veiled facets — francis mccoy. [ speech ]
Jan 20, 2019 14:06:39 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jan 20, 2019 14:06:39 GMT -5
“Arm up, Francis.” His tailor commands; Francis raises it but does not look up from the texts that hold his speech — all ivory pages, littered with bullet points and notes that the district’s presumably ‘best’ strategists have devised. From time to time, the man found himself making blissful eye-rolls to some of its contents: inspirational quotes and phrases at the top-right corner, statistics and numbers at the bottom.
“Okay, it’s all done,” The old man’s hand pats out the last of the creases on his dark suit. “Do not sit down until you finish your speech, boy.”
“I am not planning to, Gustav.”
“Okay, it’s all done,” The old man’s hand pats out the last of the creases on his dark suit. “Do not sit down until you finish your speech, boy.”
“I am not planning to, Gustav.”
He sets the papers down on a table, not caring about how a stray wind could rush in from the window and carry it elsewhere. No one has the privilege to put words in Francis McCoy’s mouth. His words are his, and his only, treasures that he hides under the roseate of his tongue.
No strategist’s speech has the tender composition of the soul that he uses to articulate with.
“And don’t ‘boy’ me, old man.” The ghost of a smirk tugs on his lips before feet usher themselves onward, to the limelight and the crowd and the glided throne that’s been expecting its monarch.
“Greetings, all of you. I hope it’s been a delightful evening. You must be exhausted from standing all day whilst listening to false promises and weak truths — perhaps, that shall be the first task to be initiated: seating arrangements for the district square.”
“Greetings, all of you. I hope it’s been a delightful evening. You must be exhausted from standing all day whilst listening to false promises and weak truths — perhaps, that shall be the first task to be initiated: seating arrangements for the district square.”
He shows his teeth, but not the fangs underneath. There are cracks and fissures in his act which he can fall between but Francis’s instincts rescued him from almost any mishaps.
“I am not here for lengthy introductions, or dive-deeps into my personal background. My name is Francis McCoy, the face of the McCoy household, and I aspire to be your mayor.
Our family’s always been secretive but with this campaign, we are coming out of the shadows to show our district the power we’ve cultivated over the years.
The McCoys deal with trade and luxury item productions, meaning I aid in selling and buying and soon, producing the essence of District One: jewelry, household items, chandeliers, and everything in between.”
In other, more illicit, words: they started out as fences and are now occupying other fences. The factories they owned were the products of overdue loans and expired mortgages.
“What I want, is free education for those that are unable to afford it. What I want, is prosperity that rivals the Capitol’s. What I want, is for District One and its citizens to stand stronger than it has ever did on its own bones.
“What I want, is free education for those that are unable to afford it. What I want, is prosperity that rivals the Capitol’s. What I want, is for District One and its citizens to stand stronger than it has ever did on its own bones.
We are diamonds in the Capitol’s eye and I hope to make our luster permanent.
I am ready, to sacrifice, to work myself to the bone, to make this district anew, and to serve.
To make my loyalty and intentions evident and clear, I wholeheartedly accept Godric Blackburn's proposal for a duel tomorrow.
All you, the citizens of One, have to do is to hand your approval over – to me, someone that you can trust. Someone who is willing to fight for you in a literal sense.”
It is the cobra's nature and gift to hypnotize its prey before unsheathing its poison. It is the hypocrite's habit to befriend its foe before going for the jugular vein. He's the toxin, and the antidote. The flood, and the help. The plague, and the medicine.
It is the cobra's nature and gift to hypnotize its prey before unsheathing its poison. It is the hypocrite's habit to befriend its foe before going for the jugular vein. He's the toxin, and the antidote. The flood, and the help. The plague, and the medicine.
