership positions, Socialist Party Secretary-General Aemilius Cesca was overwhelmingly returned as senior Consul, while the up and coming socialist Gaius Julius Caesar took the junior Consul position.

Bureaucratic matters were attended to for the remainder of the morning hours, all the while Vopiscus Tarquinius Atratinus relished his view from atop and in front of Parliament.

...

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"Praesidis, it appears that most of the guests have arrived."

Tarquinius Atratinus peered at the corner of the large standing mirror in front of him, finding the attendant who had just entered the room. Atratinus voiced his understanding while still attending to his tuxedo - a few minor touches and he would be ready. The attendant left, securing the door behind him, leaving the President alone once again. Gazing at his reflection, Atratinus noted the subtle grey hairs which had spread sufficiently to color his otherwise light head of hair, as well as the wrinkles which now lay beside the corner of his eyes. Those cool, grey orbs enchanted even him sometimes.

It was difficult for some to believe that Tarquinius Atratinus, that enigmatic figure of stories both flattering and terrifying, had truly won the presidential election fairly. Aemilius Cesca, for one, knew very well what the President was capable of, having been part of the team to catapult Atratinus to the highest level of Porcuian politics after having spent his life in a purgatory of political appointments. Of course, the creative fictions conjured by journalists, parliamentarians, and political insiders were widely off mark, but the thread that weaved its way through all of them was precisely what Atratinus was known for: his resilience. Even the Archduke of the Austrian Empire had failed.

The truth of the matter, however, was that no trickery was involved in the recent presidential election and that, above all, was what brought a laugh and a smile to Vopiscus Tarquinius Atratinus. A tear welled up and rolled down his cheek. He wiped it away and finished adjusting his bowtie.

Below, in one of the large halls of the presidential palace, the sea of guests drank, discussed, and moved about with complete freedom. Elected members of the Consilium proudly and widely introduced themselves, while the newly minted among them actively sought out any who might fawn upon them. Yet, their urge paled in comparison to the masturbatory genuflecting that fell upon the President when he was introduced.

"Mister President, I want to say that it is a rare and unbelievable honor to make your acquaintance."

"Praesidis, please note that you can always count on my support."

"Mister President, I was hoping to have you look at some of the proposals I've drafted regarding..."

Atratinus waved each and every one of them away. The more experienced of the political class remained at a distance and observed the bloodless destruction.

"How are you holding up?" Publius Cornelius Scipio said softly and with genuine thought.

Servius Aemilius Cesca turned to his left, but said nothing immediately. Then, "The sting didn't last long. When one loses in such a historical fashion there isn't much to consider. It would be different had it been a close finish."

Cornelius Scipio took a drink of champagne. "Quite a number of new faces here tonight."

Aemilius Cesca looked around. "Yes, but the leadership remains. I've heard whisperings that your colleagues will call for a special convention in order to replace Tricostus Priscus."

Cornelius Scipio smiled. "I must know who your informants are, Servius Aemilius. While I cannot confirm nor deny such speculation, I can say that many are not pleased with his leadership."

"Would you seek the chairmanship?"

A rolling laugh. "No, no...I actually haven't even been approached. Manius Tullius, however, has been making moves."

"Cicero?" Aemilius Cesca replied with a laugh of his own. "Ha, you'll condemn the Bloc to a decade of irrelevance. The man is a much better bureaucrat than he is a political leader."

Just as the Socialist party leader finished his thought the two gentlemen were joined by a widely respected political figure.

"Theodorus Palilicius..." Cornelius Scipio began, "So good to see you."

"I'm sorry for the disappointing result today." Aemilius Cesca added.

"Not at all, Domine." the Greek replied with a bow. "Party jostling is to be understood. I'll have to better position myself for the next time." Whereas the rising star was able to get elected to Parliament along an independent ballot, he was unable to collect the necessary votes to be elected to Quaestor. Candidates for the cursus honorum may only stand for one election - Palilicius Graecus narrowly missed his.

"Enough, Theodorus Palilicius." Cornelius Scipio said with a wave of his hand. "You're among friends. No need for such niceties."

"No doubt you have heard of the increase in tensions within the Balkans." the Greek inquired.

"Yes." Aemilius Cesca said with annoyance. "The Austrians are on the move. Budapest and the Hungarian state are a countermeasure against the moves of Marslava in Sarajevo."

"Surely, the Austrians are pressed at the moment, aren't they?" Cornelius Scipio asked.

"Quite right, but they've bought themselves time." Palilicius Graecus replied. "The ball is back in Marslava's court. I do worry, however, that Prague will lose sight of the long-term focus here."

"They do seem to have increasingly placed their bets on blocking Austrian advances into the Balkans." Aemilius Cesca said.

"As is their prerogative." Cornelius Scipio said. "The loss of the Balkans would permanently shift the advantage to Austria, since Vienna would naturally cull the conquered before dramatically expanding their industrial base."

"Marslava can only stall, however." Palilicius Graecus answered.

Aemilius Cesca nodded in agreement. "I still don't understand why they don't aggressively target the Russians, especially if part of their resistance is on behalf of the Slavs."

"The Russians are understandably occupied by Draxis, but this may be more than simple non-cooperation. I suspect the Marslavans hope to usurp the Russians as the de facto protector of the Slavs. This is their opportunity." Cornelius Scipio added.

Gradually the conversation shifted before the three gentlemen were engaged by other interested individuals. For the next few hours drinks remained plentiful and pleasant conversation abounded. Even the former President seemed to enjoy herself, a welcome change from her generally depressing demeanor in the final few weeks of her tenure. The breadth and width of the Republic was represented that night, with Porcuians from all the territories which flew the white flag gathered inside the presidential residence. Atratinus was pleased with what he saw, but knew that more still needed to be done. For the majesty, honor, and glory of the Republic!
Edited by Porcu, Nov 9 2014, 10:28 AM.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

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Juvavum, Viroconium

As tourists and locals alike basked in the midday sun and cooled themselves in the ocean, their minds and priorities elsewhere, an unusual occurrence was taking place in the capital of the overseas province. Away from the beaches and the sun, the present Governor of the Province of Viroconium sat awaiting the arrival of a set of documents, signed by the newly elected President, which would allow Publius Valerius Cato to remain in the Governor's residence another year.

Similarly in other overseas provinces a small political show was put on - cameras, journalists, and civilians of reputation or importance were brought together for an afternoon. Every year there was a short but important transfer of power from one presidentially appointed Governor to another. Valerius Cato would be the first to break the unwritten law.

The cameras clicked and refocused their lenses when word came of the arrival of the Special Representative. Last second adjustments were made and bright smiles or characteristic expressions were donned by news personalities as the television networks returned from commercials. Behind them, sitting atop a curule seat, was Governor Publius Valerius Cato. He wore the traditional toga praetexta, its single, dark, purple band signaling his station, and sat with a still expression. His hair, colored like the grains grown in the northern part of the province, had thinned somewhat and his posture had worsened over the course of a year, yet his nose remained the same. Valerius Cato locked his gaze directly in front of him as the cameras turned away from the Governor and toward the entrance of the hall where an unimpressive gentleman now stood.

Valerius Cato's mind returned him to that state of emotion he had long wanted to forget. The pain of that evening in polynesian paradise dwarfed the worry and vulnerability he felt in reaching out to a longstanding political rival for a favor. Atratinus, naturally, had utilized his extensive network of personal informants to obtain a picture of the ailing Valerius Cato when rumors began to percolate. While incomplete, the picture Atratinus was able to construct initially brought out a great deal of empathy. Not that he would have denied the Governor's request in the absence of that knowledge, merely that he understood the stoic and cartoonishly inflammatory conservative could indeed feel such a loss.

Governor Valerius Cato discreetly wiped away a falling tear and stood in order to receive his guest and the papers he carried with him. The ceremony, if one could call it that, barely lasted ten minutes. The Governor's term was formally, officially extended for another year and once the documents were handed over the pleasantries of the attending guests and distinguished members of the provincial government were quickly dispensed. The cameras were shut off well after the ceremony was brought to a close and well after the Governor had departed.

Shut away inside his private quarters, Valerius Cato sat at the edge of his bed. The heavy wool toga was still draped across his frame. Across the room, on a small desk, lay his governing orders, with its exquisite calligraphy, and a small pact of accompanying documents. In his hands, however, the Governor held a nondescript note. Its brief message brought a renewed sense of anguish to the Governor and the ink of the characteristic penmanship was blurred by the tears that coursed down Valerius Cato's cheeks and fell upon the note.

The Governor would receive a masked telephone call on the private channel the following day.

"They've found Helena's remains, Publius." a soft and trembling voice said slowly.

...

