[FIC] District of Columbia
Title: District of Columbia
Genre: Romance/(Political?) Drama
Word Count: 1,717
Rating/Warnings: T/none
Summary: Even with his tell-tale British accent, Congressman Arthur Kirkland has steadily worked his way up the ladders of Washington with a blooming future ahead. Just as nothing seems to be able to stray him from his career, however, an attractive young blond from the rival party by the name of Alfred F. Jones arrives at the Senate and forces Arthur to reestablish his own self.
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“Good morning, Senator Arthur Kirkland.” The robotic female voice boomed so loudly in the grand white house, the window panes shuddered. “It is Thursday, January third, 2025. Your daily Hetalia News broadcast will begin in three... two...”
In the largest bedroom of the mansion, a man briefly opened one bloodshot eye behind his curtain of frizzy blond hair. He then groaned and burrowed deeper into his pillows, clinging on to the warmth in his dreams.
Beep!
“Front Page,” the voice said. “Article one: President addresses UN on US greenhouse gas. Article two: Americans can ‘do better’ to save the planet, says Steilsson. Article three-”
“Oh, shut up,” groaned Arthur.
This new home entertainment and command unit, which he had received three months before its release to the general public, was installed without his permission over the course of three days courtesy of his brother, Scot, who owned the KISA unit and its manufacturer, Kirkland Tech. After fifty-eight hours of debates and bills and usual Democrat idiocy, Arthur had looked forward to nothing more than a hot shower and a warm bed that was not scattered with paperwork. Imagine his surprise when a disembodied voice greeted him through the moment he unlocked the door.
“My apologies, Senator Arthur Kirkland. ‘Oh, shut up’ is not listed as a voice-key option.”
He slapped his hand against his forehead and dragged his palm down his face.
Arthur could not find a way to shut KISA down, since he had never been on good terms with electronics in general. How he managed to adjust his title to become “Senator Arthur Kirkland” instead of the original “Artie Fartie” was already a miracle all by itself. Though, as the KISA unit resumed its halting, robotic speech, Arthur supposed that the default option of announcing the day’s national headlines was not a horrible idea. Not that he liked it; he was simply relieved that his brother was not already running their parents’ company to the ground with his silliness.
KISA announced two more headlines-“Oakland mall shooting sparks gun control debate” and “Funeral for cyber-bullied teen held”-as Arthur climbed out of bed, his heart growing heavy as he prayed for the deaths for the seventh time that week. He shook open the curtains to let in the dull Pennsylvanian dawn, which reached into his bedroom floor and stroked his cheeks with its warm, soothing caress. He looked through the thin window, breath fogging clear glass. Snow drifted from the sky, and Arthur smiled.
“...swears to cleanse Congress. Flip page. Page two: News. Article o-”
Arthur blinked languidness out of his eyes. He spun around, as if confronting an invisible enemy.
“Stop!” he said, a little too loudly.
KIVA paused for a beat. “What are the commands, Senator Arthur Kirkland?”
“What was the-” He shook his head. “Repeat last headline.”
KIVA responded in half a second: “Freshman senator swears to ‘cleanse Congress.’”
Arthur could feel a migraine blossoming beautifully in the back of his skull. “Open article. Open image processor to Unit 3372B.”
He had to see this.
In the time it took the article to load, Arthur stormed downstairs and swung into his dining room, stopping only to grab his plate of breakfast which his Toasty Toodles machine had prepared while he slept (“Gourmet meals every day for only two payments of $49.99!”). There, his television-an old model, over five years old-flickered open, and the face of Alfred F. Jones was plastered all over the 50-inch screen.
Arthur sipped his tea and found it not nearly strong enough to hold together his splintering nerves.
Of course that idiot liberal would make a fool out of himself before his first day even started. He pinched the bridge of his nose and asked, for the millionth time in the past two months, Why did my people vote for another Democrat?
On the screen, still frozen, Jones wore a pair of much-too-casual blue jeans, a much-too-tacky “I HEART US” T-shirt, and, as usual, a much-too-friendly smile, bright enough to light up an entire football field. That was not to mention his ridiculously common name, his blue eyes, his flaxen hair, and-despite pursuing the mostly sedentary career of politics-his athletic build. Everything about Alfred F. Jones screamed All-American so loudly Arthur was afraid he would go deaf.
The voice-over began as Arthur dully munched his toast:
“Senator-elect Alfred F. Jones declared war against corruption of Congress at a rally yesterday afternoon in Pittsburgh, PA.”
As he watched, the photo moved. The camera zoomed out, showing the exuberant young man speaking to a crowd of Democrats in a background of red, white, and blue streamers.
“My fellow countrymen,” the annoying, tinny, and not at all politician-like voice shouted, “in these next six years, I will purge the rich and powerful corporate puppet masters from the Senate and give back democracy to the citizens of the United States of America as our forefathers have intended!”
The crowd roared with approval. The audio faded out, replaced by the cold, bored female voice once more:
“He plans to garner enough attention in Congress to add a twenty-eighth amendment to the US Constitution with his famous ‘Money out of Government’ proposal, which was rejected by the House of Representatives March last year in a narrow defeat.
