OOC Note: This is an internal RP of the court of King Paul II. No real plot or anything, just insight and a Brettish reaction to world events.
It was another muggy but cool June evening in Kronstadt. At the Aquitaine Palace, the King sat in an armchair in his study. The crystal chandelier that hung from the high ceiling was dimmed, but the sconce and table lamps around the room kept the room bright enough for the King's Evening Meeting with the Executive Cabinet.
Barring an emergency, the Evening Meeting was often just a debriefing of the days events, and often included only the ministers from Foreign Affairs, Finance, State, Defence, and National Security, including the Prime Minister. It had been the King's duty to meet with these six people every night before retiring. He had been doing it since ascending to the throne in 1990, and tonight was no exception.
There around him sat five men. Mr. Dahlgren, the Prime Minister, was rarely late for the Evening Meeting. Of the four Prime Ministers who had served under Paul, Dahlgren was certainly one of his favorites. Prompt and professional, yet easygoing and calm, the Prime Minister was everything the King envisioned in an effective leader and gentleman. Approaching fifty, Dahlgren was little more than a year older than the King. His steel-gray hair was always combed neatly, and his trademark navy blue suit always pressed crisply. The two men saw eye to eye on a variety of different issues, sharing a libertarian philosophy to politics, as well as progressive ideals for social affairs. That was why Dahlgren quickly rose to the top of the King's favorites list.
Foreign Affairs Minister Anthony Corey sat next to Dahlgren on the Victorian style davenport. A tall, handsome man, Corey was somewhat of a mystery to the monarch. Their personalities often clashed, although these clashes manifested themselves in brief periods of awkward silence as the two men tried to decipher each others thoughts. Corey was a man full of dry wit; a man who common humor was lost on but who found jokes about legal affairs to be just the thing to tickle his sides. He wore large, titanium-rimmed spectacles to meetings, but only to read the documents he was handed. Corey's farsightedness was something not well known beyond the walls of the Aquitaine Palace or the diplomatic community in Kronstadt. A bachelor at 32, Corey had yet to marry, although his romantic interests were always a subject of rumor and speculation.
Sir John Allen Hill was Chancellor of the Exchequer. Pushing seventy-eight, Hill was a bald, facetious man with a foul temper and little patience for malarky. He had been in the position of Chancellor since Paul's father, Alexander III, had appointed him to that spot nearly twenty-five years prior. The King secretly hated Hill and his voluminously arrogant ego, but for however annoying Hill was, his knowledge of financial affairs was second to none. For the most part, Sir John would sit opposite the King, quietly listening with his hands folded over his knee. When it was his turn to speak, though, or when he heard something not to his liking, Hill's words ran through the ears of his listeners like tinfoil on a chalkboard.
Defence Minister Thomas Kaulitz sat patiently along with the other Ministers and the King. At fifty-one, Kaulitz bore the scars of a stressful life. His face was marred with deep wrinkles, and his temples and eyebrows were tinged with gray. He was by far the quietest of the group, a former Lieutenant General in the Royal Air Force who learned to speak when asked. Most of the time, he would watch intently with his intimidating brown eyes as other Ministers spoke. When it was his turn, he stood, and with a strong voice, presented his piece with tactical knowledge and verbal efficiency. A widower, Kaulitz had two teenage sons, both of them with rather animated reputations throughout Kronstadt as alternative rock musicians. What teenage girls at school didn't realize, however, is that the stern old man in the tweed coat was the father of the punk rocker boys.
Edward Asner Wuncler III was, like Kaulitz, a gruff and hardened man. While Kaulitz still held a restrained and calm outlook towards life, Wuncler was instead a mean and bitter man. A former Lieutenant Colonel in the Royal Army, and intelligence officer in His Majesty's Intelligence Bureau, Wuncler was a man who still had something to prove in life. At sixty-eight, he was running out of time to do so, and he realized that. Overweight and short, Wuncler often took cheap shots at other people's expense. Politically, Wuncler was referred to by the press as "His Majesty's Loyal Pit Bull," for his often brash and sometimes irrational approach to matters of National Security. Nevertheless, Wuncler loved his country, and nobody could deny his dedication and patriotism to the Crown.
The mahogany grandfather clock in the corner continued to tick as the time struck 8:45. The Evening Meeting was supposed to commence at half past eight, and was usually over by nine o'clock. The Minister of State was running unusually late.
"I believe Sir Charles will be absent from the meeting tonight," the King finally spoke. "In the interest of time, we should probably start the meeting."
And it was at that moment that the Minister of State burst through the door.
"Sir Charles, we were beginning to suspect you had been abducted by aliens," the King spoke as he stood beside his armchair.
"I apologize, Your Majesty," the Minister said, out of breath. "I was having car issues."
