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Radilo

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Badua, la Serenissima Repubblica di Radila
8:00 pm on a Thursday

Ms. Kipa's restraunt closed at 6 when the market did. So by 7:00, the sisters were able to head home. Aria was out by the Juilet balcony clacking away on her phone; Emilia was in the kitchen, cutting up carrots, onions, and celery for soffritto.

There was a loud knock at the door. Aria answered it, though only because she beat her sister to it.

"Hello," she said to the younger woman in a black robe standing in the hall, "why are you wearing a robe?"

"I'm a magistrate, I'm kind of a judge."

"Why are you here?" Emilia asked, finally arriving at the door.

"I understand that you are refugees, and might be less inclined to trust figures of authority. But please be assured that I am not here to hurt either of you."

"I asked you why you were here."

The young robed woman sighed, but quickly regained her composure.

"Young lady, are you Aria Colombo?"

"That depends."

"She's not in any trouble, we just need to clarify something with her."

"Yes."

"I'm going to have to invite myself in. I don't want to discuss private matters in public."

"Do we have a choice?" Emilia asked.

"Not really."

"Fine, come in."

Shutting the door behind her, the young magistrate opened the small briefcase she was carrying.

"We have to do this for three years after law school, be magistrates I mean. We have some power, but it's not much; we don't get paid a lot of money--we do the judicial grunt-work. They have us visit the houses of minors, instead of us having them brought in--wise I think. They say it's to build empathy, doing this kind of job. It works. I spend my days helping people who are and feel like they live precariously. I grew up in a upper-middle class family. It's been eye opening."

"We grew up comfortably, too," Emilia said, "we lost everything during the war. It's been eye opening."

"I'm sorry. But my visit, while mandatory, is to help you."

"What do you need with me?" asked Aria.

"There was a discrepancy in your records. Your citizenship papers say you were born in 2010, but your tax form says you were born in 2008."

At that point Emilia was giving Aria a heavy dose of side-eye.

"Mistakes get made," Aria said, smugly.

The young magistrate rolled her eyes so hard you could hear her eye cords straining.

"This is the reported net Income," the magistrate said, pointing to a bolded set of numbers. "Are you being paid that?"

Aria was silent for a few moments.

"Listen, kid, we don't really care that you're working underage, we just want to make sure you're getting fair wages," the magistrate said, somewhat exasperated.

Aria took the paper and flipped through it. "Yea, that's what Ms. Kipa pays me."

""Good, we don't want employers taking advantage of kids."

"I thought the Camorra handled that?" Aria asked.

"Aria don't!" shouted Emilia.

"It's fine," the young magistrate started, "the mafia can only enforce rules that exist."

She paused, and sighed a bit, before a smile appeared on her face.

"Welcome to Radilo, la Serenìsima is glad to have you. The judiciary serves the people."

"Do you want to eat with us, magistrate? We're making soffritto. And we're making plenty," said Emila, her expression softening.

"It's not usually acceptable for..." she paused and smiled, "fuck it--yes. That sounds lovely."

Aria and Emilia smiled.
 
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Radilo

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

Most days Moses leaves around 9:00 in the morning. He has an office not far from the Realto market. I'm not entirely sure what he does. He says he's an actuary... I didn't press him for whose money he's working with, but I have a feeling I'm going to find out soon eneough.

Around 11:00 in the morning (Moses has a large Astrarium in the main hall, he purchased it in Badua). I had a pot of stew simmering on the stove for my lunch. I had inherited my mother's habit of making too much, but I could always reheat it tomarrow, or later in the evening... Moses might even want some if he drinks too much wine tonight.

As the stew was finishing up, I was sweeping near the front door, when I heard a knock. I was taken back abit bit. Most of Moses friends use the back entrance. Cautiously, I opened the door.

"Don Casteli isn't home," I said before the door was fully open.

A young woman, not much older than me was standing there. She had long, straight black hair, and a very fair complexion. She wore a black silk robe, with a gold cord slung around her shoulders. She had a matching black toque resting on her head.

Initially her eyes were closed, and she was looking down. Once the door was all the way open, she lifted her head and opened her eyes. She had narrow, dark eyes. She was rather pretty. I hope I meet girls like her in the convent one day, I thought. She resembled those foreign merchants from @Tianlong , like Mr. Won, who Moses had over for dinner a couple of times.

"Oh I was hoping for that," the young woman said in a calm, soft voice. "Are you Isabella from the Island of Cattaro?"

"Y-yes..." I answered pensively.

"Are currently under the employ of Don Moses Casteli?"

"Yes... can I ask you a question?"

"That is allowed."

"Who are you and why are you asking me these things? Don Casteli isn't home, I'm just his maid."

"Oh I know, I wanted to speak with you, Isabella, just you. My name is Xuan Maria, I am a Giustiziere. My job is to ensure the well being of minors, women, and vunerable people--and ensure moral order."

"What's-what's a minor?"

"A person under the age of 16."

"Oh, I'd never read the term."

"You can read?"

"Yes, I hope to become a nun one day."

"Good that'll make this a lot easier. So you are 14, is that correct?"

"I turned 15 a month ago. Moses got me so drunk... oh sorry... we're not usually so debauched..."

"It's alright, we don't really press too hard about the petty moralizing, we're more interested in assuring that people are not being taken advantage of. So, Isabella, is Don Casteli paying you this amount of money, monthly?" she said pointing to a number on a piece of paper she pulled out of her purse.

I looked at it for a moment, "that's what Moses gives my family monthly. He gives me a bit to go drinking and buy some other things... um I mean..."

"It's fine, Isabella. So he is paying you more than fair rate. That's good. How many hours do you work a day"

"My work is on and off. I normally wake a 6:00 in the morning, and I am done by 9:00 in the evening. But most afternoons I am off between lunch and dinner."

"How many days a week do you work?"

"Usally 4 or 5, I don't work Sundays and most Saint's days."

"So Don Casteli respects Christian holidays?"

"Absolutely, Miss Maria."

As she was writing something in a small codex, the young Giustiziere looked up and responded, "my family name is Xuan, Maria is my given name."

"Sorry, I dont get to have too many conversationswith Orientals. So, Maria, what brings you to Radila?"

Maria's expression softened, "I was born here, my parents were silk merchants. You see..." she sighed, "I like girls. There's no future for me marrying back in Tianlong. I also don't want to be a nun. When my father learned that girls could study to become Giustiziere... it seemed like the ideal option for me. Since we deal mostly with women and children, they train women to carry out most of the gruntwork. The pay isn't great, and it's a stressful job. You often see people at their lowest... but it does give you a sense of purpose... and it makes you much more empathetic..."

She lowered her head, I staired at her for several moments, before she raised her head up and met my eyes.

I smiled back at her, "I'm making some stew for lunch... and I made plenty. Would you like some?"

