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Radilo

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Nuovo Porto, Città di Radila, Sestiere San Marco, courtyard of the Pałaso Graci
9:00 PM

Xi Maria sat awkwardly next to Senator Regina Pernolt, the billionaire heiress who was hosting this party. Normally, this sort of event was attended by the Doge, but he was in @Tianlong , so was the Captain General, and the Foreign Minister. As a result, the highest ranking government official presently in la Serenissima was the Green Party leader and Chancellor of the Exchequer... Maria.

Xi Maria was a Black Tianèla, the daughter of a Tianlong-Radilan father and a Nethian/Himyari mother. She was all the rage on twatter and tic-tac, and was all the cool kids' favorite politician. But, as the second junior partner in the centre-left coalition, she had to stay behind to guard the republic. Which meant she had to attend dumb shit like this party.

Sure, her Tiffany white gold nose ring (with a tiny, elegant sapphire) was viewed as charming, her working class background made her feel and seem awkward to the senatorial crowd assembled at the gala.

The assortment of aristocrats parading before her only intensified her awkwardness. "I see why Izzy hates these," she thought.

The Senators, themselves, wore an ermine and red silk drapeaux over one of their shoulders. She smiled at all of them. Shipping magnates, bankers, captains of industry, all paraded about--saying nothing meaningful.

Doing nothing meaningful. Maria necked her wine.
 
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Radilo

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MOSE worksite, Lido Inlet, Radilan Lagoon
9:30 AM

"It's comming along magnificently," said Marco Hedal, the lead Radilan engineer on the project to his counterpart from @Tianlong , "with the influx of capital, we should finally be on schedule soon."

"It does look impressive, espically since the work accelerated three months ago."

The MOSE (Modulo Seprimentale Elettromeccanico or Experimental Electromechanical Module) was a massive system of seawalls meant to protect Radila from flooding, which was a problem that was increasing in severity each year. The high tides of the Acqua alta were exacerbated each year by global warming.

A plan to build a seawall around the Lagoon was proposed all the way back in 2003, but construction only began in 2012, often with only halting progress. Most of this squabbling was over funding. Many Senatorial families saw this as an ideal vanity project, but were uncomfortable forking over the funds when the time came. A lot of Radila's well documented infrastructure problems also stem from this.

It wasn't until the Banca della Città procured a 6 billion euromark loan from the Tianlong Investment Bank, that progress began to excellerate rapidly.

"Your country is very odd," the man from Tianlong said, "it has many quirks: all of that vast wealth, and almost a third of your population doesn't own a refrigerator. Not to mention this," he gestured to the construction site.

"We also have the highest life expectancy and the most content citizens, "Marco retorted.

"Oh, that twelve year old who waited on me for breakfast seemed content."

"I'm sure they were. They get to live in a safe society with generous benefits, unlike where they likely came from. That's what we like to spend our money on."

"As long as you pay us back," he said, as both men observed three Maseratis pull up to the construction site. Out stepped a group of men who's occupation was obvious: fadoras, designer suits, and a lot of jewelry gave them away. "I thought you said the camorra wasn't going to be involved," he said, glaring at Marco.

"No, you were told they wouldn't have anything to do with your money. And they won't. Look at them," Marco said gesturing towards the group who seemed sociable with the workers. "They're with the union, just checking in to make sure their guys are getting taken care of. Sure they skim off the top, but it's not your money--at least not at that point. It's union dues and they sometimes gamble with the pension funds--but everyone knows about it and it's considered a cost of doing business... and pensions are fully insured. And besides, it's not like the engineering is any worse off."

The other engineer sighed, "odd little country indeed."
 

Radilo

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Nuovo Porto, Città di Radila, Sestiere San Marco, courtyard of the Pałaso Graci
9:00 PM

Maria sat awkwardly at the head table. It was in a magnificent courtyard, resplendent with renaissance statues, small fountains, and carefully tended shrubs and flowers. Illuminated on all sides was white marble pałaso, having been in the possession of the Pernolt family since the 15th century.

That was when they purchased it for cheap from a rival cloth merchant clan who'd been driven to bankruptcy. Their family had the good fortune to keep its position of power and to this day owns several fashion houses. Their family matriarch or patriarch had held the a seat in the hereditary upper house of the Senate for 600 years.

The senator herself was a tall, very slender, and pale woman; she was in her mid 60s with dyed platinum hair. She wore a designer dress and a necklace valued by an Engellish auction house at more than 6 million Euromarks. Over her left shoulder was slung the ermine and red silk drapeux that signified her status as a hereditary senator.

Maria's parents were a school teacher and a waitress. She grew up in a small apartment in a working class section of Nouvo Porto.

She was a petite late 30-something, with cappuccino skin and eyes she was happy to accent. She wore a trendy, but reasonably affordable sundress. The only jewelry she wore was her aforementioned nose ring, and a small white gold Madonna medal her mother got her in Tibur; she even got it blessed by Pope Gregory VI. Who was far from Maria's favorite pope, but she took some satisfaction knowing that the old conservative had to pray for her now.

One of these two women one held an office in an advisory legislature, the other was in charge of the Most Serene Republic's budget. Power is funny like that.

The two women's husbands were sitting quietly by their sides. Maria's parents were watching their twin girls. The Xi-D'Istrja family's lives had seen great material improvement after her election. Her mom was able to quit working. That same grandma who had just tucked the girls in after having given them waaay too many sweets.

She looked over at her poor husband, Ishmael D'Istrja, who was being bombarded by commentary from some wealthy man. Ishmael looked as Jewish as he was, black curly hair, sharp features, and a strong Philistaean essence, if you will. The wealthy man was also Jewish, not only did he share the same stereotypical traits as her husband, he wasn't wearing a drapeux. Only baptized Catholics could serve in the upper chamber of the Senate.

"You see, young man, I am more worried than many others about the situation in Philistaea. The reforms there are much needed, but I fear that the Jews there will face reprisals from Orthodox extremists, for their support for the new regime. It's like the story of..."

Maria cast her husband a sympathetic glance.

"Chancellor Xi, it is a lovely evening isn't it?"

"It is, Senator Pernolt," she responded, feigning a smile.

"You have many orientals in your family, what do they think of the MOSE project? I find it dreadful that we are participating in this silly World Belt project. Having to borrow money from some silken backwater..."

"With all do respect, Senator, @Tianlong is Radilo's oldest and closest ally, the MOSE is a mutually beneficial..."

