Different Sides [Open]

[Macisikan]

Koryel nodded slightly in response to Grey; his eyes flickering to the other for a moment. Acknowledgement and agreement in one small movement. Truth be told he was trying to suppress irritation; he respected Grey. He even liked Grey. The others... they had shortcomings. Shortcomings that should have been eliminated before they reached this level.

He openly snorted at Valdez’s suggestion about Durass being a traitor, and didn’t wait for anyone to answer Cohen’s question before speaking.

“More than that, my Lord President,” he interjected. “Let us assume, for the sake of argument, that Sera Durass does envisage Justinian becoming President, or being restored to his throne, and that this is treason. It is not whether she actually acted to transfer the office of the head of state to the deposed Emperor, it is that she wishes to that constitutes the crime. Simply put, Ser Valdez, you are declaring what is in her head to be treason; in a word, thoughtcrime,” his gaze swept the table and fixed on Cohen.

“This sets your nation down a very dark path. It is a path that begins with declaring the desire to restore Justinian to his throne as treason because it envisages the President’s offices in his hands. We have in this room statesmen and professors and politicians and high-level civil servants. You are all bright people; at the start of the path we declare that merely wishing Justinian back to be treason. At the end, we declare that envisaging anyone but the incumbent being the President is treason. I shouldn’t have to spell out the intermediate steps for you,” he waved a hand. “Oh, it wouldn’t happen now, of course, not this President. Probably not the next either. Probably not this decade. But it will happen,” he paused to sip his own wine.

“And then, of course, there is the reaction in other quarters. How do you think your friends overseas will react? I know of six hundred people who will take an exceedingly dim view of the idea.” his tone had been polite and calm throughout. He might as well have been talking about the weather.

[Farmina]

Valdez went to respond – he didn’t think Farmina’s treason legislation could see one President preserve himself against his rival candidates – but doubt plagued him now. Did the legislation seek to protect the powers of “the President” who happened to be Cohen, or to President Cohen the person? No words left Valdez’s mouth.

Sometimes it is better to stay quiet. While Valdez was thinking on the legal arguments, Cohen and Grey were focused the real meaning of the Ambassador’s words – and it is not a point of law. For they knew that laws are temporary fleeting things – lawyers may cling to every word, but men of power change those words on a whim. Even the less educated Backle saw the Ambassador’s point – perhaps because he was less educated.

Finally it was Grey who spoke – his glass having been emptied and refilled since he last spoke. “Do I detect a touch of sympathy in your voice for the boy-emperor?” The tone was not accusatory – it was flat, with a hint of observant curiosity, inquisitiveness - he could have been saying ‘I never realised you liked baseball too – what team?’

[Macisikan]

“Sympathy for Justinian? No, not in my voice,” Koryel’s tone was mild. “But you will see a great deal of it in places you don’t want to see it, if you go ahead with this idea that Durass merely desiring to see him restored to the throne of Farmina is tantamount to treason,” Koryel was simply stating facts, he glanced around the table again.

“Under those circumstances, it will be very easy for Justinian’s supporters to make the case for asylum from persecution on the grounds of political opinion,” he sighed softly. “And when they have it, they will tell their story. They will say that they are fleeing a regime that declares thoughts and desires to be treason. My people will learn that Farminans are forbidden from ever questioning, even in their own heads, the overthrow of the monarchy,” his left hand touched the medallion he wore.

“Then you will hear sympathy for the boy-emperor, but it will be in the voices of the Senate, in the voice of the Premier, and in the voice of the Cenobirach,” his eyes now rested on Cohen.

“And where will that leave you?”

Koryel was trying to put the fear of god into the others at the table. He knew Grey was bright enough to have figured this out; that the prohibition Valdez proposed was an anathema to the Macisikani polity, dominated as it was by the Movement, and that it would drive them directly into Justinian's arms. He worried that the elder statesman was the only one.

[Farmina]

“My government would do nothing to aggravate our friends in Macisikan,” said President Cohen. He put down his knife and fork – Lord Grey’s pork belly had defeated the man.

“And the Moralists have always been the greatest advocates of our the Maciksan-Farmina relationship,” said Valdez – finally the man had caught up. How could someone so intelligent be so dim? Then again, being in Opposition always made people seem that bit less intelligent. Valdez nodded towards Tobias – no Farminan leader had promoted the relationship like the fat former president.

