le piccole cose

[Radilo]

Nuovo Porto, 12th Quartiere
about 21:00 on a Thursday

Since a rather expedient encounter with immigration services after migrating to La Serenissima from Himyar last year, Amahle Abebe, had had two interactions with the government. The first was when she had a toothache and used her new dental insurance card to get her cavity filled at a public dentist's office. The second, which she was currently experiencing, was much more involved. After getting off of her shift as a waitress, two officers from La Gendarmeria Civica stopped her and, after confirming her identity, asked her to get into their car.

"So, am I under arrest?" she asked.
"No, ma'am, you are being detained," one of the officers responded.
"Is there a difference?"
"Legally, yes. But practically... no," said the other officer.
"Why am I being detained?"
"There was an inconsistency with your most recent tax filing, we wanted to clear that up."
"So you're arresting me for a problem with my tax filing."
"Detaining you, it's a civil matter, not a criminal one."
"So you're detaining me to...?"
"Address a discrepancy... ma'am. It should not be a major concern. I can't speak to everything, but you probably owe a small amount of money. But one of the Magistrati will be able to provide you with more information."

While neither officer was ever particularly threatening, Amahle understood that she really didn't have much of a choice except getting into their car. It wasn't like squad cars she had seen elsewhere; the back seat wasn't at all like a cage... just a regular back seat. In fact, the car didn't really seem to be much of a police car--just a regular crown vic that was painted in La Civica's colors.

After a 10 minute awkward car ride, they arrived at one of the local government offices/police stations/Magistrati. The two officers escorted her inside. She was feeling a bit nervous, but the oddly nonchalant attituded of the officers was rather comforting. She had read enough history to know of the infamous dungeons of Radilana Antica, but she also had read of the almost aggressively polite modern bureaucracy. Like her time at immigration--they wanted to help you and they were in a hurry.

She was sat down opposite a young Magistrata, who must have been fresh out of law school. The two poliziotti stood behind her.

"Ms. Amahle Abebe?" the robed 20-something asked.
"Yes--am I in trouble?"
"No--we just need to clear some things up, we should be done fairly quickly, and you can be on your way. Can I have your ID and passport?"
"I only have my ID," said Amahle, reaching into her purse.
"That's fine," the Magistrata said, as she took the ID and clacked away for a few moments on the small laptop on her desk.
Amahle fidgeted nervously for a few moments as the clacking seemed ever more intense.
"It says here that you might not have reported some income in your most recent tax filings. Does that sound feasible?"
"I'm not sure... what would..."
"It says here you are a waitress, did you have any cash tips over the last few months?"
"Yes. Yes I had..."
"Were you always perfectly consistent with reporting them?"
"No... I wasn't... if they weren't filled out on the receipt they..."
"That's perfectly understandable Ms. Abebe. Mistakes get made. Did your total unreported income equal approximately 1,235 lire or 12.35 ducati over the last 12 month reporting period?"
"That sounds about right... but I'm not..."
"Okay, thank you. Unfortunately Ms. Abebe, that means you have an outstanding tax bill of 157 lire or about 1.57 ducati. You can contest these charges in Corte Civile if you like, or if you want to you can just pay this off now, or in instalments."
"I... I... guess I'll pay it in instalments..."
"Very good, if you give me your banking card or a blank check, I can set up automatic payments for you. We have 3, 6, 12, and 24 month plans available, please note that there is a 3.2% interest rate on instalments, so it does save you a bit of money to pay it off sooner."
"I guess I'll pay over 3 months," she said, handing over her debit card.
"Excellent. We will deduct 52 lire 95 denier of your account the first day of every month, unless that day is a Sunday or a holiday, then it will be the first business day there after, for the next three months, starting next month. Thank you, you are free to leave," she turned to the poliziotti, "please take Ms. Abebe home, please."

Amahle stood in front of her apartment building; the two poliziotti waved goodbye to her as they drove away. She glanced down at her phone. It was 21:40.

"This is an odd little country," she muttered to herself as she turned to go inside and pour herself a drink.

 

[Radilo]

Repùblega Radèla, Sestiere Cannaregio, Ghèto Ebrei, Pałaso Casteli
Anno domini 1466

I had every intent of becoming a nun. My predelection for my fellows of the fairer sex, my curiosity, which would with time blossom into a love of the written word, and my low station of birth made the convent an ideal option. But it was not to be... at least not right away.

In between my studies with Sister Sara, my obligations in my master's vineyards, and helping take care of my younger siblings, I kept myself occupied and mostly out of trouble. I was happy, and more optimistic than I had right to be.

My father's death was sudden, and a question to God. But not all was lost, Sister Sara arranged for me to get a job in la Città. I would be a maid to a wealthy merchant until my younger brothers were of age. Then I could enter the convent.

It was in the Jewish Ghetto, the palace of Don Moses Casteli. I remember arriving there, a barefoot peasant girl in colorful, if shabby, cloths, carrying a small satchel of my few possessions. The man who opened the door was shorter than I was. He had long, curly grey hair and a matching beard. He was dressed in all black, adorned with a heavy gold chain and matching gold spectacles.

"Moses," he said, reaching out, his hand bearing several gold and jeweled rings, "you must be Isabella, Sister Sara said you would be coming."

"Don Casteli," I curtisied as well as I could.

"It's Moses, girl, come inside. I have some nice wine. Let us get to know each other, before I dump my household problems on you."

I nodded and crossed the threshold... a year later I was helping bribe the Holy Father.

~ Mother Superior Isabella Maria de San Marco

 

[Radilo]

Repùblega Radèla, Sestiere San Polo, Mercato di Rialto
Anno domini 1466

"So what do you know how to cook?" Moses asked, a step-and-a-half ahead of me.

"My mother and grandmother taught me many dishes, we normally ate little fishes so I often fried alici..."

"Oh good, you can competently fry things. I will let you pick out what you need for dinner tonight. It'll be for three," he said, pressing ever forward.

"Who else is comming..."

"Not important. So you know traditional peasant cooking then?"

"I guess, though I'm not exactly sure what constitutes..."

"That will do fine. He likes traditional food."

"Who..." I started increasing my pace to keep up. People were looking at us. I got a bit nervous remembering some of the recent Papal edicts. "Don Casteli..."

"It's Moses."

"Moses, people are..."

"Stairing at me... they always do. I look weird."

"It's not because..."

"I'm a Jew? No. They're probably looking at my chain. It screams rich, important person... I mean some people might stare because I'm a Jew, but they're not Radèli, so they don't matter."

"Didn't the Holy Father say..."

"That cunt, he says all kinds of things... Didn't he say we had to stay in Ghèti? Is that what you wanted to ask?"

"I don't mean to off..."

"No offense taken. Rules are thing that need to be enforced, when it is best to enforce them. In la Città, you learn that. And you will, Isabella, you will."

 

[Radilo]

Nuovo Porto, 9th Quartiere
about 20:00 on a Friday

It was one of the hottest new restaurants in town... at least for tourists. Radèli foodies long considered Chef Santorini to be a sell out.

He got his first Stars for his nuova cucina for his place in la Città, but he never had a good reputation among line cooks and waitstaff. Frankly, he was an abusive dick. It was never made widely known, outside of rumors among people in the food industry, that the reason he opened up his ultra posh restaurant in Callao in @Natal was that the locals damn near chased him out. Throwing around pots, calling subordinates dumbfucks, he was a perfect reality show jerk chef, but he pissed off everyone he worked with and most of his customers.

So after all of his success elsewhere he decided to come back to Nuovo Porto, where he started... much to the chagrin of locals. Only now he had an even bigger head, and even fewer wits about him.

His reputation was so bad he had to offer 1.5x the going rate for pay to get anyone to work for him. Natalia didn't know as much going in, a 14 year old mulatta from a working class neighborhood. She had a cheerful disposition, and was happy to work as a busgirl/dishwasher for some spending money... and this job was paying way more.

She regretted it, immediately. After being yelled at for... who knows, she wasn't sure... she broke down and cried more than once during her shift.

She had a day off before her next shift, and honestly considered not comming in, but she needed some money and she knew, by law, she could quit and then finish her shift. So she could tell the bastard off, and smugly half ass a shift for close to 100 lire.

When she walked in the back entrance. She saw everyone standing around the parimiter of the kitchen.

"What's going on?" she asked a line cook.

"Wait and see kid, it'll be quite a show."

The Chef entered, bursting through the doors with the rage of a castrated bull.

"The fuck are you all standing around for!?!"

There was a long pause.

"Chef, Don Santorini," a line cook who Natalia knew was with the local culinary workers guild spoke up, "you had to, recently, pay a 10,000 lire fine for labor violations..."

