it's not like we're enemies [roosevelt vs pierre | debate]

He strummed his fingers against the podium, thick wood under courser skin, waiting for his partner - ha - to take over. They didn't need to tear each other down; one half comforting, still nerve racking trying to play it friendly. A nod, he'd understand, it's nothing personal, just politics. "Thank you, Mr. Roosevelt,"

A weight in his lungs. 

Roosevelt pulls his arms back to his side, pressure pressed down to his center -- tide of debate was an ocean he didn't like to swim in, too easy to get dragged. But this is the come back after all, if not now then never, which makes it probably harder to rationalize; a tug at his cuffs, listening and analyzing Pierre's words. 

"Now, Mr. Roosevelt,"

great.

"What exactly are your plans to make this district safer for us all," inhale, eyes fixed on his thumbs before looking back at Pierre to his right. "It's all good claiming that you're going to do it but how exactly are you going to get there?" No nervousness, hesitation up to his eyebrows -- "excellent question," a smile. 

This is his entire platform, clockwork, reading it by that factory man's heart, "we as district eight, are known for unhealthy environment, and y'know, that is easy to say- it's our truth! It's what we've faced for lifetimes: smoke pollution, poisoned waters, I've said it my entire campaign, you guys are probably tired of hearing it, right-" jokes, they came out to hear politics.

"What's not easy, the solution."

Shuffling through notes for a second, guidelines and glancing, "at a very minimal level, the Roosevelt plan is nothing but pollution control," stopping for a second to swallow spit. "We solve this from the inside out, the first step is decreasing our number of industrial factories-" a nasty reaction, understandable, there's a stir in the audience and he expected there to be. 

"The second step is creating new jobs in other occupations to account for this loss; increasing hirings in fields such as sanitation, healthcare and, of course," a nod to Pierre, they're all friends here, "education." A natural pause, nothing to hold his breath over. "My goal is not to fix a few gears -- tweaking isn't the solution when the whole system is broken."

Second of silence, swallowing spit, relaxing his face.

"From there, the plan is to return money to the working people, increasing our middle class. At this point, the people themselves are enabled to protect and care for themselves," shit, tripping on his words, he's losing rhythm. "Where we are today, we can't thrive off of when tomorrow comes," fixated on the audience. Well, this is awkward, Roosevelt's speech slowly stumbling to wishful propaganda. What was the question? 

Recollection, right, "by the end of a five year term, the Roosevelt plan promises to completely rewire our healthcare, by no longer trusting the power, but instead by routing it back to you." Oh boy, he's losing this, the weight sinking from his chest to the pit of his stomach -- too extreme? 

Shit.

But he still lets the moment sit, muscles in his face tense. 

"With that, I would like Mr. Hope to answer a similar question," he says, thumbing used note cards and slogans under the pile. "You mentioned you'd raise the minimum wage depending on the level of work," bite me, "can you clarify how your position as mayor would affect our working class?"

If at all, the words stuck on his tongue -- we're all friends here.