Lord Grey took another mouthful of meat. His meal was three-quarters gone – a feat in its own right. He took another taste of the wine – his consumption of alcohol was even more noteworthy. He was pondering silently. He couldn’t imagine any situation where the Macisikani would open their arms to the boy-emperor, yet it was still a horrific thought. Somewhere in space above – the wreckage of the Messian space fleet still orbited the Earth...

Grey set down his cutlery, “Ladies, gentleman – perhaps we should retire from the table? Stretch our legs? The lounge, the parlour and the sitting room have all been set up to receive guests.”

[Macisikan]

Koryel smiled slightly, with his mouth, when the penny dropped in Valdez’s head, and nodded to Cohen.

“Ladies, gentleman – perhaps we should retire from the table? Stretch our legs? The lounge, the parlour and the sitting room have all been set up to receive guests.”

“Of course – this was most delicious, thank you,” he replied with a smile; his own meal was about half-gone. Such a slim frame shouldn’t be able to accommodate that much material, but it had happened.

Unlike Tobias, the Ambassador could easily see Justinian kissing the cheek of Princess Kylara. All the boy needed was an opening, enough to get himself a hearing, and to dispel the suspicion that he was a raving lunatic. The boy-emperor was smart, a survivor, adaptable; if given the first, he could do the second. And then he would easily work out the price of the Senate’s three major factions. Fortunately for the Republic, and thanks to the efforts of Grey, the way was currently closed.

Just as long as they didn't do something incredibly stupid...

[Farmina]

Tobias stood up and grabbed his walking stick. A brief glance at the Ambassador – straight into, perhaps through, his eyes. And in a moment Grey looked away and wandered off into the parlour. He’s said what he wanted to say.

The guests started breaking into smaller conversations amongst themselves. The Cohens talking as a couple. Backle and the Valdezs were discussing the upcoming Moralist convention. The Professor and the Cardinal stood up – wandering off to another adjoining room, the lounge, discussing Church history.

The Prince sat quietly at the end of the table. He’d barely said anything all night. His eyes moved towards the Ambassador. As the butler put another mouthful of meat into Prince’s mouth, you can see his eyes calculating, recalculating, a million possibilities, and plans for all those eventualities.

[Macisikan]

Tobias looked into Koryel’s eyes, and several layers of person looked back. They became amused when they met Malcom Prince’s eyes. The Macisikani stood silently and wandered after Grey into the Parlour; the discussion in the lounge sounded tedious, and he had no desire to talk to Valdez or Backle any longer than he had to.

[Farmina]

In the parlour, the Ambassador would find a series of gaming tables, croupiers and dealers at the ready. What sort of man has a private casino in his parlour? Lord Grey had already taken a seat at the roulette table, lighting a cigarette. “Do you play?” With a wave of a hand he silently gestured to the seat beside his own.

On the walls sat massive portraits of the six Lord Greys past. All of them are there, looking down on the mere mortals in the room. There, the handsome one, he is Lord Harkon Grey, Tobias’ grandfather. And beside him, the one with the scowl, that’s Lord Richard Grey – Tobias' father.

In this room you can feel all of Farmina’s short history. The Greys have been here since the beginning. Grey Manor was built by the second Lord Grey, or was it the third? You can still see the ornateness of the early Lord Greys. You can see where Lord Harkon tore out the original fittings, trying to modernise the manor. But there is also an austereness – where Lord Richard disposed of dated decorations, without adding any more modern decor.

In this room, history sits in judgement of the present. Lord Harkon, in the confines of his gilded frame, leaned over towards Lord Richard, “Perhaps he done enough now?” Looking down on Tobias, Lord Richard scowled, “Not yet.”

[Macisikan]

Koryel found the presence of the casino to be curious; he was certain that his niece, an anthropologist, would have found it fascinating and probably forced her students to write a dozen papers on it. More interesting to him were the portraits of the Lords Grey – all men; patrilineal then. Unsurprising. Back home the sexes were more evenly represented.

“No,” he answered, “I do not,” it was delivered without the self-righteousness one often heard from someone who didn’t gamble; Koryel, like many of his contemporaries, found most forms of gambling to be tiresome at best. The entire notion of a poker face, for example, was pointless in a nation riddled with latent empaths; slot machines lost their appeal to a people who were educated in probability at school. If bets were placed, they were on things like racing.

