The Banner of Crimson, Ivory & Emerald

[Serenierre]

Residence of the President
Forteresse de Villesen
​

Coughing, he put down the cigar in the marble ashtray, a gift from De-Graaf when he had visited Sereniérre in the 1990s, rising from the sofa he trudged towards the open window. He knew he should have quit the habit years ago, as his doctors had advised him on countless occasions, but his addiction to the Vangalan export was far too strong. Now, as age did its ravages to his body, weakening it and bringing death even closer than before, his lungs had begun to fail, prone to violent fits of coughing. Yet, his mind was as sharp as ever, maybe more agile than ever before.

Resting his wrinkled hands on the windowsill, his thoughts went to the upcoming Party Conference, he knew his term had been extended for another five years, much to his relief. The Presidency wasn't one of the demanding jobs of state, as he learned, it served to keep the most troublesome old men of the party out of the hair of the new generation, as it went about its work, but in a most comfortable environment. Another thought went through his mind, he wouldn't live to see the next Conference for he would die soon, his gut just gave him that feeling.

To the distance he could see the building which housed the Party Secretariat, he'd spent much of his life in that building, working for various branches of the government. He knew the choices he made there had propelled him to the Presidency. But immediately, he thought of his family and how he had neglected them. His wife had left him, married another and dying without ever meeting him again. His children, now adults and with families of their own, maintaining a polite distance. Back then, he had been young and idealistic, hoping to usher in a global worker's revolution now he realized the futility of his idealism.

He walked back to the sofa, sitting down with a thud, heaving a sigh, his knees were acting up once again. Soon maybe he would have to get a cane even, he thought. How he hated the ravages of time. He picked up the cigar, took another few puffs and finally snuffed it out. What a waste of a perfectly good Vangalan cigar, he thought to himself, observing that more than half was still left. Folding his arms, he leaned back into the sofa, one of the few possessions of his that he had brought from his own house to the official residence.

Checking the small clock hanging over the fireplace, he knew he had another two hours before he had to leave for the meeting with the Politburo, where their decision would be formally confirmed to him, but maybe he could take a nap. He was sure someone would wake him up just in time. They always did.
​

 

[Serenierre]

Compartment 0304
Cezôrierre to Villesen train​

Invitations were sent months in advance, one to each District Committee, where the District Commissioners would elect one to attend the ceremony in the capital. An affair which usually resulted in some hurt egos and a week of silent protest from the others to the one who won. Leopold Cassa had faced it enough times to know that everything would be fine enough by the time he would return from the capital. Though, to him it now seemed that the others just didn't want to endure the whole endeavor. Classic southern laziness.

Looking out of the window, as the train slowly traversed its way to the capital from the southern forests - the hinterlands of the People's Republic - to the capital up north, he saw the many villages and towns, bridges and farms for the first time in the five years since he had last undertaken the journey to the state capital. As always, he found it tiring and frustrating due to the first timer deputies who were in awe of everything out of their district. Oh, look even the cow dung seems more patriotic here than Farmer Jacques' cows, he thought mockingly.

From the long taxi ride from his small town to the district train station to the two hours he had spent already in company he would never wish upon even the worst of his enemies. Forcing himself to ignore the loud, rather daft co-deputies, he opened the latest book he had bought from one of his trips down to the town. At-least they were smart enough to quiet down after they saw him pulling out a book. A Sereniérrese edition of a recent Carentanian novel, he was half way through it. The usual round of revolutionary romance, a genre booming in the Boreatic country, whose translation was rather engaging, he had to admit.

Though he finally stopped when his stomach growled. Looking around, he saw his co-deputies had already gone off to sleep in their bunks, and sound asleep by the sound of the thunderous snores emerging from the three bunks. Making sure not to disturb his country bumpkin room mates, he exited the compartment and headed towards the dining car, novel in hand. Lena and Eric had just confessed to their love for each other as they stood in the rally facing the King's police and the rifles had been lifted. No way in hell would he wait to see how it ended. Honestly, he would be truly saddened if either of the two died.​