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| Enigmatic Correspondence | |
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| Topic Started: Dec 1 2011, 11:35 PM (865 Views) | |
| Porcu | Dec 1 2011, 11:35 PM Post #1 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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Posted Image Canae Ardea Gularis, President of the Republic of Porcu, sat in her grand office and looked straight ahead. Traditional opponents in the political arena, Gularis and the gentleman seated before her had forged a beneficial, if brief, alliance over a number of years. Although she would never state such sentiments publicly, the political winds had failed her once again and this time she was caught off guard. “So, that’s it? Eh, Quintianus?” Gularis said, sliding into her chair a bit and dropping the formal resignation of the Prime Minister onto her desk. “I’m afraid it is.” the elderly politician and leader of the Liberal and Democratic Reformist Bloc replied. “Do you have anyone in mind to replace you? Naturally, I have my own nominations for Parliament, but I wanted to get your opinion.” “Mr. Cafanus has chaired multiple groups and is well respected, even by Cea.” “You understand that many of my party comrades will not support his nomination?” “We’re on difficult footing right now. A compromise candidate is absolutely necessary.” Gularis swiveled her chair slowly back and forth. “Have you spoken to Cea? Will he be nominated again?” “I don’t think there’s any doubt that his name will appear on the first ballot, but you know as well as I that he doesn’t have the votes.” “It’s to be expected, I suppose.” Gularis stopped and motioned to stand, making Quintianus stand with her. “Thank you for your effort, Quintianus.” With a long and deep bow, the former Prime Minister of Porcu saluted his superior and completed the resignation process. Turning and exiting, Quintianus was escorted through the lavishly decorated and immaculately kept adjacent halls to the President’s office before arriving to a grand hall where members of the press were waiting with much anticipation. Accommodations had already been made and Quintianus simply stepped in front of a thin podium to make a brief statement, saying that he was hopeful for the future and confident that a compromise would be made to allow Parliament the capacity to continue working for the benefit of all Porcuians. Guarded on both sides by striking and tall members of the elite Presidential Guards, Quintianus left to a flurry of cameras. President Gularis appeared a few minutes later and spoke of Quintianus’ resignation from his position as Prime Minister of the Republic. All across Porcu, and in countries very far from the shores of Stockholm, the latest developments were revealed. “Although one may say that it should come as no surprise that the course of events progressed in this manner, it is my duty to announce that I spoke to the Honorable Decimus Marius Quintianus some time ago and formally accepted his resignation from the office of Prime Minister of the Republic. “The gridlock within Parliament over key issues and legislation has dramatically hampered the efficiency and effectiveness of this Republic’s legislative body and agent of representation for all Porcuians. This general impasse has recently led to the deterioration of the Governing Coalition and a lack of confidence within Parliament of Quintianus as Prime Minister. “Porcuians wish to see an effective government and true leadership from their elected officials. While I have accepted the Prime Minister’s resignation and absolved the current Cabinet, I will not call for general elections immediately and instead actively work with my Parliamentary colleagues in nominating and electing a new Prime Minister. Unnecessary elections are never taken well by Porcuians, and for good reason, and it is my sincerest hope that in the next couple of weeks a new government and Cabinet can be found, one that is suitable to all parties and will also hold the confidence of average Porcuians all the way to the next scheduled general election. Many thanks.” |
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| Porcu | Dec 2 2011, 01:00 AM Post #2 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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Party Headquarters of the Republican Front - (RF), Corlo The image on the television screen went black in an instant and the reflection of Chairman Cea, remote control in hand, became clear. Surrounding him in that large frame mounted to the wall were fellow party members and they sat and waited for Cea to speak. "Good." the white haired Parliamentarian said with an air of relief, slowly settling himself down in his chair at the head of a large table situated in a well lit room. "'Good'? Sir?" Cea leaned forward and extended his round index finger to no one in particular, though it was pointed directly at the TV at the far end of the room. "This is a fantastic opportunity for us. Without having to risk the advances we've made, we can chip away at that bitch's support and grab the position of Prime Minister." "It won't be easy though, Lucius." Servius Anis Cersa, a slim and spectacle donning gentleman and longtime friend of Cea's, said while drawing everyone's attention. "Yes, we have improved our starting position drastically from years past; however, the election of Prime Minister is a masterful play that takes great skill and patience." "Well, I imagine we'll have some support from members of the Liberal and Democratic Reformist Bloc - (LDRB) when we nominate the Chairman." an obese gentleman snuffed from across the table. As Chairman of the provincial Greater Metropolitan Assembly, Marius Mara Licca had gained quite a bit of national attention over past months. "Really it seems we just have to check Mr. Gularis and the far-Left." "Whomever the bitch nominates, the Popular Democratic Front - (PDF) is sure not to support them." Cea barked back. "If her nomination somehow manages to endure multiple ballots, I guarantee that that communist Pinnes will not budge. The PDF's votes will splinter." "Who are we looking at then?" the gentleman who first spoke added. "Rumors suggest that Quintianus will nominate Cafanus," Cersa began. "That piece of shit..." Cea muttered. "while Nixon is thought to be considering a former advisor of his: Parsonimus. Meanwhile, two independent MPs are thought to have their names put into the mix, though its not clear who they may be. Curiously, the mayor of Stockholm is being considered." Cersa ended, turning with a slight smirk towards Cea. "Really?" the RF Chairman replied with genuine surprise. "That's actually a very shrewd calculation..." "Quite. Mayor Merenda is popular, relatively young, and a centrist. Depending on how long the voting takes, his characteristics make him difficult to dismiss outright." "But who is nominating him?" Licca asked. "My sources were unable to provide me with that information." Cersa said. "How...available...is Mr. Merenda? I'd like to speak with him." Cea said, leaning back in his chair. "I'll inquire about that, though I don't expect there to be any problems." Cea nodded in response and lowered his head and his gaze. A return to the residency of the Prime Minister was entirely possible - he could already envision the beautiful corridors and polished furniture that had had to give up some time back. The study and the office beckoned him, as did the prestige and honor that came with the title 'Prime Minister'. Oh, how he missed it so. |
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| Porcu | Dec 2 2011, 05:03 PM Post #3 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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“It is always a pleasure to see you, Gularis. I understand the pressure that’s upon you, but I’m afraid that I cannot provide my consent to your nomination.” A fantastic history belonged to the Royal Family of Porcu and to the Kings and Queens that littered its ancestral tree. Although deprived of real political power centuries ago, the Royal Family enjoyed enormous cultural prestige and the blessing by the King or Queen of each Government was still important, even if such was merely a formality. Julius Decimus Maxentius IV was not like his father, his grandfather, or even his great-grandfather. Whereas they had accepted their roles within the Republic and were content with the praise and general admiration given to them, the King saw only a false crust of approval and disgusted it. The King had already done much to increase his standing in political circles within Stockholm, but continued to aim for more. His opinion was increasingly sought after and this pleased him very much. “Thank you for your time, your Majesty. I’m sure we’ll be in touch again in the near future. Please forward my regards to the Queen.” President Gularis replied, taking a deep bow and respectfully leaving the company of the King. Hands clasped together in front of him, King Maxentius IV gave a short bow in reply and smiled warmly as Gularis was escorted out of the heavily decorated room and through a number of halls. As the King sat back down in his chair a butler came into the room and asked if His Majesty required anything. “Just a cup of tea, please. Thank you, Sextus.” The butler gave a deep bow and gracefully swiveled his body, exiting just as quickly as he had appeared. “So, who can I expect next?” the King asked. His right leg bobbed up and down as it rested over the knee of his left leg. He checked the large military star that was clasped to his suit jacket and adjusted it slightly. “Mr. Cea is expected to arrive within the hour, while the Honorable Nixon should arrive for tea early this evening. Prime Minister Baranna of Polinesinum is staying at the Hotel Lux downtown and wishes to meet over dinner this evening.” a short, but moderately built gentleman replied from a chair located towards one of the far walls. The King grunted in acknowledgement. “What odds do you give each of the known nominations?” “Speaking frankly, your Majesty, I don’t believe any have the necessary support. I fully expect the process to require at least three ballots.” “This will be interesting then.” King Maxentius IV replied just as his butler returned with a cup of strong tea. Blowing lightly, the King raised the cup to his lips and took a small sip. His eyes glazed over as he dove deep in thought. … Partway across the country, a train darted away from the towering metropolis of Patavium at high speed towards the epicenter of Porcuian politics: Stockholm. The train, despite being a luxury-class line, was packed with men and women. Businessmen, corporate lobbyists, CEOs, and well placed academic scholars all enjoyed the services provided by the onboard staff. Among this group sat a local politician, whose low occupational salary would immediately draw curiosity from those seated around him if they were to find out, and he sat alone. Gazing out the window at the blur of colors, the gentleman relaxed and began digesting the delicious breakfast he had been served. “Mr. Numeritus, I’m glad to see that you enjoyed your meal.” a very attractive and young attendant said, beaming a beautiful smile as she leaned over the empty seat to take the empty tray away. Lucius Divenus Numeritus was a generally cheerful man. Thin and slightly above the average height, he was an ambitious man with drive and determination. His dark hair was well kept and his suit was clean, and he certainly gave the impression of being someone much more important than he actually was. “It was delicious, thank you.” he replied with a grin. “May I bring you anything else, Mr. Numeritus? Coffee or Tea? Wine perhaps?” “A strong coffee would be fine…Ms…?” The attendant smiled and gave her last name. “I’ll be back shortly with your coffee, Mr. Numeritus.” Content with himself, Numeritus turned his attention back out of the window. Just as the attendant returned, he had begun flipping through a large folder containing a grand amount of information on various political figures – some of it quite personal. Try as he might, he could not get the striking attendant to sit with him for a bit and, subsequently, doubled his effort at reading through the many pages before him. Before too long, the train had arrived in Stockholm and was slowly proceeding to its gate. Reading the last piece of information on a page, Numeritus began packing up his things and preparing to exit. On his way off the train, Numeritus encountered the young attendant a last time and gave her a sharp smile and polite bow of the head. “What a beauty, goddamn!” he thought to himself. “I’ll have to see if I can get this same train back to Patavium.” “Numeritus!” a voice cried out from the platform. A short and stubby man waved his hand back and forth a number of times. He was flanked by two serious looking gentlemen. Stepping off the train, briefcase in hand, Numeritus approached the group. “Vappimus, Cseca, and Morii I presume?” Numeritus inquired, extending his hand to each gentleman in turn. “That’s right.” one of the men, Cseca, replied sternly. “We’ve got work to do; we can talk at the hotel.” the other serious looking gentleman, Morii, said. The short man who had first waved to Numeritus leaned close. “Morii sort of lost track of time, you see. He couldn’t quite finish, so he’s got a lady waiting for him back in his room.” Vappimus whispered. “Vappimus, I will throw you in front of a bus. With pleasure.” Morii replied, glaring back at Vappimus and Numeritus who were walking behind. To Numeritus’ surprise, Vappimus chuckled loudly and at sporadic intervals the entire way out of the Grand Station. |
