If Mahan Could See Us Now
- Thread starter 4WheelSword
- Start date
- Original
- Location
- earth
[X] By sea
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Are they socialists? Anarchists? National Socialists? A Zaschita false flag? Who knows!
samdamandias
Apprentice Plane Wizard
[x] By Air
If we elect for air, it will be via airship. Sadly, we are not yet to the era where we can have a ship shipping ship shipping shipping ships.
- Location
- il bel paese dove il sì sona
- Pronouns
- He
Or maybe just actual socialists favouring army soldiers of peasant/working class extraction rather than a presumably middle class navy officer. Probably for the worldbuilding thread, but it could be interesting to see a rundown of the main political ideologies.
- Location
- Wörms, the half continent
[X] By Air
FlyingScanian
Tea Addict
- Location
- Land of Eternal Night
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] By Sea
Are we a sailor, or are we a sailor. We never got a chance (or at least not to my knowledge) to sail while in the service, it would be wrong to not take the chance now.
Also, we might have to kiss our chances in the foreign office goodbye, with that speech... (I don't mind, I voted for the zeppelins
)
Are we a sailor, or are we a sailor. We never got a chance (or at least not to my knowledge) to sail while in the service, it would be wrong to not take the chance now.
Also, we might have to kiss our chances in the foreign office goodbye, with that speech... (I don't mind, I voted for the zeppelins
)
The principled ones did, but much of the Second International shamefully decided to back their own national bourgeoisie in WWI rather than speaking out against the war. Having the worst nationalist crap come from socialists is pretty questionable to me, but having a group of supposed "socialists" with some representation in whatever weak parliament presumably exists feel the need to be a bit over the top in their support of the war as a defense mechanism or something is sadly not immersion breaking. Early 20th century social democracy was a bit fucked up sometimes.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
I mean.
An alternative is that to the socialists of united Varnmark, the union of Kevia and Stolrussia, say what you will against the manner in which it happened (fucking feudal leftovers) IS internationalism, not nationalism. And undermining the unity of Varnmark in a way that might cause it to break apart into its component parts, or trying to urge the masses to, y'know, not fight for the unity of the two nations as a concept that transcends ethnicity, could itself be seen as an attack on internationalism.
A Sailor Falls
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
You crouch behind the inside wall of a warehouse, breathing in dry brick dust. Valentina crouches across from you, her eyes wides, pupils dilated. You can see the fear in them.
"Sasha." She calls to you, though she is barely audible above the crump of the rebels heavy guns just beyond, "Are you ready?"
"Are you?" You find yourself asking. The handful of men and women around you are all exhausted, dirty, bloody and worn. Most are almost out of ammunition. Half are already wounded, some badly.
She gives a sharp nod. There is something inspiring about the messy, sweaty woman crouched in the dirty corner of a warehouse. You've never fallen so quickly for a woman and you doubt she even knows anything about it. You'd just wanted to take care of a vulnerable young woman and now… now there is something remarkably engulfing about the feelings that have birthed themselves in your chest. In your heart.
"Listen up!" Valentina shouts above the sound of the enemy guns, "This is the last push. Who's got grenades left?"
You touch your belt, feeling the cold metal of an explosive hanging there. A few other sailors nod.
"They go first, then we charge. Load your rifles, finish your canteens. Fix bayonets if you've got 'em."
There is a mass swish-and-clacking as the few remaining lengths of steel are fixed to rifles and carbines.
Then you all explode into action. The metal orb goes overarm and explodes amongst the others, blowing up a cloud of smoke between your charge and the enemy position. Then you're running, boots thumping on the rain slick cobbles. You burst through the cloud kicked up by grenades and see the line of rebel riflemen, the machine gun they have set up. All you're focused on is running, firing your carbine from hip-level in the vague hope that you'll force even one of them to keep their heads down until you're amongst them.
And then you are and you're firing and swinging and your knife is in your hand and it's slick with blood. Your boot connects with one woman's jaw and you feel the sharp crack of a breaking bone. The rebel line crumples under the slightest of pressures and in only a minute you have a gun crew at the end of your weapon and their hands are on their heads.