Ariminae, Porcu

Despite the setback the member parties of the Communist League suffered at the polls in the last election, Chairman Publius Vibius Pansa wasted no time in positioning his parliamentary advantage in such a way as to make clear his intentions. Mere days after the new Members of Parliament took their seats a comparatively small but monumental piece of legislation was put up for debate by a MP from the Revolutionary Workers Party.

The Lex Arruntia called for the immediate nationalization of important energy industries and, subsequently, for the Parliamentary Commission on Industry, dominated by communists and socialists, to impose managerial reforms on the affected businesses so as to allow democratic worker participation in the decisions of the enterprise. Naturally, the proposed bill brought the whole of the Opposition to its feet. Liberals, centrists, libertarians, conservatives, republicans, and the like roared at the audacity of their Honorable colleagues. Debate rapidly turned from the proposed legislation's language and content to the merits of nationalization itself, broadly reflecting an underlying discussion on market economics, liberalism, and socialism.

Whereas Vibius Pansa did have enough votes to secure passage of the bill, he did not have enough to suspend debate in order to proceed directly to a vote. The critical vote was subsequently scheduled eight days hence.

The President had sequestered himself inside the Presidential residence throughout the first two days of debate, thereby avoiding confrontation with major parliamentary leadership on either side. Atratinus had secured a copy of the legislation for himself and found that he was divided on the matter. While it was true that greater worker participation in management would boost morale and could thereby be used in times of need to dramatically increase output, the traditionally conservative trade unions would prove harder to reliably bend to his will. Additionally, the peacenik undercurrent among heavy industry workers that could unexpectedly flair up at inopportune moments made for a significant drawback. War on the Continent was always a series of unfortunate events away from reality.

Having finished watching the conclusion of Parliament's afternoon session, a continuation of engrossing yet sometimes vitriolic debate, a worried Servius Cornelius Scipio made directly for the President's palace. The CEO of CCIF had no issue in entering the premises, but did obtain resistance when trying to walk through the main atrium.

"Good evening, Domine." a plump and jolly gentleman greeted as he entered from a side room.

"Good evening, Bruttius Vappimus." Cornelius Scipio replied.

Gaius Bruttius Vappimus was the President's senior staff member, having been pulled from the ranks of Parliament, and had been a key figure in Atratinus' ascension to power many years ago. "I will need you to sign in."

The shrewd businessman attempted to disarm his opponent with a wide grin. "Oh, I won't be staying long. I had hoped to speak with Praesidis Tarquinius Atratinus for a moment."

"Whether a moment or a day, a signature is required." the rotund Bruttius Vappimus said, returning a smile.

Willing to accept that his meeting with Atratinus would become public knowledge, the elder brother to the current Praetor signed the visitor's list. Servius Cornelius Scipio then followed Bruttius Vappimus into the palace, eventually departing from him once the two arrived at the President's main study. The CEO slowly stepped inside and allowed for the door to be immediately shut behind him. Directly across from him sat President Atratinus, his face buried in between stacks of papers.

"Come on, sit." Atratinus instructed without raising his gaze.

"No doubt you understand why I am here, Praesidis." Cornelius Scipio began. "I was hoping to hear what you thought of the legislation and what you believe its chances are."

"Well..." Atratinus replied, finally peeling his eyes away from the documents on his desk. He relaxed in his chair and sank into it, raising one leg and resting it across his other leg. "The Lex Arruntia will pass as long as Vibius Pansa and Aemilius Cesca can whip together every vote they have. Its chances of passage are high. Of course, you know this already."

Atratinus' cool, grey eyes caught the elder Cornelius Scipio. The latter swallowed hard before asking, "Will you veto the legislation?"

Both sets of eyes remained locked. "I haven't decided yet."

"You're aware that this will have devastating consequences to the security of the Republic. I also shouldn't have to point out the obvious economic consequences of such legislation."

"I've received ample arguments from my advisors. However, I believe that much is being exaggerated."

Cornelius Scipio was stunned. "What? You'll turn over vital industrial output to the whimsical decisions of so called 'worker's councils'?"

"Unlike many a wealthy capitalists, workers sweat and bleed to produce for the Republic."

"I built CCIF into what it is today!" Cornelius Scipio replied defensively. "Vibius Pansa can't take away what is mine!"

"That's what you fail to understand, Cornelius Scipio. CCIF is not yours. It belongs to the Republic. Your leadership is a grace provided by her - as is my own."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Fight this if you want, but know that your chances of success are marginal." Atratinus said.

"So, you won't veto the legislation if it passes?" Cornelius Scipio grumbled.

"As I said, I haven't decided yet."

There was little else to discuss and the rest of the conversation led effectively to nowhere. President Tarquinius Atratinus had consistently supported the efforts of Servius Cornelius Scipio and others like him in the past. What had led to this sudden change was beyond the CEO's comprehension. The fact, however, was that the elder Cornelius Scipio simply did not understand Atratinus.

Where the business elite saw turmoil, Atratinus saw an evolving public conscious. Where wealthy executives calculated a loss, Atratinus envisioned an opportunity to further the interests of the Republic and to build upon her gains. A new political divide was opening up and the consequences of any decision made would take time to manifest.
Edited by Porcu, Nov 23 2014, 09:42 AM.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

In terms of domestic upheaval, the Republic had not felt as much anger, fear, resentment, and suspicion as it had in the past three days. Both the scale and the strength of the popular eruption were enough to be felt as far as Polinesinum and Avaricum. Mass protests, both leftist and rightist in nature, were planned and carried out in every major metropolis of the grand, world-wide republic. Some had died at the hands of protestors, while others had died at the hands of the metropolitan police and gendarmerie. Whole districts of Ariminae, for example, were now cordoned off, with passage in and out being highly restricted.

One such district was that of the Forum, the Parliamentary Complex, and other governmental offices and agencies. Several key figures were effectively trapped, had been for three days, unable to leave for fear of a confrontation with the mobs outside. Hiding in a corner office within the larger parliamentary complex sat the former Aedile Marcus Claudius Marcellus, the current Quaestor Marcus Livius Drusus, and the Censor Gaius Vibius Pansa Caetronianus, among a small cohort of attending staff and personal assistants.

Disheveled and seated on the floor, his back against a desk, Claudius Marcellus shook his head in disbelief. "All I came for were a series of files...Could have just as easily been emailed..." he thought to himself.

A sudden outburst from Claudius Marcellus caught the other two parliamentarians off guard, awaking the napping Vibius Pansa Caetronianus and startling Livius Drusus. The elderly Vibius Pansa, father to the Communist Party General Secretary, groaned.

"Damnit, Claudius Marcellus..."

"Shut it." the fiery republican shot back. "If only you communists weren't so fucking...aggravating."

Livius Drusus, while no lover of the Left, did not share in Claudius Marcellus' pure hatred. He raised his eyebrow at the beginning of his colleague's remark, while chuckling at the end. The Censor, however, was not amused in the least, though he kept his mouth shut for the moment.

"How is this funny, Livius Drusus?" Claudius Marcellus asked sharply. His lightly colored hair lay uncombed and unwashed and his clothes had begun to give off a slight stench. "We sit here, imprisoned, because fractions of this country are ill-behaved and ill-tempered scoundrels."

The communist elder spoke before the Quaestor could reply. "I've had enough of you and your ilk! The Republicans stand as a regressive force...We're scoundrels?! Whose leadership exactly was disgraced, caught in a web of lies and deceit?"

"Those charges were falsified and you know it!" Claudius Marcellus yelled, turning around in his seated position in order to face the Censor, who himself rested comfortably in a reclining office chair.

Able to interject himself and defuse the situation, much to the relief of the equally hostaged staff, Livius Drusus delicately shifted the discussion. "Neither of you have any news?"

"No." both gentlemen replied in unison. Claudius Marcellus' phone had died the day before, while Vibius Pansa Caetronianus had been able to recharge his phone with the help of an assistant. Dialing for the police only put the Censor on hold - the telecommunications within the capital were terribly stressed during the ongoing crisis.

Vibius Pansa Caetronianus canceled the call after a short period of time and sighed heavily. "How did we even get here?"

...

A dense fog had descended over Ariminae. A cool mist and a grey air worked to drastically cut one's visibility. Yet, there was football to be played.

Safely tucked away in the box seats in the home stadium of the top-tier club S.A. Ariminae, Gaius Julius Caesar watched on along with Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felix and Publius Cornelius Scipio. The former had recently been elected as the junior Consul, whereas the latter two had successfully lobbied for their position as Praetors.

The game, another installment of the "Battle of the Eternal Enemies", featured in-town rivals S.A. Ariminae and Panariminaikos S.C. The fog had taken over the top few levels of seats, forcing many fans to descend into the lower levels, crowding out several spaces within the stadium and forcing many to stand. While diminished, the view from the box seats was, fortunately, not entirely ruined by the fog.

