Command Me To Be Well [Completed]

19 - A stubborn mule

People are getting used to peace. We still have a long way to go until everything is back to normal, but no one really cares. We pretend that it's already the life we always wanted to live.

Fake it till you make it. Alright. We don't have much to eat, but we have traditions at least.

Ancestors must be respected. Thanks must be given. And war veterans must be decorated.

It's a must.

I'm sitting in a particularly boring session of the Council, listening to the respected chairman of the conservative party, Sir Batton, presenting their proposal.

My name is on their list too. Which means I'm a war veteran. Hell yeah. That's what I needed, a medal that has a very long name, including heroism, homeland, and hummus, in no particular order. I may have misheard the last one, though. Patriotic emotions are making Sir Batton's voice a bit shaky.

Master Duncan Auberon's name is on the list too, obviously. In the very first place, obviously. It's quite self-explanatory.

I can't help but smile. I know how much he'll hate it. I'm a bit sad too, though, because I can't allow myself to lobby for a proper statue of him. Bigger than the Eiffel Tower, preferably. He'd hate it even more. But, sadly, we don't have a budget for such vanities. It would be a too expensive joke just to annoy him. Or to get any kind of reaction out of him at all, hoping that a statue can be more successful in that department than me.

"Madame President," I hear, interrupting my musings.

"What?" I answer eloquently.

"I have my doubts regarding this list, Madame President," Sir Batton announces.

"I'm sad to hear it." I spread my hands. "Now you can't even agree with a list that was created by yourself. It must be hard."

He doesn't get it. He never does. He goes on with an unforgiving expression on his face.

"I'm afraid, Madame, that your position is conflicting with your personal interests here."

"Yes, I noticed, that I was on the list," I sigh. "But I also noticed, good Sir Batton, that it was you, who put my name there. So I can offer you a perfect solution. Why don't you reconsider your own proposal? It's yours, right?"

"That's not what I meant, Madame. I'm convinced, without a doubt, that your name belongs to that list. But it's also you, who has to sign it in the end."

"Oh, okay." I shrug. "Now I get it. I formally can't issue it, right? Never mind, your appreciation is more than enough for me, Sir Batton. I won't cry if I don't receive the medal. So—"

"It's not your person that raises questions, Madame. It's another name on that list. In which case, your well-known personal attachments suggest that you can't be impartial."

"Please, enlighten me, Sir Batton," I sigh, "what the... erm... are you talking about?"

"It's Master Auberon!" he bellows dramatically.

"What?"

"You were romantically involved!" he says, pointing his finger at me in a comically accusing way. As if we lived in the dark Middle Ages, and I was a sinful woman caught committing adultery.

The good Sir Batton probably believes that I am, in all seriousness. Somewhere deep down I kinda like him. He's a man of principles. Quite stupid and obsolete principles, but at least he's enthusiastic about them. And he's so easily embarrassed, yet he never gets tired of trying to embarrass me. Just to get his ass kicked. Again. And again. And yet, he always comes back for more, like a stubborn mule he is.