A.N.: A short one this time. Sorry, but I hope you like it.

Clemson walked with panache and a self-confident smile in the room where his closest and most trusted associates and henchmen waited for him. He enjoyed being late on purpose, he liked to play with people's patience. It was the monthly meeting, odd for a group dubbed and viewed by outsiders as a terrorist cell. But Clemson was a logical man who believed that he could get his goals through structure and planning, not mindless violence. A fact he found hard to get through to his new "friends", the Fossa, the most violent group in Madagascar. He could hardly stand them, but as they say call the bear uncle till you are safe across the bridge. They had helped him to virtually take over the capital since the king had fled and for that he could swallow his bile towards them (with difficulty, but he could do it).

He seated himself at the head of the rectangular meeting table. When he asked them if they had anything noteworthy to report the silence alone spoke volumes in the room. A menacing flicker sparked in his unusual turquoise eyes.

'Fine. Nothing wrong with that. Why would there be?' he gave a sigh. 'I'll tell you what I found out, how's that, hmm?' he asked, dissatisfaction clear in his prattling voice. He pushed his chair back as he stood up and leaned forward on his arms. 'I am sad to give you this news.' But his countenance was presenting a sharp, sardonic smile. 'Our most beloved ruler is deathly ill. Quite literally on his death bed as we speak. I'm sure this grieves you as much as it does me.'

The faces in the room returned his smile and satisfaction. One man at the center of the table spoke up.

'Does this change our plans in any way, boss?' Clemson straightened up, a hand at his chin in a false moment of pondering. As previously stated Clemson loved plans and always coming prepared, he also loved playing with people's perceptions of him.

'Let's cut the pretenses, okay? We all agree that that old, pompous windbag is a tyrant. We also agree that this country would benefit from a generous, kind, competent ruler. Someone like myself, maybe, right? We already established that. That's why we're trying to topple him from his high-seat. He's making our job easier by dying and not making me do it for him. But there's another thing you worthless wastes of space couldn't find out for yourself.' His words were almost snarling now as he was looking around the meeting room, his arms crossed across his chest.

The men in the room were all avoiding his gaze. Clemson could sweet talk you and your mama into doing anything for him, but they knew there was a very dark part of that personality and it was not pretty when it came out.

'Let me ask you something, gentlemen. What happens when a king dies? And what will happen when our king dies?' Lump, the least endowed in the upstairs department of the whole meeting, raised his hand, bless his heart. With a sigh, Clemson answerd.

'Yes, Lump?'

'He goes to heaven?' after a beat.

'Yes, Lump. Of course he goes to heaven. If he's been a good boy. Have you been a good boy, Lump? I have half a mind to send you in an impromptu visit right now.' He finished in an angered whisper. 'No, you nitwits!' he snapped, banging his hands against the table. 'When the king dies the rule passes to his heir. That's logical. It's logical, right? I think I'm right. And who's his heir? That idler, Julien.'

'Yes, sir, but even so, the crown passes by law to the first born son. And as far as we know, Prince Julien has no wish to abdicate, even if he is only interested in partying and has no idea about matters of state.'

'Aha! See, here is where all of your appalling qualities as informants come into play. The king has just passed a document binding his son into a contract. He has to marry the woman his father chose or he won't inherit the crown. Apparently she is a foreign princess. Why would anyone want to get in leagues with that idiot? What wouldn't people do for power, am I right?' He waited for the effect of his revelation to take place, but after a time it seemed like no one in the room got the point. 'Now that the king is dying, all we have to do is wait for him to die, then attack before this wedding takes place and the crown is mine.' He could feel an evil laugh bubbling in his chest. He cleared his throat.

The man to his immediate left asked him:

'Sir, what about the public opinion? They are already calling us terrorists. How about when we'll eliminate a king who wasn't a tyrant, but completely inefficient and most certainly harmless.'

'Well, that's why I need you people. I need a team to start pronto work on ruining Julien's rep in any and all ways possible. Any questions?' Blank stares were all that he got in return. It was difficult sometimes having this vision of being king. Well, some would call it obsession, but what did they know? It made him have to deal with people like these very often, like he was the only evolved life form for miles.

'Well then, meeting adjourned.' He waited for all of them to exit the room and finally let out that evil laugh. He will take Madagascar to new heights under his rule, he just knew it.