Her secure phone started chirping. "Sorry Senator, I have to take this, it's the Foreign Minister." She'd never been happier to answer a text message.

"This is the treaty Tianlong is proposing, we need universal consent on this one. It has to move fast."

Maria started texting and calling the rest of the higher-ups in the Green Party.

A thankful reprieve...


@Pelasgia
 
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Radilo

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Nuovo Porto, Città di Radila, Sestiere San Marco, Doge's Palace, Prime Minister's Office
Anno domini 1983

Sister Victoria was irritated with the prime minister. And she was not one for subtly, but neither was he.

"This is a sin," she said, staring down the Prime Minister.

"I know," he said in his heavy frankish accent, "but governments must commit many sins. The Pope in Tibur commits sins, as the head of state for the Holy See."

"This is different, Michael," said the old nun and present Red Communist leader, "this opens the door to any abuses. It no different than what happened during the Great War!"

"The year, Sister Victoria, is 1983, not 1938. I remember 1938, I remember what happened to people. What happened to every member of my family..."

"Mister Prime Minister, I am sorry--"

"They slaughtered them! They forced my sister to abort her child. Then they raped and eventually shot her when they grew board with her. This is nothing like that. This will give women more rights. It will clarify what is already reality; women have abortions in the Radilan Republic, this will make sure they are safe. And many in your own party agree with me."

Sister Victoria tapped the table with her knuckles and brushed her hand against the table, a moving on gesture. "You don't need my votes for that, why did you call me?"

"My own party is known for being stubborn. I can't safely ensure universal Yellow support. I'm planning on introducing a universal basic income bill."

"So... wait--really?"

"The tests we've run have all been incredibly successful. There is an enormous economic benefit to these programs."

"You'll have to raise taxes..."

"That's why I'm asking for red support."

"You're own party will..."

"They may well drive me out. So be it. The abortion thing will set up an easy distraction for it."

Sister Victoria smiled, "you are one godless cynic."

"I know."
 
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Radilo

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Nuovo Porto, Città di Radila, Sestiere San Marco, courtyard of the Pałaso Graci
11:00 PM

A very old woman was sitting by herself, sans drapeau, seeming to gaze at the beautiful scenery of the courtyard. Sensing a break in attention, Maria stole a moment to make her way over. Once closer, she recognized her: Lulu DeVain, the legendary women's rights activist.

"Mrs. DeVain..." she said, as the old woman turned to smile at her.

"Chancellor, an honor, unfortunately my knees prevent me from greeting you properly."

"There is no need, ma'am," she said, sitting down next to her, "your speech about refugees brought me to tears."

"Good. We should not forget the last 80 years for the sake of convenience."

"Soon, we'll vote on a democratic alliance to work against that."

"Good... but that should have happened before Pannonia was torn to shit... again."

"Do you..."

"All the time. Do you happen to have a cigarette on you?"

Maria searched her pocket for a moment before taking out a cigarette case and a zippo. She handed both to the old woman.

"Thank you, Chancellor... don't tell my doctor. My mortician fine... but not my doctor."

Maria couldn't contain her chuckle.

The old woman smiled as she lit up a cigarette.
 

Radilo

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San Polo, Valletta, Serenìsima Repùblega di Radèla
8:55 AM on a Monday

Lilibet ran as fast as her young legs and sandal clad feet could take her. On uneven cobblestone streets, she dashed her way towards the home of her employer. It had been browbeaten into her from a young age that one should never be late to work, as she was from the Protestant side of town--where scraping to get buy was the norm. She had a good job as a maid, working for Mister , and she didn't want to risk it. She was so committed to her path that she didn't notice that Mr. Dandolo was sipping on Fernet in a café as she blew by. He couldn't help but chuckle a bit. He put a 20 lira note down on the table and started meandering his way back home.

Lilibet nearly skidded as she stopped before the elegantly appointed pałaso. 8:58, she was still on time, she thought to herself as she was panting. She reached to open the door and found that it was locked. She rapped the lion-faced door knocker a few times and no response, she pushed the doorbell, despite knowing that it didn't work... nothing.

"He isn't home," she mumbled to herself.

At around 9:10 the portly old man meandered his way up the road, "good morning Lilibet," he said as he approached, "timely as always."

He smiled as he greeted her furrowed brow.

"You're late." she said in her crisp accent.

"What do you care, you get paid regardless."

"The later I start the later I finish," she said, somehow narrowing her eyes even more.

"Ya got some lass you gotta get back to?" Mr. Dandolo said smugly.

Lilibet blushed bright as a strawberry on her fair cheeks, and didn't respond.

"Ha--don't worry girl, you'll be out soon enough today," he said unlocking the door. "I'll give you a full day's wages if you make sure that my dining room, kitchen, and guest bathroom are spotless--you can ignore my private quarters. I have a fine meeting today."

"Well, then shouldn't your bedchambers be doubly cleaned?" Lilibet asked tilting her head sideways.

"Go on and get cleaning ya little mutt."

Lilibet fake growled at him before scampering in to tend to her duties.

Mr. Dandolo smiled--it was hard not to. Lilibet was a sweet girl, only 13, she'd already dropped out of school to work. But she still seemed happy about her lot. Emilio (that's his first name that no one seems to address him by) was always a bit conflicted about Radilan culture. From an ancient and Senatorial family, he had begun to feel the weight of it all. After a life spent between Dulwich and La Città, he enjoyed spending his days in the family's more luxurious home in San Polo--which was, while still an urban palace, more than 5 times the size of his ancestral pałaso in Radila.

He was unique among Radila's Hereditary Senators, as he also served a hereditary role in another nation's legislature. Through some tortured dynastic succession laws, he was also a Duke with large estates in @Great Engellex . He had both Protestant and Catholic ancestry--but was himself officially Catholic because of La Serenìsima's stricter rules regarding who could sit in their powerless upper chamber.

This was an evening for a quiet meeting. One he may have to shoo Lilibet out early if she was too busy indulging in her perfectionism.
 
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Radilo

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San Polo, Valletta, Serenìsima Repùblega di Radèla
12:30 PM on a Monday

At a small café in one of the more glaringly touristy parts of town, Lilibet stole a moment with her girlfriend: "you should look for a domestic position, the pay is waaay better."

"Humph--I'm plenty content as a waitress. I prefer to lower myself to my fellow Engellexians, instead of these damn rich Catholics..."

"So you've been watching that show on Netflix a bit too much I take it..."

