Author's Notes: Unfortunately, it doesn't look like that third chapter will be coming to pass, and for that, I apologize. I couldn't make up my mind about how to end the second chapter I wanted to get out, but I hope this one will make up for it. And so, in honor of the nearing election day, I give you this chapter; how the leaders react to changing their ideologies.
It was a stormy night in the Danish Capital of Copenhagen, but the heavy rain and violent claps of thunder did little to put a damper on the mood in the Palace's Mead Hall. While the pretenses the assembly inside had gathered for were dire, it had gone the way of almost every gathering Harald Bluetooth hosted.
"Right..." Harald, from his place at the end of the stained table, slurred as he fumbled for his mug. "Let's... Raise another toast..."
A few hiccups echoed from the gathered Vikings as they all shakily rose their drinks, some sloshing the liquid onto the table or their neighbors. One guest tried, only to groan and fall face-first into the oak below, sending his mead across it. No one particularly seemed to care. Harald tried to clear his throat, but only succeeded in belching.
"Since this whole Autonomy-"
"Autobiography," someone in the crowd tried to correct. Harald nodded with a dopey smile like he had just been given the advice of the century.
"Autogamy... Ideology... thing isn't working out," the Danish king nearly fell out of his chair at that, but managed to recover. "We'll be switching to... Free mead..."
Everyone gave another drunken cheer and raised their mugs again, despite the fact they were all empty by now. Harald leaned back in his seat to down his empty glass, only to fall out of his chair and land on the hard, stone floor, unconscious. Everyone else followed suit.
Another election day had come and gone in America. Throngs of citizens had gathered outside the Presidential Palace in Washington to hear the capital's namesake resident read the results in person from his balcony. The roads were clogged to the point all the American leader could see was one massive sea of people and a few buildings lucky enough to be peeking out from it. Washington felt the envelope pass into his hands from a nearby aide, and shakily undid the seal on it, pulling out the ballot held inside. He raised an eyebrow from behind his readers; the President couldn't quite fathom how a near majority of people would want to give up their freedom in favor of Order, but the republic's process' had to be upheld.
Besides; if they wanted to put near-unlimited power into his hands, then he would just use that to undo it.
Washington let out a sigh. This wasn't going to go down well, regardless. "And the people have spoken-"
"No we haven't!" someone in the crowd below shouted. "Only a near majority have!"
That was followed by a very large murmur in agreement from the rest of the mass underneath, that steadily began to grow louder. Washington pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.
"They've started early," he thought bitterly. "I haven't even read the results and they're already upset."
At least he could probably press for a recount if this kept up.
And so it did. From what the leader could tell, it erupted as the result of one of many of the arguments in the crowd getting out of hand; already people were drawing themselves up along their ideological lines, and all it took was a single left hook for everything to explode. The crowd started clashing against each other like the waves of the ocean; people lunging at one another like it was some giant game of leap frog. And then it turned into a full scale riot.
Knives and handguns were pulled, people started screaming, police started rushing into the crowd in a vain attempt to contain it, and one of Washington's aides pulled on his sleeve and urged him to retreat to the safety of the building behind them. He just stared on in horror as the violence escalated.
Some fedora-wearing men pulled tommy guns out from underneath their trench coats and began firing indiscriminately as the building behind them suddenly erupted in fire, only for someone to ram into them with their mini-van, which promptly exploded. A group of cavalry rushed into the mass, sabers blaring, a stray bullet knocking off one of the rider's tricorn. Someone with a flamethrower began torching a nearby building until someone else, wielding a pool noodle, hit him on the back of the head and knocked him down, only to get bludgeoned with a guitar from someone behind him. Washington began folding the paper in his hands with a hopeless expression as he watched two people duel with tree branches.
The crowd began to part as an elephant started to charge through it, followed by a few clowns mounted on ostriches, and it paused for a second when someone fired a bazooka at another nearby building, sending a hail rubble raining down on them. Washington ducked, a row of bullets burying themselves into the wall behind him seconds later, and stood back up in time to witness someone unleashing a fire extinguisher on the people around him. A few people shouted as they began loading a bombard and prepared to fire it, only to stop when the clocktower - somehow still standing - struck twelve. Everyone dropped their weapons and slumped off to get lunch.
Washington only sighed and tossed his new paper airplane into one of the flaming piles of rubble that used to be a building.
Just another election day.
It was a quiet day in Babylon, and that meant the Palace staff were on edge; there was never a quiet day. And just as Nebuchadnezzar's top advisors were getting ready to conduct their daily meeting - without the King's presence - the man burst into his throne room. Everyone stood and snapped to attention to face their king, who somehow looked even more demented than usual.
"I'VE SEEN IT!" the Bablyonian bellowed. "THE LIGHT! I WENT IN THERE!"
Everyone exchanged a nervous look as Nebuchadnezzar began pacing back and forth in the doorway, stopping only when he slammed into one of its sides. He then spun around, facing the empty hallway, and raised his arms grandly. "We must adopt Patronage! I have seen it!"
