11-23-2023, 03:49 AM
Geminus, Eiria
8:03 PM
The Kīera Theater was the third biggest theater in Eiria, and by far the most famous outside of the Theater District of Atlantis. A huge swath of seats lined the center floor, and all sides of the theater had two additional levels of private boxes and their attached balcony seats. Ornate murals and light fixtures lined every inch of open wall space, providing a welcome distraction for anyone not so keen on watching whatever performance was on that night. However, that level of apathy was not particularly common, as the Kīera’s schedule was almost always packed full of talented acts from around the world.
However, in political circles, all of those traits were not what made the theater so famous (or infamous). The thing that politicians would most recognize the Kīera for was the third floor stage right box, more commonly known as (Box) 3RA. In Eiria, there is a long-standing tradition of talking politics during stage performances. And thanks to the owners of the Kīera keeping Box 3RA perpetually reserved for politicians and dignitaries, the box served as the setting for all kinds of Eirian governmental decisions, from monumental to miniscule. Outside of the Senate and the Chancellor’s Manor, there was truly no better place to negotiate than the Kīera.
–
Chancellor Leah Stendē delicately closed the door to the private box behind her, giving a nod to the Solar Guard agent stationed on the inside of the door. Inside, a variety of Senators, Ministers, and other public servants were engaged in hushed conversations, only stopping briefly to give Stendē respectful bows before continuing to chat. She straightened her suit Halar before grabbing a glass of champagne from the snack and drink bar. Scanning the faces of the various officials, she quickly spotted her target, a woman in a purple dress glancing through the heavy curtain at the orchestra and choir below.
Stendē grabbed a second glass of champagne and brought it to the woman, who took it with a slight smile. “Your Excellency. It's been a while.” Senator Luisa Fontān commented, closing the curtain with her hand.
“Indeed it has. I believe the last time was the party policy breakfast.” The Chancellor replied to her fellow Green Party politician. “The one with the… shall we say ‘interestingly prepared’ eggs?”
“Ahh, yes, I remember. Whatever cook made those should probably talk to a culinary instructor. Or a therapist.” Fontān quipped. “But I take it you're not just here for the music and champagne, or the ever so interesting company. You want to talk business, and I have a hunch I know what exactly you have in mind.”
Stendē’s polite smile faded somewhat. “Yes, I think you do. You sit on the Committee of Culture, Senator, specifically on the National Museum subcommittee. Recently, a proposal was brought before the subcommittee regarding the funding of a new exhibit at the West Geminus Museum of Eirian History. The exhibit was titled ‘Caxcanan Tensions: The Roots of a Union.’ Do you remember it?”
Fontān sipped her champagne, eyes drifting towards the curtain. “I believe I do, although there are so many exhibits that we've had to approve across the nation that it's quite difficult to keep track of them all. History, while fascinating, has never been my specialty. I prefer the study of more current and practical events.”
The Chancellor resisted the urge to grimace or grit her teeth. Stop playing coy, Luisa. You know what I mean. “An initial whip count shows a surprising amount of Coalition no votes. The Formido and FMC will vote against it out of spite, and the Progressives would usually be with us on this, but with a shaky ground, they'll vote against just to show their voters that they beat us on something. So, you and a handful of others are endangering this exhibit. Forgive me, but I believe that myself and the people of this country deserve to know why.”
“Well, it's a lot of money for an exhibit that will essentially be a pointless reminder of a reality that we are all used to by now. Similar exhibits have been approved in other museums in Geminus, Nordjura, Serenity, and other cities. Besides, given the current geopolitical climate, no one needs a sermon on how strained Caxcana is. Funding art pieces, lectures, and exhibit fees seems a bit pointless when so many other exhibits and museums exist that have the same theme.”
Stendē gave a harsh laugh. “You know what, I almost would've believed that argument. However, your committee voting record from last year indicates otherwise, given that you voted to support the Unity Grant program for expert lectures and presentations on Caxcanan history and the formation of the Union. So, why the change of heart?” Her expression had changed from polite curiosity to barely concealed glowering. “What are you doing, Senator? We can get this passed the Senate with or without your antics, so why are you asking for a fight?”
Fontān pursed her lips. “Well, Your Excellency, our Coalition is facing a rough election season. While our party may not be as desperate as those on the Moderate Left, we are still facing challenges. I'm in the fourth seat in my Kōrtair, and both the ModLefts and the Progressives have been trying to poach my seat. I'd like to see you try to run as a Green in the Jurmala 2nd. And I suppose that I have you and your policies to thank for some of the struggle.”
