In the Coalition’s Command Tower, there is a place where meetings of the highest level take place. This is not a place for the eyes of none-Coalition members. The walls are draped in maps, half-written plans, notes, suggestions, figures, and statistics. The table is constantly littered with the latest memos and reports - not to mention a few half-finished lunches. Viryn is often to be found there, sleeping off his latest ‘progress report’. Yolem comes in on his days off, to build card houses. When they’re feeling good-humored (Which is rare, in this galaxy) the command staff throws a casual Friday and everyone goes down there for punch and little paper party hats. To some, it seems irresponsible, silly, or foolish, but after working in the tower for a few weeks, they come to see how necessary it is. Processing all the things that the Coalition witnesses in the galaxy is often enough to bring anyone down, it is often only these small distractions that keep them sane.
On this particular day, sanity was the topic. Regrad was completely composed, looking official in his Prime Ministerial robes. It was a skill he’d begun developing after all the meetings and such that he had undergone. He didn’t smoke, but he kept a cigarra gifted to him by an influential associate in his front pocket. It made him look slightly more relaxed then he actually was.
Sitting to one side - well, less sitting and more lounging - was Marth Meer, a steely intelligence specialist who acted as the House’s chief intelligence advisor. It was his turn to speak, and he did so “Well, I guess what helps keep me sane around here is purpose. Don’t reflect on the past, don’t look back at what’s happened, just focus on the future and what we can do now to change it. I guess that’s why I work with the CIB and not the National Archives.”
“Is it also why you stare holes into the walls of your office on your break?” interjected Karen Calypso, who seemed to be nursing a hangover.
Marth Meer grumbled “Not like there’s anything else to do on those breaks, anyways.”
Ferguson sighed, and said “I gotta say the same as Meer, really. Keep working. Keep at it. If you stop working, things go wrong, so you gotta stay focused and on target. It’s not like some office job, if things go wrong, people die here. Civilizations fall and armies collapse. That’s a lot of pressure. The best thing to do is just work like hell.”
Viryn Quell snorted, and said “You’ve all got it wrong. Know what relieves the pressure? Drugs and alcohol.” He paused, then added bitterly “Not that most drugs work any more on me. Fucking Panacea, that should be a side-effect on the label or something.”
“What, something like ‘side effects include improved health’?” said Doctor Proctor, measuring out his daily coffee intake.
“No, I mean like ‘Side effects include making choices for you on what you’re allowed to put in your body.’” said Viryn, although his anger waned a bit “No more of that for me, just good old fashioned alcohol.”
“That’s the spirit.” said Miette “Remember what we learned, hm? You need to look on the bright side more often?”
“It’s all the time she’s spent here.” Viryn added bitterly “I swear, you’ve all been tampering with her behavior core behind my back to do all your snide comments and criticism for you when you’re not around.”
“No need for that sort of accusation.” said Regrad “Maybe you’re just mellowing.” Viryn just scowled at that slanderous accusation. “Anyways, it’s eight thirty now, I believe it’s about time we got down to business?”
“Wait, wait.” said Fraktusk - not always a regular at these meetings, but stopping in on this day - “mesa wanna know. What yous be doings to avoid the stress? Yousa seem to be always in big mood.”
Regrad paused to consider, and said “Pop music and holonet comics.”
The room went silent.
“Er... what?” said Ferguson. “...Pop music?”
“Yes.” said Regrad, who said nothing again for a few moments, and then elaborated “Well, I’m fairly old, any music of the previous fifty years is pop to me. What that music is to me, though, is creative expression - free of censorship, editing, even quality control. It’s the whispers of the Coalition, and even if they’re foolish or bland or uninteresting, they’re still honest enough that at least we’re hearing their real sound. You don’t get that anywhere else in the galaxy any more, and that’s what I want to preserve.
“As for the comics, well, they’re a creative thing thrown together by anyone with half a drawing ability and access to the holonet. Anyone can read them, anyone can produce them, they tell instant stories about news and feelings and emotions. Someone makes a comic about their year abroad, another makes one about some characters they made up who go on fantastical adventures. Another is about college life. To me, that’s a fun way to read the heart-beat of the Coalition - the moment to moment artistic expression of it’s citizens, free of sponsorship or agendas or filtering.”
Everyone around the room seemed to be giving him various looks of moderate surprise, and were clearly coming to their own conclusions. Despite this, he lay back comfortably and said “Plus, I like funny drawings and a good rhythm - anything wrong with that? A good stress breaker. Not to mention, as a Prime Minister, when I send fan-letters, they get replied to. A little perk.”
“Wow.” said Viryn, clearly awed “Until now, I wasn’t sure if you were a liar or crazy. Now I know for sure that you are batshit insane.”
“I always knew there was a reason I liked Corellian Jazz.” said Ferguson “I guess it was because it was the human spirit in a moment to moment existence of artistic expression.” he managed to say this while suppressing a chuckle.
“Hey, you asked.” said Regrad, smiling. “The lesson today is don’t probe your leader’s motives or you’re bound to find creepy truths.”
“So what’s the point of today’s meeting again?” said Yolem, who had been lost in a report for the past half hour.
“We are here for the purpose of selecting another world for the Coalition to offer membership to.” said Meer.
“What, is that all?” said Regrad. With that, he took a dart from the dart-board hanging over the door, and threw it at the galaxy map they had pinned on the wall.
“What did I hit?”
“Hm... looks like G’rho.” said Ferguson.
“Right, G’rho it is. On to the next order of business.”
“Wait, wait...” said Viryn, this time honestly shocked. “That’s how you pick places to join your grand Coalition? Fucking DARTS?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” said Regrad. “Now hop to it. We’ve got a lot to do!”
Ferguson leant over and whispered to Yolem “He’s kidding, right?”
