Fic Spin Recovery, Part Thirty-five A
Mar. 25th, 2008 12:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalI'm cutting this scene in half just because it has been a week or so since the last bit. Hopefully ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chaypeta won't mind me extrapolating massively about how the Vulpine government works. :)
The Council Chamber of the Vulpine Farm Lords was a high-ceilinged, circular hall, built primarily of natural woods, intending to invoke the traditional design of a farm’s grain storage shed (considered very appropriate by the Vulpine Democratic Movement, which liked to say it was filled with vermin eating the fruit of commoner labour). At the center was the Speaker’s Stage, a circular platform surrounded by the desks belonging to individual Farm Lords and their designated representatives set on rising tiers, overlooked a visitor’s viewing gallery. It was the physical representation of the oligarchy of Farm Lords, all theoretically equal in power, all focused on the goal of keeping the citizens of the Vulpine worlds safe and prosperous.
“The Council Chamber,” Hazel said, her smile fixed, her eyes wide, and her voice on the near side of panicking. “Haven’t been here since a field trip we took in cub school.” She was dressed in her old uniform again, the only thing she had that was really suitable for the rarified atmosphere of the hall, sitting beside Rufus at the Brushtail desk. “What the frell am I doing here again?”
“Moral support,” Rufus told her. He leaned back his chair, looking up at an errant Terran finch that had somehow gotten up into the rafters, trying to look more at ease than he felt.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Aunt Dottie said, sitting in her seat on the other side of Rufus. “Just keep in mind everyone here has to visit the loo just like you and me.”
“Thank you, that’s an image I’m going to carry in my head for the rest of my life,” Hazel said, grimacing.
The Master of the Speaker’s Stage entered the hall, an elderly male, who by tradition was a highly regarded ex-military officer from commoner stock. He used a cane to walk, though more as more of a prop than an aid, judging from the spring in his step as he mounted the stage, a sheaf of old-fashioned printouts in his hand.
“The business of the day,” he announced in stentorian tones, rattling off the date. “First, Countess Riverguard wishes to bring to the attention of her fellow Farm Lords the shocking cost overruns in the construction in the cruiser Rolas Greycoat, which have yet to be properly justified by the primary contractor…”
And so it went on. Several lords spoke out in favor of a committee to investigate the cost overrun and a favorable vote was completed. Another vote was called in the matter of increasing subsidies for the medical care of vulpine living on colony worlds that didn’t have direct supervision by an established lord. That was shot down, after a contentious discussion between parties in favor and against the idea. However, universal harmony was achieved when there was a unanimous vote taken in favor of declaring the following day, “Green Mountain Public Cub School Day” in recognition of that very fine institution’s victory in a planetwide junior band competition. Then the session was paused for the morning tea break.
“Is it always this dull?” Hazel asked, yawning and stretching her arms over her head. “It seems like they’re constantly handling some crisis going by the newsnets.”
“Most of the business of state is really routine,” Aunt Dottie told her. “It makes for dull news, but fascinating history for pot diggers like me.”
“The newsnets always focus on the sensational, not the routine,” Rufus said, snagging a tea from the tray of a passing servant.
“I guess you’re right,” Hazel agreed. “Anyway, shouldn’t your mum be here, if they’re voting on things?”
“That isn’t really necessary. She uses one of our House’s allies to deliver the Brushtail vote on routine matters like they’re covering today, and she does the same for them when they’re not here and she attends Council sessions. Though I’ll venture she’ll wish she’d attended today’s session once I’m through talking.”
“Yes, what are you intending to do, Rufus?” Aunt Dottie asked.
“Confess my sins,” he said to them. “Even if they think I’m barking mad, which would pretty much match everyone else’s opinion of me, I intend on telling every lord in this room what I am and what I did the past seven years. I may have been a criminal but I was no pirate. In the best case scenario this will cut off Commander Blake’s little legal maneuver before it can gain momentum. It’s at least a week’s travel from Earth, so I’ve got plenty of time to try and gather sympathy.”
“And in the worst case?” Hazel demanded.
