The Ogle Office

The following takes place following: Waldclaw

Half an hour later, Travers is lounging in his chair in the "Ogle Office," feet up on the desk, reading the latest issue of Playpen—of which he is now also the proud owner. A bunch of topless models are lounging around, chatting quietly and refurbishing their nails while Travers recharges his batteries.

The Master comes in briskly and puts a sheet of paper on Travers' desk.

Master Devlin: "Your speech, Mr. President."

Travers puts down the magazine, picks up the sheet, and skims through it. He starts reading parts aloud.

Travers: "They must learn... Fire and Fury... Consequences will never be the same...?"

Master Devlin (proudly): "Yes, I wrote it myself."

Travers: "It's a little aggressive, isn't it?"

Master Devlin: "Strong words and strong action are required. The National Guard is preparing to mobilise within the hour."

Travers: "Hmm. Ladies, would you please wait outside? I need to speak to the Master alone."

The Playpen models get up and step outside the Ogle Office.

Travers: "Master Devlin... I've been thinking, and now that I've had time to think about it, I think this course of action is a mistake."

Master Devlin: "What??"

Travers: "The aggressive posturing. Sending in the military. It's a bad idea."

Master Devlin: "And what do you propose to do instead?"

Travers: "Well... how about nothing?"

Master Devlin: "Nothing?? What do you mean nothing?"

Travers: "This nation has a proud tradition of libertarian values. Non-interventionism. If the Waldhavians want independence, who are we to tell them no? In fact, I think that's what we should say. I go out there, wish them the best of luck, and say to Waldo that we should be friendly neighbours, not enemies."

Master Devlin: "You can't be serious?? What about the Waldhavians who don't want it? It's a coup. They didn't vote for it."

Travers: "What am I? Their father?"

Master Devlin: "You're their president, Travers!"

Travers: "For Ed's sake, Master Devlin! Waldhaven is a shithole! It's a medieval backwater... Besides, only 7% even voted in the election. What difference does it make to me? I've already got those wackos down the hill in New Waldhaven to deal with... Which reminds me—we really need to move that village off the Waldhouse grounds—preferably to the edge of town. I don't want a Puritan village on my front lawn. Cramps my style, y'know what I mean..."

Master Devlin: "Right now I’d worry less about your lawn and more about Widdle Frunkut. Doing nothing isn't an option..."

Travers: "Oh really? And what do you think I should do?"

Master Devlin: "I think you should use the full might of the Waldonian military to end this right now. Whatever it takes!"

Travers: "What are you, nuts?? I'm not going to start a war. Least of all with Waldo. He's a maniac! He has COWS WITH COMBAT HELMETS, for crying out loud!"

Master Devlin: "WE ARE ALREADY AT WAR, TRAVERS! He's already taken a piece of our land for himself. If you do nothing, he'll only take more."

Travers: "You don't know that for sure. He's just as likely to get bored and move on. If we welcome him and don't show any hostility, he'll probably lose interest."

Master Devlin: "I know him better than anyone. Waldo must learn! This is no time for your cowardice."

Travers: "HEY! HEY! Don’t call me a coward, asshole! I’ve seen war, dammit! I’ve seen and done things you wouldn’t believe. But trust me, if we went to war with Waldo, it'd make ’Nam look like an Ed-damn food fight at a Teletubby tea party."

Master Devlin: "WALDO. MUST. LEARN."

Travers: "Learn what?"

Master Devlin: "...Some respect."

Travers: "Well, I've decided we're going to try a little diplomacy first..."

Master Devlin (scoffing): "I’ve seen where your diplomacy leads. It ends with me kissing the feet of a disgusting dictabird. I won’t have Waldonia kissing Widdle Frunkut’s feet."

Travers: "We're not sending the military in!"

Master Devlin: "FINE! Then send a lone Council operative in. Solo mission... off the books. I will volunteer!"

Travers: "Thanks, but I don't think so. I want you here where I can keep an eye on you."

Master Devlin: "And what's that supposed to mean??"

Travers: "Forget it. Doesn't matter."

Master Devlin: "No, I think you should say what you have to say!"

Travers: "Well, I don't think this is the best time, but okay... Some members of the administration have raised concerns about you..."

Master Devlin: "Ohh?"

Travers: "They think you've become a little too enthusiastic about moonlighting as the Secretary of Justice."

Master Devlin: "Who thinks that? Tell me!"

Travers: "I'm not telling you. They came to me in confidence. Frankly, they're afraid of you."

The Master snorts.

Travers: "Look, Master Devlin. You're my friend, and I appreciate all the work you do for this administration. That vampire arc was messy business. At the time, it was necessary to take drastic actions to deal with the threat. You did a great service in dispensing justice as our Judge, Jury, and Executioner... But it's been seven months. Perhaps it's time to go back to the old ways of independent judges. Randomly selected juries..."

Master Devlin: "That would be terribly less efficient!"

Travers: "Well, that's just it. Some say you've been a little... too efficient."

Master Devlin: "Too efficient? That’s nonsense."

Travers: "How many people have you executed this week?"

Master Devlin: "Not many... Twelve... No, thirteen."

Travers: "And who was number thirteen?"

