The Regional Assembly Building,
Mons, Wallonia
The chambers were very quiet. They usually were before the BNF deputies arrived, always some ten to twenty minutes late due to their firm insistence on marching to work every day in what was, admittedly, a grand spectacle. The strains of the Belgian national anthem (for what Fascist march was complete without a brass band?) began to filter in and the assembled deputies glanced at one another in trepidation. Mostly BSU, with a smattering of CCU and even an odd Herriotiste fossil or two they all knew that times were a-changin'. What they didn't know was how long they'd be employed.
"Le Roi, la Loi, la Liberté!" came the final words of the anthem as the doors burst open and in marched the impeccably-clad BNF deputies, resplendent in their fine black uniforms as they took their collective seats at the far side of the chamber. Several Socialist deputies began to jeer and for a moment it looked like a fight was about to break out, but the Speaker of the Chamber -a BNF man- held up a hand for calm amongst his ranks. He was feeling magnanimous. With Leandres' victory, he could afford to be. Calmly he rose to address the Assembly.
"Now I know that many of you are concerned about your future; or about your own safety. But I assure you, the Belgian National Front is a party of law and of order. {here a few Socialists guffawed} This Assembly shall remain safe until it, and the regional government at large, is justly dissol-"
Suddenly a howling wind swept through the chambers with such force that the Speaker was buffeted backwards. Shrieking and moaning, the winds gathered into a whirling white vortex in the center of the room and rose to a terrible crescendo before falling away, as silent as the grave. In their place stood the pale, luminescent figure of Isidore Herriot. His clothes were tattered and stank of raw earth and decay and his flesh was so thin that he gave the appearance of bone shining through a veil. The entire body of deputies had fallen silent in fear and awe except for the mumbled prayers of a few. Staring with baleful loathing at the Fascists Isidore stabbed a bony finger in the Speaker's direction.
"No, you cannot do this! No! Noooooooooooo!"
And with that the phantom of a man gave out a loud, piercing, agonising shriek and plunged to his knees in despair. The winds returned, their howls mixing with the abominable shriek, until they formed into a friezes tornado bearing the figure of Herriot higher, higher into the air. And then he was gone.
Mons, Wallonia
The chambers were very quiet. They usually were before the BNF deputies arrived, always some ten to twenty minutes late due to their firm insistence on marching to work every day in what was, admittedly, a grand spectacle. The strains of the Belgian national anthem (for what Fascist march was complete without a brass band?) began to filter in and the assembled deputies glanced at one another in trepidation. Mostly BSU, with a smattering of CCU and even an odd Herriotiste fossil or two they all knew that times were a-changin'. What they didn't know was how long they'd be employed.
"Le Roi, la Loi, la Liberté!" came the final words of the anthem as the doors burst open and in marched the impeccably-clad BNF deputies, resplendent in their fine black uniforms as they took their collective seats at the far side of the chamber. Several Socialist deputies began to jeer and for a moment it looked like a fight was about to break out, but the Speaker of the Chamber -a BNF man- held up a hand for calm amongst his ranks. He was feeling magnanimous. With Leandres' victory, he could afford to be. Calmly he rose to address the Assembly.
"Now I know that many of you are concerned about your future; or about your own safety. But I assure you, the Belgian National Front is a party of law and of order. {here a few Socialists guffawed} This Assembly shall remain safe until it, and the regional government at large, is justly dissol-"
Suddenly a howling wind swept through the chambers with such force that the Speaker was buffeted backwards. Shrieking and moaning, the winds gathered into a whirling white vortex in the center of the room and rose to a terrible crescendo before falling away, as silent as the grave. In their place stood the pale, luminescent figure of Isidore Herriot. His clothes were tattered and stank of raw earth and decay and his flesh was so thin that he gave the appearance of bone shining through a veil. The entire body of deputies had fallen silent in fear and awe except for the mumbled prayers of a few. Staring with baleful loathing at the Fascists Isidore stabbed a bony finger in the Speaker's direction.
"No, you cannot do this! No! Noooooooooooo!"
And with that the phantom of a man gave out a loud, piercing, agonising shriek and plunged to his knees in despair. The winds returned, their howls mixing with the abominable shriek, until they formed into a friezes tornado bearing the figure of Herriot higher, higher into the air. And then he was gone.