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Nov. 28th, 2022 11:51 pm
fic: attempted bribery.
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figureheading
It is always enemy territory, entering the SDP leader’s office. He and Stéphane may nurture a relation that borders on friendly more than collegial, but that’s only because one is supposed to keep one’s enemies closer, isn’t that right?
The other man welcomes him with an affected display of open arms, getting up from his chair and showing Philippe to the small sofa arrangement in the far corner of the room, coffee already waiting. This was a scheduled meeting, after all. Philippe seats himself carefully and waits for Stéphane to do the same before he pours them both coffee. Mugs. Stéphane is a mug person, surprisingly.
Socialists.
Philippe takes a sip. It’s scalding, he blows on it a couple of times, then takes another mouthful.
“What brings you to these parts,” Stéphane wants to know, seeing as Philippe has simply scheduled the meeting, giving no official reason to his secretary. There are things people like Liberté’s PR manager, and he's only an example to give, of course, are allowed to see and there are things he must guess at as he best can, at everyone’s peril.
Philippe raises one eyebrow slightly. “I hear you’ve been having problems with Jean Louis regarding the taxing reform.”
Stéphane shrugs, “who doesn’t have problems with Jean Louis from time to time?”
It’s a badly concealed pointed finger.
Philippe frowns and puts his mug down, leaning back on the sofa, crossing his legs at the knees. “I do not require his vote quite as much as you do,” he replies, continuing after a rhetorical pause that can be felt, “and CDP is not as averse to taxing the wealthy as Liberté is. We might be persuaded to let you have our mandates instead. It is a morally sound equation, that those who have more give a little more.” Looking around the other man’s office, his own old PM office, though the interior design is vastly different than it was in his day; more modern, simpler, as to Stéphane’s liking. Stéphane is evidently still waiting for him to knock his point home. “A little more, of course.”
“That sounds like bribing techniques to me, Philippe,” the other man chuckles. “Are you certain your elected members share that standpoint?”
Hmm. Philippe chuckles, too. ”The bribing or the taxing?”
“Both.”
“CDP’s elected members agree that things need doing and as long as there are profits to be reaped, we can make accommodations. We call it politics.”
“No need to educate me on that, Philippe,” Stéphane drinks a few slow, measured mouthfuls of his coffee, “I’m the Prime Minister now, not you.”
“Of course.” The smiles are gone, now, suddenly, from the both of them. Enemy territory. He never forgets.
“I don’t take bribes, it looks so very bad on a politician’s track record.” Stéphane gets up in a way that reads, if that was all, so Philippe gets up as well and brushes down the front of his suit jacket. Stéphane’s whole demeanour has changed, the contrast between their jovial coffee party and this, the man in power, the king, telling his subjects to kneel before him. Luckily, Philippe is not easily intimidated. He moves around the table and heads for the door before the other man has to even say the words. He stops with one hand on the doorknob.
“Keep the offer in mind, then,” he says as a way of goodbye, like he isn’t leaving his own former land injured and bleeding, “when Jean Louis puts in his unreasonable demands to have things his way, my friend.”
“Ah, but sometimes Jean Louis’ way isn’t the worst thing to happen to us,” Stéphane replies, the smile back, cooler and sharper than before.
“On that, we must agree to disagree,” Philippe answers, nodding his head once, then exiting the office and closing the door after himself, a blood-soaked battlefield with trenches and bomb craters and no immediate victory in sight.
The other man welcomes him with an affected display of open arms, getting up from his chair and showing Philippe to the small sofa arrangement in the far corner of the room, coffee already waiting. This was a scheduled meeting, after all. Philippe seats himself carefully and waits for Stéphane to do the same before he pours them both coffee. Mugs. Stéphane is a mug person, surprisingly.
Socialists.
Philippe takes a sip. It’s scalding, he blows on it a couple of times, then takes another mouthful.
“What brings you to these parts,” Stéphane wants to know, seeing as Philippe has simply scheduled the meeting, giving no official reason to his secretary. There are things people like Liberté’s PR manager, and he's only an example to give, of course, are allowed to see and there are things he must guess at as he best can, at everyone’s peril.
Philippe raises one eyebrow slightly. “I hear you’ve been having problems with Jean Louis regarding the taxing reform.”
Stéphane shrugs, “who doesn’t have problems with Jean Louis from time to time?”
It’s a badly concealed pointed finger.
Philippe frowns and puts his mug down, leaning back on the sofa, crossing his legs at the knees. “I do not require his vote quite as much as you do,” he replies, continuing after a rhetorical pause that can be felt, “and CDP is not as averse to taxing the wealthy as Liberté is. We might be persuaded to let you have our mandates instead. It is a morally sound equation, that those who have more give a little more.” Looking around the other man’s office, his own old PM office, though the interior design is vastly different than it was in his day; more modern, simpler, as to Stéphane’s liking. Stéphane is evidently still waiting for him to knock his point home. “A little more, of course.”
“That sounds like bribing techniques to me, Philippe,” the other man chuckles. “Are you certain your elected members share that standpoint?”
Hmm. Philippe chuckles, too. ”The bribing or the taxing?”
“Both.”
“CDP’s elected members agree that things need doing and as long as there are profits to be reaped, we can make accommodations. We call it politics.”
“No need to educate me on that, Philippe,” Stéphane drinks a few slow, measured mouthfuls of his coffee, “I’m the Prime Minister now, not you.”
“Of course.” The smiles are gone, now, suddenly, from the both of them. Enemy territory. He never forgets.
“I don’t take bribes, it looks so very bad on a politician’s track record.” Stéphane gets up in a way that reads, if that was all, so Philippe gets up as well and brushes down the front of his suit jacket. Stéphane’s whole demeanour has changed, the contrast between their jovial coffee party and this, the man in power, the king, telling his subjects to kneel before him. Luckily, Philippe is not easily intimidated. He moves around the table and heads for the door before the other man has to even say the words. He stops with one hand on the doorknob.
“Keep the offer in mind, then,” he says as a way of goodbye, like he isn’t leaving his own former land injured and bleeding, “when Jean Louis puts in his unreasonable demands to have things his way, my friend.”
“Ah, but sometimes Jean Louis’ way isn’t the worst thing to happen to us,” Stéphane replies, the smile back, cooler and sharper than before.
“On that, we must agree to disagree,” Philippe answers, nodding his head once, then exiting the office and closing the door after himself, a blood-soaked battlefield with trenches and bomb craters and no immediate victory in sight.
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