At this point, the Chancellor’s glare could cut glass. “Is that so? Well, I invite you to be more involved in party policy, if what we've gotten done is causing you issues.” Her slightly loud tone had garnered a few glances from the rest of the politicians in the box, so Stendē began to whisper. “And what in the name of the Republic are you suggesting that I do about your situation?”
“Nothing extreme, of course. I wouldn't get too angry over it.” The Senator finally met Stendē's gaze. “Just a matched fundraiser*. My campaign has been struggling to get the attention of the voters, and so it would be nice to have a bigger budget for ads. We can work out the specifics of party contribution later.”
The Chancellor’s silence spoke volumes as she resisted the urge to laugh. “You can't possibly be serious. You're holding up the funding of a major exhibit so you can blackmail us for a slice of our campaign war chest. Disgraceful. But regardless of your efforts, we can still get the bill through the Senate. Thank the Angels for bureaucratic safeguards.” She shook her head, taking a brief peek out the curtain towards the stage. “Now I see why Lanćaster preferred to get a private box for these events, to avoid this house of legal corruption.”
Fontān took on a vicious smile. “And you know better than anyone that Lanćaster’s policies, as successful as they were, suffered hits in the Senate due to his refusal to meet us halfway. And you claim to be able to get the bill through, but we both know that putting either your or Morrin’s seal** on anything calls attention to the fact that you couldn't get it through the subcommittee. And you really can't risk that going into an election. Any sign that your precious coalition is breaking is a death sentence for voter turnout.”
Stendē tightened the belt of her Halar, glaring at the floor. “Thank you, Senator, for being a stain on the history of Eirian democracy. Forget asking for anything from myself or the party again. You won't get away with this, I promise you.”
The Eirian head of state walked through the part in the curtain onto the balcony, leaving Fontān to ponder that parting remark.
—
*Eirian campaign finance laws are notoriously strict. Among other restrictions, any large donations from rich donors, PACs, etc have to equal small money donations raised in fundraisers, merchandise sales, and other efforts. As such, “matched fundraisers,” where larger donors agree to match whatever is raised, are quite common, as they are an easy way to balance the books.
**By attaching their seal to a bill, the Chancellor can lift a bill out of committee and force a full Senate vote. Likewise, the Vice Chancellor can take a bill out of a subcommittee and force a committee vote.
8:03 PM
The Kīera Theater was the third biggest theater in Eiria, and by far the most famous outside of the Theater District of Atlantis. A huge swath of seats lined the center floor, and all sides of the theater had two additional levels of private boxes and their attached balcony seats. Ornate murals and light fixtures lined every inch of open wall space, providing a welcome distraction for anyone not so keen on watching whatever performance was on that night. However, that level of apathy was not particularly common, as the Kīera’s schedule was almost always packed full of talented acts from around the world.
However, in political circles, all of those traits were not what made the theater so famous (or infamous). The thing that politicians would most recognize the Kīera for was the third floor stage right box, more commonly known as (Box) 3RA. In Eiria, there is a long-standing tradition of talking politics during stage performances. And thanks to the owners of the Kīera keeping Box 3RA perpetually reserved for politicians and dignitaries, the box served as the setting for all kinds of Eirian governmental decisions, from monumental to miniscule. Outside of the Senate and the Chancellor’s Manor, there was truly no better place to negotiate than the Kīera.
–
Chancellor Leah Stendē delicately closed the door to the private box behind her, giving a nod to the Solar Guard agent stationed on the inside of the door. Inside, a variety of Senators, Ministers, and other public servants were engaged in hushed conversations, only stopping briefly to give Stendē respectful bows before continuing to chat. She straightened her suit Halar before grabbing a glass of champagne from the snack and drink bar. Scanning the faces of the various officials, she quickly spotted her target, a woman in a purple dress glancing through the heavy curtain at the orchestra and choir below.
Stendē grabbed a second glass of champagne and brought it to the woman, who took it with a slight smile. “Your Excellency. It's been a while.” Senator Luisa Fontān commented, closing the curtain with her hand.
“Indeed it has. I believe the last time was the party policy breakfast.” The Chancellor replied to her fellow Green Party politician. “The one with the… shall we say ‘interestingly prepared’ eggs?”
“Ahh, yes, I remember. Whatever cook made those should probably talk to a culinary instructor. Or a therapist.” Fontān quipped. “But I take it you're not just here for the music and champagne, or the ever so interesting company. You want to talk business, and I have a hunch I know what exactly you have in mind.”
