World On Fire: Shadow Ops [a Fantasy WWII Quest]

[><] DW

You're no MP, but as you glance around, you realize you're probably the highest ranking officer in immediate earshot. You pay for the impressively illustrated copy of One Thousand and One Nights and slip it into your bag, jogging towards the sound of argument and narrowy avoiding tipping over a stand of cabbages. The owner of said stand gives you the stinkeye, but you hardly have the time to notice or care at the moment.

You and Rosenberg's eyes meet. The other woman looks at you and nods, too, but since you don't know her you don't return the favor.

It takes very little time to reach the sight of the altercation, even though a crowd is already forming around it.

On one side was a clearly irate woman in an Australian uniform, name of Catherine Hawkins: Blonde hair, deep tan, and from the stance, musculature, and hair, probably a werewolf. Or, what did some Australians call them - yowies?

And in the other corner, you think to yourself, as you look to the other person. An entirely typical Egyptian merchant name of Ibrahim Youssef, on the older side, with a neatly maintained mustache that makes him oddly look like old photos of the Kaiser. Unlike the Aussie, he merely seems annoyed at worst, and quite baffled by the situation he has found himself in.

You look from one to the other, and already you can feel a headache forming, but you ask the question anyway.

"What happened." It's a question, but you don't pronounce it like as you face one, then the other. The argument explodes into being at once, right as Esther arrives. You turn to her, and she seems at a loss for what to do.

"Should we call the MPs, or-?"

You hold up a hand, then look around. There are a couple of MPs, but they don't appear to be doing much of anything. Two are British, one's American, one's Australian, one's French, and one's Soviet. You have no idea how he got here.

The argument continues. "Al-right!" you shout once, twice, then a third time. No dice. You draw your wand and send a small burst of wind up into the air, kicking up a small cloud of dust around you and making enough noise to stop the argument before the Australian can tear into the guy.

You turn to a neutral third party, a kiwi by the looks of the uniform, and just a lance corporal by the looks of things. Over about a minute, he manages to explain the facts. Ibrahim made an off-hand and under-breath comment about how he'd trade a whole herd of camels for her hand. Catherine, who as it turns out is half-Aboriginal, naturally took offense to the idea of being traded for livestock, but instead of backing down, Ibrahim had doubled down, not helped by the Aussie deciding to argue the point instead of leaving and telling him to fuck off. And that was about the sum of it.

Your headache intensifies exponentially as your hand is magnetically attracted to your face. Wonderful. Dealing with race relations is exactly the sort of thing you wanted to do this morning.

[ ] Deal with it yourself, you're the ranking officer in the immediate area
- [ ] What say/do? Write in

And as a reminder for this - this is early 1943, you are a Japanese-American, you've spent most of the last 4 years give or take in England and India, respectively, and you have only rarely been in North Africa.

[ ] Not your problem - get an MP to deal with it
- [ ] The English ones - Egypt is an English territory isn't it?
- [ ] The French one - they've been in North Africa longer so maybe they'll have a better idea to handle it
- [ ] The American one - a true third party, and the Americans really just want everyone to get along long enough to kick Rommel out
- [ ] The Soviet one - Possibly even a truer third party, the Soviets don't have any interest in the region so there'd be no bias
[ ] Not your problem - leave it to Esther, she could use the experience
[ ] Not your problem, just take Esther and leave