una nazione di uomini d'affari

[Radilo]

A short distance from Caffè del Porto, Oltremare, Radilan Republic
12:30 PM

When the intercom came to life and blurted out something Italoite, Anne woke with a start. It was the first time she'd ever been on an airplane. And even after her ale induced nap, she was excited. Free ale was something she'd never thought she'd get. Ale was the reward for drudgery, to have it as an incentive was remarkable. She'd had two whole pints before she'd taken to sleep. She was still buzzing some with excitement, this was going to be the most she'd ever gotten paid. It would be a small boon to her little family. She wished she could take her husband and three daughters, but that was impossible. She'd bring back all of the saints cards and rosaries she could get the locals to give her... Radilo being one of the most devout Catholic countries. Though... if she remembered right this wasn't Radilo per se... it was Oltremare... whatever that meant.

She was hopefull about all of this, taking home 25 Dahls a month was a lot of money to an unskilled Spascirian farm laborer. And for four months she'd earn 100, more money than she'd ever seen. More than she could even dream of. Her only hope was that she was being sent to do actuall farm labor. While she knew she wasn't above prostitution, she would rather not have another child in those circumstances. The authorities were already on her for having three children. And if she had a forth, she'd rather it be her husband's. Of course, she couldn't bare a forced abortion... but if she were used as a... no, she forced the thought out of her head. The word was that if the Radilans wanted prostitutes, they'd ask for prostitutes.

She would almost certainly be a farm worker. Hard labor in the fields didn't bother her. She'd done it since she could walk. A warm place to sleep and a hot bowl of soup were never guaranteed, such had been drilled into her from a young age. So you have to work. She and her family were among the "good ones" those given some freedoms to earn money. That was why she was able to join this current expedition. This was all as much privilege and opportunity as she could ever hope for, ever dream of.

The plane landed without much fuss and a voice came out over the intercom "benvenuti nella Serenissima Repubblica, welcome to the Most Serene Republic. We hope you enjoy your stay in I Tropici."

In silence, the 300 odd souls on the chartered flight made quickly exited the plane. They were led to awaiting busses that Anne assumed would be taking them to their work sites. Looking out the window she was awed by the scenery. Large tropical trees with huge leaves lined the road. It was cloudy when they landed and it always seemed to threaten to storm. This led, oddly, to a bit of anxious excitement in the young woman. It was humid and warm, but it was cut with a cool breeze; something was rumbling in the distance. Passing by her window, scenes from everyday life were visible for a moment or so. The image of a man in a designer suit leaning out of a Maserati, hagling with a Black woman in indigenous dress about the price of bananas, was superimposed in front of a bunch of barefoot kids of various races playing football in a field.

After an hour or so, the busses pulled into a large compound that did seem to house a lot of tropical vegetation. Anne was a bit concerned that the men guarding the gate were armed with machine guns, but that was nothing new. They were waved in without much fanfare. Once inside the busses came to a stop and they were instructed to depart with the same friendly, chipper tone that was both unfamiliar yet kind... but also intimidating. They assembled themselves in front of their transit and dutifully looked down, as to not offend their new employer. A middle-aged man with dark brown hair and a nice suit stood before them.

He cleared his throat. "My name is Giorgio Vincenzo Zucca. If that name sounds Oltremaro, it isn't. It's Zaran."

The assembled Spascirians were a bit confused by this remark. They started to subtly make eye contact to confirm what was said.

"I lived in Gonzaga, with my wife and children, but we had to flee because of the Csengian abuse of our people. Many Zarans did the same. We became, in our own nation, a despised and put upon minority. So we had to flee. I knew people in Radilo, former business partners who set me up with this job. Of that I am grateful."

His audience was totally confused at this point.

"Your government, which hates you for no reason, says they don't ask questions. Good. We won't be sharing anymore details with them. And we hope to compensate you eneough that you will not either."

By now the lot of Spascirians had broken out into whispers, with some of them growing increasingly nervous.

"Allow me to introduce you to the product you will be working on producing," he said pulling a white, dusty looking brick from a bag. "100% pure, uncut Radilan cocaine. One kilo fetches 400 Ducati on the market. That's about 120 thousand Dahls."

Anne and the rest looked up, eyes wide.


@Oltremare @Angliarique @Tarusa

 

[Angliarique]

Anne murmured to herself, “C- Co- Cocaine… 120,000 Dahls…”. The other labourers around her whispered audibly among themselves, “120,000 Ang Dahls… We’re going to be rich!”

On the contrary, Anne did not share their optimism, for she knew from a very young age, that peasants such as herself exist only to serve their lords. She was always aware of the reality that she’d forever eat the crumbs -if any were even- leftover, whilst her overlords would indulge their gluttony decadently with their venison and cake.

For this reason alone, she quickly got over the tempting amount of 120,000 Dahls. Alas, perhaps she’d never be able to make that kind of money in her present and future lifetimes.

Moreover, she was confused to the say least. Previously, the Spasci-labour council had assured her that she was to be working with agriculture, however, she did not expect that to her surprise she would be working at the bottom of the drug trade pyramid.

