Realistic or Modern &nbsp; UNITED WE STAND | MAIN THREAD |

Braddington || with: Sophia || location: Blair Hotel

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RayPurchase · Jul 3, 2019

Warren Newsom
Secretary of State
The Capitol Building

Warren's breath came out in a coiling stream before him. The cold Washington air pricking his cheeks as he stood in the courtyard, tucked away behind the facade of the Capitol building. It was going to be a cold one, already there was snow in the air, and a thin blanket of the stuff on the ground. Against this pure white dusting the Capitol building, normally a shining beacon in the morning sun, appeared more grey and forlorn. He couldn’t help but feel it was quite fitting, perhaps the true face of the building and what went on within it being revealed, the shining temple to American Democracy being little more than a befouled idol once you looked closely enough.

Warren was wrapped up against the elements, over his customary three piece suit (today a dark blue blazer, waistcoat and trousers, complemented with a light blue shirt and lightly spotted navy tie. It was always preferable to look ones best. Too many young congressmen had resorted to ditching their ties, going for the open collar look. In Warren's mind this was akin to leaving the house without shoes) was a black trench coat. Still he could feel the bite of the wind, even in the relative shelter of the courtyard. In his right hand, glowing brighter in the overcast conditions, was a lit cigarette. A habit he'd picked up in his early days in Europe, and one that he was quite disgusted with if he was honest. Back then the Europeans used to smoke like chimneys, it was near impossible to work without a smoking habit, especially once they brought in he indoor smoking bans, found yourself tapping your heels whilst the person you were after was outside puffing away under some concrete bus shelter. Now he was back in the states he had no such excuse, he didn’t even like the taste of them, hence these Menthol things Jane had got him on. It was the single mindedness of it, up, inhale, down, exhale; and rinse and repeat until done. The chance for 5 minutes of peace, no need to think, no need for any sort of mental work, just simple muscle memory, a chance for everything else to just shut down.

Lord knows the last months had been draining, tapped up relatively early into the campaign. He hadn’t confirmed joining until he was certain in his own mind which was the election was swinging, no sense in nailing your standard to a ship doomed to sink, but he had been sure, seen what way the wind was blowing, spoken to a number of Congressmen and Senators, building an inside picture. The months after joining the team were a whirlwind of meetings and research. Greyson's foreign policy was set, the grand ideas that he wished to follow, it was up to Warren to put all these aims and objectives into a feasible and working set of policies. No small matter when you don’t have the resources of a federal department behind you yet. He had it now though. At his fingertips was one of the most powerful forces on Earth. American Diplomacy. It had changed regimes, shaped countries and borders, a truly unstoppable force.

He looked down at the stub which remained of the cigarette, dropping it into the snow where the flame began to splitter out, and he ground it under the heel of his polished leather shoes. Sarah and Jane were waiting on him, not to mention that Greyson would soon be on his way, another son of Virginia. The man was idealistic, bold, the campaign had been fought on such grounds, a new man and a new way. The question was whether he would be able to remain unsullied by the ways of Washington. The problem about coming in and draining the swamp, is that you tend to get quite dirty yourself, especially as a stranger to this place, Washington can quite easily gobble you up and spit you back out in a heartbeat. Greyson wouldn’t be the first and he surely wouldn’t be the last to meet such a fate. Thankfully in Warren he had an experienced hand on the tiller, the currents and flows of Washington were well mapped to him. They had fought the battle and won, but the long war was ahead of them now, and with a cabinet as diverse as this one they would have to pull together as one, dissent and hesitation would spell doom.

He pulled his jacket closer around him, finally wrenching free from his musings and began trudging his way through the powdery snow and back inside, shaking off the fine layer of snow that had built up on him, and stepped back into the warmth of the Capitol building. Not long to go now.

(Mentions:

ReverseTex )

Braddington · Jul 3, 2019

Dominic Greyson
Son of the President

It had been months and the true realisation hadn't quite hit yet. He’d joked and laughed all throughout the campaign. His father was a member of Congress, sure, but President? The most powerful person in the world? That was not even in his field of view. He would never be related to anyone anywhere close to being that powerful, that well known. Yet it happened all the same. Even on election night, as states turned for that Independent colour, he thought it would stop. Virginia? Sure, it was their home state. West Virginia? It’s right next to them. Texas…? Sure it was big, sure it was a Republican stronghold but his father was a bit Conservative. It was possible. Yet with each of these little additions, the number tallied up and up. Before he reached that 270, Dominic couldn't help but hope he would fall short and the House would choose one of the other two morons running. He didn’t fall short. Soon after everyone was calling his father the President-Elect, talk of moving to the White House began and his life was flipped and turned on its head.

He had planned to start singing, getting over the hurdle of embarrassment and finally getting himself out there. He’d planned to go out and meet people, friends, romantic interests, bosses. He’d planned to enjoy life. The operative word here is planned. It soon became evidently obvious that the Secret Service didn’t like the idea of the President’s son working at McDonald's to earn a few bucks on the side. And meeting people? Yeah, if he managed to get out of the hostage situation he was in at all times. Then even after that, what was the point? He wasn't Dominic anymore. He was the son of the President of the United States of America. How could he have a normal, candid conversation anymore?

“Yeah, I had heard that about Sandra. Oh, by the way, how’s your dad? You know, the fucking President?”

That life was over. Maybe for four years. Maybe for eight. Maybe for the rest of his existence. And whilst he hid it well from his parents, putting up his guise of teenage rebelliousness, he had been affected by it more deeply than even he knew. He was depressed. There was no other way to put it. He was lonely. Internally screaming for a way to cope, to get out of the box. For help. At least he couldn’t fall into bad habits, there were too many Agents around him at all times to even consider it. Trapped. Suffocated. Always surrounded by people, yet distant and unresponsive. Was it selfish to wish his father hadn't won? Probably. Yet he couldn't help it as he drowned in stress.

Now he had to put on a brave face. The inauguration was on them after months of waiting. Time that felt like an eternity. He wasn't that much of a dick to ruin the moment by staging his favourite play. He would smile and wave if it made his father happy, made his mother happy. Besides, it was an historical event right? There hadn't been an Independent President since George Washington. Maybe he could focus on how much of a privilege this was to attend. That could get him through the day without jumping mid oath.

Dominic got dressed, fiddling with his tie, the thing clearly on wonky and very messily like his wavy and somewhat curly hair. He didn’t have the patience to mess with it anymore. It’d do. It was the first time he’d worn a tie ...in a very long time. He exited the room he was given, brushing his hair along the way as he walked to where he knew his father was, interrupting a rather adorable scene.

“Eh, you’re still mine. Don’t worry.”

He brushed himself down, removing stray creases.

“Do I look alright? Presidential, even? This is my big day after all. You all ready? Mom will probably be another six hours.”

Epyk · Jul 3, 2019

JACKIE SHI

Secretary of Homeland Security

To say the least, Jackie was terrified about these next few hours. He paced back and forth inside the Capitol building in a slight sweat. Taking a deep breath, he headed into the bathroom and straight to the sink. He turned on the water, catching it in his cupped hands. Leaning forward, he splashed the water onto his face carefully avoiding his black suit and tie. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. How the hell did he get here? A nurse turned cabinet member seemed like a total impossibility to him.