Taking the indicated seat, he allowed his eyes to rest on the wheel. “But then again, something tells me I’m not here to play roulette.”

[Farmina]

A non-gambler. How bloodless. How Macisikani.

Tobias Grey exhaled, resting his cigarette in the ash tray, “Quite right Excellency. We are not here to play roulette – tonight we play for bigger stakes.” As he spoke, Grey evaluated the table as though this was something more than a game of luck – as though sheer instinct could tell you which numbers would prevail.

One of the footman approached the table, “Gentlemen, may I interest you in dessert and coffee? Tonight we have a chocolate cake served with a berry sauce and cream, or a traditional apple and cinnamon pie served with ice-cream.”

“The cake,” said Grey in his smoker’s voice, his focus was still on the table, “But put ice-cream with it too. And don't bother with the coffee – get me a brandy, the good one, make it a double.”

Then his tone became more serious. He glanced over at the Ambassador, “Would you agree that continuity of the DRF – regardless of its current leadership – is in the interest of both Farmina and Macisikan? Discontinuity is so...disruptive. Unpredictable. Dangerously uncertain.”

As he spoke, Lord Grey put down a large number of chips. 3, black and 36. Didn’t the Emperor rule for 3 years before Tobias’ greatest gamble ended the Empire? Wasn’t black the colour of the Messian dictatorship? – Lord Grey gambled the entire DRF when he took them down. And 36? Perhaps it’s his lucky number.

[Macisikan]

Unrestrained delight crossed the Ambassador’s face at the offer of dessert. Someone clearly had a sweet tooth.

“Chocolate cake please,” he said, with all the self-restraint of a ten-year-old, “with the ice-cream too please, and a hot chocolate if you can,” he held his hands about six inches apart and added “a big one,” with a grin. A substantial sweet tooth; and judging by that figure, a metabolism going for the burn.

As soon as the footman had backed away, and Grey began talking again, the Farminan statesman became the complete focus of the Ambassador’s attention.

“You would agree, certainly,” he replied, “and I have grown fond of your people, a disruption caused by the collapse of the Democratic Republic would be painful for them and I would not like that, so I would prefer it avoided. But I am neither the Senate nor the Premier; my feelings are immaterial, and they do not share your appraisal of the situation.”

[Farmina]

The croupier spun the wheel and released the ball. Grey's focus was elsewhere - he was looking the Ambassador in the eye, hiding his amusement at Koryel's sudden burst of enthusiasm, “Your Excellency, just because you are not the Premier does not mean your feelings are immaterial. Not at all. Your views, your fondness to my Republic – they are sweet treacle to my ears.” He spoke with earnestness and gratefulness. No doubt, well practiced. On the other hand, it’s nice to know he made the effort.

Grey moved his focus to the ball, as it slows and bounces, “Indeed I asked you here for your views. For your advice – I value it. Good advice is so hard to come by. I need to know how to defeat the Emperor. To destroy him once and for all. To save the DRF from that boy, before I become a portrait on the wall.” For Tobias, they may need a wider frame.

There was a pause. Grey could not side-step any further. “Macisikan’s default position is to sit back as incompetence and division sees the crown back on the boy-emperor’s head. Hypothetically speaking, under what conditions might your good masters move from that position?”

The ball comes to rest. Black it is. The colour seems somehow appropriate. Then again, the other option is red.

[Macisikan]

“My goodwill, no matter how heartfelt, will not get you past the gatekeeper. And if it affects my duties, I will be replaced ahead of rotation with someone less friendly by said gatekeeper,” Koryel said bluntly. “Your Ambassador, or a special envoy, will need to convince Vice-Minister Vattyen that your case is worth bothering Saragova over, and that requires you to convince him that you are able to win the support of the Senate.”

As he’d been talking, the Ambassador’s gaze had roved across the portraits in his field of vision, before coming back to rest on Tobias again.

“We are a parliamentary nation,” he continued. “Premier Valdir cannot govern without the Senate; if she loses its confidence, she can’t pay the bills, and the King-Emperor will find someone who can. She will not lift a finger to help you unless you convince them to give you their backing,” there was no room for pity in Koryel’s jade-green eyes.