Soon, her thoughts began to race, one imagination violently differing from another. “Will I be a drug guinea pig?”, she thought anxiously, “Or perhaps a drug mule?”, “Oh No! Maybe they’ll hold me for ransom!” To state the least, she was incredibly paranoid of her fate, for now she was in a distant land far from home.

Anne’s train of thought was suddenly derailed, when the well-dressed Vincenzo Zucca shouted at the group of labourers, warning them to stop squabbling.
No sooner had the warning been given, an eerie silence followed. That was soon broken by a query from Anne.

She asked in a servile manner, “Master Vincenzo, may I be so brave to ask more about Radilan cocaine? Most of us have only ever heard of the drug, as back at home we’re only farm peasants, I myself am unaware of how to produce cocaine. How will we make it if we don’t know how?”

Silence fell once more, as the Spascirian labourers awaited an answer from their new master. ​

 

[Radilo]

Pueblo a la sombra, i Tropici, Oltremare

"¡Silencio!" Giorgio shouted, a bit louder than he intended.

After a pause Anne asked her question.

Giorgio regained his composure, "you... you will be harvesting the coca leaves. Cocaine is not a wholly artifical product, it is extracted from the leaves of Erythroxylum novogranatense, this plant," he said pointing to the rows of bushes behind him. A wave of understanding swept among the gathered workers. "We might not always tell you the full truth, but we will never tell you falsehoods. You were brought here as servile* peasants, and that is what you will be. We said we would be using you to harvest a tropical agricultural product, and that is exactly what you will be doing. We simply didn't mention that the product will be used to make drugs. We have other employees involved in the actual manufacturing process, which isn't done at this site."

He took a pause and smiled at the assembled crowd. "I'm not promising you riches by the standards of the Radilan Republic, but I am promising you quite a lot more than had been previously agreed to. And if some of you wish to maintain your employment with this clan--sorry--firm after your contract expires--you will be able to do so. We will discuss such opportunities at a later date. Because this operation is ran by the Camorra, we have to follow Camorra policy strictly... to set a good example. I see Señor Alvarez is joining us. He will take it over from here."

As he finished speaking a man with brown skin wearing a wide rimmed hat and a bright blue shirt with ¡UNIDA! written across it in bold white letters approached.

"Hola, mis amigos, I'm Juan-José, like il Papa, Alvarez, I am the local head of the United Peasants union, and the representative of the Catholic Workers Movement. My job is to make sure you know your rights and benefits in the work place, and to engage with management when necessary. But that should not be a problem, as the Camorra is the very entity tasked with enforcement of workers rights. So they put the effort in to setting a good example. I know many don't belive that there is honor amongst thieves, but they would lose their legitimacy if they didn't. Still, if you have any problems come to me first. I will help you."

He took a moment to catch is breath, "a basic run-through of your pay, benefits, and work schedule is in order. You will work three days a week from 6:00 AM to 8:00 pm, with a 2 hour siesta in the middle. Half of you will work Monday, Tuesday, and Friday, the other half will work Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday. No one works on Sunday. Both schedules have benefits and costs. You can pick which one you like so long as the devison is reasonably even.

You are welcome to eat whatever you want from the cafeteria, 7 days a week, which is open quite early and late--and has a nice variaty of local foods. You will get six drink coupons a day, two with breakfast, two with lunch, and two with dinner. You can use them during that meal, or you can save them up for more enjoyment on your days off.

Your pay will be a little over a quarter Ducato per day, or about 28 lira, I was told that was about 84 of whatever your currency is. Now that's what you take home, your boarding and taxes are already paid for.

Speaking of which, you will be assigned to a room in the dormitory; there are two people to a room, and you can change bunkmates any time if you like. And while none of your assigned bunkmates are mixed gender, we have no problem with men and women bunking togeather.

Your daily job is simple, you will pick or snip the leaves off the bushes and put then into bags. Not a skilled job, but a tedious one and a hot one. Protective clothing is provided by the clan--sorry, firm. If you are bitten by a snake or a spider--or really anything-- immediately go to a supervisor or a union rep and they will get you help immediately.

You will be working along side native Oltremari, most of whom can speak Engellex with some proficiency. Do not worry, you are making what they do, more or less. This whole thing was not because we are trying to take advantage of anyone--but because of the labor shortage. We have a lot to harvest, and this process lends itself poorly to mechanization.

Again, thank you for comming here. We are only a 15 minute walk from the village, which has a market and a church; I encourage you to explore and interact with locals. I hope you enjoy your stay in the Most Serene Republic. If you have any more questions, please let me know."

*farm laborers, service workers, domestic staff, etc.--the lowest social rank in Radilo.
*I Tropici's regional language is Eberian.
Ooc: I have more to add, but this is e enough for one post.
Edit: wages were adjusted for the cost of living difference between Radilo and Oltremare. It's the same amount of money, just in accurate denominations.

@Oltremare @Angliarique

 

[Angliarique]

Curiosity Kills the Cat. The World is Your Oyster. Crossing the Rubicon.