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| Porcu | Dec 3 2011, 03:06 PM Post #4 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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Posted Image “When is the first round of voting again? Five days away?” Numeritus asked, lifting a tall glass partly filled with cognac to his lips. “That’s right.” Vappimus replied. “It’ll be at 16:00.” After a moment he looked at his wristwatch and sighed loudly. “One can spend only so much time and money on a whore.” “Morii will be down shortly, don’t you worry.” Cseca rebutted coldly. The air was refreshingly clean and came in light, soft gusts from the sea. Situated directly across a well established hotel sat an extension which acted as a restaurant during good weather. All three gentlemen had made their way there upon arriving from the Grand Station and had already gone through a couple of rounds of drinks. Cesca, much like the capital city of his homeland, gave off an air of immense respectability and history. Not to say that he was an older man, merely that his days in politics thus far had clearly left their mark. A pristine and personally tailored suit reflected the sun’s rays beautifully and the unique and expensive lapel worn only by Parliamentarians lay firmly clasped to his jacket. Leather designer shoes matched a tough façade and his still dark hair was neatly combed back. A glass of water, untouched and sweating, lay on a small napkin on the table in front of him. Vappimus on the other hand immediately struck a tone of modesty. His suit was clean and orderly, but certainly not nearly as expensive as Cesca’s, and he also donned a parliamentary lapel. Whereas his stern looking colleague was a member of the Progressive Alliance of Socialists and Democrats – (PASD), the charming Vappimus was a member of the LDRB. Opponents more often than not, a strange alliance had been forged between them. In finishing off a third glass of wine, Vappimus adjusted the thin glasses that sat upon his rotund face and sighed with pleasure. Gazing over to the hotel some distance away over the shoulder of Cesca, Vappimus noticed Morii coming their way and smiled brightly. “Glad you could finally join us!” “Yes, well, I have a feeling that we’re going to be busy over the next week or so, so I wanted to make the most of the free time still available to me.” Morii replied, pulling out a chair and settling himself down. A waiter quickly came over and took his drink order. Sharply dressed as well, Numeritus had discovered in reading over his files that Morii was an extremely shrewd lobbyist and had connections all across Porcu and the memberstates of the Euroveraminus Union. “You’ve already got a good understanding of who we are, yes?” Cesca asked Numeritus. “I read the information provided in the files while on the train. I’ve also already worked through the files on some of the other politicians we’ll need to contact and influence.” “Not just politicians though,” Morii replied with a slight smile, “since there are vast networks of contacts, lobbyists, and representatives in everything from agriculture to transportation, to the military to finance. So, you’ve read up on us…What about you? I, at least, have only a vague picture of who you are.” “Fair enough.” Numeritus said. “I sit on the Metropolitan Assembly of the Greater Metropolitan Area of Patavium and am serving my second term in the Assembly. I’m originally from Stockholm, but grew up and went to university in Patavium.” “Party affiliation?” Cesca asked. “Green.” “And how do you know our dear friend?” Cesca inquired. “I was approached by him a few months before the local metropolitan elections.” “He offered to help your campaign, no?” Vappimus asked with a grin. “Precisely; and I actually had a difficult race last year and just managed to get reelected to the Assembly. In any case, we haven’t actually spoken very often since the first time we met, which, incidentally, is also the only time I’ve seen him in person.” Though a lull of silence was introduced to the conversation, Numeritus felt a general sense of agreement from his colleagues. Although still a bit early for a full lunch, the group did place individual orders for a meal when the waiter stopped by their table some time later. After having their fill, each person paid separately and exited as a group, taking a number of turns before arriving on one of the many public parks scattered throughout the city. Relatively alone, they began to chat on the prospects of the election for Prime Minister and the work ahead of them. “Right now there are five candidates that we can be sure will be nominated for the first ballot, though we can expect as many as fourteen or fifteen.” Cesca said. “Right, that’s: Cea, Merenda, Parsonimus, Pinnes, and Cafanus.” Vappimus replied, counting each off with his fingers. “Well, Cea and Pinnes will certainly each draw the votes of their own parties, which splits up the ballot nicely: 241 votes to 123.” Numeritus said. “Beyond a handful of votes from extreme members of the PASD and the LDRB, I don’t see either getting close to the majority needed to take the election in the first three ballots. Many of the others will draw between two and five votes.” “Both Cea and Pinnes are actively despised by different sectors, both public and private. They have a loyal following, but neither will be elected. It’s essentially a task of funneling their votes at the right moment.” Morii said, eyeing a young woman jogging past the group. “Why isn’t Benedictus nominated?” Numeritus asked of the Green party Chairman. “They’re weak, and that’s being polite. It’s much like our centre-right friends.” Cesca said, drawing an angry look from Vappimus. “The rumors haven’t cleared this up, but my guess is that Merenda is the Green’s nomination. I expect him to get between 32 and 38 votes.” “And the socialists? Has Gularis put forward her own party’s nomination?” Numeritus asked. “Not at present.” Cesca replied. “Many think she’s buying time to see if any of the nominees catch fire in discussion circles. From her present decline, she’s looking to get this over with quickly – probably in one or two ballots.” Vappimus said. “There’s just no way though…” Morii chuckled. “Even if all 280 votes go to one of the other major nominees there’s no way that she can get a two-thirds majority to end the election before the fourth ballot.” “And when does our dear friend come into the picture?” Numeritus asked. “Vappimus and I will be putting his name in to start.” Cesca replied. “I know of between 12 to 15 votes I can get from the PASD, with maybe another 6 or 7 from the PDF.” “It’ll be easier for me, but at the onset I’ll only manage to get 10 votes maximum from my colleagues in the LDRB.” Vappimus said. “This election is certainly going to four ballots.” Morii added, looking over directly at Numeritus. “After the first two ballots is when I’ll really begin to make some calls.” “So until then” Numeritus began. “So until then, we’ll keep our lips shut and our ears open.” Vappimus said with a wide grin. “Welcome to parliamentary politics, Numeritus.” Cesca said. |
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| Porcu | Dec 10 2011, 09:40 PM Post #5 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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Vienna, State of Austria, Territory of the Former Holy Roman Empire From across the long and magnificently decorated corridor the rhythmic clack of shoes to marble reverberated across this otherwise silent corner of the palace. At the far end walked a gentleman of moderate stature, though he walked with a slight hunch, and arms crossed behind his back, each hand grasping the opposite forearm. A grey haze and rain had greeted the gentleman when he had first arrived and now a harsh glare surrounded him, courtesy of the sconces that rested at regular intervals on each side of the corridor. The light glinted off of the gentleman’s glasses and revealed dark hair slicked back cleanly, a suit of high, but not extravagant quality, and a chilling aura. At the end of the corridor was a hall, whose entrance was guarded by two soldiers in ceremonial dress. Inside a number of figures waited. “When is he going to get here?” one man standing by a window asked impatiently. “Stay calm. It’s not even time, yet.” responded a man seated in a large chair, flanked on one side by two additional men resting tranquilly on a couch. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” A loud knock at the door preceded the entrance of the gentleman. The man seated in the large chair arose from his place and quickly checked his watch. The time read exactly a quarter past six. “Thank you for making the trip.” the man began, extending his hand towards the gentleman. “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I’m Von Boul-Dier, Albert von Boul-Dier. The gentleman you see by the window is Max Kerle, and the gentlemen seated on the couch are Heinrich Aehrenthal and Karl Waldschläger.” The gentleman was invited to sit and did so without as much as a glance at any of the other gentlemen. Vienna, and by extension the whole of the state of Austria, was in turbulent times. Decades of corruption within the halls of power, disinterest in the affairs of the State by the general populace, and numerous underground movements for independence had spelled the end for the revived Holy Roman Empire. In the weeks following the utter collapse of the Empire, local governments had convened in emergency meetings and attempted to stem the chaos that would inevitably envelop them. By most accounts, Austria had managed the initial storm well. Yet, unemployment was rampant and daily marches clogged the main arteries of the city, but the social fabric held and a tentative path of recovery was forged. “How are things regarding the collapse of the Empire being received in Stockholm?” Aehrenthal asked, leaning forward slightly. “Quietly.” came the soft reply. The gentleman had lifted one leg and crossed it over the other knee and rested his hands in his lap. After responding he adjusted his glasses and pushed them back into place slowly. An awkward silence settled over the figures gathered before it was broken by Von Boul-Dier. “Today has proved to be an exception, but recently much of Austria has taken to the streets in protest of the poor economic and working conditions. The structure of the Empire provided many with jobs and now that that is gone it is difficult for many to provide for themselves and their families.” The gentleman sat in his chair, silent. His gaze slowly moved from one aspiring revolutionary to another. Von Boul-Dier, who was a young aristocrat still testing the waters of politics, immediately gave one an impression of naivety, though the gentleman could see in him a slow burning fire. Aehrenthal, thin and handsome, played with his hands much too frequently and the gentleman determined he was of the nervous, unreliable type – not to be trusted with even the smallest of tasks. There was also Waldschläger and he was quickly seen to be harmless. He would do what he was told to the best of his ability. Lastly, Kerle; now, he may prove to be an inconvenience. However, patience was needed and, moreover, capable men were necessary if the plan was to blossom. Kerle, unlike Aehrenthal, was very much a capable man. “Curiously, I see that things have not been terribly difficult for you.” the gentleman replied flatly to all equally. “Take heart; soon enough you will stand before your countrymen and accept the praise and celebrity that joins a hero to the grateful.” Kerle, one hand on his hip and the other raised above his head and placed against the large window, frowned and slowly backed his head away from the cold glass. Outside the rain intensified. Kerle turned around and walked towards the group, eventually taking a seat at the edge of the couch. He now could look closely at the gentleman and was struck at the dry, distant form before him. In their eyes meeting, Kerle felt a chill run down his neck. “Can we really count on you?” Aehrenthal asked, the implication of the question burning the Porcuian seated across from him. “Excuse our frankness, but we have to be sure…” Von Boul-Dier said. “You can be sure.” the gentleman interrupted coldly. “Money? Weapons? Our own connections only go so far.” Kerle rebutted. “14 million denarii will be freed from the Ministry of Finance within nine days and be made available for your use. I strongly suggest neutralizing the police and the state gendarmerie. Swift actions will be necessary if lives and reputation are to be saved and ensured, respectfully.” The sum of money alluded to sent the Austrians into a fit of laughter. The gentleman sat completely still. “And then what?” Kerle barked, still unbelieving. “What of weapons? I cannot imagine a scenario where blood will not be shed.” “You will need to procure weapons elsewhere; I cannot assist you in that regard. You may do well to seek help from the Hungarians.” Whereas Kerle scoffed and Aehrenthal insecurely continued to giggle, Von Boul-Dier ran the proposal through his mind. Discussing it further, mostly out loud to himself, Von Boul-Dier believed that it was a good idea. His only hesitation centered on what sort of payback he and his fellow Austrians might expect. “Hungary as a central state does not exist.” the gentleman began. “However, a republican revolution here will unsettle the collective group of nobles into minimizing the fallout of the revolution within their respective territories.” His next words had to be timed perfectly, their delivery forceful, and their implication unequivocal. “To solidify their own position, it is my belief that they will approach your newly born Republic with an offer of unification – the end result being the formation of an Austro-Hungarian Federation.” “What?!” Kerle laughed. Conversely, Aehrenthal’s eyes widened in shock, while Von Boul-Dier tried his best to remain calm and contain his excitement at the possibility. “You must be joking.” Kerle said after having regained himself. “No.” the gentleman replied. “Then you’re delusional.” “That may very well be the case.” A long interval of silence punctuated this last comment until the gentleman motioned to stand. Following his lead, the group of Austrians stood and began voicing their thanks, their hopes, and their excitement to the gentleman as he made his way to the door. As a guard stood at attention on either side and the glow of the corridor lights greeted him once more, the gentleman gave nothing more than a polite nod of the head to his guests. “We never actually mentioned it, but what do we owe you?” Aehrenthal asked just as the gentleman stepped out, crossing his arms behind his back as before. “Nothing.” the gentleman said in response. Standing in the doorway, Von Boul-Dier, Aehrenthal, and Kerle watched as the slanted figure disappeared down the hall at a slow and constant pace. |
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| Porcu | Dec 15 2011, 01:05 AM Post #6 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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Stockholm, Porcu – One Day Before the First Ballot Although the forecasters had called for clouds and a slight chance of rain, the sun shone bright. Undoubtedly, this unexpected development was welcomed by politician and lobbyist alike, some of whom had not seen natural light in two or three days, and as they emerged from their dark bunkers, tired from jostling, pressuring, and negotiating, the sun’s rays warmed them as they dispersed across the city. Across the street from where the large complex housing Parliament sat, Numeritus comfortably ate breakfast. The morning edition of La Repubblica lay strewn across the table and he occasionally brought his coffee to his lips, his eyes rapidly scanning across the lines of news and commentary. The lead-up to the first ballot in the election of the Prime Minister had reached a fever pitch. “Unnamed sources” revealed much of what the general public thought secretly, while “senior officials” disconfirmed rumors just as often as they created them. Names of various popular political figures were floated out on all the talk shows and elaborate theories were developed to explain particular meetings between politicians. One political commentator even went so far as to tabulate “odds of victory” for each possible nominee. In the end, however, Numeritus found what he read in the paper and what he saw on the television to be more humorous than serious. “Numeritus, I see you’re enjoying this fine weather and reading yesterday’s news.” Vappimus said with a wide grin as he approached the table where Numeritus was stationed. “Our line of work never stands still.” Numeritus replied with a smile, clearing some space for Vappimus to sit. “Some coffee or tea?” “An espresso will do, thanks.” As soon as a waiter came beside their table, Numeritus placed an order and turned back to his colleague. “Have you spoken to Cesca recently?” “Not since yesterday…or maybe it was the day before?” Vappimus said with a confused look. “In any case, things have definitely begun to solidify and a good number of nominees is already known.” “The paper had a table printed just the other day with names and possible vote totals. I noticed that our dear friend wasn’t listed.” “No one will expect him.” Vappimus paused as his coffee was gently placed before him, and before continuing he gave the waiter his due. “Apparently, he’s due back in the country