S1, E7 | Heard it Through the Grapevines

“I’m not asking for a lot, I’m just asking for three more candles!” an old woman pleads, her hands covered in mittens and head capped off with a knitted toque. “You have so many of them, can’t you just spare three?” she politely asks, hopeful in her stare as she finds continued reluctance in the eyes of the labourer with marching orders to follow.

“Until we get a new batch in, I’m afraid that’s not possible” Jay confesses, watching the woman’s wrinkled lips press together disappointedly as he again pats the lone package of twenty tealight candles. “We should have a refurbished supply in two weeks. Until then, I can’t break one of Leon’s limits” the younger man responds, watching Ruby return from the room behind her counter with a small handful of other small home goods requested by the elderly woman.

“Here you are, Mrs. Lamb” the clerk proclaims to the frail soul, gently placing the items within the carriage of the woman’s trolley, its handle and wheels used to stabilise the older woman just as much as it’s used to carry her items. “Hold on, Mrs. Lamb” a soft-spoken gentleman remarks, gently guiding the woman off to the side of the room as she steps away, intending to leave and free the line for him to next occupy, his place having been taken within it just behind her own.

“You had a pretty modest order sheet for this week, Neal” Ruby comments, watching the woman briefly search through a list atop her clipboard before traipsing to the back whilst Jay ventures around the back of the counter. “I don’t really have much to look after other than myself” the man confesses, his cheeks flushed with a rosy, red colour that gradually diminishes the longer he stands in line, waiting within the building’s main foyer whilst the older woman remains off to the side.

“Here are your candles, your herbal cigarettes, your black honey tea, your-” Jay remarks, carrying a small handful of items to the countertop before placing them down in front of the man who’d ordered them, only to have no chance at finishing his thought. Without hesitation, Neal takes the package of tealight candles and snaps open the plastic container as gracefully as it will allow, snatching a trio of tapers from within and placing them gently into the old lady’s pocket.

“You get home safely now, alright Mrs. Lamb?” the selfless civilian remarks, earning the appreciation of the older woman whilst the man still standing at the counter with the citizen’s goods watches on with a smile. Allowing the elder woman to continue onward with a few kind words exchanged, Neal returns to the kiosk and tucks his goods into the bag draped over his shoulder.

“That was kind of you” Jay remarks, watching the civilian shrug as he tosses the goods into the knapsack whilst Ruby emerges from beyond the front desk. “If everyone gets what they deserve in life, then I’ll live a long life well after she’s done living hers” Neal responds, graciously bowing his head toward the returning labourer as she hands him a stick of deodorant and a bottle of powder shampoo, “it’s a small price to pay for good karma.”

With a grin, Jay nods his head toward the man as he ventures out from within the line, having collected what he’d come to and now finding himself off to the office further down the road. Satisfied and with a smile, the man amongst Leon’s closest confidants offers a passive smile to the young adult woman that approaches the desktop, her order being searched for by the labourers at hand whilst the kind act remains resonant within the assistant’s mind.

= Athens of America is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards =

“Mr. President?” a blonde woman inquires, rounding the glass wall separating the president’s office from the hallway beyond. Lifting his head up without a word, Ken looks at the woman as she stands within his doorway, everything about her attire seeming normal and unassuming other than the slight tear in the cuff of her silk, light blue blouse.

“You have a visitor” the woman remarks, watching the man’s head nod from its brief pause before attempting to return to her desk, only for her name to be called from within the room she travels in the opposite direction of. “Betty!?” Ken queries aloud, watching the woman spin around and return to his doorway, looking at him with lifted eyebrows, “what happened to your shirt?”

Instinctively looking toward her torn cuff, the woman presents a nervous smile very briefly before letting it subside as her fingers run down its smooth fabrics. “I’m so sorry, Mr. President. I’ll wear something without a rip in it tomorr-” Betty attempts to reply, only to watch the leader’s head shake in refusal as he interrupts her near the end.

“I don’t care what you wear, I just want to know how it was ripped” Ken assures, watching the woman’s eyes fall back toward the end of her sleeve as she uncomfortably bends a knee, pressing the tip of her heel into the carpeted floor. “A man grabbed me by the arm as I was leaving for work last week” Betty confesses with a smile, trying not to appear depressing in spite of it being within her recollection’s nature, “he was wearing a pointy ring and it nicked my sleeve.”

With a slight squint, Ken remains leant in his seat just a small amount before gradually reclining in his chair, watching the woman’s smile carry back toward him. “Is that all, Mr. President?” Betty wonders back, slowly easing the bend in her knee so she can stand upright once again, the smile on her face widening just slightly as the end of the discourse appears to come in sight.

