[modern au - fic: How to Cook an Empire, Chapter II]

[population_ctrl]

Title: How to Cook an Empire, Chapter II Characters: Marcel and Jean Louis, AU. A/N: Mostly meta-reflections. The last words on the matter (hopefully). How to Cook an Empire, Chapter II There are many ways to run an empire. History books hold the recipes, he knows, but he’s a creative man. He’d rather write up his own account of the process, in flesh and blood and trails of new creation. It’s not that he doesn’t care about the past – he’s even left an imprint on his skin in commemoration - but keeping it in the back of his mind makes it less likely to bleed into the present. And the now, this moment’s ingrained reality, doesn’t need any degenerated nuances to heighten its potential. It’s like that with people, too. As such, he doesn’t mind the filth and garbage that Marcel deals with in the wake of every success, not even when he drags it with him onto the carpet. They’re materialistic enough to throw out all tangible signs of implication. Money isn’t sparse and the Africans will fight amongst themselves, whether he keeps the bills or burns them to ashes. At this time, with the power they have, it simply doesn’t matter. So he just laughs and turns his back on whatever’s going through the meat grinder this time around; a battled piece of evidence or a gang member with his eyeballs hanging down his face. It’s all the same – pieces of dirt, non-collectibles. Marcel picks it all up without complaints because dirt and gold look alike to him. Jean Louis isn’t about to correct him on that. For your second-in-command, a certain amount of blindness is necessary or he’ll end up as your equal. Which would never do, as things are. When they were younger, things were different. The context was neutral because they had a playground to conquer, not a world. At that time, Marcel probably ran ahead of him more often than not – longer legs, stronger body and a (much) lesser degree of paranoia. This isn’t different now, though the physical differences have levelled out considerably. Jean Louis is completely convinced that the only thing holding back Marcel from moving beyond their partnership is his inability to plan anything without resorting to undue destruction and chaos. It gets boring for him, keeping track of paperwork and talking to the Italian mob without insulting their mothers or something equally faux pas. In terms of action, however, things happen by way of their combined motivations. Jean Louis could run Parliament with little help, but pulling the strings to the rest of the world takes a different kind of dedication. The willingness to look beyond the mud in the sewers and roll around in it at the same time. It doesn’t work for his Armani suits. Marcel wears designer clothes as well, but by his own admission, he doesn’t give a shit - and that’s why it matters. So the first and most important ingredient in running a world-wide kingdom is to leave the reigns of your wildest horses to someone who won’t mind the constant build-up of conflict. It doesn’t say so in most history books because all dictators, in all incarnations, want the written word all to themselves. Jean Louis is no different. He doesn’t consider himself a dictator – and neither does the rest of the world, incidentally, or he’s certain the over-zealous Americans would have mixed themselves up in his affairs with their usual predictability. But certainly, he knows the importance of an unofficial, minimalistic State. He knows how most countries are run, either in plain view of everyone or behind the scenes amidst spin and heaps of blackmail. The second important ingredient; expertise. While Marcel can navigate the gutters blindly without fail, Jean Louis understands the world of politics and how to push it beyond its public limitations. It doesn’t matter that it’s a one-man show to the cattle they have to lead and use. A cow sees the stun gun seconds before it keels over; handing it any further details would be a disservice, wouldn’t it? Telling it exactly how it’s going to be taken apart and sold? How it’ll be the one percent that keeps a few, select individuals rich and the difference between the first world and all the others sufficiently visible? No, certainly not. What an inhumane notion. Call the activists – and please, while you’re at it, sink their little ship at sea and leave the news channels well-distracted. Meanwhile, he’ll mix together the perfect combination of how’s and what’s. It’s what they do – Marcel disappears in an artificial, grey area, made up by the people around them. And Jean Louis keeps himself entirely visible, black and white and varying shades in unimportant colour splashes. It’s confusing for others and completely, utterly transparent for them; the final ingredient isn’t it? Humans have known for centuries, throughout wars and espionage, organised crime and your average, petty thief on the street. Secrecy is not the act of hiding away, but rather, hiding in plain sight, be it by dressing casually and pick-pocketing the rich, or inventing a coding system that leaves your letters a jumbled mass of purposeful inconsistencies. And this, of course, is why Jean Louis has no plans to throw Marcel under the bridge; not now and not ever. Together, they make the perfect recipe for a very exceptional power climb and the mountain certainly is tall enough that they won’t see the top before it’s too late to make it count.