later today.” “Where did he go? Wait, for what reason?” Vappimus merely shrugged as he took a drink. As it were, neither Numeritus nor Vappimus, nor any of the other group members, were informed of this trip. As it turned out, Morii was also out of the country – visiting clients and business colleagues in the EU memberstate of Narvik and beginning to put some pressure where he could. Much of the public liked to believe that their political representatives could not be bought, that they were upstanding individuals who looked squarely at an issue or a problem and derived an appropriate solution away from the influence of corporations and interest groups. Morii was a prime example of how wrong that belief was. “Is everything still on for tonight?” Vappimus asked, taking another drink of his coffee. “Yes, I’ve reserved a table.” Numeritus said. He continued after a brief pause, “It’s exciting, isn’t it?” “What is?” “This effort we’re making.” Vappimus chuckled as he finished his coffee and set the empty cup down. Stating something about having to meet with a representative, the Parliamentarian excused himself. With a curt bow and a light wave of the hand, he strolled off back towards the parliamentary complex, leaving Numeritus essentially just as he had found him. … Posted Image As a worker in the Presidential residence freed one of the heavy, ornate curtains in order to block the incoming sunlight, the last of a small group walked into the room and took their seats. Waiting patiently in the middle of a couch was President Gularis. News coming in from various parliamentary sources regarding Gularis’ presumptive nominee to succeed Quintianus was not good. The general consensus among parliamentarians was that Gularis’ position was much weaker than before and that the PASD was in no way justified pushing heavily for its own candidate. Additionally, the gentleman was seen to be weak himself, with little time spent in politics, and few felt that such difficult waters could be handled well by such a nominee. The gentleman in question was seated directly to Gularis’ left. “Good morning and thank you for coming so soon after your meetings.” Gularis said with her captivating smile. “I take it things are as deadlocked as they have been?” “Unfortunately;” one Parliamentarian seated off in a chair said. “As you can imagine, Cea and Pinnes are not budging – at least for now – so it seems that we’re back at trying to cull whomever we can from Quintianus and Benedictus.” “Cesca, what do you think our odds are?” Gularis asked, turning to her left. Tired, but not yet visibly, Cesca took a moment before replying. “Not very good, Madam President.” He motioned to the gentleman sitting beside Gularis – the already known nominee for the PASD, “Mr. Iccer is an honorable gentleman, but I cannot help but agree with the belief that these…unsettling times in Parliament, and even in Europe, call for an experienced nominee. In the short run, I think placing our support behind Iccer is worthwhile, but if long-term stability is to be achieved then we, as a party, must be prepared to actively support another nominee.” “And do you already have an idea of who this other nominee would be?” the President replied. “Not at the moment, Madam President.” The response drew a grin from another MP seated across from Cesca. “Madam President, this is all talk of capitulation and should be ignored. Think of the relative position of the Opposition: not enough votes to carry their own narrow-minded nominees – not nearly enough! – politically weak across major industries, and strong disapproval from many EU memberstates – even if it’s not official. Cea and Pinnes do not have a hope to get their own nominees elected, and it’s our job to convince them that Mr. Iccer is the best option they have.” “Against Merenda?” Cesca retorted. “What about Cafanus? If Parliament is going to remain intact until the next general election support from both the PDF and the RF is necessary. You have to be fantastically stupid not to realize that relying on the slimmest of majorities with the help of the Greens and the LDRB is what brought us this mess. The reasons may be silly, but neither Cea nor Pinnes will be moved to put their support behind the President’s nominee.” “You’re expecting this to go past three ballots then, Cesca?” Gularis asked, interjecting herself back into the conversation. “Absolutely it will.” The conversation that followed eventually divided the figures in attendance into two camps. One was confident of Mr. Iccer’s success in the secret ballot election, while the other seemed much more pragmatic and willing to settle for a Prime Minister of another party that could ease Gularis’ efforts at keeping Parliament together. Cesca left the palace a short time later and could not help but grin the whole way back to his office. … Rows and rows of books, documents, articles, and various other publications stretched across many number of floors within a building of exceptional contemporary architecture. Resting in the sprawling metropolis of Patavium near Lake Ariminae, the building officially acted as part library, part exhibition center, part entertainment venue, and part residential space. Unofficially, it acted as home of the private archives of a former President of the Republic of Porcu. Access to the uppermost levels of the building was entirely off limits to most, even to contracted security personnel, and presently only two individuals had the clearance necessary to pass through the numerous security checks. One was an older man, a veteran of foreign wars, multiple marriages, and many tragedies, and quite content with his current occupation. Each morning from his tiny little apartment across the city he would climb out of bed and go about getting ready. He would leave just as the sun crept over the horizon and take the train to his destination, arriving just as early travelers boarded and greeted their late-night comrades who were just returning home. A man of humble origins, he marveled at the masses that stretched upwards in front of him each and every day. A man of modesty, he still fondly remembered the man who had originally given him the opportunity to manage this most magnificent collection. As much as he would have liked to, he knew he never shared what one could term a ‘friendship’. Saluting security by name and a friendly smile, he conversed with these working men for a few moments before hopping on an elevator. He took out a key and opened a small door, which revealed a button that he pressed. Securing the key back to its place, the old man waited patiently as the elevator glided upwards and halted. He stepped out and walked to a large metallic door. Checks of one kind or another took a minute or so, but they had been routine for years and the old man was soon inside. He immediately sensed that someone else was in the archives, but he wasn’t frightened nor was he particularly surprised. He made his way slowly to what might generously be described as an office and set his things down. He took off his shoes and slipped into sandals, walking over to a small staircase at the far end of the floor. Climbing five floors, the old man quickly spotted the other individual and walked to their side. “Good morning, Sir.” the old man said warmly. “Good morning, Korotchenko.” the gentleman replied without taking his eyes off of the stunning view, his arms crossed firmly behind his back. From high above, the clean water of the Lake glittered under the morning sun. The surface of many buildings and skyscrapers dazzled brilliantly. “I take it you are well?” The gentleman turned his head towards Korotchenko, but did not give anything away. Slowly turning it back, he replied flatly, “Yes.” “I’ll have tea ready soon.” Korotchenko said as he departed; the skidding of his sandals to the floor gradually growing fainter until silence dominated once again. Edited by Porcu, Dec 15 2011, 01:05 AM.
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| Porcu | Dec 27 2011, 12:30 AM Post #7 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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The floor was immaculate, the ornate metalwork beautifully polished, and the full power and prestige of the Republic on full display for the entire world to see. Groups of parliamentarians lounged in rooms adjacent to the main chamber, while others just outside the chamber, and all were well protected by tall and striking members of the Presidential Guards who formed a barrier that kept members of the press from advancing any closer. News coverage was ongoing throughout the day and each parliamentarian knew that many Porcuians were closely watching events, as were figures across the globe. A number of individuals wandered freely from group to group, not to try and shift any votes but merely to see if they could solicit any information, and, universally, they were subtly treated as pests and quickly sent on their way. As the time drew closer to begin the proceedings, a general rustle spread throughout the complex and the attention of the television crews began to focus on the doors of the parliamentary chamber and those who slowly filed through them. In no particular order, Members of Parliament began to shuffle inside and take their respective seats. Just outside, goodwill radiated from many and jokes were plentiful as allies and nemeses came in close proximity to one another. The cameras caught it all and the reporters pleasingly forwarded their positive thoughts to their respective audience. President Gularis was absolutely radiant; well dressed and smiling brightly, she took the spotlight for a couple of minutes and spoke to some members of the Opposition before waving softly to the cameras and stepping inside. Though genuinely in a positive mood, her overt marks of friendliness disappeared as she made her way down the chamber and took her seat. A long raised section gave the President a wonderful view of the entire chamber and her members. Although the first to arrive and take her seat in the middle of the section, Gularis was soon joined by the other members of her administration and it quickly filled, though the place reserved for the Prime Minister remained empty. Very much taken by the current atmosphere, Cea was bubbling as he entered the Parliamentary chamber. Flanked by his trusty and well known comrades in the RF, the one-time Prime Minister confidently eased his way by each row and seating section and eventually took his seat. He even went out of his way to shake Quinitanus’ hand. All was peaceful now, but each and every MP knew that it was a farce. It was quite spontaneous and out of the ordinary and one could not be sure of its origins, but when the Speaker entered the chamber there was a roar and a rush of applause. Gularis was very much surprised and initially apprehensive, but when she saw that the applause only grew and continued to spread she rose from her seat and joined in. She was silent, but not alone in her opinion. Taking his place in the lonely seat at the front of the chamber, at a higher level than the President and members of her administration, the Speaker’s deep voice signaled the start of the proceedings. As in each session before, the entire chamber remained silent as the Speaker read out a series of orders, eventually asking each MP to login, as it were, and register their attendance. In the course of a few minutes, one of the massive electronic screens off to the side lit up and displayed the outlay of Parliament. The doors to the chamber were shut and only a small number of cameras recorded the proceedings as they occurred. Above the chamber an observation level was packed full of reporters and journalists, political insiders and influential members of the elite. It was here that Numeritus and Morii looked on. “What’s next?” Numeritus asked quietly, leaning close to his colleague in order to avoid anyone else hearing. “There’s a given amount of time allotted to allow members to speak, but only a couple of members usually take the opportunity to do so. You see, most of the talking has already occurred and has yet to take place.” “How many of these have you seen?” “This will be my seventh, I believe.” Below them the Speaker called out for members to speak freely for a short amount of time, should they wish. None raised their hand, so the Speaker continued. From the side of the chamber a large stylized roman urn was brought forth by two men and placed on a table in the middle of the chamber floor. As this occurred, MPs took a small slip of paper that rested at their desk and wrote down the name of their nomination before folding it in half. When a MP was ready to vote they pressed a button on the small electronic screen beside them at their desk, which prompted the configuration on the massive electronic screen to change the color of a dot that represented them. The Speaker had created a timer that slowly ticked away, and he eagerly waited for all the dots on the screen to change color. Once this was done and complete, the Speaker called for all to make their way to the floor of the chamber and to place their votes inside the urn. A line was quickly formed and almost no talking took place between those waiting to drop their slips of paper into the urn. Ceremoniously, the President dropped hers in last, as was tradition, and was likewise the last to return to her seat. Three independent committees are formed occasionally for the sole purpose of tallying up the votes and delivering the results of each ballot to the Speaker. Naturally, the tallying is done away from the parliamentary chamber and the prying eyes of her members. In sealed rooms, whose access is most restricted, a group of individuals, whose honor it is to have been chosen for the task, manually count each vote and write the result on another sheet of paper. Afterward the urn is refilled with the votes and then delivered to a second committee, identical to the first – and the third for that matter. The process repeats for a total of three times and with no committee seeing the tallied results of the others. The three resultant pieces of paper with the full list and tally of the votes is then brought into the chamber and directly given to the Speaker. A hush – an elderly man, folded pieces of paper held tightly in his hands, descends the chamber steps and then ascends to reach the Speaker’s platform. In a clear and unequivocal manner, the results are read aloud. Absolute silence reigns. “The results for this first ballot election for the Prime Minister of the Republic are as follows: ICCER – 263 CEA – 238 PINNES – 118 MERENDA – 42 CAFANUS – 30 PARSONIMUS – 15 NIXON – 10 VINIRIMUS – 4 MACMERCUS – 3 VAN DER VAARS – 2 CINCINNATUS – 2 ATRATINUS – 2 LANATUS – 2 COXO – 1 The first ballot requires a nominee to obtain a total equivalent or greater to two-thirds of Parliament to be elected. No nominee has reached that mark. Therefore, I announce that a second ballot will be conducted tomorrow at 16:00. This session is adjourned.” |