“No, not yet” Ken responds, lifting one hand from off his lip in order to rest it atop his desk, watching the woman’s grin begin to dip back to what it had been a second prior. “What did he want from you?” the president inquires, watching the feigned demeanour of jovial cheer fall the rest of the way from the subordinate’s face as it lowers toward the ground just a bit, descending with the rest of her mood.

Pulling her hand up to swipe shorter strands of hair from her face, Betty jostles her head as she lets a breath leave through her nose, her shoulders falling as she decides not to mince her words or waste anymore of the man’s time. “Sex” she answers honestly, again putting on a smile, but this time in order to lighten the mood rather than fool her boss, the expression she wears soon fills with genuine reassurance, “but I always carry a bottle of pepper spray on me, so nothing happened!”

Though pleased to hear that everything turned out alright, Ken’s expression fails to fill with anything more than distress, his eyes taking toward the desktop before he’s kept from lulling himself into a darker train of thought any further. “Will that be all, Mr. President?” Betty inquires, unsure of whether or not she’s needed further, but being hesitant to leave the president’s guest waiting for too much longer.

“Uhh... yes. Just one more thing” Ken responds, watching the woman again lean her knee out as if she were worried about where the next line of conversation will take them. “I know I told you to refer to me as Mr. President when I first hired you...” the Free Boston founder remarks, shaking his head with a disparaging expression plastered upon his face like a missing person’s poster upon a telephone pole, “...just call me Ken from now on.”

Nodding, Betty leaves without replying through her words, posture fixing itself as she rounds the corner and ventures toward the man’s visitors, her figure followed by the president’s sorrowful eyes along its journey. Pressing his eyelids shut, Ken tilts his head back and lets out a groan as he opens his eyes, visibly unamused with the conversation that he’d taken part in.

|

“Is today the day?” Jaime inquires, watching the man who’d knocked at her door alone enter at her approval. “I’m afraid today is not the day you get to make a new friend either. I’m sorry” Leon responds, draping his jacket over the arm that he presses against his chest, watching the woman shrug without much of a change in her unconcerned attitude.

“Well, I haven’t talked to you in a few days. Velma told me not to concern myself with it and just let her know if I needed food restocked or something” Jaime responds, turning to face the window that overlooks their neighbours to the south, seeing lights appear within the windows of buildings as the sun begins to set.

“I’ve been putting together crews to go out wherever they can to restock our supplies” Leon confesses, continuing to slowly venture further into the room as he places his jacket delicately upon the curved countertop. “The more that time flies, the further out they have to go if they’re going to find anything that hadn’t already been scavenged” he comments, an issue that the once-chancellor shrugs at.

“You do what you can with what you’ve got” Jaime responds, continuing to enjoy the view that is comparable in any way other than the ones that count to the ones she’d received from her hillside mansion in the angel city. “Well, what did you do when you had your republic?” Leon inquires, his shoes gradually pressing against the carpet floors before they come to a stop in the centre of the room, his figure catching the eye of the hotel’s guest as she turns around with an eyebrow raised.

“Are you asking because you’re interested or you’re looking for advice?” Jaime inquires, watching the president’s head drop with a smile that he fails to hide, amusing the chancellor of a republic she holds dear to her heart even in death. “I’m not perfect, Jaime” Leon confesses, lifting his head up just in time to watch the woman chuckle and scoff.

“Please, I could tell you that” the chancellor jokes, prompting the mixture of rolled eyes and laughter to surround the room like a fog. “I don’t always know what the best choice to make is, so it’s nice sometimes to have someone to go to and run the options by” Leon explains, seeing an intrigued look take shape in the woman’s face, “you’ve been in my shoes, and if I was making the wrong call, I’d trust you to let me know before I put it into action.”

“I don’t know if I want that job, what’s the pay like?” Jaime quips back with a smirk, keeping the mood light within the room as she strolls over to her chair, standing at it whilst waiting for the man’s rebuttal. “Well, I do find you to be more valuable doing something other than the common jobs that everyone else does. You’ve got a unique familiarity with all of this to set yourself apart from them” Leon answers honestly, continuing to wear the effects of an unbearing scene.

“I know you’ve been dreading having to move into a flat with someone else, so how about I put it to you like this...” Leon remarks, tucking a hand into his pocket as he watches the woman descend into her seat, “...be on call whenever there’s something that I need to do and I’ll start referring to you as my vice president. With that, I’ll let you stay in this hotel room you’ve become so accommodated with for as long as you’d like. Roommate free, of course.”

