November 15th, 892, marked the passage of a sluggish week since the Avalonian nation had cast their votes, their collective hopes entwined with the forthcoming announcement of their next president. In an era long before the advent of instantaneous communication, news traveled at the mercy of horse hooves and the unwinding of telegraph wires. As the sun ascended its midday arc, the atmosphere crackled with palpable anticipation in the bustling town square of the company town. Here, a multitude of expectant faces of the company's factory workers turned as one towards the podium that stood as the focal point. Amidst the throngs of eager onlookers stood the notable figures of Poul, Jonathan, Morgan, Sara, Caroline, and Amelia.
"Do you want me to spoil you with the result, Poul?" Morgan asked.
"There's no need, I'll know soon enough so just be quiet there," Poul replied.
"Things weren't looking good on our side so I wouldn't be surprised if we lose the election," Jonathan commented
The town crier, a figure of authority adorned in a tailored coat and top hat, stood at the podium, the weight of the moment etched upon his features. A parchment clutched in his hand held the destiny of an entire nation. The crowd, wrapped in suspense, clung to his every movement, their eyes flickering with a mix of hope and trepidation.
With a deep breath, the crier stepped forward, his voice projecting through the square, commanding attention.
"Citizens of Avalonia dwelling in the company town of the Axelsen & Nielsen Corporation. After days of tireless counting and collating, the moment has arrived to unveil the outcome of our sacred electoral process."
The square fell into a hush, the only sounds heard were the distant hum of machinery and the rustle of anticipation.
As he unfurled the parchment, time seemed to stand still. The inked words, carefully inscribed by diligent hands, now held the power to shape the nation's future. His eyes scanned the lines, pausing to double-check, ensuring the accuracy of the momentous announcement.
He cleared his throat and, with measured certainty, declared, "Gathered citizens, it is my privilege to reveal that the Avalonian nation has chosen its next President, the steward who shall guide us through the trials and triumphs of the years ahead. With resounding confidence, I present to you..."
The wind, as if conspiring with fate, gusted through the square, whispering through the autumn leaves and causing the parchment to flutter precariously. The crier's eyes widened momentarily, his grip tightening on the document, determined not to let this unpredictable force alter the course of history.
The crowd held its breath, an ethereal pause that heightened the significance of the moment. The crier, his voice unwavering, regained composure and continued, "I present to you the 22nd President of the United States of Avalonia...!"
"Oh for god's sake just tell us already," Jonathan said.
The crier, sensing the urgency in Jonathan's voice, didn't waste another moment. He took a deep breath and spoke with unwavering resolve, "The 22nd President of the United States of Avalonia, chosen by the will of the people, is none other than Grover Cleveland!"
A wave of silence washed over the square, followed by a collective exhalation of disappointment. Murmurs of disbelief and sadness rippled through the crowd. Poul Nielsen's supporters, who had gathered with hopeful hearts, felt their dreams dissipate like morning mist.
"May I invite, Mr. Poul Nielsen to join me on this platform and deliver a speech to his supporters?"
The town crier's invitation hung in the air, momentarily suspended by the weight of disappointment that permeated the square. Poul Nielsen, despite the shroud of defeat that surrounded him, gathered his resolve and stepped forward, ascending the podium. The crowd, their eyes now fixed upon Poul, hushed in anticipation of his words.
"Gentlemen and ladies, we have heard the result of the election. I know…it's sad we lost the election but still I would like to express my gratitude for your unwavering support throughout this campaign. Together, we embarked on a journey to advocate for the betterment of Avalonia and to fight for the rights and well-being of every citizen in this great nation. And though our efforts fell short in this electoral battle, our spirit remains unbroken."
The crowd, still reeling from the disappointment, listened attentively as Poul continued, his words carrying a glimmer of hope amidst the prevailing gloom.
"Let's not dwell on the outcome of this election alone," Poul Nielsen urged, his voice infused with determination. "As for there is always a next time. For now, let us support the new administration, led by President Grover Cleveland, in their efforts to govern Avalonia. We, the presidential candidates, only want what is best for our nation and its people. It is our duty to put aside our differences and work together towards the common goal of progress and prosperity. That's all everyone, may you all have a good day."
Ending his speech, Poul bowed his head to the crowd, acknowledging their resilience and dedication. The applause that followed was not filled with the jubilation of victory, but rather with a sense of admiration and gratitude for Poul's unwavering commitment.
Stepping down the podium, Poul found himself surrounded by the factory workers, nodding and clapping him on the back.
"You are our true president, Mr. Nielsen!" One of the crowds shouted, capturing the sentiment of the gathered workers. Others echoed the sentiment, their voices joining in a chorus of appreciation and support.
Poul was deeply moved by their words and gestures. He mouthed a thank you to each and one of them before returning to his team.
"Well, we lose, that sucks," Poul said in a lighthearted tone.
"I told you, Poul. Your chances of winning in this election were slim," Morgan said.
"Look you don't have to remind him that almost every time, Morgan," Jonathan interjected. "Don't be hard on him, at least he tried, you know."
"Well, with the election aside, you two can now focus on expanding your business. I am looking forward to your demonstration of passenger aircraft in next next week," Morgan replied, trying to shift the conversation toward a more optimistic future.
"Yeah…" Poul nodded. "Let's go back to business, to where we are good at."
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