"Yea, what of it?"

"This was your third violation... it would..."

"I do t give a fuck what you or those cunts at the guild hall think about me. This is a fucking restaurant, I ain't got..."

"It is a restaurant, Chef, Don Santorini. One subject to the laws of this country..."

"That's why I paid the 10,000..."

"Which you could have paid us..."

"You cunts aren't worth..."

"And that's YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM," the guildsman shouted, "you don't appreciate that the normal, legal channels have run out. We now have to resort to extra legal means of conflict resolution."

He the pounded three times on the door behind him. Four men in trench coats walked in.

They beat Santorini so badly, Natalia was convinced he would die. But he didn't, but he was reduced to the pathetic, bawling heap he was.

When they walked out, the staff followed them, leaving the master Chef to cry and piss himself.

As they were dispersing, the guild rep turned to Natalia, "I know you were probably thinking about quitting, but things will be better tomarrow. You are a good worker, would you consider comming in, at least for a day or two?"

"Yea, I think I can..." she said, not entirely sure.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," he said as he waved goodbye to her.

"This is an odd country," she thought to herself as she started walking home.

 

[Radilo]

Navarone, @Caria
About 12:00 on a Monday

It was a sunny day, the winter celebrations not withstanding. Cold, but not bracing, the temperature was ideal for a feast; a pig was to be slaughtered for the occasion. The older men of the family milled about chatting and debating, getting just slightly less drunk than the pig-of-honor they were sloshing with grappa. The women were mostly inside, either cooking, or at least drinking wine in one of the kitchens or cellars. Later that evening, a homage to Sancta Lucia would be preformed, traditionally by the young girls of the family. This pre-Christmastide celebration is a common sight this time of year in wealthier Radilan-Carian Households, especially in Catholic strongholds like Navarone.

A black Maserati pulled up to the family estate, inside were two older men from Radilo.

"Cousin Mafei, Cousin Zuani, Benvegnùi," proclaimed the host, as the two men exited the vehicle.

"Agustino," they said as they embraced. "How have you been?"

"Yea, how's the outer territory?*"

"Been well, as for here, did you see the Blue's lost over in Cordelium? It'll give the Whites full power to go ahead with they're plan to give Nauplia even more centralized power.** Those right wingers want to put us at the mercy of the Orthodox. Sorry... enough politics, Maria told me not to bore anyone else. I'll have your bags sent to your rooms."

He called out in somewhat shabby Carian, and two maids came to take the gentlemen's bags.

"Grasie," said Zuani.

"De niente," the young women responded, softly.

"Um... sas efcharista," Mafei said, awkwardly,

"Parakaló," the other girl said, smiling. The brothers each tipped the two maids a 20 Obol bill.

"Come, Cousins, we have a pig to kill," said Agustino, putting his arms around them.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

*ethnic Radilans' nickname for former territory that La Serenissima no longer rules over, in this case three polities in in western Caria: Navarone, Nydra, and Ambracia.

**see:

You must be registered for see links

 

[Radilo]

Navarone, @Caria
About 13:00 on a Monday

"She went easier than many," Agustino said after they finished their prayer for the pig's soul.

"What happens if they manage to get away?" asked Zuani.

"Then they get away," Agustino retorted, "pigs are smart, so it happens more often than you think."

"What do you do then?" Mafei asked.

"You find a dumber pig," Agustino said, as they all laughed.

"Did you get the blood collected?" asked an older woman as she approached.

"Si, si, Maria, Toni got it collected and salted."

"Cousins," she exclaimed as she hugged Zuani and Mafei.

"Buon pre-Natale, Maria," they said.

One of the servants from before quietly approached Don Agustino.

"Don, sir, um..."

"What is it, Paraskevi?"

"Sir, one of the rooms isn't ready yet..."

"How bad were you abused by your last employer, girl... it's fine, no one is going to bed for a while, plenty of time to clean up."

She stood there for a moment and nodded, as she started to walk away, Don Agustino grabbed her arm, "do you need to talk in private?" She nodded. "Come girl, let's talk in private." He gestured to his wife, "Come, Cousins," she said, "let us eat!"

Away from the guests he continued, "so what is bothering you Para?"

"Bad memories is all."

"Bad memories of what?"

"My last master..."

"Employer."

"...employer was..."

"I understand. I mean, I don't fully understand... but I get that some people get off on being cunts. You know my politics... I want Catholic equally, not Catholic dominance. But I know that some Radilans are cunts about it... I'm sorry for that. You are doing a good job, and you are appreciated, Para."

"Thanks, I can't speak to much, but encouragement helps."

Agustino took out a flask and two small metal shot glasses. He filled each cup with some grappa, and handed one to Para.

"To the most serene," he joked.

"To @Caria," she responded, somewhat mischievously.

"To our home," he said, as they clinked.

She smiled and walked away to attend to her duties. After she was out if sight, he spit out the grappa.

"Lunga vita la Serenìsima," he muttered under his breath, before returning to the festivities.

 

[Radilo]

Repùblega Radèla, Sestiere Cannaregio, Ghèto Ebrei, Pałaso Casteli
Anno domini 1466

"Do I look okay?" I asked.

"What?" Don Casteli asked, clearly confused.

"I'm not too... um... poor looking for our guests?"

"Guest. And you look as poor as you are. Most maids come from poor families. You are fine, you are clean and well presented."

"I look like a peasant, from... what do you mean guest? I thought you said it was dinner for three?"

"Um... you are the third person. Me, my guest, and you."

"Don Casteli..."

"Moses."

"Moses, I'm a maid... a peasant from the provences... I..."

"Cooked the meal. And have been more than pleasant. Besides his Eminence will feel better if there wasn't a spectre wading about tending, unfeeling, to our drinks."

"His... Eminence... the Patriarch of Radila is the guest..."

"Eh... crap... I was trying to keep that a secret..."

"I...I need to get a vail and I..."

"Isabella... he's eating a peasant meal in the home of a Jew... I doubt he cares if your head is bare. Besides, you have nice hair."

I inhaled and exhaled... "thanks Moses," I said as I ran my fingers through my hair.

"You're welcome Isabella. But he'll be here soon and the fish..."

"Oh God the fish!" I ran off to the kitchen to tend to the oil. It wasn't smoking, thank God.

 

[Radilo]

Serenìsima Repùblega di Radèla, Sestiere San Marco, San Marco Convent
Anno domini 1526

*an old woman puts down her quill, sighs, and takes a swig from a sachel of wine*

Before I can go on about me meeting the Patriarch for the first time, I have to attend to this peculiar tangent. Bare with me.

Repùblega Radèla, Sestiere San Marco, Prison of Sighs
Anno domini 1442

At 32, Sara Sartor had spent the majority of her life in a single small room. She had made a very consequential decision when she was fourteen, and was at that present living with said consequences.

Her grandfather had been a wealthy cloth merchant, and had even been a member of the Senate. However, after some bad business decisions and bad luck, he lost his position and, by the time Sara was old enough to understand things, her family had been reduced to near poverty. Her mother stoked further resentment in her after Sara's grandfather drowned in the canals. Whether he was drunk or it was suicide, they didn't know.

When a mysterious man from @Caria approached her and offered to give her and her family enough to live off of for their whole lives, she was quick to accept. It was thrilling for the young woman, she got a rush knowing she was involved in some exciting, foreign scheme.

Her task was to pose as a poor, illiterate girl working as a maid for the dashing (if short) son of the wealthy and powerful merchant Jacob Casteli, Moe, as he liked to be called. She was tasked with learning as much as she could and reporting back to the mysterious man.

Sara could actually read very quickly, and that was her undoing. Having gotten a job posing as a young illiterate urchin, Moe was able to quickly notice how her eyes would rapidly dart across any paper she had in her line of sight. He alerted his powerfull friends about his suspicions, and after an expedient investigation, she was found out.

After a harsh interrogation, she was made an offer: she wouldn't hang for treason, being allowed to spend her life quietly in a cell, if she told them everything she knew. She was silent for a while. If she didn't confess, she would die, but they couldn't seize the fortune that she'd been given from her family.

It wasn't until they offered to let her family keep the money that she agreed to provide details about her clandestine employer. They didn't care about a confession, they just needed information. She faced a brief trial and was found guilty. She'd die in prison, but her family would be taken care of. She was fine with that outcome.

At fourteen she was taken into a cell she assumed she'd die in. She wasn't happy about it, but she was accepting, even philosophical of her situation. She could still read and write, and the prison was actually lent many books. She built up a sense of peaceful religion and enjoyed meditation. Contrary to @Solléga propaganda, Radilan prisons are humane, if strict. She accepted not being happy, but she was content.

