What's new

The Vodka and Tequila Pact

Beautancus

Well-Known Member
Joined
Aug 1, 2008
Messages
2,341
Location
The Best Carolina
Capital
Altaturra
Nick
Beau
Despite the recent gloom that seemed to have overtaken the Kingdom, the day had broken with a clear sky, and a brilliant sun. For league upon league in every direction, the crown jewel of Sarmatian cities, Hrodino, gleamed and glittered in the noontide, in a class all its own, especially in comparison to the other decaying and constantly reinventing environs of the sprawling LFS state.

The grandeur of the city was particularly apparent in and around "Krzysztof Sarmatyzky Field", the capital city's largest, and most heavily fortified military base, located across the city from the equally sprawling bulk of the Royal Palace and Government Ministry Complexes.
Named for the nearly mythical founder of the ancient Sarmatian Kingdom, the field had been constructed in the earliest years of mechanized flight's infancy, and had served proudly during both the Great War, and the more recent Civil War as a center of martial prowess and supremacy for the East's oldest surviving Christian Kingdom.

As such, it had been chosen as the site for the first round of meetings between Międzymorze, its neighbor and ally Serbovia, and the Commonwealth of Coronado. The latter nation had remained in virtual diplomatic isolation for much of the last half century, and now, with that stance altering, the two western-most LFS states were taking the initiative in seeking to expand their ties outside of the eastern portion of Europe's main supercontinent. The likeness in values and political ideology between the three nations were remarkable, and it would have been truly foolish for Międzymorze and Serbovia to pass on forming at the very least amicable bilateral ties with Coronado, in an age that grew evermore uncertain and unstable for the community of nations.

The base had been the focus of a level of activity- in the form of various preparations- retrofitting, security sweeps, spit-shining- in the last few days that had been nearly unheard of for several years. Ranking officer-nobles that rarely left their personal "fiefs" in the remote corners of Międzymorze had made the flight into the capital for this day, as had a number of highly placed Sejm ministers- and most importantly the King himself had come out of his routinely seasonal virtual seclusion in his ancient rural manor. It was even rumored that the aging Cardinal-Prince of Hrodino had made the journey to the field, to bestow a blessing upon the fortuitous meeting between nations.

All these personages, and a vast multitude of soldiers, airmen, handpicked journalists, and diplomatic servitors were assembled along the central runway, a human sea of gray, red, and white. The very sky was thronged with squads of immaculately polished steel-gray gunships, Husarz Ir-25's- the bane of the existence of countless Communist and Islamic insurgents over a fifth of the world's landmass- a constant reminder to all of the power and prestige of the Kingdom; and more importantly where the emphasis of those facets of Międzymorzan society was placed.

His Most Catholic and Royal Majesty, Król Kazimierz V Krzyżewski-Matejko, Wielki Książę of Upper Sarmatia, Książę of Hrodino and Krzyżewski- Warlord and Master of the Slavic Middle Kingdom, allowed himself a cocksure smile upon scanning over the mass of humanity that he- and his trusted and valued allies- commanded here today. An opportunity such as this one rarely presented itself to him, or his beloved nation; as the relations that dominated the diplomatic schema of his Kingdom were the same that he had inherited from his father, and likewise his father from his grandfather. There simply never was a reason to break out the "red carpet," save for the rare occasion that the Oikawan Emperor, or Supreme Leader Rodzianko ventured out of their personal domains.

The King's mood was better than it had been in weeks, ever since the initial outbreak of the so-called "Slavic Flu," and the horrific spiral of events that had nearly pulled him into depression. The most recent incident, the disaster at the BenzynaKról oil-sands refinery outside of Balanjar- which he owned the majority stock in- had pulled him into the depths of a great many bottles of the world's finest whiskey...still, with the prospect of showing his patrimony off, and perhaps even founding a new, and solid friendship with a far-flung nation had pulled him from that funk, and placed him here today, in his best-pressed white RAF Air-Marshal's uniform, with a veritable fortune in precious metals and jewels displayed on his chest.

