Can I vote Panda? || Job, solo

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The white snow is falling from the starlit skies...

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Words: 1516

Era: capital of the magical world, home of the Magic Council. It was an impressive city to say the least, one that Grace had toured quite frequently in years past, spending hours in the library looking for information about topics of magic and alchemy, as well as scientific endeavors as well. As she stepped off the train with her satchel, part of her wanted to go to the library and investigate into matters she had left previously unattened during her last visit; however, she was here on someone else’s dime, and she didn’t want to disappoint her clients by taking detours. The political situation in Fiore was quite a mess at the moment; since the previous ambassador had left office due to unforseen personal circumstances, the media had been covering the primary selection process for candidates thus far and, now that the only moral and upstanding candidates were out of the race by being cheated out of it or insulted out of it, everyone was highly dissatisfied with the two pricks that the media had hand picked to line their pockets. One of them, a hag and a crook that wore pant-suits and no charisma in public speaking, was expected to win, but only because the other—a billionaire man-baby painted the color of orange cheese puffs and hiding his balding head with a greasy toupé—was only slightly less tolerable than. The “debates” had been horrendous from the start, but now it was just a hot, steamy mess of self-parody.

Thankfully, neither of them would be missed by the public if they happened to have some sort of “accident” occur, making it quite easy to go about her work. After getting a press pass and forging some credentials, the snow mage had gotten the opportunity to arrange an exclusive joint interview with the two of them. It would be torturous, listening to the incessant boasting that was likely to be coming out of Drumpf’s mouth, but at the very least it made the process of assassination easy. The woman walked down the streets until she came to the place the interview was to take place. The building itself was an overly fanciful tower, trimmed in faux gold and build with black marble and blacked-out windows: Drumpf’s corporate headquarters. As she came to the door, she pulled her press pass out and strung the lanyard around her neck, walking up to the reception desk. The woman sitting at the desk looked ancient, underpaid, and was more than likely underappreciated for havng to deal with all the idiots that walked through the door asking where the bathroom was.

“Can I help you?” the secretary asked, her voice snappish and sour.

“Yes,” the mage replied, “My name is Grace Evolan. I believe I’m scheduled for an interview...”

“Oh...you’re that little tart, aren’t you?” she replied, fumbling through the papers on her desk for an itinerary.

“Ah, here you are,” she grumbled after a moment, “second to last floor.”

“Thank you,” was all that Grace replied with as she turned towards the right to the elevator. Pressing the button next to the silver door, she crossed her arms and waited for it to come down. As she waited, the mage took notes on the security available to the building and what was going on...and there was no other way to describe it other than pathetic, honestly. The few guards she saw were on their phones or playing pirated roms on their iLac, clearly not paying attention to what was going on or to any possible threats that might come through the door.  After a few minutes, the elevator opened: on the other side of the door were two men dressed in suits; their sunglasses and the cords hanging from their ear tipped her off that they were either Secret Service or Drumpf’s personal security. As she stepped into the elevator, she said, “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

Pressing the button to the floor she needed to be at, she stood with her arms crossed at her waist as she stood in between the two suited men. Not a word passed between them as the indicator ticked onward, one floor at a time. It seemed that neither of them were interested in carrying out the job they were assigned to do, as one of them yawned, and the other checked his phone for emails or texts; for now, however, she was still not entirely comfortable being in the same small space as them. Soon enough, the elevator reached the floor she was supposed to be at, and she stepped out with a polite nod.

The room was easy enough to find after asking some of the employees, and as she walked towards the door she looked at her watch and realized that she was about twenty minutes early.

‘Perfect,’ she thought. In front of the door, two secret servicemen stood on either side. After showing her press pass, they let her in to get set up for the interview. The room itself was like a small recording studio; a few cameras were already set up and calibrated on the scene, and a few staffers in the background were fixing the lighting. Lumbering around the place were a few hired thugs, probably because the security guards and Secret Service could care less about the two of them. They would certainly be a problem if she got caught...it would be worth the effort to get them out of the way. Quitely, she walked over to one and tapped on his shoulder; he turned around and looked clearly perturbed. They didn’t look the brightest, to be honest...this would be easy.

Retrieving a coin purse from her coat’s inner pocket, she pulled out notes that came out to be roughly five hundred jewels. “You look like you could use a drink” she said, “Split this with your buddies. The afternoon happy hour just started across the street.” The behemoth looked over the mage with a suspicious look, but then noticed the money. After watching him count the bills, she smirked as he walked off to get his friends wasted. Now that all the most pressing threats were out of the way, she walked over to the staging area for the interview and took a seat across from two chairs seperated by an end table.

As the remainder of the time ticked on, she waited patiently with her hands in her lap until the sheduled time came up. As if on cue, the pair of politicians walked into the small studio room; as they walked over, Grace stood up and shook their hands.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hlinton, Mr. Drumpf,” she greeted, “Would you like to get started?”

“Let’s get this show on the road,” the older man said, “I’m a busy, busy man with a lot things t’do.”

Trying not to show her disapproval of being rushed along, the snow mage gestured to the two chairs across from her own, taking a seat after the two candidates had taken theirs.

Moving a strand of hair out of her face, the snow mage reached into her satchel to get out her notebook. She briefly flipped to the page with a plethora of questions for each candidate on a variety of subjects: their education and credentials, their careers, and their views on popular social, economic, and political topics. Quite honestly, she could probably have made a career out of being a journalist if she wanted to...but, that was a conversation for another time. She looked over to the camera man and gave a nod to start rolling.

“Before we begin, I would like to thank both of you for agreeing to do this,” she started, “It’s a unique opportunity that most don’t get to experience.”

“Well, it certanly is...different, doing an interview like this,” Mrs. Hlinton replied, “But, I am thoroughly excited to be here.”

“I am, too,” Drumpf said, “This is a great day.”
With an pleasant smile plastered on her face, she started rolling the questions off in a conversational tone. The candidates answered in turn as the questions were directed at one or the other, or, if it was a general question, whichever Grace decided to go first. Throughout the process, she occasionally had to remind them that it was supposed to be an interview, not a debate, but it was surprisingly civil despite those small hiccups. The clock ticked on and on as the interview progressed, and, despite her distaste for the pair as politicians and people, her analytical brain wanted to know everything about them and break it down into the why and how of what they thought. Eventually, the mage ran out of questions. Wrapping up the interview with pleasantries and hand shakes, Grace sent a discreet pulse of magic through each of their palms--their blood would turn to slush in a few minutes.

Walking out the door, and down the hall, she could hear the rush of footsteps and panic towards that small studio room: music to her ears….

The next day, the headlines read: “Disliked Candidates Found Dead After Interview”