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| Porcu | Dec 29 2011, 08:29 PM Post #8 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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By the time Numeritus spoke with Cesca the sun had long set and the city had welcomed the darkness with excitement. Walking freely through the hallways of the Parliamentary complex, Numeritus was struck by the energy that permeated from offices and conference rooms. Even at this late hour, negotiations were in full swing and assistants could be seen marching from one room to another, from one office to another. In taking the elevator to the floor where Cesca’s office was located, Numeritus shared an elevator with two MPs and a small group of EU officials, though from which memberstate they originated he could not be sure. The MPs kept very close, their cheeks nearly touching, and whispered only a few things, whereas the EU officials chatted lightly and shared a couple of laughs before departing once the elevator had reached their desired floor. The two MPs slowly looked around the elevator once the small group had left and seemed disappointed when Numeritus was spotted standing alone in a corner. A few seconds later the elevator finally reached the floor Numeritus had chosen, and Numeritus was glad to leave the car. Soon enough, Numeritus arrived at a collection of offices, among which rested Cesca’s, and announced to the attending secretary his intention to speak with the MP. Kindly asking him to wait where he was, the secretary made a quick phone call and, satisfied with the response on the other end, hung up while providing Numeritus with the room number of Cesca’s office. He thanked the secretary with a curt bow. Finding the door to the office open, Numeritus stood at the doorway for a moment and softly knocked at the door. A familiar voice beckoned him inside. Cesca was tucked away in a corner reading over a document of some kind when Numeritus entered. On the opposite end of the office stood a young woman, a packet of folders and documents held close to her breast. “Take this too, please.” Cesca said, turning his body so that he, along with Numeritus, faced the young woman. The young woman took the document with a remark in acceptable Latin and included it with the other papers she held. Before politely asking her to leave the room, Cesca introduced Numeritus to his assistant, an intern from Russia, and allowed for them to properly exchange a few words of introduction. Asking if she would be needed further, the young woman smiled when she heard that she was free to leave. Bidding Numeritus a quick farewell, she gave a bow and departed the room, closing it firmly behind her. “She’s quite attractive.” Numeritus said, setting down his briefcase and unbuttoning his jacket. “Indeed.” Cesca replied, settling down in his chair and clearing some room on his desk. “I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the foreign students we have apply to intern here in Stockholm, but while there is little difference in terms of academic qualifications, the same cannot be said regarding the physical. That does not factor into their application of course, but I am among the fortunate this year.” “Curious to hear that she’s Russian; do you get many applicants from Russia?” “I’ve never had an applicant specifically request to be placed in my office, but I believe that Russian applications are uncommon. The process of reviewing the applications, selecting winners, and then assigning them to MPs is done by a particular committee. I’m sure she would be happy to detail things for you and answer questions over dinner or a drink sometime.” “I’m not Morii, you know.” This reply sent Cesca into a fit of laughter. “Right…Although I certainly did not mean to insinuate anything of the sort. I apologize for my poor wording.” A pause. “So, you have something from our dear friend; something locked away in that briefcase?” Happy to have turned to the real reason of their meeting, Numeritus bent down and picked up his briefcase, opening it and pulling out a thin folder that had arrived to him earlier that day. Typed across the front in clear bold letters read: ‘TO BE OPENED AFTER THE FIRST BALLOT’. Breaking the seal that kept the contents hidden, Numeritus placed the folder flat on top of the desk and fanned out the various contents. Photographs and written documents comprised the main portion, while a few smaller bits of paper stayed hidden in between larger sheets for a bit longer. “What is this then?” Numeritus asked. “Christ…” Cesca said, disgust dripping from his sudden but masked outburst. Scanning through the pictures included in the folder left little explaining needed. Photographed quite clearly was the top aid to Chairwoman Pinnes of the PDF, a certain Decimus Lios Fina, naked with a small child at his side. Fina, a well known and tough politician of 57 years who was often referred to by his nickname of “the Iron Senator”, kept the child, a boy of 11 years as Numeritus was to read in an adjoining document, close to him as they showered together. Intimate hand contact was only the beginning and Numeritus quickly turned away from the collection of photographs. Cesca’s reaction was limited to a slight frown and when he returned to the first photo he placed the set down. “What else is there?” Cesca asked. “Scripts, I guess of audio recordings. There are a couple of pieces of paper with instructions on them too.” Shuffling through the contents, the two men eventually found a small key which one of the pieces of paper alluded to. Tucked safely away in a Bank deposit were videos and audio that would verify the truth of the pictures. Additionally, instructions were left as to how to make contact with Fina and the PDF with the stunning information provided. “Is it not still too early to blackmail them for votes?” Numeritus inquired. “Yes, but that’s not the purpose.” Having read through everything included in the folder, the two men followed various instructions listed and did what was ordered of them. In the end, three separate packets were created, which the instructions said would be handed off to three individuals who would individually make contact with Cesca and Numeritus. Suddenly the telephone on the desk rang, as if on cue, and Cesca answered to hear a rough voice on the other end. “Your colleague will meet me at the bus stop on the north-west corner of the square and forward me the packet marked ‘A’. You will return home with the second and third packages by metro and be contacted later. Understood?” “Clearly.” A click signaled the end of the call and Cesca forwarded what had been said while he got out of his chair. Grabbing his things and the first packet, Numeritus left Cesca and returned to the elevator, descending back to the ground floor and detouring from the main entranceway to exit from a side door. Within a few minutes, Numeritus approached the bus stop and waited outside the protective shelter. A man drew near as a bus approached and called out to him. Lifting his hand, the man motioned for a cigarette and waited while Numeritus fished in his jacket pocket for the packet he carried with him. Although only an infrequent smoker himself, Numeritus did have a habit of carrying a few cigarettes with him and wondered if this man was the one he was waiting for. The bus now pulled up next to the shelter and opened its doors. The man held up a hand to show the driver he wished to get on and slyly batted down the packet of cigarettes once Numeritus had drawn them out of his pocket. Numeritus and the man dropped to the sidewalk and a moment later the man hopped onto the bus and thanked Numeritus by waving his left hand, which held a folder and a single cigarette. Just then, the door closed and the bus slowly lurched forward and departed. |
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| Porcu | Jan 9 2012, 08:33 PM Post #9 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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“Ladies and gentlemen, Count Friedrich Alderman von Annz and the Countess Von Annz!” The bellow was clear, certainly audible over the wonderful playing of the small orchestra, yet it did not draw much attention. The guests trickled in and, whereas an unusually chilly night for that time of year had suddenly appeared, all were quite at home within the mountaintop retreat. Descending from the upper floor down into the main congregating area, the Count and Countess took their time in scanning the array of visitors and created a mental checklist of those they were socially obligated to greet and exchange a kind word to. “Count!” Albert von Boul-Dier said enthusiastically, approaching the guest and greeting him warmly. Von Boul-Dier kissed the Countess’ hand and thanked both for coming. “News of Austria’s difficult road ahead hasn’t escaped you, I know, but to be sure every patriot is proud of the efforts you are making to help move her people forward.” “Thank you, Senator. You are most kind.” “Please enjoy yourselves this evening. My staff is at your complete disposal, so do allow yourself to relax and make the most of this beautiful evening.” Von Boul-Dier concluded with a warm smile. By then another guest had been introduced by one of the young aristocrat’s house servants, and so Von Boul-Dier departed from the Count and Countess to greet them in kind. The villa rested in the middle of the Austrian Alps and provided an absolutely gorgeous landscape to its guests. Untouched forest lay all around and clean and refreshing air passed over the mountaintops and valleys. Dozens of guests had already arrived and still dozens more were expected. Although the aim of this particular social gathering was not to forward republican momentum in Austria, many on the guest list were active, vocal supporters of recent events in Vienna and elsewhere, while others could still be persuaded to support an open revolution against the vestiges of the Holy Roman Empire. Seated awkwardly on a rather large couch, Aehrenthal held a drink in between his hands and blankly focused his attention from one side of the room to another. Men and women – beautiful at that – spoke freely and with light banter. To see him from afar, one could not help but notice a cool solitude, an abject loneliness that characterized Aehrenthal’s demeanor. He had remained like this for a couple of hours now and Waldschläger finally took it upon himself to see what was the matter. “Everything well?” Waldschläger asked, settling himself down on the couch next to Aehrenthal. “Mhm.” “Have you found a girl and chatted with her a bit?” Aehrenthal shifted in his seat and set his drink on a table in front of the couch. “It’s fine.” Waldschläger retorted. “The night is young and there are plenty of women. Just take it easy and start up a conversation with one of them.” “It’s not that simple.” “Not with that frame of mind. Besides, you’ll be a key player in the coming Austria! Women will swarm then and it’ll be quite difficult to find an honest girl.” … North of the Alps, across the Baltic Sea, buried deep within the capital of the Republic of Porcu sat an establishment known worldwide for its night scene. It was a home for new, progressive, and stunning electronica – where unknowns from the world over were catapulted to stardom. Celebrities, of the film and royal variety alike, mingled freely with the commoner. Confederates moved to the beat with Russians, Venetians danced with those from Hong Kong and Macao, and Porcuians grinded hard with Unionist Spaniards. Drinks flowed as freely as sweat and this was only in the main area of the club. Elsewhere the atmosphere was less oppressive, yet there was no decrease in activity or entertainment. Access, as one can imagine, was tightly controlled and the wait to enter was slavish. A number of unfortunate incidents had occurred over the years and had prompted this level of security, but all felt that it was for the best. A well dressed gentleman stood near the bar and remained partially hidden because of the lack of lighting in the particular spot where he was. He looked on with seeming indifference; his eyes gazed coldly onward from behind a pair of eyeglasses. He held his arms behind him. Music pulsated and, to his left, bartenders were hard at work serving their patrons. He took a moment to massage the bridge of his nose and reset his glasses. Suddenly, he was interrupted. “Yo! Can I get another gin and tonic?” The gentleman stared right back at him without a word in response. A second or two passed before a heavy-set man appeared from beside the gentleman and informed the young man to make his way to the bar and stop being a bother. A tight fitting t-shirt and large sweat stains marked the heavy-set man well, and the gentleman was bothered no further. Leaning in close, the man informed the gentleman of events so far that evening and asked if there was anything the gentleman required. In silence, the gentleman turned and walked past him, eventually taking a staircase to the second floor and planting himself in a chair which gave him a wide view of events below. Hours tick on by and the gentleman remains stationed without so much as a twitch. At some point, however, he slowly uncrosses his leg and gets up, descending the stairs he took initially and returning to the ground floor. Along one wall rested a number of large tables with a half-circle couch surrounding each one, positions fought for by the tired and the drunk and those deep in conversation. Approaching one such arrangement, the gentleman initially is not even registered by the two young and very attractive women that occupy the couch. However, when he stands in front of the table, arms crossed behind his back, he grabs their attention at once. Unable to see his eyes due to the lighting, the young women only have alternating views of darkness and the complete reflection of his glasses. They sit in silence and he stands doing the same. One of the women uncomfortably takes a sip of her drink before nervously moving towards the edge of the couch. “It’s a bit low to steal a man’s wallet when he’s enjoying a wonderful evening with two beautiful women such as yourselves, wouldn’t you agree? Having shown a degree of trust and leaving his jacket here with you, I would think it to be proper for him to return and reclaim his possessions.” The young woman whom the gentleman had not addressed immediately looked back at the other. The other in turn kept her eyes on the figure standing before her. “I’m not sure I understand.” The young woman near the edge of the couch now moved quickly to exit, but immediately noticed a well built man blocking her way. Two more such men arrived a moment later and the two young women knew that resistance would lead them nowhere. Therefore, they exited and followed the gentleman as he led the group deeper inside the club. Passing private rooms, some of whose activities were not in the least bit private because the doors had not been shut completely, the group soon came to a stop, slowly entering what appeared to be an office. Lightly decorated and furnished, the gentleman walked over to a chair and sat down, crossing one leg over the other and placing his hands in his lap. As the security men dismissed themselves, the two young women reluctantly took a seat on a couch opposite the gentleman and watched as he pinched and massaged the bridge of his nose before pushing his glasses back into place. A good pause followed; remarkably, the music did not penetrate the walls. Not a word was said, but the young women wished their captor would speak – his demeanor and icy façade only frightened them as time went on. “Look, I’m sorry for whatever it is what I – or we – did. I’m sure we can clear up this misunderstanding.” one of the young women said. “What is your name?” the gentleman said. “Claudia. What is yours?” the young woman replied. “And yours?” the gentleman asked, completely disregarding the question posed to him. “Acca.” the other woman replied. Both looked soundly depressed, for while their beauty did not fade a luster had and both now gazed quietly at a singular point in the room. “I wish to make it absolutely clear that you