“The truth will be out and I won’t feel any more reason to hide my failures.” He shrugged. “Besides, I’m told that those rooms at sanatoriums with the padded walls are very comfortable if you’re going on an extended holiday.”
There was a musical chime from the speaker system and the gathered Farm Lords and their attendants made their back to their desks for the second half of the morning session. Rufus straightened up in his seat, anticipating the Master of the Speaker Stage’s next announcement.
“The business of the day continues,” the old Master announced, after mounting the Speaker’s Stage again. Did Rufus see the old male’s eyebrows twitch up slightly at the wording he was about to read? “Next item: Viscount Ru Ofanius Brushtail humbly requests the Council’s brief indulgence, in order to address recent rumors about his personal behavior.” There was a brief murmur among the gathered Farm Lords. By this point most of them had probably seen the newsbites about his drug arrest or heard rumors about his estrangement from this mother the Countess and were likely curious as to what he was going to say.
A chime sounded over the speaker system, a deep bong as one of the gathered Farm Lords announced their wish to be heard. Rufus cranked his head around, trying to spot the holographic faerie light that should have appeared over the desk of the lord in question. When he did, he sucked in a breath, recognizing the male immediately.
“Count Longear, Minister of Justice, you wish to say something on this matter?” the Master asked.
“I do,” the Count replied. “While I commend Lord Ru Ofanius on wishing to clear the air on his actions, I do not believe this is the proper moment. I have but this morning been personally handed a request from the GSA Justice Ministry, requesting Lord Ru Ofanius’ extradition to the GSA for prosecution.”
The gathered Farm Lords muttered among themselves loudly, in surprise and affront, until the Master of the Speaker’s Stage banged the stage loudly with his cane. “On what charges?” a Lady called out.
“Piracy,” a loud voice called out from the viewing gallery. Rufus’ eyes widened as he recognized the speaker. “On behalf of the Justice Ministry of the Galactic Sapiens Alliance, I demand that Lord Ru Ofanius Brushtail be placed under arrest and handed over to the GSA, for conspiracy and active participation in the murder of over five hundred sentients, in alliance with the pirate Mavra Chan,” Commander Blake said, smiling down on them, cool and confident.
TBC
chaypeta won't mind me extrapolating massively about how the Vulpine government works. :)The Council Chamber of the Vulpine Farm Lords was a high-ceilinged, circular hall, built primarily of natural woods, intending to invoke the traditional design of a farm’s grain storage shed (considered very appropriate by the Vulpine Democratic Movement, which liked to say it was filled with vermin eating the fruit of commoner labour). At the center was the Speaker’s Stage, a circular platform surrounded by the desks belonging to individual Farm Lords and their designated representatives set on rising tiers, overlooked a visitor’s viewing gallery. It was the physical representation of the oligarchy of Farm Lords, all theoretically equal in power, all focused on the goal of keeping the citizens of the Vulpine worlds safe and prosperous.
“The Council Chamber,” Hazel said, her smile fixed, her eyes wide, and her voice on the near side of panicking. “Haven’t been here since a field trip we took in cub school.” She was dressed in her old uniform again, the only thing she had that was really suitable for the rarified atmosphere of the hall, sitting beside Rufus at the Brushtail desk. “What the frell am I doing here again?”
“Moral support,” Rufus told her. He leaned back his chair, looking up at an errant Terran finch that had somehow gotten up into the rafters, trying to look more at ease than he felt.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Aunt Dottie said, sitting in her seat on the other side of Rufus. “Just keep in mind everyone here has to visit the loo just like you and me.”
“Thank you, that’s an image I’m going to carry in my head for the rest of my life,” Hazel said, grimacing.
The Master of the Speaker’s Stage entered the hall, an elderly male, who by tradition was a highly regarded ex-military officer from commoner stock. He used a cane to walk, though more as more of a prop than an aid, judging from the spring in his step as he mounted the stage, a sheaf of old-fashioned printouts in his hand.