"Thank you for inviting me, Lucius Cornelius." the socialist Consul said with a warm grin. "It's actually been ages since I've been to a football match."

Sipping lightly from his drink, Cornelius Sulla Felix looked on as a golden attempt on goal for Panariminaikos was turned away, soliciting an eruption of cheers for the goaltender and cries of derision for the opponents from the home crowd. "Oh, my pleasure, Domine."

"No need for such niceties, Lucius Cornelius. Do you come often?" Julius Caesar asked.

"Not often, but it is hard to shake one's connection to the sport. I'm actually not terribly interested in football; I come out of habit." Cornelius Sulla Felix replied.

Cornelius Scipio laughed. "Properly patrician, aren't we?"

"Oh?" Julius Caesar said, turning his attention to Cornelius Scipio. "And yourself, Publius Cornelius?"

"I love it. However, I'm wise enough not to mix football and politics." the Praetor responded with a wide smile.

A sudden eruption, a metallic clang, echoed throughout the stadium. Confusion reigned for several long moments before a terror unfolded before all present. Panic was immediately realized by everyone, by those involved and by those whose eyes would not let them look away. From the highpoint along one of the curves of the stadium, a section which housed the away fans, the metal barrier had given way and fallen. Those whose death came quickly from the fall to the concrete below were the fortunate few; far too many would suffer in their last moments.

The scene was made all the more grotesque due to the delay of some fans' reaction. Many home fans opposite of the scene took the first salvo of cries to be a novel attempt at support and therefore responded in the way they knew best. As Panariminaikos supporters were pushed over the edge, falling onto those unfortunates below, they were saluted with the chant, "I hope you've made your peace with God/ I hope you've made your peace with God/ He's one of us/ Don't mind the heat, you proletarians/ For God is one of us."

From high above the unfolding terror, on the opposite end of the stadium, the three parliamentarians sat with mouths agape. Unable to move, frozen with disbelief, none dared stand up in case they, however improbable, made the situation even worse.

...

A sudden knock on the door to the corner office where Claudius Marcellus, Vibius Pansa Caetronianus, and Livius Drusus were held up caught everyone's attention.

"Hello?" a lone voice called out.

Desperate to leave, Claudius Marcellus readied himself to reply when he felt a hand fall on his shoulder. Livius Drusus cautioned him to wait, to remain silent.

"Hello?" the voice repeated. "This is the Metropolitan Police of Ariminae."

"Finally!" Claudius Marcellus said with enormous relief. He stood and ran to the door, flinging it wide open to the horror of Livius Drusus who was yet unconvinced of the identity of whomever lay on the opposite side of the locked door.

A tall figure forced his way inside, pushing Claudius Marcellus back and driving him to the floor. A pistol was held to the former Aedile's head. Looking up and scanning the room quickly, the police officer stood slowly and relaxed. He returned his weapon to its holster and bowed quickly to all three gentlemen. It was at this point that three additional police officers stormed into the room, initially turning their weapons onto the staff members gathered on the other side of the room.

"My apologies, Domine." the officer said, a sense of relief readily apparent in his voice. "The complex has been infiltrated at several points. It's been necessary for us, as well as the gendarmerie, and parliamentary security to sweep the area. Again, I apologize for shocking you."

Claudius Marcellus turned and gave the elder Vibius Pansa a look of disgust and contempt. The Censor frowned sharply in return, but said nothing.

"If you follow us we will take you to a safe point outside the complex, where you can then return home to your families." the officer continued.

"What a mess..." Livius Drusus said, slowly gathering his things and watching as the small group of parliamentarians and staff exited from that modern, carpeted prison box.
Edited by Porcu, Jan 24 2015, 11:04 AM.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

Publius Vibius Pansa had to struggle to remember a time he had been so wrong, had failed to accurately guess the effective tide of the populace. In his brief tenure thus far as general secretary of the Communist Party of Porcu and chairman of the parliamentary group of the Communist League he had been able to deliver electoral and legislative victories that the Left in the Republic had not seen in generations. For years he watched as the socialists maneuvered and eventually succeeded in elevating themselves to the premier positions of power within the Republic - always with an eye on replicating and surpassing those efforts himself. Now...

Now he sat quietly, dejected, gazing outside the window of one of the few trains that was permitted to run in the whole of Porcu. As the train sped along at breathtaking speeds towards Mediolanum, the young communist leader reflected on recent events and their ability to have confounded him.

To begin, Vibius Pansa had not weighed carefully enough the level of popular discontent with the political realities found in Ariminae. The riots which started in the capital and rapidly fanned out to the other metropolitan areas may have begun with immediate, tangible concerns in mind, but the groundswell gave way to a general, but deeply felt resentment. Confusion mixed with anger, which was itself fueled by a fear brought on by the riots. The young communist leader had been forced numerous times to seek shelter for himself as he tried, unsuccessfully, to join protesters in the street. He found that he wasn't wanted, that he had squandered the trust placed in him by the electorate, that he and the crème of the Communist Party were only opportunists in the end.

Perhaps he had not directed his political capital forcefully enough. That was a valid criticism. After all, the communists were only able to nationalize a fraction of the industries that they had initially targeted. In the name of compromise! It was true that the labyrinthine puzzle of Porcuian politics dulled even the sharpest of minds and the ground even the hardest of wills, but the vast majority of the public would never see that, never understand the realities of the political process, and therefore never truly realize the enormous strides made for themselves and the Republic.

Or so Publius Vibius Pansa reassured himself.

...

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He had arrived rather early and found the local Communist Party offices empty. In fact, Vibius Pansa had to wait to be let in by a secretary, as even the main entrance was locked. Despite the time of day and the wonderful weather the streets of Mediolanium were similarly empty, which accounted for the lack of traffic and the rapidity with which the communist leader was able to arrive from the train station. Curfews had been in place across the Republic for several days and helped to drastically cut down on the spread of the civil unrest while also allowing emergency crews to attend to the public's needs.

Vibius Pansa walked through the old, yet elegant palace, slowly making his way to the conference room which would host a high-level meeting of the leadership of the Communist League. No official agenda had been set, nor had anyone told Vibius Pansa the nature of the meeting.

"Publius." a voice called out from further along the hallway.

Vibius Pansa immediately recognized the voice. "Salve, pater."

Walking as confidently as he could, the young communist leader met his father and embraced him. Whereas the elder Vibius Pansa had assumed the usual characteristics of old age, including a hunched appearance and the distinctive musk of the elderly, and looked nothing like his son, the younger Vibius Pansa stood tall, with grace and elegance. Wonderful golden hair sat atop a face with immaculate complexion and a pair of cool, blue eyes.

"How are you doing?" Publius asked his father.

"Well enough, though I can see why you stay away from that scoundrel Marcus Claudius Marcellus." the elder Vibius Pansa replied. "He's truly an unfortunate collection of bone and flesh, isn't he?" A slight cough.

A smile. "Yes, he certainly does test one's patience. When is everyone else set to arrive?"

"Any moment now."

The elderly Vibius Pansa suddenly took notice of the tiredness in his son's eyes. "It's not what you think it is."

"What is?"

"Your position as general secretary and chairman is safe. We're here to discuss strategy. There are both internal and external threats to counter."

...

"You're an utter fool to think that this is a passing thing!"

"They're nothing but a marauding band of thugs! The public won't take any more of their shit for much longer."

"How do you explain their numbers getting bigger? There is real concern among the anarchists that a serious war in the streets will break out."

Publius Vibius Pansa sat back in his chair with a contemplative expression, watching and listening as an impromptu leadership meeting had devolved into a nasty argument. There were those who wanted to agitate for general strikes and mass protests in order to again put pressure on Parliament and other state institutions, while there were those who saw mainly fatigue and frustration in the faces of the public. Complicating matters from without was the rise of an ultra-conservative paramilitary group with unknown origins and unclear objectives and demands, while from within there was serious talk among some who no longer approved of Vibius Pansa's leadership of a split from the Communist League. Lucius Appuleius Saturninus was the loudest voice of the latter group and had increasingly become frustrated with the lack of initiative by the communists.

"We have to move against these fascists and organize the general public in mass actions! This is the opportunity we've been waiting for!" Appuleius Saturninus bellowed.

"The public wants calm, not another explosion of unrest." the elder Vibius Pansa said as calmly as he could.

"I have been in the streets and fought hand in hand against the forces you're arguing we allow to re-strengthen and re-arm."

"I have also been in the streets, but only to find that we are no longer trusted as before." the younger Vibius Pansa said directly, catching the attention of everyone in the room. "A great many people are upset with us and for good reason. We squandered some of our opportunities to advance the people's interest. Yet, we cannot act without thinking. We have to consider the delicate situation we now find ourselves in."