In Jackie's mind, he didn't deserve the position. He felt he didn't do enough help Oliver out with his campaign. Jackie thought that he was just a friendly face, offering some advice here and there to get Oliver's campaign rolling. Never did he think that it would lead up to this. In addition to his doubt, his inexperience worried him. He would be dealing with people who have decades in politics, decades that Jackie didn't have under his belt. He thought about the things that qualified him. A bachelor's degree. What else? Jackie thought about all the other members of Oliver's campaign team. Surely they had a lot more experience than he did, so why did he pick him?

A flashback hit him back to the Iraq War. Beds with horrifically wounded soldiers, the Middle East further contributing to the heat of the crowded hospital, and a lot of blood. A familiar face appears in his mind. It was Oliver's.

The bathroom door launches open, snapping Jackie out of his daze. "G-good morning," Jackie stutters. The man gave Jackie a slight head nod acknowledging his greeting. Jackie looked down, the water still running down into the drain. He cupped his hands once more and splashed his face with the water. Jackie was frightened by the future, but Oliver chose him for reason. He wasn't quite sure what the reason was, but he'd be damned to let him down.

©SociallyAwkward™

TYPE · Jul 3, 2019

#4dff00
The fact that he had not had a wink of sleep only seemed like a bad idea after the fact. The thin beam of light piercing past the blackout blinds in his room cast a sudden spotlight against one of his screens. Zach sat still for a few moments, his frown growing as he looked at the smudges against the glossy surface. When had he even touched the thing? It's not even a touch screen. Why would he have run his finger through the previously invisible layer of dust that had gathered across it? For a few more moments he entertained the idea of running about his memories, looking for the exact moment, before his eyes focused again on the content of the screen, and not its surface.

The screen showed the face of one Greyson, O. The newest shiteating grin to take the mantle of Commander and Chief. The green text that ran alongside his face on the console had him currently at his new residence. The small background task checking the presidential calendar and a series of other publications, updating a stat-sheet on the man. Where he was. Who was meeting him. What he was doing. Weather in his vicinity. What his children were up to. He had set up his *Homeless Network* a few months ago, when Oliver had first come across his attention. Every other candidate had some or other problematic pressure-point. Something to stain them. Something their campaigns tried so hard to cover up they more often than not just brought more attention to it.

Yet here we have this ken-doll of an American wet-dream. He was married to Greyson, A E T - Aged 37. A charming woman so perfectly diverse a caucus could not have created a better bride for the grease-pool had they installed Sims. And what's more - she bore him two healthy children. A teenage heartthrob with just enough of a pout to have the American youth swoon, and a daughter just young and lively enough to win him the affections of the lonely elderly. And try as he might, he could not find anything on any of them. The boy was a bit reserved. Unnatural for his type. The girl was obviously still being tempered by her parents - so not much of an Online presence. The wife had nothing. No late night flirtations. No distractions. No... dallying. He was on the brink of having to admit that they were the perfect family. Heck, he could not even find a dick pic - and almost everyone had one of those littered about the web. The perfect little family.

Which meant of course that it was bullshit. This whole fucking thing was a scam. Behind every smarmy smile and photo op was something they were all hiding. How the hell did this nobody get this far? Nothing about him made him unique. Or interesting. He was about as appealing as a piece of bread dipped in milk. And yet here he was. President of the United States of fucking America.

Zach failed to notice his hand straining against his mouse, the plastic creaking before he heard a snap. Looking down he saw the thing broken between his fingers, the skin cut with a few deep gashes. The pain cut him from his spiral, as he got up, cursing slightly under his breathing, moving along the dark room towards the medical kit, bandaging himself, before going towards a cupboard of extra tech, taking a spare mouse off the shelf. Throwing the other one across the room into the bin, he plugged in the new one, before packing up his backpack, spraying himself with a can of deodorant. He would need to take a shower when he gets back. Putting on a blazer and getting his camera bag, Zach got his phone out. While dialing his boss [

GhastlySquash ] - he logged out, encrypting the system. Before the phone stopped ringing, he was out the door, looking a little rough, but presentable enough to pass for a 'dedicated' intern. When she picked up he put on his best voice, smiling as he spoke. "Hey, Lin! Just woke up and I am kinda running late. Can I just meet you? Or do we meet at the office?" Already making his way down to the parking area, he put in his bluetooth earphones, connecting them to his phone, before putting on his helmet and getting on his bike, securing his messenger bag. "I am ready to go, so just say the word."

zippy · Jul 3, 2019

Ken Marsh

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"What is power, really?"

location: Inside the Capitol Building
with: n/a
tags: n/a

Stage fright wasn't something that ever truly effected Ken, and today was no different. He straightened his tie and gave a confident clearing of his throat, checking his appearance in the rearview mirror from where he sat in the backseat. He'd wanted to drive himself, but security detail certainly wouldn't allow that to happen. Privacy was certainly a ting of the past, and though the majority of Americans wouldn't recognize him on the street they still had to be cautious. Whatever, Ken wasn't going to argue a matter so trivial. Instead of complaining, he took the free time he now had to mull over the events of the past few months.

Independent candidates were nothing rare, however the traction that President-Elect Greyson had received was pretty record breaking. When he signed on to be the chief policy adviser of the campaign, he knew he was going to be a part of something special. After all, the man wasn't one to throw himself into a project without being very certain of the outcome. His wife told him that he was taking a huge gamble, but he wasn't a gambler. No, he knew what he was doing. And he knew he was the best person for the job. Once the media caught wind of the "Independent Wave", things snowballed quickly. A handful of sponsors became hundreds, and so on. Kenneth Marsh was confident that Greyson was within arms reach of the presidency, and he was going to ride that wave to secure success for himself as well.

The black SUV rolled up to the Capitol. He was quite early, and yet the scene was still sparsely decorated with the most desperate of reporters and feet-kissing politicians. Still, he exited the vehicle and straightened his tie again--perhaps that was becoming a bit of a tic. The light dusting of snow muffled the sharp clacking of his hard soled shoes as he made his way out of the cold and into the building itself. No point in waiting outside to get frostbite, he was sure the President himself wasn't there yet. Inside the Capitol Building was slightly more populated, and Ken noticed many people whom he'd recognized. It was no surprise, though. To fill his cabinet President Greyson had tapped many people who were a part of his campaign staff. It was always nice to have a few familiar faces around.

Excitement coursed through Ken's veins, not nervousness. While he preferred to stand just to the side of the spotlight, he didn't wither under the world's harsh gaze. While he wasn't the focus of today's event, he knew himself that today marked his most powerful promotion. Many people viewed the Chief of Staff as a glorified scheduler. Someone who was simply there to gatekeep. But not Ken. No, Ken would not lay down and act as a doormat to the President. He respected himself far too much to let something like that happen. He was so close. Right there.

And he'd be damned if he didn't use his position to whisper his influence into the ear of the most powerful man in the free world.

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codedbycrucialstar | hidden scroll

AI10100 · Jul 4, 2019

Emanuel Faust

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"duty comes first."

location: Blair Hotel
with: n/a
tags: n/a

Emanuel was rather surprised at the recent events that had transpired. President Houston had assigned him to Mr. Oliver Greyson when he was simply the Secretary of Veteran Affairs. Of course, he had expected that their professional relationship would end once Mr. Greyson would eventually leave the position at the turn of presidency. If he was lucky, maybe he would still be in contact with the family he had grown close to. If not, well, Emanuel could rest easy that they were safe.

