And They Said, Let There Be Peace!
- Location
- Rockford, USA
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] Keep it a secret publicly, but pass some quiet words through your representatives in the Free City of New York that you have what you believe to be the Declaration, and would appreciate their confirmation. Massive opinion boost with the Free City of New York, +2 Legitimacy as they automatically recognize you.
And They Said, Let There Be Peace!
You eye the transport plane with profound skepticism. 100% recycled aluminum. Diesel engines. The stink to last you and your outfit a good, long week. Vibrations enough to rattle the teeth out of your skull. The Messenger. The Garbage Bird of the Commonwealth.
"Look, it's fine," says Sara.
You turn your skepticism on her.
"You knew it was like this when you agreed to go!" she says.
You fold your arms.
She folds hers right on back. "I've ridden one of them. Twice, even!"
Your second eyebrow joins its partner near your hairline.
Sara sighs. "It's this or walk."
You get on the plane.
* * *
And, on reflection, might rather have walked.
* * *
When you land in FCNY, you-
Well, you attend to the ceremony with all the due dignity of the President of the-
You take a deep breath, and prepare to represent your country as best as you-
...
...okay, fine, you stare out the window like you're a little girl on vacation again. It's New York.
Not the state -- nobody in the Old Country ever really cared about the state unless they lived in the state -- but the city itself. New York, New York. The Free City of New York. The last, most profound symbol of the Old Country left on the continent. The city that survived only because Alexander refused to court the backlash of allowing his puppet to destroy it, who maintained their borders only because Victoria decided to turn their submission into a grand diplomatic joke, a given inch that FCNY took and turned into scores of miles of annexed Long Island. The city that has swelled and swelled for decades with refugees from absolutely every corner of the continent, turning, some have said, into an urban sprawl more dense than Singapore. A city that has spend decades under Victorian guns. A city of freedom and spies.
New York.
And you are here as a foreign head of state in your own right, here to negotiate peace terms with Victoria following a battle that you undisputedly won.
You actually cry a little. This is such a monumental step; for you, and for the Commonwealth. It's more than you ever dreamed you could achieve.
And you are here.
Eventually, though, you do pull yourself together, and prepare to conduct yourself with all the dignity your station demands of you. You and Sara ensure that you're presentable in a ritual you've held to since high school.
And then, you step down the ramp and into a sea of flashing camera lights.
"Madame President-!"
"-mment on the victory in Detroit, President Johnson-"
"-ering what the Commonwealth's next step, what can you-"
You tune out the questions after missing a step out of shock. You have...never...faced media presence like this before. Not ever. It is profoundly unsettling. Still, you feel Sara nudge the small of your back, and that gives you enough focus to shore up your smile and walk onwards. You ignore them all, walking down the gauntlet of reporters.
And, at the other end, is the woman you're here to see. Mayor Cassandra Mesbah of the Free City of New York. Last independent American head of state in the world. According to some who've bought into the Revivalist dream even more than you're comfortable with, the true leader of the free world.
She's shorter than you were expecting.
Mesbah doesn't even come up to your shoulder. You're a tall woman, but that's still not a lot. Mesbah seems almost frail, as you approach. You still have the corded muscles and calloused hands of a soldier who has kept her standards up. She has the body of a woman who has orchestrated countless costly assaults on the dinner table. You find yourself disappointed for a long moment.
Then her eyes meet yours, and you see the shrewd glint in them as she takes in absolutely every aspect of your appearance. You come to a halt before her, the two of you appraising one another for a long moment.
Then she steps forward to you, extends her hand, and, as the buzz from the reporters dies down, says, "The Free City of New York welcomes the President of the Commonwealth of Free Cities, the rightful and legitimate government of the states comprising their nation."
And just like that, the momentary lull shatters.
+2 Legitimacy.
* * *
Later, you and Mesbah sit down together in a private room. She welcomes you, she bids you to sit, she offers you some snacks. She falls silent, and you wait.
At long last, she asks, in a hushed tone of voice, "Do you have it?"
You don't have to ask to what she's referring. You shake your head. "We had no intention of bringing that thing anywhere near Inquisitors."
She nods, letting out a sigh that is at once relieved and disappointed. "Good. That's...good." She stares at you for a moment. "How did it reach you?"
Again, you shake your head. "We have no idea. The case was signed as having been left in our central archives by a, 'Jonah Wilson,' but we're having trouble tracking him down. Our records are spotty, nobody remembers him, and it very well may be a pseudonym. It might be a dead end. We're looking, though."
She nods. "We can send along somebody capable of confirming the find when we send an embassy. Are you capable of maintaining it...?"
"With difficulty," you admit. "It has gone unmaintained except for its case for years. And we aren't exactly rolling in resources at the moment."
She nods firmly. "We will help. I cannot promise regular shipments of needed experts and supplies while guaranteeing discretion, but at the very least, I can ensure that the expert we send knows how to care for it, and has what he needs to get you set up."
"I would appreciate that," you say.
She nods, and the two of your fall silent for a long moment. "...it doesn't seem real."
You glance at her, raising an eyebrow.
"Victoria's army, dead," she elaborates. "Their navy, as good as dead. Their nation split in half by civil war. Their air force crippled. The mighty Crusaders doomed. And in the midst of all this, the Declaration surfaces." She smiles at you. "It feels like we're turning this around, at last."
