NationStates Jolt Archive

ANTONIA SIGHED as the waves slowly lapped at her toes. The water was soft, yielding; all the things that the ocean is not. Her eye drifted along the horizon, the smudge of darkness that obscured the piercing blue of the sky; one hand aloft to shield eyes even long-accustomed to the glare.

"Mercy," she whispered, softly. It was neither request nor thanks, but a name. "Mercy." Louder.

"Mercy!"

The voice from behind was not unexpected. Thus Antonia was neither surprised nor alarmed. In fact, she was quite the opposite of both.

The long-limbed muscular sailor - only sailors around these parts to start with, so it was an easy determination to make - was neither handsome nor seemingly worthy of much attention at all. Average in height, and, for his 'breed', in muscle, he was equally average in looks. The only thing, in fact, Antonia mused, which was not average about him was his nose.

It was huge.

"You have been waiting here?"

As with all from the capital, Ishma, his Vs were faintly ffed, and his As slightly eed. "You heff bain weighting hare?"

Antonia tried not to giggle as she reclined enough to lean on one elbow and peer up at him. She did beam, though. She so adored the silliness of his posh-but-common accent.

"Mmmhm."

"It will get cold soon."

"Yes."

The waves were reaching her calves, now, leaving skin faintly glistening - and goosebumped - at each retreat of the warm water. The air was indeed cooling, the cold salty sea breeze squirming underneath the hot air coalesced through the day.

The sun was not visible, setting as it was behind them, over the grey slate cliffs yonder.

The beach was a large place, but, being as it was and where it was, was not a popular place for non-sailors.

Antonia was not a sailor in the sense she did not have a ship. But she would. Soon.

Ilshuum had told her so.

Now he was peering at her with that curious tilted smile, an eyebrow shivering as if in sympathy with her own effort not to grin and giggle at his (from her perspective) bizarre speech.

"Commander wants us inside."

"Yes."

Anespra is not a lush land.

It is not a land known for anything.

It is a land which remains relatively unknown to most, because few have ever bothered with it. A small island state adrift in the vastness of the Atlantic, it was missed by most passing the way of what was once the New World in earlier centuries - and not worth exploiting in the days that followed.

It was not and has never been a strategic location, and the lack of facilities meant neither the Axis nor the Allies made use of the small bay which the islanders then called the 'port'.

Thus it remains largely it's own place.

Warm. Quiet.

Calm.

Life plods along here at an ordinary pace for a nation with a much lower tech level - almost as if the arable way of life has never quite breathed it's last breath here. Farmers still farm. Fishermen fish. Blacksmiths wrought shoes for horses imported from Europe. There are no cities, only towns and villages. There is no capital, only a rotation of the seat of government every few years.

There isn't even an airport.

But even the most ignored place cannot remain ignored forever...