So when he had been alerted of the fact that Mr. Greyson was going to run for presidency, Emanuel was the agent that was going to be assigned to him for the election season - and if he won, permanently assigned to him and his family. He didn't have any qualms with this. They're nice people, surprisingly so. Emanuel had known of politicians whose names have been smeared with so much dirt - and yet, this family, there was none. Of course, Emanuel can't just comment on that nor does he truly care. He had a job to do - and that was exactly what he should be worrying about.

The past few months have been hectic. He followed the Mr. Greyson during his campaigns, making sure it goes without a hitch. They were at their most vulnerable when appearing in front of the public. There were too many variables that were beyond their control. Thankfully, there were no attempts to get rid of the running president Oliver Greyson or any attempts on his family. Emanuel spent far too many nights scoping the perimeter, checking and re-checking the schedule, coordinating with the other Agents to make sure that the area would be safe. Relatively at least.

When Mr. Greyson had won, Emanuel couldn't help himself but to congratulate him almost immediately. It was difficult for an independent candidate to win enough votes from the two reigning parties of their system. It had been a small break in professionalism; though considering it was the Greyson family, it had not been the first time nor the last time, he imagined.

Emanuel blinked, bringing him back to reality and out of his thoughts. He was positioned beside the door and another agent was right outside. There was some chatter in his earpiece but that was only a reminder of the time. Emanuel looked at his watch - they would be due any time now for Mr. Greyson's inauguration speech. But they still had time and Emanuel kept silent as he waited for the president elect and his family to finish their preparations.

He supposed he also had to say goodbye to the relatively more peaceful life he had before.

[/div][/div]

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scroll

myst.erion · Jul 4, 2019

"First Lady Adeline Greyson. . . .

"Chiqui, you look so gorgeous, mija~." Adeline flushed at her daughter's beauty. The little embodiment of joy ran in and twirled around for her mother, of her own accord, absolutely delighted to be dolled up, and even with heels! She never got to wear heels [Even if they were only 5 centimeters off the ground]. The eleven-year-old looked up at her mother adoringly and spoke with far too much enthusiasm for the morning.
"Thank you Mama. You look gorgeous too~."
Adeline opened up her arms for Sofia, who barely reached her chest. She held her tight and placed an exaggerated kiss on her head while the two moved side to side.
"Thank you mija~."
"I should go see if dad is ready-" Sofia popped up after a moment and Adeline let her go with a nod of agreeance.
"Alright~", she mumbled, to herself mostly.
"...You know where he is- you tell him I'll be done soon."
"Yup!"
Sofia took off after that, out the door and down the hall for her father. This left her anxious mother to release a breathe she hardly realized she was holding.

The feeling settled at the pit of Adeline's stomach had been there for days now. The closer it came to this day, the worse it got. It was a mixture of anxiousness, excitement, and pride. She wasn't sure she'd be able to ignore it without it showing. Still, she would try. Today was Oliver's big day and nothing was going to ruin his moment. He'd worked endlessly to achieve presidency. Tirelessly. She couldn't be more proud. Her husband was going to be the President of the United States of America. She the first lady. It was like something out of an HBO show. An extremely nerve-wracking and strangling one.

She tsked at herself when a quick pain erupted on her scalp and pulled her earring away gently to remove the couple of hairs tangled in it. Her reflection gazed back at her for a moment in one of the many polished vanity's Blair Hotel provided, and she smiled. It was like her to always look presentable, but today was different. She wore a little more makeup than she was used to; The diamonds teardrop earrings in her hands were a gift from her grandmother; The navy coat on the chaise lounge by the door was new [A guilty and personal splurge for the occasion]; The two-piece burgundy pantsuit she wore was tailored and beautifully designed [by an emerging designer], with a modest turtle neck that continued into elegant lantern sleeves and pants that stopped just above her cream heeled toes. It was soft. And warm. So warm. But that was beside the point. She needed to finish getting ready. And quickly. Sofia was still without her own navy coat, which also rested by the door. As well as her pink beret. A request from Sofia herself.

Adeline hastily put on her second earring before flattening out non-existent creases in her outfit and fixing her gently curled locks in the vanity. With a breath out, curt nod and a silent affirmation to herself, she turned for the door. Both coats and the beret were in her arms on the way to Oliver and Sofia. Almost there, she made a mental note of the "officials" already by the open front door, and the guards moving in and out. She wasn't focusing on faces though. Adeline spoke a quick "good morning" to a suit-clad man just walking into the area, with a smile. He offered a polite back, clearly listening in on something in his ear. She paid little mind to it, and it occurred to her as she walked up behind her son, that they would be leaving any moment now.

Adeline smirked lightly, having heard Dominic's last words. She stepped into the room next to Dominic with a light clearing of her throat, so as to try not to scare him and tilted her head to one side up at him. "Thank you Dominic~ I really appreciate you saying that." She chuckled and shook her head at him, a hand on his arm. "You look handsome as ever, mister."
Sofia realized what she had forgotten, eyes wide, and turned her head to her father. "Oh- mum said she's gonna be done real soon-."
Adeline's gaze turned to her husband, whom the sight of immediately brought butterflies to her stomach. Even after all this time.
He looked incredible. Sofia looked incredible Dominic looked incredible.
Seeing her family like this. It almost made her want to cry.
"And you~." She breathed a happy sigh at Sofia as she took herself over to Oliver. Her right hand came up to his cheek gently. "I am so proud of you....." The look in her eyes was one of pure love.

interacting w/:

. . . . & Sofia Greyson"

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scroll

ReverseTex · Jul 4, 2019

President-Elect Oliver Greyson

Oliver couldn’t help but simper as his son’s remark. His son, virtually a grown man now, was able to admit that aloud couldn't do anything else but make him smile. Setting Sophia on the ground, he made his way to Dominic. Grabbing his son’s tie, he quickly amended its sorry state of being. “Listen Domino, I’ve explained how to do this to you multiple times, if you cant do it now there's no hope for you son.” His comment was light-hearted nature, as he continued. “Good thing I’ll be around to fix it.” Pulling the tie tightly, though not tight enough to suffocate the boy, he examined his son once more. Pressing his blazer down gently, flattening his suit, he nodded. “Sharp.”

The sound of heels clicking upon the ancient floor of the Blair Hotel once more filled the room, as he turned around to see Adeline. God how beautiful she was… Leaning into his wife’s gentle hand, he smiled as her comforting touch calmed the seas that were his mind. “I’d hope you’re proud of me, running for President isn’t an easy feat hun.” He knew it wasn’t the moment for a jest, but he needed to lighten the mood. Today was going to be a long day and any reverence of fun and light-nature would be much needed...

………………………….....................................................

A cold wind was blowing from the north, and it made the bare trees rustle like living things. The snow began to fall again, drifting against the winds, then falling with disappointment to the ground. Majority of his staff arrived at the Capitol building well ahead of the ceremony, likely to fester in what remained of the swamp or assure everything was done correctly. Whatever reason, he cared very little. They were here for him, hand-selected for the service of their country. And despite political affiliation, they’d were all damn sure to get the job done.

