Post by bluesnailok on Oct 9, 2021 11:27:56 GMT
“Noone Chose Mose!” Was the chant outside the Assembly Building of the Associated States in Talcit.
It seemed like everything that the Stadtholder had built over a lifetime of work had collapsed around him in the span of a single week. Who knew what power a single piece of paper could have over the future of an administration? He thought.
Below him, beyond the office window Mose looked from, were crowds as far as the eye could see. Shouting, calling, jeering. Effigies of the man who had only a year before been the most faceless, yet powerful man on Natar, were being burnt. It was laughable now to think that someone didn’t know his name. His face began to contort into a scrunched up display of disbelief and desperation,
“...This is manageable.” He shook his head, pausing as he assured himself,
How could it have come to this? How the hell could they not see he was not responsible for this. But if not he, who was? The answer quickly became clear to the Stadtholder. Every last pragmatist like him, every careerist and kleptocrat. He kept them around, even promoted them, because he thought them predictable, he thought they and him were alike.
Just then a violent thump erupted as the window the Stadtholder stood before snapped into a spiderweb of cracked pieces. A brick had been thrown right at his face.
Below the police were struggling to keep the people in line. The president of Kalethia, formerly a puppet to the shadow autocrat himself was now acting deliberately slow and hesitant to quell these actions of defiance against the Great Conductor of the Associated States. He would have to go too, as would the rest, Tetlisun thought.
The Stadtholder twisted around and marched towards his desk, ruffling through what few papers remained after he had chucked the rest into the fire.
“Busy?” A slithering, smooth voice echoed out. Tetlisun stood upright, he didn’t even need to look to see who it was. It was Saljir Arcamavir, his director of finance, and the mother of all the snakes. The vultures were truly circling in at this point.
As their eyes locked, Tetlisun without hesitation calmly muttered,
“Get out.”
Saljir raised an eyebrow with a smile,
“But i’ve come to merely-”
“I SAID GET OUT!” The Stadtholder screamed, his eyes nearly popping from their sockets.
Arcamavir didn’t do as he was told. He instead stood there, giving time for the silence to set in and Tetlisun to regain his composure,
“...I thought I'd come to inform you of my intention to resign from my present office.”
Tetlisun looked to the director, his eyes squinting in a mixture of confusion and astonished outrage,
“...You what?” He stopped for a second as the statement set in, “-Y…” He smiled, almost madly, for a moment, “-You don’t resign from my cabinet. I say who stays and who goes, and on what terms.” The Stadtholder declared bitterly, raising a finger to Saljir who quickly shot back,
“I don’t answer to you Mose. Noone wants to work for a man whose product is… This…” He gestured to the mobs beyond the windows, he waited for a second before adding “...I intend to run for office.”
Tetlisun’s head shot back to the director, he stood in awe, he looked like he was ready to explode as his left eye twitched. Slowly inhaling, the shaking Teliran began to slowly make his way back behind his desk. Lowering himself into the chair and looking down to the papers below him, Mose spoke with forced calmness; like he was ready to burst out screaming at any second,
“...You won’t last a minute. Not a single delegate would back a moronic incompetent like yourself-”
“Rather rich, coming from the likes of you, don’t you think, Stadtholder? Or would it be more proper to begin referring to you Mister Tetlisun already?”
“...I will ruin you. You won’t-” Tetlisun was once more interrupted,
“You’re over Mose. Do you really think a single national representative will put their neck on the line for a powerless psychopath the public hates? You’re a liability now. The facelessness of your office is gone; everyone knows your power - and your responsibility… And thus they hold you responsible.” Saljir bluntly muttered,
“...You’re the Director of Finance, not me. You’re going down just as much as me.” The defeated Stadtholder murmured, only to be laughed at,
“Do you really think that? People don’t even know my name. It took them a decade to realise how much power over their lives you had before you became accountable. No one in the media holds any grudge against me… But with all the coercion, the blackmailing… Everything you’ve done… Noone has an interest in you, Mose. Only those that see you as a means to their own ends. Besides, nothing I ever did went through without your approval… You’re out, Mose.”
