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If Mahan Could See Us Now

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C5P7: The Smoking Gun
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    • In a smoke filled room in Padilla, white walls grey in the shuttered darkness, light streams through shutters onto a desk. The low light shadows two figures, though both clearly know each other even so.

    "So you think she'll come?" One asks, baritone voice punctuated by the clink of ice in a crystal glass.

    "She has no choice. It's this or risk arrest. She's smart enough to know that." The other is lit briefly by the hot glow of a cigars embers.

    "What if you've overestimated her?" A simple question, but one asked with some sense of the way the world is turning in the modern day. Nonetheless, the sharp look levelled as the question is put to words says more than the response.

    "Doubtful. And anyway, she has her companion by her side. That one has more sense than a company of your best diplomatic staff."

    "She could always end up in a Turian prison."

    "Then, my friend, it will be up to you to get her back. But she'll come. You'll see. She'll come."


    You had upended the room, turned out every bag and pocket and Sasha had even retraced your steps of the night before in the vain hope of finding a bundle of papers or a wallet discarded by a pickpocket. It was no use however. Nothing turned up and although you had money tucked away it would be no good without any of the other things you had brought with you.

    Europa was descending towards violence. With prospective violence came distrust, especially of the foreigner. You have managed to go without particular notice in your travels thus far - other than that of the Count of course - but you have passed innumerable checkpoints, had your papers studied and scrutinised and until the night before you had the stamps of tens of minor officials and border guards to show your newfound status as a traveller.

    Without them, it would not be long before a policeman or a busybody or some soldier manning a checkpoint decided they needed to inquire further about your status as a foreigner in their country. Without them, you would be arrested for vagrancy or worse. You could find yourself imprisoned as a spy. You could find yourself facing a firing squad.

    Sasha takes your hand and leads you gently to sit on the edge of the bed. You hadn't realised you were shaking until she did but suddenly there are tears prickling at the edges of your eyes. You could face guns again, those deep black pits, those vipers eyes that spit death. The smashed bodies. The smell of cordite. The blood and sweat and dying soldiers screams.

    Would you scream? Would there be time? Not the guns, you think, anything but the guns. You'll take the hangman's noose before that.

    "Valentina?" Sasha asks, voice filled to the brim with quivering concern.

    "Don't let them shoot me."

    "What? I… my love?"

    "Just… promise me. Promise me you won't let them."

    "I don't understand, Koshka, what's happened?"

    Her arms go around you, squeezing tightly. Your head swims with the smell of her and it is oh so grounding. She brings you back down just with her presence. Eventually your arms meet behind her back and you return the movement with your own desperate intensity.

    "No one is going to hurt you. I've promised you that and i have it written across my heart. You are my love, dear Valentina, and nobody will hurt you while I still have breath in my lungs."

    You cling silently until your breathing returns to normal, until your heart stops hammering in your ears. She is used to this by now, you know. These sudden attacks that leave you helpless for minutes at a time. At least it is only minutes now and not the hours it has been in the past.

    "I'm sorry." You whisper in her ear, brushing the skin of her cheek with your lips. She catches them with her own, a gentle kiss.

    "You have no need to be."

    The silence is beautiful in its own way, but as the sunlight begins to die and the wind that plucks at the thin cotton curtains picks up you know you have decisions to make. You release her and rub the faint tracks of tears from your cheek, throwing on the best smile you can manage.

    "We need to decide what we're going to do. We certainly can't continue our journey on just your papers. Should we report it to the police?" You ask. It is certainly the best plan that you can think of.

    "I would sooner trust the father who disowned me than hope that the locals would manage to do anything but toss you in a cell for far longer than necessary. No, we have to go to the Kevian embassy."

    "The embassy? But that's in the capital… that's halfway across Hesperia!" After the unification, Kevia had reached out across Europa to other nations to improve diplomatic relations. It was supposed to have shown a commitment to peace. Much good that was doing.

    "In Padilla, aye. We don't have a lot of choice, Valya, it's that or try to return to Kevia without any help and that's a risk I doubt either of us particularly want to take."

    "No… No, I don't." You say, flicking at some dust on your clothes, "How are we going to get there?"

