Monday, 3 Sh'vat, 5693

The LaPorte family gathered around the radio in their parlor and listened with growing anxiety to the waves of enthusiastic cheers as Daniel Freitag was announced the new Chancellor of Garma and proceeded to make one of his typical demagogic, propagandist speeches filled with empty words and visions of hope for a stronger, more prosperous nation.

To disagree with his words was to disagree with the welfare of one's own country and its people.  By this time, Freitag was the people. He was the strong man who would lead them out of ruin and into the glorious vision of a new day in a greater, more respected empire. Daniel Freitag was the ruler that they had all been waiting for... except, of course, for those who hadn't.

One such man was Francis LaPorte who, at this time, was sitting in a peacock buri armchair at his family home in Bevel where he, along with his aged parents and married sisters, now listened in stunned silence with a crumpled fist and deeply entrenching dread to the foolish talk of the nation's new leader and the uproarious applause of its citizens.

"That's enough," his father declared as he reached over and flicked off the radio, cutting short the praise of the newly appointed Chancellor.

Francis let out a relieved sigh, the tension in the room having become almost unbearable.

"You know, I never liked that man," his father went on, staring at the radio as if there was something to see in it. "The way he drives around in his car with that ridiculous riding crop ought to be enough to make any man squirm, and the company he keeps is appalling. Besides that, the man's a psychopath. I don't know how anyone could have voted for him in the first place."

"At least he isn't the president," Francis's mother muttered from beside him. She had been holding her head as if it hurt, and he could certainly understand why if it did.

"Even so, his rampant popularity is disturbing," his father remarked, leaning back in his seat on the blue velvet couch and placing a reassuring hand on his wife's thigh. "The rising influence of these supposed Good Fellows is a great misfortune to all of us."

"Surely, the youth movement hasn't been all that we had hoped it might be," Francis admitted shortly before jumping up from his chair. He could feel his blood pressure rising with the tension in his body and began to pace a nervous line between the grand piano and the bright bay window which overlooked his mother's garden.

"Yes, what is it they see in this so-called great leader?" his father inquired; though, it was at least half a criticism and Francis wasn't sure exactly how much of a question there was left in this statement of the gray haired psychiatrist.

"That's what I plan to address Wednesday," Francis replied, playing with the keys on the piano in an uncharacteristically pointless manner.

"In your radio talk?" his sister, Anna, clarified, remembering the invitation which had been passed on through their father.

"That's right," he said almost absentmindedly as he tried to force his fingers into tapping the keys for something more than a few simple notes of meaningless sound, "I plan to speak on the youth's altered view of what constitutes a leader; one which, I'm afraid, has resulted in all of this."

The Commodore was a station which the old man would occasionally grace with a talk on this psychological societal concern or that, and one which Francis was still more than just a little skittish about presenting for in their evening talk, but he was confident that he had the whole thing plotted out quite well. It was the makings of a masterful reproof of today's political proceedings and one which he hoped was evenhanded and carefully crafted enough to avoid trouble. The Good Fellows were, after all, a force to be reckoned with... not one to be questioned.

"Ah!" Francis exclaimed, his stiffened fingers finally fiddling something. "How about some Göttlandee?"

"If you insist," his sister, Sophie, sighed, straightening her posture before she began to hum the familiar melody with a smile.

They closed their eyes, lost in the tune, all but Francis. He was still deeply troubled, his mind flooded with the events of the day and all that this might mean for them. Even so, he was happy to be able to afford them all a short break from life's increasing demands.

A gentle smile graced his lips as he played on long through the afternoon and into the early evening, about which time Anna's husband, Rodger, returned home, entering wearily through the polished blackwood door with a look of earnest contemplation and heaviness.

"Here, let me take your hat and your coat for you," Anna offered, noticing the bewildered state of her husband.

Francis looked up thoughtfully through the round glass of his spectacles, considering what sort of day the poor lawyer must have endured at the Ministry of Justice.

Sophie grabbed the sleeve of her brother's brown suit jacket. "Francis," she whispered, calling his attention.

Francis glanced over at his beautiful sister and gave her a look of quiet acknowledgement as he waited for her to remove a strand of light blonde hair from her face before speaking.

"Thank you," she said with a light squeeze of his arm. "The music was wonderful."

Francis smiled. "You're welcome," he whispered back to her as he offered a nod of humble courtesy to his twin.

"Say, Rodger!" their father proclaimed as the young man entered into the house. "Tell us, how are things out there in the world today?"

Rodger shook his head. He was still quite pale and visibly uncomfortable. "Do you realize that Daniel Freitag has been appointed Chancellor?" he blurted out, having had to scramble the syllables for words.

"Doesn't all of Garma know it?" the bearded man replied in spirited dissent. "They announced that hours ago, and what a great disaster this will be for all of us!"

"Disaster? Papa LaPorte, you don't understand! The celebration is still going on! This is more than just disaster - this means war!"

The room fell silent as the words of the disheveled jurist began to sink into their erudite minds, causing the faces of the family to fall as they darkened with this ominous vision of their country's bitter fate.

It was times like these that made Francis question the wisdom of a republic, though he would much rather have it than not. Still, war? The word left behind an unpleasant residue of feeling whenever he heard it. Ever since his brother's death and the nation's utter destruction the last time, war was something which he very much despised. Though, in spite of his opinions and deepest desires for peace, he knew that Rodger was right... they all did. With Daniel Freitag in charge and his Good Fellows running the National Assembly, war was inevitable.