are in no danger and should not fear for anything.” the gentleman began, grabbing the women’s attention. “That said, it is in your best interest to cease your delaying and to admit to having been caught. From watching you I can tell you two are a very good team and can even fabricate enjoyment of another’s company – a rare thing. However, you have not fooled me. Please, Claudia…” Claudia did as she thought was implied and reached into the light sleeveless jacket she wore and pulled out a wallet. She held it in her hands for a moment before setting it down on a small table. Another few minutes of silence followed, the deep and penetrating eyes of the gentleman ceasing to leave the woman in peace. Finally, Claudia reached back into her jacket and pulled out a couple of identification cards and public transit cards. “My guess is that you and Acca are not nearly as able at returning items you’ve stolen, so I’ll make sure the gentlemen at your table are delayed for a moment so that you can properly return everything.” Rising from his seat, the gentleman motioned for the door and waited for the two young women to proceed ahead of him. Acca turned towards the gentleman just as they exited back into the hallway. “That’s it? We just have to give this stuff back?” The gentleman allowed himself a slight grin, which chilled the two young women, and replied, “Implicitly, I expect you to change. Eyes now turn on you and they will never cease. Another similar infraction will not be missed and I cannot guarantee your safety should that be the case.” A short time later, the gentleman retook his post next to the bar and gazed over at the tables on the far side with content. Acca and Claudia laughed and smiled, though the gentleman saw they were brilliant actresses, but they had done what was necessary of them. The gentleman slowly shifted his attention from one group to another. The scene had not diminished despite the early morning hour, but a more relaxed atmosphere certainly had taken over. Checking his watch, the gentleman motioned to a bartender and waited for a glass of water. As he drank slowly, a respectable man came to his side and handed him a note. The gentleman read it over and handed it back. Finishing his water, he returned the glass and began to walk across the dance stage directly towards the entrance. In taking a last look at the table where Acca and Claudia sat, nothing was said or whispered, not a movement of the head or of the hand, but the gentleman locked eyes with Claudia for a brief moment. Exiting out onto the empty street, the gentleman waited all of ten seconds before his private car pulled up next to the curb, and subsequently cruised away once he had comfortably seated himself inside. … It was very late into the evening when Kerle was told by one of Von Boul-Dier’s servants that his presence was needed. Despite still working on his drink and an attractive civil servant in Vienna, Kerle followed and was eventually led to a small room. Seated comfortably in plush armchairs were Aehrenthal, Von Boul-Dier, and Waldschläger, and Kerle made his way to an open seat without so much as greeting his colleagues. “I’m sorry to have called you, Kerle, but it is getting rather late and some news has just come to my attention which merits discussion.” Von Boul-Dier said. “Out with it then.” Kerle barked. Looking momentarily at the others gathered in order to draw their attention, the aristocratic member of the state legislature in Vienna, which was a mere puppet of the Prince who answered to Berlin, began in earnest. He took out a short note from his pocket. “Our distinguished colleague in Stockholm has informed us that other viable option for the procurement of weapons and stuffs necessary for revolution can be found. The option in question leads us to the peculiar entity of the Authority in Warsaw and Northern Poland. The note is quite clear that no contact has been made with these Moffs, but recent activity by their military and industrial conglomerates suggests that active buyers are sought.” “Not that cold fuck…” Kerle growled, finishing off the last of his drink. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: We do not know this man and I do not trust him; He treats us like dogs.” “That’s hardly fair.” Waldschläger retorted. “First of all, we’ve only had limited contact with him, and those times that we have talked have been squarely limited on how a successful change of government is to be achieved for Austria.” “He’s said before that we can decline.” Aehrenthal added in a low voice. “Still…I’m sure we have enough to pull this off. How did things go this evening?” Kerle asked Von Boul-Dier. “Well, I think. Several nobles have pledged their support in return for protection, should things turn ugly. A friend of mine in the police tells me that a good number of men are supportive of secession, while many others would not openly work against an independent Austria.” “What of Berlin?” Aehrenthal asked. “The international community has not commented and it seems that no great loss is perceived. The Empire is ready to crack and unrest has spread to major industrial centers.” Von Boul-Dier said. “Smaller states may proclaim their independence from Berlin, but I believe only Austria will have the capacity to fulfill its goals.” “And the Hungarians?” Waldschläger said. “I’ve not heard anything myself, but our colleague has written here that intelligence sources in Porcu have found powerful nobles and small city republics, particularly in Western Transleithania, to be sending and receiving diplomats. Of course, this doesn’t mean anything besides the fact that they’re talking more, but it’s still a positive sign that our actions aren’t going unnoticed.” Von Boul-Dier replied. “How can we trust this man?” Kerle said, leaning forward in his chair. “The whole course of events feels fabricated to me and the more I think about it the more I don’t want anything to do with this.” “We’ve come so far already.” Von Boul-Dier answered back. “The groundwork has been laid and we proclaim our fair republic in a few days, just as the Porcuian election for Prime Minister is concluded.” “That’s it though! And how can we be sure that his suggestion about these Moffs is accurate!?” A heated argument dominated the rest of the meeting, only Aehrenthal staying absolutely silent but ever observant, until a gaze at a clock resting on a stool indicated the early morning hour. Although the discussion was unconcluded, Von Boul-Dier drew the meeting to an end and closed by voicing his desire for cooperation and trust, at least among their small group. The first to leave, Kerle would have none of it and burst from the room cursing the others, but particularly that cold, indifferent son-of-a-bitch from Scandinavia. In assessing which of his guests were still around, Von Boul-Dier made his rounds and conversed warmly, whereas Waldschläger and Aehrenthal stated their intention of retiring for the night. Kerle was offered the opportunity to spend the evening in Von Boul-Dier’s home, but he decided otherwise. He also turned down an offer to be driven home and insisted on doing so himself. The cloudless night opened the sky to Kerle as he progressed alongside the mountains, heading further away from that aristocrat’s retreat. Perhaps he was driving a bit fast, taking turns sharply and with little regard for anyone who may come the other way, and, yes, there was the issue of his drunkenness, but neither could account for the way in which he was discovered later that morning once the sun had risen. An innocent local, a farmer by trade, drove along as he usually did. For several kilometers, however, a cloud of smoke could be sensed, if not always seen, and in approaching a gradual climb the local noticed its origins to be from a burning mass resting deep alongside the mountain. He grabbed his phone and dialed the police, but could not answer the voice on the other end when he came to the point at which the vehicle left the road. Although heavy brush flanked this portion of the road, an enormous tree rose proudly and looked over the beautiful landscape below. Hanging from a branch high above was a figure that the local could not immediately identify as male or female, Austrian or foreigner. Secured around the figure’s neck was a tightly wound Austrian flag. Swinging lightly with the occasional breeze, the figure would not be taken down for another few hours, and for that time it could quietly look out onto the sprawling landscape, the natural beauty, of Austria. |
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| Porcu | Jan 16 2012, 02:38 AM Post #10 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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Posted Image There was a wonderfully light breeze that fine morning, yet in waiting for his train to arrive Numeritus was denied its pleasure by the solid mass of the gentleman directly in front of him. Morii stood beside him and had been talking for some time, but exactly what he was saying had not penetrated. Instead, Numeritus’ thoughts largely rested with the peculiar events of the previous evening, especially those concerning the mysterious package and the individual whom he had met at the bus stop. “Ah, here it comes.” Numeritus shifted his attention, first to Morii and then to the fast approaching train. Even without it having fully arrived, a great swell rose from the mass gathered on the platform. Station officers stood firmly in place and skillfully kept everyone in order with carefully utilized gazes of the eyes, motions of the arms and hands, and pipes of their whistles. Compared to the majority of travelers who competed vigorously for open seats, Numeritus and Morii proceeded comfortably in the knowledge that one of a number of premier, private cabins would be available for them. After having settled down Morii pulled a sleek computer tablet from his bag and propped it up on a small table. Turning to a news stream, Morii left for the restroom while Numeritus watched the live feed. As it was, President Gularis was facing a barrage of questions related to the results of the first ballot, which had been made public the previous evening, and expertly dodged potential pitfalls while also remaining calm and focused – she had certainly grown hardened to the Porcuian political environment, that much was clear. The conversation ended with the President being flown away via helicopter, her destination known to be Valdemarsvik and her supposed purpose known to be an attempt at swaying the support of reluctant local politicians and to reassure uncertain business leaders. “Was that Gularis?” Morii asked, sliding the door shut behind him as he entered. “Yes; seems she’s off to Valdemarsvik. The pundits are sure she’ll be able to boost Iccer’s support.” “I see.” Morii chuckled heartedly. “I was in Valdemarsvik the other day and while her man may steal some votes, I’ve secured those peoples’ support nice and tightly.” “Oh?” Numeritus replied with a grin. After having their breakfast order taken by a kind attendant Numeritus continued. “Have you heard from Cesca or Vappimus?” “Only briefly; Cesca is staying in Stockholm, whereas Vappimus is traveling to Patavium. What exactly he’s doing there, I have no idea.” Eventually the train pulled up to its designated station and a strong scent of fresh fish greeted the two men as they descended from the train onto the platform. Capua was as beautiful a coastal and port city as its inhabitants were well-known merchants and traders. Tough and stubborn fit many of Capua well, and the prices attached to goods were like the traffic signs that dotted her numerous roads – that is to say, they served as suggestions. “You have the address, yes?” Morii asked. “Right here…” Numeritus replied, producing a small card from his pocket. … When news broke regarding Chairwoman Pinnes’ top aid and advisor, the PDF leader was conversing lightly with King Maxentius IV at the Royal Palace. The two were sharing a meal outside when a servant approached and whispered something into His Majesty’s ear. Judging by his reaction, Pinnes guessed it was relatively benign, though she was soon to find out how untrue this was. Motioning with his hand, the King rose from the table and walked with Pinnes back inside. Pinnes asked what news had been given and the King replied that he had not the slightest idea, only that it was important. Both saw this once having entered a small room furnished with a television. Before them a reporter excitedly read off the breaking news, careful to repeat it clearly a few times for those just joining their coverage. The visual changed to show a journalist standing across the street from a residence well known to Pinnes, whose entrance was flooded with reporters and protesters alike. A few sentences were all that was needed for Pinnes to realize something terrible had occurred – that and the bold statement across the screen reading “PDF ADVISOR FINA ACCUSED OF CHILD RAPE” “…I’m standing across the street from the residence of Decimus Lios Fina, the fiery and combative advisor to Chairwoman Pinnes, and, as you can see, there has quite a reaction to the news.” “Boccio, for those viewers who have just joined us would you be so kind as to clarify what we know so far?” “Of course; now to begin, I think it is important for viewers to understand that the Metropolitan Police have only just gotten involved and that formal charges are still pending. That said, information and strong evidence has been leaked suggesting that Fina is involved in pedophilic acts. As you can see, a crowd has already begun to gather, but no word has been heard from Fina himself, Chairwoman Pinnes, or the press office of the PDF…” Although King Maxentius had left the room, Pinnes stayed frozen in place. Shock was the overwhelming emotion, though this quickly gave way to fear. She stood there another few minutes before turning to leave. The palace was eerily and unusually void of bodies as Pinnes made her way to where she had entered. Waiting for her at the door was a servant who apologized on behalf of His Majesty and bid her a good day, seeing that she got into her car easily and waiting for it to pull away. … “There’s just no way…” “You must be mad to think that…” “Here, let me paint you a clear picture of how I see things…” Numeritus let his eyes wander as he walked step in step with Morii through the halls that approached the Parliamentary chamber. To his left and his right people of the Left and the Right argued, sometimes forcefully, over the extraordinary news that had spread like a wildfire earlier that day. Some seemed panicked, while others were joyful; a great many questioned the truthfulness of the claims, but all were convinced that the PDF had bungled the response and erased any hope of capturing the Head of Government. Morii and Numeritus continued on past groups of small and large size and eventually found the gentlemen they were looking for. Resting in plush chairs lining a glass wall, Cesca and Vappimus warmly greeted their colleagues and pointed them to open seats. “So,” Cesca said, “how was your trip to Capua? Did everything go well?” “Yes, yes it did.” Morii replied. “We went to the address we were given and met this lowly, beat down man. Surprisingly, he seemed completely unaware that we were to visit him.” Numeritus added. “What was it? Another package?” Cesca asked. Numeritus and Morii nodded in unison and drew a solemn look from Cesca, who turned his attention to the view outside. Vappimus shifted in his seat and tugged on his suit jacket a bit to adjust it. “You gents had to