You look around, aware of your own hard breathing and the sweat running from the back of your neck down your back. There's so few of you left, so many gone from those who set out this morning. Even so you grin. You've won. The guns are taken and their vicious butchery is done with. A few sailors laugh and cheer, but it's ragged and there are so, so few.
Where's Valentina?
The thought strikes you like a hammerblow, like the bullets that you'd so narrowly avoided just moments ago. You look around for the distinct uniform colour, visible even under the dust and the dirt.
It's there. She's there. Lying in the dust in the street, thick red blood mixing with the rain and running between the cobbles. Your carbine clatters to the floor as you race to her side.
"No, no, no, no, no!" Someone's screaming. You are screaming. She is lying face down, bleeding. Her leg is a mess of blood and flesh, a ruin from ankle down. The worst goes through your head. She's dead. Dying. You hadn't cared for her, hadn't protected her, hadn't stepped between her and harm.
The pain in your chest tightens, breathing hurts. It's like you've broken every rib it hurts so much. The tears running down your cheeks flow fast, mixing with the rain.
She hacks out a bloody cough. She's alive! Her breathing comes ragged but at least she's breathing.
"Hold your positions, hold these guns!" You shout, "I'll be back!" You pull her into your arms and set off at a run. There must be a medic nearby. There must be.
"Sasha." She calls to you, though she is barely audible above the crump of the rebels heavy guns just beyond, "Are you ready?"
"Are you?" You find yourself asking. The handful of men and women around you are all exhausted, dirty, bloody and worn. Most are almost out of ammunition. Half are already wounded, some badly.
She gives a sharp nod. There is something inspiring about the messy, sweaty woman crouched in the dirty corner of a warehouse. You've never fallen so quickly for a woman and you doubt she even knows anything about it. You'd just wanted to take care of a vulnerable young woman and now… now there is something remarkably engulfing about the feelings that have birthed themselves in your chest. In your heart.
"Listen up!" Valentina shouts above the sound of the enemy guns, "This is the last push. Who's got grenades left?"
You touch your belt, feeling the cold metal of an explosive hanging there. A few other sailors nod.
"They go first, then we charge. Load your rifles, finish your canteens. Fix bayonets if you've got 'em."
There is a mass swish-and-clacking as the few remaining lengths of steel are fixed to rifles and carbines.
Then you all explode into action. The metal orb goes overarm and explodes amongst the others, blowing up a cloud of smoke between your charge and the enemy position. Then you're running, boots thumping on the rain slick cobbles. You burst through the cloud kicked up by grenades and see the line of rebel riflemen, the machine gun they have set up. All you're focused on is running, firing your carbine from hip-level in the vague hope that you'll force even one of them to keep their heads down until you're amongst them.
And then you are and you're firing and swinging and your knife is in your hand and it's slick with blood. Your boot connects with one woman's jaw and you feel the sharp crack of a breaking bone. The rebel line crumples under the slightest of pressures and in only a minute you have a gun crew at the end of your weapon and their hands are on their heads.
You look around, aware of your own hard breathing and the sweat running from the back of your neck down your back. There's so few of you left, so many gone from those who set out this morning. Even so you grin. You've won. The guns are taken and their vicious butchery is done with. A few sailors laugh and cheer, but it's ragged and there are so, so few.
Where's Valentina?
The thought strikes you like a hammerblow, like the bullets that you'd so narrowly avoided just moments ago. You look around for the distinct uniform colour, visible even under the dust and the dirt.
It's there. She's there. Lying in the dust in the street, thick red blood mixing with the rain and running between the cobbles. Your carbine clatters to the floor as you race to her side.
"No, no, no, no, no!" Someone's screaming. You are screaming. She is lying face down, bleeding. Her leg is a mess of blood and flesh, a ruin from ankle down. The worst goes through your head. She's dead. Dying. You hadn't cared for her, hadn't protected her, hadn't stepped between her and harm.
The pain in your chest tightens, breathing hurts. It's like you've broken every rib it hurts so much. The tears running down your cheeks flow fast, mixing with the rain.