"You argue for self-preservation, not for the interests of the working class, let alone all Porcuians." Appuleius Saturninus retorted.

"Watch your tone!" another warned.

"Fuck you; I shall speak as I wish!" Appuleius Saturninus replied, a fire now burning in his eyes.

A heavy hand slammed down on the oak table centered in the room. "That's quite enough!" The elder Vibius Pansa had finally grown tired of the bickering; the meeting had left the group no wiser than when they started. Furthermore, there was now the decided possibility of a split within the group. A few welcome moments of silence descended on the people gathered.

One eventually broke the silence to ask what the President was doing about the whole situation.

"Tarquinius Atratinus is scheduled to give a speech tomorrow evening." the younger Vibius Pansa said. "I've also been told that we are to return to Ariminae to convene emergency meetings of Parliament. Thus far, curfews have been enough to curb the growth of unrest and I suspect that the President will ask for immediate measures to finance the reconstruction of all destroyed property, public and private. He'll want a return to normalcy as quickly as possible."

"And we'll have gained nothing for it..." Appuleius Saturninus added, slowly leaning forward in his chair and resting his arms on the table. "I am only going to say this once. Our best course of action is to organize and rally our supporters into mass protests and work stoppages in order to force Parliament and Tarquinius Atratinus' hands. Additionally, we have to forcefully confront this group of fascists and curb their attempts to dictate the course of events. I will go at this alone, if necessary."

Publius Vibius Pansa looked directly at the comrade seated opposite him and caught his gaze. "I am not disagreeing with your call to action, Lucius Appuleius, merely the timing. We seriously have to worry about not alienating people with unnecessary rhetoric and grandiose shows of force."

Appuleius Saturninus smiled momentarily before shifting his mouth into a snarl. "You've grown too close to that beast, Tarquinius Atratinus, Publius Vibius. Do you know what the Austrians did to him? Ha! And still they couldn't beat him. You've fallen for him and lost the revolutionary spirit that once lit you. I too thought that we communists might have been able to co-op the political process to bring justice and freedom from oppression, but now I realize that you aren't committed anymore."

The younger Vibius Pansa squeezed his hands tightly into fists beneath the wooden table and clenched his teeth. He wanted badly to lash out, but thought better of it. Lucius Appuleius was a masterful organizer, and that would be sorely missed, but it would be better to let him go than to risk holding onto him.

"Very well." Appuleius Saturninus said suddenly after no one said a word. He shifted in his seat and then stood, taking a moment to gaze at all those gathered. "I resign my position within the Revolutionary Workers Party and will provide a formal, written resignation letter. Good day ladies and gentlemen."

Without so much as a cursory glance backward, Appuleius Saturninus moved swiftly towards the door and exited, leaving those remaining in total silence. Publius Vibius Pansa let his head droop and closed his eyes. No one moved or spoke for some time after the departure of Appuleius Saturninus.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

They watched from the shadows a group of police walk slowly by. Lined shoulder to shoulder, the police were strung across the whole street, batons at the ready and shields at their side. The police advanced slowly, step by step, ever watchful for curfew breakers.

A loud pop was the only warning afforded the hardworking members of the Metropolitan Police before being swarmed by hooded men armed with bats, knives, and metal pipes. The police stood their ground and fought, despite the shock delivered by the improvised explosive and despite their lesser numbers. Blows flew and bones cracked. Blood was drawn and scattered, and under the streetlights it gave off the queer reflection that only blood can give at night.

Lives were immediately saved only with the arrival of reinforcements. By morning, however, three officers lay dead in their hospital beds. One officer in particular caught the attention of the media, for his cold body now made the appearance of a grotesque marking even more apparent. In his chest had been cut the traditional anarchist symbol.

Whatever their limitations, one could not say the anarchists were disorganized. Within the hour of when a narrative had been constructed of the brutal attack the previous evening the main anarchist organizations jointly released a statement to the press unequivocally stating their non-involvement. The greatest evidence in support of the claim to non-involvement was the nature of the attack itself. Again, whatever their limitations, one could not say the anarchists were disorganized. No such orders for an attack had been given and while the anarchist leaderships were able to confirm as much among themselves, it was quite a different matter to have the public absolve them of responsibility.

President Atratinus had for days wanted to make a major public move, to throw himself into the spotlight to highlight his status and power to both the political and financial actors of the Republic, as well as to the greater citizenry of Porcu. Against the wishes of his advisors, Atratinus decided that this attack against the police, and the subsequent death of three officers, was ample space in which to maneuver. The city would provide the officers, the first casualties of the state during the unrest, a public funeral and no less than the President himself would attend.

...

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"What do you mean?!"

"Exactly what I said: Vibius Pansa Caetronianus and Aemilius Paullus will dissolve Parliament."

Manius Tricostus Priscus, leader of the Centrist Party and chairman of the Liberal and Democratic Reformist Bloc, sat stunned. He had wondered why Aemilius Cesca had called him so urgently, but did not envision this.

"How do you know this?" the centrist leader asked, still seated and still stunned.

Servius Aemilius Cesca stood at the window and gazed outside without any real purpose. His stubble served to indicate the suddenness and seriousness of the news had been given. "Vibius Pansa was kind enough to warn me. Apparently, the young man's father held out for some time..."

"Obviously, the communists stand to lose everything by going to a general election." Tricostus Priscus interjected.

"Yes, well, if our young colleague is to be believed then what finally made the elder Vibius Pansa agree was the effort of Tarquinius Atratinus." Aemilius Cesca replied, his gaze still focused outside though his eyes wandered from point to point across the small square located in the capital.

"Do you believe that?"

The socialist leader slowly lifted his head and turned around to face his guest. "Yes, although I admit that my own reasoning behind it is convoluted. In short, however, Tarquinius Atratinus is working to shore up his public image and doesn't wish to be lumped in with Parliament vis-à-vis the public's general anger and frustration. Consider his appearance in today's funeral procession to be the opening move."

A long silence followed Aemilius Cesca's remarks. One remained standing while the other remained comfortably seated.

"I thank you, Servius Aemilius, for providing me this news. It will allow me to contact the rest of the coalition and plan accordingly." Tricostus Priscus said. He stood to leave, sensing that the meeting was at an end.

"Just a moment, please." Aemilius Cesca said suddenly. A pause. "Considering the volatile electoral situation I think it would be to our mutual advantage to join in an open partnership."

"You want to run a collective campaign?"

"I have already acquired the support of the other member parties of my coalition, though it must be said that some will defect. Yet, I believe that the public wants a calm approach to governance and a grand coalition, agreed to from the beginning, provides just that."

"There are many in my camp, particularly of the National People's Party, that will not accept a willing partnership with progressives and socialists. A forced coalition for governance is one thing, but an open and joint campaign is another matter."

"Please consider it, Manius Tricostus." Aemilius Cesca said in a low tone. "We are already in the mist of a storm which shows no immediate signs of abating. I'd rather wear the storm together than drown alone."

...

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As expected, the parade commemorating the lives of the three slain officers of the Metropolitan Police and their dedicated service was an exercise, albeit temporary, in political unity and national reflection. Row upon row of sharply dressed, uniformed officers, flanked by gendarmes, proceeded down the procession route. Accompanying the foot soldiers of the Police were mounted units and slow moving motorcycle officers. A band followed last and played pieces which amplified the somber atmosphere of the occasion.

Contrariwise, out in front, was the President of the Republic. Conservatively dressed, a freshly picked Afer rose in his jacket lapel, the President walked slowly and confidently. Members of the Consilium walked in a large group behind the President, who themselves were followed by the highest ranking officials of the Metropolitan Police and the metropolitan government.

A massive crowd had gathered for the occasion. A general promotion campaign had been underway in the days leading up to the funeral procession, emphasizing the collective, unitary nature of the event and the desire on the part of government to momentarily set aside partisan divisions. While no political official or leader outside of the Consilium was part of the procession, the event did seem to calm the public. It provided an opportunity and a space for reflection, to consider the past couple of weeks and the events which led to them. The streets were deafeningly quiet, the music of the band could clearly be heard even by Atratinus. Few cried and fewer still made any sort of movements as the procession snaked its way through the streets and avenues of the capital. All were simply transfixed by the procession, its steady movement, and all were consequently lost in their own thoughts.

A sudden change in the breeze. A shift in the crowd, a man wedges his way between two others in front of him.

A mad dash.

From the corner of his eye Tarquinius Atratinus was able to detect the presence of a fast-moving figure. He stopped and turned to face the threat, but was surprised to find the figure already upon him. The echo of a gunshot rang out after the figure had already run directly into the President. Blood quickly soaked the President's clothes.