Oliver glanced briefly at his watch, noting the ceremony would soon begin. The roar of chatter from below filled the mall of D.C, thousands were here today to watch history… Turning abruptly back to his colleagues, his family, and his friends, he sighed. “I don’t have much time to speak to you folks directly, so here’s my best shot. You all have played an instrumental role for everyone one of us to stand atop Capitol hill today. Whether that role was political, or not. I don’t have the time sadly to applaud you individually for the work done, but we all know what’s on the horizon. And I speak to you now in my final moments as a civilian man, trying to do right by his kids, and his country…”

Locking eyes with everyone as he spoke, his eyes telling a different story as he did so. Feeling a light tap of the shoulder, President Houston stood behind him. The man was a tree, 6’5 and strongly built, despite the balding of his hair. “Glasses, get your shit together. I respect the candor to your staff, but you’re stalling. Put your hand on the Bible and let’s get out of this miserable weather eh?” The President returned to his seat next to his own family, not wishing to waste more time hearing Oliver’s response. Glancing once more to the sea of Americans, he couldn’t help but feel like a zoo animal in its cage...

Everyone in this rp

. . . .The road to power is paved with hypocrisy, and casualties.”

codedbycrucialstar

Epyk · Jul 4, 2019

ZIA GAMBOA

Press Secretary

Zia couldn't get rid of the smile on her face. In just a few hours, she would be working for the President of the United States. THE President. Who gets to say that they work for the President? Regardless, she made sure that she was dressed to the highest caliber: A black, knee-length dress paired with black boots and leggings, all covered with a scarlet red trench coat with her favorite crimson lipstick to match. She browsed her phone, looking at all the latest headlines, all talking about the president's upcoming inauguration.

She switched to social media, looking about at all the previous Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook posts she made for the campaign. She was proud of what she did. Being one of the younger people on his campaign team, she felt the most connected to the younger generation. Social media was an outlet that a giant amount of the population used to get their news, but on the downside, people were absolutely ruthless with their words. Despite all the negativity though, Zia helped guide to the campaign towards success and she was very happy about that.

But she didn't want this job to be her peak. Instead, she saw this as a stepping stone to move on up. Did she like Oliver? Of course she did. But she knew she could be more. Zia slid her phone back into her clutch. She sighed a deep breath, took a seat, and waiting patiently for the speech.

------------------------------------------------------------

It seemed as though it was second after Zia sat down the man of the hour arrived. Standing up immediately, Zia put on the biggest smile on her face, her pearly whites shining. She gave Oliver a bubbly, "Good morning, Mr. President." Oliver gave a brief speech before being whisked away back to the rest of his family. She couldn't believe that the moment was finally here. Her smile couldn't leave her face.

She looked around at her colleagues, all men (which she wasn't surprised by). She also noticed she was younger than the rest of them (which she was also not surprised by). She saw the familiar faces: Congressman Newsom and Senator Wane who she recognized from their previous work in D.C. There was Mr. Marsh who helped with Oliver's campaign, as well as Mr. Shi. There was just one she didn't recognize. Regardless, she knew how hard her fellow colleagues worked whether it was in politics or for Oliver's campaign. Zia knew that if she wanted to stand out, she'd would need to work twice as hard if she wanted to move on up the ladder.

©SociallyAwkward™

ShadowBroker · Jul 5, 2019

"Think of it, as Max Weber said, as part of your task within society. Everyone has something to do, everyone has a role to play and ours..." His father's voice echoed from beyond the physical world, as if the after-life granted that heartless excuse of a parent its last wish, "We are, ever will be, meant for great things. Our task is not one filled by any common independent civil, or a some common thug. We work and think beyond our own Earthly goals and achieve more than those before us, we see the world across the horizon and we know, somewhere, there is a place that is meant to be ours for the taking. This is the mindset my grandfather and his grandfather's father had - so will be yours."

Joseph stood before his parent's grave as he remember that speech, one that he struggled to understand as a child... the complexity of the man's egocentric ideas eluded him. Its been a long time he ever spoke with the man after his graduation, having zero to none contact until this very moment, after years of resentment only to visit him once more at graveyard. He began to read a cart he had been waiting so long to read ever since his father putted his old soul to rest; and yet as he opened it, he found his own pride and despise for the author a constant obstacle to read it at all, or perhaps was because he was not wearing his glasses that it was all blurry and out of focus...

"Sir." a man from behind called for 'The Owl' whom did not flinch to catch his eye, unmoved. The man insisted, "I am sorry, but we are running out of time." it was getting late... he had other places to be, other people to aid. He had no time to mourn or step back, he had a foremost duty to the nation. He hided the letter back inside his coat.

Joseph nodded slowly, catching his breath which had been absent since he arrived, "We are, aren't we?" as he raised from his off-hand some glasses, cleaning them with the sleeve of his coat before setting them back on his face. "Time waits for no man. Not even the dead." then he turned around and began to walk out back to the vehicle which would soon take him to the Capitol.

………………………….....................................................

The cold wind agitating the trees felt almost too familiar to the graveyard he had left behind, as if the weather was pursuing him through the world to catch him. At last that is how it felt to him as he looked outwards through the window in absent thought, daydreaming. If anything people would always remark his constant peace and confident of his presence, Joseph had that feeling of control wherever he went even in situations of stress. Some may add it was only because of his lack of social life, his lack of a family or romance; the way he lives his life in absolute service to Oliver... at least this was the case today.

"Please Mitch, may you find a route to avoid the people." The Owl requested as he ready himself out, his glance catching up to the people that were organizing outside... yes.

"We will try to make your entrance as quick as possible, Sir." as he began to make some calls, letting his co-work drive. Although they wanted to get on early, circumstances demanded a different pace. Nevertheless, Joseph was going to be on that balcony. He dropped his foot down of the car the moment they arrived, the second the security that followed him opened the door. He hided his hands under the abyss that became the pockets of his coat. He shivered briefly at the sudden coldness that he failed to expect. He stood idly for a moment, looking to his surroundings before he was told to move on.

Oliver - that man there was meant for greater things than he could achieve. He trusted that his judgement would not become victim to the perils of politics, and that somehow he will find his morale and courage untouched by the vipers nest that bureaucracy tends to be. As a mentor, one is forever bound by the actions of his pupils and their actions reflected on one self. After all, we are what they grow beyond us - that is the true burden of all mastery, if he ever could call himself master of politics.

At last there he was, passing through from a dark room back to the open, reaching the balcony and everyone that was already there. So many blank faces, so many voices and noise. So cold... and so warm at the same time, surrounded by people he was went to aid as he stood beside the First Lady whom he greet with a smile. He looked beside him to the empty space - a void that was meant to be whole. Joseph felt nothing out of it, but those who saw him would find a poor soul who has never met its match - little did it matter to him. He settled his glance upon the President... The Person of whose face the country would rally on to the future... and he, the man who would aid him succeed... even if he had to sacrifice his future.

Vice President Joseph Sutherland

GhastlySquash · Jul 5, 2019

Outside the office, Lindsay was already waiting with a hastily done poster that said “Welcome Intern!” taped haphazardly over her Mercedes sedan. Currently she was holding a tray with three cups of coffee. She wasn’t sure what to expect with this new media intern, but she’d heard good things from HR.

Plus, it was her turn to cover the new inauguration and the fact that her own father was being tapped for Secretary of Defense was an added bonus. When she heard his call about being late, however, Lindsay took a moment to put the cups down and take a few deep breaths. Part of her wanted to say she missed the call and just drove straight there.

But part of her also dreaded the inevitable moment her family would chastise her for staying with the media tent instead of sitting with the family.

“Glory can’t be all of us, guys.” Lindsay chuckled.

Either way, when Zach did finally arrive, Lindsay would show up with the same energetic smile she had before.

“Hold the papers, news flash! Zack has just arrived in the building can I get a whoop whoop?”

