Alsatian Island
TNPer
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- Alsatian Island
DATE - 15th Novembre, 2020 - 12:09pm.
He was pensive.
He should be happy. He'd won after all. He'd defied the odds, and won. That would show them, surely?
But his own companions? The ones who stood with him? Maybe they're to blame? Or the others - the hundreds of others - do they hate him?
He sits in his hall. His hall, full of two hundred and one people. He looks upon the benches opposite him, at the glaring, visibly unsettled faces of the Opposition. They'd lost to him - to the new Prime Minister. Except Wilson isn't new at all - he won the last election too, albeit by a far slimmer margin. He stood, and stepped forward to the dispatch box. There, he stared down his Opposition. There, stands two men. The Social Liberals had insisted that they remain the official Opposition - but the Athersic Democrats and the Conservatives made a hasty, uneasy truce against their civil war that had lasted for three decades; so they too demanded their recognition. The two Oppositions had decided to face the fact that neither was really legitimate - neither held more than a dozen or two seats, and thanks to the electoral system that they demanded remain in place for decades - the Prime Minister had gained a commanding majority despite less than half the votes being in his favour.
Let us interrupt the Opposition's groaning.
"Great Osynstry has existed for over a thousand years. I also return to this House with a great deal of Opposition, do I not?" He paused as Ledbury stared him down. But he knew it was a stare of glass - behind the glare, she was disheartened, weakened and in deep thought. He could tell she was demanding questions from herself - how could she not be, considering how a few weeks ago, she was projected the Prime Ministry, and a week ago, a real Opposition?
"However, I am determined to work across our party and across the benches with our political adversaries, to address the issues our nation faces in the coming years. I, of course, humbly thank the voters and the institutions of democratic processes that have protected our nation's interests for centuries, as well as those who participated in the election this week and made their voice heard. I cannot stress enough the importance of this.
Now, let us get onto our party's interests for the coming four years. The voting public has given us a strong, definite mandate for carrying out our promises and pledges - and this we shall stick by. We will be carrying out the interests of the nation as swiftly and as smoothly as possible, and the majority the public has given us should help us to achieve this. I am sure my Right Honourable Friends across from me will agree with me when I state that we must serve out our decisions under the nation's wishes and the nation's wishes only. In my second term, I am positive that the deadlock and slow, grinding process that plagued my first term will be further lessened, and we shall be able to better cater to the public's needs.
I congratulate all members of this Senate - whether they be on our benches or on the Opposition - for getting elected. You are among the 200 out of over 160 million who have been elected to this prestigious house, and as much as the Opposition may think they are outnumbered and thus overlooked, I will state now that your interests are in our priorities as a co-operative government, not a divisive one. I do not wish for our nation to steer too far from the nation you have grown up into, but for it to be modernised and streamlined is in our utmost priorities. We stand for the workers and the middle classes, and we will not pander to the interests of the upper classes, just as the Right Honourable Gentleman Anthony Black, my predecessor, did not during the crisis of 2013.
Our first act under the new Senate for the following four and a half years will be the re-enablement of the devolved Assembly of Weskerby. For centuries, the North has been overlooked, and with my heritage and heart still residing firmly in the North's grips, I must respect their collective voice by demanding that the North's voice is heard and that the North's interests are served."
Wilson sits down. He looks upon his own party slowly, as not to alert them into his intentions of discovering their opinion. They have stood up. They're cheering. Cheering? Even the Conservatives?
The Speaker, a visibly aged man in his sixties, soon stands and bellows:
"Order in the Senate!"
After some time, the vote for his beloved Weskerby Assembly has passed. The Speaker once again stands:
"The Ayes have it. 182, to 1."
They'd clearly let him off easily, this once. None of the Opposition voted down the Amendment, barring the notoriously rebellious and outspoken sole National MS, an even more visibly aged man from the deepest regions of the South-East.