"We're not allowed to... ah fuck it. Thank you, stew sounds wonderful now."

I smiled and welcomed her in.



Nothing really changes.
 
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Radilo

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Santa Maria Xavier Cemetery, Badua, Radilo
11:00 AM

Paula started bawling into her mother as the casket was lowered into the ground. Her mother was letting out a steady stream of tears, but seemed otherwise steady. Everyone who knew him knew who he was. They knew what he did, or at least could reasonably infer it. Still his death, even if not a surprise, felt weird. A heart attack? It was, in a perverse way, just too clean.

Lula, Chici, Aria, Lila, and Emma, and Tabitha all huddled around their little friend, offering her a coalition of support that, ideally, symbolized the republican resolve of their country. In a dark way, this sentiment was visible in the clearly awkward members of the Secret Service, who tried to discreetly attend the mafia Don's funeral.

As she stood distraught, alongside her father-in-law who looked as old as one could at the death of his son, M approached her. He tried to hand her an envelope.

"What are you doing here?" She hissed.


"It's a widow's pension, for your husband's service to his country."

"We don't want your blood money, not after what they did to him."

"With all do respect, ma'am, your husband had a history of high cholesterol and high blood pressure--our autopsy turned up no foul play. He died of a natural heart attack."

"You don't believe that at all, do you, M?"

M sighed, "take the damn envelope at least, it's not just monetary benefits that you and Paula will receive."

She nodded, "After this all, leave us alone, M, we want nothing more to do with any of you."
 
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Radilo

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Steamship bound for Nouvo Porto
Anno domini ~1939

Michael wasn't from the HRE, despite what his fake passport said. He was from the Frankish-speaking region of, ironically, Bourdignie. (That whole area has had a pretty rough time throughout history.)

Radilan foreign resistance fighters (who were in nooo waaay totally funded and equipped by the officially neutral Radilan Secret Service) had been helping smuggle kids and wounded resistance fighters to safety in, again officially totally neutral, Radilo.

When they found Michael he was pretty pathetic, wearing only rags trying to sleep behind some garbage cans.

"What sounds like a good imperial name?" Said the resistance fighter, lighting a cigarette.

"I dunno Vic--hey kid what sounds 'imperial' to you?" Said the other fighter, fidgeting with his SA32.

The young boy, still shivering even wrapped in the wool blanket the soldiers gave him, spit out the only name he could remember: "the imperial economic minister's name is DeVain." He did not know why he remembered that, he just did.

"Michael DeVain it is." The soldier said as he said finishing up the fake passport.


The boy came back to himself as the ship's horn blew.


Perast, Cattaro
Anno domini 1983


Isabella wasn't getting a lot of sleep recently. Baby number 4 might have been a bit too much. But then she thought about little Sophia's bubbly giggle and she felt better about it... a little bit better. She came back to herself, staring at the poor woman In front of her. She was working the night shift as a magistrate, so she could look after their kids during the day as her husband worked as an engineer.

This poor woman barely spoke either Radilan or Zaran and was terrified. Having been brought to the young Magistrata because of some discrepancy.

As slowly and as crisply as she could she spoke, "normally there is a small fine with this, but I am waving that. We have cleared the issue. You may go. You are not in trouble. These officers will take you home now," she said doing an exaggerated smile and thumbs up gesture.

The woman started crying and thanked her profusely.

As the officers from La Civica helped guide the woman away, Isabella sighed.

This does breed empathy, she thought. She did envy her husband's schedule, but she her internship had more flexible hours. So this was the best arrangement they could manage.

"Magistrata Lacé..." a man said, approaching her.

"Do you need assistance, sir?" She asked dawning her best customer service smile.

"No ma'am, I'm from the Statistical Policy Bureau. You have been randomly selected for a survey."

"Okay. I am more than happy to participate."

"Excellent, as part of this program, you will recipe an unconditional 300 livra a month."

"Um... that sounds wonderful... but if this survey is looking at some newly proposed welfare program... I'm a law intern, my husband is an engineer--we aren't rich, but we don't need money. We are comfortable and we're soon to be quite well off."

"Ma'am, the idea behind these random surveys is to see how they work at all socioeconomic levels."

"Okay... I guess I can't argue with free money..."
 
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Radilo

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Catholic Refugee offices, Nouvo Porto
Anno domini ~1939

His fresh cloths, given to him by the resistance, made him look the part of a young, working class subject of the Frankish Emperor. He was sitting along a long bench filled mostly with kids.

The girl sitting next to him was his age. She was similarly dressed in suspiciously new cloths. She suddenly turned to Michael, who was lost in his thoughts.

"You're very cute. Do you think I'm very cute?"

Michael was startled, but quickly regained his composure. He gave the girl a looking over, unsure exactly what the criteria of "cute" was, exactly.

"By the arbitrary definition of 'do I think you look nice,' I would deem you sufficiently cute to be classified as 'very.'"

"My name's Lulu. It's short for Lucienne. I'm pretending to be from the Holy Frankish Empire, but I'm from Pannonia."

"Hi Lulu, I'm Michael, I'm from Alssance in Bourdignie. I am also pretending to be from the HFE. Were you helped by the Italian soldiers too?"

"I was. They said it was revenge for their enemies... I liked that."

Michael smiled, "I like that too."

"Do you want to request being kept together as friends?"

"What does that mean?"

"I'll show you when I'm called up."

After a little while Lulu was called up to the counter. "I'm friends with Michael sitting next to me. Can we be placed in the same orphanage?"

The young nun manning the counter smiled. "Of course, Michael can you come up here?" He approached the counter, "so you and Lulu want to be placed together? You were friends before?"

"Yes," he said, "she is very cute."

She blushed, and smiled mischievously.


Perast, Cattaro
Anno domini 1983

A year of extra income was a boon for the Lacé household. 300 lira might not seem like much to a middle income household but they were able to use it to pay for more childcare. (Their mothers, though willing, were stuck on their farms watching out for their own younger children and local grandchildren.)

"You'll pass your basic competencies about six months early," the Senior Magistrato said.

"Really?... I'm doing that much better?"

"It's noticeable you're getting more sleep... aren't you?"

"I guess I am... I hope whatever program they're assessing, they keep."
 
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Radilo

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Nuovo Porto, 8th Quartiere Café Franc
Anno Domini 1995, about 10:00 AM

"I'm suprised you're as unbothered as you are," Senator Isabella Lacé said sipping on her espresso. She was the freshly minted Blue representative from her home island of Cattaro.

"People are not exactly banging down the door to get advice from a man thrown out of his own party," former Prime Minister Michael DeVain said, chuckling.


"You'll be appreciated. I appreciate you."

"Really?"

"That universal income helped me get through my time as a Magistrata."

"I'm still opposed to the income caps." He said, smiling.

"Maybe I'll get rid of them."