TYPE

ReverseTex · Jul 5, 2019

President Oliver Greyson

Oliver Greyson rested his hand gently against the Bible, it's leather binding chilling to the touch both from the bitter winds and the sheer power it held. Locking eyes with Adeline who held the book, he heard the initiating phrase from the supreme court justice across from him. “Please raise your right hand, and repeat after me.” Raising his hand, the judge continued. “ I, Oliver Ryan Greyson, do solemnly swear.” Within his mind, he could not hear himself repeat these words, but his mouth moved so fluidly. This whole moment, indescribably surreal… “That I will faithfully execute,” gunshots ringed in his mind, screaming, crying. The terrors of war. Was that faithful execution…? “the office of President of the United States.” That title, only given to 45 men, over hundreds of years… “and will to the best of my Ability,” This phrase he did hear himself repeat, most likely to reassure himself. But nonetheless, the moment consumed him once more. “preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.” The moment was coming, Oliver felt it in his bones. Enthralling, yet horrid. “So help me God…”

The roar of millions echoed from the crowd below, reverbing off the ancient walls of the Capitol. Staring around the balcony, Oliver’s mind raced as his fellow colleagues, family, and former Presidents cheered alongside the American people. This unity, unimaginable in any other place… And he was now to give a speech? Practically laughable. But he had no choice… Oliver made his way to the podium, the crowds still roaring, and rested his shaking hands gently against its wooden frame. Removing his glasses, seeing as he had been told they “weren’t presidential”, he took a deep breath. His first breath of presidency. Of power….

“To the entire free world, I extend my unconditional gratitude for this moment, to be able to serve my country in its highest capacity.” Allowing time for more applause and cheer, once it simmered he began once more. “It is a privilege of mine to be able to say I am not tied to the lethal constraints of a political party. Forewarned by President Washington, “Much indeed to be regretted, party disputes are now carried to such a length, and truth is so enveloped in mist and false representation, that it is extremely difficult to know through what channel to seek it. This difficulty to one, who is of no party, and whose sole wish is to pursue with undeviating steps a path which would lead this country to respectability, wealth, and happiness, is exceedingly to be lamented. But such, for wise purposes, it is presumed, is the turbulence of human passions in party disputes, when victory more than truth is the palm contended for.” I stand atop this remarkable building today following the instructions of our Founding Fathers. I wish to restore the promise made by my fellow independent, to have a nation of prosperity and peace, to you. The American people are my first priority; you are the ones who chose me to lead this fight for liberty, to lead you all in this new reality.” His voice rose in a furious passion, the trait that moved the nation in his campaigns. “And so help me God I swear to you all on this fateful day I will be the beacon of hope you desire, I will be the iron fist of protection you need, I will be the voice of reason you hear. I will stand here when no one else will!”

The crowd roared, sending an invigorating shutter through Oliver. “I wish I could promise to you all that this mission will be easy. Roads unpathed are often the hardest to tread, seas unsailed are often the most difficult to tame. The best I can do is call upon fellow men and women of Washington D.C., to ask of them the same as you. For service of country. Not service of self. Not service of the party. Service to the belief that our nation, turmoiled by deception and devastation, can do better. We can do better, you can do better... We all have a part to play in this new reality. I digress, I’m afraid my price to pay is a few more grey hairs and a loss of sleep.” Getting a light-hearted chuckle from the crowd, he continued.

“Nonetheless, I hold the American Dream in my arms, like I would one of my children. This dream that all men and women can be loved and love equally, that no mother should be forced to decide to do with her body, that no one from exterior nations is able to rip this dream from my arms. I would give my life for this dream, I have seen my fellow soldiers do so valiantly, and those men are engraved in memory no different than a man carves stone. I have seen the best of human nature, the ability to unite, to help your fellow man. And I have also seen the worst of human nature, consumed by greed, and desire for blood. But both of these natures are needed to protect this American Dream… The decision is yours to make which one you chose… Make this choice with your fellow Americans in mind, and be damn sure of this choice. You are on the same journey as me, the one of bettering ourselves, and this nation.” His voice once again roared, “We will not abandon one another nor will we abandon our ideals. Our sense of community, our commonality. I have seen the one thing that will bind us together, and that is love. Love of country. Love of hope, love of dreams. Love of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I am a husband, I am a father, and I am a son of this nation! And never before have I been more proud! More optimistic! And I do not need you to tell me you feel the same way too because I can see it in your eyes! Our time has come! Our fight has come!”

The crowd roared with passion, millions of people converging into one audible thunder. Oliver’s body froze, unable to process the sheer power of the event. He struggled to put his glasses back on, hands shaking vigorously with fear. He was now the most powerful man in the world…

Everyone in this rp

. . . .The road to power is paved with hypocrisy, and casualties.”

codedbycrucialstar

Hypnos · Jul 6, 2019

A polite applause seemed the only appropriate response to the inauguration of a new leader of the free world, however such joyous sentiment was replicated in neither the face, nor the eyes of Senator Chuck Baum, whose toothy grin and faux-laughter was merely a delicate facade meant to conceal an inner sense of foreboding. A poor mask; for the red hue that had adorned the Senator’s face throughout the inauguration easily betrayed a sense of anger or embarrassment, though which was worse, it would be impossible to say.

It was not that Chuck had any particular distaste for the man that now stood before the crowds, muttering some rousing bullshit in order to get a few soundbites on the news. If anything, Greyson was an enigma, a single term Representative who had been elevated to a minor cabinet position; scarce enough foundation for there to be any dirt to dig. Nor did Chuck have a strong love for the man who was to be replaced. Houston had acted along party lines more oft than not, but the man had been his rival in 16’ and certain scars of the campaign trail had yet to heal. A political partnership that never stretched much further than that, though Houston’s falling star certainly meant a hindrance for his own career.

The party had really suffered in the gone election, and in his eyes the country as well. Some-no name Congressman had managed to strong-arm them out of the White House in what was being described as an ‘Independent Surge’ and the Dems had seized the House from right under their noses. The Senate was the only stronghold that remained, though even their the ground was shakey. How could people still maintain trust in the party when they had let Greyson run circles around them on the campaign? Houston had never been the strongest of candidates, but on the trail he’d always been strong in the debates, how could they have let this happen? ‘Houston Destroyed in Texas.’ The Media had a field day with that one, the most embarrassing defeat in political history, they were calling it.

It was at times like this that Chuck liked to consider what could have been, and looking at Greyson’s smug face as he said that sacred oath of office allowed his mind to wander to a universe in which he himself had proved victorious back in 16’, or even 08’. Leader of the Free World. A dream. Though it was far too late for such lamentation now. He couldn’t even beat Problem Houston in a primary.

Such wounds were old and familiar however, though that did not dull over the pain of new ones that had yet to be inflicted. Running an independent campaign meant that Greyson would have to balance the party-line, and Chuck had made no secret of his desire for Presidential appraisal, though it seemed no matter how much he willed it the phone wouldn’t ring. Passed over. Again. Some of the appointments had been solid. Wane was a strong choice for Defence, and an experienced Senator, but some of these people hadn’t even held prior office. He supposed you had to expect a circus when you elected a clown to office.

Greyson made a typical speech. Inspiring perhaps for the voters, but it was going to prove hell in Washington. No party meant no infrastructure, and Chuck could already predict that the Senate was not likely to appreciate being called out on their partisan fighting, even if it was plainly true.

