The Man of Straw
Posted: Wed Apr 06, 2016 2:16 pm
Hôtel Étoile, New Rome
United Christian Front After Party
Election Night
After a long night of worse than expected results, the mood at the United Christian Front's official election after party was markedly somber. The Opposition had decisively lost, but the Government had nevertheless lost its majority - to an insurgent far-right party, the Party for National Action. Many of its MPs, especially those regarded as more socially moderate within the context of the socially conservative governing party, had been especially targeted by the Party for National Action, and those seats had fallen already. Behind closed doors, the Imperial Chancellor, Sir Thierry del Moray, was struggling with his advisors what to make of the situation. He had ordered his speech writers only to prepare a victory speech, but despite the fact that Isabelle Folquet and the Socialist/Constantinople Coalition had lost, the Imperial Chancellor had not won. However, the situation hardly called for a concession speech either - it wasn't clear what it called for exactly. Sir Thierry stopped himself pacing only by sitting down in one of the Hôtel Étoile's opulent couches which appeared to be surplus from the Palace itself, and accepting an offered glass of brandy from his wife. Finally the frantic, clipped political discussion with his closest confidants was silenced for a few long moments of silent reflection on what everyone in the room agreed was a bastard of an evening.
"Colonel Nogent on the phone for you, Chancellor." an aide interrupted, stepping forward from the corner in which she had been standing, holding a black business edition PeacockPhone in the Chancellor's direction.
"I don't want to speak with that son of a whore." Sir Thierry declared dismissively.
The aide turned pink, not because she was unfamiliar with the language (everyone swore in politics), but because the aforementioned son of a whore was on the other end of the line and since she was standing while the Chancellor was sitting, the PeacockPhone had been very well-placed to pick up the Chancellor's bon-mots. She quickly withdrew the phone and placed her hand over where she thought the microphone was placed in the thing's sleek case.
"What shall I tell him?" she asked, perturbed.
"Tell him to go fuck himself." Sir Thierry shrugged.
"Thierry..." Marie-Claire del Moray chided. She gestured to the aide to hand the phone over to the Chancellor's chief of staff, who'd be better placed to make something up about why the Chancellor couldn't speak to the leader of Party for National Action.
"I'm not forming a coalition with him. Or any of them. Fuck them all." Sir Thierry declared, and downed his brandy with a quick flick of the wrist.
The senior advisors, minus the chief of staff, who was now smoothing things over with the leader of the new Parliament's third largest party whilst simultaneously making the Chancellor's excuses, all looked at each other. Generally they exchanged dubious looks, but one seemed to achieve the lofty heights of ambivalence - Edouard Dernomes, whose official title suggested he had something to do with advising the Chancellor on matters of economic policy.
"Well... He's hardly going to make Folquet Chancellor, is he?" Dernomes shrugged. "Maybe we can govern as a minority. We've the most seats."
"Will the Emperor go for that?" asked another advisor, Jacques Fulmont, somewhat dubiously.
"We could go back to the polls..." murmured someone else.
"Will the Emperor go for that?" Fulmont scoffed.
"Will the Party?" asked another voice.
All eyes turned to the United Christian Front's National Chairman, François d'Umberville MP. His own safe seat in leafy Montmanuel had neither been the target of a Party for National Action campaign nor ever in any threat from either the Socialists or their Greek-speaking agriculturally inclined coalition partners - it was too rich and too "Frank" to care for either. Truth be told the man had his doubts. He knew that the organizational wing of the party had expended huge resources on the campaign, and would not be keen to do so again within a few months if there was any other way to hold onto government.
"Well," d'Umberville began. "I think the Party would need to see that holding government was impossible except for by winning a majority at a fresh election... and frankly given the margins some of the backbenchers will be on after tonight, I shouldn't want to test their nerves with promises of a close-run thing. If we must go to another election straight away, we must know that we'll win."
"Like in 1992?" scoffed Dernomes.
"Unfortunately circumstances have changed quite dramatically since 1992." d'Umberville said benignly - the United Christian Front now had to contend with an independent electoral commission which everybody in the room supposed was incorruptible.
"What else am I supposed to have done for these ungrateful cockroaches anyway?" Sir Thierry exploded, practically leaping off his couch to his feet.
Since the Imperial Chancellor now stood, so did everyone else in the room - except his wife - informal conversation be damned.
"Pardon me, Chancellor, do you mean our backbench colleagues?" d'Umberville inquired.
"What?" Sir Thierry looked at the man like he was being deliberately obtuse. "No, voters! I can't promise our backbench colleagues we'll do any better in a fresh election than we have done tonight. Despite making the Pantocratorian economy the envy of the region, nay, the whole fucking world, the electorate has decided, in its infinite wisdom, to shove a trumped up Nazi in a colonel's uniform up my arse! Fuck elections."