"I'm teasing, I'm teasing. I genuinely like my job waiting tables--and frankly drunk Catholics are the best tippers."

"Domestic work still pays better."

"Yea, but I get to look at the beach all day. And I'm always off by early afternoon. This is a brunch place mostly...are you looking for a mid-afternoon cuddle?"

"Maybe..." Lilibet said smiling.

"Well it'll have to wait 'til we close in a bit."

"Fine," Lilibet said as the two girls pecked a kiss.

A table over, a young Engellexian couple on vacation watched the two girls with a bit of mutual giddiness.

"Oh my, they're sooo cute!" the young woman whispered.

"Puppy love is always sweet, the awkwardness makes it adorable," the younger man said.

"This is an odd little country," the young woman said, looking back at her partner, "the workers here feel so young--it's straight out of the Victorian era."

"I guess the child labor laws are really lax here... I guess given how generous their welfare system is, it all balances out."

As he said this, he saw a boy who couldn't be older than ten started bussing the next table over.

"These aren't all refugees, are they?" she asked.

"I'm sure some of them are, but like those two little love birds, many of the working class in this country are of Engellexian heritage, Protestants too."

"Hmm... I guess it's the opposite from back home then."

"Except, even we don't have nine year olds bussing tables."

"I'm eleven!" the boy said as he was walking away, dishes in tow. The young tourists shared a moment of mutual awkwardness then started chuckling.


Pałaso Dandolo
Later that evening

There was a rapping at the door; Mr. Dandolo opened it himself, dressed in a red silk robe and gold ascot.

"Ambassador," he said, as he opened the door.

"Senator," the tall posh man responded, reaching out and shaking Mr. Dandolo's hand.

"Come in, come in, we have much to discuss."

As the to men sat down in the smoking lounge, Mr. Dandolo poured two glasses of fine Frankish Cognac, setting them on a silver platter with a pitcher of water and bowl of ice with tongs. He set the platter down on a coffee table situated between two overstuffed chairs.

The @Great Engellex Ambassador smiled at him, "you seem rather unbothered given what has recently gone down in Pelasgia."

"What are you talking about?"

"When was the last time you read or watched the news?"

"Early this morning. I've been reading up on policy briefs since then... petrol and biofuels were to be the main concern."

"Good lord... this may be distressing," he said as he pulled out his phone and started playing the news footage.

Mr. Dandolo's eyes grew wider as the video progressed.


Undisclosed location, Valletta
10:00 am

Despotess of Pelasgia, Anna Vatzaina Dandolo was reading the latest Star Wars comic in the late morning sunshine, lounging on the secluded beach that she and her husband Emilio Dandolo II had rented the entirety of for the week. Her loveable oaf of a husband was holding his own in a super-soaker competition in the shallow surf with some group of passing drunk frat boys. You can't own a beach was the official policy of the Most Serene Republic--you could own the villa on the beach, but, theoretically at least, the beach itself was public property. So drunk kids frequently were crossing in view of their rented villa. Of course calling college students kids was a bit of a stretch--as they were each only 29 years old.

They had started dating when they were students at Chagny University in the HFE. Among the more aristocratic students, there emerged a need for a Dungeons & Dragons group. These events started small, but ended up being well attended. Every noble dork ended up attending these affairs. The Despotess of Pelasgia, the future Queen of Csengian Erzsébet, or Ezzy as her friends knew her, and future Radilan Senator and Engellexish Duke, Emilio, among others.

Anna's and Emilio's wedding was attended by the Queen Emmeline of Great Engellex (and her other realms), Doge Clemente III of Radilo, and, of course, the father of the bride, Emperor Theodore VIII Vatatzes of Pelasgia. The ceremony itself took place in la Città di Radila, at the ancient Pałaso Ricci-Dandolo, in the presence of no fewer than three bishops: Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant. Underneath a massive portrait of Enrico Dandolo, the 13th Century blind Radilan Doge who played an instrumental role in the Great Himyari Crusade and the sacking of Propontis--the ceremony represented a final sort of settling of differences.

Now, three years later, the couple is enjoying a bit of self-isolated bliss. Nerds both, they eluded the stuffy lifestyle intended for them, as well as the, in their opinions, grotesque social media habits of their ultra-rich peers. It's not that they didn't like luxury, rather they didn't like wagging it around like a flasher trying to bait the next revolution.

As Emilio returned from his valiant battle with the drunk frat boys, he kissed Anna on the lips--making sure to linger for a few moments. The two smiled for a moment after.

"The warrior returns," she said, smirking.

"Shame it is such an uncivilized weapon," he responded, chucking his water gun to the side. She giggled at the reference.

They were blissfully unaware of the awfulness that had transpired in northern Himyar, or even the abuse their good friend was getting back in Nuovo Porto.

It wouldn't last.



@Pelasgia
@Holy Frankish Empire
@Tarusa
@Great Engellex
 

Radilo

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Pałaso Dandolo, San Polo, Valletta, Serenìsima Repùblega di Radèla
11:00 PM on a Monday

Mr. Dandolo sighed after another clip wrapped up on the Ambassador's phone. It was one thing for to make fun of Ezzy, it was something else entirely for the Doge to be so cruel. He understood why he had to did it, but he knew it would hurt her none the less.

A depressing thought crossed his mind. It might seem small to many, but he knew better. Andor, that Star Wars live action show airing on Mickey+ was set to premiere soon. She adored that series, how could she root for the Rebellion now?

"Thank you, Ambassador, let them know we are interested in resisting monopolistic behavior regarding the energy sector."

"Senator," he said as he extended his hand and stood to leave, "good luck."

"Thank you," Mr. Dandolo replied.


Pałaso Dandolo,
2015 AD

Ezzy grew up as a commoner, despite her noble heritage--a very comfortable commoner, but a regular person none the less. Pałasos like the one the Dandolo's had in San Polo were still impressive to the young college student when she first arrived, as were the ride in a private jet and Rolls Royce limo.

His son and future daughter-in-law had invited all their dnd friends to the family palace in Valletta, after university let out. Mr. Dandolo remembered meeting Ezzy for the first time, a a shy and timid girl who preferred to hide behind her friends. She had a mouth full of braces and big glasses. But she warmed up quickly.

Later in the evening, after everyone else had either fell asleep or passed out. Mr. Dandolo walked into the kitchen to find Ezzy nervously reading her phone.

"You okay?" he asked, noting her worried expression.

She shook her head, "it's coming, like a freight train, measured in years, I can't stop it. And I cannot look away."