She hacks out a bloody cough. She's alive! Her breathing comes ragged but at least she's breathing.
"Hold your positions, hold these guns!" You shout, "I'll be back!" You pull her into your arms and set off at a run. There must be a medic nearby. There must be.
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Inserted tally
C4P5: An Airship Ascendant
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
It is impossible to think that for the time being this is your life. You and a beautiful woman, an entire continent at your feet and the opportunity to do what you will. Nikita was kinda enough to take in two of your cats and promise to look after Marina, the other two going to Elena and Yakatarina. None of the three are pleased to hear you are leaving the city, but just as equally, none of them can blame you. They could not be there to see you off, and for that you are sad, but it would look overly suspicious. Hell, you won't even be able to hold Sasha's hand anywhere but ensconced in the back of this carriage where not even the driver can see you. To do otherwise would be to risk everything.
The carriage pulls to a halt outside the only aerodrome in Southern Kevia, and the only one equipped to handle the massive airships of the von Zeppelin company. Though the airships themselves are a rare sight in Varnmark, what with the civil war and the few travellers heading south before that who weren't simply willing to travel across the Dakazyn Sea by ferry, they are making increasingly common visits as people discover the luxuries associated with the comfort of flight hundreds of feet above the ground.
That luxury is something you are keen to experience for yourself and, given your collected backpay and the retirement promotion you were handed, thus you've booked a place for the pair of you on a flight to central Europa. From there, who knows. Dyskelande is the centre of everything, geographically. You could see the music halls of Gallia, the great capital of Albia or the massive palace-churches of Otrusia.
No matter what you decide, you will get to share it with the woman sitting quietly next to you. That, more than anything else, matters the most.
You pay the carriages driver and carry your bags the short distance to the aerodromes domed entrance way. You are careful to keep a reasonable distance from Sasha despite the pang in your chest at the seperation. But you know it is for the best. You both know it.
The terminal is bustling, filled with tens, possibly even a hundred people. Most of them will not be flying, of course. The airship only has space for twenty-four passengers and it was worth every krone to be two of them. Taking Sasha by the hand, you give her a grin and run towards the ticket desk.
Anyone looking will just take you for sisters, you're certain.
The airship lifts off so smoothly you can't even feel it, though the thrumm of the engines gives away that there is more to it than just floating away with the wind. You laugh and grip Sasha's arm as your stomach turns over with the sudden rise, and her grin makes your heart melt along with it.
"Look," She says, leaning back so you can look out the window. Far below you is the Kevian South coast and the port of Polyapavlosk along with it. It looks tiny from up here despite how massive it is from ground level. It is incredible to see the city you've lived in your entire life laid out below you as if they are on a map. From here you cannot see the individual houses or the people moving amongst them. From here you cannot see the wounds of war that are still healing.
The city slips behind a cloud and you fall back into your chair, conscious of your hand still resting on her arm.
"It's incredible." you say, shaking you head.
"Truly. You know this sort of thing didn't exist when I was a child." Her voice is quiet, but not sad, "The world is changing very quickly. We will have to be careful that we do not get too caught up in it."
"I won't get lost with you at my side." You reply, your fingers brushing the tops of hers for just the slightest of moments.
The flight is a long one, even going just from Southern Varnmark to Northern Dyskelande it will take about fourteen hours. But the firm that runs the line, the Zeppelin company, knows how to take care of it's guests. Lunch is served sharply as the clock strikes one, a fine meal of smoked fish and beautifully seasoned potatoes with wine that was light and crisp and went down a little too early. When you head back to your seat you are giggly and a little more intimate with Sasha than you should be. You draw a few dirty looks. They make her blush. It makes her glow. You make a mental note to try to make it happen more often.
"Your cheeks are red." You say, whispering in her ear as you take your seats again, comfortable in the plush upholstery and capacious leg room, "Did you know?"
"I had realised." She says, clearing her through self-consciously and her cheeks burn even brighter.
"It's very attractive."
