Philippe Barrault (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
figureheading) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
wealthofnations2022-11-21 04:44 pm
figureheading) wrote in wealthofnations2022-11-21 04:44 pm
Entry tags:
fic: heirs.
HIM
Jean Louis’ name has been on all Parliament’s lips for years at this point, at first by way of Stéphane who favours the boy, as he puts it, the implications understood by all, seeing as everyone knows of the SD leader’s tastes (broad or ‘fluid’ as the new generation would say), though no one speaks of it openly. Philippe has watched the young man travel through the ranks of the Social Democrats’ youth party with a sour aftertaste to his undeniable interest which he shall call worry for lack of a more fitting term. Someone from Jean Louis’ background, God knows exactly how underprivileged, is an easy prey for a man like Stéphane, next in line for power and never reluctant to use that position to the advantage of himself and his favoured ones.
When, a couple of years later, Jean Louis leaves the SD’s and joins the CDP’s youth fraction instead, however, Philippe thinks maybe ‘prey’ wasn’t the right description to begin with.
HER
She grows up so fast. Philippe is ready to swear, she was a toddler just yesterday. However, Marie-Claude has become a serious, focused girl and he tries to support those of her interests that will get her the furthest – the literary subjects, her debate team, she’s a skilled analyst and essayist, as eloquent in writing as her father is in speech. He images her as a non-fiction author, perhaps a journalist, though she strikes him as an academic more than a practitioner. She talks about joining the CDP’s youth party once she’s eligible. He tries to talk her out of it.
“Politics are messy,” he warns her.
“I thought cleaning up messes was what you expected women to do,” she replies.
He takes money out of her allowance for being sassy.
HIM
One moment, Jean Louis has cemented his name in the youth party, the next he’s running for a seat in Parliament and had it been anyone else, Philippe would have warned them that getting in on their first try is an extremely rare occurrence, they’re young, they have time, but he would not be surprised if Jean Louis actually makes it in his first go. The boy is like the living proof of how the seedling knows it’ll be a huge tree eventually, that it’s in its biology to expect its own growth spurt, and definitely not to expect less.
So Jean Louis, naturally, makes it. At the victory celebrations afterwards, Philippe calls his toast and welcomes him from the ashes into the fire. “The Devil isn’t afraid of Hell,” someone laughs from behind them, Philippe giving the man a raised eyebrow for his efforts. He shrinks. He’ll be out in four years from now, surely.
Contrary to their new colleague here.
HER
The year the CDP goes in for their third term in government, Marie-Claude joins the SDP’s youth party against his wishes and best recommendations. “What’s the alternative,” she asks him, dressing for her first International Worker’s Day demonstration, “joining the CDP?” Her jeans cling to her legs and her chequered, flannel shirt is tied up across the belly. He frowns, watching her in the mirror. How big his little girl has grown and although youth is naturally inclined to experience the world on its own terms, this is too pointed even for her.
“No, the point is that politics isn’t an alternative at all,” he tells her.
“You’ve always said yourself, politics is the only alternative,” she reminds him. She’s got the memory of an elephant. Aren’t they matriarchal, too, those beasts? He folds his arms over his chest.
“Not for everyone,” he clarifies.
“You mean, not for women,” she corrects him. He throws his hands up in defeat and moves aside so she can leave her room. His obstinate teenage daughter. God knows, he has tried his best. As she passes him by, he grabs her by the elbow and holds her back just long enough to kiss her cheek and mutter:
“Not for someone with such rigid morals.”
“Parliament needs more rigid morals than yours and Jean Louis Girard’s, Dad,” she says, softly, turning her head enough to kiss his cheek back. Philippe releases her and watches her hurry down the staircase, someone ringing the bell at the front door. Another of Stéphane’s favoured ones, no doubt, here to pick her up.
If she weren’t on her way out to celebrate the 1st of May, that utter nonsense, maybe he would have agreed that Parliament might benefit from some diversity in the future. As it is, he’s got a meeting with Jean Louis later in the afternoon.