He sighed, "may son told me about it. Look at it this way, if you have some opportunity to make the world better you should take it."

"I don't think I'm going to have any opportunities to do that. My father had the right idea--go run and hide. But I cannot stay hidden now."


2022
1:30 AM

Given how much wine he drank, he inadvisably took out his cell phone and made the call. He hoped the number still worked. After several rings a quite female voice said "Ezzy" followed by a beep. "Ezzy, its Mr. Dandolo... I wanted to call to check in on you--to make sure you are alright. I am sorry for what the Doge said. You are a good person, Ezzy; you have the power to do good. Fuck the Tsar, fuck the Patriarch, fuck all of them--you can make the world better, even if yo don't know how. Some people do. Dormi bene, giovane."


@Tarusa
 

Radilo

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San Polo, Valletta, Serenìsima Repùblega di Radèla
2021, 11:00 PM on a Friday

Emily was a dorky, sweet girl, with a mouth full of braces and big glasses framing her big green eyes. She nervously twisted her red braided hair, as the bus pulled up to the one lonely stop in her little village. She hopped on and put a few coins in the slot.

"Take me to where the lesbians are!" She declared to the bus driver who smiled at her. Other passengers cooed at her adorable awkwardness. Even hardened old shepherds had to smile at her earnestness. "To the Cuillo District it is," the driver declared as Emily took her seat.

She felt like flying. The day before, despite her mother's feigning of annoyance, she dropped out of school. Now she was taking the bus to San Polo, where she would strike out on her own. "Always remember that you cam come back home if you need to," her mother said, worried, but still proud of her fierce little girl. She'd get a girlfriend, and a job, and her own place--just like generations of young queer people before her had. Only, thank God, this was all by choice. She could always count on her family's love.

Her family were poor, uneducated, working class Protestants, but they were loving and accepting. She counted her blessings being born in Radilo, being born to her awesome, if insufferable, parents. She knew she was too young for it, but every great adventure starts when some kid strikes off on their own.

In San Polo, she was dropped off in Cuillo, the heart of the city's vibrant gayboorhood. "I hope you find a girlfriend," the bus driver shouted as she closed the door. Emily simply beamed as she waved goodbye. She made her way to a vino del sole bar. Vino del sole, or sun wine, is a type of light sweet wine made from raisins; it is only 1-2% alcohol, so it is, theoretically, safe for kids to drink. As a result, it was a popular imbibe, along with soda pop, amongst teenagers. Much like how prowling gay bars was a rite of passage among queer adults, vino del sole soda shops were a popular place for queer kids to discover themselves.. and find a girl/boy/other friend.

Once inside, Emily felt alone and overwhelmed. But she pressed on and let her 13-year old self confidence guide her. That's when she spotted me. An equally awkward girl, sipping on an orangono, a half and half mixture of sun wine and orange pop.

We've been dating ever sense.


Pałaso Dandolo, San Polo, Valletta, Serenìsima Repùblega di Radèla
5:30 PM on a Tuesday

Anna was absolutely beaming as Lilibet finished her story. She squeed even more when Emily came out from the kitchen and gave Lilibet a kiss. After the other set of love birds had come back from vacation, Mr. Dandolo had Lilibet and her girlfriend prepare a nice welcome home meal for his son and daughter-in-law. Emily had actually been shadowing some as a cook at the restaurant she was a waitress at. She wanted to test out her skills--and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.

"This is a twist on goa risotto," Emily proudly declared, "I added chorizo. It's not traditional, and it's no longer acceptable as a Lenten meal, but it tastes pretty good."

"Please girls, join us," Mr. Dandolo said, smiling. "You've made plenty." The two girls pulled up chairs and joined them at the table.

As they ate, Anna appreciated the salty richness of the rice. She couldn't help but stare at the two young working class girls giggling and occasionally nuzzling across the table. August was a beautiful time in the Meridian Sea. She thought back to when she was young, playing in the sea as her parents watched on. Often she had to protect her baby brother from her more domineering siblings. Her father was a traditionalist who believed that kids should work things out on their own. But her baby brother, Basil, was always vulnerable, always soft at heart. He would throw himself into anything, be it a stupid dare or a school project, because he needed to show strength, show toughness. Even now in the navy he wore a suit of iron. But his soul and heart were soft... Their father beat him horribly when he opened up. So he vowed to stay closed. Closeted.

Now she looked at two young girls, happily nibbling on rice and sausage, exchanging sweet glances. In the @Great Engellex Church, at least as it was practiced in Radilo, they'd even be able to marry one day. She desperately wished the same could be true for her baby brother. She started tearing up and trembling.

"Are you alright," her husband asked nervously.

"I just wish my brother could live out in the open--" she caught herself before finishing her sentence. She then grabbed her husband and started crying into him. He embraced her and held her tightly as she sobbed.

"Girls," Mr. Dandolo said pulling out four 1 Ducati notes, "thank you for dinner, but you have to go. Now."


Later that night, sitting quietly, drinking sun wine, the girls started to talk about what transpired. A young reporter for the local queer periodical overheard them and inquired further--tipsy on raisin juice, they dropped the story no one was ready for. The reporter had to confirm some details, but by print it was obvious... Despot Basil of @Pelasgia was as gay as a 3 lira note.
 
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Radilo

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A neighborhood polling place, Badua
11:00 AM on a Sunday

Election day was a national holiday in Radilo. Second Sunday in November, after the holidays for the souls and the saints, but before Christmastide. Merchants had closed out their accounts for the fiscal year, and all of the crops had been harvested. Plus it coincided with the celebration of the Nuova Costituzione, that had been ratified in 1797, and substantially reforming--bringing enlightenment to--Radilo's aincent government.

It was the first time Emilia had ever held a ballot before, having turned 16, she was now allowed to vote. It was exciting. , now Emilia felt it.

She looked at the color coded sheet and pondered one last time on how she was going to vote. She liked the Prime Minister, the Iron Woman, and her experiencse in this new country had been much more positive than she had any right to expect... even the shabbiness was now charming. But she also liked her city's Red Party constituent Senator, and their Red Mayor. She had planned to split ticket vote when she was looking it up on her phone... so she'd just do that. No more reason to dawdle. They were in the same coalition anyway. A vote for the Blue Party, but votes for the Red Party candidates.*

She filled out her ballot and slid it into the ballot box. She got a sticker featuring a smiling cartoon Lion of St. Mark and made her way home to open a bottle of wine.