You sit back, watching her squirm in her chair and can't help but smile to yourself. Fishing your book out of the daybag resting by your feet you settle in to read for a few hours, kept comfortable by the subtle vibration of the airships progress. It was a real page turner, a schlocky romp across Europa and Lydia with an adventrix and her string of male lovers across every nation and empire. Sasha had done nothing but mock the series ever since you had bought it. You had told her she was lucky she is so pretty.
You fall asleep without even noticing that you're tired. When you come too you're covered by a thin blanket, your book is folded neatly in your lap and Sasha is nudging you gently with an elbow.
"Huh?"
"It's time for dinner. Come on, Koshka."
You follow her towards the rear of the airship, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as your stomach growls. You hope it's not loud enough for the other passengers to hear. You already seem to be unpopular enough with the older, clearly more conservative passengers, your manners should not be one of the things they have the opportunity to criticise.
You excuse yourself before the meal, turning towards the head such that you can freshen up. You can't bear the thought of eating while your mouth tastes somewhere between cat-fur and cat-food. It feels good to find a mirror, to brush your hair and wash your mouth out, even if it is only in the cramped head of an airship.
The door handle rattles sharply.
"Occupied!" You call out. You'll only be a minute. Whoever it is would just have to wait.
It rattles again. You huff and unlock the door, ready to give whoever it is a piece of your mind. Standing opposite as it swings open is a smiling man in a three piece suit who has a strange look in his eye. You stop short, all the words you had ready floating away like so many leaves on the wind.
"Can I help you?" You ask instead, lost for anything more impressive to spit.
"Madame Beresev sends her regards."
You heart stills in your chest. The Zaschita officer who'd intimidated you so much almost a year ago was, apparently, going to insert herself back into your life, apparently via the medium of this young man.
"I'd really rather she didn't."
"And yet here I am." He touches the brim of his hat, "You're in a unique position, Valentina. Disgraced by your words and yet a hero by your actions."
"Are you here to insult me?"
"I'm here to offer you an opportunity. A hero attracts many ears. A disgraced one attracts the right ears. In a Europa that looks to war to solve its issues, you may be of use to us."
What are you asking?
[ ] I'm trying to get away from all this.
[ ] I wouldn't say no to a little spy work.
[ ] If it's an opportunity to avoid war..
The carriage pulls to a halt outside the only aerodrome in Southern Kevia, and the only one equipped to handle the massive airships of the von Zeppelin company. Though the airships themselves are a rare sight in Varnmark, what with the civil war and the few travellers heading south before that who weren't simply willing to travel across the Dakazyn Sea by ferry, they are making increasingly common visits as people discover the luxuries associated with the comfort of flight hundreds of feet above the ground.
That luxury is something you are keen to experience for yourself and, given your collected backpay and the retirement promotion you were handed, thus you've booked a place for the pair of you on a flight to central Europa. From there, who knows. Dyskelande is the centre of everything, geographically. You could see the music halls of Gallia, the great capital of Albia or the massive palace-churches of Otrusia.
No matter what you decide, you will get to share it with the woman sitting quietly next to you. That, more than anything else, matters the most.
You pay the carriages driver and carry your bags the short distance to the aerodromes domed entrance way. You are careful to keep a reasonable distance from Sasha despite the pang in your chest at the seperation. But you know it is for the best. You both know it.
The terminal is bustling, filled with tens, possibly even a hundred people. Most of them will not be flying, of course. The airship only has space for twenty-four passengers and it was worth every krone to be two of them. Taking Sasha by the hand, you give her a grin and run towards the ticket desk.
Anyone looking will just take you for sisters, you're certain.
The airship lifts off so smoothly you can't even feel it, though the thrumm of the engines gives away that there is more to it than just floating away with the wind. You laugh and grip Sasha's arm as your stomach turns over with the sudden rise, and her grin makes your heart melt along with it.
"Look," She says, leaning back so you can look out the window. Far below you is the Kevian South coast and the port of Polyapavlosk along with it. It looks tiny from up here despite how massive it is from ground level. It is incredible to see the city you've lived in your entire life laid out below you as if they are on a map. From here you cannot see the individual houses or the people moving amongst them. From here you cannot see the wounds of war that are still healing.