“Centrists, Rationalists, Nationalists,” he continued. “There are other blocs in the Senate, but those are the big three; between them they control just over three quarters of the Assembly. They each have their price; that price may be higher than you are willing to pay. Higher, perhaps, than you can pay,” there was no room for pity, but the Ambassador could allow a little kindness. He paused to allow Grey to comment.

[Farmina]

The footman returned with a small trolley. He put down the drinks – one brandy and one hot chocolate. Tobias took a sip – the brandy had been warmed just a little. He put it down and lifted his cigarette back to his mouth. A long drag, followed by an exhale. “What sort of price are we looking at?” said Tobias, returning his focus to Koryel. He spoke slowly, deliberately. But it was not hesitation – Tobias would either pay the price or he would find another way – it was considered determination.

The footman put down the cake. He paused, waiting to see the guests were satisfied. Again each portion could have fed two grown men. You don’t get to Lord Grey’s size through a Spartan diet.

[Macisikan]

Koryel accepted his drink with murmured thanks, waving the hovering footman away.

"First remember they will compare notes," he said. "They're not stupid, and they don't actually hate each other. As for the price, it varies from faction to faction," he paused to take a sip. "Ooo, Belgian. My favourite. Yes, the faction, and the ideology in the faction. Centrists are idealists at heart - potential of mankind, ever upwards, justice and liberty, that sort of thing. They weren't happy with President Cohen's Reformation, and they were livid about Bishop Parsons being burned alive," something in his tone said that they were still cranky about that.

"The Nationalists, who include a Royalist faction, care about nations that are PLU. People Like Us; everyone outside of our region who isn't PLU is a pakrah," the Vrakian epithet for foreigner rolled off his tongue. "If, for example, a zombie horde overran the DRF and consumed most of your people tomorrow, they wouldn't shed a tear; Justinian is immaterial to them. if you want to change that, you need to change their perception that your nation is not PLU. Since they're literate enough to read an external security service dossier, lip service won't be enough. One moment," he broke off to sample his cake.

"Delicious," he remarked when his mouth was clear. "That leaves the Rationalists. They are simultaneously the easiest and the hardest to court. They'll have one question for you; how does helping you benefit the Empire? I'd advise you not to try to present Justinian as some sort of threat to them; when they finish laughing they'll point out we could easily show the people of the DRF what the Messians suffered at our hands. This is quite good cake. Most foreigners overdo it on the sugar, but this is just right," he added, taking another bite.

"And then there's the Vice-Minister," he continued after swallowing. "He will want to know, if Justinian is such a problem, why doesn't someone simply get rid of him?"

[Farmina]

The fat man laughed from his belly (it seemed incongruous with the fact they were discussing the destruction of an Emperor), “We should have given you extra, Excellency. I mean you clearly need it.” He patted his wideness as though it was some imagine of masculinity that the Ambassador should aspire towards, still laughing at his own joke.

Backle and the President walked past, heading through to the sitting room. Grey fell silent. In a moment they were out of sight, out of earshot.

Grey took a sip of brandy as he gathered his thoughts. He studied the roulette table, as though unravelling its secret, “Do I need all three factions? Or will two do?” Lord Grey was always willing to pay a fair price – but he wasn’t the sort to pay more than he had to.

Tobias glanced up for a moment then looked back at the table. He took a bite of cake, without reaction. The berry sauce stained his lips red.

[Macisikan]

The Ambassador chuckled in response to the remark about dessert. “Oh, there’s a perfectly valid reason – I forgot to eat today,” he confessed. “Didn’t even realise what the time was until I was getting tapped on the shoulder to come here. You know how it can be.”

Koryel’s gaze focused on the former President’s as the Farminan asked his question, then drifted into the distance as he pondered it.

“Two will suffice for a majority,” he said after a moment. “But that’s the minimum support level. The clueless aim for one, fools aim for two, smart men aim for three; but the pragmatic ones would be content with getting two and convincing the third to abstain. The system is such that no single faction has ever had dominance. Coalitions are the norm,” he sipped his drink again. “It gets complicated because their ideologies aren’t diametrically opposed; the last Nationalist Premier governed with support of the Rationalists, while the current Rationalist Premier governs with support of the Centrists. They have a saying; ‘be careful of the toes you tread on today, in case they are connected to the arse you have to kiss tomorrow’ – it’s crude, but it gets the point across. And frankly there’s no telling which faction will actually choose to support you until you make your pitch. The bright side is that it is possible to get two factions with one offer - their ideals can overlap after all,” he broke off to sample more of his cake.