“Before I accept, I do want to point out that you’ve only known me for a little over a week at this point. Maybe ten days?” Jaime queries, wanting to make sure the man’s bases are covered, “I’d accept if you’re not currently drunk or stoned, but are you sure you want to-” Holding up his hand and gently waving it to the side, the president gestures for the woman not to mind finishing her question as he silently readies himself to answer it.

“You might just be the only person on this continent and this side of the neutral zone that knows what it’s like to be me” Leon remarks, watching the woman’s hesitant posture remain present as she sits near the edge of her seat, reluctant to fall back into its cushioned embrace any further. “You’ve proven you can connect with people, and you volunteered to risk your life running as a chaos candidate for the benefit of this place” the president concedes, “if this has all been an act, I’ll be honest with you right now... You’ve fooled me.”

“So you get shot in the head, you drop dead, and I become the president of your community? That’s the job you’re offering me?” Jaime clarifies, sliding into her seat just a slight amount further than she had, an eyebrow still raised, “you understand that and still want me to be your vice president?”

“Velly doesn’t tend to like people but thinks well enough of you, Jay and Sid both have good things to say about you, even Ken Spence was impressed by you... We almost never see eye-to-eye on things” Leon remarks, running down the example she’s set in such a short amount of time, “besides, I have old women stopping me in the street as I’m between responsibilities asking about the blonde girl that calmed everyone down and made her feel better.”

Obviously flattered, Jaime presses her back against the rest of the chair as her right arm rests against its side, the other one cradling a glass of nearly-finished bourbon on her lap. “If I say yes, I want you to make sure that you know something incredibly important before you declare anything you might regret” the chancellor confesses, leaving no stone unturned as the president tucks his hands into his pockets, waiting for the woman to try her latest attempt at dissuading him.

“I’ve never harmed someone that doesn’t do me wrong, but I won’t mince words... I’ve killed people. And they haven’t just been off of giving someone orders to an execution... my physical hand has done the executioning” Jaime remarks, shaking her head in refusal at any possible opportunity, “I don’t order people to do what I wouldn’t stomach doing myself. I’ve had good reasons to kill bad people, but I have still killed people.”

“Do you expect me to come away from this thinking that you’re a murderer?” Leon queries, not shaken much by the revelation that the woman presents to him, “Jay and Sid have what you did to that woman in Los Angeles on film. If I was going to imprison you for what you did over there, you wouldn’t be in a cosy hotel room right now.”

“I just don’t want to ever leave you thinking that I’m not the person I say that I am” Jaime confesses, straight-faced and stern in her delivery. “If I’m going to be the highest-ranking official in your community, then I don’t want you ever thinking that you don’t know who you’re in business with” the chancellor reassures, seeing a lack of change in the president’s expression, “when the going gets tough and things start falling out of order... I choose to rule with an iron fist.”

Continuing to stand where he had when he’d made the offer with a similarly unbothered expression to the one he’d made it with, Leon nods once to himself before stepping forward, extending his hand to the still-seated woman as she stares at it. “Congratulations, Ms. Vice President” he remarks, repeating his proposition without forming it as a question, but rather an offer that is there for the woman to take if she so chooses.

Letting her lips return to each other as her eyes furrow with both relief and surprise at the acceptance of her past, Jaime lifts the glass to her lips and downs the rest of her drink before climbing out of her seat. With her free hand, the Angelino chancellor trades in her title of ‘civilian’ in favour of being Leon’s right hand woman, shaking his hand with a defined responsibility in the centre of the room that now becomes her official residence in her new home nation.

|

“Has anyone else noticed that?” a man with freshly-cut, grey hair remarks, standing at a podium with a microphone that his lips rest just inches away from the filter of. “You’re not living in a country, you’re living in a territory where you’re voting for what kind of rules you want” the candidate proclaims, speaking to an audience that’s captivated and unwilling to interrupt him, not growing beyond their means in volume as the older-appearing gentleman directs his concerns to them.

“We have no connection with the outside world. We merely tolerate Athens and the bogus treaty that we signed with them. We signed a deal that gave them protection from us. And who can blame them?” the presidential hopeful inquires, seeing eyes focus upon him within the slots of heads that nod in agreement with his proclamations.

