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Nothing to Lose, Everything to Gian


Batengdei

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Khaokhett, Kngaok District

It was late in the night, and Kalama Gian was drafting up her acceptance speech.

She had been finally elected to the Minister’s Throne in Saphea Wat, the seat of power in Batengdei, or at least the seat of power the rest of Eurth saw. In truth, the whole system was designed around a bunch of ruthless, lazy oligarchs who monopolized a little too much of the economy to relinquish any real control. It was a sickening notion, even if she was considered harmless enough to be the Prime Minister.

Kalama had hopes to change that, however, and what she needed now was the goodwill of the people.

Almost as if in anticipation of her plans, there had been a laughably poor attempt at winning the election from the Bateng Rouge. They had ignored the notion of campaigning on anything other than maintaining a status quo, which was a terrible way to energize voters. It landed the Rouge in a coalition with the Liberal Democrats, of all parties, which was just salt in the wound.

It left a dirty taste in her mouth just thinking about it, so Kalama didn’t. Instead, she thought about how she would subvert the expectations of her position.

In truth, answer was simple, populism. More specifically, anti-corruption. If there was a cesspool worthy of being purged in Eurth, it was Batengdei. @Tagmatium Rules was another that came to mind, but that was beside the point. Voter turnouts had been declining, faith in the government was near nonexistent, and overall, the biggest reform in the last decade was Krusken’s RDI Act, which was laughably useless. No, Batengdei needed a stronger ruler capable of tackling the people’s problems like they had back in the founding days.

The current Batengdei was far too self-absorbed in itself to be of relevance, despite being so close to the spotlight. The means of victory in her hand, but Batengdei preferred to sit contently as the world moved by, horrendous. Kalama knew it was the destiny of Batengdei to lead the nations of Eurth, where they had been neglected for far too long. Now that she had the Minister’s Throne, the ancient ceremonial throne of the old dynasties of Batengdei, now she could lead her people.

Gian had known her destiny for a long time, to re-forge Batengdei in the shape of its former glory. To purge the oligarchs who stunted them for their own profits. A new revolution, perhaps? No, not yet, anyway.

The computer screen of her rough draft slowly burned into her eyes with a pure, white glow. It made the rest of the room seem darker by contrast. Regardless, she forced herself to step away from her desk and walk around the room to relax a bit. The duties of the Batengdeian Prime Minister were numerous, and she had been beset by a hundred bureaucrats with a hundred petty problems from the onset of her taking office. She just needed a little time to remind herself of the importance of her position.

It would take time to win over the population in Batengdei. Fortunately, she had enough control over the media to work unopposed. It would take a coalition of disgruntled workers to create the change necessary to transform Batengdei, this much Kalama knew.

Kalama Gian, Prime Minister Gian, spent the next ten minutes pacing anxiously around the room.

~~~

Sang Pithu, Tonle Khlang

It had been a terrible month for Hoja Korig, the leader of the Batengdei National Agricultural Company. The election coalition had been felled by a disgusting abomination of an electoral jape. The Bateng Rouge and Liberal Democratic Party? To make matters worse, the coalition began by passing a bill which flopped on its head and sank the economy with it. Production had slowed as workers suddenly were shifted around between foreign countries vying for a spot of the cheap land available. It was a nightmare. To make matters worse, the Khsaamer National Party jumped ship at the defeat, leaving the National Sovereign Party all alone in a sea of corruption.

They’d called twice for a recount, twice… or, three times? They would have kept going until the next election had they not been silenced by Kalama Gian herself. Who did she think she was, a dictator?

The radio on his desk which had been announcing the most recent rugby game now began playing some song. In Anglish, no less.

Hoja lurched forward and attempted to adjust the station, however he couldn’t quite convince his fingers to cooperate, so he instead he swept the damnable machine off his desk, then made for his case of wines.

Korig uncorked a new bottle of rice-wine and poured himself a glass. If his company was going to go under, he would race them to it. This would be the third bottle, and he had built up quite a tolerance. Admittedly, the company would likely survive. It was too much of an integral part of feeding the people. Korig’s ownership, however, that could change should the government rule his leadership as “unsatisfactory.” Krusken had been smart to leave him alone, Kalama on the other hand… she had a history of going after company owners who crossed her. Still, they couldn’t touch the mighty Hoja Korig if he wasn’t doing anything wrong, and as if he was… he was simply checking the quality of the rice-wine…

“Well, I had better check again, in case this bottle is not up to standard.”

Hoja raised the glass and cheered to the ceiling, “To us!”.

The wine tasted really quite great, especially with the numbness of inebriation. “How could I lose my position, when I mae’ the best damn wine in the country. Hell, I mae’ the only wine in the country. Who wans to go buy wine … anywhrer elsse…”

Hoja Korig was suddenly quite delighted to find the room was gently rocking; rocking him to sleep, most likely. So long as the rice-wine was good, there was nothing to worry about, really. . .

“Thanksh… mishter room. . .”

And with that, Korig fell into a pleasant stupor.

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