Changes [ PUBLIC/CLOSED ]

“Ce soir, le Parti d’Union Démocratique - mené par jeune parvenu Jean-Jacques Ardouin - encore incité un démarrage retardé dans le Sénat. Ils continuent prétendre que la représentation illégal de--” CLICK.

Maximilian thumbed the switch on the remote which turned the television off, now directing his full attention to tying his shoes. He’d opted for his brown leather derby pair, finding them both comfortable and stylish enough to wear for his annual visit to Parliament. It was always a big affair - far too much pomp and circumstance as far as Maxie was concerned, but it was what it was. Even being King, there were things that were simply expected of you and the seat in which you sat that could not be abolished. So, seeing as how the man couldn’t change it, he’d at least look his best for it.

Despite being the Commander-in-Chief and having decades of military experience to his name, he always chose to wear civilian attire when he was attending a primarily civilian function. Pragmatically, the opposite was true when he was addressing his troops. He stood, smoothing out the imperceptible wrinkles that had formed on his undershirt before slipping his arms through the jacket of his suit to complete his appearance. He gave a last wiggle of the knot in his tie to ensure that he had tied it sufficiently, then proceeded to the double-doors that led out into the passageway.

Immediately, his Chief Aide was on his heels, giving him updates and notices on upcoming events and general information. “It appears that the Senate was held up yesterday due to more Democratic Union Party shenanigans, Your Majesty,” Nathalie reported, “So the Lords have moved most of the agenda from yesterday to today.” The older woman handed him a manila folder with some information on the topics of discussion and approval for today, about half of which had been scribbled out and hastily written-in with several of yesterday’s planned bills.

“Thank you, Miss Ancel,” he said, his face an impenetrable mask of calm and stoical hard lines. They walked briskly to the car, an armored beast that was deceiving in its outward appearance, even more so with the small Valencian flag waving from its small post on the bumper. Once they were seated and the vehicle began to move down the mountain, he delved into the summary report of the man who was causing quite a stink in Parliament - a young up-and-coming man who had taken the reigns of a minority party and shoved it into the spotlight for ‘people's rights’ - whatever the Hell that meant.

“Nathalie,” he began, looking up from the report but keeping it firmly in his hands.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“What more can you tell me about Jean-Jacques Ardouin?”

Nathalie failed to hold back her eye roll at the mere mention of his name. Clearly she had some opinions on him. “What isn’t there to tell, sir?” she began, as Maxie recounted with dread the last time he’d accidentally gotten her spun-up on something, “The man spouts nonsense. He’s come completely out of left-field - no particularly outstanding credentials other than a B.A. in Mercanti, and zero political experience - and rants and raves about the people of Valencia being suppressed and silenced by a tyrant King. He espouses the ideas of social unity, violent defiance, and outright upheaval of our current government for something more favorable and people-centric. Classic madman.

“But you can’t deny that he’s rallied a significant backing. Whether that’s for reasons of political upheaval or simply blind devotion, ISB* doesn’t know,” she paused, taking in a breath and sighing, her slim shoulders slacking as she fell back in her seat a little bit, “He seems to be simply picking a point of contention where there is none to build support.”

Maxie couldn’t help the lopsided smile that adorned his face. This is why he’d kept Nathalie around. She’d been his aide since he was a Prince under his father - when he was a much younger man of 25 and she 18. In all the arbitrary tradition and muck of propriety that was the life of royalty and the upper class, she brought a relief of fresh air from the masses. She was a commoner, with no ties to Lords or Ladies or royalty other than her job, and Maxie had made it clear to her many years ago that he wanted her frank and unabashed opinion when he asked for it.

“So you believe that there might be something more to it than his words?” he asked carefully, “That his ‘cause’ is simply a farce to build support for something else?”

“I’ve dealt with a lot of bullshitters in my life, Maxie, and this man checks all the wickets.”

The King chuckled, closing the manila folder and handing it back to her, “Well I certainly hope I haven’t been one of them.”