"No need to apologize then, Sir Charles. Please, have a seat," the King offered.
The Minister of State, Charles Nelson Blyden, was a man of fifty-seven. He had red hair, graying, surrounding a round face. His somewhat disorganized style was evident as he clutched a folio full of papers. Where he lacked in his organizational skills, though, Blyden made up in his abilities as an internal affairs minister. He knew the names of every mayor of every city in the Kingdom, population 10,000 or over. He could also tell you exactly how many cops were serving in the St. Marys Police Department. He was a man married to his work, divorced from his wife, and father to his children on the weekends.
As suspected, the Evening Meeting did not last very long. The various Ministers presented their daily reports to the King, with hardly anything being out of the ordinary. Wuncler and Kaulitz clashed somewhat over the riots in Tyrisle and the security of Brettish hemp plantations there, and Corey tried to lighten the situation with a few jokes, all which fell flat.
After the meeting, the Ministers all stood and shook hands. Palace servants, with gloved hands, collected the Ministers' coffee cups and placed them on silver trays to be cleaned. The King walked back to his desk, and quietly lit his pipe. It was a ritual of his ever since he quit smoking cigarettes to smoke a pipe at the end of the day. The pungent but pleasing smell of vanilla pipe tobacco filled the room, as most of the Ministers left the room. The Prime Minister, however, remained.
"How is Lady Elena and Paul?" the King asked the Prime Minister.
"They are well, Your Majesty. Thank you for asking."
"Sir James, what do you honestly think of this situation in Tyrisle? I saw the article in the Post yesterday. Bigelow is reporting massive profits at a time when they're secretly concerned about the security of their capital overseas," the King said.
"Sire, I truly believe that the labor riots in Tyrisle present no immediate danger to Brettish interests there. The people of that nation have been our friends for nearly 80 years. Bretons go to Charleston to spend billions of pounds in tourist dollars every year. And it is no secret that Bigelow is looking for more subsidies to build up their overseas operation. I think these 'concerns' of Bigelow's is a way to get some more tax money to fund the outsourcing of Brettish labor. Sire, to put it in a way: I wouldn't be as worried about a bear on the other side of the river if I knew there were snakes right behind me."
The King smiled as he sat on the edge of his desk, looking down at the pipe in his hand. Dahlgren was always an insightful man, and always had a way of putting things into perspective.
"Have a good night, Sir James," the King said, walking the Prime Minister to the door of his study.
It was another muggy but cool June evening in Kronstadt. At the Aquitaine Palace, the King sat in an armchair in his study. The crystal chandelier that hung from the high ceiling was dimmed, but the sconce and table lamps around the room kept the room bright enough for the King's Evening Meeting with the Executive Cabinet.
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Barring an emergency, the Evening Meeting was often just a debriefing of the days events, and often included only the ministers from Foreign Affairs, Finance, State, Defence, and National Security, including the Prime Minister. It had been the King's duty to meet with these six people every night before retiring. He had been doing it since ascending to the throne in 1990, and tonight was no exception.
There around him sat five men. Mr. Dahlgren, the Prime Minister, was rarely late for the Evening Meeting. Of the four Prime Ministers who had served under Paul, Dahlgren was certainly one of his favorites. Prompt and professional, yet easygoing and calm, the Prime Minister was everything the King envisioned in an effective leader and gentleman. Approaching fifty, Dahlgren was little more than a year older than the King. His steel-gray hair was always combed neatly, and his trademark navy blue suit always pressed crisply. The two men saw eye to eye on a variety of different issues, sharing a libertarian philosophy to politics, as well as progressive ideals for social affairs. That was why Dahlgren quickly rose to the top of the King's favorites list.
Foreign Affairs Minister Anthony Corey sat next to Dahlgren on the Victorian style davenport. A tall, handsome man, Corey was somewhat of a mystery to the monarch. Their personalities often clashed, although these clashes manifested themselves in brief periods of awkward silence as the two men tried to decipher each others thoughts. Corey was a man full of dry wit; a man who common humor was lost on but who found jokes about legal affairs to be just the thing to tickle his sides. He wore large, titanium-rimmed spectacles to meetings, but only to read the documents he was handed. Corey's farsightedness was something not well known beyond the walls of the Aquitaine Palace or the diplomatic community in Kronstadt. A bachelor at 32, Corey had yet to marry, although his romantic interests were always a subject of rumor and speculation.
Sir John Allen Hill was Chancellor of the Exchequer. Pushing seventy-eight, Hill was a bald, facetious man with a foul temper and little patience for malarky. He had been in the position of Chancellor since Paul's father, Alexander III, had appointed him to that spot nearly twenty-five years prior. The King secretly hated Hill and his voluminously arrogant ego, but for however annoying Hill was, his knowledge of financial affairs was second to none. For the most part, Sir John would sit opposite the King, quietly listening with his hands folded over his knee. When it was his turn to speak, though, or when he heard something not to his liking, Hill's words ran through the ears of his listeners like tinfoil on a chalkboard.