    How will you reach the Capital?
    [ ] Take the train and hope to charm anyone who tries to stop you. (Diplomacy).
    [ ] Travel in secret, hitch-hiking and walking. (Subterfuge).
    [ ] Find a car and travel the back roads as best as possible. (Strategy)
     
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    • [X] Find a car and travel the back roads as best as possible. (Strategy)
    If we get caught driving a car around, we can reasonably claim we were trying to tour the country. I don't think that'll be at all possible if we're explicitly trying to travel in secret, and the train seems likely to have multiple people try and stop us.
     
    [x] Find a car and travel the back roads as best as possible. (Strategy)
    I agree with Raw90 above.

    Also aaaaaaaah this is really scary :O
     
    Ok. It is definitely a secret service trap. And one set up so that they can pull us out of a prison if needed... Which I suppose is a safety net of some kind. No choice but to play their game for now.

    Looking at the character sheet-
    Kapitan-Leytenant Valentina Mikhailova
    Diplomacy -2, Strategy 0, Tactics +1, Prowess 0, Subterfuge +1, Technical +2

    Subterfuge is our best bet, but probably carries the hardest penalties if failed. Definitely prefer strategy to diplomacy here...

    [x] Find a car and travel the back roads as best as possible. (Strategy)

    Maybe we get lucky and meet up with some salt-of-the-earth socialist types willing to give another perspective on the current politics and intrigues and maybe some allies. It would be nice to feel like we've got a group to rep, rather than being a pawn of shady players.
     
    [x] Find a car and travel the back roads as best as possible. (Strategy)

    Trains are bound to have our papers checked and if caught while sneaking around we could hardly use the clueless tourists excuse. Car seems the best bet although our situation ain't fun at all.
     
    [x] Find a car and travel the back roads as best as possible. (Strategy)

    Time for the Dice Gods to screw us over once more.
     
    C5P8: A Country Ride
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    • "Well… I have an idea about that. But I'm not sure that you're going to like it." She says, before disappearing out into the city with barely another word. You're left alone in the now suffocating hotel room as the days heat rises and the last vestiges of the hangover pound in your head. After but ten minutes you're already filled with panic, imagining all sorts of fates that would separate Sasha from you and leave you all alone in this suddenly dangerous city.

    The sudden rumble of a motor and tooting of a horn from outside takes you so by surprise that you almost fall off of the corner of the bed where you had perched yourself as you chewed your nails.

    "Valya! Valya!" Comes the shout from outside. When you go to the window you can't help but grin at the sight of Sasha hanging from the side of a motor car waving up at you, "Look what I found!"

    "Shush!" You shout back down, but you can't help but grin. Her smile is not only obnoxious, it's infectious as well. You gather your few things and race down the stairs to stand facing her in some sort of shock. "Where did you get it?"

    "I wrote a cheque to a man for significantly more than the car is worth." Sasha says, and her blush tells of some level of embarrassment.

    "Where did you get the money?" You ask, reaching out to touch the hot metal chassis. You've ridden in motor cars, but certainly never owned one. You are terrified at the very idea of getting behind the wheel of one. Fortunately, Sasha seems a little more confident.

    "Oh, well." She pauses, the blush rising in her cheeks. Your heart melts for a moment at the sight. "I imagine my eldest brother will be wondering how he has managed to spend several hundred marks in Southern Europa by the end of the month."

    You stare agog at her and she stares back, apparently fearful, before you break into uproarious laughter.

    "Well at least he's good for something," you say, still chuckling, before motionining at the car "Are we going somewhere?"

    "Padillo."

    "Perfect."



    The back roads of Hesperia were beautiful as you headed north up into the Mountains. Beautiful, but rugged. Normally that would be fine but in the small, thin-wheeled car it made for awfully slow going. Every time Sasha pushed the machine to climb another hill its engine shrieked in protest, and every time she raced it down the other side it shook like it was going to fall apart around you. You hadn't expected to make it to padilla in a day, not on these back-country roads, but you certainly had hoped to make it further than the first tiny little mountain village you came to before you lost the light. But as you pulled over to find water and perhaps a bathroom to use and the sun sank even further over the horizon you shared a look of discomfort. The roads were dangerous enough in the daylight.

