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*This is actually a general statement that could apply to the past, present, and if it doesn't change, the future as well.

Politics are generally a sticky subject, please try to be rational when making your statements and if possible or applicable, quote a reliable source before criticising someone or something.

As many times when the running of a country is going sour...specifically here in America, everyone seems to be blaming the president, as if it is his sole responsiblity, and superficially a majority would be correct. However, we have a little thing called the checks and balances (aka the Seperation of Powers) system, in which there are THREE BRANCHES. Skipping general history/social science information, why is it that in generally grim situations, the president gets the blunt of the blame? (whether or not it really is his fault is only addressing a THIRD of the problem)

As stated earlier, the Presidential (Executive) powers are technically, only a third of the political system, one third is Congress (Legislative) and the final third is the Supreme Court (Judicial). Where the hell are they in all this when the metaphorical sh*t hits the fan? A majority of people seem to forget to share the deserved "fault" with the other two parts (majority) of why this country is even in a crisis.

This isn't even taking into account the different parties either and how they deal with the problem- or lack thereof depending on your point of view.

Anyway, what do you think about the fairness of the current polictical system? Please don't just give a one-lined statement, put some thought into it, after all, politics, like it or not are probably going to be what dictate your life as long as you live in a 'modern-day society'. Another thing to note is that all of these people in power, were at one point or another....voted in by the majority and scruntinized by a series of systems (you can scoff at it all you want but they still had to go through the same filtering system).

Genre: Romance
Rating: At most T+
Pairing: ????

This is actually just a snippet from something I'm working on. In it's entire context, its based on the prompt 'Night'; however I think this is strong enough to stand on its own. (This is also to show the others what I've been working one while neglecting Marluxia's backstory.)

[This can be found on ff.net under the same penname and the story titled "A Little Extra"]

Any feedback, reactions or criticisms, lemme know! Enjoy!

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In their reclusive world that had abandoned the sun and moon, there was nothing to truly dictate night or day. In light of this, an instinctive hour system had been implemented based on the members that milled about in the main hall of the castle.

Early morning is when Lexaeus and Xaldin are typically the most notably active. Usually they talk with each other while they minutely spruce up the castle from the previous day's disorder. They are the first ones up because they systematically take turns breaking out the materials necessary for breakfast rather then relying on the Dusks or other Nobody Underlings. They consider a 'human touch' necessary when it comes to activities such as making food. Also because the Nobody Underlings for the most part do not possess opposable thumbs and it would be most unwise if things that lacked proper grip were left with sharp objects and a far from lucid thought process.

The following phase is dubbed the in-between of early and late morning. The next group that emerges from their sleeping lairs are Xigbar, Demyx and Zexion. Xigbar and Demyx converse with each other loudly enough to give a fanatic stadium decent competition. Amidst this, Zexion pretends to devote his attention to nursing a muffin or piece of cold toast for breakfast. Despite his outer facade of indifference, he actually takes a twisted interest in their capricious chatter. No matter how ridiculous he usually tries to pass off their random topics, he finds the two extroverts entertaining.

By late morning, everyone has more or less been woken up. The only difference is where their presences are in the main hall. The late morning group consists predictably of Axel toting along a grumpy and groggy Roxas. They usually settle into playing some sort of trivial game for the majority of the day. Demyx is also present during this, sometimes watching Axel and Roxas bicker over their table games of wars or trying to occupy his compulsively artistic self. Every once in a while, Demyx disappears from the main hall during the late morning, no one typically knows where he goes until some time later- usually with an extremely irate Vexen in tow. However, despite the others’ half-baked concern, it’s a magic trick of his that they prefer not to know.

Around the vague noontime Xemnas finally finds reasonable excuse to come out of his fortified study. He prowls around the main hall and assigns orders to the other twelve from noon until the afternoon. Zexion can intermittently be found talking with Lexaeus as well as Luxord over statistics and the odd conundrum from the worlds they explore. Once more, Vexen resurfaces from his lab for a mental break and talks with usually Zexion, Lexaeus, Luxord and ruefully, Xemnas himself.