"You do seem to mimic me. For all your warmth in person, you cut the image of a stone cold technocrat... you even have an adorable husband you've been with since childhood."

She snorted, "we were the two 'smart kids' in our little village. The two adorkable bookworms, bound for university. It was inevitable, really, that we would get togeather. The sex was also very good."

"Ha! Lulu was--is the sweetest woman on earth. In the orphanage, her bed was next to mine. Even when we were nine, she'd sneak into my bed at night and we'd cuddle. Oh don't give me that look--it was innocent. We didn't fuck until we were well into our teen years. And even then, it was mostly oral--couldn't risk a pregnancy." Isabella actually laughed for a few moments, a rarity, "we went to class togeather, we even worked together. At the orphanage you could help take care of the place and they'd give you some spending money, but you made more working. We washed dishes at some café. Bruna was the woman's name... she gave us a lot of food. Eneough even to take back and share. The economic boom after the war was a magical time. I'm glad we didn't squander it... as so many of my former fellow partisans wanted to."

"I remember my childhood. It was charmed, even working in the fields was... oddly comforting... is that exploitative?"

"Probably," he said, necking his Fernet Branca.
 
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Radilo

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Badua, la Serenissima Repubblica di Radila
9:00 AM on a Tuesday

In Radilo, as a reminder--the wealthiest country in Europe as measured by GDP per capita, refrigerators are a sign of middle-class status. Needless to say, air-conditioning is a goddam luxury. The Doge's Palace has to use window units because of structural issues.

As a record-breaking heatwave lingered over Gallio-Germania, Radilans took the most logical course of action--and declared a national holiday. This was actually standard policy: if it got hotter than 35° (95° in freedom units) all business and government agencies shut down, with the exception of medical services, petrol stations, and any entity that provided "cooling services," such as Gelato shops and water parks.

In most of the Serene Republic, people flocked to the beach, but in land-locked Badua gangsters drank beer and played cards in meat lockers. Father Rocco pounded white wine in the Church's cellar. University students taking summer courses made bubble baths out of fountains and had squirt-gun battles on campus greens.

Aria was waiting impatiently by Juliet balcony for her sister to finish putting sunscreen on. The heat was already insufferable. Just out of curiosity she looked up air conditioners on her phone.

"800 lira?" she thought to herself, "this one is only 9... oh, no 9 Ducato... dammit."

Aria and Emilia grew up with air conditioning. Window units, sure, but they had it. "Growing up comfortable in a poorer country had some benefits over being poorer in a rich country... no fuck that... I like this place more... air conditioning in a war zone is the least the universe can do..."

"Ready to go?" Emilia asked as she put her sandals on.

Aria rolled her eyes and nodded.

"You're not going to wear shoes?" Emilia asked, noticing Aria's bare feet.

Aria wiggled her toes, "Tabitha said it is better to toughen up your soles in the summer. Besides we're going to be swimming in the canal, what does it matter?"

"Right now, when the stones on the road haven't been pounded by the sun, sure, but when they are baking hot... not so much," Emilia responded, her head cocked.

"Fine," Aria said, again rolling her eyes and grabbing her sandals.

Emilia couldn't help but chuckle as they made their way out of their apartment and down the stairs.

The Canale Baccigalone was actually a branch of the Badua River, but, as it went straight through town, its banks were manmade and it's flow controlled. Because of environmental regulations implemented in the 80s, it was clean enough to serve as the landlocked city's "beach."

Once they arrived, Aria ran off to join her friends, who were already splashing around in the canal. Emilia dipped here feet into the cool water and took in the scenery. For as rough as much of the working class neighborhood she lived and worked in could be... Badua was still deeply charming. Even their own proud, but poor neighborhood. Even rich kids from elsewhere noticed. Heck, sincere and earnest university students were now in competition with local gangsters for who were better tippers.

Even without air conditioning, this was hard to beat. A girl about her age walked by hawking chilled mini bottles of prosecco.

"I'll take 2," Emilia said.

"Four lira."

A bit of money changed hands and Emilia resumed watching her sister play with her friends. She unscrewed one of the little 200 ml bottles and enjoyed drinking the crisp, sweet, bubbly liquid therein. She finished it faster than she meant to... so she opened the other one.

"She'll be back around," she thought as she sipped.
 
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Radilo

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Badua, Radila
Aug 12-15

For four days the citizens of the Most Serene Republic enjoyed a late summer sloppy drunk to cap off the vacation season. True, it was nothing like Carnevale or even the Christmastide feasts, but the Feast of the Assumption was still a big holiday.

Aria had volunteered to be a part of the procession, walking barefoot alongside her friends, all of them, especially silly Tabitha (who had suggested this whole mess to the rest of them), next to the Virgin float. Aria wore a wreath of white flowers in her hair and even donned the traditional red, white, and green tunic. It was a silly display, but one that was deeply felt. Aria was even moved by the brass band's trumpeting behind them. She felt liked she belonged to something... she was home... she was a member of a community... she was amongst friends. As each bit of gravel bit into her young soles, she accepted each little spark of pain as a reminder of her new commitments. It was an overly political thought, but Aria's joy and misery had always been determined by politics. Why should these moments of joy be any different?

Her sister, normally trying to be sheltering had given up and spent the whole feast drunk alongside her friend Zita. Ms. Kipa's restaurant was only open for a few hours in the morning during the feast, the same as the market. And given how drunk Ms. Kipa got... no one was sure what the clientele was actually given... or even asked for. Needless to say, Emilia was proud of her sister.

It was the kind of festival that Radilans would never forget forgetting to remember.
 
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Radilo

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

The sun was just starting to peek through my window. Maria was still sleeping, so I quietly dressed and brushed my hair, and quickly left my garret. It was a small but cozy room that actually afforded me more personal space than I was use to, having grown up sharing a one room cottage with my parents and siblings (and whatever animals needed to stay warm).

I made my way to the kitchen, to my surprise Moses was already awake. He was sitting at the small table by the stove intently reading a letter. Upon making eye contact with him I realized that it wasn't the case that he'd awoken early, rather that he hadn't yet gone to bed.

"Moses," I said, curtsying, "would you like me to make you a pot of mokka*?"

"Please," he responded somewhat curtly.

I took out a small cast iron pan and began to re-roast the beans on the wood stove. My father never bothered to re-roast beans, but Moses preferred it like that. I honestly struggle to taste the difference. Maybe they are a bit richer tasting... I'm not a connoisseur... and God knows my late father wasn't.

After about three minutes I put the beans in the grinder. I have to be careful because they're still hot for about a minute. After about three minutes of grinding the powder is fine enough to put into the press. My father was content on using a small copper briki, like the Pelasgians do, but Don Casteli purchased this obscenely ornate silver press from the Mohammadites**. It does make smooth tasting mokka, though.

