A young man sat at a spruce desk stacked high with papers, hand idle. Ink from his pen bloated the last letter of an unfinished word. He was tired. The open windows draped in white let in a breeze that soothed the long fabric into ghostly sheets catching light from the fading sun. Cold autumn air snuck away from the canal and stroked his neck. He had hoped the chill would make him alert. It did not. A warm tangerine glow stretched across him like a lazy cat. Its slow deliberate yawns coaxed him to sleep.

The words on his papers magnified. He caught himself, narrowly avoiding collision with the desk. He blinked fiercely to stay awake but keeping his eyes open became a noticeable burden. The young man stared at his room, the fresh timber scent of new furniture supplanted by his natural odor, a whiff of plum. He turned to the documents for stimulation, ruffling his blonde hair in frustration. His eyes, reminiscent of a blue ocean sparkling under the sun's midday peak, sought out the clock hanging above the office door. A sigh escaped his mouth. It was another long night.

*Thunk*

What was that?

He ran past the two armchairs behind his desk. Any chance to break from the monotonous routine of work was welcome.

Nils burst into the burgundy carpeted hallway. Two men accosted a young woman. A briefcase lay on the floor between them.

"Emy?"

"Nils!"

A look of relief appeared on her face as she darted behind Nils.

Despicable. The two used their large builds to intimidate her.

"Are you alright, Emy?"

"Yes," she replied, eyes brimming with venom.

The men took the briefcase and one held out his hand, "Good evening, Nils."

"Gentlemen," he said. Nils made no effort, besides a nod of acknowledgement, to take the hand.

"Louis Mack," the first man said, and he was about to say something more when his partner lifted the case and shoved it towards Nils.

"We want to gift you a small token of our appreciation if you would consider passing a certain bill in Parliament. Details are in here."

He moved closer to push the unwanted item onto the unwilling recipient. Nils's smile waned. Mack seized his colleague and held him back with a look of unfettered rage because the fool turned sour a crucial relationship.

Nils rose to his full, towering height. "Gentlemen, please see yourselves out. Thank you for visiting our house of governance."

"Yes, of course. Good evening, Mr. Holgersson."

Emy frowned. "I see them every day, strutting into this building as if they own it."

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She walked to his door. "We have to do something to make sure they never set foot in this building again." Emy grinned at him as she turned the knob, "Blackmail? I'm sure their money's dirty."

"Death strikes no fear in their hearts," Nils said softly.

"Hmm?"

It's at times like these I'm glad her hearing is poor.

Emy fumbled with her green messenger bag for a bit, searching through a haystack of envelopes and pens before pulling out a thick packet of papers.

"You've finished drafting the provision, Emy?" Nils asked.

"Yes! Everything's reviewed and edited." She plopped into the armchair, "Have you finished your part?"

Nils sat down. "If only! In the last few days I've had a sudden epiphany that office work isn't for me."

Emy pushed aside some of the files in front of her so she could see him. "I know what the problem is. This room is inadequate. It doesn't match its occupant."

Nils leaned forward. "I should apply for a larger office. You, my chief of staff, don't even have a desk."

"No Nils, I am not trying to be funny. You are a popular politician and your popularity gives you legitimacy, which gives you influence. The office should match your high standing, and your current one is laughable."

Her voice was firm but her eyes thundered as she said, "Move."

Nils lowered his gaze, "Emy..."

He could not come up with a good rebuke because it was true. She gave his shin a kick. He snatched his legs back. Nils had to push his chair further away from the desk so his knees wouldn't scrap the wood and tear his pants.

"I know your current situation is that old man's doing. We shouldn't fear him-"

Nils hid his smile with a hand, "Old man?"

She crossed her arms, "You know. Arwen. The old man."

"Only call him that when it's just the two of us."

"I know that much."

Nils tousled her almond colored hair. "Alright. I'll put in a request for a transfer, and I'll make sure it's a room up to your standards."

Emy shoved his hand, annoyed at her now disgruntled appearance, "Only do that when I've nobody left to meet for the day." She took out a paper and slammed a pen on the desk, "Sign it."

Nils looked at the form incredulously, "This was premeditated!"

She grinned, "It's about time I have a desk! In here there's only room for you and your legs."

He flicked his wrist, signing the form, "I suppose I'll walk you to Central Office to submit this."

Emy stopped him, "I can walk myself there, thank you very much. Do your work."

She was out the door by the time Nils called out, his voice strained by desperation, "No! Emy, help me!"

She hollered back, "Your work is yours and mine is mine. I've learned my lesson. Goodbye!"

Nils sifted some finished work to the pitiful pile. He couldn't concentrate, thoughts returning to his conversation with Emy. It was gravely concerning that businessmen roamed these corridors as if they owned it. Such insolence. His pen cracked.

Not again!

Thirty-one. That was how many pens he broke in just a month. Thirty-two, now.

Too brittle.

He wiped away the last black trace and slipped the tissue into the trash can. The Hundred Years' War fought not on Arsenian soil nevertheless tore the country asunder and in the two decades of unofficial peace, the shameless took advantage of the chaos inherent in rebuilding. He'd seen them whisper to lawmakers, seducing them into rooms where critical eyes could not prevent the peddling of filth.

Arseny was a precious vase atop a slender pedestal. An earthquake toppled the vase and though the tremors did not smash it, the shocks toppled it. The vase shattered into thousands of pieces. When the country tried to repair the vase, good-for-nothings stole pieces to hold captive.

Nils took a new pen out of his drawer and traced it across an empty sheet of paper, the dull, repetitive movements somewhat calming his simmering rage and relaxed his grip. Those people have become brazen. Something must be done. What could he do? Nils' election came from his status as a popular war hero, but in Arseny, in this government where a single party ruled since its founding, seniority meant everything. Yet, this was a problem that must be tackled soon and quickly, and action, however unsavory, must be taken. As he gazed at Emy's seat, Nils conceded the only thing he could do was beg those with real power to act.