Every Royal Council Ministry was represented around him, nearly a host in and of themselves. Likewise, the Serbovian embassy had seen fit to provide the seasoned veteran diplomat, Dr. Slavko Pograjac for the purposes of this joint-meeting. Accompanying him were a unit of the widely feared and vaunted MDB, specifically the "Protective Forces of State Security," who specialized in exactly this sort of show. Their black uniforms and berets contrasted starkly with the white and red uniforms of the Royal Guard, Army, and RAF, creating a rather nice effect in Kazimierz's mind.

Casting one last, long glance over the assembly, Kazimierz turned to his aid, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "They're making the final approach, Majesty."

The King's smile only grew broader, and he raised a gloved hand to his eye, to block the sun and perhaps catch a first glimpse of the oncoming foreign aircraft.
 

Tyvia

Establishing Nation
Joined
Apr 16, 2007
Messages
2,406
Location
NYC
Capital
Swanfleet
Nick
Davyos
The projected shade of the gradually descending plane loomed ever closer, growing in proportion to the proximity of the air vehicle to the tarmac. The brazen sigil upon it's tail seemed to gain flair, the light of the sun reflecting from the recently shined metal – the white upon black griffon standing proud. Only a small trail of crimson could be seen, at the very tip of the end of the planes tail. It was a representation of the national flag upon steel, a boastfully arrogant display.

Looming behind the transport aircraft, a distance away, was a smaller shape. It's silhouette noticeable only by those shadowing it, the Międzymorzan escort flight following the ceremonial unarmed strike fighter which trailed the transport since it departed from Tempestad. It was a display of power then anything else, a tradition and a visible symbol of the paranoia of totalitarian regimes. It descended after the transport had made contact with the runway, slowly grinding upon the paved surface to a halt. The aircraft crews scrambled about, almost amusing in their bustle. As soon as the adjustable ladder was pushed into place, the door of the plane opened, only a moment later as a crew member of the plane stepped out, followed by what was visibly a flight steward.

The cap upon his head was the most obvious feature. Military issue, the gleaming badge of office upon it's front-center, it was black and gold, small lines bearing the color trailing about it's sides, the badge being the center point for the entire fusillade. He stepped out further, another step down the staircase, making a mental note of the large assemblage of personnel, his own delegation modest by comparison. It had been a long time since Rodrigo Santago Lusiyà had left he nation. It had also been a long time since the Commonwealth had sent a delegation larger then a single person to a foreign state. For the past five decades, the Parliament of the Commonwealth had left itself within it's own inner intrigues, disconcerting itself from the turmoils of European politics and instead settling down with the general re-structuring required after the conclusion of the civil war.

It had been only natural, reconstruction came before reconciliation. Clad in his black uniform, medals and adornments hidden by the black overcoat he wore, the Colonel-General waltzed down the steps of the ladder ponderously, of his own desire rather then as a consequence of his own age. A pleasant forty five years old, he still had a deal of kick in him – having even bothered to volunteer for the delegation job. As a Colonel-General, he had a seat upon the board of senior chiefs, the supreme commanding body of the Commonwealth Armed Forces. When the Speaker of the board, acting High Chairman, and in Lusiyà's mind, utter fool, Miguel di Santago asked for a volunteer, Lusiyà had raised his hand. He was forty-five, old enough to remember the confused affairs of the eighties, and the rapid restructuring and economic growth of the nineties. He had been fresh out of the academy when the GDP growth rate exceeded expectations. Even at his age and rank though, he had not seen any form of real action. He was a logistician, not a strategist, keen enough to understand the value in such meetings. Another reason why he had accepted.

Giving a stiff political smile, he shook what hands he needed to, and he uttered what meaningless words were required of him – all for the sake of simple diplomatic courtesy. His Międzymorzan was terrible, but the bare basic greetings and compliments were not beyond him to learn.