“The business of the day,” he announced in stentorian tones, rattling off the date. “First, Countess Riverguard wishes to bring to the attention of her fellow Farm Lords the shocking cost overruns in the construction in the cruiser Rolas Greycoat, which have yet to be properly justified by the primary contractor…”
And so it went on. Several lords spoke out in favor of a committee to investigate the cost overrun and a favorable vote was completed. Another vote was called in the matter of increasing subsidies for the medical care of vulpine living on colony worlds that didn’t have direct supervision by an established lord. That was shot down, after a contentious discussion between parties in favor and against the idea. However, universal harmony was achieved when there was a unanimous vote taken in favor of declaring the following day, “Green Mountain Public Cub School Day” in recognition of that very fine institution’s victory in a planetwide junior band competition. Then the session was paused for the morning tea break.
“Is it always this dull?” Hazel asked, yawning and stretching her arms over her head. “It seems like they’re constantly handling some crisis going by the newsnets.”
“Most of the business of state is really routine,” Aunt Dottie told her. “It makes for dull news, but fascinating history for pot diggers like me.”
“The newsnets always focus on the sensational, not the routine,” Rufus said, snagging a tea from the tray of a passing servant.
“I guess you’re right,” Hazel agreed. “Anyway, shouldn’t your mum be here, if they’re voting on things?”
“That isn’t really necessary. She uses one of our House’s allies to deliver the Brushtail vote on routine matters like they’re covering today, and she does the same for them when they’re not here and she attends Council sessions. Though I’ll venture she’ll wish she’d attended today’s session once I’m through talking.”
“Yes, what are you intending to do, Rufus?” Aunt Dottie asked.
“Confess my sins,” he said to them. “Even if they think I’m barking mad, which would pretty much match everyone else’s opinion of me, I intend on telling every lord in this room what I am and what I did the past seven years. I may have been a criminal but I was no pirate. In the best case scenario this will cut off Commander Blake’s little legal maneuver before it can gain momentum. It’s at least a week’s travel from Earth, so I’ve got plenty of time to try and gather sympathy.”
“And in the worst case?” Hazel demanded.
“The truth will be out and I won’t feel any more reason to hide my failures.” He shrugged. “Besides, I’m told that those rooms at sanatoriums with the padded walls are very comfortable if you’re going on an extended holiday.”
There was a musical chime from the speaker system and the gathered Farm Lords and their attendants made their back to their desks for the second half of the morning session. Rufus straightened up in his seat, anticipating the Master of the Speaker Stage’s next announcement.
“The business of the day continues,” the old Master announced, after mounting the Speaker’s Stage again. Did Rufus see the old male’s eyebrows twitch up slightly at the wording he was about to read? “Next item: Viscount Ru Ofanius Brushtail humbly requests the Council’s brief indulgence, in order to address recent rumors about his personal behavior.” There was a brief murmur among the gathered Farm Lords. By this point most of them had probably seen the newsbites about his drug arrest or heard rumors about his estrangement from this mother the Countess and were likely curious as to what he was going to say.
A chime sounded over the speaker system, a deep bong as one of the gathered Farm Lords announced their wish to be heard. Rufus cranked his head around, trying to spot the holographic faerie light that should have appeared over the desk of the lord in question. When he did, he sucked in a breath, recognizing the male immediately.
“Count Longear, Minister of Justice, you wish to say something on this matter?” the Master asked.
“I do,” the Count replied. “While I commend Lord Ru Ofanius on wishing to clear the air on his actions, I do not believe this is the proper moment. I have but this morning been personally handed a request from the GSA Justice Ministry, requesting Lord Ru Ofanius’ extradition to the GSA for prosecution.”
The gathered Farm Lords muttered among themselves loudly, in surprise and affront, until the Master of the Speaker’s Stage banged the stage loudly with his cane. “On what charges?” a Lady called out.
“Piracy,” a loud voice called out from the viewing gallery. Rufus’ eyes widened as he recognized the speaker. “On behalf of the Justice Ministry of the Galactic Sapiens Alliance, I demand that Lord Ru Ofanius Brushtail be placed under arrest and handed over to the GSA, for conspiracy and active participation in the murder of over five hundred sentients, in alliance with the pirate Mavra Chan,” Commander Blake said, smiling down on them, cool and confident.
TBC
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