hand over a package as well?” the jolly parliamentarian asked. “Why? Is that what you were doing in Patavium?” Numeritus said. “So that’s it…” Cesca said under his breath. “Similar case as you. I was given an address, but told to wait for someone to contact me.” Vappimus continued. “I eventually met a woman, striking and seemingly well off, who treated me to lunch. Quite naturally, she asked for the package and I handed it over.” The conversation proceeded for awhile before attention was brought to the fast approaching second ballot. “Well, there’s no doubt that Pinnes’ chances have fallen dramatically. What’s important is to notice the rate at which her support erodes.” Cesca said. “I heard rumors that the King was seriously considering backing her for Prime Minister.” Morii added. “I heard the same thing.” Vappimus chimed. “But then it seems that she was having lunch with His Majesty when news broke regarding Fina.” “I’ve never heard of the Crown openly supporting nominations for Prime Minister, or even candidates for President.” Numeritus said inquisitively. “It is very rare and has been long thought to be imprudent; however, King Maxentius IV has recently pushed back against this unspoken rule. Still, I doubt that he alone would sway many votes.” Cesca replied. A sudden chime began and filled the entire Parliamentary Complex. Its source was a large bell tower atop what once was a medieval trading and storage building, but that currently acted as a fine art museum and gallery. Confirming the pattern of the bells’ chimes, Vappimus and Cesca took note of the time and rose from their seats. “I take it you two will be observing again?” Cesca said. “Yeah; why don’t we have dinner together this evening? That is, if none of you have any plans.” Numeritus replied. “I’m afraid the Mrs. has wanted me home. I’ll pass this time.” Vappimus answered. The group walked together for a bit before parting ways. A steady stream glided past the guards on either side of the large doors to the Parliamentary chamber, but without the same media fanfare of the first vote. Without losing a moment, Morii and Numeritus took their route up to the observation area and settled into a room. Soon enough, the proceedings identical to the first ballot process started and the chamber fell quiet. Whereas none had spoken during the first ballot, one parliamentarian made clear his request to speak when it was proper. “I intend to keep my remarks brief, but I equally intend to make my point clear.” the middle-aged man said with forceful intonation. “By now all in this chamber are aware of the accusations that are being leveled against the close advisor to a well known Member of Parliament, as well as the formal charges that are undoubtedly to follow, but that is not what I wish to comment on. Rather, it was the ways in which such accusations were responded to that first drew my attention and now compel me to address this most honorable assembly. “If it was not already clear, it is now unmistakable for the Members of Parliament to note that these most disgusting and repugnant accusations were countered with fear, confusion, and without comment towards the victims!” the parliamentarian cried, drawing immediate yells from those seated furthest to the left of the chamber. An authoritative intervention by the Speaker was needed to restore order. The parliamentarian was recognized once more. “This response was not merely that of one individual, but of an entire organization. Are we to trust the reins of power in the hands of the inept? When defense is first given to the perpetrator of such vile acts, rather than to the victims, are we to conclude that truth and justice rank lower than order and image? To conclude, for I understand the necessity of keeping my remarks brief Mr. Speaker, the members of such an organization must ask themselves if they wish to be party to such corruption.” Upon concluding, a roar erupted from the chamber and a great amount of yelling and desk banging occurred. From their spot above the fray, Numeritus and Morii excitedly took in as much as they could. Hands rose high and the Speaker’s attention was called for by hundreds of MPs, eventually prompting him to allow only a single response by those specifically mentioned by the previous speaker. Pinnes waited for the rumbling to die down before standing to speak. Though her words were direct and unambiguous, her voice hinted at the underlying nervousness that enveloped her. The chamber was again ready to burst into confusion once she had finished, but the Speaker would have none of it and firmly threatened to remove any who delayed the course of the proceedings. The rest of the procedure carried on in silence, even during the interlude when the votes were being counted. It was utterly fascinating for an individual to witness. Eventually, a sheet of paper familiar to all was handed to the Speaker. “The results for this second ballot election for the Prime Minister of the Republic are as follows: TOTAL BALLOTS: 732 BALLOTS NECESSARY FOR ELECTION OF PRIME MINISTER: 483 REJECTED BALLOTS: 0 BLANK BALLOTS: 39 ICCER – 270 CEA – 238 MERENDA – 53 PINNES – 47 CAFANUS – 30 PARSONIMUS – 20 NIXON – 20 VINIRIMUS – 6 MACMERCUS – 3 CINCINNATUS – 2 ATRATINUS – 2 LANATUS – 2 The second ballot requires a nominee to obtain a total equivalent or greater to two-thirds of Parliament to be elected. No nominee has reached that mark. Therefore, I announce that a third ballot will be conducted tomorrow at 16:00. This session is adjourned” |
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| Porcu | Jan 22 2012, 12:43 AM Post #11 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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One must always try and keep in mind the odd relationship Porcuians have with their government and the institutions it births. A large portion of these, generally, refined Scandinavians take in the day’s news on their trip home from work – nothing more than simple recognition and acceptance, whereas another large portion do their best to digest the evolution of events. Instrumental to many, but only indispensible to a few, are the evening panel shows and their guests’ attempts at making sense of what had occurred. *Cue Introductory Music* [Transition to video clip of Parliament Speaker announcing that a third ballot is necessary and scheduled for the next day] “That was Speaker Pendipeus earlier today announcing the results of the secret ballot, the second ballot, in an attempt at finding the person who will head the government.” a clean and trim man said, leaning forward slightly for emphasis. “No nominee managed to obtain the necessary number of votes and so the process begins anew tomorrow afternoon. Here in the studio to discuss the progression of this election for Prime Minister is a fantastic panel. Joining me are Lucius Latina Suffas, contributing editor to ‘Forward!’ magazine, Cornelius Evolsus Rauceus, host of the Sunday talk-show ‘Address the Nation’, and Flavia Io Limnatis, a syndicated columnist, and whose latest op-ed on the state of the President’s party was printed by ‘La Repubblica’. Welcome everyone and good evening.” Caeso Arcadius Tertiarius was a staple of Porcuian television and the PBC was very much keen on keeping him. Although the corporation was slow, relative to some foreign broadcasters, the PBC eventually found how constructing an ethic, an outlook, and a brand could be beautifully achieved with a charming, attractive, and well-dressed individual. “So, Mr. Suffas, let’s start with you; you just saw the clip there of Speaker Pendipeus announcing that this process will continue at least for another day. The official results of the secret ballot were released a few hours ago by Parliament, but what should people make of this? Does anything surprise you or stand out?” Tertiarius began. “By themselves the results are actually quite meaningless. By that I mean to say that what’s more important is the trend – the ‘ups’ and ‘downs’ various nominees have experienced. The first ballot is always a straightforward measure of where Parliament is, and these early results that follow confirm that Parliament is quite divided right now.” The camera turns to Ms. Limnatis. “Mr. Suffas is absolutely correct, of course, but I think we have to rewind a bit and try and understand how this election came about and why. It seems quite clear to me that this election is a direct attempt by various political camps to pave the ground for future electoral success, looking ahead at the next general election and the presidential race. The President is in a very difficult position, especially since her last attempt to corral Parliament backfired on her with the abandonment of Quintianus, and it doesn’t seem particularly likely that her party’s nominee will gather many more votes above what he received earlier today.” “Speaking of Mr. Iccer,” Tertiarius said, “some journalists for the PBC did some work and discovered that he was a late candidate; I mean, his nomination wasn’t arrived at until a few other names were crossed out.” “Quite right.” Rauceus interjected. “I actually spoke to a Parliamentarian who is close to the President and described to me the atmosphere of a meeting that took place when Iccer was decided upon. It seems that Gularis really pushed his nomination, despite the protest of several high-ranking party officials. Briefly turning to Ms. Limnatis’ comments and the piece she wrote for ‘La Repubblica’, I have to agree that this seems to be a concentrated effort by the President to reestablish herself and to solidify her position moving forward.” “But what separates this election for Prime Minister from previous ones?” Tertiarius asked. “This process doesn’t seem to have a mask of cooperation.” Suffas said. “What we’re seeing unfold, thanks especially to those individuals willing to speak to the press, is a rigid game. Basically ignoring polling data showing that a vast number of Porcuians want there to be less conflict within Parliament, MPs on all sides seem to want to dig in and battle it out for every vote. By all accounts, even when the process moves past the third ballot and lowers the vote count necessary from 2/3 to a simple majority, no current nominee will have the votes needed.” “So, you’re convinced it’s going past three?” “Absolutely.” Suffas said with a chuckle. The two other panelists nodded in agreement. “Doesn’t the news regarding Chairwoman Pinnes’ advisor and the sexual allegations against him change the equation? After all, Pinnes had the full backing of the PDF – 118 votes can certainly provide a winner.” “In such a tight contest, yes.” Suffas added. Rauceus interjected, “It is difficult to read into the numbers of these ballots, but while Pinnes’ votes dropped dramatically there didn’t seem to be a single nominee that benefitted. Not surprisingly, RF Chairman Cea stayed level with all of his party MPs, but look…Iccer and Parsonimus had small bumps, while Nixon and Merenda gained some support.” “I don’t think that’s going to last though.” Suffas said. “I imagine that a good number of PDF MPs freaked when the news of Fina broke; what’s more important than Nixon’s rise in votes – because let’s face it, he’s not going to win – is the shift towards ‘blank’ votes.” “Ms. Limnatis, what exactly are we to make of these blank votes? They show up in all of these elections, but figuring out which nominee will take them moving forward is terribly difficult.” Tertiarius said. “Quite…Due to the nature of the process, we’ll never know exactly who cast those blank votes, but it seems likely that they are PDF MPs who abandoned Pinnes’ nomination. Rather than committing themselves immediately to another nominee, MPs who cast a blank vote usually want to see how the political winds change before the next vote. Often times, what we see is actually an increase in blank votes just as the process moves to the fourth ballot where, as Mr. Suffas mentioned, the threshold necessary to declare a winner is reduced to a simple majority.” “On this note, I wish to add one thing.” Rauceus said, raising his hand slightly. “Although the votes necessary to elect a Prime Minister drops considerably from the fourth ballot onwards, so too do the chances that Parliament will keep the victor as the President’s formal representative to the government. Let’s not forget that Quintianus was elected on the fourth ballot and his term did not last very long at all. That’s not to say that no one will gather a sizeable vote total in these coming ballots, but should the government fall a year from now we cannot act surprised and say we didn’t notice the possibility before.” “One at a time then, let’s hear your predictions for the third ballot; let’s start with Mr. Suffas and move down.” Tertiarius replied, noting that the stage manager was signaling for an upcoming commercial break. “Cea, of course, will stay parked right where he is – it’s just the state of his party that he will not gain nor lose votes. Iccer may gain a handful more, but nothing substantial. Pinnes’ total will drop again, and those casting blank votes will increase as a result.” “I agree with much of what Mr. Suffas said and will only differ by stating that I predict Pinnes will drop her nomination. She…Yes, she’s going to instruct the members of her party to drop her name and shift as a block to ‘blank’ votes. Her response to these awful allegations has crippled her, but I imagine she’ll still try and influence the proceedings by throwing all her weight behind another nominee when the time is right.” Rauceus ended. “I’m nervous by being the only one who is going to suggest something radical; usually I’m the one who gives conservative predictions!” Limnatis laughed. “However, from what I’ve heard from party officials close to the President, I just cannot see Iccer moving ahead and I don’t see Pinnes’ name staying in the ballot results list for long. My bold prediction is that a major nominee will drop – by that I mean that they will ask for MPs to not write their name down – and I think it’s going to be either Merenda or Nixon.” … Just a couple of days earlier, they had all gathered to greet their strange colleague from Porcu in the capital city of Vienna. Now, a strong voice was no longer with them. Accusations had been thrown around liberally in private circles; everyone denied involvement or knowledge. What’s more, a fracture now showed itself amongst the members left of this small group of patriots. Sitting behind a desk, Von Boul-Dier looked at the two men seated across from him. The mood was dark. Labor protests could be heard a few blocks away. The city and all of Austria seemed poised to explode. “Can we move forward with this?” Von Boul-Dier asked, injecting as much sincerity into his words as he could. “Kerle may have been onto something…” Waldschläger said. “Why do you trust this Porcuian so much? We’re more than capable of exerting ourselves.” “Independence is easy, it’s only a statement. Sovereignty requires effort, and allies. What do you think, Heinrich?” Aehrenthal looked up at Von Boul-Dier. “If you believe it’s in the best interest of Austria, then I support it.” “Quit it!” Waldschläger yelled. He seemed to immediately regret his outburst and stood up, turning and walking towards the windows. “He asked what you think, Heinrich.” “But I did answer.” A silence grew. “I’ll write the communication then. Since we don’t have direct channels to these Moffs of which our colleague wrote, I’ll have him forward the message.” Passive acceptance was the only signal Von Boul-Dier received. He completed the message in short order.
