The weather had turned out nicely, despite the claims of the weathermen on the news the day before.
Down the main road, which had been closed all day, a few disparate mobs of people enjoyed the markets and general celebratory atmosphere of the occasion. At the far end of the street, right at where it all opened up again, a large stage stood, complete with podium, microphone and a half dozen folding chairs, empty right now, but waiting for their occupants who were milling about just offstage. Above it, hanging taut, was the giant banner reading: DESCENDANTS DAY.
A young lady, maybe mid-20s, dressed in a stylish office-appropriate suit awkwardly took the stage and stood behind the podium. She tapped the microphone and the few people nearest the stage looked up for a moment, then went back to what they were doing. Even the people who had taken the provided audience seating paid her little attention.
“Hey guys, my name is Marika Atkins and I am your host for this event!” she said. She kept looking down at the notes she had on the podium, her voice full of that fake excitement of someone clearly not wanting to be there, but forced into a position for marketing reasons. “Welcome to the very first, and Im sure, not the last Descendants Day! Woo!” she applauded herself which became very awkward when no one in the audience joined in. “In just a few moments,” she continued, after letting her increasingly awkward applause run its course, “we will hear from the person responsible for all this, an advocate for Descendant rights, Ms Gloriana Tate. Along with one of the main reasons we are able to have this at all, your local councillor, and maybe even the new mayor? Make sure you get out the vote next week! Maximilian Cosgrove. Please help me welcome them to the stage!” she set herself off on another awkward applause, which no one else picked up, although some of them were now watching as two more people came to the stage and she took her seat on one of the folding chairs.
“Thank you, thank you,” a 40-something woman with unnaturally red hair and thick rimmed glasses said. She was shorter than the man next to her, who wasnt himself overly tall. She very clearly had to stand on a box behind the podium in order to reach the microphone height. She ignored the lack of applause for her welcome and continued on as if it was petering out. “Thanks to you, as well, Marika, for hosting such an amazing event. I hope you enjoyed the markets and the films earlier?” the woman turned back to the audience, such as it was before seeing if the younger woman answered her questions. “My name is, as Marika said, Gloriana Tate. I have been working on having an event like this for many years now. The treatment of Descendants in this nation, and others, has been nothing short of abominable and I can sleep proudly knowing that I helped call attention to that and can bring you these sort of events regularly. Please, visit the market stands and support local businesses. We can only be here because of them.”
Tate proceeded to talk about the various sponsors of this event, her cadence and speaking patterns changing as her off the cuff remarks changed into scripted adverts. Once she finished, which took a lot longer than anyone watching wanted them to, she turned to the man standing next to her. He was not tall, but he was barrel chested. A large bald head stood atop a squat neck and narrow eyes watched everything but didnt appear to take any of it in. Like, Marika, and unlike Gloriana, he wore a crisp suit. The tie was done up as tight as could be which gave him his own air of awkwardness, as if he wasnt used to wearing a suit, or being out in public. He nodded along, automatically, to whatever Gloriana was saying before she stopped and turned to him.
“And now,” she said, “I would love to hand the microphone to the main reason we are all here today. Local councillor and frontrunner for mayor and destined for many things beyond that, Mr Maximilian Cosgrove,” she clapped far too enthusiastically for this man who proceeded to put on a rather PR-ish smile and took his place behind the microphone and waved to the few people who had hung around this long.
“Thank you, Ms Tate,” he nodded at her as she stood down from her box and took a seat next to Marika, immediately engaging the younger in conversation. “Thank you, again, to Marika and everyone else who has worked hard for the past few weeks to set this amazing event up. I see you all and I appreciate your hard work. Its people like you that this town, this nation, were built on.”
“Bigot,” someone called from the audience.
Cosgrove ignored it and continued on. “I was hesitant to put my name on this event because I was not ready to celebrate a group of people who have been the cause of such destruction. When I was younger, I was sent to war. I fought for the sovereignty of this nation, and the sovereignty of our allies, against what we saw as an existential threat. These Descendants had caused our parents and our grandparents so much pain, and left almost nothing but annihilation in their wake. But,” he said as a few more people took up the chant of bigot. “The times have changed. Todays world is not like the world I fought to protect. Descendants arent the terrorists they used to be. They no longer fight for land that isnt theirs and have integrated into our society. Theyre better people than their ancestors and have come a long way in fixing the ills of those who came before. Events like this are just one step in our efforts to welcome them into modern, civilised society and for that reason I am happy, and proud, to welcome them, and you, to the first of what I hope is many, Descendant Days,” he waited for whatever applause he was going to get, which was none, before letting Marika take the microphone again for more of her hosting duties.
