But Boreas Was Calling Her Name
1st of June, 1103 ALB, United Imperial Federation of Griffonia and Equus. The day had already broken over the busy city of Griffenheim just a couple hours ago. Representatives of the Herzlander working class were already gathering in the massive imperial building that serves as the headquarters of the Supreme Workers’ Council of the Herzland for yet another day of thorough planning and tough decision making.
Lately though, the Ernst Thälpoodles Hospital Complex, a hospital complex whose construction had been originally initiated by a unanimous joint vote of the Medical Workers’ Councils of Griffenheim and the aforementioned Supreme Workers’ Council, was proving to be the current primary source of fear, concern and misery in the United Imperial Federation, for one very simple reason.
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Empress Gloria of Griffonstone, first of her name. Her reign had been... Tumultuous, to say the least. After all, being the monarch of a grand socialist experiment built on top of two mostly bombed out continents was destined to be a position that required a strength greater than her entire lineage combined to properly handle.
All of that was in the past now, though. Her ancient age has left her in a very fragile state, and, in a gut-wrenching medical council vote, some of the best doctors in the United Imperial Federation passed a motion to hospitalize the now centenarian Empress. Confined to that comfortable but sterile hospital bed, and staring aimlessly at the ceiling to boot, Gloria was doing one of the only things she was still capable of doing; Remembering.
Firstly, she remembered her youth. At this point, her memories of her father’s death and the chaos surrounding it were fuzzy. Her memories surrounding the diamond dogs of Bronzehill, and their triumphant Regency Council, however, were significantly less fuzzy. She remembered Rosey’s face. While most inhabitants of the United Imperial Federation, if they even remember Rosey Luxembark at all, probably regard her as a cold and pragmatic revolutionary who “spearheaded the bombardment of both Griffonia and Equus”, Gloria did not regard Rosey with such harshness.
Gloria remembered that, despite the seemingly endless “Imperial Restoration” wars that the KPB’s Regency Council waged across both Griffonia and Equus, Rosey had still made a commitment to taking care of her, after she, as a young and confused griffoness, made it clear to the diamond dog revolutionary that she was going through an emotional Tartarus every single day.
She remembered that Rosey stayed firmly supportive of her during that period of great internal struggle, and event went as far as to help the young Gloria locate the resources that she needed in order to discover what it was that she was feeling and complete her transition, as well.
She remembered her big announcement to the Imperial Federation over the radio. Even after all these decades, that was still one of the most defining moments of her entire life, and it was backed up by the events that came after; She was shown immense love and support, even by the very people that had been wronged by the Imperial Federation and the Regency Council, and, with the help of the late Dr. Magnus Grifschfeld, Boreas bless his soul, she accomplished the task of bringing her true self to life.
She remembered just how much Rosey had advocated for her. During her transition, Rosey emphasized the importance of supporting not only Gloria, but anyone else who had even a vaguely similar experience to Gloria’s, giving speeches and introducing popular council motions to update the laws to standardize gender inclusivity, such as the motions related to expanding gender-affirming care and deconstructing centuries-old gender norms all across the massive Imperial Federation.
However, before the Empress could even begin remembering the rest of her storied reign, she was snapped back to reality by a single talon, tapping her arm.
“Oh?” Gloria faintly mutters. She slowly sits up and looks over at the creature that had just poked her. The creature in question has the general bodily structure of a griffon, but also has some of the prominent physical characteristics of an alicorn, and is dressed in androgynous imperial regalia, to boot. Despite the vision loss that Gloria had incurred in her aging process, she has a pretty good idea as to who this creature might be.
“Golden Heart?” Gloria says to the familiar creature standing next to her hospital bed. “Is that you, my dear?” She continues, in an affectionate tone, seeking confirmation.
“Yeah, grandmother.” They reply. “’Tis I, your grandchild!” They playfully elaborate. Their demeanor changes to a more concerned one. “I came here to...” They trail off. “...To visit you.” They finish. They droop their head down a bit, as an air of sadness comes upon them.
“Aww! how thoughtful of you... my grandchild!” Gloria replies, in a joyous tone. “Not that many creatures... have visited me, thus far... you know?” She elaborates, maintaining the joyous tone.
“I know, grandmother.” Golden Heart says, in a sorrowful tone. “Personally, I find it kind of...” They trail off, trying to find the right word. “Sad, I guess?” They finish.
“Oh, Boreas...” Gloria trails off. “Look, dear...” She begins. “Do not get me wrong... I do not hold that against anybody.” She concludes.
“Really?” Golden Heart says, incredulous. “Not even against my father?” They ask. Gloria faintly chuckles and coughs a bit in response.