With that, Arcamavir placed a small note of resignation upon the Stadtholder’s desk, turned, and left. Tetlisun remained seated, idly gazing out through the window, the life gone from his pupils. Arcamavir was right. Noone would ever support the likes of Tetlisun for a third term, not after this, and not after all they had come to hold against him…
He stopped.
...But maybe they would support a man Tetlisun could control.
The Stadtholder’s came alive with the prospect of a new opportunity.
The middle-aged Stadtholder bent forward, his eyes livening with intrigue. A man without imagination, someone that, unlike Tetlisun, held himself to a sense of loyalty over rationality. They would need to be an insider with experience, but one with as few enemies as possible. As Tetlisun thought he became more and more energised, there was a light at the end of this tunnel. He wasn’t beaten yet, there was still fight left in this meandering pragmatist.
Once more the Peasant-Stadtholder was lit with activity as he rose to his feet. Rushing from drawer to drawer, withdrawing and cross-checking papers with datapads. This chaos, this anarchy, it wasn’t an end - but an opportunity, he thought. This lapse of control of power would be a chance for Tetlisun to tighten the corset, to wipe away the detritus, to renovate the home.
Togarn Matras came to mind. Tetlisun’s minister for Association territories. While not a politically loyal one, Matras had never possessed ambition nor imagination, and that is why he became so trusted, and now he would be imbued with the ultimate trust - Tetlisun’s candidacy. Rather than run for Stadtholder again, Mose would work from behind the scenes, directing Matras unshackled and freeing Mose himself up from the pointless routines of his office.
Arcamavir was right, Tetlisun was indeed out, there was no coming back from this. But he wasn’t out, and all he had to do was work from the shadows more than he had before. Oh this was workable, this was doable. Stadtholder Tetlisun once more began to beam, looking to the anger and desperation of the rioters outside, if everyone wanted a new man in office then that is what they’d get, but in the only fashion Tetlisun ever settled for: On his terms.
It seemed like everything that the Stadtholder had built over a lifetime of work had collapsed around him in the span of a single week. Who knew what power a single piece of paper could have over the future of an administration? He thought.
Below him, beyond the office window Mose looked from, were crowds as far as the eye could see. Shouting, calling, jeering. Effigies of the man who had only a year before been the most faceless, yet powerful man on Natar, were being burnt. It was laughable now to think that someone didn’t know his name. His face began to contort into a scrunched up display of disbelief and desperation,
“...This is manageable.” He shook his head, pausing as he assured himself,
How could it have come to this? How the hell could they not see he was not responsible for this. But if not he, who was? The answer quickly became clear to the Stadtholder. Every last pragmatist like him, every careerist and kleptocrat. He kept them around, even promoted them, because he thought them predictable, he thought they and him were alike.
Just then a violent thump erupted as the window the Stadtholder stood before snapped into a spiderweb of cracked pieces. A brick had been thrown right at his face.
Below the police were struggling to keep the people in line. The president of Kalethia, formerly a puppet to the shadow autocrat himself was now acting deliberately slow and hesitant to quell these actions of defiance against the Great Conductor of the Associated States. He would have to go too, as would the rest, Tetlisun thought.
The Stadtholder twisted around and marched towards his desk, ruffling through what few papers remained after he had chucked the rest into the fire.
“Busy?” A slithering, smooth voice echoed out. Tetlisun stood upright, he didn’t even need to look to see who it was. It was Saljir Arcamavir, his director of finance, and the mother of all the snakes. The vultures were truly circling in at this point.
As their eyes locked, Tetlisun without hesitation calmly muttered,
“Get out.”
Saljir raised an eyebrow with a smile,
“But i’ve come to merely-”
“I SAID GET OUT!” The Stadtholder screamed, his eyes nearly popping from their sockets.