She even maintained a long and frequent (and rather witty) correspondence with Moe.

It was still surprising, 18 years into her imprisonment, in 1442, that Moe paid her a visit. He needed someone to help him with... who knows what... some conspericy to do something in a small peasant village on Bonaventura Bay. She would be offered parole if she agreed to help him. She accepted.

She would pose as a nun and serve as his eyes and ears in what, something the locals were oblivious to, was a hub of Meridian Sea spy craft...

...so Sister Sara is also deeply involved in this whole upcoming "bribing the Pope" thing...

...I was less suprised than I expected I would be.

 

[Radilo]

Nuovo Porto, Città di Radila, Sestiere San Marco, Doge's Palace, Prime Minister's Office

Frumpy. That was the adjective the press most commonly employed to describe Isabella Lacé. The embodiment of resting bitch face was how she was often described on social media. Radila's Captain General didn't entirely disagree with the harsh assessments of her, in fact she often smirked to herself when she read her harshest critics.

"Well, I'm Prime Minister, and they are not."

And she had been Prime Minister for 10 years, so she had plenty to smirk about. A nearly 70% approval rating made her smirk even more, if only for a moment, lest someone see her self indulging.

60 years old, with five children and 12 grand children, the most powerful person in the aincent and serene Republic was a frumpy grandmother, ill-fitting pantsuit and dower expression included.

Her story, in a way, had outgrown her, and she was okay with that. She lived what could only be described as an idlilic, if very poor, childhood outside of Perast on Bonaventura Bay, a long way from Nouvo Porto.

She was given her first pair of shoes for her confirmation, though she never wore them, lest they got dirty or woreout. And Perast was probably the last place in the republic where girls like her could unironically dress like peasants.

But as it goes, beautiful, lustful peasant girls end up as frumpy, old peasant women. At least Isabella got to subtly smirk about all of it.

After all, she was Prime Minister, and they weren't.

 

[Radilo]

Nuovo Porto, Città di Radila, Sestiere San Marco, Doge's Palace, Prime Minister's Office

Prime Minister Lacé was a having an invigorating discussion with one of her advisors regarding the dishearteningly good news coming out of the pan-Pelasgian conference when her advisor got an alert on her phone.

"Well, speak of the devil," her advisor said, "there was attempt on the First Archon of @Caria, in public."

"Did he die?"

"No."

"Shame."

"Madame Prime Minister."

"What?"

"That's not appropriate," she said sighing.

Lacé shrugged, "they say outlawing abortion is bad for your health."

Her aide rolled her eyes.

Repùblega Radèla, Sestiere San Marco, Prison of Sighs
Anno domini 1429

Milla woke up feeling cold. She quickly realized that her girlfriend...cellmate was no longer laying next to her, on the pile of straw they slept on.

"Sara?"

"I'm working," she heard.

Over at a small table, sitting on a stool was her semi-long term girlfriend, illuminated by a small tallow candle. Milla had been a thief, just not a very good one. Because of the latter, she was sentenced to, as she liked to frame it, a four year stint as Sara's girlfriend. She actually felt pretty bad for Sara, but Sara seemed content, so that was okay.

"What are they having you copy this time?" She asked as she got up and walked over to the desk. She felt an additional shiver when her shackled bare feet made contact with the cold stone of their cell.

"It's the Secret History, by Procopius of Caesarenos, it tells the real story of Alexander the Conqueror. The author was his official historian, but he wrote this in secret; it is very, very critical of him and what Procopius considered his flaws and mistakes."

Milla kissed the top of Sara's head. "That sounds interesting... are those Pelasgian letters?"

"I see someone has been paying attention to their tutor," Sara responded smiling.

"It helps that she's so cute," Milla responded. The two of them kissed.

Serenìsima Repùblega di Radèla, Sestiere San Marco, San Marco Convent
Anno domini 1526

See, wasn't that was adorable. Now back to bribing the Pope.

Repùblega Radèla, Sestiere Cannaregio, Ghèto Ebrei, Pałaso Casteli
Anno domini 1466

I stood at attention by the front door, nervously straightening my dress and hair.

"What are you doing?" Moses asked as he passed by me.

"Waiting for his Eminence," I said, somewhat shakily.

"He won't be coming that..."

There was a knock on the back door.

Moses walked back and opened it. A hooded figure entered.

""Moses!" He exclaimed dropping his hood.

"Fredrico!" Moses said as the two men embraced.

Moses helped him take off the heavy black cloak, revealing a blood red cassock. The man took out a skull cap from his pocket and put it on.

"And you must be Isabella," the man said extending his multi-ring adorned hand.

"Your Eminence," I curtsied.

"It's Fredrico, girl. And it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

 

[Radilo]

Nuovo Porto, Città di Radila, Sestiere San Marco, Doge's Palace, Prime Minister's Office

After the briefing was over, the aide got up to leave.

"Make sure the Doge issues a statement... and please have someone check it before it gets put out." The aide nodded and left.

As she stepped out a somewhat pudgy bald man walked in, he was the Director of the Secret Service, Radilo's inelegance agency.

"Shame about the attempt on the First Archon," he started.

"Shame because somebody tried to kill him or shame because they failed?"

"With all do respect Madame Prime Minister, Caria is an important ally and a..."

"I know, M, I know," he rolled his eyes at the spy movie reference, "you've been working for me for, what, the last eight years... and I can't be the worst snarkass you've ever worked with."

"Nine, Madame Prime Minister. And no, you are not the worst. In fact I think you're rather good at it, being a snarkass, I mean."

Isabella snort-laughed. "I take it you already know what to do?"

He nodded and left.

Nuovo Porto, 7th Quartiere
About 2:00 in the afternoon

In a small private dining booth in what was a totally legitimate restaurant, sat two men. Neither man still used their birth name, only for slightly different reasons. One was a spy, the other was... a hard working businessman.

"So M, what do got me for?"

"I swear to god, you are the third person to make that joke. Is it because No Time to Die recently came out?"

"I thought it was pretty good; not as good as Skyfall, but better than average."

"It's about he unfortunate events that recently befell the First Archon..."

"Yea, it's a real shame that kid missed."

"By all accounts," he pressed on, "this appears to be the work of a bunch of poorly organized radicals. If that is the case it isn't our concern. But I would find it disconcerting if this were part of a larger effort, and our operatives were totally blind to it. I take it you have contacts in the Carian prison system..."

"Yea, I might know some guys."

"Here's what I need: I need the attackers identities, birth names would be most useful, and any bit of family connections, other basic information will be helpful. Now this is just a quick glimpse to confirm the existing hypothesis. This is not a high priority, but we swill would like to know so we can improve our information collecting in the future. By this I mean do not take any risks for this. Is that understood."

"Anything for you, M," said the hard working businessman said, smirking.

The Director rolled his eyes.

 

[Radilo]

Nuovo Porto, Città di Radila, Sestiere San Marco, Doge's Palace, Prime Minister's Office

After the Secret Service Director left, Isabella returned to her work desk from the conference table. Her desk was at the far end of the Sala della Milizia da Mar, one of the least ostentatious rooms in the Palace. Historically, it served as the office of the Captain Regent of the Navy, a title she still officially possessed. Of all the gilded baroque rooms in the palace, this was the least offensive to Isabella's tastes. It still hand plenty of gold and frescos, but they were much tamer than elsewhere.

She sat down in one of the antique chairs. "Of all the stupid fucking things..." she muttered to no one in particular, "...who the fuck tries to kill that limp..."

"Madame Prime Minister," her aide had returned.

"What?"

"Umm... His Serenity has already taken it upon himself to comment on the First Archon via Twatter."

"Oh fuck me!" Isabella shouted as she rushed past her aide towards the Doge's apartments. Fortunately for her the Captain General's office was were on the same floor and pretty close to the Doge's residence. This made sense from a historical perspective.

The grand doors to the Doge's Apartments were guarded by two elaborately dressed soldiers.

"I need to speak with the Doge."

"Apologies, Captain General," said the young woman sentry, still standing at attention, "His Serenity has retired for the evening."

"Lieutenant open the fucking door."

"Yes, Madame Prime Minister," The young woman said as she unlocked the door. She and the other sentry saluted as Isabella walked past. She closed and locked the door and resumed standing at attention.

After a few moments past, the other sentry spoke up. "What do you think he did this time?" he asked, still looking forward.

"Who knows," she said, still looking forward.

Nuovo Porto, Città di Radila, Sestiere San Marco, Doge's Palace, Doge's Apartments

The Doge was sitting in at his dining room table with his wife. Each was dressed in red fur robes and matching slippers. The Doge himself also wore a soft felt version of the corno ducale.

"Raul, we need to talk."