“I’m asking you to view voting for Wallace Sparks the same as being a vote in the favour of making good on the promise that convinced you all to join us here” Wallace explains, his hands pressing against the sides of the wooden platform he remains covered by. “You were told that you’d be given a fair shot to make a living and earn what you had in life whilst everyone started from square one... Everyone” he recalls, shaking his head as he looks at the crowd, “that wasn’t the case, was it?”

Shaking their heads, the collected and respectful audience hears the comments of the man whose face is pressed into the centre of a campaign poster bearing his name, not a tagline to be seen anywhere upon the red and blue backdrop. “I come to you from the steps of this museum tonight in order to remind you of that promise you were given and who failed to give it to you” Wallace explains, his voice dropping an octave or two in order to appear more in line with the values of those who gather before him.

“There is a way to go about getting you that, and I’ll be upfront with you tonight. The way to do that is through disregarding that treaty Mr. Spence signed and advancing beyond I-90” the candidate proclaims to wide applause, only a select few cheers coming from the core of those who stand before him, their claps showing the man they swing their support behind an appreciation they believe him to appreciate.

“Mr. Spence doesn’t seem to be interested in running much of a campaign since he won earlier this year, so it does seem like you’ll have two options within due time” Wallace comments, squinting as he looks out at the sea of masses, speaking with a disregard for the opponent he voluntarily brings to the audience’s attention.

“Sure, they might be fun. But if you’ve ever gone to one of Blake Dean’s rallies, you’d know it was all just a method of riling up people to despise the government that’s been put in place before presenting him like the solution” Wallace remarks, laughing with a grin at such an idea he views as preposterous, “the man doesn’t even look like he’s beyond one of the common, struggling people he talks about, and yet he has absolutely no idea what they’re going through.”

Shaking his head, Wallace looks out at an audience that begins politely applauding through his momentary lapse in speech, earning a warm and appreciative expression from the man on stage. For another half an hour, the presidential hopeful rallies his supporters like people ready to make the march and vote for their best interests before climbing down from the steps and walking off to the museum’s side, looking to exit the area around the populace with his security team in tow.

“Excellent speech, Mr. Sparks” an impressed tone remarks from a short distance ahead, the man who provides such a proclamation of reassurance having pre-planned for the candidate’s exit strategy. “There’s a part of me that wishes you didn’t feel the need to bring me up every other sentence, but I do appreciate the free publicity” Blake Dean comments, stepping forward with open hands held toward the air, presenting himself as anything other than a threat.

“You’re one of the root issues with this election cycle, Mr. Dean” Wallace responds, watching a grin take shape upon the confident presidential hopeful, unbothered by the apparent attempt at an insult, “you’ve got your supporters thinking this is a party and refusing to see reason.” Stepping forward, Blake lets his hands fall to each side, careful not to slip them into his pockets out of a desire to be seen as the harmless visitor that he intends to be viewed as.

“I’m doing my job of convincing the people to go out and vote for me, Mr. Sparks. All that you’re doing is convincing them to applaud you before going home and curling up with a book” Blake explains, ending his advancement a few feet ahead of his opponent, “you’re not inspiring them to go out and create change... you’re putting them to sleep.”

“And the way that you speak about them leads me to believe that you’re putting them in the grave” Wallace retorts, stepping forward without concern over his opponent, getting in the man’s face just as the younger opponent had begun the process of doing with him. “Athens is a weak community that gets by with their selflessness and sharing. The man who leads them thinks less with his brain and more with his heart” Blake quips, “as long as that’s their leadership, I don’t see them ever doing what it would take to mount a decent counter-offensive.”

“Then you clearly haven’t been paying much attention, junior” Wallace replies with a smile, seeing a slight squint carry itself out amongst the younger foe’s face, a look of confusion gradually making itself more clear. “From what I’m hearing through the grapevine, Comrade Leon across the water is naming a new number two” the older candidate explains, revealing information that the man opposite him had yet to be privy to, “and she doesn’t seem to be as interested in thinking emotionally, as ironic as that is.”

“I know you’re lying” Blake responds, watching his opponent’s head pull back and shake vehemently, the rest of the man’s body remaining exactly where the feet to it had decided to mark the ground. “I can promise you that I’m not. The people that I know have never gotten the wrong information to me” Wallace assures, seeing a dissatisfied and slightly angry expression take shape upon his opponent whilst he begins to smile, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I guess my grapevines stretch longer than yours, junior”

With nothing left to add, Wallace steps around his political foe and continues his journey away from the sidewalk, carrying on exactly as planned with his security in tow. Remaining where he was left standing, Blake stares forward with a distant scowl, eyes rolling toward the crowd whose polite retreat from each other disgusts him almost as much as his own group’s failure appears to disgust him.