The assailant hoped to see panic and fear in the eyes of his prey, but saw nothing of the sort in the cool, grey orbs of the President. What he did see was frightening, yet he would not be capable of telling others what it was that he saw. Arching back, the assailant withdrew from Atratinus, his mouth agape and his empty, struggling cries of pain creeping out. Another echo and the assailant was brought to his knees and slowly collapsed in front of Atratinus.

A sudden rush of pain filled Atratinus and tears began to stream down his cheeks. He pulled his hands and arms away from him to find a knife still stuck in place, blood trickling down his side. An army of secret service and security agents surrounded the President just as a general panic engulfed the crowd. Along both sides of the avenue a barrier was immediately put up in the form of a line of police, who locked arms while the gendarmes pointed their rifles out into the dissolving crowd. A sleek motorcar quickly sped up to the President, who was loaded on and taken to the nearest hospital.

What had begun as an event meant for reflection and a step towards normalcy had ended in chaos and a renewed panic among the public.

πάθει μάθος[1]

[1] - (There is) learning in suffering/experience
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

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The miserable weather which had sat over the seaside metropolis of Capua had finally moved, lifting its wet siege of the city and shifting some of the clouds further inland. The break in the cloud cover allowed for the setting sun's rays to peak through, painting the underside with yellows and oranges, blues and purples.

A lonely figure stood near the harbor wall, his face hidden by a wide brim hat. A cool gust forced the figure to close his jacket, tightening it around him. He peered out calmly, reflectively at the city which had begun to come to life as the sun retreated beyond the horizon.

"Domine..." a deep voice from behind the figure suddenly said with some hesitation.

Spinning around, Spurius Tricostus Caeliomontanus stepped away from the stone wall and approached the tall gentleman who had called out to him. "Let's walk."

The two walked slowly, following the path which wound around a large part of the harbor, their voices hushed.

"What of Marcus Folius? Did the police find anything?" Tricostus Caeliomontanus asked after a few moments of silence.

The imposing figure walking beside him shook his head definitively. "No, domine. I made sure that any evidence was removed from his apartment before the police or gendarmes were able to seal it off and search it."

"Good..." Tricostus Caeliomontanus replied, gazing up at the figure beside him "Good."

"Have you heard back from Claudius Marcellus?"

"No, I haven't, Lucius Meridius. I suspect that fox is going to make a move for the leadership of the Republican Party, in which case it would be best to hold off on any partnerships until he is elected." A pause in the conversation allowed Tricostus Caeliomontanus to frame his next question. "What have you heard from the provinces?"

"Recruitment has been steady in all provinces, except Viroconium."

Tricostus Caeliomontanus snarled. "Degenerates, the lot of them."

"With some concentrated effort I believe we can make inroads even in Viroconium, domine." the tall figure replied confidently.

"Where do we stand now?" Tricostus Caeliomontanus asked.

"We have approximately 2.000 volunteers, domine."

"Good." An approving nod. "Keep agitating in the streets. We can't rest for a moment and risk giving the advantage to these godforsaken communists and degenerate anarchists."

The pair continued to walk for some time in silence. The sun had disappeared long ago and the chill of the Baltic night had descended on the metropolis.

"Domine..." the figure inquired softly. "Have you decided when will you announce the Party?"

Tricostus Caeliomontanus looked over at his lieutenant and his friend. "There's the matter of some last minute paperwork, but by the end of the week I hope to announce."

"Have you decided on a name?"

A wide grin. "Yes; 'National Coalition for the Defense of the Republic'."

...

"Just what were you thinking, Gaius Vibius?!" an enraged Communist Party member shouted at the elderly Censor.

"You've destroyed any advantage! You've betrayed the Party!"

"Traitor!"

From his position within the massive auditorium Gaius Vibius Pansa Caetronianus could see the specially convened meeting between all the communist parties begin to devolve into chaos. Some party members, most belonging to a faction within the Revolutionary Workers Party, had already stormed out of the meeting in protest. Others were threatening to walk out.

The call to dissolve Parliament and call for new elections was taken as a sign of weakness by much of the rank and file, a capitulation not only to the conservatives and republicans (who were nothing more than respectable fascists) but also to the socialists (disgusting reformists). However, underlying much of their outrage was the realization that they would be kicked out of power. The younger Vibius Pansa had tried to argue alongside his father that stubbornly clinging onto the current parliamentary situation would only spell catastrophe for the Party as a call for new elections was overwhelmingly supported by the populace and was a major, frequent demand in street protests. Yet, at present, the Vibii Pansii and others among the leadership were seen as little more than cowards.

"You have condemned the Republic!"

Publius Vibius Pansa had finally had enough. He slammed his fists on the long table in front of him, set upon the stage, and stood to address the increasingly hostile crowd. "No, it is you who will doom the Republic and hand her over to the fascists! It is you who will abandon her in her time of need!"

"Sit, you traitor!"

"Demit!"

"Resign!"

A roar began to build in the auditorium and a jeering chant of "Resign" soon filled the air.

"They've gone mad." the younger Vibius Pansa thought to himself as he looked out into the sea of fists. His worst fears had come to be realized.

...

Comfortably tucked away within the new abode afforded to the President of the Republic, Tarquinius Atratinus lay in his bed, several large stacks of paper on either side of him. The hour wasn't terribly late and the President wanted to continue his work, against the advice of his personal physician who strongly suggested he sleep long and well.

Atratinus raised his head and peered about the bedroom. Far too spacious for his individual needs. Still, it was immaculately clean and was a very warm environment. The large window to the right of the bed provided a spectacular view of the south-eastern portion of the capital as the Forum had been built on artificially elevated terrain.

There came a sudden knock on the door. Moments later a few individuals were escorted inside.

"Salve, Vopiscus Tarquinius." the enormous Lucius Aemilius Paullus said.

"How are you feeling?" the young Gaius Julius Caesar asked sincerely.

"Good evening, Domine." the equally young Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felix said.

Atratinus set down in his lap the documents he had been reading over. He silently indicated for his guests to sit as he took off his glasses to clean them. A couple of chairs and a small chaise longue partly decorated the bedroom. As per his age and status, Aemilius Paullus was given the chaise longue on which to recline and relax. The two younger gentlemen took the chairs and positioned them so they were facing their host.

"I spoke briefly with your physician." Julius Caesar began again. "He tells me you're healing well. I hope you're not in too much discomfort."

"I am well, Gaius Julius." Atratinus replied, returning his glasses to their place. There was an awkward moment of silence before Atratinus asked, "Surely, you three have not come here merely to wish me well."

"Well..." Aemilius Paullus said with a long sigh. "We're not sure of what to make of all this..."

Cornelius Sulla Felix crossed one leg over the other and took a second to adjust his suit before commenting. "There still aren't any leads with regard to your assailant. The man was politically unaffiliated and inactive, he was a longtime postal worker though he had been recently let go, and his autopsy did not return anything of interest."

"What of his apartment?" Atratinus asked.

"Nothing."

"Not even the SSR has been able to pull anything up." Julius Caesar added.

"It just doesn't smell right." Aemilius Paullus said under his breath. The obese paterfamilias scanned the bedroom for any sign of a drink and refocused his attention when his beady eyes did not find anything of interest.

"Surely, you must have some thoughts." Julius Caesar said, prodding Atratinus.

"Yes." Atratinus replied without elaboration.

"Well?" Aemilius Paullus replied, shifting his position on the couch. He let out a prolonged grunt before settling once again.

President Atratinus merely gazed back at his guests with that stone facade he had come to perfect.

From across the room, at the entrance to the bedroom, the door stood open ever so slightly. A pair of eyes peered silently into the bedroom, attention fixed on the President. Atratinus could sense those eyes upon him and felt, uncharacteristically, vulnerable.

"Well?" Aemilius Paullus repeated.

"I have no evidence in support, however. I'd rather wait for the investigations to be complete before speculating." Atratinus replied. His mind raced. As nonchalantly as he could he reached for his cellphone and wrote a quick message to Julius Caesar.

The socialist parliamentarian felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and took it out to find that Atratinus had sent him a message. He shot the President a confused look, but Atratinus was looking over at Aemilius Paullus. Julius Caesar unlocked his phone and read the message.

"We are being watched. Check the door."

The hairs on neck stood on end. Julius Caesar took a moment and pretended to write a message back before suddenly standing and darting to the door. Atratinus turned his attention toward the bedroom door, but only heard the heavy footsteps of the fleeing figure. Confused, Cornelius Sulla Felix remained seated for several seconds before sprinting after Julius Caesar. Aemilius Paullus, on the other hand, couldn't be bothered to so much as stand.

The pursuit continued down the hall, but Julius Caesar found that he was no physical match. The young socialist gave up and quit the chase midway down the massive corridor which linked to the smaller hall that lead to the President's bedroom. Cornelius Sulla Felix caught up almost immediately and found his colleague breathing very heavily.

