Ma-tek
10-03-2006, 20:27
It is a well-known fact that politicians are vulnerable to two major enemies in life. These enemies are not, as some may suggest, the voting public times two.
Rather, the major enemies of the politician are the boomerang and the orange peel. One you slip up on; the other comes back and...
Well, it hurts. Usually, this is where the voting public comes in.
However, in some places, and in some times, the humble politician has needed to face yet another major adversary: the Civil Servant.
One such place and time was the here, and the now. The here, and there is certainty in this, is an office.
This one can determine by the usual trappings one might expect. Desk. Chair. Bookcase. Flag. Ah, flag. Therefore it can only be one thing: a politician's office.
This politician, as with many, is clearly quite dull when it comes to interior design. And what else could be expected? Since he is an elected politician, he can never be certain of how long he'll be here. Too much redecoration might be seen as arrogance, after all. Too little - insecurity.
This may explain why the politician in question was, at this particular moment, rubbing anxiously at the bridge of his large, angular nose, and peer over his hand at the balding chap on the other side of the table. "Are you quite certain?"
The balding chap nodded, solemnly. "Oh yes. Fantastically so. In fact, minister, I can be so absolutely certain as to be beyond certain. If this room were the volume of my certainty, we should be sitting quite dangerously within the event horizon of quite a nasty singularity." Another nod.
"Like that one the other year," the minister murmoured. Of course, he referred to the almost-like-a-singularity that the Department of Investigative Affairs Into Matters of Scientific Security and Arts had - what? Created. That was the word. Sortof. Except it hadn't been - the minister realised, dimly, that he still had no idea what had happened. But still, it wasn't something to dwell on.
And what a bemusing name for an organisation which was exclusively dedicated to - esoteric weapons? Was that the word? He wasn't sure, but he'd use it as if he was sure just to be... sure.
"Esoteric weapons," the minister said softly, "are not a sure business." And that was the problem. They weren't.
Few truer words had been spoken in this office. Actually, the Civil Servant - the bald fellow - wondered if true words had ever been spoken in this office before. It was, after all, a politician's office. Politicians were neither expected to tell the truth nor believed.
Not if they were elected politicians. Filthy bunch.
Cyril Arcturis Dejure was not an elected politician. Nor was he related to Ambassador Dejure, as he was frequently asked. He was from the Rhea Dejures - whereas that other one was from the Turath Dejures. Lesser family.
Cyril peered down over antique steel glasses at the diminutive weasel behind the desk. "You may have a point, there," he 'conceded'. This was going nowhere. "But you might want to talk to the 2nd Echelon Minister for Affairs of Media Interest and Investigation."
That was the complex name for the Coverup Department.
"They're sure to have some pointers."
Mutely, the minister nodded.
[OOC: Simple beginning because I don't know if my connection is going to die. I'm back, however. Rar. Will do thread-catchup soon, if anyone's reading who's waiting for a post. Considering the length of time I've been gone, that doesn't seem likely... but just in case! Feel free to TG if I miss something that I wasn't meant to.]
Rather, the major enemies of the politician are the boomerang and the orange peel. One you slip up on; the other comes back and...
Well, it hurts. Usually, this is where the voting public comes in.
However, in some places, and in some times, the humble politician has needed to face yet another major adversary: the Civil Servant.
One such place and time was the here, and the now. The here, and there is certainty in this, is an office.
This one can determine by the usual trappings one might expect. Desk. Chair. Bookcase. Flag. Ah, flag. Therefore it can only be one thing: a politician's office.
This politician, as with many, is clearly quite dull when it comes to interior design. And what else could be expected? Since he is an elected politician, he can never be certain of how long he'll be here. Too much redecoration might be seen as arrogance, after all. Too little - insecurity.
This may explain why the politician in question was, at this particular moment, rubbing anxiously at the bridge of his large, angular nose, and peer over his hand at the balding chap on the other side of the table. "Are you quite certain?"
The balding chap nodded, solemnly. "Oh yes. Fantastically so. In fact, minister, I can be so absolutely certain as to be beyond certain. If this room were the volume of my certainty, we should be sitting quite dangerously within the event horizon of quite a nasty singularity." Another nod.
"Like that one the other year," the minister murmoured. Of course, he referred to the almost-like-a-singularity that the Department of Investigative Affairs Into Matters of Scientific Security and Arts had - what? Created. That was the word. Sortof. Except it hadn't been - the minister realised, dimly, that he still had no idea what had happened. But still, it wasn't something to dwell on.
And what a bemusing name for an organisation which was exclusively dedicated to - esoteric weapons? Was that the word? He wasn't sure, but he'd use it as if he was sure just to be... sure.
"Esoteric weapons," the minister said softly, "are not a sure business." And that was the problem. They weren't.
Few truer words had been spoken in this office. Actually, the Civil Servant - the bald fellow - wondered if true words had ever been spoken in this office before. It was, after all, a politician's office. Politicians were neither expected to tell the truth nor believed.
Not if they were elected politicians. Filthy bunch.
Cyril Arcturis Dejure was not an elected politician. Nor was he related to Ambassador Dejure, as he was frequently asked. He was from the Rhea Dejures - whereas that other one was from the Turath Dejures. Lesser family.
Cyril peered down over antique steel glasses at the diminutive weasel behind the desk. "You may have a point, there," he 'conceded'. This was going nowhere. "But you might want to talk to the 2nd Echelon Minister for Affairs of Media Interest and Investigation."
That was the complex name for the Coverup Department.
"They're sure to have some pointers."
Mutely, the minister nodded.
[OOC: Simple beginning because I don't know if my connection is going to die. I'm back, however. Rar. Will do thread-catchup soon, if anyone's reading who's waiting for a post. Considering the length of time I've been gone, that doesn't seem likely... but just in case! Feel free to TG if I miss something that I wasn't meant to.]