Curiosity kills the cat.

As their master shouted, the whole crowd was shocked into silence and scared stiff, like vulnerable lambs facing a growling wolf at a farm. The workers were -to put it simply- waiting for an answer to this innocent question from Anne. As Giorgio began to explain, the once silent crowd muttered amongst themselves in an almost inaudible whisper, “Yes… Yes… Ah…. Right….”

As Giorgio began to elaborate on his ‘truth’, some of the workers grew tense, for back in Carpathia, the Angliarique variant of cocaine had destroyed thousands of their families, ruining generations of lives. Mothers had lost their sons. And daughters had lost their fathers. Simply put, the crowd of Spasci-workers grew uneasy about what they would be part of. But none chose to voice out, thinking to themselves that if they did, something bad might happen.

But that concentrated anxiety and worry of contributing to the further death and destruction of what very well may be that of their own Spascirian people, was diluted. As Giorgio began the subject of payment. He promised to the Spascirians more money than what was agreed to, and they were sold, they were eager to work. Such naïve people they were! Or perhaps not? As surely the people who had seen the havoc wreaked by cocaine on their own people back home, would not surrender themselves even to a little bit more dough. BUT THEY WERE! How servile of these peasants?!

Giorgio then let a man who appeared to be of higher standing, takeover. As this man came closer to the workers. They bowed to him, as loyal dogs would to their master. “S- Se- Senor Alvarez, good day sir!” they stuttered as they were anxious to be in front of such an intimidating figure.

As Alvarez began introducing himself as a representative of a catholic group, a wave of mutters crashes loud and clear. “But Senor Alvarez, we are protestant!” The workers then quickly shut themselves up, as they did not want another shouting, especially from what they thought was the boss of their boss. “We apologize.”

The world is your oyster
The workers paid more attention towards what Alvarez said of work related matters. The promise of a three day work week, a 14 hour work day, with 2 hour siestas (whatever that was didn’t matter as it sounded good to them) and guaranteed food for their often starved bellies or the lack thereof. Talk about the rest day on Sunday too! To them, especially a few of them who dropped to their knees and pleaded Alvarez not to send them back for their choice to voice out that they were protestant, it was a completely new life, a new outlook emerged. Back at home, they worked like animals under the strict and often overbearing control of the Carpathia local government: 7 days of work, 17 hours each day, no rest days, no food security, no housing and worst of all, no joy. Absolutely void of happiness.

Crossing the Rubicon
Anne was still not convinced, she thought to herself, how could criminals keep their promises? But never chose to voice out. She was tempted by, but suspicious of the new work culture. In all this joy, she stayed silent. She was the voice of reason silenced by the force of her will and temptation.

By the time, Alvarez finished his exhausting but wonderous speech. The workers were eager to explore and so they did. Anne walked alone to the nearby church, and spoke to an elderly man dressed in black with a beaded necklace around his neck. She asked, “Hello there, sir, I am a new worker around here, what is it if I may ask that you do?”​

 

[Radilo]

Pueblo a la sombra, i Tropici, Oltremare

The unionized peasants, who were toiling in the fields, plucking coca leaves, struggled to understand who their ultimate overlord was. It was not Alverez--he was their labor advocate--they did not work for him... nor was the Catholic Workers Movement (MOC), which they had, by default, joined, in charge. Also, the MOC was not particularly concerned with the religious identity of its members. Alvarez had to explain the cultural history of the labor movement to them--they kinda understood. And Zucca was merely their supervisor. When their actual master arrived on the premises no one noticed. It was one more Maserati that pulled in through the gates. The more observant workers did notice that Señor Zucca did seem a bit nervous as the vehicle pulled in, but Don Wan Giuseppe liked to keep a low profile, so his arrival was free of pageantry.

As the luxury vehicle came to a stop, the well dressed chauffeur exited the vehicle and held open the rear door. Out stepped a man in his mid 50s, in a gleaming white silk suit and matching fedora. He had many gold rings on his fingers and a matching gold Omega timepiece worn on the outside of his shirt sleeve. He had straight grey hair that went down a bit past his ears when combed back and a well trimmed gote. His eyes were narrow--fitting as he was a Tianèla, a mixed race person of Radilan and Tianese heritage. He was also the elected the leader of the Soranzo Family, the owners of Renualt-Manifattura Tropicale SpA (RMT, SpA--the company officially employing the Spascirian workers), and a powerful Camorra clan.

"Don Wan," Zucca said as he bowed slightly to the mafioso.

"It's Giuseppe, please. I've read of your complaints about overly overt submissiveness, I share them," he replied smiling.

"I appreciate that, Don Giuseppe," Zucca said, smirking a bit. "I hope your meeting in Propontis was as encouraging."

"It was, Il Governatore assured me that this upcoming conflict will not hamper our business, and may even improve profits," Giuseppe said smiling. The two men made their way to the comfort of the air conditioning.

The villa on the property was magnificent: its exterior was blazing white marble, but the inside it had the rickety beauty of an old Eberian hacienda. The two men strolled into a sitting room, with large chairs and decanters of fine rum. A large bladed fan spun slowly dangling from the stuccoed ceiling, a d large tropical plants filled ornately painted terracotta vases.