The decanter was full after a press, so I filled up a small blown glass demitasse for Moses.

"Isabella, you don't need my permission to partake, pour yourself a glass and join me."

I smiled, but I would never dare use one of Moses's Murano glasses. Even if he wouldn't mind me breaking one, my unsteady hands would mean that hours of fine painstaking work would shatter. Besides I actually prefer the texture of ceramic demitasses anyway.

I sat beside him at the small table. We sat for a while, he squeezed a lemon in his mokka, and I stirred a bit of honey into mine. After some time he finally spoke.

"Isabella, I am happy you found a girlfriend. But if she wishes to visit the Ghèto regularly, she cannot wear her uniform."

I was a bit taken aback, "why?"

"The Jews who live here live in fear. Our status is always insecure."

"How? ...every Jew I know is secure in a valuable profession."

"They have to be or they could not survive. But the goings on here can be exploited by cruel bureaucrats. So people are weary. A Giustiziera, like Xuan Maria, is seen by many as a threat, even if she doesn't mean it. I know she is a sweet and well meaning girl, but when my coreligionists see her, they coil in fear."

Maria quietly had entered the kitchen by then, having heard what Moses said.

"I'm sorry, Don Casteli, I did not mean to cause anxiety among the Hebrews in Radila."


"No need to apologize Xuan Maria, just know that when you wish to visit your peasant girlfriend--it would be advised that you too dress as a peasant. No one finds peasant girls threatening. In fact," he said tossing me some coins, "go buy our Tianese friend a nice traditional peasant outfit. And get yourself something too."

He smiled at us, "go, I have more reading to worry about."

We smiled back, and quickly made our way to the cloth market.


*very old term for coffee
**old term for people from Harj
@Pelasgia @Tianlong
 
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Radilo

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Badua, la Serenissima Repubblica di Radila
3:00 pm

Two men were sitting in Ms. Kipa's café, switching between sipping espresso and ouzo. One was from Nouvo Porto and the other was from @Pelasgia , though each had spent the better part of three decades teaching and conducting research in Badua. They were on one side of the gowns vs. towns devide. Of course, even the most steadfast partisans would admit that the differences were fraying, especially given the large refugee community that, while boosting the towns' ranks, did even further weaken any nativism.

"I think the fever broke," said Prof. Kalogeropoulos, a sociologist.

"Do you think a treaty could do it?" asked Prof. Adalberti, a statistician.

"That might be a point of fluctuation, but I think now liberal Pelasgians have a clear stake in domestic political fights. People can express their anxieties in a concrete, practical way. Emigration was a way to express that, now there is an easier, less disruptive alternative. But we will have to see."

"Well that bodes well for the exchange. That and the general cooling down. Seems people were able to diffuse tensions..."

"Can I get you gentlemen anything else? Another shot of Ouzo maybe?" the waitress asked.

"No, just the check, Emilia. Grassi."

"Right away professor," she said taking some of their dishes away. After she deposited them by the washbin for Aria and Tabitha, she fetched the gentlemen their check.

"I'm sure the towns will be thrilled with an influx of prep school kids," Prof. Adalberti joked.

"Ha--they're not all prep school kids. Just the vast majority of them," Prof. Kalogeropoulos retorted.

After Emilia left the check, the men tipped well and left.
 
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Radilo

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Repùblega Radèla, Sestiere Cannaregio, Forno Cloth Market
Anno domini 1466

It felt odd walking out of the Ghèto with Maria. The large man normally guarding the bridge normally just remain seated and waved, but he stood up at attention when she walked by.

"I feel a bit self-conscious now," she said as a woman walking with two children averted their eyes as they made their way back towards the the Ghèto. "You think that things are proper and formal when they need to be and lax when they need to be..."

"People have different ideas of what that means," I said holding onto her arm. She had left her touque and gold cord back at the Moses's palace, but her profession was still obvious by the remainder of her dress.

I still think it a bit odd what Radilans in la Città call palaces... espically Jews. The Ghèto is so tiny for so many people. The buildings are among the tallest residences in the city. The apartment of the average Jew was so small... but they were all well appointed. The insides were luxurious... if cramped. Back on Cattaro, I knew well-to-do peasants whose multi-chamber hovels with thatched rooves probably had as much floor space as the narrow six story marble pałaso that Moses resided in. Of course Moses had silk sheets, drank century old wine, ate suckling veal mountain steak every other day, and had coats made of ermine and Lion hide... and his commode was made of imported red hardstone. Which was actually unpleasant... as it was always cold. An impulse buy, he said. It looked really impressive, at least.

It was eye-opening what Moses had said earlier. Jews enjoyed, it seemed, such material comfort... but they always felt unease... precarious. It was a cruel joke that Christians played, and still play, on them--material success without safety. They exchange their hard labour and skills for the temporary diffusion of violence. I realized this and felt uncomfortable about it. I could stroll freely in and out of the Ghèto... and it seemed that Moses could as well... as could anyone. But the friendly large man who guarded it could be replaced by some thug at any time... so it was wise that we were getting Maria a nice peasant dress that day.

The small cloth market we stopped at, one of many throughout the city, sold a variaty of niche products from around the world--with the exception of silk--that could only be sold in the Realto Market, under strict regulations. Wholesalers from across Gallio-Germania would go there to put in their orders and compete with local artisans. The silk market more resembled a bank than a cloth merchant. When we went to pick up Moses's new bed sheets we had to make an appointment and had security escort us back.

This, more reasonable, market still boasted most other finery, along with the humble, yet colorful fabrics to make the attire I am accustom to. I find it odd how on the handful of times Moses entertained foreigners that they comment on how nice I'm dressed--sorry--how your maid is dressed. They don't normally talk to me. I don't think they mean to be rude, just not sure the normal etiquette.

Once inside we see a middle aged woman with dark hair and olive features. She cast a nervous glance towards Maria, who looked down in response.

"We're here so my friend can find an outfit that avoids intimidation!" I said, putting on the happiest face I could. The woman's expression softened and Maria looked up and smiled at me.

"What are you two looking for?" She asked, now smiling.

"Two dresses like the one I'm wearing from the islands--"

"--the Dalmatians?"

"Si--do you know where we could find sandles as well?"

"The shoemaker are two streets down. Come, let me get you measured and have you pick out the colors you want," she then paused, "I do have to clarify that while we carry traditional styles--it's a bit of an up market process here--"

"Don Casteli is paying for it."

"Very well then," she said, leading us to the back.
 
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Radilo

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Badua, la Serenissima Repubblica di Radila
3:30 pm

The one bar in the market with a large flat-screen was packed with people, customers and market workers alike, and it was dead silent. The score was 2 each as the clock approached the 85th minute. After several moments of jostling the between two players from Deportivo Cumana and AC Badua, the Radilan midfielder managed to get the ball out to the attacking centre forward who knocked it past the goalie. The bar erruped in applause. Aria and Emila, each wearing AC Badua's red and white checkered scarfs, hugged and screamed joyusly as the score ticked up 2-3. As the frustrating minutes of stoppage time ended with a whistle blow, another round of cheering broke out. Across the city you could hear people cheering, carhorns blowing, and then church bells started ringing.