He staired at her silently for a moment. She sighed.

"Clemente, we need to talk."

He nodded to his wife and she nodded back. He gestured towards a small, hearth-lit sitting room. All of the rooms of the Doge's apartments were decorated in a much grander fashion than the Prime Minister's office, but not quite as outwardly gaudy as the rest of the Palace. It was, after all, still a a place someone lived--there is a level of gold décor that makes it difficult to sleep or watch tv. Despite its luxury, back in the early days of the Republic, it would have been a step down the wealthy aristocrats who held the office.

They both sat down in facing, large overstuffed winged-armchairs.

"What is it Madame Prime Minister?"

"Isabella."

"What is your concern, Isabella? You seem to be in a foul mood."

"What the fuck is this?" she asked, handing him her smartphone.

"It's a social media post," he answered dryly.

"Was it vetted?"

"No. I'm not required to have my twats vetted, Madame..."

"Isabella, Raul, call me Isabella. I'm not in the mood for this."

"Fine. I'll drop the pretext. You are no fun."

"Why wasn't it vetted?"

"It's an innocuous statement of facts, Izzy."

"No, Raul, it isn't. You seem to be blaming the First Archon for getting himself shot."

"He does bare some modicum of responsibility, he has allowed..."

"That's not how it works--people disagree with politicians all of the time, that doesn't mean they get too shoot them."

"...he has allowed a festering..."

"Raul, he's a limp-dicked, powerless figurehead. As much as I cannot stand you, I would not want you taking a bullet for one of my bad decisions."

He nodded. "You are right. I will issue an unconditional apology."

"Thank you, your Serenity."

"Of course, Captain General."

She snort-laughed and allowed herself a grin. As she was getting ready to leave she turned around and asked, "By the way, why are you both dressed in fluffy red pajamas at like *glancing at her phone* 11 am?"

"It's our midday casual wear, it is a holiday after all."

"Is that real ermine?"

"The lining and collar are, the rest is red wool."

She nodded and headed out the door. As her footsteps approached the two sentries opened the door for her, and saluted as she walked past them, back to her office. Once she was out of sight the young woman gently slid her smartphone out of her uniform pocket. On the down low, she opened the twatter app and her eyes got big. "Hey, I think I know what they were arguing about..."

 

[Radilo]

Nuovo Porto, 8th Quartiere, Palazzo Dante
Around 8:00 AM

Dante's Palace served as the headquarters of il Servizio Segreto, the Secret Service, Radilo's catch-all intelligence agency. It had a long, illustrious history, and, despite its small size, could still punch above its weight.

The agency's director was walking to a meeting when one of his burner phones rang.

"Sorry, la pizzeria isn't taking orders over the phone right now, please visit our website..."

"M, it's me."

"Please don't call me M."

"Well, M, it seems our little project Is for naught."

"Yes, it seems that way."

"But like you told me to note anything different, because it might be useful, well I noticed something."

"What's that?"

"A lotta people who are usually very talkative... are suddenly silent."

"That may prove quite pertinent, thank you."

"Anything for you, M."

"I will have you suffocated with a pillow you..." he paused because the other line hung up, "arse."

He continues to his meeting.


Repùblega Radèla, Sestiere Cannaregio, Ghèto Ebrei, Pałaso Casteli
Anno domini 1466

"I like the little fish," the Patriarch said as he crunched down on a few of them, "polenta tastes good, but I like it to be more solid. You lose the texture of the shrimp."

"I never cared for shrimps' texture," I caught myself interjecting. I paused briefly, a bit horrified, but both Fredrico and Moses smiled at me, so she felt comfortable continuing, "I think the blending of firm and soft improves the textural experience."

Though I felt more confident, I kept awkwardly glancing at the Patriarch and my Jewish employer, awkwardly.

"Isabella," Moses started, eyes never leaving his food, "do you have some burning theological question?"' Startled, I looked up at him, he then met my gaze, as did the Patriarch, "because now is the time to ask," he gestured towards the Patriarch.

I inhaled and exhaled, "I know this this awful to think of... but I've gone to mass every week my whole life. I've read Papal edicts... I've..."

There was a pregnant pause... "I'm struggling to reconcile..."

"Girl, there is nothing to reconcile, popes can be cunts... that's the purpose of this meeting..." the Patriarch interjected, after a pause, he resumed, "is to work the situation out "

"Fredrico, she's going to be part of it..." Moses interjected.

"Oh... well... what do you need to reconcile?"

I sighed, "I've heard a lot of vitriol against Jews. Some of which is conspiratorial, some of which is religious... the idea of damnation..."

Fredrico and Moses exchanged glances and nodded.

"Isabella," Fredrico started, "here is a good way to think of it: you've read La Divina Commedia, right girl?" I nodded, "while that isn't actually a great breakdown of Catholic theology, it contains some truths... as far as I can tell anyway. So you know of the first level of hell as being reserved for virtuous pagans. What was that like?"

"It was a bland afterlife... there was no pain or torture... it just wasn't paradise..."

"Exactly..." Moses interjected, "and do you know what the Jewish afterlife looks like?" Isabella shook her head, "it is a bland, boring afterlife. Our messiah hasn't come, and likely never will, so we all assume that it will be that for all of us. So, it seems that the fate of the Jews is the same in both Catholicism and Judaism it just has different spins on it. Same result. Whether my religion is right or yours is, I'll have the same experience when I abandon this mortal yoke. And besides, I'd rather spend eternity with my fellow Jews than a bunch of smug Christians."

I sighed, "I'm sorry... I didn't mean..."

"You have no reason to apologize, it is nice when we have a chance to clear up these complicated theological questions," the Patriarch started, "Moses and I have gone on for hours about these things."

"Should we invite the Holy Inquisitor?" Moses asked, grinning.

The Patriarch rolled his eyes, "we haven't dated for a while... we broke up when he..."

I crossed my arms and tried to look inquisitive... "why did you break up... your Eminence..."

He smiled at me and continued his story.

 

[Radilo]

Navarone, @Caria

Sitting under by a fireplace, under a mantle featuring a portrait of of Clemente III, Agustino was puffing aggressively at a cigar.

"I don't know what to do, Bruno... I feel that we are lost now."

"I share your concerns... I have made overtures to our partners on the mainland, they are more than willing to help us transfer funds, but that's all."

"I'm not sure what else they can do. La Serenìsima doesn't have the sort of military force to dissuade the Orthodox from carrying out their plans."

"Their oppression seems to be a foolish one, though, my friend. And that is the most dangerous kind."

At that time Para came in, holding a decanter of wine, "A refresher, sirs," she added, more cheerfully than normal, pouring rich, tannic red wine into their glasses.

"Thank you, Para," Agustino smiled. She grinned back, wider than she ever had.

Nowhere you need to know about, Radilo

"M, they've snuffed Samaras and Karnaros," said an aide running up, as the Director was walking to another meeting.

"Good, now they are no longer our problems."

"What should we do about Markos?"

"Hold tight, and see what we need to do next."

"This all seems like it's unraveling," his aide said, trying to keep pace.

"It is, but it's not our god-damn knot," the Director said, as he kept walking.

Somewhere in the Doge's Palace, Radilo

"I need to make a statement." Clemente III said, somewhat distantly.

"How would that help?" asked Isabella.

"It would reassure ethnic Radilans that they have our backing while calming the nerves of or Greek friends," he answered while gesturing.

"I'm not sure this exercise will have the salutatory effects you claim to want."

"We shall see, we shall see."

 

[Radilo]

Nuovo Porto, Città di Radila, Sestiere San Marco, Doge's Palace, Prime Minister's Office
Anno domini 2010

Prime Minister Volpato was having a shitty morning. He was the leader of the Whites (conservatives), and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the leader of Yellows (centre-right liberals), had just stormed out of the Captain General's office. The centre-right coalition was dead. He could, 1: call new elections, that he knew he would lose; or, 2: try to get a new coalition partner.

The Blues (left liberals) were out of the question, as they would gain the most from calling an early election, and the Greens (left environmentalists) didn't have enough seats. So the Reds (communists) were his only option. He had angered the Yellows because of his willingness to indulge in populism. His bill to expand bartering rights for port workers was, after all, why the Chancellor had stormed out. It was a risky move, but he could make an offer that the Reds would be hard pressed to refuse.

So word was sent to Raul Ndobrigazzi, the Red Leader, to come to the Palace. The PM observed, discreetly, as a limo bearing the Red Banner pulled up to the back entrance.

"You are not one for subtly." the PM grunted as he met his (alleged) adversary in the magnificently gilded hallway.

"You assume too little," retorted the tall (and somewhat dashing) mixed-race communist, "I'm surprised by your offer, to join with the Conservatives, the hardliners would have my head."