* Radilo's elected lower chamber is similar to Germany's. Voters choose a constituency senator and also vote seperately for a political party. The constituency senate seats are first-past-the-post. Once they are decided, overhang senators are apportioned amonst the parties to reflect their percentage of the party vote. The lower chamber does not have a set number of senators.
 
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Naval Command Center, Doge's Palace, Città di Radila
8:00 PM

Isabella felt invincible. A supermajority in the Senate meant she could do what she felt the republic really needed. In front of the Banner of St. Mark and a flag bearing the emblem of CETO, she looked into the camera lens and couldn't help but allow herself a grin. As it turned on, close watching viewers could catch it as her lips returned to their standard deadpan.

Prime Minister's New Year's Brief Announcement

"Citizens of the Most Serene Republic, I am grateful for your confidence in this government and in the Technicolor Coalition. In this time of growing uncertainty, our mutual faith in eachother will serve as the foundation for the progress I am sure we will make. I have several announcements I would like to share with you this evening, regarding the security of our Republic.

First is the opening of a new joint CETO naval facility in Chonoros, Valletta. This base will be able to accommodate our newly completed aircraft carriers the Orfei* and the DeVain*, and will serve as a vital strategic port for our CETO allies.

Our Republic's navy once ruled the Meridian Sea, and could project power across the world's oceans. It is time again that we are no longer beholden to our own anxieties. It is time again for the Lion of St. Mark to roar. The taste of colonial conflict is sour, but the fight for liberty and human dignity is sweet.

To that end, know that this buildup is not to threaten any peaceful nation. The Most Serene Republic wishes now to keep all nations as friends. No. This buildup is to project the optimism we felt at the end of the Great War.

The second thing I wish to announce is the start of a national program in which, for six weeks a year, our 16 and 17 year old citizens shall participate in a military training program. This is not a mobilization. The training we are planning is not the typical sort you would have in a conventional military. Instead, this will be a training regiment for resistance fighters. As should our Republic ever be threatened, such skills could prove vital.

Our young citizens will be encouraged to, when they join this program, to go in as groups of friends--as that is the natural formation of resistance cells.

It is our intention that such training will serve only as a rite of passage and a youthful bonding experience. But should it be necessary this will serve as an additional protection for our Republic. And should we ever again need to send resistance fighters to aid in defending democracy and human dignity, our intelligence services will have a much wider pool to draw from.

To our younger citizens, this is an opportunity to challenge yourselves and an opportunity to strengthen the bonds of your friendship that are so fundamental in preserving our Republic. We need to rely on eachother, because it is we the people who are this Republic. It will be challenging, and in the comming years, it will be hard to be the ones to go first. But I have faith in you, we all do.

Viva la Serenìsima."


*Radilo's wartime leader
*a former Prime Minister who was a refugee and the current Prime Minister's mentor
 
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Radilo

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Pałaso Verreneccia, Outside of Vorena
Around noon

The private jet ride was nice. I can't fly commercial anymore, at least with the passports I had on me. There was a lot of shit going on. All the shit in Himyar, and now fucking pirates in the Gothic Sea... what's next another Crusade gets called... oh wait... nevermind.

I was sitting on the Pałaso's terrace overlooking the rolling vineyards; I could see the Dolomite mountains beyond in the far distance.

It was as stereotypically romantic as you would assume given the venue. This was an all a Camorra summit at the home of Don Ceasar Realto, the defacto head of the Camorra. Now unlike other criminal enterprises, Don Caesar isn't someone imbued with absolute power; its not like those cheesy film noirs that come out of Occidentia. Don Ceasar is truly just the first among equals.

Every Camorra clan has a leader, but even they are not empowered like the Godfather. Ironically, given the current topics up for discussion, a Camorra clan is more like a pirate ship--it operates democratically. We chose a boss who acts as a manager for whatever operations we have going on. There's mutual accountability--this disincentivizes idiotic jockying, which minimizes machismo and stupidity. And given that membership in our association is based, mostly, on the accident of birth, anything that disincentivizes stupidity is a good thing.

I had been elected, to my suprise, to be our clan's voice at this meeting. I guess it was that I had the most experience with smuggling--having spent the last few years running eneough guns to Himyar to win the Great War. It was certainly eneough to get noticed.

I had heard that the Radilan Ambassador to @Tarusa had been called to the Foreign Minister's office to explain why their troops had been encountering so much Radilan hardware. The Ambassador just laughed, and brushed him off saying that the SA32 had been in production for ninety years, and that there were tens if not hundreds of millions of units spread throughout the world. There had never been a way to account for all of them. And if the Foreign Minister had a specific complaint he could contact her and they could meet again.

The Foreign Minister, perhaps realizing how little use it was flapping one's wings up and down, just angerly dismissed her. Albeit with a cryptic warning typical for Slavs. He perhaps had seen how useless such arguments were when the Monarchy of @Pelasgia had to flee after their government's botched reaction to protests there. The Doge made some benign statement supporting the protestors' larger goals of ending their stupid war, bringing about peace, and the usual well meaning bs. And in response the Pelasgian government flipped a lid. And a few days later the government was overthrown. It does go to show you when governments overreact to minor insults that they are not strong, rather, that they are weak.

The powerful don't flap their arms up and down at every petty insult. I think some Engellex king said that. Or something like it.

To that end, the new Pelasgian Republic did show a rather kind gesture to The Most Serene Republic, in that they granted several Radilan citizens who'd served long stretches in labor camps early release. Including the now 28 year old daughter of Don Ceasar. She'd only been 18 when she fucked up a drug delivery to Propontis. It was too much responsibility for her, true, but she also took more of the fall than expected. After 10 years, she was pretty beat up.. then she had opened up about how it she'd been raped. Don Ceasar was furious. Some guard really fucked that one up. But, as a gesture of good will, given her return, it was decided that they wouldn't try to extract the normal debt for such an offense.

The standard way of extracting debt for raping anyone in the Camorra went like this: first, they'd abduct them and their entire immediate family. Then they'd bind all of their family members in front of the person who owed the debt. Then they'd kill their family members one by one, including children. And that would be the payment. The debtor would be allowed to live. The reasoning was twofold: not only would the now former debtor live in misery for the rest of their lives, they'd communicate to others the horror of getting on the Mob's bad side.

Once a debt is paid, the former debtor is marked. A small cut is made on the left cheek. It is not a disfiguring scar, but an easy to identify one.

