Act II
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The same rules/ guidelines apply as for the first prompt post.
Important:
If you fill a prompt from the first prompt post, please post the fill there!
Likewise with all comments for a fic at the first prompt post.
Otherwise it will get very chaotic.
- If you have a fandom related question of any sort you can go ( Read more... )
Parliament Square is at its full bloom on that day, soon after an election, when the sitting monarch takes a short coach ride down Whitehall Road, and opens the Houses of Parliament. Though it is currently in vogue for many a protest to take place on that shining green, the square was built for the purpose of holding people who celebrate that Parliament, that monarchy, and all of these ever-older totems that hold up Britain's international reputation, such as it is. Protesters feel uneasy sitting, camping, shouting on that grass. It shrivels uneasily under their feet, feeling an alien presence. On the day of the state opening of Parliament, when the area heaves with monarchists and political anoraks of all shapes and sizes, Parliament Square is at its peak. The sun shines with renewed vigour, and all of the worlds' scientists have yet to know why the grass almost happily sparkles, more than any gold wrought by human hands ever could.
The day after the state opening of Parliament, however, is quite another matter. The air breathes a sigh of relief, and the weather settles back into the stew of English normality, just as the processes of Parliament settle into their set patterns. Civil servants cast off the fun of life without the bother of governance, the Treasury crushes the economic hopes of any incoming government, and Dennis Skinner eats his packed lunch on a wooden bench.
"You're one of the new batch of Tory lads, am I right?" Skinner's accent, almost laced with the coal of Derbyshire in its gruffness, was anethema to the ears of a man such as Peter Bone.
"I wouldn't go so far as to call myself a lad, but you are essentially right, Mr Skinner," Bone said, turning to face the jovial grin of the opposition personified.
"You're younger than I've been in a long time, son. Take a seat, eh? I'm always willing to give new blood a talking to, and now is as good a time as any."
Peter looked him over. His eyes had yet to gain their famed eldritch depths, so he saw the Beast of Bolsover through no more than the prejudice of a mortal who is Conservative with a capital 'c' (even if he is indeed something four-lettered with a small 'c'). Dennis Skinner, wearing tweed, not close to well-tailored, and the cheapest red tie this side of the Tie Racks to be found in airports and train stations nationally, was not a friendly prospect. In fact, his lunch, previously packed and currently being unwrapped, appeared to be that squashed atrocity known as 'Ploughman's'.
"I may be newly elected, but, with the greatest respect, I would not call a man with twenty years of political activism behind him 'new blood'." His words exuded the very opposite of respect, the slick deigning to consider the existence of an underling. He made Dennis unsure if he truly considered the repeated parachuting of a businessman to various 'safe' Tory seats near the time of general election an example of political activism of any description. Bone tied up the exchange with the neat bow of a lie. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, I have people to be meeting." He might have to brave the benches of Trafalgar Square at this rate, but few hospitable places welcomed the produce of any Parliamentary canteen (which was full of shiny-new, excited MPs, none of which dared to make space for a man with his glare). He resolved to, in future, work out how one's expenses could be manipulated in correlation with the best of central London's restaurants.
"Your loss, Bone!" Skinner called to the retreating back of the Tory. He felt new energy rising in himself; with each new Thatcherite, the power of the ex-miner had to be employed. Parliamentary discourse may be the most gentlemanly of forms of battle, but conflict is conflict. Many enjoyable battles were to spring up in the years ahead, and it would take untapped reserves of power in this immovable object to counter the force of the unstoppable Bone.
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