Defence Minister Thomas Kaulitz sat patiently along with the other Ministers and the King. At fifty-one, Kaulitz bore the scars of a stressful life. His face was marred with deep wrinkles, and his temples and eyebrows were tinged with gray. He was by far the quietest of the group, a former Lieutenant General in the Royal Air Force who learned to speak when asked. Most of the time, he would watch intently with his intimidating brown eyes as other Ministers spoke. When it was his turn, he stood, and with a strong voice, presented his piece with tactical knowledge and verbal efficiency. A widower, Kaulitz had two teenage sons, both of them with rather animated reputations throughout Kronstadt as alternative rock musicians. What teenage girls at school didn't realize, however, is that the stern old man in the tweed coat was the father of the punk rocker boys.
Edward Asner Wuncler III was, like Kaulitz, a gruff and hardened man. While Kaulitz still held a restrained and calm outlook towards life, Wuncler was instead a mean and bitter man. A former Lieutenant Colonel in the Royal Army, and intelligence officer in His Majesty's Intelligence Bureau, Wuncler was a man who still had something to prove in life. At sixty-eight, he was running out of time to do so, and he realized that. Overweight and short, Wuncler often took cheap shots at other people's expense. Politically, Wuncler was referred to by the press as "His Majesty's Loyal Pit Bull," for his often brash and sometimes irrational approach to matters of National Security. Nevertheless, Wuncler loved his country, and nobody could deny his dedication and patriotism to the Crown.
The mahogany grandfather clock in the corner continued to tick as the time struck 8:45. The Evening Meeting was supposed to commence at half past eight, and was usually over by nine o'clock. The Minister of State was running unusually late.
"I believe Sir Charles will be absent from the meeting tonight," the King finally spoke. "In the interest of time, we should probably start the meeting."
And it was at that moment that the Minister of State burst through the door.
"Sir Charles, we were beginning to suspect you had been abducted by aliens," the King spoke as he stood beside his armchair.
"I apologize, Your Majesty," the Minister said, out of breath. "I was having car issues."
"No need to apologize then, Sir Charles. Please, have a seat," the King offered.
The Minister of State, Charles Nelson Blyden, was a man of fifty-seven. He had red hair, graying, surrounding a round face. His somewhat disorganized style was evident as he clutched a folio full of papers. Where he lacked in his organizational skills, though, Blyden made up in his abilities as an internal affairs minister. He knew the names of every mayor of every city in the Kingdom, population 10,000 or over. He could also tell you exactly how many cops were serving in the St. Marys Police Department. He was a man married to his work, divorced from his wife, and father to his children on the weekends.
As suspected, the Evening Meeting did not last very long. The various Ministers presented their daily reports to the King, with hardly anything being out of the ordinary. Wuncler and Kaulitz clashed somewhat over the riots in Tyrisle and the security of Brettish hemp plantations there, and Corey tried to lighten the situation with a few jokes, all which fell flat.
After the meeting, the Ministers all stood and shook hands. Palace servants, with gloved hands, collected the Ministers' coffee cups and placed them on silver trays to be cleaned. The King walked back to his desk, and quietly lit his pipe. It was a ritual of his ever since he quit smoking cigarettes to smoke a pipe at the end of the day. The pungent but pleasing smell of vanilla pipe tobacco filled the room, as most of the Ministers left the room. The Prime Minister, however, remained.
"How is Lady Elena and Paul?" the King asked the Prime Minister.
"They are well, Your Majesty. Thank you for asking."
"Sir James, what do you honestly think of this situation in Tyrisle? I saw the article in the Post yesterday. Bigelow is reporting massive profits at a time when they're secretly concerned about the security of their capital overseas," the King said.
"Sire, I truly believe that the labor riots in Tyrisle present no immediate danger to Brettish interests there. The people of that nation have been our friends for nearly 80 years. Bretons go to Charleston to spend billions of pounds in tourist dollars every year. And it is no secret that Bigelow is looking for more subsidies to build up their overseas operation. I think these 'concerns' of Bigelow's is a way to get some more tax money to fund the outsourcing of Brettish labor. Sire, to put it in a way: I wouldn't be as worried about a bear on the other side of the river if I knew there were snakes right behind me."
The King smiled as he sat on the edge of his desk, looking down at the pipe in his hand. Dahlgren was always an insightful man, and always had a way of putting things into perspective.
"Have a good night, Sir James," the King said, walking the Prime Minister to the door of his study.