With their second group stage win, AC Badua was guaranteed to go onto the next round.

Emilia and Aria were never too fond of football back in Pannonia, but now it was part of their identity. They were now proud citizens of Badua, and it was their hometown team who was putting on an ace performance over in Westernesse.

They kept their scarves on as they put their aprons back on and made their way back to work. Ms. Kippa had opened a bottle of Asti for them all to share to celebrate.

"I wonder how Viktoria's doing?" Aria thought to herself, "I wonder if she's getting swept up in this. I wonder how her little brother and grandpa are doing; I hope he got that job. I should write her."


Nouvo Porto, 15th Quartiere, Piccola Nievlanda
8:00 PM


Little Nieveland was a small neighborhood of about 1300 souls. It was the home of Radilo's small Nievish community. It was a single street about one third of a kilometer long, with six story buildings lining most of its length. On the ground level there were businesses, with apartments on the rest of the floors. There were two churches on the street, one Catholic and one Protestant. There were also nine pubs, one Nievish grocery/import store, a bakery, a deli, a laundramat, and a handfull of other businesses.

Two blocks away in a discrete hotel sat Angus. That was going to be his new name, for at least a while. Having been thoroughly debriefed by the Secret Service, he was found not to be a threat, but merely a deserter. He was granted refugee status and would be allowed to apply for citizenship in 12 months.

The young agent guarding him had apologized frequently when he brought food to him. Angus was uncomfortable with this, initially, and unsure of what to make of it. He eventually realized that the young lad was trying to make a good impression of his country to him. Angus had tried to communicate that there was no need, he was already impressed eneough to defect. The young agent had no idea. Lukewarm spaghetti with redsauce or soggy squid ink polenta might have offended the young Radilan, but they further confirmed further why he bailed.

There was a knock on the door, the young agent popped his head in. "The-a social worker's-a ere'te see ya," he mumbled in a thick accent.

The door opened and a middle aged man with a graying brown beard and long curly hair visible under his grey driver's cap.

"Angus?"

"Aye."

"Giano McCullough, I'm the head-o-the Gaelic Brotherhood-o-Nouvo Porto. An'ye social worker fo'the time bein'. Com'on, let's get ye a pint and figure out what else ye need."

Angus followed him out onto the street, more confident l, but still nervous.



@Pelasgia
@Nieveland
@Corrientes
 
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Radilo

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Ms. Kipa's Cafe, Badua
After the lunch rush

It was a crisp, sunny winter afternoon in Badua, warm eneough to have outdoor seating, but cold eneough to require heat lamps.

In the back, Emilia and Zita passed a cigarette back and forth. Neither smoked much, but a few hits between busy times helped keep them going.

"So what is this program exactly?" Zita asked

"They're going to have us play resistance fighter for six weeks," Emilia responded, taking a drag.

"It's going to be in the spring so the weather is going to be nice, at least. Do you think they'll pay us?"

"I hope so. Mis Kipa's going to be pissed."

"Maybe your sister and Tabitha can take on the extra work. I bet they wouldn't mind skipping school," Zita said smirking.

"Oh, I'm sure Mr. Alto would be blowing up my phone," Emilia said passing the cigarette back to Zita.

"So? It's not like he'll be able to actually reach you," she said putting the cigarette in her mouth.

The two girls shared a laugh. Zita took a final drag, extinguished the cigarette in an ashtray, and the two girls walked back inside.


Nouvo Porto, 15th Quartiere, Piccola Nievlanda, Bar Flannery
8:30 PM

The bartender popped two beers open, and set them down at the bar.

"Grassi," Giano said nonchalantly.

The bar was very much on theme for the neighborhood. Done up like a Nievish pub, albeit a much fancier one than you'd see in most of Nieveland. A curved dark wood bar with stools lots of Gaelic, or at least faux Gaelic, motifs and knickknacks. It was kitschy and aimed more towards visitors from other neighborhoods (a trip around Nouvo Porto's ethnic enclaves is a popular local tradition), but it was still a regular hang out for neighborhood people.

"Ale'ere's usually served in bottles. They do pours fer'som, but not much. Ale fer'mos is a new beverage. Wine's been the tipple'ere."

Angus looked anxiously the bottle of amber colored beer in front of him.

"I don't drink the stuff from the homeland, for political reasons," Giano said, Angus met his eyes.

"Why'd ye com'ere?" Angus asked.

"Me ma made th'decision, she had me in'er arms when she arrived. She was Protestant, usual stuff," Giano responded.

"What about you?" Angus asked nervously.

"I go to church with me ma, but I'm not much fer'it. I just don't care for the repression."

"It wore on me too," Angus responded., "that's why I defected. That'n the luxury. I'm sorry t'admit'it, but what ye'ave'ere..."

"Ye don't'ave te justify it," Giano said, empathetically.

Now without the native language.

"It sucks, it all sucks," said Angus desperately. "I abandoned my friends, my comerades--I'm a fucking coward. I left my family--the hell did I do...?"

"You defected... it has consequences. Once you're a citizen, you can bring over as many of your kin as you can tolerate. It's a wonder this Republic."

"Are the Nievish well treated here, Catholic and Protestant?"

"Aye. You're in for a world of comfort--those silly politics back home, we've put aside. Every little cell has a place. Or it'll would, except here, the Anarchists are pussy cats."


@Nieveland
 
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Radilo

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Bar Corndita, Città Vecchia, San Polo, Valletta
7:30 AM, mid April

It was a pleasant, sunny morning in the Meridian, a long way from the madness. As the early bustle of a tourist town was starting, her workers and early rising guests satiated their need for caffeine and hunger with stereotypical, yet well loved, cafes like this one. Valletta was an odd mix of cultures and people, and this sort of cafe was a place where all those communities came togeather. It was, at the same time, a place where one of the great divides amongst the island's communities was most obvious: how one went about with breakfast. Radilans and other Meridian people's morning meal typically consisted of coffee and a pastry or a slice of bread with butter, jam, or hummus. The Engellex working class, however, required something more... robust.

Lilibet and Emily were munching away at their considerable brekfast plates: toast, bacon, tomatoes, fried eggs, fried blood pudding, sausage, and stewed chickpeas (they were still in the Meridian), all washed down with cup of strong builder's tea. Mr. Dandilo, having ran into them eating breakfast, remarked how it seemed infathomable that two girls who, combined, barely weighed 90 kilograms could eat so much. They were deeply amused by the response. "We have to work for a living, we need the calories," Lilibet joked.

