The grand reception hall in the heart of the center of Wing City's municipal government had never before hosted an event of such political importance as the debate between the candidates vying for the Central Aslundan seat in parliament. The thick, navy blue drapes that normally covered the arching Palladian windows along either side of the hall had been drawn back with tassels that Detective Isaac Bowdoin judged with a smirk were about as big as his fist. Unlike the last time he'd been here, which was the previous night during a final security check with that obnoxious NPA liaison, he could actually see into the hall without having to sheepishly yoink a uniformed officer's flashlight. The sun was a nice touch, though he very nearly snickered aloud at the thought of the camera operators by the windows at the front, who were no doubt struggling to find the best possible angle without accidentally backlighting the candidates too much. It was too bad they hadn't quite arrived.
Isaac reached into his pocket, hoping to steal a glance at the time on his phone, but much to his consternation, all he could see was his own dark-skinned reflection on a black screen. "Don't tell me you let your phone go dead on the job," came a light, perhaps mocking voice from behind him.
Isaac started to turn, catching a surprisingly strong whiff of what smelled like the latest Michel Doudonne cologne. "Shit, don't tell me you're going to snitch on my ass to the Chief." Too late, he realized that the rather short, rotund woman raising her eyebrow at him was Janis McMorrow, the TNG Minister of Foreign Affairs.
"You could do yourself a favor and not give me any reason to bother your boss," McMorrow said, still smiling. Isaac shrugged, stuffing his phone back into his pants pockets. He was wearing a navy blue suit, almost the same color as the drapes, the only one he owned, and he'd had to all but whack his loser roommate over the head to force the kid, whom Isaac suspected spent most of his time in Wing City's red light district, to dig through his own mountain of unwashed laundry to retrieve Isaac's suit. He hadn't even bothered to ask how it'd gotten down there, but as it turned out, the angular-faced Avorian who'd opened the place sometime last year wasn't particularly thrilled with Isaac's near-groveling for her to please get it cleaned before the debate. "Your shirt and pants're wrinkled, you know. Doesn't WCPD have any standards for dress these days?"
Isaac looked down at himself, flushing. He exhaled audibly. "It's my court suit. I had to testify in three cases last week." Despite his attempts to maintain a level tone, a tinge of defensiveness made its way to his voice.
"Well, at least you're not Ereb or Fabron. Imagine if one of them showed up looking like that." McMorrow smirked, straightening the lapels of her own suit, which Isaac found decidedly straight and angled. Probably another way the Minister had subconsciously retained some standards of dress from her own military background. "All right, time to get started." She gave him a friendly pat on the arm and then strode to the stage, immediately culling silence from the excited chatter in the audience and among the media crew members.
"Welcome to the Central Aslundan Parliamentary Debates," said McMorrow, standing at a podium centered on the makeshift platform between four other identical podiums, two on each side and all draped with the TNG flag in maroon and gold. "I'm pleased to serve as your host and moderator this fine afternoon, and look forward to our no doubt rousing exchange of ideas between your candidates, Mr. Gabriel Ereb and Mr. Giles Fabron, each with their secretaries Ms. Alieca Keyes and Mr. Leaf Lotical." She gave a smile for the cameras, folding her hands neatly atop the podium.
"Wing City's own Gabriel Ereb, the CEO of Ereb Industries, has been campaigning diligently on his platform as a successful business visionary and entrepreneur. Originally from London, Mr. Ereb hopes to bring his significant background in business management and philanthropy to represent the people of Central Aslund. In contrast to Mr. Ereb, I am pleased to introduce to you Giles Fabron, the local philanthropist behind the Funds Against Famine campaign, who brings his lifelong experiences as a citizen of Wing City to his campaign -- a real everyman, or so he would have you believe." McMorrow chuckled a bit, knowing the candidates were waiting for her cue to emerge from the side room behind the platform. "With us today will also be Mr. Ereb's running mate, Alieca Keyes, an Aschen-born aspiring attorney closely affiliated with her MP candidate's company, and Mr. Fabron's running mate, Leaf Lotical, a businessman whose last venture was overrun by errant zombies, I'm sure to his dismay. Perhaps he will make his more successful debut in politics instead."
Isaac leaned against one of the windows, arms folded across his chest, as the occasional update filtered through his earpiece. Security would be tight today, since any incident would cast a terrible shadow over all of WCPD's careful planning. The windows were bulletproof, but despite knowing that intellectually, Isaac couldn't help but feel terribly exposed with his back to the glass. When he brought his attention back to the Minister, McMorrow was gesturing openly to the audience. "And without any further ado, I present to you your lovely candidates." Then there was applause, and Isaac straightened, scanning the entrances and exits for what must have been the umpteenth time.