    The only left one choice - find somewhere to sleep for the night in a tiny village halfway up a mountain where only one of you speaks the language and only barely at that. Mix that with the fact that anyone here could decide to be the death of you and your anxieties were playing merry hell with your guts.

    Still, what choice did you have? So you both climbed out of the car and went for a walk. The village was quiet but not entirely so, and you attracted more than a little attention as you walked. Was it your obvious nature as foreigners? Was it that you had arrived in an automobile in a village where you couldn't see a single other motor vehicle? Who knew. Either way, the older men and women scattered around locked their eyes on you and paused their conversations as you passed.

    The apparent mistrust made you feel sick. The fears you had dragged themselves from the depths on toxic talons and buried their poison deep in your gut. Any one of these people could give you away. They just had to decide to find a telephone.

    After several minutes of walking in near silence with only the sound of summer bus for company, Sasha points at a farmhouse on the edge of the village. Who knows what it farms this high in the hills, but there is a barn attached and that means somewhere to sleep if the owner is cagey about letting two strangers into their house. You nod, and together you turn to walk towards the front door.

    A tiny woman answers on the second knock, door sweeping open to reveal sun-darkened skin so wrinkled you can barely tell where her bones are beneath it. Sharp eyes consider you for a moment before she barks something in the local language with an accent so thick you barely recognise it as a word.

    Whatever it is, and whatever Sasha's response which is equally unintelligible (you curse your lack of languages once more), the old woman motions you inside.

    "What's happening?" You ask, more than a little concerned.

    "We're being offered a bed." She says with a grin.



    The bed was hard and rough, but it was warm in the cold of the night and you slept skin against skin next to your lover and honestly given that you could have slept anywhere. It wasn't the best nights sleep you ever had, as you tossed and turned to nightmares of Hesperian police bursting in but every time you woke it was to the comforting eyes of Sasha and strong arms wrapped around you. Nothing could have made you feel safer.

    You snuck downstairs, expecting to leave silently as the sun rose, but apparently you had forgotten the routine of a farmhouse. The wizened little woman was already up and from the dirt on her skirt and the glimmer of dew in her hair, she had been for hours. She smiled as you appeared at the foot of the stairs, face wrinkling even further and gestured at the table. There was butter, jam, warm bread and coffee - a veritable feast when you'd figured the next two days would be survival rations and discomfort.

    Sasha and the woman chatter as you all eat, the pair becoming more animated as they relax into the conversation. Eventually, the old woman turned and, with a jab of a finger, skewers you at the end of a sentence. You look to Sasha, who grins.

    "She's asking how close our friendship is. I think she figures you'll be more honest than I've been, for whatever reason."

    "Oh" Is all you can think to say as the blush rises in your cheeks. You look down at your plate as you try to formulate an answer and that, apparently, is enough for her to figure it out. She shrieks out a laugh and claps her hands together in an expression of pure joy and immediately goes back to chattering at Sasha.

    Once you're safely ensconced in the car, full of good food and hot coffee, you turn to your lover.

    "What did she say?" You ask, not seeing the need to explain exactly what you're asking about. You have faith in her ability to make assumptions.

    "Hmm?" she hums, concentrating on making sure everything is packed. Then she chuckles "Oh! She wanted to know if we were the same as her sister."

    "Her sister?"

    "Apparently she never married. Nor did the 'friend' she spent her last twenty years with."

    "I see." You really do. It was amazing that no matter where you looked there were people like you. Even out here. Even in the middle of nowhere in a country you'd never been too amongst people with whom you don't share a language. It was amazing.

    You drove off deeper into the mountains, smiling gently.



    Padilla is a beautiful city. Ancient squares, high walls, surrounded by rugged terrain. It was wet today, rain slicked streets making Sasha go slowly as she wound her way through narrow streets and the auto kept threatening to slide every time she turned the wheel.

    You would have loved the opportunity to consider its beauty, but everywhere you looked you saw threats. The embassy was so close, so damn close, now would be the universes time to screw you. It had to happen, didn't it? That would be the way your luck had been going after all. To fall at the last hurdle would surely just be the fate you have been prepared for.

    But you manage to pull up in front of the grey edifice of the Varnmarkian embassy without trouble. And, as you walk up the wet stone steps with your jacket pulled up around your ears, you realise slowly that you are safe. But for the last hurdle of the embassy reception staff, at least.

