France

The high-definition feed cut abruptly from the council chamber to a sun-drenched balcony overlooking the Seine, where the Eiffel Tower glittered in the afternoon haze. In the center of the frame stood the French Delegate, Minister Elara Vane, draped in a silk tricolor robe that was precariously loose, barely clinging to her shoulders. She offered a languid, knowing smile to the camera, one hand resting on her bare hip, clearly unbothered by the raucous applause still filtering through from the main hall.

"Magnifique as always, Chantilly," Elara purred into her headset, her voice thick with a heavy Parisian accent. "She knows how to make an entrance, non? But here in France, we believe in a more... artistic approach to the crisis."

She turned her attention to the clipboard in her hand, though she made no move to cover the dark triangle of curls between her legs. "While the Americans play with their 'Slutbatticals' and the British argue over park benches, my government has finalized the 'L'Amour Toujours' initiative. We have converted the Louvre’s underground galleries into mating halls. The acoustics alone have been reported to increase stamina by fifteen percent."

Elara paused, letting the statement hang in the warm air. "However, our numbers in the countryside remain stubbornly low. It seems the farmers are too busy with the harvest to handle the harvest of life, as we say. That is why I am authorizing the deployment of the 'Mobile Libertine' squads—buses equipped with private compartments and aphrodisiac ventilation systems—to every village from Provence to Normandy. We shall see if they can resist the call of duty." We are going to recruit some town whores for these villages as well. There should be no excuse for bus-ting in your hand when there is a hot putain around ze corner.

She let the robe slide from her other shoulder, exposing her breasts to the open air of the city. "If we are to save humanity, we must embrace the body as a canvas. Shall we?"