"I will spare you the tedious tithings, how has this experement with imported servile labor been going?" Giuseppe asked, pouring himself a snifter of 18 year old Palmira Club.

"If the objective was simply to plug the holes in our labor force, it's been an enormous success. However, if the objective was to recruit mules and dealers to go back to to @Angliarique , I'm afraid threre has been less success," Zucca said, preparing a Mojito for himself.

"You Zarans are too impatient," the older man said with a deviant smile, "do you know, Giorgio, how we keep stability in the Most Serene Republic?"

"Don, I have absolutely no idea."

"In our Republic most children work before their 13th birthday, and many people spend their lives vulnerable to exploitation... do you know how we keep that all in check?"

"No."

"With benevolent violence--any child can report their parent or their employer to the Camorra--and we take care of them. If you smack your kid we break your knees..."

"And if people abuse this system?..."

"If your child wants the mafia to beat you up... you probably deserve it."

"Fair."

"We control the working class by protecting them. Poor children have more confidence in the Camorra than they do their own families. That's the root of our power. And that will be the root of our influence among these oppressed people."

"So we build up that trust, gradually."

"Yes, but that is just the first part. Next we bring in whatever the middle class would be..."

"The Spasci-Labour Unit D?"

Giuseppe snapped his fingers "--exactly. We can train them in refining."

'We are not so short of workers on that front..."

"It doesn't matter. We have the resources to do it. We can train them, indulge them, make them loyal to us... then they can go back and act as our commanders to the foot soilders you are training now."

The Zaran nodded in understanding. "It will be done."

"Good," Giuseppe said, "it has always amused me how this all seems to work out so nicely for us... and by us I mean the republic... as abstract as that sounds... think of it."

"Think of what... benevolent violence?" Giorgio asked, "I have to confess this is still a new concept to me."

"The investor in @The Federation wants returns tomarrow. Long term to them is three years--look how short-sighted their business can be, not all, but many. Sacrificing tomarrow for a quick dollar. Think of how much money they lose in the long run. Now, the Aristocrat in Nouvo Porto, on the other hand--they are planning for their firm's health for the next hundred years... or next thousand. That is stability--industries are not robbed for the short term. People's jobs are secure... reason prevails."

"With all due respect, Don Giuseppe... I may have to have a sip of what you're drinking."


Near the village church

"I am a friar," he answered the curious young woman.

"Is that like a priest?"

"Similar. We are not ordained, but we are inertent ministers and preachers. I'm staying in this village for a few weeks, helping out this area where I can."

Anne nodded.

"Do you have any more questions, my friend?"

"Many--do you know about us?"

"You are the subject of curiosity for the villagers. Your comrades inspired many web searches."

"What is the conclusion from these?"

"That you are an abused people who need empathy. I was told you are Protestants, yes?"

Anne was a bit taken aback, after a lecture about the unimportance of religion in the workplace... this question was unexpected.

"Ye--yes we are."

The man smiled, "I am Friar Matteo. I exist to tend to souls and bodies, I can tend the former for you, but not the latter--but I know someone who can."

Anne smiled, nervously back at him.


Office of the Archbishop, Saint John's Cathedral, San Polo, Valletta, Oltremare

In a modestly decorated, but well apointed office Engellex Archbishop Mary Brown was preparing her sermon for that Sunday when she got a ping on her cell phone. It was from a friar friend of hers in I Tropici.

"What does Matt want?" she thought as she read the message. "Oh... so... marginalized people... hmmm... oh I'd wager Reverend Jessica would do well with this as her first pastoral assignment." She pushed a button on her office phone, "Miss June, can you have Reverend Jessica Smith please come to my office?"

"Yes, Your Most Reverend," the voice responded.


An hour later Reverend Smith was sanding, quietly, before the Archbishop. She wore the black cossack that was common among Protestant ministers in the Meridian--a habit picked up now doubt from their Catholic counterparts.

"Thank you for comming on such short notice, Reverend."

"It is an honor to meet with you Archbishop, Miss June had said you have a request for me." she said a bit nervously, as well a bit curiously.

The bishop smiled, "I understand you have not yet been assigned a parish yet--you are still helping Reverend Phillips."

"That is correct," responded the small, somewhat mousey girl with large glasses and straight brown hair.

"And your wife is an engineer--right--who works from home remotely?

Jessica nodded.

The bishop smiled, "would you like to live in paradise while tending to the least of these?"

Reverend Smith smiled, "I could think of nothing better."

"Excellent."


@Angliarique
@Oltremare

 

[Radilo]

Pueblo a la sombra, Oltremare
4:00 PM in the Villa

"How?" Don Wan, asked, visibly irritated.

"Either a bribe didn't go through or there was a breakdown in communication at the receiving end. We're still working to figure it out." Mr. Zucca answered.

"Was anyone of mine captured?"

"Your niece."

"Fuck--have they figured out who she is?"

"Not yet. She's not saying anything and not many would automatically associate a Tianese girl with the Radilan mafia.