Beside him though walked a smaller man, a red welt upon his left cheek, eyes seemingly runny. He was visibly young, the black overcoat of the Diplomatic Corps (which the Armed Forces maintained despite the objections of the Ministry of the Exterior) which he had been given probably a size too large for him, the fur of it nuzzling petulantly against his neck. Unusual for one of Coronado or Ferèzanno though, he was pale, and his hair a fine chestnut brown. Kasper Yesus Tijuala was as fresh from the academy as Lusiyà had been twenty years past, still more boy then man, yet one of the few people in the Commonwealth who was fluent in Międzymorzan. It might be construed as an insult for one so inexperienced to serve as the interpreter, but Tijuala knew enough languages that Lusiyà had signed the boy on as his adjutant long before.

His eyes trailing over the immaculate gunships idly, the Colonel-General's fingers drummed upon the handle of the sabre hanging from his side. Ceremonial it may be, but sharp it still remained. As keen as the men which descended from the plane following him. An honor guard they were, made up of what may be called some of the finest troops from the Commonwealth, and they wore no ceremonial uniforms. Although they did not bear their weapons with them (they having been courteously left within the plane until such time that they were allowed permit to ceremonially carry them) each had a sidearm at their side. Standing, each of them at least half an inch taller then the Colonel-General, there were five. Every one in a flecktarn standard uniform, their beret's being a muddy-red color, a small griffon and a star emblazoned into them.

One of them carried something special, a cushion with an intricately decorated glass casing upon it, ice within, and an unopened wine bottle sticking out from it. Stepping closer to His Most Catholic and Royal Majesty, Lusiyà took the bottle from the box and held it out slightly in front of himself, intoning in rehearsed Międzymorzan.

“Your grace, I was told you were fond of bourbon.” It was instead though, a fine bottle of wine, an antique vintage though it was. "I'm afraid I only brought wine." He said, a true half-smile allowed to gleam.
 

Serbovia

Establishing Nation
Joined
Oct 31, 2006
Messages
9,357
Location
Helsinki
Capital
Petrovgrad
Nick
Perkele
Though his professional pride in being a member of the Serbovian diplomatic corps would've never let him admit to it, Slavko Pograjac was nervous, to no small part by the apparent violation of protocol that Petrograd had committed in sending an ambassadorial representative into the meeting as the head of the Serbovian delegation. However, Slavko could always defend by insisting that His Royal Majesty the King was the effective host of the meeting and the Serbovians merely as observers.

The Serbovian embassy to Hrodino was among the largest ones maintained by the Ministry of External Affairs, and as such he had had little trouble in bringing a retinue of sufficient status with him in the small motorcade that had brought the Serbovian ambassador to the airport. Seven men and a woman, all wearing nigh-identical black coats, his female personal secretary, the First and Second Secretaries of the embassy and his four-man MDB security detail - all of the latter carrying small, concealable submachine guns underneath their coats. Since Serbovian ambassadors abroad ran the risk of being targeted for terrorist attacks by violent groups of Serbovian emigrés, they were always given MDB bodyguards.

Of course, Slavko knew, there was another reason - Dimitar Zdraveski would not trust anyone privy to high state secrets, not even an ambassador, to go abroad unwatched. He had little reason to doubt his lingering suspicion in the highly theoretical circumstance that Slavko would attempt to defect or otherwise collude with a foreign power, his MDB bodyguards were under orders to either detain him and bring him to Serbovia or to execute him with extreme prejudice. And it was because of this that his bodyguards unnerved him on quite a few occasions.

As the aircraft carrying the Coronadic representatives descended from the sky and eventually touched down on the runway, Slavko went through in his mind for the last time what he'd discussed beforehand with Daniel Nemanjic, his superior in Petrograd. For Serbovian interests Coronado was peripheric in nature, but for the League of Free States as a whole it could potentially represent an expansion of geopolitical influence into a previously unfriendly area. Still, a glance to the map told Slavko that subtle cooperation was the preferable option when it came to Coronado.