A table away, Aria and Tabitha sat. They also had to work that day, but they were not about to eat three preparations of pig parts on top of an already substantial meal. No, this meal was an exercise in some role playing. In Valletta, Radilans of all stripes were seen as being better off. And though neither one of them were actually Radilan, they played the part. They even ordered their meals in Radilan as opposed to Zaran (or Radin* in Tabitha's case). They also dressed the part, wearing big sunglasses and knock-off designer headscarves.

It was a fun fantasy anyway, before a 12 hour shift washing dishes and bussing tables. But they relished it. Tabitha had spent her earliest years in a mountain village in the Dolomites, her family were so poor they didn't have running water in their hovel. (Again, Radila has highest gdp per capita in Europe, but it has terrible infrastructure and obscene inequality.) Aria had spent more than a year shivering in makeshift tents, nearly starving, and fleeing for her life. So they were more than happy to sip cappuccinos and nibble on fancy, buttery pastries, pretending to be spoiled rich girls from La Città. Everyone who knew them knew it was a charade, but it was all in fun... however, the tourists didn't know, which only made it funnier.

Gossiping about Maseratis and Prondi bags they couldn't afford--and made up boys with aristocratic Frankish names--it was a fun way to pass a quick sunny morning hour before transforming, like Cinderella, back to working class girls again.



*Radin or Mountain Radilan is a dialect spoken in the Dolimite Mountains of interior Radila. It's real world equivalent is Ladin, a language spoken in the mountain regions of Veneto.
 
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Our Lady of the Rocks Parish School, Village of Rhizon (8 kilometers outside Perast), Cattaro Island, Dalmatia
Anno domini 1972

Izzy sat quietly in the hallway out front of her teacher's office. She was reading a book about medieval history, so she was happy. She was small of stature, so much so that, when sitting in a small plastic chair, she was still able swing her legs back and forth, unimpeded. Occasionally she would slap her bare feet on the cool stone of the parish school. Inside of the office were her two parents, talking with Sister Anna, her teacher. Her parents were farm workers, and looked the part. Her mother wore a traditional white frock and colorful apron and headscarf. And her father, with his big nose common to peasants and accompanying big mustache, dressed in a well worn coat and traditional coppola.

"Mr. and Mrs. Valderi, Izzy is a stand out student," Sister Anna said, smiling, as her parents beamed, "she and her friend Giorgio are easily the top students in class."

"That is wonderfull, Sister Anna," her mother said, "but we are a bit confused..." she turned to her husband.

"Yes, we were wondering why you called us in...is something wrong?" he said.

"No, of course not. Like I said your daughter is excelling, and that is what I wanted to talk to you about."

The two parents looked at eachother, then back to Sister Anna.

"I know that four of your children already dropped out of school before they entered upper seconday, and I am aware that neither if you had any formal schooling. I don't want to imply that you are unskilled or unintelligent..."

"No, it's fine Sister," her mother interjected, "we know our history, and laborers learn best on the farm."

"That is kind of what I am getting at..." Sister Anna paused and sighed. "I know that Izzy works at the farm you and your other children work at before and after her classes, and I know money is tight..."

Sensing what Sister Anna was about to ask, her mother interjected somewhat worried, "we would never pressure Izzy to quit school..."

"That is good, I wanted to let you know that there is a new program to keep kids like Izzy from poorer families in school."

"Really?" her father asked.

"Yes, as long as she is enrolled in school she will receive a stipend, it's about what she would make if she worked during school hours."

"That's a wonderful program," her mother said, smiling.

"Yes, I guess there was an experement with it, and they thought it was effective. The Senate passed it a month or so ago. I will fill out the forms for you, since the village social worker is on maternity leave."

"Miss Luzzatto is pregnant?" Izzy's mother said suprised and slightly scandalized.

"Yes, she's back in Nuovo Porto with her family for a while..."

"Who is the father?" Izzy's father asked.

"Like her, he's a nice young Jewish man, I think he works at the stock market. He'll be moving back with her when her leave ends." She noticed that the pair of farm workers were still staring at her. "She didn't change her name, and prefers to be adressed Ms."

"Oh," they both said.

"Have you given any thought to or spoken with Izzy abut what she wants to do when she finishes school?"

Her mother, a little embarrassed, shook her head. "We really haven't thought about it. It's not something that's occurred to us... we kinda just assumed that... well, all of our other children work on the farm... like we did, our parents did..."

"You don't have to feel bad about it, Mrs. Valderi, I am not judging you, like you said, you are peasants--and that is something to be proud of, but things are changing now. The reason this new program exists is that we need more educated professionals... espically in places like our village. Our doctor, our social worker, even the one lawyer who lives here all came from elsewhere. I'm the only native from our village who has a degree. We need people like your daughter to do these necessary jobs. We will always need farm workers, but, as society modernizes, we will need more educated people."

"You think Izzy could be a doctor or a lawyer?" her father asked.

"I do. And I will start your daughter with some counseling, so she can start thinking about these things"

Izzy's parents looked at each other and smiled.

"Thank you Sister Anna," her mother said as they stood up to leave.

As they walked out they saw their daughter cuddled up next to her friend Giorgio as the two were excitedly talking about the Great Himyari Crusade. His parents sitting next to them smiling at the adorableness of the moment.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lacé," Sister Anna said turning to them, "you can come in now."

They followed her into her office. As the door was closing, Sister Anna continued, "your son Giorgio is a stand out student, like his friend Izzy--" The door shut quietly.

"Com'on Izzy," her mother said, "we have to get back home for supper"

Izzy and Giorgio gave eachother one more hug and and she stood up and followed her parents out of the door.

"What did Sister Anna want to talk about?" Izzy asked as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

"There is a special program for very smart kids where they will give you some money for going to school." Her mother said excitedly.

"Yes, and you qualify for it," her father said proudly.

"Oh," Izzy remarked, "I read about that in the newspaper, I thought that was only for poor kids."

Her parents paused for a moment and looked at eachother, each thinking the same thing... they lived in a hovel without running water or electricity, Izzy had never owned a pair of shoes, and all of her cloths were worn out hand-me-downs from her sisters... it was both adorable and another sign that their daughter, while very book smart, was rather oblivious. Which only made it more adorable.

"Honey," her father said, "we qualify as poor."

"Oh... okay," Izzy said as they resumed walking home.
 

Radilo

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Village of Rhizon , Cattaro Island, Dalmatia
Anno domini 1973

Izzy was giddily helping her two older sisters lay out the grapes to dry in the sun. They had laid out an old blanket they had reserved for such purposes, and were leveling out the grapes to make sure that each had eneough exposure to properly start to turn into raisins. Just a bit though: making good sun wine is a delicate balance, you need to let the grapes sweeten up on the sun, but not so much that there isn't eneough juice left in them to easily press out. This process was labor intensive, but for the three young women it was actually quite cost saving. Buying a six pack of bottled sun wine would cost a day's wages, but this way they would have as much as they could drink for a whole season with only a few days work. And, besides, the homemade stuff tasted way better.