"The more reactionary elements of my caucus would have me shot if it were an option," the PM retorted, "but I think any agreement we strike could be more beneficial than contentious, if we are wise."

The two men walked past elegant frescos and gilded features, which were hard to ignore, but each man tried.

"Is there some place in history, you'd consider?" asked the PM.

"I won't lie, the idea of being the first Black, the first mixed-race, leader of a majority white nation state... I had actively avoided thinking about it, but then I read your message. I've always struggled placing my own identify. My own beliefs... but I must warn you... I have an agenda..."

"...as do I, but I think there is a great amount of overlap, more than the hardliners in our respective parties would think. We have this brief opportunity, now, to work on these things that overlap, before the liberals and that peasant technocrat come and spoil it all."

"Izzy seems like she'd make an excellent minister," Raul snorted, "but I'd rather get as much done as I could before she ruins the fun."

Volpato chuckled, "so that settles it. We work on the port, on public interaction, and the child tax thing you keep griping about."

"Haha, you are this quick to accept this demotion?"

"As I've frustrated everyone else in my life, I am." He walked over to a decanter and poured two glasses of wine, handing one to Raul, he toasted, "to the new Captain General, may his service suck as little as possible."

 

[Radilo]

Nuovo Porto, Città di Radila, Sestiere San Marco, Doge's Palace, Prime Minister's Office

"...so in summary, madame Prime Minister, the situation in both Zara and Scranlaw is, as the young people say, fucked," M reiterated without enthusiasm.

"I pity Anzolo at this moment."

"He's probably too drunk to enjoy human empathy."

"I envy him," she said taking a sip from a glass of fine red wine.

"While it is not, strictly, a military concern, I think that an agreement with @Tianlong is worth considering from a purely economic perspective.

"I know. There has been some debate in the senate on what would need doing... finishing up the port, building sea-locks for La Citta, all seemed to be on the table... But senatorial families have a lot of pride over what they perceive as their infrastructure. Not to mention many of them fear an increasing reliance on
far east money... whatever that means to them."

"I almost feel compelled to remind the senate that we've been subject to eastern money concerns since the age of discovery."

"People are bull-headed...we'll have to find a way to join with our eastern friends sooner or later. Or at least make a show of it, given what's going on."

"It may all well be necessary."

"Humf," Isabella grunted as she looked out at the gorgeous pink and blue canal based vista outside her window. "Working with Tianlong is now necessary to ensure our ongoing sovereignty. It seems to me that it is better to sign the damn belt treaty than it is to waddle about on our own. We may not need to join, but the benefits of joining outweigh the costs of not joining."

This is when everyone can take a shot.

 

[Radilo]

A southbound train somewhere in Italia
8:00 AM

Emilia looked out the window as the train made its way towards what she had been told was her destination. The area was becoming increasingly hilly and she could see mountains in the distance. Everything looked peaceful, mostly fields of spring wheat, interrupted by an occasional cow. She was 15 years old and still plagued with an insatiable anxiety that she had grown numb to. Her little sister, Aria, slept quietly next to her, resting her head on Emilia's shoulder. Aria almost never talked; she was a bit mousey before their parent's died, but now she rarely uttered a word, and, if then, she only mumbled. The two young women had grown up reasonably comfortable in a small Zaran village a few dozen miles from Gonzaga. Their parents had been school teachers; which might have been why the were targeted.

But the past was the past. There was nothing she could do about it, as much as she wished she could. She could not turn back the clock--the hourglass was bolted to the floor. As the train started to climb up the mountains it came to a stop.

A man in an olive-green uniform stepped into the train car.

"Sorry for the interruption everyone, normally we wouldn't stop, as Italia is under a free movement agreement, but as there are refugees on this train, they need to disembark, because they have some paperwork that they need to fill out. Can any refugees or undocumented persons follow me, please."

"Com'on Aria, that's us," Emilia nudged her sister. Without saying a word, Aria stood up and grabbed their small bags from overhead. Their bags contained all of the possessions the two of them had on earth. They, and about half of the rest of the carriage, departed to with the uniformed man.

Emilia was terrified of uniformed men, especially after she'd been raped. What was more terrifying to her, though, was that, after everything, she didn't care. She'd seen her parent's die, and she'd been violated in front of her 11 year old sister... and she felt nothing. Everything felt numb. There was no indignation, no fury, nothing. She followed the man in the olive green uniform, not because she trusted him, but because she didn't care what he did to her, and she wasn't going to disobey instructions from a man who might be carrying a gun. Live another day--help your sister live another day--were her only objectives. That she was able to think like this terrified her. And there was no way she could make herself feel differently. There was no way to address that terror.

All of the refugees looked like a haggard bunch, having been given whatever minimum they needed to survive. Emilia and Aria were ragged and tired looking. Emilia hadn't managed to sleep much in the last 72 hours. Even Aria, who slept most of the time, still looked exhausted. The olive-green man led the small crowd of refugees to a waiting area inside of the train station.

She sat awkwardly for a few moments as her sister tired to find a better position to sleep in. After a small amount of time a woman, who Emilia could only describe as wearing the "office casual" version of the olive green uniform, approached then asked for their names.

"Emilia and Aria Colombo," she said, never making eye contact.

"Are you from Zara, Pannonia, or a neighboring region?"

"We're Zaran, from Chirri, outside of Gonzaga.".

"That answers my next question." She scribbled some on a piece of paper.

"Are you minors?"

"What?"

"Are you both under the age of 16?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have a legal guardian or..."

"Our parents are both dead."

The woman nodded sympathetically and scribbled more on her paper. "I take it you are being settled by European Refugee Resettlement Commission?"

Emilia finally looked the woman in the eyes, she was younger than she thought--not that much older than her. "The what?"

"The people wearing white hats, they would have had white helmeted soldiers helping them."

Emilia shook her head. "Sister Madeline got us the train tickets."

"Alright," the woman said, scribbling more onto her paper. "Will you two come with me," she said standing up, "don't worry, we'll get you you new documents and you'll be all set to go."

Emilia was a bit confused as she nudged her sister to get up and follow the woman.

They were led into a small office where the woman had them sit down in front of a desk with an older computer sitting on it. She spent a few long moments clacking away as the machine whirred in protest.

Aria fidgeted and repositioned herself, finally coming to rest by laying her head on Emilia's shoulder.

"It's been a long journey for you both, I take it," the woman said, looking up and smiling.

Emilia nodded.

A few more moments were spent clacking. "Did Sister Madeline give you any documents to take with you?"

"Yes, she had us take our baptism certificates," Emilia said jostling enough to wake Aria, as she reached into their satchels to retrieve the documents. "I also grabbed these," she said as she pulled two old IDs. She felt a twinge of pain seeing her parents' faces. She handed all of the documents to the young, olive-green woman.

"Thank you," she said grasping the documents, while trying to look kindly towards the young girls.

Another round of prolonged clacking ensued. This time Aria gave up on trying to sleep. After what felt like an eternity, the clacking ceased.

"Alright, we just have one more step before we can send you on your way," the woman said, handing back the documents.

The woman took out a leather-bound Bible and set it on the desk, in arms reach of the young girls. The olive-green woman opened the book to a page that was marked with a red cord. It was the last page of the Gospel of St. Mark, where Jesus's empty tomb was discovered.

"Girls, place your hands on the Bible." Emilia did right away and nudged Aria who did the same.

"Say after me girls," said the woman as she cleared her throat.

"Aria, you have to talk now, the lady wants us to say what she says," said Emilia, not entirely sure what she'd be asked to say.

"I, state your names."

"I, Emilia Columbo."

"I, Aria Columbo," she mumbled, still looking down.

"Swear that I will be loyal to the Most Serene Republic of Radila, that I will defend her, if called to, against all enemies foreign and domestic, and keep by her laws as a Free and Equal Citizen. I swear to my fellow Citizens that I will keep their trust and stand with them when called to. Mary, Queen of Heaven, pray for us. Saint Mark, the Evangelist, pray for us. God bless and seal this oath."

The two girls mumbled their way through the last bit of the oath. The olive-green woman then took both their pictures. After a bit more clacking, another machine whirred up, and out were spat two red booklets. The woman then handed the two girls each one of the booklets.

"REPUBBLICA
RADILANA"

It proclaimed, in gold letters, above an image of the Lion of St. Mark.

it dawned on Emilia what the document was when she saw the word at the bottom.

"PASSAPORTO"

A Radilan passport. She opened it to see her somewhat distorted face looking glumly back at her. It took a moment to dawn on her: the events that just transpired. This small red booklet guaranteed so much. She'd seen soldiers harrowing people until they showed them this small booklet. Was it true? Was this simple thing real? Even her exhausted sister looked wide-eyed at her small red and gold booklet. They both knew what this humble booklet meant.

