The Temple Walls

Sometimes, you need to slow down and take a closer look at what you left behind...at what was written on the temple walls.

Co-ordinates: Hillwood: 40°41'34"N, 73°59'25"W; San Lorenzo: 4°55'22"N, 52°19'37"W; Washington DC: 38°53'42"N, 77°02'12"W

Electing Miss Pataki

38°53'42"N, 77°02'12"W

July 17th, 08:00

Reminder: This chapter takes place eleven years after the flashback in chapter one.

Helga Pataki, twenty-four year old state political candidate, flipped a smooth white plastic key card through the office building sensory system. Signalling recognition of her identity, the software immediately opened the woodgrain double doors and allowed her entry. Upon her entrance, various copy-room and accounting staff peered up from their cubicle desks, watching her with idle curiosity. Helga vaguely heard whispers, discussions among co-workers, as to whether they planned on voting for her, or not. Ignoring the hushed conversations, Helga continued forward, passing by a few familiar faces. Ronald Irving, sexist extraordinaire and laziest copy-room employee to set foot in an office, spun on his half-broken desk chair as she approached.

"Lookin' fine, baby doll." he leered, accompanying his statement with an obnoxious whistle. Helga clenched her fists, pausing her charge toward Iain Normandy's office, and turning to directly face the middle-aged man. Ronald crossed his arms, but once fixed with a deadly scowl, withered underneath Helga's gaze and decided, instead, to focus his attention toward various stacks of paperwork that littered his small desk. Paperwork that, Helga was certain, he would never honestly finish anyhow.

Confidently assured that Ronald was effectively discouraged, for the next few hours at least, Helga refocused her attention upon the large, executive office space beyond the rows of cubicles. Mr Iain Normandy, legal advisory and defense attorney, was currently the source of Helga's exponentially increasing irritability. Countless times, she had considered forgoing their scheduled meeting, absolutely certain that, if prior discussions held with Normandy were any indication, today would not prove enjoyable. Furthermore, she found it unnecessary, and certainly offensive, that he persistently insisted she attend his office, in person, for their discussion rather than conducting another telephone conference as they had done in the past. Her displeasure with the situation only served to increased when his pompous secretary forced her to book his time, a week in advance, to ensure ample availability. It was as though, somehow, Normandy had forgotten her possible future position within the political party which paid his wage.

Locating his office, despite rarely having set-foot in this particular department, proved effortlessly simple. His name, and official title, plastered in pretentious gold-plated lettering, was adorned on possibly the largest private doorway on the entire floor. Normandy's receptionist, overbearing and annoying as she was, glared in absolute offense as Helga passed her by entirely. Approaching the door, Helga tapped loudly twice and, without waiting for formal invitation to enter, stepped in on her own accord. Whilst his secretary was certainly stewing with anger outside, Mr Normandy himself seemed unfazed and hardly surprised, by Helga's decision to thwart general social courtesy.

Helga surveyed his office quickly, "Normandy." she addressed the tall, slim man coldly. Normandy frowned slightly, clearly aware of the lack of friendliness behind her greeting. Moving forward, Helga located a bleak, gray armchair by his bookcase and flopped herself down dramatically, raising an expectant eyebrow. "You wanted to speak with me."

Mr Normandy cleared his throat and stood, adjusting his equally bleak slate gray suit and tie. "Listen," he began, fixing Helga with a pointed look, "Mrs-"

"Miss Pataki." Helga interrupted swiftly, crossing her legs and narrowing her eyes.

Normandy, unfortunately, pointedly ignored her and strode around his solid wooden desk, shifting his awkwardly lanky frame into perfectly straight and tall posture. Helga rolled her eyes, certainly hoping he didn't intend himself to appear intimidating, as he was sorely failing. "I am certain you are aware of the subject I have called you into my office to discuss?" he suggested tactfully.

Helga grunted, lowly from the back of her throat, resisting further all urges to roll her eyes again. "Unfortunately." she responded bitterly.

Nodding sharply, Normandy began pacing slightly before her, "What you have proposed to do," he paused, looking directly at her from over his shoulder, "or rather, what you have intended to carry out without consent - is in direct violation of the laws which regulate election candidacy."

Inwardly, she cursed the day he was born. "No, all I want to do is put my name on a poster." Helga retorted, crossing her arms and shaking her head.

Normandy shifted, tapping a finger against his nameplate, apparently feeling it necessary to remind her of his occupation. She was hardly questioning his intelligence, nor his professional training, and she generally tended to respect his proficiency in legal matters. However, in this instance, she was absolutely unwilling to surrender her case.

"I can understand that. However, I believe you and I are both aware that this goes far beyond the simple matter of posters, even beyond the leaflets I believe you are designing." he lectured sternly, "As you are well informed, this issue extends to your registry, and more specially, your intention to run for state election under a false name. A false name which you have already placed upon the aforementioned election posters."

Helga groaned, "Helga Pataki is my name!"

Appearing thoroughly unimpressed, Normandy paused his pacing once more. "Unfortunately, you and I both know very well that is simply not the case." he chided, as though she were a disobedient child.

Helga bit her tongue. Disappointingly, Mr Normandy possessed incredible professional talents and was a ruthless defense attorney, and so, for those two facts alone Helga could hardly compromise her party's future success by ripping him limb from limb. She did, however, desperately wish she could. Instead, she settled for another unsettling glare and a clipped tone, "With all due respect, Sir, I honestly cannot believe this even bears legal weight."

Normandy, perhaps surprised by her reluctant composure, raised an eyebrow and Helga was absolutely certain he was silently mocking her. "Perhaps, in hindsight," he suggested coolly, "you should have taken the appropriate time to research the implications of your decision."

"Oh come on!" Helga protested. He was definately mocking her. She stood from the armchair, arms raised in utter frustration. "I was thirteen years old! Heck, how is it even legal to grant something like that to somebody who's barely made it out of grade school?"

"Yet again, if you had researched-"

Helga moved closer, dangerously narrowing her eyes, and essentially hissing her words. "I was in a jungle;" she reminded him lowly, "I didn't exactly have a law encyclopedia in my right hand pocket."

Evidently intimidated, Normandy shifted, stepping backward to shuffle behind the safety of his desk. "I feel there is nothing further to discuss on the matter." he announced promptly, "I'm positive you are mindful that electoral registration is finalized in four months time. If you wish to campaign for state election under your birth-given name, then I believe you completely understand the standard legal procedure you must complete to do so."

"Ugh," Helga huffed, balling her fists in irritation, "why do heat of the moment decisions always bite me in the ass!". Halting, she blinked, the terminology in her sentence registering in her mind, and her head falling into her hands with a resigned sigh.

Unperturbed by her sudden loss of composure, of perhaps taking full advantage of it, Normandy continued to drive home his infuriating argument. "Perhaps, you might wish to re-evaluate what you really want from your life," he paused, "Mrs Shortman."

"Pataki!" she promptly snarled, lifting her face from her hands and noting his particularly smug expression. "Helga Pataki."

Normandy prepared to respond, however, unwilling and unable to tolerate his presence any longer, Helga stormed from the room and slammed the expensive office door behind her. She exhaled heavily, leaning her weight against the now closed door as Normandy's secretary, whose name Helga struggled to recall, shot her yet another displeased look, this time for the mistreatment of her boss' office door.