“God, I cannot believe that Evan stuck me with that fucking job,” Maximilian said, as he slipped his shoes off in the doorway of his house, struggling with his tie all the while. “I bet he thought I would fuck it up and end my mayoral run. God, and what a stupid event. Descendants Day. Who the fuck thought those goddamn, ugh, people deserve anything than total eradication. Its bad enough they no longer have to be monitored all the time, now they have to be celebrated? Fuck them. I will never have such a disgusting display when Im mayor.”
“Of course, dear,” his wife, a woman who had taken the name Olivia after emigrating to this nation many years ago, said from the other room. She wasnt really listening to him, at this point in his daily routine there was no point. He was going to rant about something. If nothing else, it got it out of his system.
“Did you or the kids go down to the shit today?” he asked, indicating that his frustration had subsided and she could speak to him like an adult again.
“No,” she said. “I had to visit Bea today because her children had failed to bring her her prescriptions. She was not in a good way. And the kids had school,” she added.
“You shouldnt spend so much time on that old biddy,” he said. “She will only grow to rely on you instead of her kids.”
“She is my friend,” Olivia said. “I will help her as she needs it.”
Maximilian could still hear his wifes native accent when she spoke, especially – as was the case here – when she spoke passionately about something. One of the things he truly did love about the woman was her passion for things that were important to her. Her friends, her family – especially the twins – and her homeland. A place she had not been able to return to in nearly 30 years, ever since she had been forced out. He did not force the issue of her friend, even though he did think it was a mistake to look after her in the way she did.
“Where are the kids?” he asked.
“I assume they’re in the living room,” she replied. “I havent heard them since they came in from school.”
He finally managed to loosen the tie enough to slip it over his head and stuffed it into his pockets before entering the kitchen where his wife was standing with her back to him. She was shorter than him, probably about the same height as the woman earlier, but considerably slimmer. Her long black hair was tied in a loose ponytail and hung down to about midway down her back. She wore loose fitting jeans, the sort he never liked seeing her in, and a thin shirt over which she wore a long apron as she sat about making the family dinner. He slipped his arms around her waist and held her close to him. She sighed happily and then pushed him away with her elbows.
“Not while Im cooking,” she said. She was holding a sharp knife in one hand and a green vegetable, that Maximilian could not name, half sliced in the other.
“Fair enough,” he said, smiling. She gave him a quick kiss and turned back to the food.
Maximilian walked into the living room where his two children were silently studying.
His son, Icarus “Ike” Maximillian Cosgrove, taller than either of his parents. Messy black hair that he held together with a thin black band. He looked up as his father entered then immediately went back to his reading. A quiet boy, but the same passion his mother had was there. Maximilian had seen it more than once.
His daughter, Micah Serrah Cosgrove. Her middle name was derived from one of Olivias grandparents. A woman so deeply admired, she gave him no option but to use it for his own daughter. A twin to Ike, she could not be more different. She was more extroverted. Her lighter hair, similar to Maximilians own before he had lost it, was short and easily maintained. She had a radiant smile which she rarely used on family. She looked up and wiggled her fingers at her father and, like her brother, went back to her books.
“Good day, kids?” he asked, not expecting much of a reply.
“No,” they said together, a habit he used to think was charming when they were younger was now annoying as they grew into sullen teenagers.
“Exams are coming up,” Micah said. “Theyre piling on the revision work. Im sorry, Dad. We really need to study.”
“Sure,” he said, not really wanting to engage with them anyway. He left and plodded down the hallway to his bedroom at the far end.
“Did you hear what he said?” Ike asked quietly. “When he got in, about the Descendants.”
Micah paused for a bit. Ike was about to re-ask the question thinking his sister hadnt even heard it. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “We cant stay here.”