Let that be a test of their morals.
Jean Louis’ name has been on all Parliament’s lips for years at this point, at first by way of Stéphane who favours the boy, as he puts it, the implications understood by all, seeing as everyone knows of the SD leader’s tastes (broad or ‘fluid’ as the new generation would say), though no one speaks of it openly. Philippe has watched the young man travel through the ranks of the Social Democrats’ youth party with a sour aftertaste to his undeniable interest which he shall call worry for lack of a more fitting term. Someone from Jean Louis’ background, God knows exactly how underprivileged, is an easy prey for a man like Stéphane, next in line for power and never reluctant to use that position to the advantage of himself and his favoured ones.
When, a couple of years later, Jean Louis leaves the SD’s and joins the CDP’s youth fraction instead, however, Philippe thinks maybe ‘prey’ wasn’t the right description to begin with.
HER
She grows up so fast. Philippe is ready to swear, she was a toddler just yesterday. However, Marie-Claude has become a serious, focused girl and he tries to support those of her interests that will get her the furthest – the literary subjects, her debate team, she’s a skilled analyst and essayist, as eloquent in writing as her father is in speech. He images her as a non-fiction author, perhaps a journalist, though she strikes him as an academic more than a practitioner. She talks about joining the CDP’s youth party once she’s eligible. He tries to talk her out of it.
“Politics are messy,” he warns her.
“I thought cleaning up messes was what you expected women to do,” she replies.
He takes money out of her allowance for being sassy.
HIM
One moment, Jean Louis has cemented his name in the youth party, the next he’s running for a seat in Parliament and had it been anyone else, Philippe would have warned them that getting in on their first try is an extremely rare occurrence, they’re young, they have time, but he would not be surprised if Jean Louis actually makes it in his first go. The boy is like the living proof of how the seedling knows it’ll be a huge tree eventually, that it’s in its biology to expect its own growth spurt, and definitely not to expect less.
So Jean Louis, naturally, makes it. At the victory celebrations afterwards, Philippe calls his toast and welcomes him from the ashes into the fire. “The Devil isn’t afraid of Hell,” someone laughs from behind them, Philippe giving the man a raised eyebrow for his efforts. He shrinks. He’ll be out in four years from now, surely.
Contrary to their new colleague here.
HER
The year the CDP goes in for their third term in government, Marie-Claude joins the SDP’s youth party against his wishes and best recommendations. “What’s the alternative,” she asks him, dressing for her first International Worker’s Day demonstration, “joining the CDP?” Her jeans cling to her legs and her chequered, flannel shirt is tied up across the belly. He frowns, watching her in the mirror. How big his little girl has grown and although youth is naturally inclined to experience the world on its own terms, this is too pointed even for her.
“No, the point is that politics isn’t an alternative at all,” he tells her.
“You’ve always said yourself, politics is the only alternative,” she reminds him. She’s got the memory of an elephant. Aren’t they matriarchal, too, those beasts? He folds his arms over his chest.
“Not for everyone,” he clarifies.
“You mean, not for women,” she corrects him. He throws his hands up in defeat and moves aside so she can leave her room. His obstinate teenage daughter. God knows, he has tried his best. As she passes him by, he grabs her by the elbow and holds her back just long enough to kiss her cheek and mutter:
“Not for someone with such rigid morals.”
“Parliament needs more rigid morals than yours and Jean Louis Girard’s, Dad,” she says, softly, turning her head enough to kiss his cheek back. Philippe releases her and watches her hurry down the staircase, someone ringing the bell at the front door. Another of Stéphane’s favoured ones, no doubt, here to pick her up.
If she weren’t on her way out to celebrate the 1st of May, that utter nonsense, maybe he would have agreed that Parliament might benefit from some diversity in the future. As it is, he’s got a meeting with Jean Louis later in the afternoon.
Let that be a test of their morals.