Master Devlin (smugly): "Sondra O'Brien, this morning. Former writer for the Widdlington Post."

Travers: "A journalist? What did she do?"

Master Devlin: "Treason. She was an ardent supporter of the vampires. And she wrote some very unkind things about us. She called me a fascist!"

Travers: "What about free speech? That was like our... whole thing... remember?"

Master Devlin: "Her speech was treasonous and dangerous. It was that kind of speech that allowed the vampires to take over in the first place."

Travers: ...

Master Devlin: "George certainly enjoyed her company. Quite the screamer, she was..."

Travers: "George, right... that's another thing. You know, I was considering giving George the Harris Travers National Treasure Award this month for his national service..."

Master Devlin: "Excellent! I think that would be deserved—"

Travers: "That was until I saw him when we visited the aquarium the other day! I'm sorry, Master Devlin, but that shark is fat as shit. He's a disgrace."

Master Devlin: "Now just a minute... He’s a little out of shape, yes, but it’s not his fault! I’ve been asking for a bigger tank—"

Travers: "It's not the tank. It's because you're overfeeding him! At least a couple of political dissidents a day from the sounds of things! You're out of control, Master Devlin..."

Master Devlin: "Nonsense. I've never been more in control."

Travers: "Really? And what about DRG?? Is he dead?"

Master Devlin: "Of course."

Travers: "So what's this I’ve been hearing about him being kept in your office? An earless, eyeless, jawless head attached to half a torn-up torso in a glass box. Is that not true??"

Master Devlin: "Actually, he still has ears—and one eye. Plus, he's a vampire, so technically he was already dead... or undead..."

Travers: "But you're still keeping his mangled undead corpse in a glass box in your office??"

Master Devlin: "Indeed. He must learn."

Travers: "And what could he possibly be learning in that state??"

Master Devlin: "Not to mess with the Master... Besides, it's been very educational for me. It seems a vampire can survive indefinitely as long as the head and heart remain connected—even starved of blood. It must be hell for him..."

Travers: "Good Lord! Master Devlin... I... You know, when I took this job, I was worried the power would corrupt me again. But now I'm thinking you're the one we should worry about. You need an intervention!"

Master Devlin: "Like I said, I'm fine. You have nothing to worry about."

Travers: "Alright... draft me a new speech then and I’ll deliver it tomorrow instead... No more fire and fury, just one that reassures the public with a little friendly, folksy charm... but, y'know, doesn't actually commit to anything..."

Master Devlin: "Very well... Mr. President..."

Travers: "And ease up on those executions for a while..."

The Master leaves and heads to his office.

****

Later that night, the Master snarls, fuming at his desk as he uses the little pink eraser on the end of his pencil to attempt to rub out a line from the speech he's working on. The eraser makes a terrible mess, prompting him to score the line out so violently with his pencil that the sheet of A4 paper caught between his pencil and his claws tears in half. He erupts into a violent, impotent rage as he slams his fist down on the torn draft, creating a large cracked indentation in the desk.

****

In the presidential bedroom, Travers is sitting in his massive bed, wearing his presidential pajamas and an Ebenezer Scrooge nightcap, still absorbed in the latest issue of Playpen. A few beautiful, naked women are scattered across the bed—some lying on their stomachs, others draped over the sheets. One is gently stroking his ears with a slow, soothing motion.

There’s a knock on the door. A Secret Service agent named Mitch enters.

Mitch: “Excuse me, Mr. President. The First Lady’s vehicle has just returned.”

Travers: “Thank you, Mitch... Alright, girls. Time to retreat to your respective rooms now. Mrs. Travers doesn’t appreciate you sticking around while she’s here.”

The girls shuffle out, followed by the agent. A few minutes later, a red-haired lady in a black dress and sunglasses arrives with shopping bags.

Fiona: “Alright, pet. Sorry I’m late. Decided to treat meself to a bit of a shopping spree over at Waldeo Drive.”

Travers: “No trouble, honey. The Secret Service keeps me informed. How was your BA meeting?”

Fiona: “Great. Got me seven months sober chip!”

She tosses it to Travers as she undresses and slips into bed under the covers, cuddling into her squishy goblin husband like a teddy bear. He reads the chip inscription aloud.

Travers: “Bloodoholics Anonymous – Vis in Abstinentia. Seven months clean… That’s excellent... I’m very proud of you, honey!”

With a sultry grin, Fiona starts nibbling on his large ears.

Fiona: “Thanks... Why don’t we celebrate?”

She notices him not getting excited and instead looking glum.

Fiona: "What's the matter, luv? You not feeling well?"

Travers: "No, I’m fine… I just… I had a fight with Master Devlin today... Widdle Frunkut has led a coup and taken over the town of Waldhaven... The Master and the generals want us to go all shock and awe on them… I think we should wait and see."

Fiona: "Waldhaven? Well, for once, I think he’s right... Bomb the shit out of them, I say. Show them whose boss..."

Travers: "No, Mrs. Travers, you are speaking out of turn. That’s just the bloodlust talking..."

Fiona pauses, thinking, then gives a slight nod and shrug of acknowledgment. She leans in and kisses Travers.

The Waldoverse continues in Stop Worrying About Waldo and Learn to Love the Bomb