    How do you approach?
    [ ] Bold - I am a citizen and I need help
    [ ] Honest - My papers are missing. What can you do?
    [ ] Coy - I need a meeting with the ambassador as soon as possible.
     
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    • [X] Bold - I am a citizen and I need help

    The staff can't all be secret police, and asking for help as a citizen should kick things towards being protective and supportive. Ideally before the understanding that we don't have our papers because the government wants to talk to us gets around...

    This was a very cute interlude. Thank you!
     
    [x] Bold - I am a citizen and I need help

    That is, after all, exactly what we are.
     
    C5P9: An Intelligent Offer
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    • "Good evening" the man behind a low oak desk says without even looking up from his ledger. Eventually his eyes rise to take in the two women facing him and he fixes you with a steely glare, "Yes? Can I help?"

    It takes you a moment to think of a way to respond. You are distracted by a sudden rush of emotions and the prickle of tears at the corner of your eyes. You are safe! You are on Varnmark soil as if you were standing on the streets of Polyapavlosk again and a man, Stolrussian by his inflections, is speaking your very own language. He might be glaring and dismissive and missing even the slightest hint of politeness, but he's just like you. And you are here. And you're safe.

    "Hello! Hi. We're travellers, from Varnmark? From Kevia, actually, Polyapavlosk." the words spill from your mouth like a waterfall, almost without constraint, "We, uh, we need some help. A lot of help, actually."

    A hand on your shoulder makes you pause. Sasha is smiling gently, a twinkle of amusement in her eye as she stops your rambling.

    "She's lost her papers while travelling across Hesperia. Valentina Mikhailova?" She forces an authoritative tone that cuts through you in a most pleasant way even though it isn't directed at you. Even after driving for almost two full days, the officer background still shows through in the tired woman's voice.

    The man doesn't twitch, nor do his eyes widen or anything else. In fact he seemed entirely unphased by the suggestion that a fellow national might be in distress.

    "Very well." he tears a page of paper out of a small book and hands it over. "Name, date of birth and issuing authority of your original papers on there. Someone will see you soon."

    You take a seat in a soft leather chair and fish a pen out of a bag, quickly scribbling down the requested information. Sasha crosses her hands across her belly in a seat across from you and in moments is breathing heavily as she slips into sleep. You blink at her, smiling at her ability to catch a nap no matter where you are or what is happening around her. She'd been the same during the revolutionary war, snoozing in the hard corners of bunkers or on dust covered streets. Plus she'd been driving all day, and that seemed to have worn her out. Bless her.

    You fold the paper and cross your legs, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. Everything was okay now. Nothing could go wrong here, surely. All you have to do is wait.

    And wait you do. For an hour or more you watch your lovers chest rise and fall in the quiet foyer punctuated only by the scratch of the receptionists pen. A clock ticks from somewhere out of sight. Eventually you drift into something of a half slumber, a dreaming semi-wakefulness where the time passes in a rush. Time passes, but the dreams are still there as they always are. The faces of the dead, the blood and the gunsmoke. The fear and the acrid taste of the ever-present dust and adrenaline on your tongue. They never leave you. Sasha says that one day there will be less of them and you'll find a way to sleep soundly again. But it is not today.

    A hand touches your shoulder, dragging you back to wakefulness, and you yelp aloud. That brings Sasha leaping to her feet and both of you pant as a perplexed secretary smiles at you both.

    "Are you okay?" The young woman - a girl really - asks. She's clutching a folder to her chest, her white knuckles betraying her attempt at calm. Apparently you and your partner are a little intimidating to such a child.

    "I'm okay," You say as you catch your breath, flashing her a quick smile. The dreams, thankfully, don't stick around these days. Sasha winks at you as she straightens up from whatever stance she had unconsciously dropped into.

    "Miss Mikhailova?"

    "That's me."

    "Would you come with me? The ambassador will see you now."

    "The Ambassador?" That couldn't be right. All you needed was temporary travel papers, enough to get home or to Stralsten for October. You didn't need to see the Ambassador to Hesperia for something so simple, surely? "No, that can't be right. Why-"

    "I believe he would like to meet the war hero, Miss." The girl says brightly.

