FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Whiteriver Manor, Cordelia, Cordelia Federal Territory- 15 December 2023, 08:41PM AST
Whiteriver Manor was a historied piece of property nestled on the southerly banks of the eponymous White River, which ran from the central Alexandrian ridgelands easterly towards the sea and bisected the capital of the Federal Republic in twain. The property, where Meridonian presidents called home; was surrounded by the city’s central Southfront Park, an expansive public venue full of walking trails, ponds and rock walls, brooks and flower beds and even a parade ground where on Friday evenings, such as tonight, the ceremonial band of 1 Regiment Federal conducted an evening drill and parade, donning sharp black uniforms and bearing gleaming blade and rifle.
Within the manor's central building, on this evening, a small group dined together in one of the Manor’s more quaint dining facilities. Before them sat glasses of Alexandrian red wines and plates with fresh summer squash and honey-glazed and lemon-sprinkled roasted chicken, whose aromatics faintly lingered in the room still; though the passage of time since the meal had been served had left most plates clean or with scant but scraps. The mood was set by the soft and quiet melody of a gentle jazz tune piped in through the speakers, delivering unto its participants a relaxed mood in which to enjoy the hospitality of the President.
Would it have been that this dinner was simply something for pleasure, Yui Townley would have been immensely satisfied. Her work as president was never-ending, but it would not be inaccurate to say that she had weathered the storm that had crashed her upon the shores of Meridon’s highest elected office. The Advent Island crisis had been resolved, the diplomatic conflagrations that it had caused settled, and the upsets made in the Defense Forces rectified. The actions she had taken were, of course, not entirely universally popular, but life for Meridon’s nearly three hundred million inhabitants was beginning to ebb back into a sense of normalcy.
Normalcy, however, was not the domain of a politician.
“Yui;” came a voice from the opposite head of the table. It belonged to the chairwoman of the President’s own Federal Party, Emily Richardson- a woman thirteen years her senior, and the biggest reason why she was able to host this dinner. Party heads in Meridon were experienced politicians, who wore many hats- career coach, manager, advisor, debater, to name a few. Yui could only wonder how many times tonight those hats would switch. “As always, the Whiteriver staff’s hospitality is excellent, and you make a wondrous host. But; it’s time we get down to business.”
“Ahem..” Townley quietly placed her fork down on her plate, knowing full well what to expect from Richardson but remaining quiet regardless. And thus the chairwoman continued.
“I think it’s safe to say we’ve cleared the hump in regards to what happened in October, but it’s about time we start talking about the future. Elections are in a tad over a year from now, and you’ve begun to get your first taste for the Republic's finest office. When we spoke in Marin Bay last month, you gave me the indication that you’re planning on running for our nomination come January of twenty five. And if you are.. Well, Madam President- you’re in the big leagues now. Acton was not a good politician, as we all well know; and I think you’ll agree with me when I say you don’t quite share his aggressive sense of charisma, so you’re going to need to learn how to do politics at our level. Territorial politics are a very, very different thing from what our league handles- the calls we make here will determine if our coalition, party, organizations- remain cohesive or crumble into nothing. But enough doom and gloom. Let’s focus on the most immediate function- your vacant Vice Presidency.” |
The Vice Presidency in Meridon was not an elected affair, and it was the highest appointed office in Meridon to some- though both the President and their pick for their deputy appeared on the same ballot. Thus, for Presidential picks, the selection of a deputy was a political position as much as a practical one, and Townley knew this by experience. She was selected for a multitude of reasons by Acton, who had barely interacted with her before his own run. Her being a woman was a small part in it, she was Meridon’s first female Vice President and President both; but even more valuable was her proven track record as somewhat of an acolyte of the Acton-branded school of “results first” politics. Her policies aligned with the more left-leaning or centrist wing of the Federal party, which helped to ferry votes from opposition parties, and her and Acton were some of the younger picks for Meridon’s highest office in its history. Indeed here she sat as Meridon’s youngest executive.
And thus, so too must her pick be such a choice.
“There are a few options we’ve vetted for you to begin to look into. Obviously, this is a rather heavy-weight affair. The selection needs to have primary political importance- emphasizing areas of coverage where you are perceived as weak. Acton’s decisiveness and charisma covered his lack of politicking and he was a household name before he came to Whiteriver. You’d do well to have another household name in yours.” |
Townley once more resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Did sitting in on boards of trustees on institutions within their own pockets really count as dabbling in politics? Sure, they might know financial systems much better than she did, but the working Merrie would not care much for some fat cat being plucked into office. It’d look the worst for her; a solution that made more problems than it fixed. Ironically, the first was the cream of that crop- an older man and a philanthropist, Cedric Durenan was known for his philanthropic contributions towards causes of early childhood education and entertainment. But then again, that raised the issue of a pick being much more for political purposes than pragmatic- Durenan was a few years shy of twice her age.
“The last ones we want to bring to your attention;” another male aide whose name was Smithson, rapped his fingers along the table as he brought his proposition to the forefront. “is some of the more unconventional choices. Namely- Manu Aruha.”
Richardson didn’t seem comfortable with the mention, and Townley indicated no better of a reaction. Aruha was the party leader of the Tangaran Unity Party- a party that rarely went into coalition, one who maintained its leverage by the influence of its swing votes. The TUP had a lineage of politically intelligent legislators since its formation in the 1920s that would utilize this leverage to keep other parties from rallying against it, playing both sides of a coalition in order to enact more policies in its own favor. Pulling the Tangaran Unity Party into coalition meant the opposition would be little more than a thoroughly limited counter-argument. But it also meant that the coalition would be harder to control, and legislation had to pass by the TUP before it would be passed. Bloated bills and dragged-on discourse would be their future, albeit bills that would never fail the Council vote.
“We’ve done some probing and it is possible that we can bring the TUP on board. They will of course want more concessions than Aruha sitting as your vice president. But we have some major domestic reforms to carry on from Acton’s legacy- MeriHealth, to begin with- and we’re going to need all the votes we can get to roll it out as quickly as possible. That, however, weighs into calculus how long he is kept on board- a year should certainly be enough to finalize all the details and roll it into action; but then comes the issue of retaining them or cutting them loose. If we do the former, it means we’ll have to curry for at least five more years; and if we don’t, then we risk vengeance voting.”
“It’s a risky gambit;” Richardson concluded, punctuating with the clatter of her metal fork relatively gently upon the chinaware plate before her. “..On a more lighthearted note, thank you for hosting us, and moreso for listening. We’ll be looking forward to how you proceed. If you have any questions, concerns.. you have my line, aye?”
“Right;” Townley pushed her own chair in, which prompted the rest of the table to do the same. Waiters stood in the corner and at the doors to the dining room, holding it open for the group of politicians to depart. Townley saw them off at the door, waving as they were joined by a Federal Protective Service agent to be escorted to their parked vehicles outside.
Standing outside her door was Townley’s chief secretary, another one of Meridon’s youngest ever for the role- Cassandra 'Cassie' Miller, who herself had just finished her own evening meal. She seemed much more satisfied by it, despite the fact it was cooked by a microwave. A content smile on her face contrasted with the President’s look, which was more towards one of exasperation.
“How was your dinner, President Townley?” She asked, straightening her glasses with a finger upon the left part of the frame, to which the President could only roll her shoulders. The secretary smiled, in her expression an indication of sympathy.
“She’s right as much as I loathe to admit it. I’m not like Acton, not a soul ever spoke down to that man without him hearing about it. That felt more like a lecture than a conference. Maybe this is how that Princess Alavaine felt when they hauled suitors in front of her.” |