"Did you see him?" Cornelius Sulla Felix asked.

"No...I only saw...him from the back...Tall...He was tall."

When the two men returned to Atratinus and Aemilius Paullus they found the room crowded with the President's security detail. Atratinus was furious, though he kept it well hidden at present.

"Domine, I suggest we move you to..." the Secret Service Chief said.

"No." Atratinus said with a sharpness that immediately silenced the security agent.

"Domine..."

"I will stay here." Atratinus growled.

The Secret Service Chief sighed deeply before speaking to the other agents and members of the Presidential Guard. A rotating watch would be established from that moment onward and a secret service agent would be with the President at all times. Still, no one would sleep that night.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

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Compared to the preceding weeks Ariminae, and for that matter the rest of the Republic proper, was quiet. A lull of activity - fully welcomed by the forces of order and security - now characterized the previously volatile city centers.

No manifestations. No protests. No violence.

Well, the last was not entirely true. There were still episodes of clashes between rival gangs of anarchists and the so-called fascists, but there frequency and severity were nothing compared to previous cases. The Republic seemed to have calmed; or rather, she had exhausted herself into a fitful rest.

The reason many were content to cite was the recent parliamentary election, which had been called as an emergency response to the massive outbreak of violence and unrest in the Republic. Despite "pleas" made against the dissolution of Parliament the two Censors quickly came to realize that while the tense situation could not be fully defused, it could be mitigated. ("Plea" being the polite term used for the collection of efforts and lobbying action made against the call for fresh elections, some of which included very credible, personal threats).

The shortened, emergency campaign season lasted only two months and left many of the parties scrambling to securing ballot alliances. Despite their total confusion, the Communist Party had enough organizational capacity to not completely blow the election and was still able to finish first among the lists. The Socialist Party, however, had little hope of securing an advantage in Parliament and nearly did not make the cut for Parliament - the Progressive Alliance of Socialists and Democrats secured only 7,8% of the vote in total, with the Socialist Party accounting for 5,1% and therefore being the only party to represent the alliance in Parliament. The Greens were a surprise in the sense that they were able to return to Parliament, though they only secured a measly 4,5%.

The surprises were the newcomers: SYRIZA, the leftist party who drained heavily from the ranks of the communists and the socialists, and the National Coalition for the Defense of the Republic, a far-right party frequently described as 'fascist'. Together, they managed to secure nearly half of the popular vote and would serve to make things terribly difficult for the Communists in their attempts to form a government.

The situation was precarious. The socialists had staked their election hopes in another alliance with the liberals, centrists, and democrats of the Liberal and Democratic Reformist Bloc and managed only to break the floodgates, bleeding votes to SYRIZA, while the communists, in an attempt to appear confident, stated that they would not partner with either SYRIZA or the PASD and now seemed to be risking throwing away a chance to form a coalition government. Moreover, the leadership of SYRIZA realized that they had a possible avenue and only fueled discontent with the communists by extending offers for a partnership and having them repeatedly turned down.

For the moment, the Republic had no government. The Consilium was due for new members, yet the secret ballots could not be cast until a government had been formed. President Atratinus did try to pressure the various parties (especially of the Left) to come together to form a government, yet he quickly found that being physically sidelined from the proceedings severely limited his influence. And while it was certainly the case that Publius Vibius Pansa, leader of the Communist Party, was lodged between an angry, disappointed base and a public who wanted to see a viable government form he could not bring himself to reach out to either SYRIZA or the socialists. Simply out of fear.

On the other hand, Spurius Tricostus Caeliomontanus, leader of the new National Coalition for the Defense of the Republic, felt slighted and desperately wanted to show that he was capable of reaching an agreement with the parties of the Right. He had been rebuffed several times for a meeting with Atratinus and had not yet been able to organize a summit for those political leaders to the right of the political spectrum.

...

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Aemilii Paulii Private Villa, City of Rho, Outskirts of Mediolanum

Even when he considered his guest's generally foul temperament and his usual demeanor, Lucius Aemilius Paullus still could not remember a time when he had seen Marcus Claudius Marcellus in such a gloomy mood. Despite his ascension to the peak of the leadership of the Republican Party and the fact that his name recognition helped the party break its miserable absence from Parliament (capturing 3,6% of the votes), Claudius Marcellus was not happy.

"What's on his mind?" the wife of the Lord of the Manor said softly, rather preoccupied about her guest. She, like her husband, was advanced in age and grossly rotund. She whispered in her husband's ear so as not to disturb whatever stream of thought ran through Claudius Marcellus' head.

Aemilius Paullus turned slowly upward to see his wife. He let out a slow sigh. "The man's much too tough on himself. He's actually in a position of strength."

"Why?"

"That upstart Tricostus Caeliomontanus will come begging for an alliance in the hopes of cobbling together a government seeing as the communists and socialists aren't even on speaking terms anymore."

The short Lady of the Manor stood for a moment in silence gazing across the large hall at her guest, who sat slouched in his chair with a disturbingly sad expression on his face. "Perhaps he just needs a drink..."

Aemilius Paullus reached out and grabbed his wife's sleeve, shaking his head a few times.

"Fine...Well, how long is he staying here? You need to return to Ariminae tomorrow morning."

"Just have the servants prepare a set of fresh linens in case he stays here longer than a day. Set out fresh towels as well."

"Yes, carissime."

Aemilius Paullus returned his gaze to the depressed and depressing figure seated far from him. Increasingly worried that the young Claudius Marcellus could not be left alone, the elderly paterfamilias continued to sit and watch his guest for the next several hours, only pausing to have a servant refill his glass with scotch and new ice cubes. Aemilius Paullus could not help but wonder, seeing how a close friend of his was doing, how the other party leaders were doing.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

The lights were terribly bright, brighter than usual.

Spurius Tricostus Caeliomontanus, leader of the newest political addition to the ranks of Parliament and cousin of the centrist leader of the LDRB Manius Tricostus Priscus, stood patiently as an assistant rehearsed a few talking with him and a stylist finished up the last touches to his skin. A prime time interview with the Porcuian Broadcasting Corporation (PBC) awaited him. He blinked furiously.

In the room adjacent to that in which Tricostus Caeliomontanus sat was the seasoned political reporter and national treasure Giulia Pronantima Carba. By all accounts the sudden, immediate rather, success of the 'National Coalition for the Defense of the Republic' had taken the political class by surprise and raised its leader squarely into the light. Because of the lack of a presidential election there was little direct scrutiny of Tricostus Caeliomontanus; however, as the results of the parliamentary election began to settle the natural, predictable curiosity of the public began to bubble. Who precisely was this man who led a party, unashamedly fascistic all but in name, from its birth immediately to political success?

"Domine..." a grizzled man in a perfectly tailored suit called out to Tricostus Caeliomontanus by leaning inside the room but not entering. "Five minutes."

The far-right party leader politely smiled at the stylist tending to him and stood. He waved away his assistant and entered the adjacent room where Pronantima Carba had already been waiting patiently. She stood and bowed slightly before extending her hand. Tricostus Caeliomontanus reciprocated and warmly greeted his interviewer. Camera angles were adjusted and microphones were tested as the (relatively) older Pronantima Carba and the younger Tricostus Caeliomontanus chatted lightly.

The far-right leader hated the woman who sat before him. The way she sat, her style of clothing, her makeup - her confidence. Not even a polite 'thank you' for taking up his time. Still, this was a platform that he couldn't pass on.

5...4...3...2...1...

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome. Thank you for tuning to the PBC this hour. Our guest this evening: provocateur and self-described 'man-of-the-people' Spurius Tricostus Caeliomontanus. Tricostus Caeliomontanus is the leader of the National Coalition for the Defense of the Republic Party and recently oversaw the party's stunning electoral performance in last week's parliamentary election. Mr. Secretary, thank you for joining us this evening."

A forced smile through gritted teeth. "Thank you for having me. It's a pleasure."

"Let's just jump into it then..." Pronantima Carba briefly looked down at the papers in her lap before gazing directly at the man opposite her. "I have read over your party's manifesto and platform and note that you seem to have a particularly grim prognosis of the Republic and the issues facing her. Where does this sentiment stem from?"

Tricostus Caeliomontanus was not an imposing figure. Round cheeks, the makings of an excellent set of jowls, and a receding hairline were the first things that one would note upon first seeing the man. More than the octave of his voice was the conviction with which he spoke. It was terribly difficult sometimes to find fault in what he said. Until one actually listened.

"Firstly, I want to say that I am not the only one who thinks the Republic is on the wrong track and who deeply cares about his fellow Porcuians and wants to work together and get them out of this mess. Millions of Porcuians, I am proud to say, support our movement, the 'National Coalition', and are ready to stop this decline."