Even better, this year the grapes were free... or at least didn't cost any money. Their master... employer is what Sister Anna wanted them to call him... had asked them to prune the vines of missformed grapes (the best kind for sun wine) and they could keep them if they wanted to forgo cash pay. The bushels of sun wine quality grapes they got were worth much more than the few denier they would have gotten paid. Normally, it was against the rules for a farmer to pay his workers in anything but cash; the Bank of the City (Radilo's central bank) had made that a rule fifty years prior to keep up liquidity. But for something as sweet as sun wine, such a rule was happily overlooked.

Izzy was the youngest of her sisters, at 12, her oldest sister Margarita (yes like the pizza and the coctail--but that was also their grandmother's name) was 16 and betrothed to Luigi (the video game hadn't come out yet), her sweetheart. They would be getting married soon. Her other sister, Helena was 14 and both older sisters found little Izzy adorable and kinda weird. She would often space out a bit or awkwardly forget what she was doing--but not with sun wine. Izzy took sun wine as seriously and joyfully as she did studying.

As the sisters stood back admiring their handiwork, they couldn't help but be a bit giddy--giddier.

"We'll have more than eneough this year," Helena boldly proclaimed,

"We'll have to make sure we impress all of your fellow kids at the wedding," Margarita said smirking.

"Your fellow kids?" Izzy said, feigning indignation.

"I get to drink papa's real wine now," the oldest sister retorted, still smirking.

"I get a glass or two on weekends," Helena protested.

As the sisters waited for their sister to retort or make a joke, but after a few moments they turned to her and found her stairing intently at the grapes thry had laid out.

"Izzy?" Helena asked her sister.

"Oh," Izzy said shaking her head, "I was thinking about how the skin of grapes isn't truely water tight, it's just waterphobic, the natural wax on the outside keeps the water in, that's why it takes time for the sun to do its work..." she trailed off. She shook her head again and looked at both of her sisters, who smiled knowingly at her.

"You're an odd duck, Izzy" Margarita said laughing a bit.

"It's why she and Giorgio get along so well," Helena teased, "odd ducks flock togeather."

Izzy blushed and tried to think of a witty comeback, but before she could their mother called out for her.

"Izzy can we--oh I see you girls took in quite the haul this year," their mother said approaching them.

"Master--I mean Mister Varga had us prune the sun grapes, so we got to keep them." Margarita said.

"Well we'll have more than eneough for the wedding." Their mother said as Margarita blushed slightly. "Izzy, can I talk to you in private?"

"Is something wrong?" she asked?

"No, of course not honey. It just needs to be a talk between us."

"Okay," Izzy said walking away with her mother.

Margarita and Helena shared a knowing look with each other and suppressed their urge to giggle... at least until Izzy and their mother were out of earshot.

Izzy's mom guided her daughter over to an old olive tree the family often picnicked under. The two of them sat down on the soft turf. Her mother brushed some of Izzy's long, dark brown hair away from her face and smiled at her. Izzy smiled back, though she was still a bit confused.

Her mother sighed a little, "You've grown up a lot--the three of you. You espically, Izzy, you're the smartest girl in town and soon eneough you'll be one of the prettiest." Izzy blushed. "As you get older things change."

"Yea, we talked about it, then they told us about it at school."

"That was part of it..." her mother sighed a little, "the part the school won't tell you about is important. I know how close you and Giorgio are getting and..."

Her daughter, somewhat horrified, interrupted her, "Giorgio and I are not having sex, and we're not going to anytime soon... I'm going to be a good girl and save myself when we get married..."

Her mother smiled at her. "I know that you are not now... but I was also a teen once, as were your sisters. That whole trope about waiting is never true. I'm not dumb, and I know you are not. You can be a bit oblivious, but... what I wanted to talk to you about is birth control."

"What's that?"

"It's the part that Catholic schools don't teach about, but you need to know about. Izzy, I wanted a big family, but I didn't want to have too many kids, which a lot of familes here do... and to be honest, I think grandma had too many, not that I don't love all of my brothers and sisters and am glad i have them... but eleven is too many. I had six. I'm sure a girl from Nouvo Porto would think that number to be crazy, but it's how many your father and I wanted. And then we stopped having kids. Once your baby brother was born, we decided to stop. But we haven't stopped having sex."

"Mom..." Izzy whined.

"Dont be silly, you're a big girl now. I've been on birth control for 10 years now. And both of your sisters are on it."

"I don't even want to have sex... I feel too young."

"That's probably a good thing, but it's not how you'll feel forever. And the pill also makes your periods lighter and more regular, so there are practical reasons beyond avoiding pregnancy. And... not to demean Mar, Hely, and I, you getting pregnant is a lot riskier. If one of your sisters got pregnant, we'd just have to move up their wedding... but with you... you have a future that isn't on Master Varga's farm. You're going to go to university, go get a big job. Maybe you'll earn eneough money to buy a little land or something." She smirked a bit towards the end.

Izzy giggled a bit. "I take it I'm not supposed to tell Sister Anna or Father Ernesto."

"Yes, do not tell them. They don't need to know."

The two of then hugged for a good few moments.

"I love you, mamma."

"I love you too, Izzy. You can get back to your raisins now."

Izzy giggled and scampered to rejoin her sisters.


Prime Minister's Residence, Sestiere San Marco, Città di Radila
1:04 PM

The Prime Minister was enjoying a rare day off. No obligations, she was simply lounging on her couch, cuddling up with her beloved Giorgio. Her youngest daughter had called and they'd talked briefly about the ackward conversation her daughter and and grand daughter just had about the pill. It's what had inspired the Prime Minister's own fond memory of her mother telling her. She was thinking about that as she rested her head on her husband's shoulder, as he had just nodded off. As you get older reminiscing becomes an increasingly important activity... just then her phone rang.

That it went through means it was an emergency she answered it.

"Prime Minister speaking. What? He's doing what? FUCK!" She said loud eneough to wake her husband. "I swear to God that man is an idiot. I'll be in the office in five."

"What is it Izzy?" Her husband asked drowsily.

"I just got a phone call from August,* Corrientes might be about to explode," she said as she hastily put her pantsuit on.

"That's not good. Should I cancel supper reservations?"

"Just reschedule for later, they'll hold a booth for us. Bye honey, love you."

"Love you too."

They pecked a kiss, and she headed out to the water taxi the Palace had sent her.

She quickly called her assistant. "I take it you've heared, have the ambassadors on the speaker call and alert the Superintendent General. Oh and call the Doge and make sure he keeps quiet... he WHAT? GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!" She shouted as she got into her awaiting water taxi.