“Jones is a member of the Freedom Fighters, a branch of the Democratic Party known for its far-left political idealism and its stance against large businesses and enterprises. Supporters describe his victory in the November 11 elections as a ‘historical step forward.’”
Alfred F. Jones was replaced by Freedom Fighters spokesperson, Elizaveta Héderváry. She was, incidentally, also another major source of Arthur’s headaches.
“For too long, Congress has acted in its own interests and not the interests of the people it is supposed to represent,” she said as cameras flashed off on the sides. Arthur minced his lips together and took another sip of tea. “Our branch is born from that frustration. Just look at how fast we are growing. Back in 2021, we only had one person-Alfred-in the House. Now, there are fifty-six in the House, and Alfred has moved to the Senate. There’s no doubt about it: people are responding to our message, and the Freedom Fighters are quickly gaining influence.”
“Gaining influence my arse,” Arthur muttered, quietly so the central computer system would not pick it up as a command. Brainwashing Americans, prancing around with ridiculous talks of hope and peace, accusing all and helping none-
“Opponents, however,” the narration cut in, “argue that Jones’s presence in the Senate will only hold American back.”
“Alfred Jones is a product of excessive worship and glamorization,” said New Jersey Governor Roderich Edelstein, not forgetting to wrinkle his nose in distaste. His usual air of superiority and discontent was tangible even through the screen. “So far, he hasn’t proposed a single piece of legislature-useful legislature-as a proper legislator should have done; instead, he ventured into the House and destroyed its foundations. The week he accused ten congressmen of fraud, we were left with one of the biggest last-minute infusions of Representatives ever, and the stock market received its greatest dip in twelve years. Do we want a man who can potentially push us back to the 2008 recession?”
Arthur nodded. “Damn straight we don’t.”
“NBC talk show host Francis Bonnefoy had a different point of view but expressed similar sentiments.”
Francis Bonnefoy was a pundit who, despite his liberal inclinations, was famous for his bipartisan analyses-he bashed every politician equally. Arthur held a special dislike for this man. Once, a couple of years after Arthur became senator, he appeared on “Dinner with Bonnefoy,” and for the entire segment they argued on nothing but social issues, which was the only topic Arthur did not want to discuss. It didn’t help that Francis had automatically seen through Arthur and needled him on gay rights for twenty minutes straight.
“Ninety-nine percent of all politicians in the Congress are corrupt.” This was a clip from his talk show, and the bastard was drinking wine as he spoke. “Take them away, and you’re as good as not having a government at all. Look here, I’m not saying the idea isn’t nice. Jones is a fool, but his heart is there, which is a lot more than others can claim. But it’s like-how do you say it?-it’s like forcibly ripping away a rotten fence from your morning glory and still expecting the flowers to live. ‘Money out of Government’ just can’t be done.”
With a few quick commands, Arthur silenced the news report. If the article resorted to publishing a quote from Francis Bonnefoy, the rest was not worth reading.
Arthur’s assistants had already provided him with more information on Alfred F. Jones than he would ever need; the article was nothing new. If Alfred F. Jones wished to declare war on Congress, then by all means, let him embarrass himself.
Stretching apart his thirty-six-year-old bones, Arthur stood up from the sofa and returned to his bedroom to change. Though the Senate meeting would not start until noon, and the committee meetings not until eight, it was January third, 2025. The first day of a brand new Congress session. The exchange of old, lame-duck senators with newly elected freshmen.
Arthur took in a breath, held it, then released it.
Whatever battle records this Alfred F. Jones did or did not have, however many “corrupt” officials he had uncovered, and whoever he thought he was destined to be, it was all going to be over in a few short hours.
Arthur had been the same fresh-faced senator six years back, ready to dominate Capitol Hill and do his people good. What he hadn’t counted on, and what Jones would never suspect, was how different the Senate was from the House. How much deeper he would sink into this political pit.
Twenty minutes later, after Arthur locked up his front doors, he looked at his great, empty house and wondered whether this empty shell symbolized his own self or his country. Shaking his head, he deemed this thought silly and walked down the porch, allowing the Pennsylvanian winter, still so foreign in her touch, to wrap him in an embrace.
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This is not the first time Jones has made such bold moves. In his last four years as a member of the House of Representatives, he has publicly identified fifty-seven congressmen and six multinational corporations with crimes including bribery, obstruction of justice, misuse of public funds, extortion, and tax evasion. Ninety-eight of the one hundred and ten charges were proven true while forty-seven more await trial.
Alfred F. Jones, along with thirty-three other elected and reelected senators, will be sworn into office at noon today.
“I look forward to working with such an extraordinary man who has moved the hearts of so many,” expressed Senator Arthur Kirkland, also of Pennsylvania.
Article by Tino Väinämöinen, Washington, D.C.
Article end.
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A/N: This chapter is sort of a pilot. I have around twenty (thousand) projects that I’m juggling right now, so I’m trying to measure people’s interest and response. If you can let me know what you think after reading, it would be wonderful.
Also, if you feel like this chapter contains a gigantic bias against the so-and-so group, don’t worry too much. I’ll still be writing them impartially. If you are still concerned, however, questions are always welcome.
I do plan on rewriting this chapter later and researching more. Sorry about any frustration or head-banging which results. It’s still pretty messy.