The New Republic
Early 1004
Vesalipolis
The Changeling Lands
The walls and halls of the junta’s headquarters were the same as any other standard building in Vesalipolis, and there was a good reason for that: they simply couldn’t afford to build a new one. And so, they lived and worked in an old hotel building, with the representatives for the new republic earning the comfort of a free room, in thanks for their service, and as protection for their own good.
In the main office on the third floor overlooking the plaza, the highest members of the junta worked. Tensions were high, hope higher. The voices of around twenty changelings (and one griffon) created a constant stream of noise as voices talked - almost shouted - over each other, papers were shifted, and chalk scraped on a blackboard.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE THEY ARE?” the Head of Security - Pharynx - berated a small changeling, who recoiled at the noise.
”I did my best, they just… vanished.”
Pharynx held his tongue for a moment, allowing himself a moment to cool. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. Keep trying. You have complete unrestricted access to any files about them. We can not let them stir up more trouble.” He then dismissed the changeling, who left immediately. He had a few free minutes, so he decided to take a short inspection on the others.
His first stop was a small group sitting around an absolute mess of a table, papers with every corner filled with scrawled words strewn across it. Sitting or standing around it was Lucas, a griffon from the Griffonian Republic; Chitin, leader of the UCRP, and his second; Thorax, leader of the HCP and Pharynx’s younger brother; and Ocellus, Thorax’s second.
“No, no, no! The wording needs to be as precise as possible!” exclaimed Lucas, almost stabbing his copy of the griffonian constitution with a talon. The changelings around him groaned in agony, they had likely been working since dawn on the new constitution, and it showed. Thorax acknowledged his brother’s presence, and Pharynx thought that he looked like he was about to collapse from exhaustion. Most of him felt sorry for his brother, but a sliver of him was smug from seeing his brother in such a sorry state after he had begged and pleaded for Pharynx to help get his party approved in the new government. Pharynx didn’t like that feeling, so he hurried off.
The next table was where most of the junta’s leadership were gathered, generals huddled around a pool table, except, instead of balls and sticks, there were maps and reports. A blackboard now hung on the wall behind the table where originally there had been a dartboard, lines and boxes that represented armies that didn’t exist anymore were drawn on it with chalk. Azure was repeatedly smashing his head into the table in frustration while Latro proposed various contingencies in the case of civil anarchy, or worse.
Over by the next table, a secretary was writing letters dictated from Hivesregent - formerly Generalleutnant - Climex, the leader of the junta. He dictated words about “the unity of changeling kind“ and “how this is the most perilous moment in our history” as the secretary furiously scribbled his words down. Behind him, several high-ranking bureaucrats waited with papers and grim faces.
A clock on the wall chimed twice, signalling to Pharynx that is was time for his daily inspection of his other garrisons. He grabbed his hat from off its hook by the door, just before the next shift of four guards came in to swap with the ones inside the office. As they swapped, the shift that had now been relieved followed Pharynx through the halls.
Throughout the building, Pharynx’s troops stood vigilant, armed to the fangs to defend against any who would dare threaten the new republic. As he passed them by, they would salute him, and he would salute them back.
After going down a few flights, they arrived in the lobby. It had once been a welcoming place, well lit with a ceiling, plenty of floor room with seats, and a large front desk with room for three receptionists. Now… not so much.
The guards had nicknamed the lobby shift, “The dead ling’s shift” because it was the first place that would be attacked in the case of an attack. Of the twenty-five soldiers Pharynx had in the building, eight were stationed in the lobby at all times to defend against potential assaults.
The eight currently there were settling into the fortifications set up when Pharynx and his four guards entered. They saluted him, as protocol, but this time, Pharynx addressed them.
”Good luck on your shift, soldiers. I hear that you may have some Muffins shouting slurs at you today” he said, referring to the yelling coming from outside.
The soldier stationed at one of the windows answered, “It looks like it’s going to be an interesting shift today, sir. It’s not just the muffins today.”
Pharynx and his guards walked towards the doorway, and it was only a doorway, because the actual door, along with the windows, had been destroyed a few days prior in an attack by fanatic remnants of the Queen’s Guard, whose blood now stained the doorway and the ground outside. As he walked through the doorway, he saw a crowd of protesters outside: Golden Muffin’s Stallionists.
They were out there, holding signs of all sorts. Some were simply calling for a voice in the new republic, while others called for radical things like the execution of the queens. However, this time, Hivesmarschall Synovial‘s monarchists were there as well, brandishing arms and verbally calling out in vain for the junta to ”turn back”. Both sides seemed to be at odds, and already, it seemed that most of the anger of both parties of opposing ideologies was now being directed at each other now, rather than at the junta.
“THE NEW WORLD NEEDS A NEW SYSTEM OF GOVERNMENT! GO HOME, YOU HOOF-LICKERS!” called out one of the “Muffins” - as they were known - in rage against the monarchists.
Synovial pulled out a megaphone, “If communism is so good for the people, why don’t you all take your ideology back to Stalliongrad? Oh wait, you can’t, because they don’t exist anymore. Communism couldn’t save them, and it won’t help any of us. It’s the ravings of a madpony, one deluded by their own poor life.“ He wasn’t able to say any more, as angered Muffins cried out in outrage, reducing even the Hivesmarschall’s megaphone to a quiet whisper amongst the volume. Some of the closest Muffins shape-shifted into Synovial, and began to mock him.
With the crowds’ attention now on each other rather than on Pharynx, he took the opportunity to discretely leave the scene with his ‘lings. A few of the Muffins noticed him, but a quick flash of his pistol and his troops’ rifles was enough to make them shut up. His car was waiting nearby, and he only had to get there before he could relax.
After they got a good distance from the crowds, one of the guards decided to speak, “It’s getting worse and worse out here every day.”
”Thanks, Sergeant Obvious.” retorted one of his comrades.
“Everything is burning around us, and you‘re upset that I’m saying what needs to be said? The Princess’ New Clothes much?”
“Yeah… well… well… You got me there. But still…”
”Alright, that’s enough you two. I’m not going to have bickering in the car.”
The two fell silent as they approached a car waiting for the five of them. They got in, and sped off towards the central administration centre of the hive, the centre of the late queen Chrysalis’ power…