Performing One's Promised Duty (T'Chantem)

OOC: This post explains what T'Chantem was busying himself with after he left the compound, while his teammates were tearing each other to pieces and forever ruining familial relationships :^) Jk, this is what T'Chantem did after he left while the others met up and discussed their next plan of action.

T’Chantem sat at the end of his hotel bed, carefully nursing his injured hand back to health. The pain in the sprain had been numbed, while still leaving his hand overall mobile, however not being able to feel pain in his muscle meant that the muscle itself was susceptible to injury without him realizing. Fortunately, his hand would be healed long before the day was over, and as long as he didn’t get himself involved in any perilous predicaments, which he hadn’t planned to do, he would be more than fine and fit come the morning. The Wakandan prince had also suffered several minor burns from the conflict back at the compound, but they weren’t anything that a handful of highly technological and natural-based healing oils wouldn’t fix by tomorrow either. He had also ordered himself a lunch that he, his dietitian, and his army general would find to be the most suitable out of what the hotel offered. He could have prepared a meal himself, but he didn’t particularly enjoy or have an expertise in cooking, and he lacked quick and easy access to the necessary ingredients that he would require to even attempt at making a proper dish; the piteous list of East African foods that the hotel offered was far from even being a logical consideration.

When his meal finally arrived, T’Chantem generously tipped the server, who he had managed to surprise despite the high-class guests he probably shared the building with; the rich were known to be greedy anyway. The scent of pork tenderloin permeated the air, wafting throughout his room with the smell of roasted garlic potatoes and seasoned tomato. Picking up his fork and knife, T’Chantem began to cut the meat into slices, serving himself as he went, after preparing himself a glass of water. The majority of his Wakandan entourage had already departed back to their home country, but considering that he was both a diplomat and a prince, there were always various personal personnel on standby in his vicinity unless he demanded otherwise. Once he had finished his lunch and washed his hands, T’Chantem moved on to studying the blueprints his father had began for a new suit. The design had multiple improvements that he admired, but staring at the data sparked the creative and scientific intuition in his brain. He scanned the print into his bracelet, sending a digital reprint back to his lab in Wakanda, where his cousins could look over the design, and they could collaboratively work on the project together, despite being thousands of miles apart. Following his actions, he made a holographic call back to Wakanda, while he studied the access card to a no longer existing Wakandan Embassy, an item he had also found back at the laboratory.


The prince’s head snapped to attention. “What are you looking at?” The use of the comfortable and homey Xhosa language was almost music to his ears.

“Ah, I assume you’ve received my blueprints?” T’Chantem asked his inquisitive cousin.

“Obviously, but you’re avoiding the question,” his cousin responded. “You know curiosity killed the cat?” T’Chantem playfully retorted between a grin and quiet laugh.

“Yeah, but I’m not the future Black Panther.”

“Besides the point, I’m calling to talk things over with you, are you looking at the model?” T’Chantem asked, redirecting the conversation back to his favor. His eyes gradually fell back to the access card almost absent-mindedly.

“Yes, it’s very nice, advanced, better than the previous suits, though….”

“About fifteen years out of style?” T’Chanten interjected. “Out of date” his cousin literally corrected. Ignoring the pass on his figurative speech, T’Chantem continued the conversation with the appropriate focus.

“I want us all to work on it collectively, add a few advancements here and there, implement some designs and ideas of our own, scrap or improve what’s already there and outdated,” T’Chantem added, slightly exaggerating his final word before a pause, “...and start on some of my father’s personal ideas, he was heading somewhere.”

“When was he ever not?” his cousin responded, before glancing behind them. “The others are preoccupied right now... since the other tribe representatives have returned, a lot of division is going into the future of the government and the fate of the monarchy. Some want to see the royal status abolished forever in place of something more democratic, some want to semi-duplicate the British and use the royal family as a figurehead, one that’s still fully under the power of the law and land, though many others want things to return back to how they were, with a proper King and his preferred and selected spouse.That’s why the others are busy, they’re currently standing in on behalf of our tribe and of you” his cousin informed him.

T’Chantem looked his cousin directly in their holographic eyes, and took a moment to pause, not because he didn’t know what to say or how to react, but because he just needed a moment, a moment to let himself reflect on what his cousin had just told him. “Don’t fret, I’ll be back soon. I want you to tell me who’s thinking and voicing what. I need to know how many supporters we have, and who these supporters are and aren’t. As I have been saying, it’s not a matter of if I’ll become king, but when, and I’m tired of asking politely for the council to perform their inevitable duty. I am the king of Wakanda, and I will be the sole head of my country, until I arrange otherwise, through which will be my own marriage, and my power will then only be partially shared. The council will act as that, an advisory council, not a system of government. We are not the United Kingdom, and we have a tradition that will be upheld, and that will no longer be withheld or delayed.”

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