"Put out feelers, see how best we approach this."

"Yes sir."

Don Wan stood up and walked over to the bar. He poured himself a shot of baijiu. "My sister is going to be pissed," he said downing the shot, "I'm going to have to steel myself for this call... Gia's tough... I just hope she's tough eneough... 200 kilos lost in @Ebria ... fuck..." he poured and took another shot.

8:00PM in the Cafeteria

The Spascirian workers had just gotten off of their shifts, so it was time for their evening meal. They filed in, rather orderly, to the florescent lit cafeteria . There was a wonderful spicy smell in the air as mostly black and brown staff tended to the buffet.

"Protestant service starting in the village
Sundays at 9:00 AM
basement of St. Bebaia of Edessa
Rev. Jessica Smith, Pastor"​

Read copy paper signs that were taped around the cafeteria in Engellex.

Anne loaded up her tray with all sorts of Oltremaro and Radèlo goodies. Spaghetti with red sauce coexisted happily next to pork tamales and mojo gamehen. She still felt perplexed, unsure of all of this. She craved a distraction, as it all was becoming overwhelming. With her food and one of her two alloted pints of ale for this meal, she sat in front of a lage flat-screen that adorned one of the cafeterias walls. Several others had also gathered around, eating their, to them at least, luxurious meals. The TV was turned to the an Engellex language news channel. The main anchor was, by her accent, clearly from the Federation.

"We have breaking news from the Thaumantic Sea..." she then proceeded to describe the Tianese assault on the Museum Fleet from @Angliarique . As she spoke images of the attacks aftermath were shown. Over the next hour, atop of a blaring red chyron, she interviewed about half a dozen correspondents. All of them described the various reactions from various nation states. Finally, they saw the image of a younger man standing in front of what they had learned was the Radillan Capitol, the Doge's Palace. He looked like all of the other reporters save his noticeable facial piercings.

"And now we turn to the AP's Senior Radilo Correspondent, Alphonse Bindi, in Nouvo Porto. Alphonse."

"Yes Hasha, the Radilan Foreing Ministry has issued a statement which reads in part "We stand by our ally in the Celestial Republic; the actions @Tianlong took today have no doubt saved countless civilian lives. We want to express our condolences to the families of lost in this needless tragedy and reaffirm our support for those living on Frescania as well as our Meridian ally @Ebria , who many there feel a deep connection. As far as the Most Serene Republic is concerned, the situation is arrested and the conflict is over." The Foreign Ministry reiterated that Tianlong has not invoked Article 5 of the Central European Treaty, meaning that Radilo has no military conflict with Angliarique. The Foreign Ministery implied that they intend to maintain open diplomatic communications with Sanctum of Laurels. Presently, several Radilan businesses, most notably tobacco producer Renualt-Manifattura Tropicale, or RMT, have contracts with the Spascirian Labour Council. An entity which, lacking better term, leases out members of Angliarique's put upon minority. This has caused no shortage of controversy in both countries. Presently there is no word from either government on this matter. RMT, when contacting, said "no comment." Hasha."

"Turning now at the reaction from @Remuria , where..."

Anne and all of her fellow Spascirians staired, shocked, at the TV, eyes wide and mouths agape.

 

[Radilo]

Office of the Radilan Consulate, Port Lionheart
1:30 PM

Adine hated wearing shoes. They were stuffy and she really couldn't move her toes in them. But she had to wear them today, since they were meeting with an important man. Mr. Crema was visibly anxious, and that was a bit unsettling to Adine. He was always so confident and composed. Luckily Tamara was there, sitting next to her, holding her hand. Tamara was her best friend and the one person she could always talk to. Mr. and Mrs. Crema were Tamara's parents and Adine's employer. They were all trying to put on a brave face, but Adine could see through it.

"Crema," a man in an olive green uniform called them.

"Yes, we some matters of residency that need adressed," said Mr. Crema standing up. He pleaded with his eyes that the bureaucrat would understand. Luckily, he did.

"Of course, matters like this need to be hashed out in private," he said, gesturing for the four of them to come into his office. They all swiftly entered; once everyone was inside the olive-drab man closed and locked the door. "Okay," he said, "who needs what to get out?"

Now that they had some modicum of safety, Mr. Crema resumed some of his charisma. "If it would not be too offensive, I would like to make the simultaneous moves to adopt this young girl here," he said putting his hands on Adine's shoulders, "and apply her for expedited citizenship, or refugee status, whatever is more efficient."

"Whislt I already know the answer, I do have to ask why," the olive-green man said, sitting down at his desk.

"Young Adine here is a memeber of an oppressed minority, whose safety cannot be guaranteed in this country," Mr. Crema said exuding confidence. He gave the young girl's shoulder a few pats in the hope of comforting her.

"A member of an oppressed minority, of whom you have been... what now?" The olive drab man said with a skeptical smirk. He was no loutch, he'd been assigned to this post for a while and he wanted this affluent couple to be direct with him and say it...