    Ah. So that was it. You shoot Sasha, who has thus far stayed silent, a look. That explained the woman's nervous disposition as well, having to disturb two veterans of what must have been a thrilling thing to read about in the diplomatic dispatches. And two veterans who fought on the right side as well, for King and Country, not for, well… country. Kevia or the king, you'd been asked once upon a time. You'd given your answer firmly enough.

    Sasha looks as thrilled at the prospect as you feel. A meeting with some political mover and shaker was not exactly a scheduled part of your itinerary but it didn't look like you were going to be given a whole lot of choice.

    "Very well then. Lead on." You say, picking up your bag and straightening yourself as best you can. It's not very well at all. You could be best described as 'rumpled' or even 'creased' after your days of travelling and your brief doze in a surprisingly comfortable chair. Sasha was, somehow, looking as sharp as ever. "How do you do it?" You hiss at her good naturedly as you're lead past the disinterested receptionist.

    "Do what?"

    "Stay so…" You gesture vaguely at all of her, "Well put together."

    "Oh, that." She's silent for a long moment, long enough that for a moment you wonder if you've somehow offended her, but then she breaks into a wide smile, "It's a military secret."

    You're about to call her ridiculous, you're about to tease and joke, but you're interrupted by the secretary coming to a half suddenly in front of a tall, dark, wooden door. She gestures at it, smiling.

    "This is you." She says, still white knuckled, apparently using every ounce of courtesy in her body to fight down whatever nerves were firing in her. You nod your thanks and push the door open.

    "Ah! Miss Mikhailova!" A broad bear of a man behind the desk some twenty feet from the door booms as the door shuts firmly behind you, Sasha at your shoulder as ever. The room is massive, bare stone everywhere you look, but its size is not enough that you fail to notice the other, more unexpected occupant.

    "Major Beresev," You spit, anger boiling in your chest the moment you see her smug smile. "Ambassador. A pleasure, Sir."

    The man looks between the Major and you and back again.

    "You've met then I take it? Ah well, I won't have bad blood here, though I do understand the Major has some questions for you once we're done. I understand you need some papers?"

    "Aye, Ambassador, that I do." You say, a lot more icy than you intended it to be. "Mine went missing in Turia."

    "I hear they have some very capable pickpockets down there." The Major fires a bard into the conversation and it sinks deep.

    "Pickpockets! Would they dare?" The Ambassador asks. "Of course, new papers. Do you have your details?" You hold up the paper the receptionist had given you, "Ah, good. Would you consider adding a signature?" He laughs uproariously as if he's made some hilarious joke, "I'm sorry I can't help it. The Hero of Polyapavlosk in my embassy! Incredible stuff. Incredible."

    He holds a hand out as he pulls something from a desk drawer and, as soon as he has the paper in hand, he begins to copy details across. Finally he adds a brief description, inks a stamp and puts rubber to card.

    "And the signature?" He says, grinning up at you.

    "Excuse me?"

    "Just here. You need to sign your card." he points at an empty line before offering you a pen. You sketch out your sign and take the proffered identification card, placing the pen carefully back on the desk.

    "Is that everything?" You ask, hoping.

    "Except for the Major's questions, I believe so. Though if I could shake your hand?" You glare at the Major as the big man comes around his desk and extends a meaty paw. You shake it firmly, giving him as good a smile as you can manage. "And miss?"

    "Ivanova, Sir." She says as he turns to her, taking his hand in hers and shaking it.

    "Hmm." He says, a strange expression on his face, "Shall I give you the room Major?"

    "If you wouldn't mind." she answers, her eyes never leaving you.

    "Very well. Though be a dear, don't look in the bottom drawer." He says with a tap on the side of his nose. Almost before the door is shut behind him the intelligence officer is up and sliding the drawer open. Onto the desk goes a crystal decanter and three small glasses before she drops into his chair and pulls a pack of matches and a cigar from somewhere about her person.

    "What do you want, Major Beresev?" It's barely a question, more a declaration of frustration purely through the tone of your words. "I didn't take your man up on his offer, why do you think i'd want to speak to you?"

    "Hang on, what is this?" The thus far near silent Sasha takes to your shoulder once more, "Valya, who is this woman?"

