Home Sweet Home (T'Chantem)

OOC: This is just a quick little fill-in for what T'Chantem has been occupying himself with the past four months that he's been with the team.

The past four months had been some of the most eventful for T’Chantem. Following the creation of the Maximoffs’ mock-vengers, he had taken extended absence from Wakanda for the first time that didn’t involve strict political or educational itineraries. There was no familiarity in a carefully constructed schedule with people who were even more careful to follow it. His life had taken an abrupt shift into having to ‘go with the flow,’ which tested his adaptability to unpredictable circumstances, and with the lack of supervision and the access to some of the world’s greatest powers — unprecedented experiences were a given. However, it wasn’t the process of creating a new Avengers team that kept T’Chantem on his toes, and while it did push him to grow further outside of his comfort zone, it was being away from the conflict of his country that truly weighed on him when he finally returned.

It was almost too easy to not notice the changes that had been happening over the past 15 years, and while T’Chantem’s age did make him more aware of his country’s dynamics, the recent events of completing his own Panther Habit and establishing a New York-based Wakandan Embassy drew most of his attention away from current affairs. T’Chantem’s eyes scanned over the final lines of code displayed in a soft iridescent blue on a holographic prompt in front of him within the depths of one of his estates’ lab areas. He wanted to check for the hundredth time to ensure that everything with his new suit was perfect before physical construction officially began.

“I’m smart enough to know my own work.” The voice was young, belonging to a young man who was only behind T’Chantem a few years in age, but it was still a far cry from childish. “Unless you’re thinking over additions or updates? Uncle T’Challa’s base is over a decade outdated.” T’Chantem glanced up towards one of his younger cousins who had just entered the lab, likely in search of him. “I don’t disagree with your familiarity, but assurance is necessary in these things. It’s not a judgment of your character or abilities. I trust you.” It had been too long since T’Chantem had the comfort of family and culture, but he knew that good news was an increasing rarity in his home over the past several weeks.

“The Council is requesting your audience,” T’Chantem’s cousin informed him. Of course they were. It seemed that the Council had been enjoying T’Chantem’s momentary return home more than even he was allowed to. “Of course they are, I will be there soon.”

The Council was far from an intimidating force in T’Chantem’s company. While legally, they held the highest power in government, checks and balances still existed, and T’Chantem was openly their strongest check and balance as heir. The Council currently fulfilled the role as momentary oversight of the country after T’Chantem parents had disappeared, and the fact that it was only temporary was reminded throughout his childhood. The throne always remained unoccupied, but T’Chantem’s life had been leading to the moment that he would one day take it, and power would rightfully be restored as tradition was intended.

“Prince,” he was greeted formally, but warmly by his own grandmother, who strongly represented an extension of T’Chantem himself on the council seat as head representative of the Golden Tribe, the Royal Tribe.

T’Chantem simply smiled in return, before being greeted by the remaining council representatives one by one. Words were never minced when it came to formality and business in his government. There was rarely time for trivial gestures of mock-respect. Respect was shown in action and in practice, and it was something that held strong over Wakanda’s long history. And so, the meeting began, as T’Chantem approached the council memberships, each representing their respective tribe in a unifying body.

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Several hours later, T’Chantem walked the halls with his cousins, a flurry of hushed whispers being traded amongst them. “An uprising? I’m not inclined to believe that they have the necessary power or influence to risk a civil war. However, a secession…” T’Chantem commented, his brain quickly piecing together the details of information he was being fed.

“According to grandma the Mining Tribe has been especially forceful in their stance, and stagnant against more progressive ideals, but it’s obvious they aren’t working alone.”

“I don’t even believe it's a unified tribal stance, but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous. I also don’t agree with your idea of a secession, it’s a move to expand power.”

The four of them drew to a silence as they rounded the corner, cautious of prying ears before entering one of the estate’s many meeting rooms. T’Chantem sat contemplatively, continuing to piece together the theories, thoughts, and ideas that they had considered.

“I don’t dare say we’re dealing with the basic brain and brawn of an operation? The Mining Tribe serves as the brawn to the brain behind it,” T’Chantem asked, hoping to help his cousins draw a satisfactory conclusion with him.

It had become increasingly obvious over the years as T’Chantem grew older that the Mining Tribe representative saw him as a threat to the newfound power that the tribe wielded over the nation. The Council wasn’t new, but their existence had long been to serve as the royal advisors to the head monarch, however the country couldn’t go 15 years without government, and the Council was best equipped to fit the role over the past decade and a half.

“I just don’t think we have enough information right now…” one of his cousins spoke up. It was obvious that the remaining members of the Golden tribe were concerned, but their knowledge was limited without evidence to confirm their own suspicions. “Unless you start your claim now. We need to draw out our internal enemies, and then we need to make an example of them.”

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