With this lucky fucker, they didn't kill his family--though they certainly made it look like they were going to. They did take a shotgun to his wife's knee and they did break his two kids noses when they beat them up, but they all lived. They'd all recover--albeit with plenty of trauma. A final cut meant the debt was repaid.

Don Ceasar had been merciful.

What I find funny about that whole event, as Don Ceasar was describing it, was that they played off of an old presumption about the Camorra--that we're a bunch of bigots. Now, don't get me wrong, there are plenty of bigoted gumbas out there, but we still count many mixed race Radilans amongst our ranks. The four guys who beat up that guard and his family were Tianèla, with proper Celestial Republic passports. Not that their target would know, as they wore masks.

Governments understand things often--and right now our government, the Radilan government is prepared to offer us top Ducato to help them protect their shipping industry... and given my past experience, I guess it will fall to me to come up with a plan to address this whole piracy business in the Gothc Sea. The best option, it seems, will be to Arm the hell out of our merchant force. We'll put several, heavily armed family members on each vessel. We will have a vote later today on this idea.

We'll see how those pirates do against real gangsters.
 
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Radilo

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Refugee surplus camp, near the White Mountains, Caria
Early spring

It was cold, miserably so. But was also humid, that's what made it worse. Everything was damp, it rained all the time, nothing would stay dry. Emilia had hoped that when the snow started melting, it wouldn't be so cold. It was not to be so. She was starting to miss the fierce winds and freezing temperatures of that winter--these were at least dry.

Aria had cut her hair short, like others in the camp recommended, as long hair took too long to dry when it got wet or damp. Emilia had stubbornly refused. She'd, in the past year, seen everything taken away from her. Less than two years ago she was a happy teenager, living in a middle class neighborhood of the little town she'd grown up in. She had friends, a stable family, nice cloths, electronics, air conditioning and heating--her parents even owned a car--they went to nice restraunts... she had safety! Now she was shivering in a makeshift tent; her most recent meal was garbage she scrounged, she'd worn the same ratty cloths for the better part of a year. Her parents were dead; she didn't know how many of her friends were still alive. And she lost her virginity, with a gun to her head, to a drunk Csengian border guard... as her sister watched hiding behind a fence. She was so afraid all of the time, so terrified all of the time... she'd become use to it... that was normal now... she became numb to it. All she could do was trudge to the next day, the next town, the next camp...

...so they were not going to take her hair from her.

Aria had already given up... it was not about her hair, she had always been ambivalent about her mop of thick brown hair... no, she didn't want to be cold anymore... it was everything else. She didn't even talk anymore. There were kids her age there, a lot of them actually... they were all beaten looking, but some tried to cling to some semblance of their past lives, playing, or at least trying to do something. Not Aria, she she just laid there on their makeshift cot. Emilia was her only connection left to their past lives, and Emilia's hair was her last connection. It was the last tether to Chirri, to Zara, to Pannonia, to everthing they left behind--she would not cut it off.

She was laying in their makeshift cot, cuddling with Aria as best she could. She had managed to find some sheets to wrap around them, but they were cotton, and weren't the most insulating, as they'd become, like everything else, damp. Aria was shivering, but was calming down some as her and Emilia's combined animal warmth began to take effect. Eventually, Aria was able to fall asleep again, Emilia also started to doze off.

What made this whole experience even more miserable was that they weren't even in an actual refugee camp--unlike the camp they stayed at for a time in the occupied territories. This large collection of makeshift tents was not set up by the White Helmets, but was rather an organic gathering near a railroad depot where refugees hoped to get tickets to somewhere else. The settlement was illegal, and the locals were not exactly welcoming to this group of destitute refugees. They would have been deported had the Pope not intervened. And without the Catholic Refugee Agency, they wouldn't even have the meager supplies they had. It was this absurd scenario where Pannonian priests and nuns had to illegally cross into Caria, descreatly stop at food pantries and thrift stores to get supplies so they could do their work. So the refugees there had precious little to survive off of and could not count on reliable deliveries of supplies. White Helmets were not given authorization to help, and the crossing from Pannonia to Caria was done in a desperate hurry, as Serbova had said that anyone seeking refuge there would be expelled back to what were now Csengian occupied territories.

Aria and Emilia had walked the entire length of that country, strattling the border in a rush to find a safe(-ish) port of call. Sister Madiline had given them a map leading to the makeshift refugee camp. She was grateful at least it was still there. When they had to flee the official refugee camp in the occupied territories, they were able to take almost nothing, and had no guarantee that where they were heading would actually provide any refuge.

As Emilia was about to fall asleep when she heared a young woman's excited voice.

"Emilia, Aria, come quick, the priests and nuns... they got some food for us."

"Thank you Rosa!" Emialia exclaimed as she shook her sister awake, "com'on Aria, we need to get in line for food."

Aria didn't say anything, motivated by hunger, she quickly got up and slid her shoes on. Emila did the same, pausing briefly to contemplate going out in the mud barefoot, to keep her shoes dry, as some of the others in the camp did, as bare skin dries quickly, and mud flaked off--no, it would have been miserably cold, and her shoes were already damp. They both made their way to the line of people awkwardly forming.

"We have eneough for everyone, for several days, do not worry!" A young priest declared, "we have a benefactor who managed to talk sense into some people. It's military rations, but it's hardy."

Emelia saw two nuns cutting up pink blocks that came out of cans with weird writing on them. Though some of the other cans she could recognize--Spam? Like bad emails--no like during the Great War, she remembered in war documantaries allied soilders eating it... and... sharing it with it with hungry civilians... that was them now... they were the hungry civilians in a war zone. Destitute and happy to take whatever they could.

As Aria and her made their way to the front of the line, they could smell the little chunks of processed meat frying in their own fat on a large pan, a portion of which was scooped onto two pieces of soft white bread that came out of a can.

"Courtesy of President Zhuan of the Celestial Republic of @Tianlong and Il Doge of the Most Serene Republic, we're able to get this stuff," the young priest started. "It should have been easier, but it's not... we're set for a few days though."

Emilia smelled the plate of food in front of her and took a big bite. It was amazing! Salty and fatty and rich and...

...she came back to herself and opened her eyes--she was staring at a much smaller pan sitting over a fire, frying up eneough Spam for her mock resistance cell's afternoon meal. They were stationed in a wilderness reserve in the foothills of the Dolimite mountains, where they were training as part of the newly established national service.