As he leaves the Senate, feeling uplifted by a clear and indisputable victory for his lifelong ambition for Northern devolution, he hears of a development in the House. The Conservatives and Athersic Democrats have struck a deal, allowing one another confidence and supply. That could become worrying, considering the Conservatives' reputation in history to vote blindly against anything a leftist had to say, never mind a "radical socialist" such as Wilson. That reminded him, he had taken four years to deliberate upon his true alignment in his party. He began to moderate during the late 2010s, among a relatively social democratic party - but the new elected members are invariably socialist, and they promise a quicker and easier path to reform. That would be an issue for later.
He comes across the grave of Charlotte Greenwood on his path back to his Athersbury estate. He had forgotten, she had died just three days ago. As much as Wilson had campaigned against her bills, as much as he had demanded her removal from the Senate in the early 1990s, back when he was just 19, and recently elected in a by-election in his home seat of Shefforth City, he regretted her loss. Had the election genuinely killed her, or was it pure coincidence? Did she really hold such a hatred and disregard for the man who had contributed to her failure in 1993? A man who would later run the care homes that she resided within during her old age? She had undeniably lived a hard life, and Wilson argued once that "the grind of Greenwood's life has twisted her into the manipulative, sulking and undemocratic woman you see afore you today, Speaker"; maybe he even regretted saying that? Maybe he even admired her, for her steadfast and undisputably pre-emptively decided approach to virtually any issue one could throw at her?
Or maybe her death ushered in a new age for Osynstry. Maybe it was one which was uncertain, less stable than the one Wilson had lived through, and potentially more dangerous. Osynstry would finally have to properly walk onto the world stage, instead of "EI - enlightened isolation" - or as the former PM Black once remarked, "endless indecision" - and the right would no longer be so weak, so quiet and so divided. The figurehead of their division had passed, but maybe their conflict hadn't? He could hope.
... DATE: 12th Novembre, 2020 - 6:37pm
The frail, old woman sat in her frail, old armchair. Both were grey, both past their times and both worn down by a hard life. The TV was on something incomprehensible to her - and maybe it should be that way. Wilson had won. The man who called her "manipulative", the socialist who demanded her removal and succeeded alongside their left-wing companions, securing 30 years of neo-leftist leadership. But at least she could say, every election, that there would be another one, that she could live to be the Prime Minister's inspiration, that she could live to see a new real right-wing leadership. And the polls this time, the final time, would give her the chance to live again, could bring her back from the brink. And then he won.
This time, she couldn't fool herself that she would live through this term. The man was in his late thirties, spritely and enigmatic - she would give him that and that only - and the next election was in 2025. The fact that she had even survived this long was a genuine surprise, she had lost most of her teeth, her powerful voice, her ability to vocalise with her hands and tone, and eventually her ability to move properly. Maybe she could? One more time? Maybe she should have admitted to Wilson that she admired him? He embodied the charisma, the enigmatic vocalisation, the clear and concise speeches, the strength of confidence and the dismissal for the Opposition - except his was far more subdued, and veiled in his speeches with an air of confident co-operation - maybe she should support his Prime Ministry?
No. It is pointless even trying to conceive of that. Who would want a frail, old, dictatorial menace alongside them? It would ruin him having her by his side. And he would - nay, should disagree anyway. He is respected, she is hated. He represents the people, she stands against them. Nobody will ever like her for her, in the same way they like him, they will only like her because of a twisted personality in both their view of her, and themselves. Only the most disagreeable of people will ever regard her in esteem, or the most observant. The few.
Then her heart gave out.
Blinking lights, audibly flustered voices and the slowly fading feelings of adjusting machines, tubes and other now invisible equipment would accompany her to the end. She wanted to scream out that she was alive, as her final sense, hearing, refused to give out until she heard the doctor.
"Greenwood's gone. Time of death: six forty seven pm."
The final remark would change her from wishing her return, to snapping enough to accept her death.
"She's gone, and all the better for it. Time has ridden the nation of a heartfelt tyrant."
A heartfelt tyrant. The woman who cared for her family, her parents as they aged, donated to charity yearly, including in her will, was a heartfelt tyrant. That was all she would be remembered as.
"Goodbye, Charlotte." She remembered who that was. The voice of her son. If only she had the strength to say goodbye. No, she shouldn't burden him with her last wishes and thoughts. Goodbye, John.