Slavko was a career diplomat in his 50s, a man who'd been a member of the inner circle of the Ministry of External Affairs since 1985 and the Social-Nationalist takeover. Sensing what was about to come as soon as the Two-Year Junta had fallen, he had joined the newly founded Social-Nationalist People's Party at the freshly graduated age of 27, and with a degree in Political Science managed to enter the Ministry of External Affairs as one of those people to replace those removed from the institutions of government as politically unreliable during the months following Rodzianko's 1986 declaration of himself as the Supreme Leader. Named ambassador to Kryobaijan in 1995 after a string of successful foreign assignments, he'd eventually served in a number of other ambassadorial roles in several other countries and finally risen to the position of a State Secretary of External Affairs, serving under Dimitar Stambolic between 2001 and 2007 and once been considered a likely candidate for a Ministerial role himself.

Suffice to say, Slavko had been outmaneuvered by his rivals in External Affairs, and eventually forced to step down from the position of the State Secretary. Still, the services that he had rendered to the state and the party and the connections he had within the inner party had been numerous enough for him to accept the position of an ambassador to Miedzymorze as a compromise of sorts. And though no one would have raised an eyebrow if he would've retired after a new ambassador would be appointed in 2011, Slavko still thought about the possibility of finding a way back among Petrograd's political elite. Perhaps these negotiations could provide an avenue.
 

Beautancus

Well-Known Member
Joined
Aug 1, 2008
Messages
2,341
Location
The Best Carolina
Capital
Altaturra
Nick
Beau
Kazimierz waited patiently for the translation, his sternly lined eyes hinting at some greater level of understanding of the pidgin spoken by these foreigners than he would ever allow. Nodding his acceptance of the translation- after a discreetly placed Secretary had nodded his approval- the Sarmatian monarch swept one arm out in a perfectly poised bow.

"I accept this gift in the spirit with which it was given- indeed, what need have I of more bourbon, when I own all the finest such that there is in the world entire? A new vintage of wine is most appreciated- being that most of the finest and most exotic that I own is hoarded away for purely sacramental purposes."

A nameless, nearly faceless servant, apparently of mixed Turkic-Far Oriental stock swept forward, each step perfectly balanced and measured- speaking of a nearly endless cycle of ritual that had impressed itself upon the very foundation of her soul. Gliding to a stop, and sliding forward to a kneeling posture, the servant accepted the wine into her delicately manicured hands, and just as quickly disappeared back into the contingent of other attendants standing nearby.

"Before we continue further, please allow me to thank you, and the most gracious government of your Commonwealth for accepting our invitation to hold these talks. It is a most rare occasion that we find a nation- removed from us by nearly the whole breadth of the world- receptive to our desires. More importantly, it is even rarer to find a nation that is governed with such strength and wisdom- factors that my Council Ministers will no doubt discuss at length with you during the course of these talks." The King nodded to his own translator- a burly Khazar, surprisingly enough not in martial garb.

The Turkic Jew's accent was noticeable, though only slight, lilting the Coronadic language ever so slightly with an almost sing-song quality. Though he would remain unnamed for the duration of this particular encounter, it was clear that his position amongst the Kingdom's present personnel was quite high, given his placement so close to the King, and the fact that Kazimierz had not looked to any other source for confirmation of acceptable translation.

"And so, without any further wait, I propose that we move along, to environs more secure, and better suited for the purposes of states such as ours. I must most regrettably exclude myself from the first set of meetings- again, for the purpose of matters of state, but I assure you that you will find my Council Ministers most capable in this regard." Kazimierz offered another flourishing bow, and offered Lusiyà his gloved hand once more, before turning. Exchanging a knowing look with the Serbovian, Dr. Pograjac.

Not missing a beat, a genteel, and rather austere personage stepped forward from the host of Royal Council Ministers, smoothing the creases of his obviously high quality żupan. Presenting his hand to Lusiyà with the same sort of easy confidence that the King himself had possessed, the Sarmatian szlachcic beamed broadly from beneath a perfectly shaped salt and pepper beard.

"Please accept my most humble and sincere salutations Honored Sir, I, Bogdan Rosztowsky am at your service for the remainder of the discussions to be held between our three just and mighty governments."

The Royal Council Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Kingdom- easily recognizable through any dossier provided to Lusiyà drew himself up, and accepted the translation from Tijuala without a second thought, and motioned towards the broad, metallic doors that marked the entrance to the Admin building that would, at least, be serving as the location for the first meeting.
 

