Save the world? Fuck that, I want to make money! (RWBY SI) ch 83

Movies and novels often highlighted the skullduggery of politics, painting pictures of rough, shadowy men plotting great schemes by candlelight. Their plots were so convoluted and confusing that they concealed their involvement while showcasing their intrigue skills. While there was some truth to this, it made up only a minority of a statesman's time. The rest was stifling mundanity.

The Royal Palace was not just a residence but also a government building. The main body of it housed the King and his most important ministers, but it had subsidiary wings. Adjacent to it was the City Hall, where Vale was administered and hosted.

Arcenciel made sure to attend all sessions, important or not. Despite his bravado and persona, he was fully aware of his minority status. With a substantial portion of the Council under the sway of the First Minister, it was crucial to present himself well. Power, after all, was as much about presentation as it was about substance. By being hands-on, he could cultivate an underdog image. Today, however, a session had been called to remove the old Police Chief and replace him with Francis Winchester. The majority had voted for it, likely desperate for security, and no doubt intimidated or bribed into compliance. This would have suggested that the Fleur was still strong, but Arcenciel had noticed some hesitation in the vote.

Hesitation.

Since the Dust robberies and subsequent chaos, Arcenciel had been trying to turn people to his side or, at the very least, find allies to oppose the Fleur. While he had a small backing, it was not yet solid enough to challenge the majority. But with hesitation present, Arcenciel smelled an opportunity and intended to capitalize on it.

The man in front of him was rotund and sweating, despite the air conditioning being set at a comfortable level. Thomas Belette was a walking stereotype: fully suited, monocled, with a sash around his waist. Arcenciel was fairly certain Belette was playing up the image of a stereotypical mayor, complete with a booming, pompous voice.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Councillor Arcenciel. It's quite an honor," Belette said, his voice dripping with false praise. Arcenciel might have believed him if the man weren't lying through his teeth.

"It's always a pleasure to meet with colleagues," Arcenciel replied with a smile. He too was lying, but an image had to be maintained.

"So, what can I do for you, Councillor?" Belette asked, his fingers twiddling. Arcenciel smiled.

"Tell me, Mayor, what do you think of Chief Obadiah's removal today?" Arcenciel asked.

"It was long overdue. He failed to protect this city, and as a result, criminals of all kinds run rampant," Belette said quickly, his lines rehearsed.

"Quite. Do you think that with Mister Winchester's ascension, he has what it takes to bring the criminals to heel?" Arcenciel inquired. Nobility weren't forbidden from using their titles as an address, but Arcenciel would rather die than soothe the egos of the Ancien Régime.

"Of course!" Belette boomed. "He's been chosen by the First Minister, so we can trust him."

Belette conveniently left out the fact that Obadiah had been the minister's choice. Arcenciel resisted the urge to roll his eyes and maintained his smile. "Well, if Mister Winchester is so capable, surely he can use the same resources afforded to his predecessor. A budget increase would be unnecessary, no?"

A motion had been tabled to increase the budget for the police and army, to fund more Sentinels and personnel.

"W-well," Belette coughed. "It's not that simple, you see. Criminals are everywhere, Councillor. Surely, Duke Winchester needs his resources?"

Arcenciel resisted the urge to crumple the tub of lard in front of him. "Mayor, might I remind you that the Security Services' budget increased from eleven percent last year to fifteen percent this year? And all of this is paid for at the expense of the common Valean?"

"Yes, but the budget was well used!" Belette insisted. "The Royal Army has made the outlands safe, and taxes paid to mercenaries have lessened and been redirected to us instead!"

"I'm not denying that the Royal Army has done a splendid job in the frontier towns, Mayor. What I am concerned about is that the Police have been utterly humiliated inside the city, despite their high budget!" Arcenciel nearly snapped, almost shouting at Belette. But shouting would only push him away. No one enjoyed that. "I am... passionate about this. Increasing the budget would only strain the common Valean more. They have little faith in the Police to keep them safe, not with Roman Torchwick and the Red Fang still running around."

Belette stared at him suspiciously. "Then what are you suggesting, Councillor? Should we halve the Security Force's budget to punish them?"