“All I want to know is why I didn’t know this!” Blake proclaims, slamming his fist against the table of a renovated office converted into a luxury penthouse, storming back toward a group of his men nearly an hour after being embarrassed by the man he still leads in the polls. To nothing but silence, the four men that stand before him bow their heads with shame as their hands sit by their lap.

“Because-” a man to the right of the row’s centre murmurs beneath his breath, second-guessing his choice in choosing to speak before falling silent, but failing to keep his attempt from the ears of his boss. Pulling a pistol from the waistband of his pants, the irate presidential hopeful takes aim at the soldier's throat and gently lets his finger sit upon the trigger, threatening to squeeze at the slightest hint of something that his ears don’t wish to catch.

“Speak” Blake calmly whispers, steadying his hand in spite of the anger that courses through his muscles as the private militia guard does exactly as told. “Because no one could get into the neutral zone for a meeting with their family, sir” the hispanic, mid-20’s soldier responds, squeezing his eyelids shut in preparation for the gunman’s following act, hearing nothing but silence fill the air in the seconds that follow his answer.

Letting out a brief hum, Blake turns the gun toward the man on the young soldier’s right, putting a bullet through the serviceman’s skull before doing the same with the pair of militants who’d stood beside the answering employee’s left. Wincing in terror before dropping to the ground in pain with both hands covering his ears, the lone survivor of the candidate’s wrath kneels as ringing runs through his head, shielding himself from the sounds of war that deafen him.

“Get this asshole to the infirmary, get someone in here to dispose of the bodies, and get someone in the neutral zone to confirm what Sparks said” Blake commands, barking his orders to the suited guard standing at the door, watching the well-built gentleman take the soldier by the arm and drag him out of the room. Tossing the firearm onto the vintage chesterfield near the centre of the room, the enraged candidate undoes the links of his dress shirt’s cuffs before wandering deeper into his residence to cool off.

|

“Congratulations” Jay remarks, watching the newest arrival to his homeland step past without noticing him, his occupation of the stairs just beside the former row of seats having been looked past by the chancellor. “I see word really does travel fast around here like they say” Jaime concedes with a grin, watching the man who’d offered her a reassuring quip smile as he nods, “are you on board with it?”

“Listen... Leon makes the calls” Jay answers with his hands raised, continuing to sit as the woman remains paused in her progression toward the president’s residence, making it clear where his place is. “Velly, Sid and I love this place. We chose to stay here after all, and it wasn’t just because we’re friends or had an ‘in’ with the boss” he furthers, watching as Jaime approaches, leaning on the wall at the bottom of the steps he sits halfway up.

“We just want what’s best for it, and we can guide Leon to believing that he’ll get just that if he works in a certain way, but it’s still his call at the end of it all” the unbothered resident concludes, “we just have to hope he makes the right one.”

“I’ll reiterate myself then, because I wasn’t really asking if I had your blessings. I already accepted the job and knew no one was going to out-vote Leon...” Jaime explains, clarifying what she meant through the question, “what I was really asking was how you all feel about it.” With a grin, Jay looks away from the woman whilst his hands couple at his lap, both eyes taking toward the buildings that line the former ballpark and the candlelights that present themselves through their windows.

“I feel a lot better that you’re taking the time to ask because you care, that’s for sure” Jay responds, offering pleasantries to the woman that takes appreciation in his remark, aware that his comments don’t just end there. “None of us are sounding the alarm, but I don’t think any of us are really going to know how we feel about this until we’ve seen it in action” the man confesses, earning an understanding nod from the chancellor-turned-vice president.

“We’ll look out for you and tell you what we think you need to hear when you need to hear it. We’ll just hope you’ll do the same for us” Jay concludes, leaving the woman with all the assurance she needs to not feel the need to walk around on eggshells. “I don’t take positions of leadership to be titles. I look at them as responsibilities” Jaime responds, continuing to lean against the wall with the man she still knows rather little about in the grand scheme of things, “my responsibilities are to you now. All of you.”

With a smile, Jay shrugs as his hands pull apart to pat his legs, standing up from the concrete stairs before descending toward the woman he must venture past in order to carry on with his night. “Welcome home then, V.P” he greets, walking in the opposite direction of the woman with a smile that she soon shares, watching him wander off with the warm feeling of acceptance before his departure convinces her to do the same, following through on her journey toward the home of the man she now answers to whilst the day draws to a close.

== Athens of America ==