Stendē’s polite smile faded somewhat. “Yes, I think you do. You sit on the Committee of Culture, Senator, specifically on the National Museum subcommittee. Recently, a proposal was brought before the subcommittee regarding the funding of a new exhibit at the West Geminus Museum of Eirian History. The exhibit was titled ‘Caxcanan Tensions: The Roots of a Union.’ Do you remember it?”
Fontān sipped her champagne, eyes drifting towards the curtain. “I believe I do, although there are so many exhibits that we've had to approve across the nation that it's quite difficult to keep track of them all. History, while fascinating, has never been my specialty. I prefer the study of more current and practical events.”
The Chancellor resisted the urge to grimace or grit her teeth. Stop playing coy, Luisa. You know what I mean. “An initial whip count shows a surprising amount of Coalition no votes. The Formido and FMC will vote against it out of spite, and the Progressives would usually be with us on this, but with a shaky ground, they'll vote against just to show their voters that they beat us on something. So, you and a handful of others are endangering this exhibit. Forgive me, but I believe that myself and the people of this country deserve to know why.”
“Well, it's a lot of money for an exhibit that will essentially be a pointless reminder of a reality that we are all used to by now. Similar exhibits have been approved in other museums in Geminus, Nordjura, Serenity, and other cities. Besides, given the current geopolitical climate, no one needs a sermon on how strained Caxcana is. Funding art pieces, lectures, and exhibit fees seems a bit pointless when so many other exhibits and museums exist that have the same theme.”
Stendē gave a harsh laugh. “You know what, I almost would've believed that argument. However, your committee voting record from last year indicates otherwise, given that you voted to support the Unity Grant program for expert lectures and presentations on Caxcanan history and the formation of the Union. So, why the change of heart?” Her expression had changed from polite curiosity to barely concealed glowering. “What are you doing, Senator? We can get this passed the Senate with or without your antics, so why are you asking for a fight?”
Fontān pursed her lips. “Well, Your Excellency, our Coalition is facing a rough election season. While our party may not be as desperate as those on the Moderate Left, we are still facing challenges. I'm in the fourth seat in my Kōrtair, and both the ModLefts and the Progressives have been trying to poach my seat. I'd like to see you try to run as a Green in the Jurmala 2nd. And I suppose that I have you and your policies to thank for some of the struggle.”
At this point, the Chancellor’s glare could cut glass. “Is that so? Well, I invite you to be more involved in party policy, if what we've gotten done is causing you issues.” Her slightly loud tone had garnered a few glances from the rest of the politicians in the box, so Stendē began to whisper. “And what in the name of the Republic are you suggesting that I do about your situation?”
“Nothing extreme, of course. I wouldn't get too angry over it.” The Senator finally met Stendē's gaze. “Just a matched fundraiser*. My campaign has been struggling to get the attention of the voters, and so it would be nice to have a bigger budget for ads. We can work out the specifics of party contribution later.”
The Chancellor’s silence spoke volumes as she resisted the urge to laugh. “You can't possibly be serious. You're holding up the funding of a major exhibit so you can blackmail us for a slice of our campaign war chest. Disgraceful. But regardless of your efforts, we can still get the bill through the Senate. Thank the Angels for bureaucratic safeguards.” She shook her head, taking a brief peek out the curtain towards the stage. “Now I see why Lanćaster preferred to get a private box for these events, to avoid this house of legal corruption.”
Fontān took on a vicious smile. “And you know better than anyone that Lanćaster’s policies, as successful as they were, suffered hits in the Senate due to his refusal to meet us halfway. And you claim to be able to get the bill through, but we both know that putting either your or Morrin’s seal** on anything calls attention to the fact that you couldn't get it through the subcommittee. And you really can't risk that going into an election. Any sign that your precious coalition is breaking is a death sentence for voter turnout.”
Stendē tightened the belt of her Halar, glaring at the floor. “Thank you, Senator, for being a stain on the history of Eirian democracy. Forget asking for anything from myself or the party again. You won't get away with this, I promise you.”
The Eirian head of state walked through the part in the curtain onto the balcony, leaving Fontān to ponder that parting remark.
—
*Eirian campaign finance laws are notoriously strict. Among other restrictions, any large donations from rich donors, PACs, etc have to equal small money donations raised in fundraisers, merchandise sales, and other efforts. As such, “matched fundraisers,” where larger donors agree to match whatever is raised, are quite common, as they are an easy way to balance the books.
**By attaching their seal to a bill, the Chancellor can lift a bill out of committee and force a full Senate vote. Likewise, the Vice Chancellor can take a bill out of a subcommittee and force a committee vote.
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