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In Mutual Prosperity

Clarenthia

Establishing Nation
Joined
May 4, 2010
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1,148
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Alaghan
Nick
Jurzidentia
ALEX KIMBALL

As if almost on cue, the white puffy clouds above gave way, the bright beams illuminating the entire platform. The Charles Kingston Station was the only above ground stop on Fort Duncannon’s famed metro system. Built in the style of 1920s art deco, it glistened with displays of Clarenthia’s former glory yet stood as a promise of future prosperity. The modern additions seamlessly mixed with its original designs, creating a true marvel in the recovering city. “A perfect canvas for graffiti” Alex thought to herself as she snapped photos of the gathering.

Her vantage point had quite a view and the care that was put into placing the press just right was obvious. From where she was standing she could simultaneously snap shots of the renovated station and the glistening, sleek brand-new train sitting on its rails – and most importantly the President in front of it all. A big red banner hung from either side of columns flanking the main entrance to the turnstiles and rows of Clarenthian Flags, gently swaying back in forth in the light breeze flanked the columns. Rows of chairs sat in front of a raised platform where several dignitaries had positioned themselves. Carter Mattis, Mayor of Fort Duncannon – a young, handsome red head of only forty-six years, everyone talked about the bright future ahead of him. He was a strong contrast to Governor David Steinmetz of Deppegrave – a man of seventy years who looked as though each additional day was a day too long. Next to him, Maxwell Prince – the Chairman of the Fort Duncannon Transportation Authority (FODUTA), and perhaps the most hated and mocked man in the city. It was through no fault of his own, he did good work in the nation’s most thankless job. A true odd ball in the group was Peter Slater, the Minister for Community and Economic Development. He was a portly man with an ill fitted suit with round glasses that matched the roundness of his face. Even in the cool air of the day, you could see the sweat building up on his forehead and the red puffiness of his cheeks.

None of the old white men gathered on stage could compare to the presence of President Harry Hughes. President Hughes was the type of man who you really couldn’t tell his age, but you knew he was some sort of old. He had perfectly combed, snow white hair, that showed no sign of receding or thinning – which really highlighted his soft blue eyes, that had bad crow’s feet on either side. Perhaps the only thing whiter than his hair were his teeth, all perfectly straight and a glistening white that made it abundantly clear none of them were real. He was a man of fit build, broad shoulders, and tall. His dark charcoal suit was perfectly tailored to every curve or lack thereof on his body. He wore a white shirt under the suit with the top button undone and no tie – his signature look. And of course, as any good politician did, a lapel pin of the Clarenthian flag was on his right breast.

Alex snapped photos of the President with almost every movement he made. He worked the platform with the same talent that had propelled him to his position. His presence commanded attention. Despite knowing that all eyes in the room were on him, he had a way of presenting himself as though the person he was interacting with was the only person in the area. He had a knack for creating a feeling of deep connection when there almost certainly was not. After he was done making rounds and shaking hands, he approached the podium – a key moment that Alex snapped countless photos to capture just right.

He pulled some folded papers out of his jacket and placed them on the podium, readjusting the height of the microphone and taking a glance at his remarks. He shook his head and folded the papers back up.

“Nah,” he said in his iconic drawl “I can speak from the heart on this one.”

His voice beamed through the microphone. It was soft, yet commanding. There was a youthful vigor that didn’t quite match the aging man it was coming from.

“Now, I won’t keep you all long,” he smirked “But by God we need remark on the history of this day. I remember when I was a young guy, which seems so dreadfully long ago, the Ft. Duncannon Metro changed my life.”

“Getting from one end of the city to the other was so quick and simple,” he said swinging his arm from left, right, left again “I know it seems too good to be true, it was a train that got you to where you needed to go, when you wanted to get there!” He put an emphasis on how he said when, which drew laughter from the crowd.

“I am, of course, making light of it all, Chairman Price. You do an excellent job running the FODUTA and I have no doubt that the people of this great city are grateful…especially those commuters who maybe hit snooze on their alarm clocks one extra time knowing that the train is going to be at least five minutes late anyway.” The crowd laughed again, and the President smiled at Chairman Price, who returned it.

“In all seriousness, folks,” the President reoriented and his tone changed “the reopening of the metro system in this city is a leap forward in recovery that signifies our country’s return to normalcy. It’s new economic opportunity that will connect this city once again and bring new jobs. Now I know politicians since time immemorial have said the same thing, but you know I’m no politician and that’s not my background. I am a man who sees a problem, works to find the solution, and then implements it. I have no time for false promises and I know the people of Clarenthia don’t either.”

“Further I certainly don’t deserve any of the credit for this,” he gestured to the new, sleek modern rail car on the tracks behind the turnstiles “No, no…that there is the result of good, ole fashioned Clarenthian grit and ingenuity. Problem solving certainly isn’t a trait unique to me, by God no…that’s something all Clarenthians have in common. As God as my witness, dare I say we’re the hardest working people on this earth. Consistently, throughout history, our peoples have shown that no toil is too great, no challenge too demanding.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” his smirk showed again as he casually leaned on the podium “There’s no other way to say than to admit that we got one long road ahead. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t relish in the victories that our communities make. This belongs to all of you, and I am so eternally grateful to the men and women of this country for their resolve to rebuild. May God Bless you, and God Bless Clarenthia.”

Alex couldn’t help but smile when she looked at her camera to see her picture of when she snapped the President’s wave to the crowd just before stepping back from the podium. “That’s the one,” she smirked as her survivalist instincts kicked in for her to get the hell out of the area. Anyone knows that if you waste even a second in leaving an event that President Hughes attended, you’d be stuck in a crowd of people for an absurd amount of time. Alex was no amateur and her small stature helped to weave and dash through the crowds as they all mustered for the exits.

“Did you get it?” she heard a familiar voice call. She turned to see Pete running toward her with his own camera flailing about on the strap around his neck. Pete was taller than her, and lankier, but younger. He was the office intern everyone hated because it just so happened his father was the Chief Editor. Nevertheless, though, he did have a jubilant attitude and tact for photos that earned him some respect around the office.

“You gotta be more careful with that,” Alex barked at him.

“Right, sorry,” Pete said, brushing his long strawberry hair out of his face which was covered in freckles. “So, did you get it?”

Alex smirked and showed him her magnus opus – that iconic shot of the President’s wave. “Nice!” Pete chirped.

“Let’s hope your dad thinks so,” Alex began scrolling through the photos “Did you get any?”

“Not really…I didn’t want to be in the press area and get the same shots as everyone else. Tried to do something different but I couldn’t get a good angle,” Pete frowned as he was scrolling through his own.

“Of course not, they want you to photograph what they want kid,” Alex laughed “You just gotta get that perfect shot over the others. Come on, let’s get a cab, we got to get back.”

The two darted toward the street to flag down the closest vehicle they could find. In Ft. Duncannon, every car is a cab if you’re willing to pay the right price.
 
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