Her SA32 hung over her shoulder, her hair was in a tight, but comfortable ponytail. Smells are evocative, they can take you back to a place and time. But she was now building new memories. She wasn't a refugee anymore. She wasn't a scared and frightened child. Only a few years on and she was now a woman training to fight. Next time those fuckers would have to face her... she'd have a gun by her side. And her comerades by her side.

"Smells good," her friend Zita started, "you middle class gals aren't all that bad at frying up mystery meat."

Emilia flicked her off. Zita returned the gesture. Then the whole of the cohort took a moment to laugh.
 
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Radilo

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Bar Snack Rufu, il Fossa, San Polo, Valletta
8:00 PM

Il Fossa was, as far as any of the regular tourists were concerned, the worst place in San Polo. It was a makeshift street along a rather mediocre stretch of sand, with unsanctioned shacks and little hovels built up against the massive wall that separated it from the rest of the Callio District.

That famous queer district was bounded on its southeast side by a gorgeous strip of white sand beach called il Limo, its southwest by the Central District with its cathedrals (San Polo's, Saint John's) and the palace of the Governor, and on its northeast by the aincent Fortress of Saint Elmo. Saint Elmo's main functions had been shifted to the imposing and glistening new CETO Naval base built across the bay, but the facility itself still served some administrative and ceremonial roles. Callio had been established as a hub for sexual and gender minorities for... well, centuries. Because... it was in between a naval base and a bunch of churches... and it was (at least for most of that history) part of Radilo.

But on Callio's northwest side, there was il Fossa. This row of shacks, pinned between the sea and a still standing aincent crusader city wall, was indeed poor. It's where a lot of hippies and runaways ended up. People for whom joining Radilo's welfare state seemed like conceding to authority. It was one of the few pieces of land in the republic that no one owned; neither the state nor some private entity was in control. And that's how people there liked it. It was connected to the rest of the city by a few medieval switchback staircases... or where the wall ended about a quarter mile down and there was a little access road.

Il Fossa had a small population of two hundred or so people living there, most just short term--they wanted to clear their heads or get away for a while--but some were in it for the long haul, because fuck the man. In the evenings, its population would swell to about a thousand or so. Tourists or other Vallettans who wanted to feel rebellious for a little while but enjoyed having reliable electricity and sleeping on comfortable beds would spend a late evening there. Emily and Lilibet were among this latter group. Young and gay, they admired the rough, but proud, denizens surviving in il Fossa.

Bar Snack Rufu was a typical joint for this small neighborhood. Two young Himyari refugee trans girls ran it, serving sun wine based cocktails and fried fishy treats with unrivaled panache. Under a simple, corrigated tin roof shack, lit by a shared diesel generator, they cooked food perfectly, in mysterious grease in cast iron simmering over hot coals. Lilibeth and Emily ordered two plates of fried smelt, a plate of fried oysters, and a skewer of fried baccalà (salt cod) bladder. Two orangonis (sun wine mixed with orange pop) were ordered and served with eneough garnish to compete with the Xara Hotel. The proud young barmaids happily bantered with their customers, adding some value to the experience--did you catch these yourselves?--No--we just caught the boys who caught them--laugher burst out amongst all in earshot.

Eventually, Lilibet and Emily sat down on the beach, still enjoying the cooling sensation of course sand between their toes. Across the water, they could see the massive aircraft carriers being tugged into the newly built CETO military base across the bay. Their meals, combined, cost only 10 lira (~10 euromarks)--that was part of the magic of this little place. They set their small feast out on the sand between them and turned back to the massive ships. Looking out over the water they understood what was unfolding. They read the news--they saw the strain on Mister Dandolo's face. Munching on smelt and salted badder, they could not help but stare in awe at the massive ships, their relative size obvious by how they dwarfed other ships in the port. Orangoni goes good with mint and cucumber, as the anxiety over what all this means started to settle in.

They went up to the counter to get more drinks--their single beverage servings stood no shot against the salt. As Bitimu, one of the two dark skined Himyari girls was pouring their drinks she signaled the two Engellex girls in close, in a whisper she let them in on a dark secret to all of this--we still get 'elp from da government, even if we pretend we don't--day 'elp us when we need 'elp--day wan to encourage tolerance--if we get taken over by dem bad guys... we lose dat. We lose everything. I... I-a pray for our sailors and our ships to win...

Everyone in the Most Serene Republic would be in this together.


@Tianlong
@Tarusa
 
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Radilo

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Pałaso Dandolo, San Polo, Valletta
2:30 PM

Mister Dandolo had just returned from a satisfying lunch. As he walked, in he saw Lilibet was finishing up scrubing the entrance hall.

"How was lunch?" she asked, standing up.

"Satisfying," he replied. "If you've finished up here you can go home. Or wherever silly thing you and Emily get up to." He smirked.

Lilibet snorted, "later, ya old mummy."

They smiled, knowingly, at each other as she left.

Mister Dandolo walked up a few stories to his rooftop bar. He was panting a bit when he reached the top, but not dispirited. Enjoying the warm rays of the sun, he poured himself a gin and tonic. As he was squeezing in a lime wedge, he felt a presence over his shoulder.

He turned around, "you're not supposed to visit me," he said, noticeably irritated.

"I know," M said, approaching the bar.

"How did you get in here?" Mister Dandolo asked with some indignation.

"I have ways," M said, pouring himself a drink. He met Mister Dandolo's gaze, "it wasn't that maid of your's... if that was you're concern."

"Why are you here?"

"You know damn well why." He paused and started pacing around with his Martini. "The shyest girl in the group... ackward and anxious. She would have my sympathies... if she weren't a war criminal..."

"It was not her doing," Mister Dandolo said defensively, "it was that rat of a husband..."

"The one you also entertained regularly!" M said, nearly shouting. "Equally as dorky, always overshadowed by his older brother... the one you comforted when he was stressed out at school..."

"I am a God damn human being, M! They were kids... they--" he stopped himself.

"--still are... no. They had surrendered to the worst impulses power, but they made that choice. Ezzy and Konsto are dead... metaphorically. Whether they were driven to a spiritual suicide or bought into the horror... they chose this path."

"It's not that simple, M..."

"I know. And as recent lessons have demonstrated... there is a lot I am willing to overlook. I want an audience with one of them... or at least a trustworthy agent. I make no promises, but I value communication."

"I pray that God is forgiving," Mister Dandolo huffed.

"As do I."