"That's it?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yes, citizen Emilia, that's all."

She looked back at her passport, shaking. Had she not exhausted her tears she'd be crying. She looked back at the olive green uniformed woman.

"I know your still a minor," the woman said softly, "but you will reach the age of majority in a few months. Placing you in a home seems unnecessary, and it's clear you can take care of your sister and yourself. Here is a list of social services: a social worker, a therapist, and, of course, a priest and two nuns. As well as a number for the Catholic Refugee Agency, who will help you with whatever you need. You will have an apartment waiting for you in Badua," she said, handing Emilia a lanyard attached to a set of keys.

Aria tugged on Emilia's arm. She glanced down at her sister, who, for the first time in a while, smiled back at her.

"I cannot thank you enough..."

"Sara."

"I cannot thank you enough, Ms. Sara."

"You are most welcome. Thank you for coming to our country. Tell everyone you can that they are also welcome."

Emilia and Aria boarded the next train to Badua. Aria didn't sleep much, but Emilia was able to get some rest in.

They arrived at the Badua station in the early morning. Blue hour, as the city was just stirring.

They made their way through the working class neighborhood by the railway, their new home was not too far away.

They stood in front of the somewhat run-down apartment complex. Nervously glancing at each other, they tried the large key; it opened the front door. Climbing three flights of stairs to the fourth floor, they reached the room number imprinted on the smaller key.

Inside was a small one bedroom apartment, with wood floors and chipping paint. Aria flopped on the old, well-worn bed and fell quickly to sleep, but, for the first time in a long time, it was a deep sleep.

Emilia opened the double doors of the Juliet balcony. Ironic, as Badua was where Romeo found refuge. There was a slight early spring breeze that caused the long worn curtains to flutter. She looked out over the working class city as the sun rose in the distance. She could hear people stirring, mothers singing to wake their children. A beautiful, quiet hum made itself known.

"This is an odd little country," she thought to herself, as she joined her sister on the bed, cuddling with her as she fell, blissfully, to sleep.

 

[Radilo]

Nuovo Porto, Città di Radila, Sestiere San Marco, Doge's Palace, Prime Minister's Office
around noon

"So we've managed to paper over our differences with our friends in the Far West? (@San Jose )" the Prime Minister asked, knowing the answer.

"Yes," Foreign Minister Barnapola said, "and our reaching out to our Far East allies has also been fruitful. We are still punching out the proposal to submit to the @Tianlong Investment Bank. But we've already got a verbal agreement."

"Good." She took a sip of wine. "And how is Anzolo handling the debate going regarding the @Skånskelag and @Tarusa ?"

"It's challenging, it seems we'll be joining our allies in... what I shall call it... a holding pattern. We will avoid any fall out by blending into the background."

He poured himself a glass of wine. "Did you see that the Holy Inquisitor has made his way to Zara?"

"Has he said anything?"

"Not yet. I'm sure Admiral Oslo will have a briefing for you soon enough," August said.

"She's my next meeting," the Prime Minister smirked.

"Did you see that report out of the @Holy Frankish Empire ?"

"The Chagny University study? Yes. It was a tad critical."

"If the TIB were to write propaganda," the Foreign Minister snorted.

"I don't suspect they're that clever. But often there's clarity in sincere criticism," the PM said as she took another sip. "I'm still curious about the rapid rise in concern in Caria (hey, @Pelasgia ) about their demographic problems. It's not like it's anything new."

"They're starting debate on the issue of immigration."

"They should open the floodgates. It's worked miracles for us."

"They seem less committed to the abstract concept of citizenship, or subjecthood, or whatever they would call it. I don't think a Raul-type figure is emerging anytime soon there," he said, necking his wine.

"On that topic, how is the Zaran resettlement going?"

"Smoothly," he said, pouring himself another glass. "Badua and several rural villages should see a nice population boost. Young, hard working, diligent new citizens--I cannot think of a better method for revitalization. It is perhaps, that our Far West allies were not wrong in their assessment of us."

The Prime Minister snorted, "what they left out is that the refugees get rich too."


Badua, la Serenissima Repubblica di Radila
2:00 PM

Emilia awoke with a slight rumbling in her stomach. She was still laying cuddled up with Aria, the mid-afternoon sun reflected off of the pale white buildings across the street and filled the room with a warm light. She got up to take another look out of her window. In the bright light of an early spring day the city looked a good bit more worn than it had in the blue-hued grey and pink light of the early morning twilight. Buildings needed painting, or had walls with pieces crumbling, some looked empty. Still, many of them looked elegant--as if they were intent on crumbling magnificently. Like bankrupted aristocrats, they kept their pride at least.

Aria joined her sister at the window, having been stirred by her sister's rustling.

"I don't exactly know what I was expecting, she started, "I'd seen pictures of Radilo, I guess without the canals the noble ruins aren't quite as romantic... what everyone back home when on about was how rich they were here...

Aria leaned her head against Emilia's shoulder and continued to look out the window.

"I dunno... I like it, though. It's peaceful." Her her sister continued, "I sound like I'm complaining, I'm not--I don't know how to explain it, I'm both overjoyed and a bit disappointed... I..."

"I'm hungry too," Aria said softly.

"Sister Madeline said something about getting a meal at the Church. I guess that's also near the social worker's office. We have to go there and meet with them today anyway."

Aria had already stepped away, put her sneakers back on, and was standing near the door. Emilia smiled and put her snow boots back on. They both were still wearing their cloths from yesterday--it was all they managed too take with them.

As they made their way down the flights of steps they ran into a few people they'd seen from the train ride earlier. They all exchanged sympathetic glances, but didn't say anything--they didn't need to.

The sun shone brightly, as the left the apartment building. Walking down the street they didn't see too many people out and about. They did, however, see a several of help wanted ads, all in Zaran. She'd remembered being told that Radilans, even though Zaran* was their official language, they preferred to speak and do business in Radilan, their own tongue. Was that all for refugees?

She glanced down at the piece of paper that the the woman--Sara, she remembered--gave her. Santa Maria Xavier was the name of the church. It wasn't too far from their apartment, luckily.

It was small; the façade was bright white marble, maybe a little worn. It was done in a simple neoclassical style, though it looked as if it had been arranged a bit... ad hoc. The double door main entrance was off center. To the one side there was a statue niche containing a saint, who Emilia assumed was St. Maria Xavier.

A smaller door off to the other side had a small, hand-written sign that just said "PROFUGHI" (refugees in Zaran).

Emilia looked down at her sister, who shrugged.

She took grabbed the lion-faced knocker and rapped it a few times against the wooden door. The girls waited for several moments, Emilia went to reach for the knocker again, when it creaked open. A fat, balding man, who wasn't much taller than her poked his head out.

He looked the two girls up and down for a second. "Need help?" he blurted out.

His eyes looked somewhat drowsy and his lips and teeth were wine stained. And they hadn't seen a priest who's collar was popped open.

"Yes," Emilia started, "we're..."

"Come inside," he blurted out, opening the door all the way and gesturing them to follow him.

The sisters glanced at each other. Aria shrugged again, and she went to follow the priest inside.

Emilia stood outside for a moment, and started shaking a bit. Aria turned around and smiled at her. She, not all that discreetly, showed her sister the hammer she had hidden in her inside jacket pocket.

Emilia started to smile, when the priest also turned around.

"If you're worried, girl, I prefer to fuck men my own age."

Both sisters went a bit wide eyed at that response. He snort-laughed and turned back around, the girls followed him.

He led them into a small kitchen that had a large pot simmering on low; he gestured for them to sit down.

It was a a fairly cramped room, illuminated by a small window over a sink filled with dishes. There were many statuettes and pictures of the Saints and Jesus looking down from the walls. A large, carved wooden Crucifix hung over the table the sister's were now sitting at. Kitchen utensils and pots were somewhat strewn about the counters. Bulbs of garlic, pears of provolone cheese, and more than one type of salami hung from the ceiling.

"Hungry?" the priest asked, while he was filling up two bowls from the simmering pot. He placed the two bowls in front of the girls before they could answer.

He then went over to the counter and sliced two thick pieces of hearty, rustic looking bread and set them besides the bowls. He was zipping around the small kitchen, rather briskly given his sluggish pace just a few minutes earlier. He finally grabbed three glasses and two spoons and set them on the table. As the girls stared at him, somewhat taken a back, he sat down at the other chair at the table.

He popped the cork out of an unlabeled bottle of wine and poured himself and Emilia a glass. He opened a bottle of clear-yellow liquid and poured a some in Aria's glass.