He was pensive.
He should be happy. He'd won after all. He'd defied the odds, and won. That would show them, surely?
But his own companions? The ones who stood with him? Maybe they're to blame? Or the others - the hundreds of others - do they hate him?
He sits in his hall. His hall, full of two hundred and one people. He looks upon the benches opposite him, at the glaring, visibly unsettled faces of the Opposition. They'd lost to him - to the new Prime Minister. Except Wilson isn't new at all - he won the last election too, albeit by a far slimmer margin. He stood, and stepped forward to the dispatch box. There, he stared down his Opposition. There, stands two men. The Social Liberals had insisted that they remain the official Opposition - but the Athersic Democrats and the Conservatives made a hasty, uneasy truce against their civil war that had lasted for three decades; so they too demanded their recognition. The two Oppositions had decided to face the fact that neither was really legitimate - neither held more than a dozen or two seats, and thanks to the electoral system that they demanded remain in place for decades - the Prime Minister had gained a commanding majority despite less than half the votes being in his favour.
Let us interrupt the Opposition's groaning.
"Great Osynstry has existed for over a thousand years. I also return to this House with a great deal of Opposition, do I not?" He paused as Ledbury stared him down. But he knew it was a stare of glass - behind the glare, she was disheartened, weakened and in deep thought. He could tell she was demanding questions from herself - how could she not be, considering how a few weeks ago, she was projected the Prime Ministry, and a week ago, a real Opposition?
"However, I am determined to work across our party and across the benches with our political adversaries, to address the issues our nation faces in the coming years. I, of course, humbly thank the voters and the institutions of democratic processes that have protected our nation's interests for centuries, as well as those who participated in the election this week and made their voice heard. I cannot stress enough the importance of this.
Now, let us get onto our party's interests for the coming four years. The voting public has given us a strong, definite mandate for carrying out our promises and pledges - and this we shall stick by. We will be carrying out the interests of the nation as swiftly and as smoothly as possible, and the majority the public has given us should help us to achieve this. I am sure my Right Honourable Friends across from me will agree with me when I state that we must serve out our decisions under the nation's wishes and the nation's wishes only. In my second term, I am positive that the deadlock and slow, grinding process that plagued my first term will be further lessened, and we shall be able to better cater to the public's needs.
I congratulate all members of this Senate - whether they be on our benches or on the Opposition - for getting elected. You are among the 200 out of over 160 million who have been elected to this prestigious house, and as much as the Opposition may think they are outnumbered and thus overlooked, I will state now that your interests are in our priorities as a co-operative government, not a divisive one. I do not wish for our nation to steer too far from the nation you have grown up into, but for it to be modernised and streamlined is in our utmost priorities. We stand for the workers and the middle classes, and we will not pander to the interests of the upper classes, just as the Right Honourable Gentleman Anthony Black, my predecessor, did not during the crisis of 2013.
Our first act under the new Senate for the following four and a half years will be the re-enablement of the devolved Assembly of Weskerby. For centuries, the North has been overlooked, and with my heritage and heart still residing firmly in the North's grips, I must respect their collective voice by demanding that the North's voice is heard and that the North's interests are served."
Wilson sits down. He looks upon his own party slowly, as not to alert them into his intentions of discovering their opinion. They have stood up. They're cheering. Cheering? Even the Conservatives?
The Speaker, a visibly aged man in his sixties, soon stands and bellows:
"Order in the Senate!"
After some time, the vote for his beloved Weskerby Assembly has passed. The Speaker once again stands:
"The Ayes have it. 182, to 1."
They'd clearly let him off easily, this once. None of the Opposition voted down the Amendment, barring the notoriously rebellious and outspoken sole National MS, an even more visibly aged man from the deepest regions of the South-East.