Serbovia

Establishing Nation
Joined
Oct 31, 2006
Messages
9,357
Location
Helsinki
Capital
Petrovgrad
Nick
Perkele
Slavko spoke Sarmatian fluently, like a number of other Serbovians, given that the language was one of the few foreign ones that was given a significant position in Serbovian linguistic education. Not to mention that in his younger days, he'd actually done a tour as a junior officer of the Serbovian embassy in Miedzymorze, and these days served in an ambassadorial position which required him to use the language on a daily basis. In the knowledge of this, they actually hadn't requested a translator fluent in the languages of Coronado from Petrograd.

The same held true for the other Serbovians, even if Slavko knew that at least a few of them would have trouble understanding the curious Khazar accent of the King's translator. Employees of the Serbovian diplomatic service in Miedzymorze most commonly dealt with Sarmatian members of the local elite, and to a lesser extent with influential Khazars. Slavko had been in the country long enough for the difference to not matter at all to him, but the same couldn't be said of the junior members of his delegation.

"If you, and His Majesty here will, I shall allow His Majesty's translator to translate for me", Slavko said in his Serbovian-accented Sarmatian, promptly translated for the attention of the Coronadic delegation by the Khazar Jew that served as the King's translator, and continued, "It is His Excellency the Supreme Leader's delight that these negotiations may take place, and that His Majesty has allowed them to take place here in Hrodino. Though His Excellency the Supreme Leader recognizes the unannounced nature of my presence as the Serbovian ambassador to Hrodino in these negotiations, it is his wish that we may utilize the opportunity to further the relations between our countries in harmony with the efforts of the Miedzymorzean crown to a similar end."
 

Tyvia

Establishing Nation
Joined
Apr 16, 2007
Messages
2,406
Location
NYC
Capital
Swanfleet
Nick
Davyos
A blunt dismissive wave of his hand, and a polite response accompanied the words of his counter-parts, Lusiyà holding out his hand for the Sarmatian man who had come forth to greet him - and repeated the same due courtesy to those of Serbovia. Mumbling something softly to the paler man by his side, his translator, a reserved, dignified smile appeared upon the colonel-generals face, his hands fallen back to his side, Tijuala speaking in his slightly accented Sarmation, the vowels exaggerated as they would be in Conarròn. He shook whatever other hands were offered, and followed the Miedzymorzan men into the holds of the structure, his retinue of bodyguards and others trailing him as he glanced about the airfield idly.

It was not too different from those in Coronado, though the one he was on right now was considerably much larger - and not as stained by the Autumn showers as those in Coronado were want to be at this time. It didn't snow anywhere in the Commonwealth except for the mountains, and even then it was sporadic and isolated to the main area's of high elevation. It was warm, a good reason for the agricultural industry maintaining it's strength there along with the industrial branch. An intriguing trend as it was, with most advanced industrial economies slowly converting themselves into service-based economies, but in this the Commonwealth had differed. It had transitioned from an agricultural based economy into an industrial one in the nineteenth century. During the twentieth, it slowly went back to it's roots, the wine, maize, and tequila of the nation prominent in it's own region.

Uttering another soft word to Tijuala, a lazy roll of his shoulders accompanying the words, he asked his adjutant, "Do you think they have tequila?" A real smile pecking at his lips.
 

Beautancus

Well-Known Member
Joined
Aug 1, 2008
Messages
2,341
Location
The Best Carolina
Capital
Altaturra
Nick
Beau
Rosztowsky was more than accustomed to dealing with the type of man that Lusiyà was proving himself to be. Having dealt with this sort for the entirety of his professional life, and far beyond that, in moving amongst the long shadows cast by his father and uncles, the hauteur of the man was no more off-putting than the clumsy advances of any number of youthful courtesans seeking to improve their position in the Kingdom's ever-shifting power structure.