Two years prior, Maserati Màchina Automobile had sent Antonio to this weird country to open up a dealership. There were plenty of rich people in Angliarique and owning a premium Radilan automobile would surely serve as a status symbol. Business was good, well within the margins of what his employers in Nouvo Porto expected. He'd been a mechanic before becoming a salesman, dropping out off school at 13 to take up an apprenticeship at a dealership. His upper-middle class family was horrified, but he was proud getting his hands greasy. His poor Jewish mother was beside herself, but when the money started comming in... eveyone was more accepting. Antonio knew everything about cars, but he was such a good schmoozer that the suits moved him to the front of the house. So, eventually, they sent him to Angliarique... because those weirdos need fast cars too.

"The entry point for the MA24 is 3.6 million. Starting this year, we have a fully electric model, it goes from zero to 100 in less than one second. The tradeoff is that it maxes out at 280, whereas the petrol model can go up to 330. Of course how often does one really ever go above 100," he said, as he lead the young, visibly affluent couple, across the showroom.

"It's kinda small," the young woman spoke up.

"Yes, the MA Seris is more a sporting vehicle than a day to day car."

"Can you get them any bigger?" the young man inquired.

"Yes, there is a sedan version, though it would have to be custom ordered from Nouvo Porto. The entry point would be about about 5 million then... but I do have to warn you... it's not a very spacious back seat. Maybe you both should consider the GranCabrio; it's our touring option and much more spacious," he said directing them towards a larger, if less flashy, vehicle. "Once better, the entry point is a more reasonable 1 million..."

Talking someone down from a more expensive car to a less expensive car is counterintuitive for a salesman, but because so it makes people more likely to buy one from you... because, in an odd way, it makes you seem more trustworthy.

"Up until this point we have been her employer," Antonio Crema said, sighing and casting his glance down.

It was a bit of a culture shock when they landed in Port Lionheart. The Company had rented them a house; it was more spacious than they were used to, having lived their whole lives in small apartments in Nouvo Porto.

Antonio was a mechanic turned salesman and his wife, Avital, had intended to ride her husband's luxurious coattails to be an upscale housewife and budding socialite in this new country. This was something that the two found deeply amusing, and it tickled their delight. She had been a school teacher back in Nouvo Porto, a proper young Jewish girl who'd finished school, then college, then grad school. Then in her 20s, she met this guy who she kinda remembered from Hebrew school, who'd dropped out and became a grease-head. He was selling luxury cars then; he was handsome and rich. To this by-the-books young woman, he was the opposite of what she should want... so she quit working and married him. Call her a gold-digger, she didn't care. They were happy and had, nine years earlier, welcomed Tamara into the world.

By the standards of La Città, the small family were borderline affluent, but they were rich in this new, somewhat peculiar nation. So it was logical, naturally, for this fur-and-diamond wearing 30-something to ensure that her household would be kept as impeccable as others would assume it should. So a maid was in order: the nearby SLC office was what every local review recommended, so that's where she headed. It wasn't quite what she expected.

"This is the only one we got right now." The woman said, leading out a child of about nine. She was ragged and barefoot, with her eyes downcast. Her mop of brown hair was disheveled, and she was visibly thin. "She's a whore's kid, but her mum's dead. Spascirians ain't the best learners but she's been taught eneough how to keep a house clean, isn't that right, girl?"

The pathetic thing nodded.

Mrs. Crema kept up her increasingly fake smile, worried, now, what would happen if she didn't "hire" the poor child, inquired further. "What is the going rate for Spascirian labor?"

"She's 30 a month. Or you can get her outright for a grand."

Avital pulled on her diamond necklace. Her husband had paid well into the five figures for it as an anniversary gift. It was gaudy, flashy, and a bit tasteless... but she was about to pay about 330 lira for a human being: a human being the same age as her daughter. So it was a perversely fitting accessory.

"I'll just take her outright," she said trying to hide that she was trembling, "we do plan to stay for a while. What's your name little one?"

"Adine," she mumbled.

She signed the necessary paperwork... buying a slave with a debit card leaves an ackward feeling.

She then managed to plop the young girl in the passenger seat of her shiny new Maserati... after a few moments, she buckled her in, realizing what an absurd exercise this was. The child seemed ignorant and passive, and didn't respond much to being in a car. It crossed Avital's mind that the "madame" of the establishment she was peeling out from probably assumed that she'd... and this word pained her... bought this young girl for a terrible reason.

Once she brought her home, little Adine bloomed. The large suburban house that Maserati acquired for the Cremas had a big yard, and plenty of room for gardens. Adine was in heaven, mowing the lawn, tending the garden, doing the laundry, scrubbing the floors... she was the perfect housekeeper. And her employers, though perpetually ackward, were grateful to have her. She'd spent her whole life, as long as she could remember, sleeping on the floor and doing whatever menial tasks she was assigned. That she had a cot to sleep on was a marvel to her; plus a full belly of tasty food--she thought she'd died and gone to heaven. Initially, she slept in the laundry room, as it was the warmest and it smelled very nice, she had insisted. But her accommodations migrated over time.