There was long, awkward silence. The Chancellor poured himself another brandy.
"Well, quite." d'Umberville agreed sedately.
The Imperial Chancellor's Chief of Staff, Jean-Philippe Verdefleur, returned to the conversation from his phone call.
"Well, he wants to start coalition talks." Verdefleur declared.
"The fucking nerve!" Sir Thierry exploded again, nearly spilling his brandy all over himself. He then downed the glass with another single flick of the wrist. "I hope you told him to go fuck himself. Like I said."
"Naturally." Verdefleur answered sarcastically. "And ease up on the brandy, you've got to make a speech."
"What?" Sir Thierry scoffed.
"There's over a thousand people in the ballroom still waiting for you to make a speech, not to mention half a dozen news crews." Verdefleur growled, losing patience with his boss's self-pity. "So stop drowning your sorrows and pull yourself together, Chancellor."
Marie-Claire del Moray got to her feet at last, and put her arm around her husband's shoulders.
"This is so fucking unfair." Sir Thierry complained, his mood now melancholic. "Fine, something short though, to the point, non-committal."
"I'll see if I can salvage anything out of what the writers left for us." Verdefleur agreed, and went to a laptop in the corner to mangle the pre-written victory speech.
"That son of a whore thinks I'm impressed by a few fucking medals." Sir Thierry complained to his wife and remaining confidants as Verdefleur worked.
***
A few minutes later, Sir Thierry del Moray had composed himself, and emerged into the ballroom of the Hôtel Étoile, arm in arm with Marie-Claire del Moray, and followed by their three children, all now young adults. Despite the fact that the mood had been somber for hours and it was well passed midnight, the sight of their leader brought the true believers to their feet, and the ballroom was soon filled with cheers and applause almost as thunderous as if the United Christian Front had actually won the election. The news crews stirred themselves, put aside their coffees, and got to work, recording the Imperial Chancellor's not quite triumphant entrance. Sir Thierry and family made their way up onto the stage, and Sir Thierry approached a podium flanked by Pantocratorian flags, bearing the election slogan "ÉCONOMIE - FAMILLE - PATRIE". The applause continued for quite some time, until Sir Thierry waved it down after thirty seconds or so, and began to address the faithful at the Hôtel Étoile, and the viewers across the nation alike.
"My dear friends," Sir Thierry opened. "Tonight the achievements and policies of our Government have been vindicated, by the comprehensive defeat of the Coalition." The crowd forced itself to cheer for the cameras. "Unfortunately many of our valued colleagues across the nation have paid the price for the strength of their convictions, and have lost their seats to targeted campaigns on divisive social issues. To them I extend my deepest sympathies, but I want them to know that the achievements of our Government since its election in 2010 are not just my achievements, but theirs as well. Without them, Pantocratoria would not be one of the most efficient, productive economies in the world, and Pantocratorians would not be amongst the world's wealthiest peoples." The crowd politely applauded. "My friends, the final outcome of this election is not yet known. Over the coming days and perhaps weeks, I will be holding discussions with the re-elected Cabinet members, and all returned United Christian Front MPs. I will also hold discussions with the parliamentary leadership of the other parties, to discuss how workable, stable government can be delivered, if possible, in this Hung Parliament. It would be remiss to take any options off the table at this stage, but I expect that the Government's mandate, the most votes, a plurality in the House, not to mention our impeccable record, will be respected, and will be the cornerstone of all such discussions."
Sir Thierry del Moray reached a single finger to the end of his nose, which he touched for a moment as he suppressed any outward sign of the rage and disappointment he felt at that moment. Neither made itself obvious, but the nose scratching gesture nevertheless triggered a display of flash photography suitable to induce an epileptic fit, and would no doubt be endlessly discussed by talking heads dissecting this footage on the cable news networks the next day.
"Well, as I look around..." Sir Thierry began, looking on the faces of his supporters at the Hôtel Étoile. "I want to thank all of you, the volunteers, the grass roots campaigners, the supporters, God bless all of you, and thank you." There was a huge cheer. "To my Cabinet, and to my parliamentary colleagues, those who have been re-elected, those who have retired, those elected tonight for the first time, and most of all, those who lost their seats despite fighting so very hard in this campaign, thank all of you for your loyalty and your support. I will do my very best to prove myself deserving of it." Cheering and applause. "To my dear wife, Marie-Claire, and our children..."
The thanks and gratitude went on into the evening, even as most viewers stopped paying attention and flicked back to the football results.