As he leaves the Senate, feeling uplifted by a clear and indisputable victory for his lifelong ambition for Northern devolution, he hears of a development in the House. The Conservatives and Athersic Democrats have struck a deal, allowing one another confidence and supply. That could become worrying, considering the Conservatives' reputation in history to vote blindly against anything a leftist had to say, never mind a "radical socialist" such as Wilson. That reminded him, he had taken four years to deliberate upon his true alignment in his party. He began to moderate during the late 2010s, among a relatively social democratic party - but the new elected members are invariably socialist, and they promise a quicker and easier path to reform. That would be an issue for later.
He comes across the grave of Charlotte Greenwood on his path back to his Athersbury estate. He had forgotten, she had died just three days ago. As much as Wilson had campaigned against her bills, as much as he had demanded her removal from the Senate in the early 1990s, back when he was just 19, and recently elected in a by-election in his home seat of Shefforth City, he regretted her loss. Had the election genuinely killed her, or was it pure coincidence? Did she really hold such a hatred and disregard for the man who had contributed to her failure in 1993? A man who would later run the care homes that she resided within during her old age? She had undeniably lived a hard life, and Wilson argued once that "the grind of Greenwood's life has twisted her into the manipulative, sulking and undemocratic woman you see afore you today, Speaker"; maybe he even regretted saying that? Maybe he even admired her, for her steadfast and undisputably pre-emptively decided approach to virtually any issue one could throw at her?
Or maybe her death ushered in a new age for Osynstry. Maybe it was one which was uncertain, less stable than the one Wilson had lived through, and potentially more dangerous. Osynstry would finally have to properly walk onto the world stage, instead of "EI - enlightened isolation" - or as the former PM Black once remarked, "endless indecision" - and the right would no longer be so weak, so quiet and so divided. The figurehead of their division had passed, but maybe their conflict hadn't? He could hope.
... DATE: 12th Novembre, 2020 - 6:37pm
The frail, old woman sat in her frail, old armchair. Both were grey, both past their times and both worn down by a hard life. The TV was on something incomprehensible to her - and maybe it should be that way. Wilson had won. The man who called her "manipulative", the socialist who demanded her removal and succeeded alongside their left-wing companions, securing 30 years of neo-leftist leadership. But at least she could say, every election, that there would be another one, that she could live to be the Prime Minister's inspiration, that she could live to see a new real right-wing leadership. And the polls this time, the final time, would give her the chance to live again, could bring her back from the brink. And then he won.
This time, she couldn't fool herself that she would live through this term. The man was in his late thirties, spritely and enigmatic - she would give him that and that only - and the next election was in 2025. The fact that she had even survived this long was a genuine surprise, she had lost most of her teeth, her powerful voice, her ability to vocalise with her hands and tone, and eventually her ability to move properly. Maybe she could? One more time? Maybe she should have admitted to Wilson that she admired him? He embodied the charisma, the enigmatic vocalisation, the clear and concise speeches, the strength of confidence and the dismissal for the Opposition - except his was far more subdued, and veiled in his speeches with an air of confident co-operation - maybe she should support his Prime Ministry?
No. It is pointless even trying to conceive of that. Who would want a frail, old, dictatorial menace alongside them? It would ruin him having her by his side. And he would - nay, should disagree anyway. He is respected, she is hated. He represents the people, she stands against them. Nobody will ever like her for her, in the same way they like him, they will only like her because of a twisted personality in both their view of her, and themselves. Only the most disagreeable of people will ever regard her in esteem, or the most observant. The few.
Then her heart gave out.
Blinking lights, audibly flustered voices and the slowly fading feelings of adjusting machines, tubes and other now invisible equipment would accompany her to the end. She wanted to scream out that she was alive, as her final sense, hearing, refused to give out until she heard the doctor.
"Greenwood's gone. Time of death: six forty seven pm."
The final remark would change her from wishing her return, to snapping enough to accept her death.
"She's gone, and all the better for it. Time has ridden the nation of a heartfelt tyrant."
A heartfelt tyrant. The woman who cared for her family, her parents as they aged, donated to charity yearly, including in her will, was a heartfelt tyrant. That was all she would be remembered as.
"Goodbye, Charlotte." She remembered who that was. The voice of her son. If only she had the strength to say goodbye. No, she shouldn't burden him with her last wishes and thoughts. Goodbye, John.
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