Her and Tamara had taken on immediately. A fish out of water, Tamara naturally bonded with the ackward, quiet girl she now lived with. During the long summer evenings the two would play in the backyard; during the dark winter months they'd play hide-and-seek in the unfinished basement. The only restraint was the Tamara had to, awkwardly recognize that Adine had to work later. After a night of playing, Adine would still have to fold laundry and prepare the coffee for the next day.

Though Adine seemed like her in almost every way, Tamara knew the girl was different. Whereas she got up and prepared for school, Adine got up and prepared for her long list of chores. Cleaning, meal prep, yard work, the list of tasks was unending, but Adine was happy to do them, and that was something Tamara accepted. Rich Radilan girls have befriended their domestic help for millennia. Their situations were different and that was okay. Adine wasn't her sister, per se, but her friend. Friends can be from all sorts of different backgrounds, and that diversity of economic status was a good thing. It was a progressive thing. Was it odd that her parents hired a young girl to be their maid? Sure. But she'd known girls back in Nuovo Porto who planned to drop out of school early to get a job working for some rich family. So it wasn't that odd.

This comfort allowed the two girls to grow close. Awkwardness aside, they liked eachother. Long days running around in the grass chasing ladybugs and fireflies and long nights trying to out spook eachother in the basement only affirmed thier friendship. Espically now that they had quiet, ackward talks about their feelings for boys. Adine had since moved her cot into Tamara's room, so they could have talks long past bedtime. They weren't quite sisters yet, but they were getting close.

Things were chugging along. Friendships were being solidified. And money was being made. But this all came to a sudden halt when two nations opted to exchange fire in the Thaumantic Ocean.

"That's what I had assumed," said the olive-green clad man, himself sighing, "I have stand-by evacuation orders for our Republic's citizens on my desk... and I'm happy to add to that list," he said, smiling.

Mr. Crema sighed in relief as he turned to his wife and the young girls.

"Miss Adine, could you come up to the desk?" the olive-green man asked. In her new shoes, she happily scampered up to the man. "What is your religion?" he asked, matter of factly.

"I'm Protestant," she said, smiling at the idea of what will happen next.

The olive-green man sighed and looked Adine in the eyes, "I obviously know what you are all trying to do... if it wouldn't be too much of a problem, it might be wise for you to convert to Judaism for the next few minutes. I'm sure the odds of God sticking you down then would be slim."

"Why" she asked, a bit confused.

"A family of three Jews and a Protestant will raise suspicions. Religion is noted on passports."

Adine swallowed and nodded in recognition. "Very well, I hearby convert to Judaism."

"I claim this child as mine, therefore she's a member of our tribe," Avital said, affirming what had transpired.

Satisfied, the olive-green man took out a Bible and opened it to the Book of Exodus

"Repeat after me. I, your name, swear..."

"I, Adine Crema, swear that I will be loyal to the Most Serene Republic of Radila, that I will defend her, if called to, against all enemies foreign and domestic, and keep by her laws as a Free and Equal Citizen. I swear to my fellow Citizens that I will keep their trust and stand with them when called to. I affirm this to G-d, almighty."

"Congratulations, citizen Adine. Let me take your picture and print up your passport.

She looked back at Tamara and smiled; they were sisters now.

@Angliarique

 

[Radilo]

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Sala del Collegio (Foreign Minister's office), Doge's Palace ​

3:30 PM

Foreign Minister Barnapola had invited @The Federation 's Ambassador to his office for what was described in his official logbook as a brief meeting. The Ambassador, already use to the--what some would call elegance but others would call gaudiness--general appearance of Radilan architecture, swiftly walked past security and sat down before the elaborately decorated wooden desk across from the Foreign Minister.

"You called for me with some degree of urgency," they said flatly.

"Some degree, yes," Barnapola responded. After a rather pregnant pause he resumed, "I'm of the impression that we are of the same ends concerning @Angliarique . However, we seem to be taking wildly different approaches."

"Hard to believe that your participation in their slave trade and our opposition to it can be so easily aligned," the Ambassador rebutted.

"Ahh... that's where you are wrong. The relevant tobacco producer, RMT, has such a low repute that they were willing to let us... let's say accommodate this system. We want to dipose that rotten state as much as you do, but you over in Westernesse are too impatient. Your bold call for freedom rings on deaf ears; the practical situation must be approached gradually. So, we build up a relationship with them whilst separately building up trust among the people there. Spascirians are humans, your propaganda forgets that, they must be approached on a human level. Calls to virtue mean little to a mother trying to feed her children... and that is our present impasse."

The Foreign Minister paused for a moment before taking a cigarette out of a silver cigarette case and lighting it. Puffing on it he continued, "my friend, we want what you want: freedom for all in Angliarique, but that will take time. Our aim is to build up relationships with people, both inside and outside of the political structure. We want to raise up people who will eventually push back from within and push against from without. And to be honest, I hope you keep up your aggressive public putsch against them whilst allowing us our more subtle approach. We hope to send back people who will share the... let's call it good news of the outside. This can start movements--not shouting insults--but with now better off people drinking in a bar. That's how your revolution started, did it not?"

