Scene:

Nils's office. The sun still lingered on the horizon.

Nils pressed his face into the desk. He couldn't concentrate on his work. His thoughts consumed him. Emy was right. It was gravely concerning that all these people, these businessmen roamed the corridors of this sacred house of governance as if they owned it. His pen cracked. Such insolence. The Hundred Years' War tore Arseny asunder and in the two decades of unofficial peace, the shameless took advantage of the chaos of rebuilding. He'd seen them whisper into the ears of lawmakers, seducing them into rooms where critical eyes could not prevent the peddling of filth. Nils's pen moved across an empty sheet of paper, the repetitive movements somewhat calmed his simmering rage and relaxed his grip. Those people, they've become brazen. Something must be done. But what could he do? Nils' election came from his status as a popular war hero, but in Arseny, this government where a single party ruled since its founding, seniority meant everything. Yet, this was a problem that must be tackled soon and quickly, and action, however unsavory, must be taken. As he gazed at the small pile of finished work, Nils conceded the only thing he could do was beg those with real power to act.