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| Porcu | Jan 28 2012, 01:49 AM Post #12 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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Posted Image A warm sky’s blessings tempted the gently aged Nixon the Younger as he sat outside and waited for his beverage. A small but strong coffee was set down in front of him and the waiter then expertly took the coins handed to him and returned the change. Providing a bow deeper than usual, the waiter left Nixon to his thoughts. Off in the distance one occasionally could see the markings of a tourist and Nixon, pleasingly, took the opportunity to play a little game. Before him an extended family made their way out from one of Milan’s famous cultural centers and, currently, seemed undecided as to where to visit next. Although the father commanded the map, his authority was challenged constantly. It was apparent that no one in the family had set foot in the Republic before and frustration revealed itself when the father began scolding the set of children and the mother, seemingly, kept her cool. Refolding the map he held, the father gazed about with a new air of confidence and pointed to a set of tables and chairs across the plaza. Nixon feigned disinterest as the family of five passed his table and settled nearby. Seeing them up close left no doubt in Nixon’s mind and he was pleased with having guessed their country of origin correctly. The former President of the Republic had long finished his coffee by the time the father had managed to order, silencing his critics with iced tea and some water. Calling over the waiter, Nixon indicated that the family’s order should be charged to him and then after paying he rose and greeted the family. The shock that accompanied the encounter was joyful from Nixon’s perspective and the family, a modest family from the state of Florida in the Confederacy, repeatedly expressed their thanks. Although having left the Presidency many years ago, Nixon was still a well known and well regarded man. After exchanging a few words, in English for their sake, Nixon bid them farewell and good travels throughout the Republic. … This was a serious meeting. One need not have knowledge of the topic of conversation to understand this – the figures present were enough. Having reserved this particular conference room for a space of three hours, it was hoped that progress could be made and a plan settled upon. Unfortunately, time was almost up and the third ballot was due to be cast in a couple of hours. “Madam President! I implore you to let me finish!” “You’ve rambled on long enough!” Key party leaders of the PASD from around the country sat in silence for the next minute. Nine individuals total, collectively they had formulated the strategy of Gularis’ successful bid for the Presidency and the domination of Parliament by the centre-left. Never before had the PASD held so many seats and positions of power, yet few times before had they been as vulnerable as they were now. Despite her profound desire to capture the position of Prime Minister for her party members, President Gularis now realized that an alternative strategy was needed. Although not the only one, there was one individual in particular that came to mind as having advanced this argument. “Cesca?” “Yes, Madam President?” A slight pause followed by a sigh. “How do you think we should act?” The seasoned MP focused his thoughts before replying. “There is no question that the party as a whole is experiencing a decline, and you particularly have dropped in opinion polls. As it has been indicated and brought to discussion, there is a real sense of frustration among large portions of the populace, which carries with it the strong possibility that we will lose our advantage at the level of city councils and metropolitan assemblies. Parliament is more difficult to gauge, but we cannot discount that we will lose seats there as well. We have the opportunity to strike an image of cooperation and to direct the undeclared votes previously commanded by Pinnes. This means that we cannot continue to push for Iccer’s nomination before Parliament.” “Yeah?” barked another MP across the table. “Just look how far we’ve come by speaking directly to the people and slowly allowing the advantage we have in numbers work in our favor. Why is it so difficult to acknowledge that Cea is in no position to gain the necessary number of votes, even for a fourth or fifth ballot, and that Pinnes’ support is dwindling to the point where only one candidate is left with a good chance of gathering the necessary support?” “Apparently you haven’t been listening.” said another person, the local Chairman for the party in Vercelli. “Iccer isn’t seen as a major candidate; in fact, there are a lot of people wondering when Merenda’s votes are going to ramp up.” “More to the point,” Cesca began, “Iccer is viewed as an idiot. Forgive me for being frank, Madam President, but I wish you would have consulted the party leadership before publicly declaring a nominee. Iccer has little experience and, just yesterday, the PBC noted that he was essentially a doll when serving on the City Council of Milan – never engaging in debate or asking questions, just sitting quietly in his seat.” “So, again, what are we to do?” Gularis asked, the question obviously directed at Cesca. “Now we wait. A fourth ballot is inevitable, so this evening we see what moves are made and then afterward we work hard to see where support is trending. We’ll also have to make it known that a general shake-up of ministry positions is in order. Hopefully, that’ll be enough.” The meeting was drawn to a close rather unsatisfactorily a few minutes later and some discussion would buzz around the internet and on news channels once Gularis and the other senior party officials were caught on camera exiting the conference room. Speculations would blossom in the time remaining before the third ballot, despite the lack of interviews by any of the officials. … “Anything?” the white haired Chairman of the RF whispered to a deputy seated beside him. The process for the secret ballot had been initiated some time before, but an unusual number of MPs wished to speak this evening and therefore dragged out the proceedings. One at a time, each Member of Parliament was recognized by the Speaker and allotted a brief period of time to speak. Apart from a faint grumble of agreement, or disagreement as it were, the chamber kept rather quiet. “We’ve managed to pin down most of Cafanus’ support, as well as that of Parsonimus.” the deputy replied, doing his best to be clear yet keep his voice low. “And?” “LDRB and Greens…” “Just like we thought.” “Precisely, but weren’t able to get a reply before the start of proceedings today.” “What’s the outlook?” “Last count, Cafanus had 30 and Parsonimus, 20. We offered a power sharing proposal for various city councils, as well as the possibility of one or two ministry positions. On the low end we can get 35 votes, though I’m guessing more towards 45.” Cea was about to respond when a particular phrase caught his attention. “…and I believe it is best if I were to rescind my nomination. I therefore ask all MPs who have supported my nomination thus far to not include my name in the ballot. I have not come to a decision as to whom I support for Prime Minister and…” Nixon the Younger’s voice was drowned out by a sudden burst from Parliament. Some stood, whereas others remained seated, but all were certainly surprised. It took some effort on the part of the Speaker to reign in the hundreds of members, but as soon as some order had been restored he pushed forward with the proceedings. Results were read to the chamber a couple of hours later. “TOTAL BALLOTS: 732 BALLOTS NECESSARY FOR ELECTION OF PRIME MINISTER: 483 REJECTED BALLOTS: 0 BLANK BALLOTS: 56 ICCER – 279 CEA – 238 MERENDA – 44 CAFANUS – 41 PINNES – 32 PARSONIMUS – 15 VINIRIMUS – 12 MACMERCUS – 7 CINCINNATUS – 5 ATRATINUS – 2 LANATUS – 1” |
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| The Authority of the Grand Moff | Feb 1 2012, 02:03 AM Post #13 |
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2nd Lieutenant
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| Porcu | Feb 6 2012, 08:53 PM Post #14 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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| The Authority of the Grand Moff | Feb 10 2012, 12:12 AM Post #15 |
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2nd Lieutenant
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OOC: Sienar is currently off busy with his own machinations, but he's not about to let Kuat have all the fun.... |
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| Porcu | Feb 10 2012, 09:31 PM Post #16 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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Dedos hunched over his worn but always reliable netbook and stared at the glowing screen. The heavy scream of a ship’s horn could be heard off in the distance, drawing nearer to port, and all else was quiet again. The apartment Dedos called home was almost exclusively the limit to his experience of life, and though he was poor he made the most of it all. He had neighbors, certainly, but they never visited, and he was a free citizen in a free society, able to move about his country of birth at will, but – and that’s precisely the point – he found life much easier if he stayed in one place. And therefore he continued to sit there in front of a bright computer screen in the dark of night. Finally he showed signs of life. Opening a program, Dedos quickly brought up on the screen a live feed of that evening’s news. A boringly uninspired presentation of the local news masked the grotesque events summarized and he sat there quiet desensitized to it all. Eventually the switch to the national news channel was made. Only interested in the result of that day’s secret ballot to elect a new Prime Minister of the Republic, Dedos did not continue watching any longer than he felt necessary. Not surprisingly, a conclusive result had not been achieved and so the same procedure was scheduled for the following day. A familiar knock came at the door. A bright face rested perfectly atop a toned and liberally dressed body, and the whole entered the compact living quarters without ado. Once having reached the edge of the bed, the young woman pushed aside a pile of clothes and sat down, bringing one leg up to rest on the mattress. Although not in any spatial sense, she was the only neighbor Dedos had. “What brings you by?” Dedos asked without turning around to face his guest. “I was just hanging out with a couple of friends before, but thought I’d drop by, you know, see how you’re doing.” Dedos murmured something too faint to be heard clearly. “You’re not still hanging out with that lowlife, are you?” “Yes, I am, and just look whose talking.” “Same could be said of you.” Dedos by now had turned to face the young woman at the other end of the room. A short pause followed before she leaned back on his bed and let her leg fall and dangle freely. “Wanna go outside for a bit?” Dedos gazed at her. He nodded. Youth was a relative term. As the door was held open for him, Dedos turned off the sole source of light for the entire apartment, looking back once to make sure he had closed his netbook, and followed the young woman out into the hall. All was silent as the two made their way down to an aged elevator at the end of the hall, and due to the narrowness Dedos followed behind, not that he was complaining. Eventually exiting out onto the street, the young woman asked where they should begin and Dedos suggested they slowly make their way to the boardwalk, which would eventually take them to the edge of the port and the downtown area. The two proceeded through the narrow side streets mostly in silence until the grandeur of the moon caught the young woman’s eye. “Woah! Look at that!” Dedos paused and leaned his head back to get a proper view. Against city lights that flooded the night sky the moon was an imposing figure. “My mother embarrasses me sometimes by mentioning how I wanted to become an astronaut when I was little.” “Oh? Not anymore?” “No…” They continued on and soon came to an entry point to the boardwalk. There was no wind that night, but the waves still came crashing. Pitch black emptiness merged beautifully with the sky, and so on one side laid light and darkness on the other. “How long have we known each other?” Dedos said after a bit. “Uh…Almost eight years, right?” the young woman replied, passing a hand through her hair. “Doesn’t really seem that long ago.” Dedos chuckled, “But it was. Eight years is a long time.” “Why do you ask?” “Oh, I was just thinking about it the other day and couldn’t really remember myself.” “This isn’t another one of your awkward segues to talk about God or philosophical stuff, is it?” she replied, her soft face reflected the light of the occasional lamp perfectly. “It wasn’t, but now that you bring it up, why not?” Dedos said with a smile. The young woman cracked a smile, she knew when he was being playful and she was always so kind in obliging him. “You know already I don’t believe, though I’m not entirely convinced of that either. I never feel like I can give you a good answer. I just don’t think about this stuff like you do.” “The beauty of it is that you don’t have to. You really don’t find trying to answer some of these deep questions to be exciting or interesting?” “They’re interesting, I guess, but…I mean, take for instance that question about trust you asked me awhile ago; I still don’t have an answer to it.” The young woman slowed her pace and came to a stop as they approached a wooden bench. Dedos moved beside her as she sat down and the two looked out at the black horizon. “When I say that I trust you, or the other way around, there’s something important going on. The statement reveals quite a bit about your mode of thinking and your experience of life. Principally, it makes it clear that you believe we are capable of sharing a common ignorance and a common knowledge. You may say, “Well, that’s obvious enough!” but is it really? Do you believe that each person is the keeper to a particular set of thoughts and experiences? Do lovers not experience love, or do they experience different loves? Does the experience of one driver in a head-on collision begin and end with that individual? Are the comatose locked away in cells of their own mind’s creation, or in a steady state of society’s psychology? “It is fundamentally our nature to be ignorant, primarily of our own ignorance. We are fortunate, however, and have the curious dispensation to learn things. Most importantly, we have the ability to acknowledge our ignorance and to place ourselves before another in the hopes that our own ignorance is their knowledge. A lover who says, “My dear, I love you so very much. I trust you with all my heart.” cannot ever know if their feelings are precisely mutual. They cannot know if what they feel is the same as what their lover feels – this is ignorance. And yet, trust blossoms. Presumably, they do share in their love and their trust, but that knowledge stays with them. Trust can only be shown – it cannot be said.” Dedos and the young woman continue to stare out to sea, that cold and dark mass, for a while. Eventually, however, she lifts herself from the bench and the two begin their march back. A block away from the poor apartment complex, the young woman salutes Dedos for the evening. She does not draw close, there is no contact. Yet, her gaze is strong and her eyes warm. With a simple farewell, Dedos returns home, all the while ruminating over the last things he would ever say to her. Upon opening the door to his apartment and entering, Dedos sensed that the end had come. Standing at the far side, in between the wall and the bed, was a gentleman sporting an older, but fashionable suit. Dedos couldn’t see his eyes, as the gentleman’s glasses reflected the light emanating from the single light attached to the ceiling, but he felt quiet insecure. Dedos pushed forward slowly, closing the door behind him, and waited. The gentleman stood there near the corner, his arms held behind him at the forearm, and did not utter a word for several minutes. Dedos did not move or speak either, but a terror crept over him – something he had not experienced in many, many years. This gentleman – Dedos noticed his own breathing becoming uneven and quick – was mechanically, yet slyly prying apart his armor. “I’m disappointed to see my envelope unopened.” the gentleman said in a soft voice. While seemingly kind, his voice contained the traces of calculation. Comforting on one hand, chilling on the other. “Are you sure it’s the decision you want to make?” “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve chosen a path of death.” Without acknowledging that Dedos had responded, the gentleman turned his cold gaze towards the door and stared at it, almost as if he could see through it. “That’s the only kind of decision you seem comfortable making.” the gentleman replied, eyes fixed beyond Dedos. “Perhaps you can’t help it…” “Possibly; however, I trust that there are positive consequences in pursuing such a path, and so it’s never without purpose.” Dedos answered, quite nervous now, especially as the gentleman’s gaze continued to reach beyond him. Another tense moment passed before the gentleman walked past Dedos and grabbed the envelope which rested at the corner of a small table. His movements were slow, almost as if he hoped Dedos would say something and order him away, but a few moments later he stood behind Dedos. Turning himself around in his wheelchair, Dedos looked up. “Goodbye Dedos.” “Goodbye…” The small tail of a tranquilizer dart waved in the air once Dedos’ head sunk onto his breast. Three men in special-ops gear suddenly appeared inside the apartment and immediately got to work. The gentleman, envelope held close with both arms, turned and exited the apartment and into the hall. Looking once each way, he proceeded down the hall and towards the elevator at the other end. Without any wait, the gentleman entered the elevator and pressed the button to take him to the ground floor. As the door closed, a foot slid in and held it ajar. A young and attractive, but easily poor woman came into view as the doors reopened. She entered quietly and the doors were allowed to shut completely. “What…” she began to say before being interrupted. “I have the terrible feeling that you’re upset.” the gentleman replied. “What were you talking about with Marcius?” “In a way, we discussed fate, will, and trust.” the gentleman said slowly, gazing up at the lighted panel in the elevator signaling the floor number. As the elevator car slowed and the doors opened, the gentleman finished, “I apologize for interrupting; however, you’ll be the one experiencing regret.” The gentleman left and exited the apartment complex, while the young woman stood in the elevator. Running out of the building and into the street, she could find no sign of the gentleman and walked towards the opposite side of the street until she heard an awful cry. Looking up at the façade of the apartment complex, she could clearly see a black column of smoke streaming out of a single apartment. Wispy fingers of red and orange flame began to poke out from the window and then a sudden burst ripped through. Struck by terror, the young woman watched as the flames spread and engulfed apartments to the left and the right, above and below. She watched from across the street as the panicked both died and managed to get to safety. She watched the old and poorly maintained building groan under the assault. She watched as the city firefighters bravely combated the blaze, and while they ultimately triumphed she knew that someone else had, in fact, obtained victory – and taken something very dear to her away. |