He shook his head, to Belette's surprise. "No, I'm not asking that," Arcenciel clarified. "What I'm saying is that we must work together to ensure that motion doesn't pass. The Security Forces can keep their current budget."

Arcenciel was an idealist, not an idiot. The Red Fang remained a problem that needed addressing. Denying the Security Forces their budget would only make them weaker in the face of that threat.

"Furthermore," Arcenciel continued, "we must work together to ensure that the kingdom's arteries remain healthy. Loath as I am to admit it, Minister Rouge is correct: there is rot in the system. The rot must be cut and replaced."

"This talk of replacing things as if you are the master... it's sickening!" Belette blanched. He moved to stand, disgust on his face.

Arcenciel kept his face level. "Who was it that placed Obadiah in his position, Mayor? Who?"

"He... came recommended by the First Minister," Belette answered slowly, hesitantly.

"And he served loyally and faithfully. But when true issues arose, he faltered," Arcenciel pointed out. "I'm sure he tried his best, but he didn't measure up. The public seems to blame him for that. But the government is not just the security forces, Mayor. There's you and I." He leaned forward, his rainbow-colored eyes swirling. "Who will the First Minister scapegoat next?"

Belette stared at him, his eyes twinkling with calculation. Belette was no great man; he loved the limelight. He enjoyed the parties, the gifts, and the perks that came with his position. He glanced down at his rotund body. There, Belette sensed that if the Duke failed, he would surely be blamed—not out of malice, but because he was the perfect scapegoat. Already, the grumblings were turning toward the government as a whole, not just one man. Would he even be held responsible? He was just the Mayor...

Arcenciel watched as Belette sat back down. He had no real idea whether Belette would be the next on the chopping block, but planting the seed of doubt in him could create vulnerability. His position was secure—after all, as mayor, Belette had been democratically elected, unlike Obadiah or Winchester. But he was still part of the government. And being the shiniest star attracted the wrong kind of attention.

"What are you suggesting, Councillor?" Belette asked softly.

"The Fleur blusters, Mayor. They talk of restoring the Kingdom to greatness, yet we've had trouble dealing with provincials. Can you really trust their appointees to secure our defenses? The First Minister is a great man and a hero besides—his service in the Great War was a monument to his competence," Arcenciel praised, tasting ash in his mouth. But it was best to frame his words as helpful rather than hostile. "But he is old. I worry that, in his age, he has been taken advantage of by lickspittles and liars who convinced the Minister of their merits."

"Like a fool promising a mountain and delivering a molehill," Belette caught on quickly.

"Exactly, better put, Mayor!" Arcenciel clicked his fingers as Belette preened. "Then, for the sake of the Kingdom, should we not put forward much-deserving men and women? I assume you know some talented people, sociable as you are."

"That I do..." Belette nodded slowly.

Arcenciel smiled. "What if, and hear me out, we support each other in this? Putting such talented men and women in good positions? All in service to the Kingdom, of course."

As much as Arcenciel would like those sharing his vision in all departments, he had to be realistic. The Fleur was still powerful, and he needed Belette's support. For the sake of the Color Revolution, he had to compromise.

"It would be possible. But I would need to know that others share our vision," Belette rumbled.

"I'm sure the business sector would be happy for stability," Arcenciel hummed. "After all—"

Before Arcenciel could continue, his scroll rang. He chuckled, offering Belette an apologetic look. "Excuse me, I should have silenced my scroll."

"No, no, don't worry," Belette said, understanding. Arcenciel leaned in, thinking it was a call, but instead, it was notifications for something. Then, he blinked, leaning in.

"W...what?" Belette said, glancing around nervously.

Arcenciel turned to him, his face grim. "You know about the turrets Royal and Imperial are wishing to sell?"

Belette nodded. "Yes, I do. It's a marvelous thing, really. Automatic defenses. I think I would be happy to purchase a few for my home. Let's see Torchwick try to break in with that!" Belette said with a laugh. His laughter died as Arcenciel turned his scroll to him and read aloud the words displayed.