Yolem nodded and whispered back “Oh yeah. Regrad’s a master at throwing weapons at such short ranges. I’m pretty confident he wanted to hit G’rho.”
“Okay, so why the act?”
“Oh, he just likes to do stuff like that every so often, keeps people on their toes and all. Viryn’s face was apparently priceless.”
Ferguson cracked a grin “I knew there was a reason I worked for you guys.”
On this particular day, sanity was the topic. Regrad was completely composed, looking official in his Prime Ministerial robes. It was a skill he’d begun developing after all the meetings and such that he had undergone. He didn’t smoke, but he kept a cigarra gifted to him by an influential associate in his front pocket. It made him look slightly more relaxed then he actually was.
Sitting to one side - well, less sitting and more lounging - was Marth Meer, a steely intelligence specialist who acted as the House’s chief intelligence advisor. It was his turn to speak, and he did so “Well, I guess what helps keep me sane around here is purpose. Don’t reflect on the past, don’t look back at what’s happened, just focus on the future and what we can do now to change it. I guess that’s why I work with the CIB and not the National Archives.”
“Is it also why you stare holes into the walls of your office on your break?” interjected Karen Calypso, who seemed to be nursing a hangover.
Marth Meer grumbled “Not like there’s anything else to do on those breaks, anyways.”
Ferguson sighed, and said “I gotta say the same as Meer, really. Keep working. Keep at it. If you stop working, things go wrong, so you gotta stay focused and on target. It’s not like some office job, if things go wrong, people die here. Civilizations fall and armies collapse. That’s a lot of pressure. The best thing to do is just work like hell.”
Viryn Quell snorted, and said “You’ve all got it wrong. Know what relieves the pressure? Drugs and alcohol.” He paused, then added bitterly “Not that most drugs work any more on me. Fucking Panacea, that should be a side-effect on the label or something.”
“What, something like ‘side effects include improved health’?” said Doctor Proctor, measuring out his daily coffee intake.
“No, I mean like ‘Side effects include making choices for you on what you’re allowed to put in your body.’” said Viryn, although his anger waned a bit “No more of that for me, just good old fashioned alcohol.”
“That’s the spirit.” said Miette “Remember what we learned, hm? You need to look on the bright side more often?”
“It’s all the time she’s spent here.” Viryn added bitterly “I swear, you’ve all been tampering with her behavior core behind my back to do all your snide comments and criticism for you when you’re not around.”
“No need for that sort of accusation.” said Regrad “Maybe you’re just mellowing.” Viryn just scowled at that slanderous accusation. “Anyways, it’s eight thirty now, I believe it’s about time we got down to business?”
“Wait, wait.” said Fraktusk - not always a regular at these meetings, but stopping in on this day - “mesa wanna know. What yous be doings to avoid the stress? Yousa seem to be always in big mood.”
Regrad paused to consider, and said “Pop music and holonet comics.”
The room went silent.
“Er... what?” said Ferguson. “...Pop music?”
“Yes.” said Regrad, who said nothing again for a few moments, and then elaborated “Well, I’m fairly old, any music of the previous fifty years is pop to me. What that music is to me, though, is creative expression - free of censorship, editing, even quality control. It’s the whispers of the Coalition, and even if they’re foolish or bland or uninteresting, they’re still honest enough that at least we’re hearing their real sound. You don’t get that anywhere else in the galaxy any more, and that’s what I want to preserve.
“As for the comics, well, they’re a creative thing thrown together by anyone with half a drawing ability and access to the holonet. Anyone can read them, anyone can produce them, they tell instant stories about news and feelings and emotions. Someone makes a comic about their year abroad, another makes one about some characters they made up who go on fantastical adventures. Another is about college life. To me, that’s a fun way to read the heart-beat of the Coalition - the moment to moment artistic expression of it’s citizens, free of sponsorship or agendas or filtering.”
Everyone around the room seemed to be giving him various looks of moderate surprise, and were clearly coming to their own conclusions. Despite this, he lay back comfortably and said “Plus, I like funny drawings and a good rhythm - anything wrong with that? A good stress breaker. Not to mention, as a Prime Minister, when I send fan-letters, they get replied to. A little perk.”
“Wow.” said Viryn, clearly awed “Until now, I wasn’t sure if you were a liar or crazy. Now I know for sure that you are batshit insane.”
“I always knew there was a reason I liked Corellian Jazz.” said Ferguson “I guess it was because it was the human spirit in a moment to moment existence of artistic expression.” he managed to say this while suppressing a chuckle.
“Hey, you asked.” said Regrad, smiling. “The lesson today is don’t probe your leader’s motives or you’re bound to find creepy truths.”
“So what’s the point of today’s meeting again?” said Yolem, who had been lost in a report for the past half hour.
“We are here for the purpose of selecting another world for the Coalition to offer membership to.” said Meer.
“What, is that all?” said Regrad. With that, he took a dart from the dart-board hanging over the door, and threw it at the galaxy map they had pinned on the wall.
“What did I hit?”
“Hm... looks like G’rho.” said Ferguson.
“Right, G’rho it is. On to the next order of business.”
“Wait, wait...” said Viryn, this time honestly shocked. “That’s how you pick places to join your grand Coalition? Fucking DARTS?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” said Regrad. “Now hop to it. We’ve got a lot to do!”
Ferguson leant over and whispered to Yolem “He’s kidding, right?”
Yolem nodded and whispered back “Oh yeah. Regrad’s a master at throwing weapons at such short ranges. I’m pretty confident he wanted to hit G’rho.”
“Okay, so why the act?”
“Oh, he just likes to do stuff like that every so often, keeps people on their toes and all. Viryn’s face was apparently priceless.”
Ferguson cracked a grin “I knew there was a reason I worked for you guys.”