"Yes, but where does that sense of decline come from?" Pronantima Carpa interrupted. "The economy is growing, our alliances are strong, important research moves on..."

"What?!" Tricostus Caeliomontanus replies suddenly and with real surprise. "Yes, technically, the economy is growing. A whole 2,3%. I say we can do better. Our alliances are strong? What alliances do we have of note? Marslava? Closet monarchists. Greater Cape? Inbred tribesmen. The African Federation? Al Whaladya? The latter is falling apart and where is Porcu to be seen? Nowhere! Many Porcuians are coming to the realization that our efforts internationally are not being taken seriously. Do you really believe that other nations are grateful?"

Pronantima Carba tried to jump in but couldn't.

"Here in Europe the spectre of the two-headed eagles grows larger. Austria, Russia, and Byzantium are making their moves and where is the Republic to be found? Nowhere! The communist run Parliament, including the President, have decided to sit out and watch as the Continent is overrun. This is disgraceful, but more importantly it's dangerous. The communists and socialists, with the help of the liberals and democrats, have put the Republic in a compromising situation and are perfectly content in having done so."

"National defense and security featured heavily in your party's parliamentary campaign, Mr. Secretary, but you didn't really outline a strategy. Perhaps you would like to do so now."

Tricostus Caeliomontanus took a moment and held his hands on either side, slightly extended. He had gotten carried away and now needed to walk back - delicately. "The fact that previous governments are responsible for putting the Republic in this dangerous situation does not mean that an exit avenue is not available. Previous governments, especially the socialist ones led by former President Ardea Gularis, yet still including this most recent government have slashed funds for the military and overseen an unprecedented scaling-down of force. What has that meant in real, practical terms? It means the near, and occasionally full, withdrawal of Porcuian military forces from the international stage. It means that the Republic is no longer in a position to make sure that her national interests are protected. It means that aggressions on the Continent and further are left unchecked."

"So you're calling for a massive defense appropriations bill?"

"Funds are important, but they aren't the only component to keeping our fellow Porcuians safe. We also lack a strategy - a vision."

"And what is the vision of the 'National Coalition'?"

"Any vision for a safe and thereby prosperous Republic begins with the recognition that there are national interests that need to be protected and a sufficiently capable military force is needed in order to properly protect those interests."

"Such as?"

"Please, Madam, let me finish...Trade, for example. The Republic must have free access to the trade lanes of the seas and oceans. A properly funded navy allows Porcuian goods to flow uninterrupted into foreign markets, for example."

"Let us move on to last week's parliamentary election and the results thereof. Are you prepared to accept a power-sharing deal with those parties which lie to the right of center if it would form a Governing Coalition?"

"I have been very clear on only one thing: that those responsible for overseeing the pained decline of the Republic not be given any chance to ruin her anymore. I have already reached out to the Honorable Marcus Claudius Marcellus and the Honorable Sextus Julius Flaccus and we may yet be able to reach a deal."

"That would not give you the majority you seek. Are you prepared to reach out to your cousin Secretary Manius Tricostus Priscus and make amends in order to have the opportunity to govern?"

"I will reach out when I have the sense that liberals, democrats, and centrists have repented for their collaboration with the communists and socialists. Many Porcuians, myself included, were utterly scandalized that no true opposition was given during past administrations. The communists and socialists did their best to undue all the hard work of previous generations in establishing the Republic as the economic powerhouse of the world, as a beacon of liberty, freedom, and economic prosperity, and the liberals, democrats, and centrists were perfectly content to watch our way of life be dismantled as long as they got their government salary and their pleasant bureaucratic positions."

...

President Tarquinius Atratinus couldn't watch any more. He just simply couldn't.

Still very much tied to his bed (doctor's orders), the President had only recently begun to feel well enough to try walking for relatively long periods of time. The exercise left him aching and frequently Tarquinius Atratinus would need the help of a secret serviceman to wheel him back to his room in a wheelchair. Once back in bed, safe and sound, he would have little else to do but read and watch television. He had eagerly awaited the live interview of Tricostus Caeliomontanus, but had found it so off-putting that he couldn't bear it any more.

The television sat quietly, resting, allowing the silence of the bedroom to sink into Atratinus' conscious. He very quickly concluded that this novel political player was neither a friend, nor even a person with which to reason and collaborate with. Tricostus Caeliomontanus reminded Atratinus of Germanicus Cea in a sense.

"Yet, more dangerous...Somehow..."

Atratinus smiled. No...Tricostus Caeliomontanus was not a fool like Germanicus Cea. He would require careful, focused attention.
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"How long has it been?"

That question, in various forms, came back again and again to Servius Aemilius Cesca as he gazed about the lavish apartment of Theodorus Palilicius Graecus, a perfect gentleman and budding friend of the gray-haired Secretary of the Socialist Party. In truth, it had been too long ago that he, along with the other dinner guests, had visited, yet that encounter now seemed so long ago due to the flurry of events since then and the fact that no occasion presented itself. It was plain to see that all had thoroughly enjoyed their dinner and that the next few hours would be pleasant ones filled with wine, liquor, and politics.

In attendance were: King Marcus Decimus Maxentius IX, Lucius Aemilius Paullus, the aforementioned Servius Aemilius Cesca, Gaius Julius Caesar, and Publius Vibius Pansa.

The political class had been busy the past couple of days and only by way of major concessions was a governing coalition put together at the last minute, formed by the Communist League, the Progressive Alliance of Socialists and Democrats, and the Greens. This agreement was the offspring of closed-door meetings between the secretaries of the major parliamentary groups and the host of the evening's celebrations: Theodorus Palilicius Graecus. Several prominent liberals and centrists would work their way up the cursus honorum, thereby fulfilling their quota of honor and gravitas, in exchange for not upsetting the delicate majority formed purposefully without the leftist party of SYRIZA. Additionally, Aemilius Cesca would retain hold of the consulship.

Settling himself as best as he could in what he could only describe as "criminally uncomfortable chairs", Aemilius Paullus immediately took to his glass of wine and drained it completely before allowing the young Julius Caesar seated next to him to refill his glass. "A most wonderful meal, Theodorus Palilicius!" the obese paterfamilias declared.

"You are most kind, Lucius Aemilius." the Greek replied as he brought over a few different bottles of whiskey, port, and scotch before taking a seat himself.

The King had been looking out from the apartment onto the twinkling lights of the capital for a few moments. "Is it possible to dim the lights?" he asked. "I'd like to see the city a bit better."

Aemilius Paullus called for a servant with a full throated roar before being immediately chastised by the two socialists and the communist. A butler did arrive immediately and looked to the master of the house for his orders. He left the gentlemen alone just as quickly as he arrived after he had dimmed the lights sufficiently for the King, who took a sip of his scotch while panning the view from the apartment.

"What happened?" King Decimus Maxentius IX asked softly. His sudden remark silenced the mini conversations that were occurring simultaneously. "I mean," he began again, turning away from the view of the city, "it seems as if things are even more of a mess than they were before."

"Don't forget that this was necessary to avoid continued public unrest, Your Majesty." Palilicius Graecus replied. "The economy was being shaken and the number of protesters on the streets swelled by the day."

"I believe what he meant, if I may be so bold, Your Majesty, was why these two new forces were able to essentially decide the election." Julius Caesar said.

"We simply weren't convincing." Aemilius Cesca replied, shrugging.

"Well, we were betrayed." Vibius Pansa grumbled. "that cunnus Appuleius Saturninus pulled hundreds of thousands of votes from us."

"I think Sempronius Crassus [Secretary of SYRIZA] will have no choice but to play the parliamentary game, thereby disappointing all the revolutionaries that made up the electoral ranks of SYRIZA." Palilicius Graecus said.

"And..." Aemilius Cesca added, "when that happens you will see them drop off the map."

"I'm not convinced." Vibius Pansa rebutted. "Appuleius Saturninus is shrewd. He won't simply disappear."

"I think you're right." Julius Caesar said. "In that way he reminds me of Tricostus Caeliomontanus."

"That fascist?" Aemilius Paullus said in between gulps of wine.

"That fascist pulled 22,4%, let's not forget!" Palilicius Graecus remarked.

"What worries me is that the country is dividing sharply." King Decimus Maxentius replied, again drawing all attention onto him. "Moreover, I get the sense that extraparliamentary measures are increasingly seen as viable avenues for change."

"The gangs of anarchists?" Vibius Pansa asked.

"In part, though not completely. Does it not strike anyone else as suspicious that night attacks, kidnappings, and targeted destruction suddenly and completely stopped?" the King continued.

"You think they're planning something?" Palilicius Graecus asked, his curiosity very much piqued.

"I most certainly hope not!" Decimus Maxentius IX barked back as if to push back against an accusation.

