Radilo
Establishing Nation
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
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
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