Arcamavir didn’t do as he was told. He instead stood there, giving time for the silence to set in and Tetlisun to regain his composure,
“...I thought I'd come to inform you of my intention to resign from my present office.”
Tetlisun looked to the director, his eyes squinting in a mixture of confusion and astonished outrage,
“...You what?” He stopped for a second as the statement set in, “-Y…” He smiled, almost madly, for a moment, “-You don’t resign from my cabinet. I say who stays and who goes, and on what terms.” The Stadtholder declared bitterly, raising a finger to Saljir who quickly shot back,
“I don’t answer to you Mose. Noone wants to work for a man whose product is… This…” He gestured to the mobs beyond the windows, he waited for a second before adding “...I intend to run for office.”
Tetlisun’s head shot back to the director, he stood in awe, he looked like he was ready to explode as his left eye twitched. Slowly inhaling, the shaking Teliran began to slowly make his way back behind his desk. Lowering himself into the chair and looking down to the papers below him, Mose spoke with forced calmness; like he was ready to burst out screaming at any second,
“...You won’t last a minute. Not a single delegate would back a moronic incompetent like yourself-”
“Rather rich, coming from the likes of you, don’t you think, Stadtholder? Or would it be more proper to begin referring to you Mister Tetlisun already?”
“...I will ruin you. You won’t-” Tetlisun was once more interrupted,
“You’re over Mose. Do you really think a single national representative will put their neck on the line for a powerless psychopath the public hates? You’re a liability now. The facelessness of your office is gone; everyone knows your power - and your responsibility… And thus they hold you responsible.” Saljir bluntly muttered,
“...You’re the Director of Finance, not me. You’re going down just as much as me.” The defeated Stadtholder murmured, only to be laughed at,
“Do you really think that? People don’t even know my name. It took them a decade to realise how much power over their lives you had before you became accountable. No one in the media holds any grudge against me… But with all the coercion, the blackmailing… Everything you’ve done… Noone has an interest in you, Mose. Only those that see you as a means to their own ends. Besides, nothing I ever did went through without your approval… You’re out, Mose.”
With that, Arcamavir placed a small note of resignation upon the Stadtholder’s desk, turned, and left. Tetlisun remained seated, idly gazing out through the window, the life gone from his pupils. Arcamavir was right. Noone would ever support the likes of Tetlisun for a third term, not after this, and not after all they had come to hold against him…
He stopped.
...But maybe they would support a man Tetlisun could control.
The Stadtholder’s came alive with the prospect of a new opportunity.
The middle-aged Stadtholder bent forward, his eyes livening with intrigue. A man without imagination, someone that, unlike Tetlisun, held himself to a sense of loyalty over rationality. They would need to be an insider with experience, but one with as few enemies as possible. As Tetlisun thought he became more and more energised, there was a light at the end of this tunnel. He wasn’t beaten yet, there was still fight left in this meandering pragmatist.
Once more the Peasant-Stadtholder was lit with activity as he rose to his feet. Rushing from drawer to drawer, withdrawing and cross-checking papers with datapads. This chaos, this anarchy, it wasn’t an end - but an opportunity, he thought. This lapse of control of power would be a chance for Tetlisun to tighten the corset, to wipe away the detritus, to renovate the home.
Togarn Matras came to mind. Tetlisun’s minister for Association territories. While not a politically loyal one, Matras had never possessed ambition nor imagination, and that is why he became so trusted, and now he would be imbued with the ultimate trust - Tetlisun’s candidacy. Rather than run for Stadtholder again, Mose would work from behind the scenes, directing Matras unshackled and freeing Mose himself up from the pointless routines of his office.
Arcamavir was right, Tetlisun was indeed out, there was no coming back from this. But he wasn’t out, and all he had to do was work from the shadows more than he had before. Oh this was workable, this was doable. Stadtholder Tetlisun once more began to beam, looking to the anger and desperation of the rioters outside, if everyone wanted a new man in office then that is what they’d get, but in the only fashion Tetlisun ever settled for: On his terms.