“Not recently, no,” she retorted, storing the documents back into her bag, “Only when we were both younger, and your father forced you to attend those parties.”

Maxie outright laughed.



*ISB: Internal Security Bureau (Bureau de la Sécurité Intérieure), Valencia’s domestic communications interception and counter-espionage agency.

The trip to Parliament hadn’t been too long - simply across town - but he got the, well, royal treatment. The Knights Brigade met his car as it zoomed through the palace gates, forming a motorcade down the winding embankment and to the base of the foothills in which Boffrand Palace sat nestled. His motorcade rolled to a halt directly in front of the ornate architecture of the Parliamentary building, the door opening to a crowd of reporters and other who had gathered to see their King.


Maxie took a couple of steps in order to make room for Nathalie, smiling kindly toward the crowd that was being held back by wrought-iron fencing as he briefly smoothed out the continued non-existent wrinkles of his suit. He politely waved in acknowledgement of his people, his happy smile expanding slightly. It truly was a part of his role as sovereign of Valencia that he very much enjoyed - the interaction with his people. He was their King; responsible for every last one of them, and he was fiercely so. The older man didn’t much care for polls or the numbers associated with them, but Nathalie occasionally gave him a run-down when she thought it was important and he normally held a steady approval rating of around eighty-eight percent. Nathalie said it was something about his ‘no-nonsense attitude’ and his ‘tough, but caring’ stances on the majority of political matters - the rare ones he did weigh-in on. He wouldn’t say that he was adored, per se - that was something that was reserved for one of his young nieces or nephews - but, rather, respected. And Maxie liked that. It was a mutual thing, almost symbolic, but most definitely entirely genuine. It wouldn’t be far-fetched at all to say that he genuinely loved his people.


He and his entourage of guards proceeded through the grandiose doors of the Parliament, up a flight of equally fancy stairs, and through another set of glossy mahogany doors into the Main Chamber, where the Senators and Lords sat in their pre-arranged seats. It was clear by all the heads turning around in his direction that he had interrupted something, however, which caused an eyebrow to twitch slightly as it raised in thought. His arrival was always announced and accompanied by fanfare - or at the very least, everyone knew the exact time that he would be walking through the doors.


“And here he is now!” a particularly smarmy voice shouted into the microphone, “Welcome, Your Majesty!”


The eyebrow stayed raised, and he said nothing as he strode down the center aisle, simultaneously approaching the man who had clearly said his honorary title with such disgust. Max’s mind immediately connected the sour sneer at the podium to the one he’d seen inside the dossier he’d been handed earlier in the car. He said nothing as he continued to stride forward, his large frame flanked on either side by Knights Guardsmen that were not terribly discreet about the automatic submachine guns strapped to their chest.

“Sénateur Ardouin, please take your seat now!” Lionel Pentier, the Speaker of the Senate complained loudly from his dais seat, complained with a frown.


Maximilien sat in his largely ceremonial seat at the center of the raised dais, raising a hand to indicate silence, then gesturing to the speaking podium and Ardouin. “It’s quite alright, Mister Speaker,” he spoke in a calm and reserved voice, despite the tense air and excited chatter in which pockets of the chamber were engaged, “If possible, I’d very much like to hear what the Senator has to say.”


Lionel looked back and forth between the two men, equally as stupefied by the King’s response as Jean-Jacques was, but relented and nodded for the Senator to continue.


“Very well, uhm,” Senator Jean-Jacques Ardouin bumbled, his rhythm significantly thrown off, “Thank you.”

With a shuffling of papers and a moment to clear his throat, the Senator turned back to the gathered representatives and began again. “As I was, ah, saying… It is our responsibility - our duty to the people of Valencia to properly represent them and… and…”

The normally vacant seat that Maxie now occupied was a thorough enough distraction for Ardouin from his place at the podium that was slightly canted and off-center. He could just barely make out the man sitting on his ‘throne’ and listening patiently. It maddened him; only stoked the fires of rage within him. He knew that Maximilian - he refused to call him ‘King’ in anything but a sarcastic tone - was only humoring him and, by those regards, mocking him and his cause.