But Chuck clapped, nonetheless, despite the worries, his wife upon one arm as they looked up to the newest most powerful man in the world. Best case scenario, he was a one trick pony, and things would be back to normal come 24’, a short enough term that he couldn’t do any real damage, though it was impossible to deny the numbers. Better hope he didn’t step too far out of line, and make an enemy of the wrong Washington big-wig.

RayPurchase · Jul 6, 2019

Warren Newsom
Secretary of State

It had certainly been one of the better inaugural speeches. A very good turnout as well. But then again he could have stood up and declared himself dictator for life and the crowd would have roared with approval anyway. The first independent since George Washington, the smashing of the Democratic/Republican diarchy. Emotions were running high, inevitable comparisons between Washington and Greyson, the likes of Buzzfeed churning out lists of comparison between the two, or whatever lazy bullshit mascaraed as news articles. This was it, the start of a Golden Era of American Politics. The public live an underdog, the little guy, or in this case the 40 odd year old who only had a short, but admittedly successful, run at the VA under his belt and a short time in Congress. Problem with being an underdog is once you win though, then suddenly you’re the guy at the top, the one everyone loves to take a hotshot at, problem with being at the top? You're a nice clear target. Hell look at Brady, 6th round pick loved as a self made player from the depths of the draft, to a 6 time superbowl winner and hated due to his success. A fine line to walk, and a lot of grey between the two ends.

Still... it had been a good speech, no doubt helped by the pervading atmosphere. And if there was an immediate perk to the position of Secretary of State, it was the literal position of Secretary of State. Front and centre behind the new President, indispensable to proceedings, just the way Newsom wanted it to be. He’d cheered, he'd applauded, whether he believed the same as the man mattered little really, the most important thing right now was a united front. You start making trouble as a cabinet minister in week one, you're a traitorous so and so, you start making stands in 12 months, suddenly you’ve got principles. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that though. Greyson was young and inexperienced. From his time in Veteran Affairs he had a lot of good domestic ideas and policies, some fresh stuff. But foreign affairs, right now Newsom was in a perfect place to solidify his hold on the tiller, and he had no plans to rock the boat right now. Not if he could help it anyway.

It was something of a blur after the inauguration. A scrum of people trying to get to the man who until a few minutes ago had still been President Elect. Warren was in no rush, the crowd were mostly the... additional guests, selected from the campaign teams, the odd senator, congressman or governor to curry a bit of favour. To add his own voice and sentiments would be shouting into the wind, they could wait for the White House in a few hours, more private and intimate, and no need to elbow a junior Congressman from the arse end of nowhere in order to hold your space.

The next few hours were a blur, caught up with the speech, the walk around Washington, endless pleasantries (Christ alive, they hadn’t actually achieved anything yet) before the drive to the Capitol. Himself and his wife Jane bundled into the car). They squeezed each others hands as they looked out of the darkened windows of the stretch Cadillac. There it was, the home of the President, and icon of the country, home of the most powerful man in the world. Rushing to meet them on the other side of side of an inch of bullet proof glass.

“It's a lot smaller than I imagined...”

Mused Jane, her eyes fixed on the dwelling approaching them. Warren couldn’t help but agree. The closer it got the smaller it seemed to get. Compare it to the residences of heads of state across the world, Buckingham Palace, Palais de l'Élysée, or the one he'd actually been inside on an official capacity, Schloss Bellevue (in his time as Ambassador to Germany he had attended several rather grand state dinners there, if the Europeans were good at anything it was pomp and ceremony. Combined with 20 odd hectares of surrounding garden, it was something to behold). Meanwhile the American President was squeezed into a 168 by 85ft house in the middle of DC. He grinned and leant over, whispering into his wife's ear.

“Well we can't have the president being too comfortable can we. If it was up to the public all politicians would be living in hostels and being paid minimum wage if they were feeling kind. It's a miracle the President isn't made to work out of a broom cupboard next to Congress?”

He leant back chuckling to himself, a smile on his wife’s face as they passed through the gates leading into the wider estate.

Final part now, the First Family walking through those doors, and into public life, at which point the charades and pomp would be over. Who'd have that a day doing... well not a lot when it came to it, could have been so tiring. Following the First Family's heavily photographed entrance into the White House, the rest of the motorcade decamped. Mostly Cabinet members and high ranking White House staffers, the inner circle, as such there were still a strong cadre of press taking photos, for the next 4 years all of their faces were going to be plastered on the front pages of print and internet media, for good or for bad. This was a perfect chance to get some up to date snaps, nothing worse for an editor than a breaking news story, and they’re stuck with an 8 year old photo of said Secretary from when he was nothing more than a paper pusher.

There were already drinks set up in the State Dining Room. He looked out the southern window, the sun had long set now, the glow of Washington could be seen over the greenery. A city still alive with hope of what was to come, Greyson had won DC by a comfortable margin, right now he was living in allied territory. He frowned as he glanced about the room, there were countless familiar faces dotted about, but one was still missing. The man of the hour himself. Giving his wife a peck on the cheek, and a muttered explanation of his imminent departure from her company he set off in search of Greyson. A perfect opportunity to congratulate him, and best to get there nice and early, get him before he starts getting too bored with the adulation and ring kissing. It turned out Warren had timed it near perfectly, Greyson emerging from a doorway into the Stateroom. Fashionably late to his own celebration. Acceptable he supposed, a lot to take in so immediately. He strode confidently towards him, a smile spreading over his features, a hand extended in greeting.

“Mr President, we were starting to miss your company. Absolutely stellar speech, I could almost feel my heartbeat increasing, and it hasn’t done that in a while.”

His Virginian drawl was heavy like molasses, rich and textured. He shook Greyson’s hand, giving him a light tap on the shoulder with his free left hand.

“A night for celebration. Months of hard work and now your reward. 4 years of even harder work, but at least nicer surroundings to do it in ,”

(

ReverseTex )

ReverseTex · Jul 7, 2019

President Oliver Greyson

From the time he was herded off the balcony, the walking parade around Washington, and arriving at the White House blurred into unison. Today was one to be celebrated, not lost in translation. It was a celebration for him, for all of his achievements, and yet he still felt oddly unsatisfied. And he couldn’t particularly pinpoint why…

Once the family finally stepped foot in the White House,a group of men in various military uniforms bombarded Oliver. “Mr. President, you’re needed in the Oval Office for a moment.” Glancing to Adeline and the kids briefly, he then caught eyes with Emanuel. “Stay with them, make sure the kids don’t get bombarded by the snakes in the state room.” Suddenly he was jerked away from his family, a feeling he’d hope to get used to with the job, but knew likely not. “Mr. President now that you’re officially at Crown, we must explain to you the nuclear football, various codes for operation, and the Decapitation plan. Once done, you’re welcome to return to the festivities of the evening.” Nodding, the door to the office suddenly was open for him, as the room was filled with various more men. And the football.

Oliver didn’t track how long the meeting went, fretting he’d forget one of the various codes. Nevertheless, the Oval office vacated quickly in his world, leaving him in isolation… Standing atop the presidential sealed carpet, he faced the desk, arms tucked neatly behind his back. From JFK, to Reagan, the Resolute desk was the stoic symbol of presidential power. The abyss of Washington D.C stood behind the desk, the lawn glowing in contrast bath of LED lighting… Finally Oliver moved from his position, slowly pacing to the desk itself. Running his hand over the smoothed wood, every indention noted, he paused as he turned the corner towards the chair. The throne of the free realm… Placing his hand upon its cool leather, he slowly rolled it back to sit in. Washington’s painting cause his eye as he leaned back in the seat, moreover, reminding him of the man he was to be. A stoic man, an honorable man, a kind man… But that wasn’t D.C… You had to kill, or be killed now… And that was the truth… Oliver snapped from thought, remembering his obligations. “Good lord,” the president mumbled to himself as he glanced at his watch. Hurrying from the office, he was immediately flanked by two service officers, who he overheard mumble.