[Farmina]

“...smart men aim for three; but the pragmatic ones would be content with getting two and convincing the third to abstain...” As Grey nibbled at his dessert, he was making a mental note.

“... it is possible to get two factions with one offer...” Behind those intense, untelling eyes; another note was made.

Lord Grey took a long drag on his cigarette as he watched the Ambassador enjoy more of the cake. “The secret...” Grey paused, and exhaled, as though unveiling a dark family secret, “...is to reduce a little red wine then add it to the cake mix. It gives the cake a subtle complexity. A moistness. It enhances flavours, without needing to overdo the sugar.” How very Tobias – when in doubt, add alcohol.

Grey fell back a little in his chair – as though revealing the cake’s secret had exhausted him, taken something from him that he could never get back.

This weakened Lord Grey posed a question – as though he was trading cake recipes for diplomatic strategy, “Your Excellency, perhaps you could give an example of an offer that would win over more than one faction.” The Ambassador had opened the door – why not walk through it?

---

Meanwhile, in the sitting room Backle and Cohen took a seat on one of the couches. They made an unlikely pair. The two had met briefly during the war. Backle leaned in to Cohen, “Despite all you have said tonight – for all your arguments of practicalities, of legalities...you have not addressed the issue - Durass is a threat to all of us. The boy-emperor murdered one million...how many would kill to regain his throne?”

Cohen gave a wry smile, “Is that you speaking, Ivan? Or is that Lord Grey?”

“Sometimes even I find it hard to tell,” admitted Backle.

“You are closer to him than any other man...” observed Cohen.

Backle cut Cohen off – politely, “One could take for an allegation...But I do not. I love him. He is the Vakom and he is the father of our Republic.” Backle paused, “Anyway – I asked you about Durass?”

“When, if, the Emperor comes, I will deal with him,” said Cohen firmly. “His lawyer – she is nothing. Forget about her.”

“If Lord Grey wants something – do you really want to stand in his way? ” asked Backle. A warning? Perhaps.

Cohen took a sip of his wine – gathering his thoughts, “Lord Grey is not President. Lord Grey is an old man. His time is past. His war with Justinian is eighteen years past. Tell Lord Grey to move on. Tell your Lord Grey it is he who should not stand in my way.” Now that was most certainly a warning.

[Macisikan]

“A most novel approach,” Koryel nodded, “I will have to mention it to the chef at the Embassy,” he paused, listening to the question.

The pause dragged out, while the Ambassador contemplated the answer. You could almost hear the wheels turning.

“To be perfectly honest with you, Ser Grey,” he said at last, “the only truism when dealing with the Senate is that there’s no telling what particular issue they’re going to choose to care about. The best indicator I can give you with regards to external affairs is that all three major factions, and the minor ones as well, have been extremely supportive of the Government’s involvement with the Stonewall Alliance,” he sipped his chocolate again; he was two-thirds down the mug.

“But that,” he added, “will almost certainly aggravate your Church, and your own electorate will not be very pleased.”

If Koryel had been able to hear Backle and Cohen’s conversation, he would have laughed. If he hadn’t already known who President Cohen was, he would have instantly assumed Grey was the Farminan leader. Tobias carried himself like a President, acted like a President; Cohen gave off the air of impotency. If Grey spoke to the Senators, they might refuse him or deny him, but they would take him seriously; Cohen they would regard with contempt.

[Farmina]

OOC: I do actually make my chocolate cake with red wine. 

IC:

Tobias confidently put down a stack of chips on the number 6, “I don’t think the DRF will be joining the Stonewall Alliance anytime soon.”

On the wall, Lord Richard scowled. For just a second Tobias had considered the possibility of aligning with Stonewall. A second too long for Lord Richard.

Out of the corner of his eye, Grey spied that Koryel’s drink was running low, but he ignored it for the moment, “What are the Senators’ perspectives on President Cohen?” His tone was restrained, cautious, deliberate. His eyes shifted towards Koryel – as though to say ‘you are a clever man – take my real meaning’. Those intense eyes. Behind them, ideas just out of view - dangerous ideas. But Lord Grey had always played a risky game.

The wheel was spun. The little ball came to rest on the “5”. Unlucky – so close, but so far.