    "She's Zaschita. A spy." You say with as much venom as you can muster.

    "Ah, the 'bodyguard'." She says, clearly buying none of it, "I am an intelligence officer, Miss Ivanova, and a damn good one. Your friend here is of great interest to me and has been since she first walked into my office."

    "I still don't understand why." You snap back.

    "Valentina… Drink?" She gestures at the decanter eyes on you, then Sasha. Eventually she just pours three and slides two across the broad desk before finally lighting the cigar she's been chewing. Thick smoke fills the still air. "May I call you Valentina? First you retire immediately after being named a national hero. Now, I understand why with what you went through and your losses, but your decision to go travelling makes you a person of interest. Are you really going travelling? Have you been bought?"

    "What a ridiculous assertion. My Valya-" Sasha starts but is immediately cut off.

    "Your Valya? Miss Ivanova, you give yourself away so easily. Fortunately, I care not one bit how you carry on in your personal life. I care about Varnmark. Now will you take a seat and let me explain or will I have to have this conversation with Valentina alone?"

    To her credit, Sasha does not grumble or complain, but silently takes a seat and a glass of treacle-dark brandy.

    "Good. So I put a man on to follow you, as you well know. He made contact when he figured you hadn't been bought, but you had made yourself even more interesting."

    "The Count?" you ask, the only obvious answer.

    "Exactly. Suddenly you're ingratiated with one of the most powerful men in Europa and he hasn't even bought you, much to my chagrin, at least that would make sense to me. No, instead he has appealed to your newfound pacifism to gain himself an ally."

    She pauses to take a long drag on her cigar. The billowing smoke is almost blue as she exhales.

    "So, you're invited to this conference of nations in Stralsten. The Count hopes to change the world, to end war or whatever. He's a fool, of course. A noble one, but a fool nonetheless. But a retired Varnmarkian officer is about to give him a whole lot more credence amongst his peers. So what do I do?"

    "Have me killed?" You ask, almost resigned to the Major's ridiculous desire to lay out her entire thought process at this point. She surprises you with a laugh though.

    "Of course not, dear girl, of course not. No, I try to bring you into the fold again, of course."

    "So… what, you want this war to start?" You look at Sasha, who looks just as confused as you are. That can't possibly be right. Varnmark is still recovering from the rebellion, the King is dead - a war now would surely be ruinous beyond the norm.

    "No." She says, then seems to reconsider, "Well, maybe a small one to weaken our rivals as long as Varnmark doesn't get involved. No, but my point is, it doesn't look particularly well on us that it's you arguing for peace. I can't imagine I can stop you from making this damn speech of yours or whatever it intends to be."

    "No." You parrot her with some strange sense of satisfaction.

    "Of course not. But a lot of other nations are either going to be gunning for your blood - perhaps because they want a war they believe they can win - or are going to try to buy you onto their side. That conference is going to be a hotbed of intelligence and counterintelligence, of espionage and potentially even killing. I would rather the 'Hero of Polyapavlosk' as our kindly Ambassador put it came out alive."

    "No, wait. I'm confused again. What do you want?"

    "I want to keep you alive, Valentina. I want to put an agent into that conference who will do their best to look after you, so long as you agree to report anything you hear to them that might be important for the security of Varnmark."

    What do you think?
    [ ] I'll never work for you! I'm no spy.
    [ ] I guess that, for the safety of Varnmark, I could
    [ ] This is an appropriate way to serve my nation
    [ ] Make a Demand - Write-in
     
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    • as you agree to report anything you hear to them that might be important for the security of Varnmark.

    thats the important bit. they're not asking for everything, just what we think might be important for the security of the country.
     
    I will admit I did not see that coming. I expected something a lot more ham-fisted. Taken on the surface, this isn't even particularly bad. Of course, this is just how it starts. Once they have their hooks in us just that much deeper, who know where it ends? Of course, even with that understanding, turning her down flat to her face might also run the risk of more pressure being applied.

    Subtle. Very well done. Frustrating as hell because I see where this leads, but well done.
     
    A patriot, yes, but also one who would like to be left well alone. I suggest we make a counter demand that we will work with them on this Mission, but after that we never want to hear from them again unless the entire planet is on fire.
     
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