At the afternoon, Axel and Roxas are just about closing their games which inevitably end in an 'ongoing draw' as Axel likes to perpetuate. The entire Organization in fact gathers in the main hall at the practiced prospect of dinner. Usually Demyx or Xigbar do the honors of kindly screaming at the top of their lungs to cajole the group into the main hall as they wait for supper like good little children. On a daily basis two members draw straws for who makes dinner for that particular day. Often times, the three who are in charge of cooking is some combination of Saïx, Vexen and Xaldin- coincidentally the three who have the best cooking skills in terms of dinner cuisine. Not that anyone complains about this unless Vexen is in a particularly a foul mood from Demyx being too blunderingly intrusive in his labs.

After dinner is completely done it is what would most accurately be deemed sunset. The dishes and mundane cleanup is left to the Dusks and the other Nobody Underlings. Saïx drifts off from the dining room to hang around in the previously deserted main hall. He then embarks on his favorite pastime, staring wordlessly out of the window, a reference text in his hand and an expression rivaling a child wondering where St. Nick has gone on Christmas. During this time is when Marluxia for once, stays in the main hall long enough to have a reasonable discussion with Luxord until Larxene decides to ruthlessly chip in her two cents.

The elder members surprisingly are the ones that begin the procession back to their own rooms. Xaldin and Lexaeus are the first and foremost abiders of 'early to bed and early to rise'. Xemnas is also prompt in his departure, but no one knows when or if he even sleeps in his study given his rather infamous bouts of wandering through the castle at ungodly hours and moments. Vexen has an erratic sleep schedule but he always scurries back to his room (which is really the lab), roughly half an hour after dinner ends. Zexion hovers around to eavesdrop on the others before yawning loudly and stalking back to his room. Almost uncharacteristically, Xigbar is the one that plays the part of the responsible chaperon and ushers many of the younger members back to their rooms. Specifically Axel, Demyx, Luxord, Marluxia and Roxas, and in a manner that gives new meaning to 'human endangerment'.

He leaves Saïx and Larxene alone because of the pet-like favoritism Xemnas has for the berserker and for the bitter rivalry Xigbar has with the prankster. Larxene merely continues to sit in the main hall, lounging in one of the many couches, a book caressed in her lap. She's engrossed in her book and doesn't offer a word to any of the others regardless of the manner in how they are filtered out one by one.

An hour mirthlessly rolls by and the hall is soaked with the veil of an utterly dead void save for her and Saïx by the window.

She remains frozen like a perfect statue only breaking the illusion when she has to turn a page. Larxene continues to gravely read and plot her slow acts of vengeance like any properly evil young lady up until Saïx pads off to sleep.

A nonexistent bell tolls a resonating twelve times, and true nighttime falls upon their caged off world.

It is during this time when not even the Dusks or Creepers are stirring that she indulges in what she considers her darkest vice.

Today's particular book is actually one that she stole from Zexion's quarters. One that ironically talks about a very proper man who maintains a scandalous double life. His foremost persona plays by starched rules and the other epitomizes contrasting brutality and selfishness. She scoffs at reading the last page of the book and how Dr. Jekyll met his own experimental end. Larxene shuts the book with a cold snap. The idea that the book is somewhat reflective of her own situation mildly irks her, but the self-comforting devil in her reminds her that bookworm Zexion's choices in reading material aren't the best.

She stretches and lets out an unrestrained yawn as best she can in her current position. She has been sitting sideways so that her boot heels hang over the chair's arm. In flexing she sends a series of tired and chilling tingles through her joints and she ends up dropping the book over the edge of the chair. It claps pathetically to the floor, but she doesn't care much for a book that would be better categorized as a paperweight in her opinion.

Larxene eases back into her odd seating on her comfy throne. Blearily she looks back at the eternally boring interior of the main hall that is even more lifeless now that she is all alone and without an obscure distraction.

Reflexively she wants to check her wrist for the time despite how she knows she has no watch. None of them do, not even Luxord who is supposed to be the master of the element. So instead she glares angrily at the black of her glove to pass her idleness.

As if on cue the patter of a set of boots break the crisp silence. She sluggishly gets out of her seat and carefully dusts the wrinkles off her cloak.

As expected, a familiar black-hooded stranger is approaching her with even boot claps. He stops before her and bows lowly. One hand is tucked under where he bends at the waist and the other gloved hand is held open to accept hers.

He never says anything, but she knows what he is asking for. Every time she always takes his hand and they begin their unreal ritual of practiced foot steps to an imaginary but synchronized melody.