@Tarusa
 
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Radilo

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Middle of nowhere, Himyar, about 4 hours outside of Tarusan occupied Al-Gharb
Noon~ish

Well, I was back in the old stomping grounds again. The weapons business had been crisp, now even more that the situation near and abroad had deteriorated. @Tarusa had started to move out their navy away from Al-Gharb, and these was an opportunity, for the natives anyway, to cause some trouble. And I was happy to help out. We'd gone ahead and procured weapons that didn't scream Radilan so much, since we knew the Tarusans were onto us, besides they had eneough SA32s. They were going to be getting heavier things, procured in a variaty of ways.

Things had gone unspoken--promises were made for later. Not that there was all that much to worry about this; we were all in this togeather now...

"How much, dago?"

I smirked. "We're here to provide for you. The payment will come when you stop when we ask."

The back man smirked at me. "Some part now."

"Fine... some part now," I said exchanging some Ducati, which we'd received from... ternative sources.

Chaos would be a part of all this, but it felt awkwardly orderly.


Pałaso Dandolo
Midnight

The telephone rang *beep*Ezzy*beep*

"Ezzy, I, nor that cunt M, are making any promises. But he wishes to open up communications. This is not a proposal for anything, he just wants to talk. I cannot make promises; this attempt to reach out is in good faith, but I cannot ensure good intentions. If you want me to cut it off, let me know. I will. I don't know what's ahead, but talking to people... but we are open to communication... for what that might be worth. Anna is pregnant now; if you care. Don't bow the world up. You can always talk to me Ezzy."
 
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Radilo

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Badua
6:00 PM

Emilia sighed as she entered her apartment building, her SA 32 slung over her shoulder. She went to check her mail in the row of post boxes in the common hall; taped to her box was a sticky note with an arrow pointing down. She glanced down and found a large, flat package underneath the post boxes adressed to her sister. It had peleglsian characters on the packaging, but declared in bold red Engellex "DO NOT BEND." She took the package, carefully, up to her apartment.

Once inside she leaned her gun against the wall by the balcony and inspected the package. She missed her sister and wanted, desperately, to visit her. But she was still in the service, and given the tension, she could not take leave. She spent her days training her neighborhood's residents on the basics of shooting and and survival. It was rudimentary and academic, but it was best to prepare the population for what might be needed should an invasion occur. It was starting to have effects in small ways. Old ladies were pickling and salting things, as if preparing for a seige. Older men cast aside their reluctance on being trained by a teenage girl and took up their arms training with enthusiasm. Teenagers, too young to serve, learned how to make and use molotov coctails. Radilo was for two centuries a society of merchants, farmers, and bankers--it wasn't close to being a society of warriors, but it would be one of equipped and trained merchants, farmers, and bankers. Everyone 16 and over was issued a rifle; subways were equipped to be bomb shelters; and the Camorra were entrusted with grenades and machine guns. There would be consequences for this after the war... but that was after the war.

Football was the one distraction they had. The Lannisters were keeping the country sane; whether they won or not was of less importance then them simply being there. The team knew this--the longer they were in the tournament, the more relief they could provided. It was their quiet motivation, the stoicism of the head coach spoke to this.

Emilia laid the parcel down on her bed and inspected it further. It's from Vicktoria. She realized, reading the rest of the postal label. She wouldn't normally open Aria's mail, but given that this was likely a gift and that Aria wouldn't be back for months, she carefully opened the package.

It was sheet music; seeing the title of the composition, Emilia smiled wide. It was a traditional Pannonian song, one that their now passed mother would sing to them when they were young. Emilia wiped away the tears that were forming inher eyes: Aria will love this, she thought as she snapped a few photos of them on her phone.

She sent them to her sister with both joy and a bit of longing. Aria had told Emilia about her upcoming vacation; she was going to visit Viktoria in @Pelasgia , and, as much as it pained her, Emilia understood. Aria should take her time to enjoy her friends... not spend her days worrying about the fate of the Republic. That was Emilia's job; she was the young soilder after all.

Aria, seeing the texts, responded with the glee, appropriate to the situation. Emilia ordered frames and the appropriate nails/screws to affix them to the walls.

There is some room for beauty on this wretched world, she thought.


@Corrientes
 
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Pałaso Dandolo,
Midnight

The telephone rang *beep*Ezzy*beep*

Ezzy, I've spoken to M--I know this is might be recorded, but this is unofficial. Call me. M is ready to make a deal--everyone is. We are ready to support you--things will be overlooked, forgiven even. Weapons, resources, and more. This is the safest way to reach out. We will help you resolve this. Call me."

@Tarusa
@Tianlong
@Rheinbund
 

Radilo

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"I know this is your number, Konstantin, and I'm fairly sure you know how I got it. Fine, no more intermediaries, I can respect that. We will be sending you a telegraph in the next 12 hours, but we wish to extend our plausible deniability for a bit more time. Weapons and other resources to your cause: that's what we are promising. We will also provide the kind of in-kind services needed to expedite the end of this conflict. CETO is willing to back you on this. True, the aliance's motivations are selfish, but our interests overlap. I know you think little of me, but know I think even less of you. I, the pompous intelligence director, you, the war criminal... unfortunately, we're perfect for eachother. Or at least your brother winning would be worse for the both of us. You'll get a shiny formal introduction tomarrow. But don't feel obligated to wait. You know how to get a hold of me."

M hung up the phone and shook his head. He looked out his window to a heavy summer rain in Nouvo Porto.




@Tarusa
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Radilo

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CETO Military Headquarters, Chonoros, Valetta, Stato d'Oltremare

There were five Carrier Groups stationed in the deep water port in the strategic stronghold of the Radilan Republic. It was the mightiest display of naval power anywhere in Europe: three Tianese Carriers and two Radilan. As the fleet in Nouvo Porto was getting its orders to start mine sweeping Bonaventura Bay and the fleet stationed in North Istavania was placed on high alert, the fleets in Valetta were getting their orders to move south. The Third Radilan Carrier Group, with the Orfei as its flagship, and the Second Tianese Carrier Group were fully equipped, and, in the dead of night, given the coordinates for their destination: Al Magrab.

Middle of nowhere, Himyar, a short bit outside of Tarusan occupied Al Magrab

So it was go time. I'd gotten the all clear from M that shit needed to start in good order. We were going to nut punch the fuckers in their most dangly of bits. The locals were more than eager to raise hell. Or at least some of them were. They'd been given the short end by the Tsars for more than a decade now, so it was time for payback. That's the thing about opression and cruelty: people don't like it.


@Tarusa @Stato da Mar @Tianlong @Rheinbund @North Istavania
 
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