Cordon Zone - Whiskey 1
Independent City of Sevinmek
Symposium for Independent Barazi
Independent City of Sevinmek
Symposium for Independent Barazi
Crumbs from a toasted sandwich sprinkled across his checkered gray cardigan like ashen snowflakes in nuclear winter. His obnoxious chewing, smack after munching smack, drowned his immediate surrounding from emitting any other auditory stimuli. Melted Divovian-Cheese extended from his dry cracked lips to the remainder of the warm morsel for a split second before being swiped away by a once pale but now sunburned hand.
"Did you need a few more minutes, sir?" Vezérőrnagy (O-7) Pawłowski asked with no discontent veiled from his tone. As Chief Administrator of Combined Centrjzieman Command, waiting had become a distant memory just like eating a square meal had since being appointed to this position.
Blankly, Henio Ujvári made an effort to acknowledge the Chief Administrator from behind his golden brown sandwich with a calm nod. He was so completely invested within the confines of it that the task at hand seemed boorish and secondary. But the delectable stack of bread and cheese and turkey and cheese and bread was growing cold, yet not quite the same degree of cold that that existed in Henio's frigid inner self.
He cast the thing aside like soiled trash, now as disinterested with it, or more so, then he was with Pawłowski's statement; consisting of clearly recycled rhetoric from the Maresal in Sjadnbrdo. With not even so much as a sigh, abruptly he rose to his feet after hearing his name and title, the sudden movement caused crumbs to cascade lazily every which way in his stead.
"Wiser men once gathered to define a country, at risk of certain death mind you, in canvas tents to conspire against the status quo." He began steadily, attempting to build a tempo in his speech pattern "In the distance they could hear the sick and injured crying out in agony, still then they carried out their task with courage and zeal!" Henio Ujvári proclaimed in between hoots of approval from Pawłowski. His approval was unwelcome, "Lock it up old man!" Henio grunted towards the Chief Administrator, loathing his uniformed counterpart for every thread. Pawłowski shot the speaker back a venomous glare, "Get to the fucking point then, sir." Pawłowski fired back, as the visible tension between Independent Barazi's top Civilian and Military Union Administrators was about to derail the conference."
"Wiser men fought at Sjadnbrdo and Hladnmopot, in the same way we fought together at Sevinmek and Kraliyet for the very same ideals" Henio continued, trying to remain on track "Where they were dug deep within their resolve to plant the seeds of liberty -- for the tree of life which became our Union."
From the corner of his literal eye, and to a larger extent his minds eye, he could see the Sarmatian representatives rolling their eyes at a reference to what Životinje called the 'Wars of Assertive Independence', and many from their country considered an uprising of lesser beings. Henio Ujvári understood and related to their social and racial sense of elitism, after all, he was Divovian. Born an raised in Sjadnbrdo - "The Shining City on the Hill", where the culture revolves around reiteration of Union Glory. Now, he so entirely identified with them as he preached his doctrine to what Centrjziema collectively believed to be a flawed gene pool.
"I want to make you understand something quite clearly, however. Several lesser men then I would come before you and suggest that Životinje has planted this same seed within the hearth of Barazi." Ujvári spat an arching stream of saliva over the maple wood podium, "Recycling the Union Seed would insult the recipient almost as appallingly as our forefathers."
A clear state of disapproval warmed Pawłowski's face to a shocking maroon red, the necessity of neglecting his primal urge to punch Ujvári square in the jaw. The Administrator knew what was coming next, the issue that lost Ujvári his Military Career in Southern Europe and catapulted him to this civil position. Angrily he wondered why all men could not just humble themselves, and cool their tongues as he had just chosen to. Meanwhile, a flustered looking lower enlisted soldier swept up the chewed out remains of Henio Ujvári's lunch sandwich. Pawłowski would make sure that the soldier himself was eating three square meals a day, so long as he might be forced to clean up after Henio's filth.
"Burn" Ujvári whispered, "Burn" this time in his normal tone, "BURN DAMN IT!" he shouted. "Barazi is incompatible with the serenity of a tree, hers is a people of another element - fire. Yet, not a single member of the last regime knew how to harness it, like shoots of sparks when there is a true potential of scorching gusts of open flame. Europe is a bed of unlit charcoal to the fundamentals of liberty, and to Barazi I repeat - Burn. . .Burn. . . Burn damn it!"