FIC: feminist killjoy.

[surquelpied]

A week after breakfast in bed, Manuel Baudin - former rebel leader and now President of Paris – contacts him over holo and tells him that Alain Abadie, their senatorial voice, has formally been removed from his post and the planet requires a new representative. Would Claude consider accepting that responsibility?

“Has it been put up for vote,” Claude asks, frowning. They’re the People’s Republic of Paris now, the people needs a say.

“No,” Manuel admits after a moment. “Our advisors didn’t think it was necessary. You’re popular with the people.”

“If I’m popular, they’re going to elect me anyway, so why not give them what they’ve been promised,” Claude says, two seconds from rolling his eyes and adding, democratic influence. He knows who Manuel’s advisors are, they’re all men of the old order, they were high-ranking officials during his parents’ reign as well. As always, the same people in power, worming their way in across structures, no matter how many changes you make.

“There’s hardly time --” Manuel begins.

“Make time or find someone else than me,” Claude cuts him off.

Without arguing, the President nods and agrees to take it back to his advisors. After five days, the polls officially open on Paris and Claude is elected senator. It all goes smoothly, not a hitch. He tries not to wonder how much of it was fixed.

He doesn’t trust the system, but he has to rely on it anyway. It’s kriffing hateful.

~

The Galactic Senate is bureaucracy headquarters, pretty much, and it takes him some time to find his feet in all the protocol, the underlying adherence to rank, the directive routes everything has to take. Tours and detours. But Claude doesn’t wait until he’s landed, he hits the ground running, a tactics he’s mostly sure he’s adopted from Anakin.

At his first official committee meeting, a minor function of his regarding Paris’ involvement in Outer Rim trade policies, he voices concerns about trading with the Hutt Clans when everyone is perfectly aware of their violations of basic rights of freedom and self-government. The table goes very quiet, people busier looking sideways at each other than at him. Claude stands his ground. Doesn’t drop the subject, despite the awkwardness.

“Well,” an old Twi’lek Senator says finally, straightening up, “many of these goods are only produced in those regions, if we want to continue receiving them, certain… exceptions must be made. Evidently.”

“Well,” Claude says, mirroring him. “Maybe we should simply go without the goods in question. It’s a big galaxy with many alternative trade options, we’re not really gonna want anything.”

No one says anything for a very long time, until the Senator of Paris’ neighbouring planet laughs, mockingly, and slaps Claude on the back so he has to brace himself against the huge table they’re sitting around.

“Always so rebellious, you Parisians, huh,” he comments, bouts of chuckling and giggling erupting, consequently. Claude doesn’t sit down until every other person has done it first.

And that’s how he gains a reputation as a troublemaker and a killjoy. Descriptions which he carries as batches of honour, honestly.