Margaret was a little unsettled with the sudden turnout of odd people, but this was to be expected when heavy security was in great demand.  Nevertheless, the meek-faced girl remained at her seat and all quiet, yet to think of what to do, and still contemplating about everyone here. And yet, one big question remains: how long until the PM shows himself....?

Now, actually.

From the grand, mahogany doors of the ever-grand Parliament building came the Prime Minister, bursting in white. On him was his brilliantly white dyed pompadour, gracing his youthful face that kept his 46 years of age well hidden. He wore an extravagant white Victorian coat, intricately decorated with gold, and underneath it a white cravat with a golden sparrow emblem pinned. There on his shoulders lay a brilliantly silver feather boa. He doesn't really much look like a government man, to say, but more of a participant to some grand fashion pageant. And like one, no celebrity entrance is complete without a crowd of paparazzi to boot, their blinding flashes of their cameras reflecting off the PM's extravagant wear.   

The officer on duty at once ordered all soldiers and policemen to stand in formation, and to ready themselves either for guard duty or for a military showoff. Margaret was among the first to scramble to her place. Meanwhile, on the other end of the street across the Parliament Building, news outlets have begun sounding out the joyous announcements of his grand entrance to the plaza, and begin preparing for his parade through the street. 

Though something seems... off. Someone observant enough could see some sort of concern and distress in the minister's face, but no mind reader could even see what ails him; he had resistance, to say.