As the rather substantial group of officials and guards proceeded further into the bowels of the administrative building, Rosztowsky, glanced over his shoulder to the Serbove, Slavko. The two men were familiar with each other, and the Sarmatian szlachcic had all plans to make use of him as a valuable bargaining point in this day's talks. If the expansion of certain "LFS" interests into Europe's central-western continent were to proceed without delay, it would take very careful cooperation between the two of them- a fact that he was sure that Dr. Slavko was as keenly aware of as he himself.

Deciding against small talk with the Coronadic "diplomat," the Sarmatian Foreign Minister simply pressed on, leading the group deeper into the bowels of the administrative building, which was far more heavily accoutered that most of its counterparts in other nations. This was, after all, the "crown jewel" of the Kingdom's military bases. At last coming to the conference room that would serve as the site of the talks, Rosztowsky turned, offering his best and most toothy grin.

"Gentlemen, if you would take a seat, I will see to it that appropriate refreshments are to be had." Servants instantly scattered to the various corners of the rooms, with more than a few of them returning with a variety of liquors- from across the globe, and of obviously high quality. Sandwiches- beef and poultry, with no pork present at all- and sharp, dry cheeses were also provided.

Taking his seat opposite Lusiyà at the round oaken table roughly centered in the large, domed conference room, Rosztowsky accepted a tumbler of whiskey, and took a single tentative sip from the crystalline vessel. Just as methodically, he removed an ivory pipe from his żupan, checked to make sure that it was adequately packed, and lit it. Taking a long draw from the aromatic, curiously exotic tobacco, he exhaled deeply, sending a truly impressive gout of smoke curling about his rugged features.

"So. I'll cut straight to the chase. The Kingdom finds itself at a crossroads, where we have finally regained total control over our various domestic portfolios, despite what we might have the journalists report...And we believe to be prudent to begin to expand our economic and diplomatic interest beyond the generally accepted "LFS Sphere of Influence" in Eastern Europe. Being- at least basically- so near to us ideologically, we feel that the Commonwealth is the most logical, and most likely partner for such expansion." Another long pull on the pipe, and the bearded Sarmatian noble resituated himself in his plush leather chair.

"Likewise, we can assure the Commonwealth that the opportunities we can provide for reciprocal expansion would be so beneficial as to be impossible to ignore, or not accept. I'll let the wise, and honorable Dr. Slavko add anything more concerning the interests of our Serbovian allies- but I more than sure that they have just as much to offer as we do."
 

Serbovia

Establishing Nation
Joined
Oct 31, 2006
Messages
9,357
Location
Helsinki
Capital
Petrovgrad
Nick
Perkele
Brushing off a desire to chide the Sarmatian of his distinct lack of etiquette in referring to him by such a combination of a title and a first name rather than as "Mr. Ambassador" as protocol usually dictated, Slavko gave a silent, approving nod. It wasn't that he'd have held such minutiae in any position of relevance, but rather such things came to him naturally as a professional diplomat. The same way a soldier watching a war movie was likely to notice if the actors didn't behave as they should have, or a lawyer watching a crime series was likely to notice a legal impracticality.

"My Sarmatian counterpart said all that needs to be said, gentlemen", Slavko replied through the translator.
 

Tyvia

Establishing Nation
Joined
Apr 16, 2007
Messages
2,406
Location
NYC
Capital
Swanfleet
Nick
Davyos
Courting his own momentary surprise at the presence of his own indigenous spirit, Lusiyà allowed a pleasant half-smile to form upon his face, his eyes trailing between the two man carefully – as either one of them spoke, presenting their idea's, their possible agreements, all of it relayed straight back to him through his own personal translator. Raising the opaque glass to his lips, he took a small sip of the tequila within, a potent green vintage as it was. His smile grew a bit as he swished the liquid within his mouth, listening to the translation, finally swallowing it with some satisfaction. The taste was somewhat metallic, yet retained the same tinge of pineapple and agave that it was known for. Placing the glass back upon the table, he spoke in response, as politely as he was able.