“Your father... I know your father well.” She says, managing a slight smirk. “He’s likely... using his birthday as an excuse... to drink all of his sorrows away!” She concludes, chuckling to herself. “...And I don’t blame him...” She continues. “Not one bit!” She punctuates, slowly raising her forearm and pointing a talon upwards. “Besides...” She says, bringing her forearm back down onto the hospital bed. “My whole life, I’ve been surrounded on all sides...” She trailed off. “Always had to answer to someone, or something...” She trailed off further. “It is only fair that I get some alone time every once in a while.” She concludes.
Suddenly, though, Gloria’s vision began to darken. She slowly laid back down on the hospital bed, resting her head on the pillow, as a wave of sudden sleepiness washed over her.
Golden Heart tilted their head, with a concerned look on their face. “Uhh, grandma? Are you feeling okay?” They asked.
“I think I... just need a rest...” Gloria says. Her voice is getting fainter with every pause. “I’m... not so sure though... Call the nurses, Golden Heart... just in case...” She elaborates. Her vision is getting darker, and she can feel her eyelids becoming heavy.
Just as Golden Heart goes to find the button that automatically calls the medical staff for them, the hospital room’s door is almost flung open. An elderly gentleman, with the general bodily structure of an alicorn and the prominent physical characteristics of a griffon, rushes into the room, dressed in masculine imperial regalia. Golden Heart turns around, just as they hover a talon over the aforementioned button, and they recognize the old griff immediately.
“Dad!?” Golden Heart exclaims incredulously. They briefly press down on the button, before putting their claw back down onto the floor.
“Yes, hello. ‘Tis I.” He quickly greets. “Came here as fast as I could. By train, I mean.” He explains without necessity, as his hastened speech and mannerisms both convey that information already.
“Wow, I did not expect you to be here! I thought you were hungover, or something.” Golden Heart says. Their tone indicates that they’re starting to panic at this point.
“Very close guess, but the hangover was yesterday.” He replies, before turning to Gloria, as a worried air begins to wash over him. “Mother, are you okay?” He asks the Empress, raising his voice a little.
Gloria couldn’t see him even if she tried, her vision is too blurry for that, at this point. But she recognizes the alicorngriff’s voice immediately. “Oh, Grover... my son... the true Grover VI...” Gloria begins, in a relaxed tone. “Look... I think the gods are calling my name...” She elaborates, closing her eyes. The heart monitor, which had been faithfully recording the Empress’ heart rate all along, now displayed a heart rate of 0 BPM. Flatline.
At the same time, the hospital room’s door flies open, loudly and properly. A sizeable team of nurses run into the room, carrying medical equipment. Everyone in the room is panicking to some degree. But, with one crucial exception: Gloria. Everything suddenly became a blur to her. Her grandchild, her son, the nurses, the empire; Absolutely everything. The last thing she feels as she is whisked away is... Tranquility.
...
“Time of death; 8:22 AM.” One of the diamond dog nurses said, solemnly.
It’s now 9 AM. The Supreme Workers’ Council of the Herzland had already declared itself open to begin yet another day. Another day of “refining the Workers’ Paradise”, as the representatives would put it. But the atmosphere is tense. No creature in that Council is relaxed; The speeches are unusually stiff, and everycreature is kind of moving and gesticulating like robots. To top it all off, everyone in that building is keenly aware of this fact, in one way or another. The tension had been building up, and something, or rather, someone, had to give.
Rosalinda enters the massive imperial chamber from one of the back doors. At a secret medical staff meeting that had occured just 10 minutes prior, she had been assigned the unimaginable task of giving the tragic announcement to the Supreme Workers’ Council. She is on the verge of tears, and has this extremely depressing aura surrounding her, and everycreature that sees her coming in can tell that she’s about to do something important.
She asks for permission to speak and claims that it is urgent, albeit absentmindedly; She is overwhelmed by the sheer significance of the task that she has been assigned to. No other event in her career as a nurse even squares up. By sheer luck, there is no one else speaking and no one in queue to speak, so she is granted the greenlight. Rosalinda walks up to the central podium, and tries to compose herself, temporarily, at least.
“C-Comrades...” She nearly blurts out. Her speech is already faltering. “I sorrowfully inform to all Councilcreatures currently in attendance...” She pauses. “that...” she falters, before picking her speech back up. “That... our beloved G-Gloria the F-First, E-Empress of Griffonia a-and Equus...” She pauses. At this point, the entire Council is deafeningly silent, hanging on every single word coming out of Rosalinda’s maw. “Was pronounced... Dead, half an hour ago.” She finishes.
Rosalinda steps away from the podium. As a profound despair and a strong air of mourning begins to fill the chamber, her legs feel weak. She nearly collapses onto the clean floor, barely holding herself together, as a sudden noise begins to fill the chamber. At first, Rosalinda couldn’t tell where the noise was coming from exactly, until she has a tragic realization. The noise is coming from her own mouth. Not only that, it’s coming from every other diamond dog present in the chamber:
Howling. Every single dog in that chamber began to howl, from the bottom of their hearts, and to the fullest extent of their lungs. The griffons, ponies and other races in the chamber are silent, with the same look of sadness and despair on their faces. Some even begin to cry.
Rosalinda was the first to howl, and is the first to flee the scene. She quickly removes herself from the chamber, and exits through the same back door she came in from. “What now?” She thinks out loud to herself, as she walks down the hallway.
“What now!?!?”
The news had spread like a combination of a nuclear weapon’s radiation cloud and it’s initial blast. From the historic shores of Eastern Griffonia, to the warm beaches of Western Equus, and even down to the tropical jungles of Southeastern Zebrica, the only topic on everycreature’s minds is the death of the United Imperial Federation’s beloved Empress.
There was an immediate and widespread declaration of a period of mourning, and Imperial banners now fly at half-mast, as well. However, in reality, there was no need for a formal declaration of mourning, because the entire United Imperial Federation had already spontaneously ground to a halt without the intervention of any of the countless Councils. Artists, entertainers, architects, engineers, doctors, nurses, etc. The majority elected to stay home. Bureaucrats, who usually worked tirelessly through times of crisis and despair, also elected to stay home.
However, as is often the case, it is the minority that sticks out. While the majority loosely coordinated an impressive stay-at-home campaign, the minority loosely coordinated improvised marches to mourn the Empress’ death.
4 PM. The weather is appropriately grim in the grand city of Griffonstone. Over the decades, the historic city had become the capital of Griffonian LGBTQ+ Liberation, albeit with fierce competition from major cities, such as Rottendedam, Aquila and Griffenheim. And, on this gloomy afternoon, the people of Griffonstone are staying true to their reputation; The picturesque city centre of the city is filled with grief-stricken marchers pouring in from all corners of the city. It’s a loosely organized affair, and only barely takes on the form of a march.
However, at the front of the crowd on the main street of the city centre, they had managed to form a spearhead of marchers, and, at the tip, was a relatively unique sight: A transgender griffoness, a transgender stallion, and a non-binary hippogriff were collectively holding up a special blue-pink-white pastel-colored rendition of the United Imperial Federation’s banner. In front of the flag-bearing trio another relatively unique sight, A group of photographers, taking pictures of the flagbearers.
But something’s happening. There are murmurs rising amongst the marchers.
One griffon marcher in particular, named Leontina, had gone through a rough week. She detested it when things didn’t go her way, and, that had been just the case in the week leading up to the Empress’ death. The Empire-shattering event only compounded the problem, as she departed from Karthin, her home town, and made a hasty trip to Griffonstone, at her own daughter’s request. As of this moment though, she had gotten into an argument with Lucky, a diamond dog from Bronzehill, who is now the unlucky soul dealing with the bad mood of the griffoness behind him. And now, something that he said inspired the griffoness to raise her voice.
“Oh! I see how it is! You think this is just an opportunity for you to feel good about yourself?” The angry griffoness exclaims dramatically, staring daggers into the diamond dog slightly ahead of her. Lucky, who is visibly annoyed by her, briefly stares at her before replying:
“You clearly misunderstood me!” The diamond dog exclaims, in protest. “I’m just saying that it’s very important that I showed up here for this!” He clarifies. The griffoness slightly rearward was still not convinced.
“But why though? Why?” Leontina responds. “What makes it so special for you?” She asks.
“Because my family has defended the Empress and her Throne for a century! That’s why!” Lucky justifies.
“That’s funny. Y’know, my whole family’s from Wingbardy.” The griffoness responds, playing up her amusement at the diamond dog’s answer. “Where I come from, only a reactionary would say something like that! You mentioned neither the Councils nor Socialism, and I think that that is extremely funny!” She punctuates.
“Oh, really now? You’re thinking that this is funny? Is that why you’re here? To laugh? Do you find this amusing?” The diamond dog practically barks out at the griffoness, as he fully turns around to confront her.
“You are the funny thing here, comrade! Besides, I have my trans daughter staying at a hotel because she told me that she’d be happy if we came all the way out here!” She responds. “This monarchy stuff is ridiculous!” She punctuates.
As the argument between the hot-headed griffon mother and the diamond dog goes on, others in the crowd also begin to argue over their differences, slowly escalating the supposed march into a generalized tumult.
6 PM. In a dark-colored building not too far away from the imperial building that housed the Supreme Workers’ Council of the Herzland, an intriguing group of grim-looking, sharply dressed creatures had convened for a special meeting. Behind closed doors, they had been entrusted with handling the body of the now late Empress Gloria I, and the meeting is, of course, about the very influential corpse that they had been given.
A griffoness dressed in all-black clothing spoke up. “We understand that they will handle the paperwork for the funeral;” She stated, before briefly pausing. “But, did the Council members make any specific requests?” She inquired, in a serious tone, as she made eye contact with a stallion in a black suit, who was standing behind a podium. In response, the stallion cleared his throat.
“Yes, comrade Lilian. They asked us to dress her up in her regalia.” He firmly responds.
“All of it? Jewelery? Feather extensions?” Lilian questions.
“All of it. Jewels, feather extensions, makeup, they want us to make her look like a sheila again.” The stallion answers. As soon as he’s finished his response, a flamboyant harpy in a top hat stands up, and raises his claw with a confused look on his face.
“Uh, hey, comrade Radiant Sunlight, may I please speak?” The harpy asks, looking at the stallion.
“Yes, you may.” Radiant Sunlight responds. The harpy lowered his claw.
“Are the Council members completely out of their minds!? They specifically told us that the funeral would be a closed casket funeral, and yet they still told us to embalm the body. And now they’re asking us to dress her up again!?” He says, energetically. “What does the Empress’ family think, huh? What did they say?” He questions.
“Actually, from what we were told...” The stallion trailed off. “Let me rephrase that.” He pauses. “Golden Heart themself proposed the idea. They said it would be funny, and backed it up by saying that the late Empress would have loved the idea of looking good in a closed coffin.” Sunlight explains.
The harpy sits down, dumbfounded, with an incredulous look on his face. “Well, that’s, uhh...” The harpy trails off, not knowing what to say. “That’s interesting. My vote would still be to the contrary though.”
“Alright, we’ve reached a point of contention. Unless someone else wants to present another suggestion, we should take a vote between the tw-“ The stallion says, before being interrupted by Fluorescent Shine, an eccentric mare in very colorful clothing, who had just raised a hoof.
“Oh please, comrade Monteiro! You’re just cranky because you know we’re gonna pick you to do the makeup!” The mare accuses, and then briefly pauses, before continuing. “Plus, I have another suggestion!” The mare exclaims. The stallion looks at her, gestures at her, and gives her a nod. “If the criteria is ‘funny’ and ‘it’s what she would have wanted’, then I propose that we put on the jewelry, feather extensions and do the makeup, and tell the Council to keep the clothes! I don’t claim to know the Empress better than her own grandchild, but I think she wouldn’t enjoy being pinned down in the coffin by that imperial garb of hers!” She proposes, in a rather upbeat tone. Some muffled laughs and chuckles can be heard from some of the creatures in attendance.
“Okay then, that suggestion sounds reasonable.” Sunlight states, matter-of-factly. “We’ll hold a three-way vote. Abstentions are allowed.” The stallion announces. “Raise a hoof, or a claw, or what have you, if you are in favor of the Golden Heart proposal.” He says, raising his voice so that all may hear him clearly.
Lilian raises her claw. A significant percentage of those in attendance raise their appendages soon after, and Sunlight quickly counts them all.
“Alright, that’s just over 30-percent in favor.” He concludes. “Raise a hoof, or a claw, or what have you, if you are in favor of comrade Monteiro’s proposal.” He says.
Monteiro raises his claw. A small percentage of those in attendance raise their appendages soon after, and Sunlight takes a very brief time to count them all.
“Alright, that’s just over 10-percent in favor.” He concludes. “Raise a hoof, or a claw, or what have you, if you are in favor of comrade Fluorescent Shine’s proposal.” He says.
Fluorescent Shine raises her hoof. A pretty large amount of those in attendance raise their appendages soon after. Before counting, Sunlight also raises his hoof. Monteiro looks at him incredulously, with a confused smile on his face. Sunlight takes a little bit longer to count this time.
“That’s... just over 54-percent in favor.” He concludes. “Comrade Fluorescent’s proposal wins out.” He announces, in a tone that reflects the eccentric mare’s triumph.
“Yipee!” The eccentric mare gleefully exclaims in response, seizing the moment. “I’d like to nominate myself for the task of putting on the jewelry and feather extensions, and I’d also like to nominate comrade Monteiro for the task of putting on the makeup!” She announces.
“I’m giving you the greenlight on that.” Sunlight affirms. “Aside from comrade Monteiro, is anyone opposed to this?” The stallion asks.
In response, at wide array of ‘No’s, both verbal and non-verbal, are expressed by many in attendance, as well as a few clearly audible laughs, chuckles and giggles. The stallion chuckles to himself at the very sight of this widespead reaction.
“Well then. Before we end this meeting on a high note...” The stallion pauses. “Would anyone like to volunteer to return the clothes?” He asks, with a smile on his face.
“I volunteer.” Lilian responds, in a somewhat resigned tone, briefly raising her claw once again.
“With all that properly done and dusted with, I declare this meeting of the Morticians’ Association in Griffenheim to be officially over. Everyone may now return to their respective funeral homes. With the notable exception of comrade Fluorescent Shine, comrade Monteiro, comrade Lilian, and myself, of course. Let’s leave this dark chamber!” Radiant Sunlight declares, returning to a more matter-of-fact tone.
All of the morticians vacate their positions and begin to form lines to exit the chamber. As Fluorescent Shine leaves with a smile on her face, she looks at Monteiro. His body language shows dejection, even after the good-humored conclusion. He looks at the eccentric mare, and gives her a visible frown.
2nd of June, 5:30 PM. The weather in Manehattan was sunny and beautiful that day, and there still wasn’t a single water cloud in the sky. But the Sun was already almost setting, stamping the sky with a distant and slowly dissipating orange gradient, which was giving way to an unrelenting night, in apparent similarity to the absolute Tartarus that has been let loose in the city itself, barring the fact that the metaphorical Sun had set yesterday evening. Pillars of smoke slowly ascend into the sky, stemming from buildings and street barricades that had been set on fire, which now served as one of the primary light sources in the city. The streets were filled with all different kinds of rioters, and, by this point, the clashes due to ideological difference were often violent. The darkening skies were not devoid of creatures either; Pegasi and griffons alike, who had hoped to get away from the chaos, took flight. This only multiplied the problem, however, with all kinds of airborne accidents being sometimes visible and very frequent.
Two different ideological factions had coagulated, not only in Manehattan, but in the rest of the Equestrian Territory, and this was evidenced by the protest signs and graffiti that had been swung around and laid out, respectively, all over the urban scenery. The two most common and visible slogans were: “Equestrian Independence NOW!” and “MAINTAIN the FRIENDSIP [sic] with GRIFFONIA!”, respectively.
On a particularly busy street near the city centre, Officer Lunamoon and Officer Radiance, a thestral and an earth pony, respectively, were still clad in Security Council uniforms, but had completely abandoned their increasingly important peacekeeping duties, and were instead locked in a fierce and loud shouting match.
“REALLY NOW? EVEN WITH THE KNOWLEDGE THAT THE HOUNDS AND THE GRIFFONS BOMBED OUR ENTIRE CONTINENT TO THE GROUND, TORE APART AND MUTATED THE CORE PILLARS OF EQUESTRIAN EGALITARIANISM, YOU STILL HAVE THE COURAGE TO SAY THAT THINGS SHOULD STAY THIS WAY?” Officer Lunamoon practically screams at her nominal comrade.
“WELL, AS A MATTER OF FACT, YES! I DO HAVE THAT COURAGE! I ALSO HAVE THE COURAGE TO POINT OUT TO YOU THAT IT WASN’T JUST GRIFFONIA REBUILDING OUR CONTINENT IN THEIR IMAGE, IT WAS A JOINT EFFORT, AND A FANTASTIC ONE, AT THAT!” Officer Radiance practically screams in response at her nominal comrade.
“LOOK, I UNDERSTAND IF YOU THINK THAT GLORIA’S STORY IS RELATABLE OR INSPIRING TO YOU IN SOME OBVIOUS WAY, BUT YOU DON’T HAVE TO DISRESPECT THE WHOLE CONTINENT LIKE THIS!” The thestral responds, maintaining the ferocity and volume of her tone.
“OH, PLEASE! DON’T BRING MY OWN PERSONAL LIFE INTO THIS! BESIDES, I THINK IT’S SUPER INTRIGUING THAT A THESTRAL, OF ALL PONIES, IS DEFENDING THE ORIGINAL EQUESTRIAN REGIME!” The earth pony shouts back, also maintaining the exalted shouty tone.
“AT LEAST THE SEPARATISTS KNOW HOW TO SPELL, YA DOLT!” The thestral snaps back.
“I TOLD YOU ABOUT THIS! IT’S AN INTENTIONAL MISSPELLING! YOU’RE THE DOLT HERE, BUDDY!” The earth pony also snaps back.
“OHH! BY PRINCESS LUNA’S NAME, I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT WE BEAR THE SAME SYMBOLS ON OUR UNIFORMS!” The thestral shouts, as she hits the spot on Officer Radiance’s uniform where the Manehattan Security Council and All-Ponies’ Communist Party pins are located. The pins briefly penetrate the earth pony’s skin, exactly like needles would.
“OW!” She winces, recoiling in pain. “YOU WANNA DO IT LIKE THAT, HUH? BRING IT ON!” She shouts, as she takes a swing at Officer Lunamoon, hitting her in roughly the same place.
The other rioters on the street see the escalation of the two Security Council members’ interaction, and many decide to follow their example, turning that street into an increasingly violent chain reaction.
That night, the Big Apple was left out to rot.
3rd of June, 2 PM. The skies above Griffenheim are immensely cloudy, in apparent meteorological solidarity with the skies in Griffonstone. The protests in the city began to fizzle out, as ideological conflicts became scarce due to the lack of separatists and republicans in the city. With this increasingly laid-back climate, the Supreme Workers’ Council of the Herzland was capable of reconvening effectively. In the spaceous chamber itself, there is a three-way civil discussion taking place. The participants are, in order of recognition: Golden Heart, the grandchild of the late Empress; Karl Kerplunck, a very influential Feathisian writer and Councilgriff, known for his published works about councilist pragmatism and well-made thinkpieces about the socialist monarchy of the United Imperial Federation; And Max Fischergriff, a provocative transmasculine avant-garde musician from Cyrusval who is skeptical of the monarchy.
“...Furthermore, I still maintain my position that the best course of action is convincing everycreature that a wave of separatism would be, in a broad sense, unproductive, and would stoke the currently dormant flames of Supremacist ideology, perhaps even taking the gung-ho, self-reliant stance of the Changeling Hives and using it as an example of something that could go badly.” Kerplunck explained.
“While I do broadly agree with that stance, I think it would be a reach to antagonize our Changeling comrades like that. It would probably end up as a self-fulfilling prophecy. They would hear it, and get a very sour taste in their mouths.” Golden Heart weighs in.
“This’ll definitely leave a sour taste in my own mouth, but I totally agree with Their Royal Highness here. We could end up with, like, a Comrade Chrysalis, but for real this time. That kind of thing.” Fischergriff says.
“I see Golden Heart’s point.” Kerplunck concedes. “On that note, though, you wanted to present a point earlier, did you not?” Kerplunck asks, looking and gesturing at Golden Heart.
Golden Heart’s eyes light up at the opening given by Kerplunck. “Yes! Uhm...” They excitedly answer, before briefly pausing to quickly collect their thoughts. “Once we’ve gotten everybody ready to buckle down for the funeral, we do the funeral proceedings, and then, because my father voluntarily gave up the throne, citing his old age of course, I can be crowned the Monarch, and, in an address that reaches the whole United Imperial Federation, I can admit that the workers have spoken, and tell every Council to vote on whether or not to abolish the monarchy!” They elaborated gleefully, seeming happy with their proposal.
There is a pregnant silence following Golden Heart’s statement.
“I am not only intrigued, but I certainly agree!” Fischergriff responds, delivering the continuation of the discussion. “And, look, it isn’t leaving a sour taste in my mouth this time!” He punctuates, vaguely gesturing at his beak.
Kerplunck raises both of his eyebrows. “Allow me to drink this in. A Monarch gets crowned, and then immediately tells their own citizens that they can elect to abolish the monarchical structure. Do I have this correct?” Kerplunck questions Golden Heart, almost incredulously.
“Mm-hmm!” Golden Heart almost harmonizes in response, nodding their head.
“Now this is Unflinching Pragmatism, truly. A punch to the face, taking on a pragmatic form.” Kerplunck says, baffled.
“Oh, come on, Councilgriff Karl! Are you seriously going to start referencing your own work on us right now? What, should I start referencing my upcoming discography, or something?” Fischergriff points out, as he gestures towards Kerplunck.
Karl Kerplunck chuckles. “No, no, I’m afraid that won’t be necessary-“ Kerplunck tries to continue speaking, but Fischergriff interrupts him.
“I just did, actually. One of my upcoming pieces is called ‘Should I start referencing my upcoming discography, or Something’. It’s real. I’m dropping it after this is all over.” Fischergriff explains, matter-of-factly. Some laughs can be heard coming from the other Council members in attendance.
“Heh, you’re funny.” Golden Heart says, looking at Fischergriff, and clearly enjoying the bit that he just did. “Got any proposals in your pocket, funny guy?” They ask him.
“Y’know, you seem weirdly chill and upbeat for someone who lost their grandma less than a week ago.” Fischergriff stops to point out, before resuming his piece. “Anyhow, since it looks like we’re trying to fill a Pragmatism Quota here, i’d suggest another vote. Bundled with the ‘abolish the monarchy’ thing, you could throw in a vote about greater autonomy for the Territories. People might dig it.” Fischergriff proposes.
“It’s called a ‘coping mechanism’, Councilgriff Max. That’s what I’m trying to do here.” Golden Heart remarks, with a hint of snark, replying to Fischergriff’s first point. “Anyway, I think your proposal is cool and I’ll have it on my list! What do you think, Councilgriff Kerplunck?” Golden Heart answers, punctuating the last part with a glance towards Kerplunck.
“I think this is a masterpiece of pragmatism. I fully agree.” Kerplunck responds, with a resolute expression.
“That means we’re ready to take a vote on it, right?” Golden Heart happily says, slowly glancing back and forth between the two Councilgriffs.
“Absolutely. I don’t see why not.” Both Kerplunck and Fischergriff respond, at the exact same time. Everyone in the chamber takes note of this, and laughter erupts in the chamber. It takes a little bit for the laughter to die down.
“Funny moments aside, let us begin the vote.” Kerplunck announces, raising his voice, allowing all to hear his Feathisian accent. “All in favor, raise your claws, hooves or what have you.” Kerplunck announces, keeping his voice at the same level.
Golden Heart, Karl Kerplunck and Max Fischergriff all raise their claws. Almost immediately after, every Council member has at least one appendage raised. A unanimous approval.
“Well, would you look at that.” Kerplunck says, keeping his claw raised. Fischergriff braces himself as Kerplunck takes a deep breath.
“UNFLINCHING PRAGMATISM MADE MANIFEST!” Kerplunck orates, as he lifts two claws up in the air, causing a widespread uproar in the chamber.
It was finally time to put plans into motion.
11th of June, 4 PM. Griffenheim. The riots had continued for almost a week longer, but, by 10th of June, public opinion had been successfully swayed, and the Funeral of Her Royal Majesty, Gloria of Griffonstone, first of her name, Empress of all Griffonia and Empress-Consort of all Equus, went ahead. It is now in full swing. Hundreds of thousands are in attendance, slowly marching along the designated route. And hundreds of millions are spectating the event, with the help of advanced magical-technology.
The overall atmosphere of the funeral was serene and calm, but with a profound sadness to it. To accentuate the sad feeling, representatives of several Musicians’ Councils were brought in to march right behind the coffin-carrying committee, and play a downbeat rendition of the United Imperial Federation’s anthem. Even though singing the lyrics wasn’t an official part of the funeral proceeding, an untold amount of creatures did it anyway. The lyrics, were, in fact, beautiful; An exaltation of the late Empress’ unbreakable perserverance and talent for leadership, as well as an exaltation of the working class’ triumphant struggle against the bourgeoisie.
If the late Empress herself is protagonizing the funeral from beyond the coffin, then the untold numbers of transgender and/or gender-nonconforming citizens that are in attendance are the supporting cast of the funeral. They are the ones wearing their sadness and other mournful feelings loud and proud, and they are the ones singing every single word of the Imperial anthem with unmatched punctuality and passion. It is, to use the industry term, fucking awe-inspiring.
After a mournful period of slow marching, the late Empress’ coffin has reached the end of the march: A humble but advanced train station on the outskirts of Griffenheim, named Rosey Luxembark Train Station. As the coffin was carefully loaded into a custom imperial passenger train with a singular hearse-like compartment, and the train finally began it’s intended route, it truly felt as if, just like how she had gracefully delivered her onto the Imperial throne, Rosey Luxembark was once again there, on the same wavelength as Gloria, gracefully delivering her into the afterlife.
After a surprisingly quick train ride to the Spectrum Estate, the fancy home in the Strawberry countryside that the late Empress Gloria loved spending time in with her family and loved ones, Gloria of Griffonstone, first of her name, the late Empress of all Griffonia and Empress-Consort of all Equus, was buried right next to the grave of Flurry Heart, the late Emperor of all Equus and Emperor-Consort of all Griffonia, in the spacious, fragrant and marvelous Garden of the Spectrum Estate.
12th of June, 11 AM. Golden Heart of Griffonstone-Crystal, first of their name, Grand Monarch of all Griffonia and of all Equus, had been already crowned Grand Monarch of the United Imperial Federation the night before, in a coronation ceremony that ended in the loudest cheers ever recorded in the United Imperial Federation’s history. But, that morning, it was finally time for them to play their part.
The announcement of a statement from the new Grand Monarch had creatures from all over the world peeled on their magical-electronic devices. And then, suddenly, with an audible kerplunk from a microphone serving as an audio cue, Golden Heart appeared. They took a deep breath, and began to speak.
“Workers of the United Imperial Federation of Griffonia and Equus. As you may have guessed, I, Golden Heart, am now your Grand Monarch. With my coronation comes a time of... Healing. A time of serenity, a time of tranquility, and a time of stability. However, the riots that occured after the death of my grandmother, in all of their senseless and double continent-spanning violence, taught me a profound lesson. You, the working class, have spoken, and you all demand Change. And I will give you not only stability, but Change as well. Effective immediately, I strongly demand that all Councils, without exemption, come together and hold a vote. Not just one vote, but two votes. The first, is a crucial one. The Councils will decide between keeping the monarchy, or abolishing it outright. Rest assured, I am completely prepared for the possibility of abolition. The second is also a crucial one. After the vote on the abolition of the monarchy, the Council will decide between granting greater autonomy to the Territories of our country, or keeping the structure as it is right now. These two votes must be concluded as fast as is possible, for they will decide the future of our country. I wish all of you pleasant Council discussions.”
After their speech was done, they turned off the microphone in front of them, and the camera was also turned off. The broadcast was over. Nocreature had any thought other than:
“Council meeting. Immediately.”
20th of June, 7 PM. At a fancy countryside venue near Vinnin, countless working class people are having a massive party, drinking and having fun.
On one of the balconies of the venue, there was a peculiar group of creatures gathered. Karl Kerplunck, the pragmatic Feathisian writer, was seated at a table with Max Fischergriff, the avant-garde musician of Cyrusval, and Radiant Sunlight, a New Marelander mortician in a black suit. Monteiro, a Macawian mortician wearing a top hat, was looking at the Herzlander fields with a smile on his face. And, at another table, Rosalinda, the diamond dog nurse who infamously announced the late Empress’ death. Her entire body language signaling sadness. Lilian, a Feathisian mortician dressed in all-black clothing, was right next to Rosalinda, comforting her. They were all holding drinks, and they all belonged to the same champagne-producing cooperative. Most of them were having the non-alcoholic version, but Rosalinda and Radiant Sunlight were definitely not having the non-alcoholic version.
“Hey, everyone, come closer to our table!” Karl Kerplunck says, loudly, in a casual tone. Everybody who wasn’t already at that table comes up to it. “How about a toast?” Karl Kerplunck proposes.
“A toast to what?” Rosalinda asks.
“A toast...” Karl Kerplunck pauses for dramatic effect. “To the new Federation of Socialist Republics of Griffonia and Equus, of course!”
Rosalinda gave Kerplunck an amused smile. “Let’s do it, everyone!” She exclaims, raising her voice for the first time since the 1st of June.
Everyone collectively agrees, and... “To the new Federation of Socialist Republics!”
“Of Griffonia and Equus.” Kerplunck completes.
“Yeah, ‘cuz Zebrica already had us beat on the whole ‘Republic’ thing.” Fischergriff says.
“Heh, of course.” Monteiro speaks up. “That Posada was one crazy revolutionary.” He says.
“Crazy, but weirdly pragmatic. Remember that.” Kerplunck says.
“Speaking of Zebrica,” Fischergriff begins. “...Did you guys hear about that one Artistic Council member in Macawia?” He asks. “People said that, during the riots, this guy gave ‘prophetic orations’ about the events that were going on during that time. Isn’t that interesting?” He concludes, in an inquisitive tone.
“They were probably just having way too much shrimp on the barbie over in Macawia.” Radiant Sunlight responds.
Fools.
“Did...” Lilian speaks up. “Did you guys hear that?” She asks. “Scratch that, are you guys hearing that?” She corrects herself.
The group begins to agree on hearing “that”.
Suddenly, I kick the door to the balcony open. Everyone gasps.
“IT WAS ME!” I exclaim. “I AM THAT MACAWIAN COUNCILMEMBER!” I orate.
“What?” Radiant Sunlight asks.
“I AM THE DIEGETIC OMNISCIENT NARRATOR OF THIS STORY! I WAS GIVING MY DIEGETIC NARRATION THE WHOLE TIME!” I dramatically reveal. Everyone is confused, with the exception of Max Fischergriff, who is shocked and gasps dramatically. “I AM HERE TO SAY TWO THINGS: TO THE READER, STOP READING THIS! THIS IS THE END OF THE STORY! AND, TO YOU GUYS...” I pause for dramatic effect. “Let's keep this party going!”
The End. Thank you for reading.
Author's Note
I slacked off for a whole month, writing over 2k (and some change) words bit by bit, and then wrote the remaining 4k (and some change) on August 31st¹. Anyhow, if you couldn't tell, this is basically just a giant love letter to User_name555, the developer of the Trans Grover VI submod. I loved the Gloria submod so much that I wrote a fanfiction about it. I patiently await Bronzehill regency content.
¹. I am living proof of why you shouldn't procrastinate on stuff.