One of the advisors behind the Babylonian leader coughed uncomfortably. "Milord, that's not even an-"
"SILENCE!" Nebuchadnezzar roared, pointing at one of the suits of armor lining the hallway. "You dare question my authority!? You will pay with your taffy!"
The Babylonian then ripped an axe out of the hand of a nearby suit of armor and then began to wail on the offending set with the flat end of it, while the advisors slowly returned to their work.
Augustus sighed and leaned back in his seat as the roar of the coliseum grew stronger. While he was safe in his personal box overlooking the large arena, the crowd was beginning to get worked up into a frenzy. One of the gladiators in the match he had been forced to watch out of tradition - the loser - apparently felt it would be a good use of his dying breaths to condemn his policies to his face, and the spectators, already pumped up from watching the match and more than just a little too emotionally invested in their new champion, responded in kind. And now he was forced to watch a riot in the making as spectators began jumping out of their seats and into the pit or otherwise trying to climb thorough the maze of seats all in a vain attempt to get closer to his box.
The Roman didn't particularly care about what they were shouting about - not that he could make any of it out, anyways - but the last thing he felt like dealing with was an angry mob. Rubbing his temples, he stood up from his lavish chair and walked to the edge of the booth, causing the crowd to silence immediately.
"What, exactly, is it that you want?" Augustus asked, doing his best to not sound irritated. An eerie calm fell over the crowd before it erupted in one singular voice.
"CHANGE!" they all shouted, and the Princeps rolled his eyes and turned to one of his guards.
"Very well; give them their change," the Praetorian nodded and took off into the passage behind them that connected to the Imperial Palace. Augustus tapped his sandal against the stone floor impatiently as he glanced down at an imaginary wrist watch; the crowd below just grew increasingly wary as the minutes passed, a few at the back beginning to creep towards the exits. Finally, a group of Praetorians reappeared in the box, hauling a bathtub with them. Augustus only moved to the side while the crowd took a few cautious steps away as they put the tub on the edge and began to tilt its back upwards. This sent a torrent of denarii spilling into the arena, and the crowd quickly stared pushing and shoving against each other in an attempt to dive for the gold coins that were beginning to pile up, completely forgetting about their previous situation. August just shook his head and looked on disinterestedly.
"Animals..."
Justinian woke up to the cacophonous sounds of shouting coming from outside his bedroom window. The Byzantine threw off his covers - honestly, was it too much to ask to take a quick nap? - quickly donned his crown and favorite crimson robe over his pajamas, and marched out into the hallway. There had been protestors camped outside the Blachernae for a week now and it had worn down his last nerve.
He was the only leader left to not declare for an ideology, and was perfectly happy with that; as Augustus did have a point when he remarked they were all just sides to the same coin, but apparently not all the citizens shared his sentiments. There was technically nothing prohibiting them from protesting in the law code - all citizens did have a right to appeal directly to him, after all - but this was getting out of hand. And before the Emperor knew it, he was out on the plaza that led to the protestor-filled courtyard, them being kept from the palace by only a few fences and guards. Justinian forced his way past a few despite their objections, being met with the site of a multitude of picket fences and dirty-looking people all staring up at him expectantly. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.
"You want change?" the crowd roared and began shouting out their demands all at once. Justinian just calmly raised a hand and the indiscernible yelling began to die down.
"All right," the Emperor replied, and he could feel the atmosphere change as he began whispering something to a nearby guard. The man nodded, retreated into the palace, and reappeared with a lightbulb. Justinian took it, and turned to a nearby wall lamp, reaching into it with no small amount of difficulty. The Emperor unscrewed the lightbulb, tossed it unceremoniously aside, screwed the new one in, and then tugged on the chain, turning on the lamp.
Justinian then turned back to the crowd, clapped his hands together, and held out his arms grandly. "There; change."
Everyone just looked at him incredulously for a few bated seconds before some quiet snickering escaped from the crowd. This gave way to suppressed chuckles and disgruntled murmurs as the picket signs were lowered and the protestors began to disperse. Justinian just yawned, rubbed his eyes, and slumped back into the Blachernae.
"Lord Nobunaga," the Daimyo looked up from his place at the table, placing down his teacup with a small 'klink'.
"Yes, Ieyasu?" the other Daimyo cleared his throat uncomfortably.
"The people seem to be valuing bushido more highly than in previous years," Ieyasu took another sip from his cup. "Perhaps it would be best to make concessions?"
Nobunaga raised an eyebrow, and a pit began to grow in Ieyasu's stomach as his lord's hand shifted slightly. Much to his relief, it was simply to take another sip from his tea.
"Very well," came Nobunaga's reply after placing down the cup again. Ieyasu raised an eyebrow incredulously.
"That's all, milord?" Nobunaga just looked up, eyes staring straight into Ieyasu, and he took cover behind his own teacup. "F-Forgive me, Lord Nobunaga."
Nobunaga just let out a 'hmph' and took another sip of his tea.