They twirl around fluidly through the entire body of the main hall. Boots lightly tap and clack over the sheenless surface of a floor pretending to play the part of a ballroom. His hand holding hers, its mate cupping the perfect small of her leather clad back. While they spin she unbars the locks that hold back her only true smile that had been buried since she'd lost her heart. It is the one true smile of happiness and unadulterated joy whose sanctity she holds on the same level as her pride.

They could almost be called as inviting as angels but they shared nothing in common with the Romantic fairytale of a concept. They continue to bob and weave their dance mimicking ravens and other graces associated with the advocates of gloom.

Upon the last reverberating note of their invisible orchestra, they slow to a stop. The silent music dies off, but they still are within each other's physical duet of an embrace. Larxene already knows the part that always follows after the conclusion of their dance. It’s the event that exhilarates her yet she despises and dreads.

The conclusion of their custom ends with what should be a kiss, but rather he flees from her into the caressing chills of darkness. Today she ponders a bitter question that crosses her mind as they stand there in each other's arms silently.

'Will he run away again?'

The hiss of leather acts as a preamble for him to retreat. She grasps the sleeve of his jacket with the tightest ferocity. Larxene glowers at him, eyes narrowing into a sharply accusing glare. "Coward..." she forces out in an abrupt breath.

The lip of his hood bobs back as if her words had struck him. One of her hands sweeps out from its perch and latches onto the silver drawstrings of his hood. He pulls back but they swiftly reach their limit and he's shoved into an inescapable corner of his own garments. She forcefully drags him down and meets his lips in a desperate gnash of entanglement. She can taste nothing from him, only the sensation of their mouths pressing agonizingly together.

He stops moving as the finality of their broken taboo sinks into his reality. Slowly Larxene draws away from him and half glowers at him with the silent question of 'Now will you tell me who you are?'

Much to her memory of frustration, he takes small back steps from her and towards the door. Her brows draw together, an infuriated growl escapes from her throat. He doesn't pick up the pace, but he continues his backwards tread.

A familiar crackle and metal weight forms into her hand. She throws it at him and he narrowly dodges. Her phantom has his hand held open to the side as if to call forth his own weapon to the battle in retaliation. The darkness dances on his hands, but he appears to will it back away. She glares bitterly at him and the slightly disheveled hood that isn't perfecting its job at concealing his identity.

She can see something signature peeking out from under the shadow of his cloth helm.

"Blue eyes eh?" She curses at him from across the stagnant room.

He merely tugs the hood back down and bows apathetically.

"Still won't talk?" Her knives assemble blindingly into her hands and she lunges forward at her accused. Larxene lets out a yell and slashes savagely at him.

Her knives and hands pass through nothing. Oily wisps of ether trail along her arms and a light perfume of unforgiving sin wafts past her. She frowns once more. Him.

The blonde glares at the floor until it begins to bleed in focus. She stows her weapons back into the void. 'What a waste of time!'

She doesn't spend away more precious moments in the defiled hall, She travels back to her room, the journey is a blur. She throws herself to the bed and for a while she stares at the luminescent ceiling. Larxene holds up her splayed hand to the opposing nature of the room. 'Why him of all people?'

It isn't until the day restarts again that she is back to her unforgiving self.

The course of the hours run through their routine of morning, noon and sunset. She sees her target talking with his usual companions. She slips easily back into the ingrained pattern of the day and walks over to him.

The gambler with superficial airs is deep in his own babbling by the time she reaches him, "-but Marly, you simply must try Bordeaux's Rose Wine! It is the very elixir of the gods-!"

The brunette scoffs in his usually impassive manner, "Is that before or after you waste the entire bottle?" He pauses and stiffens his previously lax posture at noticing her. He grins contemptuously at her presence, "How pleasant of you to join us miss sunshine."

Larxene flashes an arrogant smirk at him and traces suggestive fingertips around the side of his face. His eyes widen and he follows her digits out of the corner of his eyes, but he doesn't react otherwise. Luxord stares in a way that would appear to be gawking on any less of a refined person at seeing the cryptic exchange between the two.

The blonde turns from him in a way only a weightless feather can upon water.

As she walks away, Luxord's inquisitions can already be heard echoing after the event. "What the bloody hell was that all about? Marly are there some cardinal relationships roughing about that I was left unaware of? Marly??"

Unlike the countless days before, Larxene doesn't wait in the hall for night to fall. Instead she obediently returns to her room to sleep.

She smiles conflictingly to herself as her eyes slide shut for her danceless dreams. 'It was worth it, that look on your face...'