“I may understand your position, and your desires, lord councilor.” He began, the unintended drama of the pause lost in the translation, “Coronado enjoys a good location in the Pacific Rim, warm, the western-most point of the continent upon which it finds itself, no less. No doubt that the ideological preference of my own nation, the Commonwealth, that is – is preferable in the area to what can be considered more …” Pausing once more, taking a sip from his glass again, as if searching for the word a moment. Though not trained in art of speaking in the same bureaucratic rhetoric that the newscasters of the Commonwealth were wont for doing, Lusiyà had an understanding of it, a consequence of his service in his particular branch of the Armed Forces.

“Egalitarian,” He finally allowed, his former smile fading. “states that pervade in our area. Of course, though, the Commonwealth would be interested of course in association with either of your two venerable states in matters pertaining to either economic and diplomatic issues.” Pausing, his left hand playing idly with the lapel upon his coat, “It is no secret that the nations around my own Commonwealth are no friends, ideologically, politically, any matter of which. However, I would suppose that before we begin to discuss those particular area's of diplomacy, I would be interested in the details of what you would be proposing, lord councilor.” Lusiyà finished, his gaze moving once more between them, waiting for their respective translators to do their work.
 

Beautancus

Well-Known Member
Joined
Aug 1, 2008
Messages
2,341
Location
The Best Carolina
Capital
Altaturra
Nick
Beau
OOC: Yeah, I'm an idiot and didn't check back to make sure that Slavko was his last name when I was writing my post. Hurm. Either way, I'll get a post up rolling with it to take the place of this one later on.
 

Beautancus

Well-Known Member
Joined
Aug 1, 2008
Messages
2,341
Location
The Best Carolina
Capital
Altaturra
Nick
Beau
Cursing himself- though never showing a bit of his internal displeasure at the novice's error that he had just committed- Rosztowsky allowed himself a small sip from his own tumbler.

The bite was noticeable, if entirely familiar, the usual sort of whiskey- that some other time and place might have called bourbon- that Sarmatian nobles preferred above all others. Just enough of a sip to remind him to move forward with his business, rather than dwelling on a simple matter of transposing one plebes first name and surname. Exchanging the tumbler for his pipe, he leaned forward in his chair, and locked eyes with Lusiyà, disregarding all others in the chamber.

"I believe you have a fairly adequate grasp of what we have in mind Your Excellency, yes- most definitely. Though we- the LFS, or the Kingdom as a singular power- have never taken a great deal of interest in the Western Hemisphere, and likely never would, were it not for your Commonwealth's recent re-emergence into the diplomatic arena. As is no doubt plainly obvious to everyone in this room, there is ultimately a great deal of financial gain to be had through increased and regularized cooperation between our three nations, not to mention the increased projection of diplomatic influence that we would all enjoy." Acknowledging that oldest of diplomatic lessons- the truth that reached across political and racial divides, wealth, Rosztowsky drove forward with the ultimate goal of this meeting. Money, the Kingdom had. A sense of security for the future...it did not.

"It seems that our greatest common enemy- the forces of international Communism- are on the literal and metaphorical march again...a fact that none of us, no "free" nation in all the world, can hope to ignore. So many millions chose to do so, at their own peril, and ultimately at the cost of their lives in the waning years of the 1930's. Let it be not so, here and now." Shoulders perfectly squared, pipe now raised to his lips- and more of that aromatic smoke rising into the filtered air of the chamber, the Sarmatian sat back once more, allowing the translator to do his work.

"This, gentlemen, is the cusp of a new age, and age that will without doubt see all of us marching to war. Again, I freely admit this. It is unavoidable. It is, in fact, to be desired. Rather than allowing the atheist rabble of the world to determine the course of history, why should we not decide today- that the same spirit that saw the League of Free States birthed so many decades ago now, should be rekindled today, and adapted for the modern age that we find ourselves in. This is not to say that either the Kingdom- or our allies in Serbovia will be "jumping ship" on the LFS...not at all. Let us just say that the Kingdom now looks for all possible means to secure the future for our children, and their children." And so, it was now left to the Serbovian, and the Coronadic Officer to determine the course of history, or so Rosztowsky hoped they would believe.
 
Top