"What is going on with the Right?" Julius Caesar asked, focusing his attention on the large man seated next to him.

Aemilius Paullus chuckled deeply. "Now, now, young Gaius Julius...I can't go around to these lovely gatherings and reveal my team's secrets at the drop of a hat."

"What about over a glass of wine?" Vibius Pansa said cheekily, leaning across the center table and topping off Aemilius Paullus' glass.

The group let loose a moment and laughed when the elder Aemilius Paullus simply winked at the communist Secretary before draining half his glass. "Well," he began, "what I can say is that they have just as many concerns with this upstart Tricostus Caeliomontanus as you do with your own upstart."

"I've heard that Tricostus Priscus will be stepping down." Aemilius Cesca said. "Is that true?"

"I wouldn't be able to tell you, but I have heard the same thing. The republicans are firmly behind Claudius Marcellus, while there has been some grumbling within the conservative camp of yours truly." Aemilius Paullus replied.

"I wouldn't have guessed." Palilicius Graecus said. "The republicans were decimated."

"That's precisely it." Aemilius Paullus retorted with sudden vigor, raising his finger high in the air. "Julius Flaccus [Secretary of the Conservative Party] is concerned that he may need to work to try and bring the republicans back into the large tent of the Right that existed before the schism that saw the republicans and conservatives go off in separate directions."

"I see now..." Aemilius Cesca said slowly. The two parties of the Right had developed separate identities in their time apart and would much rather wallow in their miserable electoral defeats than negotiate with the heretical faction of the Right.

"Perhaps you two will have to do the same." Aemilius Paullus said with a wry smile, looking first at Aemilius Cesca and then at Vibius Pansa.

The two leftists gazed at each other and quickly understood how their comrades on the Right viewed their own predicament. History and serious theoretical considerations stood between them such that it would make cooperation possible, but outright partnership impossible.

"Perhaps you can be of help, Your Majesty." Palilicius Graecus said.

"Me? How?" the King replied, genuinely curious.

"As in some other countries with a neutral authority figure, you are capable of bridging divides very much because of your distance from the affairs of the State. The immediate future of the Republic will be difficult, but I imagine that you can play a big part in keeping calm."

"I will do whatever I can, of course. However, as I said before, it appears to me that the Republic is polarizing and is at risk of tearing apart. The cracks are only just beginning to visualize."
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

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The frost and snow and chill had come to the great republic of the North, finally, and there was little in the way of incentives for extended excursions out from one's own home. The onset of winter drained one of the bountiful energy one possessed in the milder autumn season, much in the same way that the heat of the summer proves less a blessing than one might imagine, particularly following the spasms of an indecisive spring.

The Republic was currently in the grip of a severe chill, as was much of Northern Europe, but her people were hearty individuals whose comfort with the current season was well established. As much as history, culture, and religion divided the peoples of the North, there was always a mutual respect between those who understood that their spiritual connection to the barren depths left in the wake of Demeter's sorrow and agony mirrored the spiritual connection of the Bedouin to the shifting tides of sand in Arabia. It was something unspoken, yet understood.

The lull in any sort of political activity (what exactly had brought this lull no one was certain) within the marbled walls of Ariminae allowed for parliamentarians to travel away from the capital more freely, and to spend some time engaging in personal hobbies.

Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felix had taken the opportunity to travel to his childhood home of Casale Vardacate, a rather small, rural town located outside of Taurinorum, to visit his parents. The elder Cornelius Sulla Felix, long retired, had recently fallen on ill health; Lucius Cornelius' mother had passed away several years prior. The local hospital allowed for the elder Cornelius Sulla Felix to remain at home, to be attended by a nurse on a daily basis. Having not seen his father in almost three years, the elder gentleman nearly couldn't contain himself when his eyes laid on his son.

"Lucius! Lucius!" the elderly man said with a wide, toothless grin. "Lucius, my boy!"

"How are you feeling?" Lucius Cornelius asked gently, setting down his bags and removing his coat.

The home Lucius Cornelius grew up in was much smaller than he remembered it. And, my, how the cold did bite through the walls!

"I've been better." the elder Cornelius Sulla Felix replied, as he finally arrived over to his son and embraced him.

"It's freezing in here...Don't the nurses make sure to keep a fire going, or to get some adequate heating in here?"

The father swiped the air with a thin hand and rolled his eyes. "I turn off the gas heating for the floors whenever the nurse leaves for the day. They always turn it so high! I can't afford that and neither do I want to sit here sweating, miserable!"

Lucius Cornelius nonetheless went and turned on the heating, though it would take some time for the heat from the gas to warm the floors and to flow up and warm the air. He made sure to set it at a reasonable temperature. Lucius Cornelius returned to his father in the adjacent room and sat down opposite him in the chair he used to occupy as a boy.

"What brings you here? It's been some time since we've spoken." the father asked slowly.

"I heard about you being ill and I wanted to take advantage of the lull in activity in Ariminae." Lucius Cornelius replied.

"Ah, yes...I remember reading about all those terrible happenings in the capital in the papers. I still can't get the sight of the President being attacked out of my head. People were talking about it for weeks after seeing it on television."

"Things are much calmer now."

"Not back to normal, though, ne?" the elder Cornelius Sulla Felix said with a weak smile, not out of physical weakness but rather with the knowledge that things were not quite right.

"No...No, things are not back to normal."

There was a slight pause. Then, "How about we go for a walk. It's been ages since we've gone on a walk together."

Lucius Cornelius' eyes opened wide with surprise. "And what of your physical state? Surely the nurses wouldn't allow you to expose yourself to the cold. Especially now, it's not been a very pleasant winter thus far."

"Fuck them. Are we going for a walk or not?"


OOC: Apologies for the long delay. I feel (mostly) comfortable getting back into RPing, so I hope this post is a welcomed sign. Hope to get some activity going again. Apologies also for the rusty writing (it'll get better, I promise :lol: )
Edited by Porcu, Sep 10 2015, 08:45 PM.
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

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The rising sun came as a welcome respite for a number of individuals across the Republic, not the least a good number of politicians who had had a thoroughly unenjoyable evening the night before. The sun's rays were not taken as a sign or as a means by which to overcome their tortuous situations, but it was a stark reminder that that situation was over. A clean break and orientation towards the future was in order.

One of those sad individuals was Marcus Holo Benedictus, former leader of the largest Green party in the Republic, the Federation of the Greens. Another was Servius Aemilius Cesca, leader of the age-old Socialist Party.

These two gentlemen, sad and broken in different ways, looked upon the rising sun and felt a sudden energy. It was not the hot spark that accompanied confidence, but rather the gentle touch that came with acceptance of the facts.

The general election cycle had "officially" begun the other night with the conclusion of the final two party congresses. The communists had long finalized their electoral list, Publius Vibius Pansa had never looked more secure in his leadership of the far-left bloc. The ultra-nationalists in the form of the tediously named National Coalition for the Defense of the Republic were likewise fully prepared for the new campaign season. And whereas the leftists of SYRIZA had only a minor shuffling of candidates on its lists, the media was particularly drawn to the extended congress of the centrists and democrats. Tensions appeared high among major factions of the massive, centre-right coalition, yet all was resolved behind closed doors and without much of an explanation to registered party members of the public.

Major eruptions occurred in the Greens' camp, however, resulting in Holo Benedictus' ejection from the leadership and the purge of his longtime intra-party colleagues from positions of power. The coup d'etat was orchestrated by a numerically small, but outspoken faction that crisscrossed the various Green parties and was led by a young, militant woman, Nicé Sempronia Gracchus. While brutish, her tactics were not without democratic support - a full 83% of registered party members who attended the congress voted against Holo Benedictus in a Vote of No Confidence. Sempronia Gracchus' ascension to the leadership, however, was of a much smaller margin. Nonetheless, she gave a powerful acceptance speech on the final day of the congress, indicating a new path forward for the coalition.

Now, the problem within the socialist camp was more rebellion than mutiny. The consul Aemilius Cesca easily retained his leadership role, but could not prevent the loss of two minor but important parties from the centre-left coalition: the Socialist Workers Congress and the Democratic Union of the Left. Both voted to defect to SYRIZA, effectively doubling the voting bloc of the far-left current. The political punditry immediately began to simultaneously congratulate the Consul on effectively tending to the coalition's wound (by only having two parties leave) and declare the Progressive Alliance of Socialists and Democrats to be functionally dead. Whereas the earthquake within the Green camp could be sensed, though not reacted to in a timely fashion, the events in the socialist camp were more analogous to a stab in the back. All had been assumed well, especially considering the ease with which Aemilius Cesca was nominated to, once again, stand as a candidate for President.

While the stage was set, the path ahead was, for the first time in generation, unknown.
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