“Coyote is on the move.”

The state dining room was filled to the brim oddly enough. Cabinet members, family, friends, and many politicians littered the room. It had been Adeline’s idea to host this intimate party following the inauguration, rather than attending the many balls around the city. Just as Oliver was to reach his beloved wife, his view was quickly interrupted by Warren Newsom. Shaking the man’s head respectively, he listened to the accolades half-heartedly. He knew they were fairly honest coming from Warren, a man of fearsome reputation and respect on the Hill. But politics was politics. The truth and lies intertwined all to well… “I appreciate the compliment Warren, I’m glad your heart was pumping enough blood to keep you warm. Damn snowstorm was meant to come tomorrow.” Chuckling at his following comment, Oliver continued. “Asylums I believe had white walls did they not?”

AI10100

. . . .The road to power is paved with hypocrisy, and casualties.”

codedbycrucialstar

RayPurchase · Jul 9, 2019

Warren Newsom
Secretary of State

Warren let out what sounded like a genuine burst of laughter. To be honest he wasn't quite sure he could genuinely laugh at anything anymore. Years of polite laughter at countless terrible jokes made by a never ending gallery of heads of state. And as a Diplomat you had to laugh at everything single one of them. Leaves you unable to discern good comedy from bad.

“Well you know what they say, you don’t have to be crazy to work here...”

He left the sentence hanging in the air. He reckoned that every President couldn’t be quite normal. This job chewed up and spat out normal. The responsibility, the workload, the sheer amount of criticism no matter what you did.

“So have they showed you where all the bodies are buried? All the juicy stuff they leave out of the tours,”

His brow suddenly furrowed into a frown.

“You must forgive me Mr President, in my haste to congratulate my fellow Virginian, we're both standing here without a drink. Tonight is surely a night for toasts and overflowing glasses,”

ShadowBroker · Jul 9, 2019

A speech that spoke of the nature of men. The way social actions that grow from within its nation fractured and manufactured yet again by the morals of our betters that came before us. A dream which 'we' had appropriated whole like some condominium, one which each of us were to live in, take care of and secure. A delusion bought by the people that paid heavily to pursue its materialization to our world; people much alike Oliver and their like, or in a even lesser sacrifice much alike Joseph himself. Yet together to serve the nation, not the utopia of dream they had been searching for, but a very close real image that can fairly scratch its perfection.

It was a good speech if heard from the outside, even if heard from dull ears or fanatics. If people knew the hardship that man had been through and the truth of his real nature, they would know to weight properly each of his words. Maybe then they would know and feel, much as he does, how the ground trembles at his voice more than the cold that rested in their shoulders. Maybe then they would cheer harder, clap faster, roar stronger... yet again this was not suppose to be a show of loyalty nor a display of unconditional victory, but the start point; the moment to earn the people's hearth was yet to come.

At the end of the speech he stood idle as he used to do, awkwardly absent, returning both of his hands to his coat as he played with the heat of his breath upon cold temperatures, the steam coming out from his mouth like a small stove. He grinned to himself, how immature he looked as he got easily distracted from such far more important event - as if they know what it meant to him. He turned around, finally, and walked away.

He ended up, finally after watching the Presidential family march down towards the White House blinded from each side by photographers; at the small celebration of a more private aspect... at least as private as it could get. He continued to walk around as he felt the veil of the night strike completely the outside scenery, nothing but the lights of the city had now the duty to illuminate it to the best of their ability so it would finally glow loudly into the darkness.

He had no real hunger more than he was thirsty, yet he restrained himself from drinking anything strong or any type of alcohol. A cup of coffee he would not mind - even it would keep him awake all night. He spent a few moments learning the names of those members of the staff he had failed to meet before - there was still time to get to know them all, though. However there were but few whom he need not to get to know - few of whose name he knew by the letter. He stood quietly as he watched, from the corner of his eye, at the Secretary of State indulge himself with the President first - much alike a recent new born lion being haunted by a smart wolf. Joseph could go and learn the nature of the conversation, but it was unlikely Oliver would learn anything if Joseph was to interfere with everything that comes to his path.

The Owl knew when it was wise to spoke and when was wise not to - the time would come when he would walk at his side no more than the shadow that follows the sole of his feet, and become the voice of his president that echoes within him.

Vice President Joseph Sutherland

ReverseTex · Jul 10, 2019

President Oliver Greyson

Everyone wears masks in this city, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin… Oliver thought silently as Warren’s placating laughter rang in his head. This city ran on masks and lies, corrupt albeit but the truth. If you’re honest, you’re no different than a gazelle in the lion's den. War was different. Nothing to hide oneself behind when you’re staring death in the eye, either observing or assisting in the man’s work. You can’t run from death…

The sound of the crowd quickly dissolved within the liquid state of his mind, merging with the arising sound of rifles. The rifles pattered relentlessly, the barrage of bullets not visible in his current lapse, but knowing their destination by memory. The laughter in the room shifted to screams, ones filled with the pain only felt while meeting death…

Oliver snapped from his reverie, returning his full attention back to Warren, who clearly noticed his mental absence. “My apologies Warren, I’m afraid tonight isn’t that night for me. When we bomb Iraq, that’ll be the night to numb my mind.” His voice lost its charming warmth, exchanged for a munch more colder tone. Clasping the man on his shoulder briefly, he glanced over the man’s back to spot a pair of owl-like orbs upon him. He knew his next target for the evening.

Making his way to Joseph, his most trusted friend besides his wife, Oliver briefly adjusted his crooked glasses as he came to a halt. “I feel like I’m in a Natural Geographic documentary. It’s not like I didn’t expect this, but still…” Tucking his arms gently behind his back, mostly out of military habit, he continued. “Bet you’re having a fabulous mental field day, these scenes always seem to appeal to you.” Pausing his train as he felt a light buzz in his pocket, his secondary phone. What did they want now? Disregarding the event as if it never happened, he returned full attention to Joe.

ShadowBroker

. . . .The road to power is paved with hypocrisy, and casualties.”

codedbycrucialstar

[/QUOTE]

zippy · Jul 10, 2019

Ken Marsh

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"What is power, really?"

location: Capitol Hill > State Dining Room
interactions: Warren Newsom

RayPurchase
mentions: President Greyson | VP Sutherland

If he had to be honest, Ken was never really a fan of speeches. They were a symptom of some of the worst bits of humanity. The desire to seek out the head of the pack. The desire to find someone who exuded power, presence, and poise. It was funny, he could flick through Twitter right this second and stumble across thousands of people who would proclaim their hatred for politics. Swear against getting involved and calling voting a total sham. Except it was impossible not to care. One finds themself inexplicably drawn to someone like President Greyson. No one actively likes a charade, but in politics everything is a charade. A fake. Purposefully designed to entertain the masses.