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| Porcu | Feb 10 2012, 09:49 PM Post #17 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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An inconspicuous private jet touched down at a small regional airport outside of Lodz and the sole passenger on board finished up the last of his reading, closing the book he had brought with him and setting it flatly in his lap. Accommodations had been made and the gentleman now waited patiently for news from the captain. "Sir, everything has gone well. We've been instructed to a point at the far end of the airport, so we'll be taxiing for a few minutes. I can't make very much out from here in the cockpit, but I assume they have someone waiting for you." The gentleman gave a soft "thank you" in response and turned his head to get a better look at the surrounding area, though there wasn't much to be impressed with here at least. Just as the captain had said, the jet coasted a little longer before coming to a halt. The gentleman stood from his seat and moved towards the door. No briefcase, no folder, no baggage. The cabin door unlocked and with the assistance of the captain was lowered. Waiting to see whom was to greet him, the gentleman adjusted his glasses slightly and brought his arms firmly behind his back. |
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| The Authority of the Grand Moff | Feb 14 2012, 03:21 AM Post #18 |
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2nd Lieutenant
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Posted Image Lodz Airport "...graduated from the University of Patavium in 19XX, having studied..." Moff Kuat wasn't really paying attention to what his aide was telling him in the limousine. "...worked in virtually every Porcuian ministry, though never held any notable office..." I will know more about this man from his handshake than anything a file can tell me. "Shut up. We're here." "Yes, sir." * "Sir, if you'll just follow me to the limousine... Moff Kuat is most eager to meet you." The aide, not Kuat, had met with the gentleman outside his plane--because Kuat was a Moff, and the gentleman was a nobody. And that's how it must be, because he comes to me for help. Because without me, he and his companions will be without anything at all--and he must remember that. As the gentleman entered the limousine, Kuat regarded him. Old... but his wits are still about him, look at his eyes. Fine suit... he has taste, and he has money. Handsome, but forgettable. "Greetings, and welcome to my Sector," the Moff said with tasteful pride as he extended his hand. The gentleman grasped it. Firm. Not limp, not overbearing. This man is secure of himself--confident, but no braggart. He is smarter than he lets on, calculating--and that makes him dangerous. He bears watching. "Thank you, Moff Kuat." Soft... almost effeminate. But that's only because he wants to be underestimated--because he wants to control while seeming controlled. Kuat disliked him immediately. "Can I offer you a drink?" * * * Posted Image Lodz This wasn't at all what the gentleman had been expecting. Since its foundation, The Authority of The Grand Moff had been deemed a neo-Dominionist dystopia by the rest of Europe--a weak and irrelevant oppressive police state barely clinging to its own survival, as utterly unimpressive as it was ill-conceived. Instead the gentleman found himself confronted with the truly awesome majesty that was the city of Lodz. What had once been an insignificant city in a Polish nation whose only seeming notable accomplishment was finding itself conquered every few decades was now an immense metropolis sprawling for miles upon miles, clustered with mighty skyscrapers and filled with people who--contrary to his every expectation--all looked exceedingly healthy, exceedingly well-dressed, and--most surprising of all--exceedingly happy. No black-armored Legionnaires on every corner--indeed, he saw not even a one, as the limousine made its way on roads that looked to have been paved yesterday. They had entered through what was obviously the industrial sector, but the gentleman couldn't even find trash scattered on curbs, and only the occasional bit of graffiti (with crews already wiping them clean). As they moved into the residential and commercial zones, passing great museums and beautiful parks and playgrounds with children gleefully playing, the gentleman realized that there was no question about it: far from some nightmarish Hellhole, Lodz--which wasn't even the biggest city in The Authority--was easily the equal of any city in Porcu, or the Russian Empire, or Quaon, any city in Europe--in the world. "Equal"? To many... their superior.... And for some reason, the gentleman found this deeply unsettling. "Ah, yes, there--you can see my manufactory now," the Moff said. "Can see it now"?! Good God, how can you miss it?! * Posted Image Kuat Drive Yards Lodz "Welcome, my good man--to my Temple of War!" The gentleman knew from what he had heard of Moff Kuat that he was a very proud man, one whose arrogance was as broad as his temper was thin--and the gentleman knew that massaging the Moff's ego would be the best way to get anything accomplished, even if that meant feigning being impressed. No need for that--the gentleman was having a difficult enough time trying to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor as Kuat led him into his titanic manufactory. Remember why you're here, he told himself. Remember that this man wants to daunt you, wants to manipulate you.... * They had just sat down in an exquisitely-furnished conference room--the table alone, of pure white marble with the Authority roundel centrally inlaid in gold, had to be worth more than most houses--when before Moff Kuat could even speak another voice came from a small intercom sitting on the wall by him. "Moff Kuat, sir, there's someone here to see you--" "Dammit, they can wait, I'm busy right now!" "But, sir, it's--" Just then the door opened. "I didn't miss anything, did I?" "Moff Sienar... so... pleased, to see you." "You didn't think I'd let you have all the fun, did you, Kuat?" "I'd heard you were preoccupied." "My schedule suddenly cleared up." "Another failed prototype, then?" "Now, now, Kuat--is that really the best tone to be taking when we have a potential customer and distinguished guest? Tut, tut!" Kuat glared at Sienar. Sienar glared right back at Kuat. Unusually chipper... Kuat thought. I'll have to find out why. Later. More pressing concerns. "Why don't you join us? Please, take a seat." "Why thank you." "I was just going to ask our guest here just what sorts of assets his constituency requires." Both Moffs turned to face the gentleman, awaiting his reply. |
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| Porcu | Feb 16 2012, 10:54 PM Post #19 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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The gentleman had noticed that momentary withholding of breath, that brief sign of dislike, when he had shook the hand of Moff Kuat and greeted him in turn. Now sitting across from his hosts, the gentleman carefully and silently took note of the obvious tension between the two. A question was posed and a moment passed. The gentleman brought up his hand and gently massaged the bridge of his nose and the corners of his eyes before slowly pushing his glasses back into place. His arm fell mechanically back into his lap and his hand clasped the other while his right leg rose and crossed over his left. The lights inside the conference room were bright. The gentleman adjusted his head just so, so that his glasses reflected the light and hid his eyes - producing a thin, but modest frame with two shining centers hovering above. "I would first like to forward the sincerest apologies on behalf of Mr. Von Boul-Dier for his absence, though it shouldn't come as any surprise for he explicitly stated that a representative would be sent to manage the course of this meeting. Secondly, I would like, again, to thank you, Honorable Moffs, for taking the time to speak with me today. I understand things are progressing here in the Sectors and the general course of events looks promising." A pause. His soft voice carried a weight which the Moffs immediately noticed. The trace of calculation. Truth be told, the sights of the Lodz had surprised him. Having spent time in the Abwehr, the gentleman had seen satellite images of Authority Poland. Yet, the experience of this land, her people, her very structure did shake the gentleman for a time - unsettled him to be precise. In any case, any overt manifestation was unintentional on his part and short in time. It was curious, though, was it not? During the length of the trip through Lodz the gentleman could not help but believe that Moff Kuat, at least, was immensely vain and profoundly insecure. Certainly, commentary was diplomatic and a necessary tool for any politician, but particular statements and the inflections that introduced them struck the gentleman as rehearsed and eager. Even his reaction just now to the sudden entrance of Moff Sienar provided evidence for this proposition. The gentleman could see that individually these Moffs were impressive, but fatally flawed. Together was a different matter. The gentleman did not forget his current position, that of a beggar, but he surmised that this would not be the last time he met with these Moffs. "The assets which I inquire to purchase are rather straightforward in nature: various light arms with sufficient ammunition, various defensive weapon systems including mines, trip wires, RPGs, and finally a small number of transport vehicles." |
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| The Authority of the Grand Moff | Feb 17 2012, 04:54 PM Post #20 |
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2nd Lieutenant
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It might have been as simple and quick as that: The gentleman's specifications were generic and not particularly broad in scope; either Moff could easily accomodate such relatively modest requests. But Sienar and Kuat had not come to their positions by being poor salesmen--or non-observant. Like his counterpart, Sienar almost immediately disliked the gentleman (though he knew well enough not to show it). There was just something... condescending about him--a very subtle sense of blase superiority, like a tenured university professor teaching a level-100 course. While Sienar was more willing than Kuat--who held low esteem for what was to him the gentleman's apparent lack of ambition--to give this unusual Porcuian "background character" credit for his political career--there was much to be said, after all, for being a "power behind the throne"--it only made the Moff more suspicious of the gentleman's motives. This man's a survivor... and a manipulator. What are you really playing at, I wonder? For all of their fierce rivalry and constant bickering, Sienar and Kuat--though they would never admit it--did begrudge a level of respect for each other, a recognition by the tycoons that in the end they were playing for the same team. So all it took was a momentary glance at each other for them to both realize that they both wanted to glean as much information as they could from the gentleman without being pushy about it. They also both knew that the gentleman would no doubt recognize the weighted nature of their questions--but also that he had no reason not to answer them if he indeed wanted their help. "None of that will be difficult to produce," said Kuat. "But you'll find that we will be of significantly greater help if you could give us further specifications." "Quite right," said Sienar. "Armaments are not cut-and-dried. For instance, what is the level, if any, of your men's training? Do they require training? An AK-47 is much simpler than a CAR-15 to use and maintain. Are you looking for simplicity, or capability, or somewhere in between?" "What is the field and scope of combat? Urban? Rural? Is this a conventional force, or guerilla resistance?" "Is this for intended for an existing opponent--if so, who are they and what are their capabilities? Or are you establishing a self-defence? In which event, what is the perceived threat?" "Do your transport vehicles require arms and armor, or merely the ability to transport?" "Will your mines be used against civilian targets?" "How many men which you intend to equip are actually at your disposal?" "And how exactly do you intend to pay for all this?" |
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| Porcu | Feb 17 2012, 08:47 PM Post #21 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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"Forgive me." the gentleman's words exited quickly enough, but they lingered in the air. Another brief, but heavy pause. "To begin, I should make clear that I am not in a position to command anyone, nor would I wish to be, and that I have no "men" to speak of. Furthermore, I am here merely to see that the Austrians are provided with the tools they believe are necessary to succeed in their endeavor. However, I can tell you that a great deal of the fighting will be done in urban centers. The former Holy Roman Empire employed a good number of Austrians in its military ranks and many of those individuals intent to fight for an independent Austria now that the Empire is all but gone. Berlin still pressures Vienna, so there is the possibility that remnants of the Holy Roman army will move when the revolution begins. "There are trained men capable of utilizing more advanced weaponry, though there will be many more with little to no experience with a firearm - they will not require training, however. The fields of combat will be, as I said before, mostly urban, and the style, if you wish me to call it that, will be reflective of a guerrilla movement. Armored transport vehicles with modifications for machine-guns are requested. "As for payment, the Republic will cover the costs directly." |
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| The Authority of the Grand Moff | Feb 26 2012, 11:04 PM Post #22 |
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2nd Lieutenant
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Kuat harrumphed loudly. "Republic denarii? Denarii are no good here, I need something more real." "We" Sienar silently corrected, though he decided to let it slide. More important was the fact that apparently this Porcuian politician was not engaging in his own pet project, but speaking on behalf of his government--which due to their close ties to the slavers of the Confederacy did not technically exist to the Moffs, although pragmatism dictated that they couldn't simply pretend the gentleman did not technically exist. What is Porcu after here? Perhaps this is a setup, catch those neoDominionists selling arms to puppy-killing terrorists or some such nonsense. "And why is it that mighty Porcuian Republic would seek arms, or any assistance for that matter, from such foul loathsome men as us?" Sienar quipped, narrowing his eyes at the gentleman as he did so. "Last time I checked, Republican arms were not exactly lacking." |
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| Porcu | Feb 27 2012, 04:14 PM Post #23 |
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."
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"Please forgive me," the gentleman said while bowing slowly. "it appears I have not been entirely clear. In no way did I state that you gentlemen would receive Porcuian denarii, unless that is what you wish. However, since that is not the case let me assure you that any accommodations with regard to payment will be made. Russian rubles, Unionist pesetas, Byzantine solidus, or any other currency can be made the form of payment - even Rebel dollars. Gold and silver are, of course, additional options. "Also, I'm afraid you're mistaken; the Republic does not seek arms from you, though I take some measure of pride in your description of Porcu as "mighty", even if it was merely sarcasm. As I said before, I am here to procure the equipment deemed necessary by Austrian leadership and intend to conclude our meeting successfully. "If you have further questions, please ask." the gentleman ended, adjusting his glasses slightly. |
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| The Authority of the Grand Moff | Mar 3 2012, 09:51 PM Post #24 |
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2nd Lieutenant
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OOC: I'm sorry, I'm a bit confused here. Where is the money coming from, exactly? The Porcuian government? The gentleman himself? The Austrians? |
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| The Authority of the Grand Moff | Mar 5 2012, 11:53 PM Post #25 |
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2nd Lieutenant
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"Bullion will suffice, I should think. Sienar?" "Fine with me." "No mines," Kuat now said to the gentleman. "And no other 'booby traps.' As for your other requests... I'm sure you'll find that we can give just what your Austrians need." He stood now, as did Sienar. "And now, unless you have some other business, I think it is time to get you back to the airport, yes?" The gentleman nodded and stood. "But of course. Thank you both for your time." "Quite...." They made their way to the door. Sienar exited, but just before the door Kuat suddenly turned around and faced the gentleman. Using his massive frame without ever actually touching the gentleman, Kuat forced him against the nearby wall. The gentleman neither slumped his shoulders nor flinched, his head continued to be held high--but he could not stop the instinctive widening of his pupils or acceleration of his breathing. "Listen to me very carefully," Kuat growled. "I never let down my customers. Never. War may be Hell, but its Refinement is my masterpiece, my raison d'etre. And so if you use my weapons for the reasons you tell me they will be used, we will have no problems, and I will gladly support your endeavour. But I don't like you, and I don't trust you, and if I find out that you've lied to me--if I find my arms in the hands of child soldiers or fascists or slavers or Dominionists, if they're used not to create an army of liberation but to pillage villages and murder civilians--if I find out that you've lied to me, I will hunt you down and I will kill you." The gentleman said nothing, and after a moment Kuat stepped back and gestured to the door. "Well, shall we?" he said, as if nothing had happened at all. |
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11:31 AM Jul 13