"Lit'en to this,
'Burglar dies of infection - A man who stole thousands of marks worth of goods died of an infection in prison yesterday, after being
shot in the knee by a prefect.' Yada yada yada."
"And, Fredrika?"
"What 'e need is improvement. There's shoplifters dying of the flu in jail.
The flu, Peté,
the flu!"
"The flu?"
"The flu."
"Mmm. Yes. Perhaps you are right.
"God knows I'm right. Maybe we should make a statement. And by 'we', I mean 'you', as I sit next to you and wave."
It was a bright, crisp day in early March. Peté and Fredrika had called a press conference in a room in Quarrovth Plantation. Fredrika and Peté were sitting on the couch on the left and the press consisted of two people, because news stations had no problem just sticking another station's video in it's broadcast. Peté picked up a paper from the end table and held it in front of the camera.
"'Burglar dies of infection in prison'. Does that sound appropriate to anyone? I didn't believe so. What this prefecture - and, in fact, this country in general - needs is reform. There's petty criminals dying of wounds, outlanders being thrown into ditches as fraternity rites of passage, and communists protesting every day. Do we want a revolution? Do we want anarchy? Of course not! We want order. Stability. Therefore, I am going to issue decrees to work toward the equality of this nation. Now, I'm no idiot - I know outlanders will never be equal, nor will the death penalty ever fade. But, my citizens, we can improve Myroria! Step back and take a look - how many nations actually are not annoyed at us right now? One, maybe two? We're going to make this country better - and we're starting now."