“... And bring down this tyrant and oppressor,” he spat, his face flushed with anger and his finger reaching out to jab accusingly in the aforementioned man’s direction, “Look at him! He sits upon his throne prim and proper and pretty, while the people's’ voice continues to be squashed and buried beneath the aristocracy of his position!” Looking out over the crowd of his gathered fellow Senators and those pigs the Lords, he could see nearly everyone roll their eyes or scoff at his truths. The madmen. The sociopaths. The traitors. Every single one of them.

“He sits there, shoehorning all of the work onto us, the elected representatives of the people, yet consistently disavows our legitimate actions, and it’s high-time we rise up to depose this… this… Dictator,” Ardouin sputtered, a brief respite in his filibustering rant. But the looks of half-heartedness were gone. Ardouin knew that what he had just suggested - said aloud and gave credence to - was treason. Defiance of the King was allowed and permitted, but calling for his removal and insinuating it be done in a violent fashion would not be taken lightly.

“So,” the calm voice of Maximilian spoke from behind him, “What is it exactly that you want, Senator Ardouin?”

Ardouin turned his head to drill his gaze into the source of his hatred. “What the people want, is the proper representation of their ideals,” he spoke matter-of-factly, despite being farther from the them, “The Senate and House have become corrupted, and they - like you - sit upon their thrones and do nothing for the people they represent.” He smirked, knowing that Maxie wanted to kick him out of Parliament. But doing so would only prove his point, and he would be lauded as the martyr. It would be an avalanche of cascading effects.

“Senator!” The Speaker cried out, banging his gavel, only to be silenced once again by the raised hand of the King.

“You want the people to be afforded the opportunity to choose, then?” Maxie asked in confirmation.

“Absolutely,” he declared, crossing his arms in defiance of the man he believed to be a tyrant.

“Such an extreme transition in government would have to be incremental, surely, don’t you agree?” Maxie asked, leaning back in his chair, but his blue-eyed gaze locked onto Ardouin’s own.

The Senator’s gaze narrowed a bit in suspicion. “Surely,” he agreed, hesitantly.

“I believe that if your ends are truly to be achieved, then it should start here, in the Parliament. Once those that share your viewpoint are properly represented, then Parliament will be able to draft the proper documentation asking for my abdication and disestablishment of our current form of government into whatever it is that the Parliament decides. Whatever Parliament decides, I will agree to, as I have trusted them to properly hear the voice of the people for decades,” Maxie explained.

“Right…” Ardouin’s gaze narrowed more amongst the hushed chatter that had broken out in pockets in the chamber.

“Mister Speaker, I wish to confirm that I still possess all forms of my rights as your King set forth in our constitution,” Maxie asked Lionel, but kept his gaze on Ardouin.

“U-Uhm… Yes,” Lionel’s brow furrowed, confused as to why Maxie would ask such a question. It only quickened Ardouin’s heart. The man wouldn’t dare, would he? The small snippets of conversation he was able to glean from his position in the center of the chamber did nothing to quell the anxiety and nerves building in him, just as Maximilian was building his logic and reasoning for… something that Ardouin hoped he would not do.

“Excellent. Then, by my right as your King...”

Ooohhhh no.

“As set forth in the Constitution of the Kingdom of Valencia…”

No. No no no no.

“Having been confirmed by the people and their representatives in the Senate and House…”

This is not what he wanted.

"Lacking confidence in this current assembly, I hereby dissolve this Parliament, and establish that elections be held one month from today to replace every individual in an elected seat or position, in order to achieve proper representation,” Maxie’s kind smile stood in stark contrast to Ardouin’s own gaping mouth, “I do hope that proper representation is achieved this time around, Mister Ardouin. Good luck.”

Only a moment of shocked silence preceded the uproar of protest.