The city slips behind a cloud and you fall back into your chair, conscious of your hand still resting on her arm.
"It's incredible." you say, shaking you head.
"Truly. You know this sort of thing didn't exist when I was a child." Her voice is quiet, but not sad, "The world is changing very quickly. We will have to be careful that we do not get too caught up in it."
"I won't get lost with you at my side." You reply, your fingers brushing the tops of hers for just the slightest of moments.
The flight is a long one, even going just from Southern Varnmark to Northern Dyskelande it will take about fourteen hours. But the firm that runs the line, the Zeppelin company, knows how to take care of it's guests. Lunch is served sharply as the clock strikes one, a fine meal of smoked fish and beautifully seasoned potatoes with wine that was light and crisp and went down a little too early. When you head back to your seat you are giggly and a little more intimate with Sasha than you should be. You draw a few dirty looks. They make her blush. It makes her glow. You make a mental note to try to make it happen more often.
"Your cheeks are red." You say, whispering in her ear as you take your seats again, comfortable in the plush upholstery and capacious leg room, "Did you know?"
"I had realised." She says, clearing her through self-consciously and her cheeks burn even brighter.
"It's very attractive."
You sit back, watching her squirm in her chair and can't help but smile to yourself. Fishing your book out of the daybag resting by your feet you settle in to read for a few hours, kept comfortable by the subtle vibration of the airships progress. It was a real page turner, a schlocky romp across Europa and Lydia with an adventrix and her string of male lovers across every nation and empire. Sasha had done nothing but mock the series ever since you had bought it. You had told her she was lucky she is so pretty.
You fall asleep without even noticing that you're tired. When you come too you're covered by a thin blanket, your book is folded neatly in your lap and Sasha is nudging you gently with an elbow.
"Huh?"
"It's time for dinner. Come on, Koshka."
You follow her towards the rear of the airship, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as your stomach growls. You hope it's not loud enough for the other passengers to hear. You already seem to be unpopular enough with the older, clearly more conservative passengers, your manners should not be one of the things they have the opportunity to criticise.
You excuse yourself before the meal, turning towards the head such that you can freshen up. You can't bear the thought of eating while your mouth tastes somewhere between cat-fur and cat-food. It feels good to find a mirror, to brush your hair and wash your mouth out, even if it is only in the cramped head of an airship.
The door handle rattles sharply.
"Occupied!" You call out. You'll only be a minute. Whoever it is would just have to wait.
It rattles again. You huff and unlock the door, ready to give whoever it is a piece of your mind. Standing opposite as it swings open is a smiling man in a three piece suit who has a strange look in his eye. You stop short, all the words you had ready floating away like so many leaves on the wind.
"Can I help you?" You ask instead, lost for anything more impressive to spit.
"Madame Beresev sends her regards."
You heart stills in your chest. The Zaschita officer who'd intimidated you so much almost a year ago was, apparently, going to insert herself back into your life, apparently via the medium of this young man.
"I'd really rather she didn't."
"And yet here I am." He touches the brim of his hat, "You're in a unique position, Valentina. Disgraced by your words and yet a hero by your actions."
"Are you here to insult me?"
"I'm here to offer you an opportunity. A hero attracts many ears. A disgraced one attracts the right ears. In a Europa that looks to war to solve its issues, you may be of use to us."
What are you asking?
[ ] I'm trying to get away from all this.
[ ] I wouldn't say no to a little spy work.
[ ] If it's an opportunity to avoid war..
- Location
- earth
[X] I'm trying to get away from all this.
cute gay slice of life quest when
cute gay slice of life quest when
[X] I'm trying to get away from all this.
If I really thought this was in the interest of peace, I'd be tempted. That's just the angle they are going for, though. There are good guys out there, but they aren't working for the intelligence agencies of early 20th century imperialist powers.
If I really thought this was in the interest of peace, I'd be tempted. That's just the angle they are going for, though. There are good guys out there, but they aren't working for the intelligence agencies of early 20th century imperialist powers.