"We will," you vow. "To the shores of Maine, if we must."
She nods firmly back. "We must."
The two of you share a private smile.
* * *
Gideon Damned Blackwell, it would seem, has not deigned to grace you with his presence. Instead, he has sent his secretary.
Oh, sorry -- you meant his boss. Because that's the way the power is running, these days.
Thomas Anderson Swift, Governor of Maine, known internationally as the Victorian Premier, enters the room from the opposite door as you, and the second your eyes meet, you can feel the loathing he holds for you. His expression twists into a look of such deep and vile contempt that you almost feel slick from the scum of it. His fingers clench at his sides. His stride slows to a slow amble, his chin tilting up as though he needs time and additional elevation to properly convey the depths of his hatred for you.
Just as well, really. You might have felt impolite if you were the only one doing that.
At the head of the table in the center of the room, a broad circle with a distinct gap in seating at each end, Mayor Mesbah clears her throat. "Governor Swift, President Johnson. Welcome to the Free City of New York. Please, take your seats."
Breaking off your poisonous staring contest with one another, you and Swift move your your seats, your respective staff following along. On your side, you have Secretaries Bragg and Harris, General Burns, and Sara.
Swift, on the other hand, has a panel of Inquisitors. Really outlines the character of his side.
Once you have all gotten into position, Mesbah clears her throat. "I thank you both for attending," she says. "The Free City is honored by the presence of such nations' representatives."
You remember how, hours before, she quietly affirmed her commitment to your ultimate aim of burning Victoria to the ground, and you take a moment to admire her poker face.
Mesbah continues, "War is a constant companion in the world of the Collapse. Violence wracks the Country. That it has broken out between two such larger states as are represented here is a tragedy -- that it resulted in such staggering loss of life, albeit overwhelmingly from one participant, is even worse."
Swift briefly looks as though he's attempting to consume an unpeeled orange.
Mesbah pretends not to notice. "However, we celebrate that both participants are willing to come to the table and talk of peace! The Free City hails your commitment to moving on from the conflicts of the past to a brighter future, and we are truly honored to host you here for these talks." She turns to Swift. "Governor Swift, as it is your assembly of Governors that first issued the request for these talks, the chair recognizes your right to present the first terms."
Swift turns and offers eye contact to Mesbah for the first time since he entered the room, and you wonder at the sheer variety of slurs that must be percolating behind his clenched teeth. Nearly everything about Mesbah would be offensive to him; female, of Egyptian descent, an openly practicing Muslim, a refugee from deeper within the country -- she really is the perfect thing for him to hate to see in a position of authority.
Nevertheless, he manages to swallow it. "Thank you," he grits out. He produces a sheet of paper. "The resolution -- found by referendum this past May, with a margin of 64% -- states the following: That the nation of Victoria finds that it has been deceived into an unjust war by bad actors who even now seek to undermine the foundations of our great Christian state. That we have been led into unwise conflict against an unhostile power on terms that made our losses inevitable. We claim that this war serves no purpose, that we have been forced into an unfair and unjust position, and that the war should end." He sets down the paper and looks up at you. "We call upon the Commonwealth to open their hearts to the possibility of peace."
Mesbah nods. "Thank you, Governor." She then looks to you. "President Johnson?"
You nod and lean forward, speaking from memory as you lock eyes with Swift. "The Commonwealth is willing to talk peace, but we do not acknowledge Victoria's claims of deception and unfairness. We acted in defense of an ally whom Victoria opted to attack without provocation, and we fought well in the resulting battles. We do not come to this table as a nation hoping to avoid a war it cannot afford; we come to this table as victors who have won their place beyond any contest. If these talks are to take place, I would demand that that be acknowledged."
You continue to stare into Swift's eyes. Go on, you think to yourself. Say it. Admit it. Admit it to my face. You lost. You. Lost. We beat you. Victoria went all-in, and Victoria lost. Tell me. Tell everybody. Tell the world.
You. Lost.
Swift breaks eye contact first, looking away and blinking furiously under the pretext of checking his papers. "Victoria acknowledges that it has suffered a defeat," he growls. "It acknowledges that the Commonwealth presently has the better of things."
You smile, sitting back. "Excellent," you say. "Then we can talk."
What, drawn, and talk of peace? Yes, yes indeed, time for peace. The time has come to hammer out a peace deal.
For this one, we're going to be doing things differently. You are, ultimately, going to be rolling for the peace deal. One roll. The DC will be set based on what you are demanding or offering. Now, there are going to be incredible amounts of write-ins, so here's how we're going to do this. Please propose various treaty provisions, and tomorrow, I will put up a post listing what you can demand or concede, and how much it will change the DC. The circumstances of your victory will lower the DC; the ongoing Victorian Civil War will lower the DC.
For your provisions, bear in mind that each item should be something actionable and specific. "Grant the Commonwealth favorable access to the St. Lawrence Seaway," for instance, versus, "Abet the Commonwealth's efforts to reestablish international trade." "Grant war reparations," versus, "Shore up the Commonwealth's economy."
I hope that you all enjoyed the update, folks! I had fun writing it. To wrap up my week of writing, here's the final score: 100,000 words professional writing, 16,000 words recreational writing. 116,000 words, total, over the course of seven days. Hahahahaha. That's. A lot.
But I had fun, and I'm back in the game, so mission accomplished!
Have fun, folks!