Another bite of cake. A large sip of brandy, deliberately emptying the glass. Grey gestured to a footman, who approached. “Another brandy,” said Tobias, in his wheezing tones, “Actually just bring me the bottle. Your Excellency? Another drink?”

[Macisikan]

OOC: you have your everything with wine

IC:
“You’re a long way from Septimus letting you in,” Koryel replied with a faint snort. “I went to school with the man; he operates in binaries. Either you make the cut, or you don’t.” the Ambassador ignored Lord Richard’s spectre; Justina Valdir was infinitely more intimidating, not least because she was actually alive.

“Going on what they’ve said in the press, it’s all degrees of animosity, when they consider him at all, that is,” was the answer on the subject of Cohen. “The immolation of Bishop Parsons was the closest we’ve ever come to severing diplomatic relations, and Cohen is to blame,” he drained his mug.

“No, thank you,” the Ambassador waved off the offer of more. “I think I should let everything settle for a bit.”

[Farmina]

Grey waved off the footman. Then he reiterated his understanding of what the Ambassador had said, “I think it’s safe to say, relations would be better with Cohen gone.”

Tobias went quiet for a moment. Then he spoke slowly, carefully, softly, “If it came to a position where President Cohen had to consider his future – do you imagine the Macisikani Government would be prepared to advise him on the matter?”

[Macisikan]

“His Serene Majesty’s Government does not offer such advice without being asked by the individual in question, because we don't want you doing the same with our Premier,” Koryel said after a long moment. “But that’s not the question you want to ask me,” he leaned back slightly.

“If the ship is headed towards the rocks, a change of direction is needed. Never mind ‘should’ – the matter of ‘can’ has to be addressed first. Yes; I will speak to Sir Akaan for you, and your kitchen may feed some more of my countrymen. If the Republic steers away from that cliff,” the Macisikani's voice was soft. The meaning was clear; Cohen was seen as a liability, not due to his ideology, or due to his character, but due to his singular talent for destabilising the entire nation. Remove Cohen, and Tobias would be entertaining a Senator. Frankly Koryel felt sorry for the President; Cohen clearly wasn't a malicious man, and he meant well. His intentions were good. They made excellent pavers on the road he was building.

[Farmina]

In Grey’s mind there was not a ship heading for the rocks, but instead a driver who was not getting to his destination fast enough. The driver speeds to make up time. But he mounts the curb – he loses time. He presses his foot harder on the accelerator. He drives right past the turn – so now he’s got to go the long way around. He accelerates more. He goes to take the next turn – too fast – he rolls the car. The driver dies. He'll never get there now, but perhaps he was never going to. Unfortunately he kills several bystanders in the crash: a father on his way home from work, a grandma, a little girl with a pony tail.

The footman returned with the brandy bottle. Grey took the bottle, waved off the footman, then poured himself another drink. “I think we understand each other - though the ‘can’ is likely to be difficult. President Cohen has his more rigid moments...” Just ask Bishop Parsins.

Grey took a sip, “...it raises the question of how far one is prepared to go. How many chips is one prepared to put down?” So how far will one go? The man who created, whose great legacy is, the Farminan Presidency was now considering undoing it. And all to stop a boy who had long past from the public gaze. Does that answer the question?

But it raises another question. Are you prepared to go further than Cohen? Are you prepared stare down a man who would burn a priest to prove a point?

[Farmina]

“You see...” said Grey. He takes one last puff on his cigarette before stubbing it out, “...I believe I can break the Presidency. The same powers that allowed Durass to break the President’s grip on the Church – I believe the precedent can be used to break the Presidency itself.”

He put down more chips. He bet on six and twenty-nine. “I don’t want to but...but it’s a threat. ‘Go now or I destroy your very legitimacy.’ He will blink – he will stand aside for Chancellor Reinoff. Or he will remain President – but leave actual governing to the Prince. Either is acceptable...”

The wheel was spun. Six – Grey won big. Sometimes a long-shot, a mad-scheme, pays off.

Grey continued, “What we need to do is to place as much pressure on the President as possible. Personal. Political. Economic. Civil. Diplomatic...”

Can you can hear them calling out to the President?
Go now President Cohen. For the sake Farmina. For the sake of her relationships and her prosperity. For the sake of peace and religious harmony. Just go, President Cohen, just go...
...Oh and try not to burn any priests on your way out.