He sat back down and quickly downed his glass. As he was pouring himself another he grunted: "it's lemonade."

He took a long sip. "Eat, girls, eat."

Aria took a sip of her lemonade, then proceeded to down it in one more long gulp. She then quickly poured herself another one. She then dived into the bowl, quickly shoveling stew into her mouth. Emilia, more pensively, took a sip of the wine. It was bit rough tasting, but not that bad. She then took a spoonful of the broth and tasted it. It was rich and a bit salty, it did make her appetite come roaring back. She then took in several large spoonfuls.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"Chirri," Emilia said between spoonfuls.

"An hour south of Gonzaga," he responded, taking another sip.

Both girls looked up.

"You're not the first through here," he said. "I took a quick look at you and I figured you were either refugees or homeless, so could use some food and a drink." He said as he downed his and poured himself another.

"Are there a lot of homeless here?" Emilia asked.

"Not many. But some kids live on the street for a while before giving in and getting help from social services. Youthful pride. But they eventually sign up for help."

"Where did everyone go to in this neighborhood?

"Inside. You seem to have opted to venture out during the time when most are nodding off a glass or five of ombra. It's the middle of the afternoon in this rustic old town. People are drinking or napping--in the shade."

"You didn't ask us any questions before you fed us."

"Christ said feed the hungry. He didn't say there should be questions first. You find yourselves alone, but that's only because you came at this hour. Usually I have many people standing around this small table."

"All refugees?"

"Many, some people don't answer, and I don't pry."

Emilia took in a few more spoonfuls of food. She then wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

"Thank you for this, Father..."

"Rocco, like the Patriarch."

"Father Rocco." She paused, "we live not far from here."

"Many refugees do. As do many who feel need; there's a lot of public housing near here, as I'm sure you've seen."

"You seem rather non-judgmental."

"Christ said that judgment will be based on things like feeding the hungry and visiting the prisoner. Who you fuck or how many drugs you do were never mentioned. Though, I gather, he didn't like figs."

Both sisters had a bit of a chuckle at that. The old priest smiled.

"I make my own wine, for what it's worth, and everyone is welcome--if they're old enough--to come partake. Mass is the same way--sans the age requirement. Don't feel obligated, but feel welcome."

Emilia smiled, as Aria was, not so subtly, ladling herself another bowl.

The old priest smiled, "eat as much as you want. God and his servants will provide."

Emilia took another spoonful, "we are going to the social worker's office next--it was supposed to be close to here..."

"Three buildings down, on this side of the street--it has a sign for refugees, like it does here. Alto is the guy's name. He is also friendly and, as far as I can tell, hasn't raped anyone." He took a long look at Emilia, who eventually met his gaze. "I know what they do to young women in war. I'm sorry that happened to you. I know I'm not the right person to talk about it with, but Sister Luna will be willing to talk to you about it. You will find her empathetic, or at least she will try." Emilia's eyes started to water a bit; he scribbled down a number on a piece of paper towel. "Call or text her when you feel like it, and she is usually at Mass, if you want to speak in person. Finish your soup before going, if you can."

The girls sat there for a few moments before they resumed eating. Emilia did, eventually, finish her glass of wine. During which time Father Rocco managed to down two (or maybe three) more.

Once they were done the two girls stood up to leave. Aria whispered something into her sister's ear, Emilia chuckled a bit.

"Will God mind that we didn't say grace?" she asked the priest.

"God doesn't a shit about most of that stuff," he blurted back, "oh, and there is a small closet in the hallway on your way out, take whatever cloths or shoes you need." He said, necking another glass of wine.

The girls did make use of that, the closet did have a few outfits that looked like they'd fit them. They also each took a pair of sandals, as the weather was warming. There were new pairs of undergarments and socks that were hanging in original packaging on a wall, guessing their sizes, the took some as well.

With their cloths in tow, they made their way a few doors down to the welfare office--as Fr. Rocco said, there was a large sign reading "PROFUGHI."

Emilia knocked on the door. After a few moments, a middle aged man opened the door.

"Umm... Mister Alto..." Emilia started.

"Father Rocco sent you?" he quickly responded.

They nodded. "Well, come in, this shouldn't take too long."

He led them into a cluttered, but somewhat spacious, office that was illuminated by dusty beams of later afternoon sunlight that came though the large windows.

"Your new passports," he said. After a second or so, Emilia realized what he was asking for. She took the two fresh red booklets out of her satchel and handed them to him.

A familiar whirr started up again, as he turned his computer on. And the familiar clacking resumed as he started entering information.

He clacked away for several minutes before he stopped and a cash-register like chime rang out. A drawer popped open and he started taking out what looked like money. At the same time another machine came to life and printed out several sheets of paper and what looked like a few small credit cards. He also took two smartphones and sim cards out of another drawer.

"So girls," he started," here is your first month's allowance. It is 12 ducati, or about 1200 euromarks. It's in 20 lira notes. This should get you thorough the next few weeks, but if not, please come back to and meet with me, I'll be able to help you. Emilia, do you intend to return to school?"

Caught a bit off guard, "I'm not sure--I mean... not really... no. I missed... like three years of school. I'd be pretty far behind. I kinda wanted to be a teacher, like our parents, but after all this... just the chance to work for enough money to get by seems fine... I mean... I..."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, Emilia, nor does that have to be your final answer, if you want to work some and then go back, that's fine. To a similar end, I've also included Aria's new school information and her student ID."

"So this allowance is monthly?"

"Yes, as refugees you're each guaranteed a monthly cash benefit of 400 lira, plus a 200 lira in cash for food, until you each turn 20. You get an additional 100 lira a month if you enroll in school. But you would earn a lot more than that working full time."

"Are 15 year old's allowed to work?"

"Oh yes, they're encouraged to."

"Are 11 year old's allowed to?" Aria asked, surprisingly chipper.

"No, 13 is the earliest," he responded.

"Wait--you said 200 for food, do you have to spend it on food? How would they track it?"

"No, and they don't. It's more of a suggestion than a requirement."

"What do we do when we each turn 20?"

"You'll apply for normal non-refugee benefits, which are structured a bit differently."

"So the benefits are generous here?"

"Rather. I just printed out your public housing lease, your rent will be free, or at least discounted, unless you make so much money, and it's a high threshold. And of course your universal health insurance cards were also printed, along with regular IDs so you don't need to lug around your passports. Also here are two smartphones and the chips that go with them, as you will need to be able to communicate."

"Does the allowance go away, or get reduced if I get a job?" Emilia asked.

"No. I mean, if you don't enroll in school, you don't get that bonus, but your actual allowance is not income dependent. Like I said, we encourage people to work--we just don't force them to. So most people choose to work."

"If I, say, get a job washing dishes under-the-table, after school, would anyone do anything?" Aria asked.

"Aria! Don't--"

"It's fine, don't worry," he interjected.

"Aria, you have to go to school--" Emelia continued.

"I said after school--" Aria retorted.

"I would not recommend it until you turn 13. If it's under-the-table, you wouldn't get in trouble--though the restaurant would get a hefty fine if they were found out. But some people would have a problem with it. Again, they wouldn't target you, but your employers would have a bad time. They like people to play by the rules."

There was a lingering silence. In that time Alto gathered up their documents, cash, and phones and handed them to Emilia, who quickly put most of it it in her satchel, save one of the new smartphones, which she handed to her sister.

"If you find you need anything else or have any more questions, please come in. It's my job to help. The two girls thanked him and quietly exited, still carrying their small loot of clothing.

Walking back to their apartment, they stopped by a small pharmacy and bought some toiletries and a few snacks for later.

As they headed home, arms full, Emilia turned to Aria, "that was more than you've talked in awhile."

"I didn't like school, I'd rather work... do something and have some money."

Emelia chuckled, "post-delegationists would call you an all too willing slave of the bourgeoisie."

Aria shrugged, then winked back at her sister, who smiled back.

"This is an odd little country," she thought to herself, still smiling, as they made their way back to their new home.



*Zaran, or Italian, and Radilan are both Radilo's official languages.
OOC: sorry for the name dropping--haha made you read my long post!

 

[Radilo]

Badua, la Serenissima Repubblica di Radila
9:00 pm

Back in their apartment, Emilia and Aria were standing at the Juliet balcony munching on chips and cookies, looking out at the city as the last light of day died.

"So who did you steal the hammer from?" Emilia asked, turning towards her sister.

"Theft implies ownership," Aria blurted out before popping another crisp in her mouth. As she was chewing she turned to smile at her sister, who smiled back.

"I need to take a shower, badly," Emilia said walking over over to the small water closet, "and so do you."