*the Foreign Minister
 
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Pałaso Xara Hotel, San Polo, Valletta
1:12 PM

It had been an odd day for Aria, as her and Tabitha were walking to work they saw a man and a woman in black suits and sunglasses guarding the back entrance of the hotel. They identified themselves as palace guards--Yes like the ones who guard the Doge--we just were normal cloths when guarding other leaders. The woman guard patted down Aria and Tabitha, checking for weapons.

"Who is here?" Tabitha asked.

"Memebers of Cabinet," the male guard said.

The two girls, who of course had no weapons on them, were allowed in. They went in, put their aprons on, and went to the bussing station, releaving the breakfast crew.

The hotel they worked at could only be described as aristocratic. The tastes of the Radilan upperclass were fully in display. It had been a Palace once, turned, like so many in Nouvo Porto, into a 5 star luxury hotel. Aincent crusader architecture mixed with modern amenities, it was located in a city that rivaled Radila for its almost painful beauty. The hotel symbolized, in a way, not just Vallettan society but Radilan society. Staff outnumbered guests 3 to 1, and no expense was spared to ensure that every guest was pampered to their content. Every room had a it's own valet and maid. A maître d' led the front of the house with a battalion of finely dressed wait staff and bartenders; the kitchen employed an army of chefs, sous chefs, cooks, bussers, and dishwashers. In that army Aria and Tabitha were enlisted soilders, wholly committed to serving the whims and desires of an aristocratic bourgeoisie.

So it was apparently the perfect place for the Communist Party to hold its quarterly meeting.

It had been a morning spent collecting dirty plates, caviar spoons, demitasses and accompanying saucers, plus glasses that clearly once contained bloody marys and other morning coctails. It took a lot to wow Aria, she'd grown numb over the last couple of months to the ostentatious grandure of the place. But what did manage to suprise her were the decorating decisions of the event planners. Red banners and political posters were hung on the walls, a large red and gold star was prominently displayed above the speakers' dias, and portraits of revolutionary leaders from around the world were put up on the walls... included in this pantheon was, this being Radilo, a matching portrait of Jesus. It was as if you took the decorating scheme from that anarchist café near the university and adapted it for a 5 star hotel... which was pretty much what they did.

She'd seen a who's who of Communist leaders, some of which she recognized from the news. She did recognize the Foreign Minister, but she was actually kind of excited to see Mother Concetta, the leader of the Catholic Workers Movement, who, despite her age was, was popular among young people for her outspoken social justice campaigns and charming, if curmudgeonly, social media presence. There was also the Cardinal Archbishop of San Polo, which she found a bit odd, but Radilo is an odd country.

Aria scurried back to the bussing station with another tray of plates and glasses. As she was emptying them, a middle aged man in a designer suit rushed into the small nook.

"Because it's not my God damn job to babysit him, Izzy!" He shouted into his phone--Aria quickly realized it was the Foreign Minister. "Have the ambassadors on the call... because they're going to have to make a statement... yes we are stuck with this course of action, unless you have another idea." There was a longer pause, "listen, I'm friends with Comrade Constanza, so is Raul,* we can work something out with this. Okay, they're setting up a confrence room for me to join you all, I don't want to keep this going in a place with public access. Okay, bye." He hung up the phone and sighed.

After taking a moment to compose himself, he raised his head and caught Aria staring at him.

"Oh," he said reaching into his pocket, "there's one for you and here's one for the other girl working, make sure you give it to her."

He then gave Aria two Ducati notes (~200 euromarks).

"Thank you," Aria said softer than she normally would. "What's going on? Is everything alright?"

The Foreign Minister sighed, "I dunno yet. El Presidente is helping stage a counter coup in Corrientes."

Aria's expression dropped when she heared that. The Foreign Minister smirked, "you're Pannonian?"

"My accent gives me away."

"So did your facial expression right there."

"Is it going to be okay?"

"I hope so. I gotta go kid. Workers of the world unite... or something like that," he said as started to walk away, causing Aria to snort laugh. She went back to bussing dishes, but was sure to check her phone every now and then.


*the Doge's actual first name
@Corrientes
@San Jose
 
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Radilo

Establishing Nation
Joined
Jan 5, 2010
Messages
1,259
Location
Cleveland
Capital
Nuovo Porto
Nick
Nutty's better half
Bar Corndita, Città Vecchia, San Polo, Valletta
10:45 PM

Aria had left her shift early, everyone had left that fancy hotel early. The dining rooms and bar didn't have TVs, and a private room was no place to watch a high stakes football match. Bars were where Radilans drank communally, where they watched football, and where they reveled in constantly overpreforming expectations. The Lannisters had been the brunt of many jokes, since the GOT series finale was so poorly received... and they were kinda stuck with the nickname... and the reputation that they were representing a country whose Serie A purchased its talent elsewhere.

But they'd beaten Monterrey, and they were one sudden death goal away from beating Gran-Occidenta, a hungry up-and-comer and a global power house, respectively.

The Radilan striker, Luigi Rapone, tall and lanky as he was, started running like he was going to shoot towards the left, causing the Gran-Occidentia goalie to dive left, but at the end, with a quick bit of foot work, he kicked the ball to the right corner of the goal. It went in.

Everyone at Bar Corndita started screaming and cheering, as did everyone else on San Polo, in Valetta, in the Most Serene Republic. Church bells started ringing across the Republic. Horns blared. In Nouvo Porto and other cities people poured out onto the streets. Beer, wine, and liquor poured freely. The Monday after was declared a holiday, as the revelry would inevitably continue. Military drills among the resistance trained were even quietly canceled--though largely because of safety concerns. The military itslef was promised an extra 4 weeks off in the future if they would keep alert for the weekend. They agreed.

Aria and Tabitha hugged, and screamed as they felt the bliss of this victory. As the intense buzz started to die down, they got a quick bite at a Tianèla place not too far from their dorm. All of the staff were clearly tipsy on prosecco, but like proper service industry workers, they kept their cool. As Aria and Tabitha were slurping down spicy noodles and accidently complementary sun wine, Aria had a bit of a confession...

"Sorry I'm bailing on you for these two weeks to hang out with Viktoria... we..."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Aria," Tabitha said, slurping in some noodles, "you and her bonded. Even some of the other Pannonians in our friend group had come and had different experiences--your's were similar. So you bonded. Who cares that your lives are going to go in widly different directions. Go have fun before those Tarusan cunts cut off more resorts."

Aria smiled. This would be the first time she used her newish, slightly glum, passport.

Early that morning she borded the ferry to Propontis, texted Viktoria with excitement, and made her way to whatever incarnation of the Helenic state existed when she got there. Luckily the bar on the ferry had stocked plenty of sun wine.



@Corrientes
@Pelasgia
@Gran-Occidentia
 
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