He paused again taking a long drag, "RMT will do whatever it takes to lift the sanctions, but it would be better for everyone if we could come to some arrangement where they can bring in Spascirians to... for a lack of a better word... train them. I will let you know that anyone of the workers currently in the Republic, should the contract run out, will be free to stay here, or move to the Federation or wherever will take them, but most will return to Angliarique. Not because of that farce of an autonomous republic, but because they have families. Almost everyone working on RMT's plantation is a mother or father, and damn be what may, they value their children more than liberty. I know you secularists might scoff at that, but between virtue and family, most chose family."

He took another long drag from his cigarette and chuckled a bit, "I have to point out that your propaganda, whether privately sourced or funded by the state, is terrible. Not only did whoever make it seem ignorant of Spascirian culture--by the way they are Protestants, which is in part why they are persecuted by the Angliars--whose leadership was mostly excommunicated by Pope Julius IV, a Radilan pope mind you, for their cruelty. But that has to be less of a concern for you than the fact that there are millions of ethnic Radilans who are Federation citizens... including prominent memebers of your own party... who ought to take terrible offense at what was said. We won't respond to it because we never do. We are merely amused and perplexed by it."

He took one more long drag before extinguishing the butt in a glass ashtray, "just tell me how we end the sanctions, and I'll stop blabbering."

 

[The Federation]

"I thank you for the little history lesson with the Spascirians and the Radilan pope. Strange to think though that every Spascirian believes in a god. This one on the radio broadcast clearly doesn't and clearly resented being forced to pretend he did. Now in the Federation he can be the man we wants to be. Can you imagine not only being persecuted for your ethnicity but then being doubly persecuted by your own people for not believing in their god? I think that is what this man was going through. As for ethnic Radilans in, perhaps the unnaturalized non-citizen Radilans may be upset for a time, it is regrettable, but for the millions of naturalized citizens that were once ethnic Radilans, I can safely say they identify as Westermen and have shed their old world skins so to speak. I doubt they care. I mean wouldn't it be insane if an entire nation thought that a single person, describing a few Radilan task masters working for some scummy tobacco company was meant as an illustration of an entire nation? I hope Radilans are more intelligent than that!"

The Federation Ambassador took out his own cigarette, Radilan made, and lit it, taking a drag before exhaling and continuing. "It's a shame that these are starting to become scarce back home, Radilans sure know how to make a cigarette.'

The Ambassador's face became serious, "let us get one thing straight, there are no political parties in the Federation, it's illegal to organize political parties officially or unofficially. It is highly offensive to be accused of being part of a party. Parties don't think about the good of the whole, they think about themselves and how they might advance their own power. The Federation shed this old way of thinking many decades ago after political parties and regional nationalism from the old states ripped our country apart."

He finished his cigarette and put it out in the ashtray.

"Quality of the 'propaganda' as you call it aside, I think it has been very effective. I think this autonomous Spascirian state is a reaction to our broadcast and perhaps a few other goings on. Angliarique is a powder keg, one simply needs to find the right match to touch off an explosion that the Angliarisians aren't going to be able to stamp out this time, but what we are really here is to discuss these sanctions."

The Federation ambassador scratched his chin for a moment as he thought.

"Yes, the sanctions... I think that is going to be a very hard sell. I mean, why should the Federation risk some joint venture, however small or large it may be, with Radilo. You might not know it but Radilo has very little political capital with the Federation. Your unwillingness to support your own allies was looked at with quite a bit of disgust back home, this is not even to mention your signing of the Valls pact and your subsequent abandonment of your own commitments, blame us all you want for the failure of the Pact but even before our rush to stop the Gutnish piracy, you did not honor any agreements pretty much right out of the gate after signing the documents in Valls."

The Radilan ambassador was no doubt tired of hearing the Federation ambassador pontificate, but he gave him no room to butt in.

"But I have an idea that I think will work, the Federation shall not drop the sanctions. We shall instead create a shell company that will buy RMT's tobacco and sell it through them, all profits will go to RMT as if the sanctions were non existent, Radilo will train these Spascirian farmers not just to spread the good news but to use weapons, Radilan made mind you, if it's found out that Federation weapons are in the hands of Spascirian rebels it may well start another war, the Federation is willing to finance a part of the weapons cost. Smuggling it into the country will be your problem, surely the nation that gave birth to the famed Radilan mob can figure out how to get weapons into a totalitarian state. We can sweeten the deal if need be, but right now that is where we are in this negotiating process. I have friends in the Federation Security Council that may be amenable to this deal and by going through the FSC it becomes a defense issue and that makes it easier to bypass the Federation Council, no votes, no public mentions, just a good ole fashioned backroom deal."

 

[Radilo]

Barnapola lit a cigar, "Tianlong rushed head first without consulting us, and you're an arse... but your terms are agreeable. And that is all we care about. We're merchants, not fighters. And we are unoffended by your judgement."

He opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. "To peace," he said.

 

[The Federation]

"Very good, to peace then." The Federation Ambassador took a sip. He left shortly after.