A type of broken autocratic democracy. He snarled above, a pointed tooth; they unscrupulously screamed back of the obscure mention of sovereignty — now mentioning the triviality of Marjorie's cautious existence. Marge, coincidentally confidently countering their rebukes, wore a hearty smile. Meanwhile, his minions had a rather bipolar shift; this character was equally capricious — ranging from agitated to pleased for no apparent reason. Neither Marge new what this character reminded her off, nor who. Wether it was someone she new, or someone she'd made up, her mind told her otherwise. Nevertheless, she still saw familiarity in his appearance. His physiognomy was similar, yes. The way he chuckled... It can't be, his nasally voice. It'd be of the same timbre.
Satanic figure or not, his representatives were nothing but irritating.
"I just wanted the space I've earned," she began, "why can't I have it?"
"You're a broken woman — for one, and you gained it through heinous exerts." The man of superstitious notions countered.
"It's not that hard to just give in, Marjorie? Why carry on when you're on such thin ice, dear?"
"..." Jerk of motion span her head.
"The fact of the matter is, it's ludicrous ponder. Why take so much?" Although the man's goons articulated respectfully, Marge didn't see that as a blockade of power.
"And did I gain it fair? I believe I did, if I recall..."
"Marjorie, you don't understand, this isn't the fact of the matter. The fact of the matter is that— we desire more. The manufacturers. We need the provinces."
"Oh, and I don't. I delivered what I needed. So, why can't I live happily."
"You are happy already, are you not, mam?"
Marjorie stiffened, like a rat to the metal clamp — no longer able to scurry.
Is she?
"Marjorie, my dear, is something wrong?" The devilish figure cracked a dubious smile
"Your views are flawed. And, quite frankly, your just rude. Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to my room." Politely sauntering off to her room, "we'll talk soon."
The parliament-esque dining hall filled with outrage — it's party members slamming the table forcefully.
"Outrageous!" An opposing member snapped.
"Blasphemous!" The more pious man squawked.
"A disgrace to the house!" Another.
"M—Marge, wait!—"
The room fell into a uncanny quiet.
A dichotomy of disrespect was disputed no more.
Finally, a more ingratiating tone reared.
"...Yes, Ned."
YOU ARE READING
The Sergons
FanfictionMerge, Herm, Sliga, Migga and Blerg are nothing of your normal family. The household gets a bit wacky, as they spin OUT OF CONTROL!!! Read this WACKY chain of episodes to find out. (Notes: uh, the adjective chain, uh- well- you know, it symbolises t...
