12-01-2016, 11:41 AM
The memory of the roar of the crowd still sent shivers up Marcus' spine as he dressed, as if the reaction to the Ascendancy's creation of the Arch was merely an appetizer, a prelude to a sumptuous feast.
Bykov and Vladislavovna had seemed overjoyed to find Ascendancy in health, at least in their own way. Neither of them were overly demonstrative unless performing, and their usual reactions always seemed a bit...off. No, not off. Slow, a hair less spontaneous than a normal person. Calculated. Not that most people noticed. But he had. It was something he struggled with as well. This time, though, the enthusiasm and joy seemed more natural. As if there was no attempt at artifice and manipulation.
And he had found it infectious. Especially when they immediately began plotting how to best reveal the Ascendancy's survival and recovery. They had to balance the pragmatic issues of the effect on worldwide markets and potential rebellions with the opportunity to turn a disaster into something truly amazing.
A compromise had been struck, perhaps not to everyone's liking, but such was the nature of compromises. The sea of people in the square dwarfed that from the announcement. This time, there were not shouts of anger or outrage. Instead, from the walls of the Kremlin spilling over into the Basilica and even the GUM, the hum of prayers and the twinkle of candlelight and tear and fear filled faces held vigil. Guards, police and ZARs were out in force but in truth, there was little for them to do. Around the world in other cities, news and online broadcasts showed the same thing. The world held its breath, unsure of what was going to happen next.
The moment had stretched out tautly, drawn to the very last moment it could.
And then Ascendancy had revealed himself, his face larger than life on the monitors- all monitors across the empire, the world- in bars and in squares and in homes and on wallets and tablets and everywhere they could be broadcast. His whole and hale face, body strong and without injury, such a contrast to the burned and nearly dead images that had filled the hearts of so many with fear for the future.
That roar...the thunderous groundswell, the cheering, the unending cheering and cries of joy and elation....Marcus had closed his eyes and reveled in it, felt it wash over him like a wave, fed on it even as he knew it was not his. Not yet. A smile played over his lips, allowed as it fit the mood of everyone. Allowed because one day, one day, this would be his. Consul of the Consulate on Channeler Oversight. Just a name, now, a position. But he would turn it into so much more. This power before him, flowing from the mass of people, he could almost reach out and touch, caress, could nearly see the currents and threads of the souls of everyone out there as they cast their dreams and hopes and joy out into reality and toward the Ascendancy.
On impulse he seized the Force and allowed the dual powers before him to play, wreathing themselves about each other, the two playing and complementing and strengthening and contrasting around him. He could almost visualize a cloak of it surrounding him, a mantle settling up him.
Now, just a few days later, the feeling still remained, lessened with time, it was true. But the memory of it was still strong. He dressed in a wool suit a purple so dark it was nearly black unless hit with the right light. His shirt was a deep forest green and his tie a gold checked pattern, his shoes a supple plum colored leather. But not his Sigma pin. A new stylized image and pin was being commissioned.
Reluctantly, he pushed away the elation. He needed to figure out how to shape his new Consulate. How to structure it. What its goals would be. And how he could use it. He wanted to get out, to gauge the feel of the people. The Force was fresh on their minds, the existence of channelers. He could watch interviews and talking heads endlessly analyze things- as if they knew what was going on or had a pulse on the groundswell. No, he wanted to judge for himself. To see what was needed and what was expected. It was his goal that the Consulate would be as pivotal and important as that of Bykov and Vladislavovna's.
The spring air was crisp and invigorating as he exited the apartment gates. He wanted to see the monument first. There would be where the crowd was most...energetic. Concentrated.
Edited by Marcus DuBois, Dec 1 2016, 05:02 PM.
Bykov and Vladislavovna had seemed overjoyed to find Ascendancy in health, at least in their own way. Neither of them were overly demonstrative unless performing, and their usual reactions always seemed a bit...off. No, not off. Slow, a hair less spontaneous than a normal person. Calculated. Not that most people noticed. But he had. It was something he struggled with as well. This time, though, the enthusiasm and joy seemed more natural. As if there was no attempt at artifice and manipulation.
And he had found it infectious. Especially when they immediately began plotting how to best reveal the Ascendancy's survival and recovery. They had to balance the pragmatic issues of the effect on worldwide markets and potential rebellions with the opportunity to turn a disaster into something truly amazing.
A compromise had been struck, perhaps not to everyone's liking, but such was the nature of compromises. The sea of people in the square dwarfed that from the announcement. This time, there were not shouts of anger or outrage. Instead, from the walls of the Kremlin spilling over into the Basilica and even the GUM, the hum of prayers and the twinkle of candlelight and tear and fear filled faces held vigil. Guards, police and ZARs were out in force but in truth, there was little for them to do. Around the world in other cities, news and online broadcasts showed the same thing. The world held its breath, unsure of what was going to happen next.
The moment had stretched out tautly, drawn to the very last moment it could.
And then Ascendancy had revealed himself, his face larger than life on the monitors- all monitors across the empire, the world- in bars and in squares and in homes and on wallets and tablets and everywhere they could be broadcast. His whole and hale face, body strong and without injury, such a contrast to the burned and nearly dead images that had filled the hearts of so many with fear for the future.
That roar...the thunderous groundswell, the cheering, the unending cheering and cries of joy and elation....Marcus had closed his eyes and reveled in it, felt it wash over him like a wave, fed on it even as he knew it was not his. Not yet. A smile played over his lips, allowed as it fit the mood of everyone. Allowed because one day, one day, this would be his. Consul of the Consulate on Channeler Oversight. Just a name, now, a position. But he would turn it into so much more. This power before him, flowing from the mass of people, he could almost reach out and touch, caress, could nearly see the currents and threads of the souls of everyone out there as they cast their dreams and hopes and joy out into reality and toward the Ascendancy.
On impulse he seized the Force and allowed the dual powers before him to play, wreathing themselves about each other, the two playing and complementing and strengthening and contrasting around him. He could almost visualize a cloak of it surrounding him, a mantle settling up him.
Now, just a few days later, the feeling still remained, lessened with time, it was true. But the memory of it was still strong. He dressed in a wool suit a purple so dark it was nearly black unless hit with the right light. His shirt was a deep forest green and his tie a gold checked pattern, his shoes a supple plum colored leather. But not his Sigma pin. A new stylized image and pin was being commissioned.
Reluctantly, he pushed away the elation. He needed to figure out how to shape his new Consulate. How to structure it. What its goals would be. And how he could use it. He wanted to get out, to gauge the feel of the people. The Force was fresh on their minds, the existence of channelers. He could watch interviews and talking heads endlessly analyze things- as if they knew what was going on or had a pulse on the groundswell. No, he wanted to judge for himself. To see what was needed and what was expected. It was his goal that the Consulate would be as pivotal and important as that of Bykov and Vladislavovna's.
The spring air was crisp and invigorating as he exited the apartment gates. He wanted to see the monument first. There would be where the crowd was most...energetic. Concentrated.
Edited by Marcus DuBois, Dec 1 2016, 05:02 PM.