Ken stood among his fellow cabinet members during the inauguration speech. No matter whether you agreed with the opinions of the man or not, one could not deny the hold he had over the American people. There was charisma, and then there was whatever Greyson had. Something special and almost magical. The lull of the crowd, the applause, all of it were signs that the newest President was going to be something spectacular. That, or he was going to crash and burn. But it was Ken's job to not let the latter happen. Well, Ken along with the rest of the cabinet. Where the President was the house, the rest of the cabinet was the foundation.

The speech drew to a close and Ken applauded obediently, though his face remained stoic. He found this entire event to be quite insufferable. Though he'd play along and attend the post-inauguration party, he'd much prefer it if they didn't have to do those things. He knew that some of the people attending were genuinely friends, but Ken felt that his relationship with everyone was strictly business. So while he held a respect for each of his... coworkers, he preferred to keep interaction at a minimum. This was probably a trait he'd have to suck up though, especially considering the "intimacy" of his current position. Perhaps making friends would be best. Ken was starting to become quite the friendless, grumpy old man.

As the invited guests made their way to the state dining room, Ken was already there. He mingled enough with the various politicians there, holding a drink in his left hand and keeping the right stiffly at his side. There was a gap of time between when he arrived and when the first family did, but there was no shortage of excitement in the room. The buzzing energy was almost tangible, creating a thick and sticky atmosphere that amused Ken but didn't interest him. He could tell who was only there to get a chance to kiss the boots of their newest Commander in Chief, and when the First Family entered the party Ken did not move from his post. He didn't find immediate congratulations to be necessary. He would let others fill that role. But as his eyes scanned the room, he was interested to see the Vice President in a stance similar to his own.

It seemed the man was similar to Ken, both silent and watching from the sidelines. Knowing their place and knowing their role, and not finding it necessary to be a glorified lap dog. Ken took a sip from his drink, mulling over it before swallowing it down and resuming his somewhat empty conversation with the Freshman Congresswoman before him. His words were engaged with her, but his eyes were not. They wandered curiously across the party, focusing on Warren Newsom after the President left his side. Warren was a curious guy, but someone who Ken knew he should attempt to get to know better. Excusing himself from his current conversation, Ken made his way over to the man, grabbing a fresh drink along the way.

"No worries, Mr. Newsom. The President has plenty of people to mingle with tonight." Ken nodded his head in the direction of Greyson and Sutherland. "A drink and a toast, though. Tonight is a momentous occasion, both for our country and for us." He offered the fresh drink, hoping that Newsom would expect. Though he wouldn't be devastated if he were shrugged off. Time and place for everything.

[/div][/div]

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scroll

ShadowBroker · Jul 10, 2019

"Roads unpathed are often the hardest to tread~" he quoted his speech to the letter as he adopted a similar stand, though not yet looking him at the eye. Not because out of embarrassment nor respect, but as one of an animal that analyze the environment around it before comfortably lay down its wings and rest for the night. He nodded back at the President, clarifying what he expected to happen, and perhaps that of which Oliver failed to foreseen; he whispered "We are, after all, political animals. Watch as untamed wolfs and mighty deers bow and cheer the ascendance of a new lion. Watch as it is your choice to acknowledge them." making amuse of his latter quip yet still not trying to make eye contact. He acknowledge in direction to Mr. Marsh, whom he recognize as the Chief of Staff reuniting with Mr. Newson for further plotting, or that is how he saw it.

Josehp was a team-player, not a leader but the tool to endorse it and rally the people into an idea through the concept of duty and diligence. He need not a strong hand but a clever mind and a serene glance, a graceful peace that could soothe the fearful beast. He was, also, greatly underestimated for his both neutral and calm movements as if he never had any, not at all, emotional reaction. A false sign of weakness, of shyness, that many would remark if they knew his very shaddy childhood built by his departed father, to be cold, precise, calculative... a relentless and passionless machine. What else would bring a cold shiver to the spine, if not a man who lives and acts not like one?

Oliver was something else for him though - a true friend he felt close at heart. Josehp had friends before, but not everlasting. An anomaly if they had already acknowledge his machinery, a normal relationship if people still hoped for his humanity. Still a strange feeling of closeness through mentoring, feeling his voice not only be heard but listened to. Many would relate it to the meaning of have control over another life that such drives the friendship, but somehow he also felt Oliver marked him as trusted friend, of whose opinion he could use not only in the profession but in private life... although everyone would not even consider it, knowing his own lack of personal life - wife, kids, holding no contacts to his half-siblings or mother-in-law. At the end, such trust came both ways as he felt loyal to Oliver as much as he is loyal to the Nation - unbreakable loyalty through his determination and ambition to see the world around it exceed mortal splendor, or perhaps a loyalty that came through emotional bound by considering him a true, and only, friend.

Whether or not the President had done as well nod back at the group of which he managed to fairly escape from; Joseph met his friend and leader with a gentle grin, breathing slowly as he recover his normal pace, "It entertains me, to use every technique I learnt and employ it all at once; facing a new challenge, resolve their puzzle..." he paused grasping his glasses, giving a tap and then folding his hands back to their original position as he took notice as well of the buzzing of his phone - as well as Oliver's reaction in which he chose to neglect it in tired form, "-Though I am far more concerned on how you are taking all of this. Your mind must be sharper than any of them and 'we' must begin to find proper use for this kind of 'parties'." he empathize purposely as he finally nodded to his last word, and adding the 'we' as he allowed his friend to feel how he was as much danger as Oliver. He wanted to ask further more about it, learn his state of mind - but maybe it was not the right time... "After all, we are together on this, aren't we? We are here to serve the nation, to the best of our ability. Love for our country - both the good and the bad."

zippy

Vice President Joseph Sutherland

ReverseTex · Jul 10, 2019

President Oliver Greyson

Oliver simpered at the man’s quotation, the first compliment of the evening he truly took to heart. In his mind, the speech was mediocre. It did the job to inspire, to provide hope and prosperity. But, he always felt he left himself short. That sliver of doubt always lingered, slithering close behind to assure it kept up. His eyes wandered the room as he digested the man’s words, who quietly entered through his ear as he caught glances with Kenneth and Warren. He hired cunning men, unafraid to go for the jugular. Yet it was a double-edged blade. Their willingness for blood in the water could be his just the same as it could be the enemy. That made Joe’s job to keep the wolves away.

“They say to be president you’ve got to enter with a troubled mind, to exit with a broken one.” Oliver spoke softly, his tone light-hearted to self assure himself. “The campaign was my whetstone, sharpening the blade for a year and a half. So trust me when I say; it’s ready for battle.” He could feel Joe’s tone shift to concern, a minuscule detail only detectable by the man who knew him best. He often confided to the man, his shell-shock mostly, but often on personal issues. His fear of the power, his family issues, whatever it may be Joe had always been there to listen. His words soothed his plagued mind, differently from Adeline’s, but nonetheless vital to his survival. And Joe knew that, as Oliver tried to do the best he could in return for the man. He knew his lonesome lifestyle hurt deeper than it seemed, and he needed a rock just like himself. They together were a frightening force, untamable and unrelenting in whatever they desired to achieve.

“Indeed we are. And I’m afraid our abilities won’t be enough… There’s always a way for the world to return the favor.”

ShadowBroker

. . . .The road to power is paved with hypocrisy, and casualties.”

codedbycrucialstar

AI10100 · Jul 11, 2019

Emanuel Faust

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"duty comes first."
location: State Dining Room
with: Oliver, Adeline, Sofia, Dominic
tags: