A Fickle Crowd

==== New Republic Embassy Plaza: Caspar ==== Paths, impeccably manicured and arranged in an 8-pointed starburst formation, cross the lawn to meet at the center of the plaza. The junction circles a superbly tended patch of hedges and flowers, which in turn hug the base of a tall flagpole. The banner of the New Republic flies proudly overhead. More trees are spaced along the pathways, and a bench under each tree provides a resting place. On either side of the grassy field, bright and beautiful gardens invite visitors to enjoy a few serene moments.

The Embassy itself, constructed from creamy marble, shines out on the far side of the flagpole. The symmetric architecture of the building is all in good taste. Conservative and graceful at the same time, the wings of the hall emerge from the surrounding gardens and soar toward the sky. Flanked by two pillars, heavy wooden double doors are carved in an intricate vine pattern.

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The public disquiet on Caspar had grown steadily since the first days of the blockade. Seventeen years had passed since the last time Imperial warships loomed in orbit, their holds filled with legions of the Emperor's terror-troops their sights set on conquest. The anxiety had turned to confusion when the invasion that was feared did not come, and in that confusion the Empire had masterfully played their hand - turning anxiety to anger and leaving the citizens of the Union with no-one to address it to but their own government.

Those who remember the War of Imperial Aggression are not so easily turned, but the younger generation does not remember the march of Imperial legions down her streets

As the sun rises across Plaxton City, it brings with it a crowd - set apart from the city proper Embassy Plaza rarely sees much foot traffic, but between the hours of dawn and mid-morning a steady growth of people, the bulk of them Human and Sarian have begun to fill the lawn outside of the Republic Embassy. Crude homemade placards sport populist slogans 'Caspar for Caspians'. 'No War'. 'Democracy not Destruction' and the like and still the crowd is growing.

Having watched the crowd amass since security first stirred her from a fitful sleep at her desk, the Ambassador sent to 'govern' this little patch of territory finally emerges. She's dwarfed by the twin doors that soundlessly part to permit her exit. As far as stage entrances go, it's not a dramatic one. No legions of marines comes filing out ahead of her, for they have a much more precious target to guard indoors...and maybe assist with her homework.

Accompanied by flesh and chrome, her two assistants - one Sarian and one protocol droid - halt their steps just a few paces beyond the doors while she continues with a slight hitch in her step to the edge of the topmost stair. "Good morning!" she greets, in Sarian, hands outstretched to beckon the bodies nearer. "I commend you on your free expression. Those are indeed words to live by...and act upon."

The crowd does begin to find some focus with Ambrosia's arrival, their milling groups breaking down into a single mass that begins to crowd around the Ambassador's speaking position.

"Go back to the Republic!" one protestor yells, receiving a few cries of support and a smatter of applause. "We don't want your war here!" that seems to strike a broader chord and there's a moment of thunderous applause.

Ambrosia listens to the mounding resistance, expression placid. Righting her head tilt, she adjusts a little something in her ear then interlocks her hands loosely against the small of her back. "This...that..." Pointing aloft to the skies and the looming presence weighing heavily upon them, "is not the Republic's war. The blockade does not sit upon our doorstep. Rather, they choose to knock forcefully on yours. Maybe, the long-lived relations between your government and mine influences their decision to challenge your authority. Yes, yes it most certainly does. For what better way to strike at the heart of the Republic than to threaten the innocent?"

"We're paying for your profits!" another protester yells, angrily pointing from the front rank of the crowd. "The Empire's been gone for years!" another cries.

"New Republic out! New Republic out! New Republic out!" a steady if monotone and rather unimaginative chant taking hold.

Sighing, mutely, Ambrosia shifts her stance and fingers something on her vest's lapel. The next sound to breathe forth from her mouth is amplified, emanating from a pretty rudimentary speaker system installed along the building's front, designed to project out to the lawn.

"I won't argue that the suffering imposed upon you is unjust. It is. But I will not submit to the illusion that if I leave - if I, my staff, my child are turned over to Imperial disposal - your strife will end." Quiet for a moment, allowing their chant to take center stage for a moment, she paces to one side of the steps while the sentient of the two aides looks worriedly on.

"I see the determination of youth in many of your faces. Likely, many of you are too young to remember what Caspar has been made to endure before, beneath the shadow of the Emperor's heel. You cannot remember, because the elder generation of your people fought for their rights and repelled that threat. I am here to support your government, to remind you of those rights, your independence, your strength that, if effectively aimed, can secure your future as your own, once more. I am not here to make trouble for you. I am here to help you make trouble for them."

Ambrosia's voice booms over the chanting and it quickly quietens down to let her speak. Though the faces looking back seem anything but uplifted by the speech. "We don't want trouble with the Empire!" their answer comes.

"Caspar's not your battleground!"

"I didn't vote for this!"

"Not in my name!"

"You're the reason they're here!"

"We're not your tools!"

"New Republic out! New Republic out! New Republic out!"

It would appear that is not what they wanted to hear.

"You are most certainly not our tools," Ambrosia continues on, casting a glare heavenward. "I puppet no strings. Rather, I am trying to free you of the ones which - quite craftily, I will admit - are turning you against your own. The Empire wasted no time in controlling your food supply, did they? Your resources? It is not from the kindness of their hearts that they do so. It is certainly not kind, the way they have thus far blocked our shipments of humanitarian aid to you, and assimilated it into their own supply, no doubt. Open your eyes, Caspar. Tap in to the wisdom of your elders."

Voice nearly hoarse from trying to compete with the volume of their own, Ambrosia lowers it and pats her chest. "I am not the reason they are here. There would have been far easier, less expensive ways to reclaim me. Long ago. They are here, because you and your wealthy system represent an undeniably desirable resource. Their hunger will not be satiated in our absence. To whom will you turn, when your freedom is gone? Are you prepared - really prepared - to relinquish your dignity, when they fail to keep their promise to leave you, completely, in peace?" Extending her arms widely from her sides, she uplifts her palms, in gesture of peace. "If the CDU truly wishes us gone, we have no choice but to oblige. That is our way. We respect the autonomy of independent systems. We celebrate such self-governance. But rest assured..." Tone taking on a touch of maternal warning, she raises one index finger to the morning clouds. "They will not. You'd best prepare."

The crowd listens with remarkable restraint, as protests go this one is rather cordial - for now. But the arguments and protestations find few friendly ears and it’s not long before the chant has resumed again. Several CDU Marines have discretely moved in to monitor the situation but are wisely giving the peaceful if noisy protestors a wide berth.

Nodding, Ambrosia backs slowly towards the doors, gesturing vaguely to her companions. The droid toddles briskly to the doors, where the Sarian has already taken up post and opened them. Rather than making her retreat quite yet, the Ambassador turns ever so slightly aside (never trust your back to a mob) and takes possession of a large, handmade sign of her own, from within.

It is nothing, if not colorful. Childish, hand drawn pictures of key landmarks about Plaxton and the countryside decorate the border. In the center, the words 'CASPAR IS PROUD, KEEP HER FREE' are written in bright, blue letters.

Wordlessly, Ambrosia holds the sign aloft before jamming a pole up its syntheboard arse and firmly planting that pole into a strategically pre-drilled hole in the center of the front step. "A gift, from one of your biggest fans. This is her birthplace, her first home. We understand how frightening it is, when you're in danger of losing that home. Don't let them take it from you." Gaze somber and possibly wet with tears, Ambrosia chooses to turn her back then, hands held aloft, away from her armed hips, as she moves to leave the chants behind and regroup with those at the door.