Aria stuck her tongue out at her sister.

Emilia quickly undressed. Getting out of her dirty cloths, she felt a bit of relief.

Standing in front of the awkward, old narrow bathtub, she staired, a bit puzzled, at the knobs. It was clearly an antique unit: three knows and a... pull chain?...

Sitting up on the old bed Aria was scrolling through news articles on her new phone.

"Grand Inquisitor lands outside of Gonzaga receives grand, if awkward, welcome." ( @Tarusa )

"OW... FUCK!" She heard her sister shout from the bathroom. "I'm fine," was the follow up.

Okay... so that's *hot* water. How the fuck do you... okay that's cold... how do you...

"Ow, fuck."

After about a half hour, a towel wrapped Emilia emerged from the water closet. "So the bathtub takes a bit of figuring out... and the controls for the bidet are in an unusual place."

Aria snickered.

Emilia smiled. "Go get a bath you little mutt."

Aria faux growled and scampered into the bathroom.

As ashamed as she was to admit it, putting on clean undergarments and a clean nightgown after getting out of a hot shower was one of the most pleasurable moments of her life... it had been a long time since she was able to do that. She used to take it for granted... she started feeling a tremble of emotion--"no, tonight us just for simple joys," she whispered to herself.

Eventually Aria emerged from the bathroom and and donned her nightwear. The two sisters climbed into bed and cuddled for a bit as they fell gently to sleep.

The next morning Emilia woke up just as the first sun beams poked their way through their open balcony. The city looks much prettier in soft light, Emilia thought to herself as she got up and looked out.

Aria was still sleeping as Emilia made her way to the small kitchen. It had a small window above a sink. There was a decent bit of counter space and some cupboards. There was a small gas kitchen stove that seemed decently maintained, but that was the only appliance.

In a way this didn't really bother Emelia as much as she'd thought it might. Hearing her grandma tell her stories of her childhood, she sometimes fantasied about living in a simpler time, when you had to use what you brought quickly, and went to the market every few days... also she'd used her new phone to look up prices for refrigerators... and they certainly could not afford 15 hundred lira for one... so they'd have to learn to enjoy eating like peasants. Which won't be a problem... as peasants eat much better than refugees.

The comfortable middle class life she and her sister lived was now gone. But their lives as refugees fleeing a war, always hungry and fearful, was also gone.

There were some utensils left in the kitchen. A cast iron skillet, a few pots, an old kettle, and a few sets of meal wear. She had no idea who left these here, but they seemed decently clean. So she boiled some water and made herself a cup of instant coffee. She had gotten a taste for the stuff in the refugee camp, but was looking forward to trying real espresso.

As she walked back into the bedroom, she found Aria staring out of the Juliet balcony, still in her nightgown.

"So today we're just normal people," Aria said, softly, still looking out of the window.

"Yes," her big sister smiled, "today is our first day as normal people. We should go to the market and get some proper food. Plus we can meet our new neighbors. I also want to start looking for a job... things normal people do.

Going to the market seemed appealing in both the abstract and material senses to both sisters.

The girls quickly got ready and dressed in their new cloths, Aria even put some effort into brushing her hair.

Making their way to the market in the (relatively) early morning, they saw a lot more people out and about on the street. They mostly ignored the two young girls, save the occasional teenager who would give Emilia a lingering lookover. The casual indifference was actually quite welcome. They'd been regarded with harsher eyes for much of the past few years.

The market was about a half mile from their apartment. It wasn't Badua's central market, but a smaller one that served a cluster of old, working class neighborhoods. This meant that, while products were abundant and affordable, there were limitations, the fishes were smaller, the cuts of meat were tougher and fattier, and the produce had to be in season. It was food for peasants, urban peasants, but peasants none the less. And that suited people in the neighborhood just fine. A mix of hardscrabble working class locals who fought hard to stay and refugees and immigrants who had to fight to get there. People got along in the neighborhood. Not that there wasn't any animosity or tribalism, but most of the time people were decent to each other. It's a small world and we're all stuck on it together, so we might as well try to get along summarized the attitude.

The girls started in the produce section. "We should probably have made a list," Emilia said as she looked at the vendors around them.

"Are some of the fruit sellers spies?" Aria asked, almost whispering.

"What?" Emilia asked.

"That's what the other kids use to say in school and... in the camp..." she paused for a moment, before regaining her spirit, "that spies were all over markets in Radilo. That they arrange their fruits and vegetables to send signals to each other."

"Maybe in Nuovo Porto, but I doubt they're in this little neighborhood market."

Aria looked slightly disappointed.

"Com'on," Emilia said, smiling, "think of some of your favorite things to eat, well spoil ourselves for a few days, make all the old dishes at home. Start living like normal people."

Aria smiled. They went about the market getting the ingredients they could remember or look up on their phones.

The vendors often started in Radilan, but switched to Zaran when they read the young girl's expressions.

"It's not in season, but can you substitute garlic."

"We don't have that here, but if you use pork butt it's pretty similar. You just have to cook it longer."

"I'd recommend alici, good this time of year, you can eat them crudo if you'd like."

"It means raw," Emilia said turning towards her sister. The man selling very tiny fishes still smiling at them. "We'll try them. Might as well try something new. How much is a half pound?"

"Two lira," he responded. Emilia took out a few notes, "where are you from?" he continued.

"We're from Pannonia... Zara."

"I know, where from?"

"Chirri... about..."

"About an hour south of Gonzaga. I'm from San Casciano di Pica. I recognized your accents."

They shared a knowing smile.

"Do you like it here?" Emilia asked

"I do."

"Do you miss home?"

"All of the time."

"Do you wish you could go back?" Aria asked quietly.

"We all wish we could go back in time. The place I miss, my home--it no longer exists. When we miss something, we don't just miss a place, we miss a time. We miss the time before the war. And there's no going back." The man teared up, "but my daughter won't have to go through, growing up, what you had to. Or what I had to. Know if you feel conflicted about everything... most of us do."

After a moment he composed himself and had aa brief laugh. The sisters wiped away the tears forming in their eyes and laughed a bit as well.

"You sell wine?" Emilia asked, seeing a few bottles of white wine on the shelf behind the vendor.

"A few cheap white wines, in case someone doesn't want to stop at the wine store."

"Cheap white wine happens to be my favorite vintage," Emilia said, chuckling, I never got your name."

"Bruno," said back laughing a bit.

"Bruno, I'll take two."

"Five lira."

They said goodbye and the girls made their way to get some lunch. There were a lot of help wanted signs posted about the market, all in Zaran.

They sat down a small café near the market, it also had a Zaran help wanted sign in the window. They sat at a small outside table, and a girl about Emilia's age, wearing an apron, approached them notepad in hand.

"Hi, I'm Zita, would you two like something to drink?" she asked in Zaran.

"Zita?" Emilia asked, a bit surprised, "from Chirri?"

The girl's eyes sparked recognition.

"Emilia... Aria... you've grown so much."

The sisters stood up and the three girls hugged.

 

[Radilo]

Badua, la Serenissima Repubblica di Radila
2:00 pm

School in Radilo gets out early. Kids, it was believed, should not be stuck, board in school all day. More time playing, participating in extra curriculars, and, yes, working. Unlike what the social worker said, the rules against child labor were notoriously lax, the opposite of their attitude towards other things like taxes. The Camorra would break your legs if you underpaid a kid, but not for just employing one.

As a result, despite her sister's objections, Aria was happily spending her afternoons washing dishes along side her friend Tabitha, a sweet, silly, peasant girl from the mountains, who never wore shoes. They washed dishes, Ms. Kipa, the gruff, but kind, old woman who owned a small restraunt near the market cooked the food, and Zita and Emilia waited tables and tended bar.

"At least get a job where I work, I want to look after you... Ms. Kipa is looking for a dishwasher."

Aria and Tabitha were part of a group of friends at school. It was a mix of locals and refugees. Paula was a mafia Don's daughter, even though she denied it. She was the only one who got picked up in a Maserati. Lula and Chici were still kinda suprised that Aria, Lila, and Emma, all spoke the "school language" at home. Of course Tabitha spoke a mountain dialect at home... whatever that meant.

Her and Aria would sing or hum old songs to eachother as they washed dishes.

Emilia and Zita enjoyed bantering during slow times. Zita had been from a poor family in Zara and liked to drag Emilia for being, relatively wealthy growing up.

"You see the problem is that you and your sister didn't have to work as kids. That's why you're slow," Zita said smirking.

"Maybe... but my sister could kick the shit outta you and most of your family. So we can take our time."

Zita stuck her tounge out at Emilia, who responded in kind. The two girls then giggled for a good moment.

"I like this odd little country," they both thought.