"Cease and Desist order leveled against Royal and Imperial," Belette read. "Automatic sentries a danger to the public?"

Silence fell in the room. Then Belette leaned back, his face impassive.

"Shit," he muttered eloquently.

+++

In their next conversation, she broached the topic with her husband. Vale was feeling suffocated, and they needed protection. Joan Greene felt it was only right to inform her husband about purchasing a sentry or two for their house, just to be safe. However, he had his doubts. It was still concerning to think about fitting a weapon of war inside their home, and the caliber of the guns could pose a hazard. There was also the issue of how trustworthy these machines would be. Could they really trust a machine? Would they be held accountable if it, say, shot the neighbor's dog?

But Royal and Imperial had a track record of safety, and the commercial showed the turrets were savvy enough not to shoot at random targets. So, common sense prevailed, and Joan prepared to pre-order. She had to admit some trepidation. She was a proud Valean, after all, and stooping to buy from Royal and Imperial didn't seem right to her. Why couldn't they make their own sentry guns?

Her little angels were at school, which allowed Joan time to enjoy herself with her friends. Riane and Blaine were old friends of hers, mothers like her, and they gathered around the living room of her home, sipping tea and enjoying biscuits. In the background, the television program droned on.

"How are the children, dearie?" Riane asked, sipping from her cup.

"Well," Greene answered, smiling. "They're not minding much the unrest outside. It's been suffocating."

"Thank the Brothers for the innocence of children," Blaine praised, dipping her biscuit into cheese dip. "I wouldn't know what to say in calming mine down."

"Oh, I told them we were going to get our very own robot!" Riane revealed. "I've already made my pre-order. The company man assured me that I'll have mine by next month."

"Oh? You're all buying?" Greene asked, tilting her head.

"Not yet with me," Blaine sighed. "Julius is concerned about putting a Solitan weapon in our house. Says it would be better to just buy a gun."

"What, an R&I one?" Greene asked. Their weapons were friendly to new users, her husband once claimed. Greene was likely to believe that, as her own scrollnet research all said the same thing. R&I had few complicated parts that made it a nightmare to use.

Blaine shook her head. "No, he wants us to buy from the National Foundry. Says it looks better."

"Pah, men and wanting the shiniest toys," Riane dismissed. "Why bother with a gun when a sentry can do it for you? All we have to do is make sure it has ammunition, and it will watch our homes for us."

"Are we making the sentries pets now?" Greene joked.

"Well, they did promise to make the ones with the glowing eyes. My boys think it sounds cute," Riane preened.

"It does. A little monotone, I think." Greene hummed. "Would it be possible to customize it? I'd like my babies to know that mommy's protecting them, even as a sentry."

"Maybe you should send that as a suggestion," Riane poked. "Their office takes them, no?"

"Maybe I should," Greene laughed. She glanced around and reached for her scroll. But then, the television halted its regular program as the VNN theme played. The women turned as Lisa Lavender appeared.

"Citing security concerns, the office of the First Minister has issued a cease-and-desist order towards Royal and Imperial," Lisa Lavender reported. "First Minister Rouge has said that the proposed sentry guns are unneeded, excessive, and dangerous. He has declared that the reign of terror by the Red Fang will be eliminated with the appointment of Francis Winchester, Duke of Winchester. Royal and Imperial has yet to issue a reply."

The women blinked, then stood. "I already placed a pre-order!" Riane protested. "My boys were looking forward to their robo nanny!"

"Unbelievable," Blaine scoffed as she drank from her cup. "It's a threat to their power, so they want to stop it. What makes the First Minister think his replacement is going to do better when Torchwick ran circles around Obadiah?"

That was true enough, Greene thought. As far as she saw, Royal and Imperial offered security for their homes from Torchwick and the Red Fang. This... this did not seem prudent in her eyes. If anything, it just looked reactionary.

"I'm calling the Minister's office," Greene vowed. She switched from calling the Imperials to the Royal Palace. She was going to give them a piece of her mind.

+++

A/N: Blood in the water makes the sharks want to eat. The Fleur is still pretty big but it only makes sense that their influence is getting challenged. Failure leaves one up to get nommed after all.