NationStates Jolt Archive

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The Office of the Cihuacoatl

To: Her Imperial Highness Princess Helen, Comtesse d'Adrienople
C/O The Despotic Court of New Constantinople
From: Dr. Trevor Macmillan, Cihuacoatl of the Serene Democratic People's Fiefdom

Your Imperial Highness,

Re: The Order of Marx

I write further to your previous duties as Imperial Ambassador to Port Sunlight and in connection to the above Order. Following informal discussions with The Palace (The Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator), it has been concluded that you are eligible for receiving the highest Order that the Fiefdom can bestow, The Order of Marx (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Order_of_Marx).

The Order of Marx is granted to both Fiefdom and Foreign citizens who have promoted friendship and cooperation between peoples and strengthening peace. In your role as Ambassador, your actions helped to bring a greater level of understanding between the Fiefdom and the Empire, helping ultimately to see the end of the one-party state and ushering in the multi-party democracy that exists today. It was a lasting ambition of my uncle, Comrade Noel Hoogaboom, to bestow the Order upon you for your efforts and it is with this desire in mind that I have asked the National People's Soviet to pass a decree proposing your membership.

The Order of Marx can be awarded either at the Palace of the National People's Soviet in Port Sunlight, or in a location of your choosing.

To that end, therefore, we look forward to your reply in the near future.

I remain your Imperial Highness' obedient servant,

Trevor Macmillan

To: Dr. Trevor Macmillan
Cihuacoatl of the Serene Democratic People's Fiefdom
General Secretary of the Communist Party of Otiacicoh

Dear Dr Macmillan,

It was with pleasure and, if I am honest, surprise, that I received your letter with the news that I have been awarded the Order of Marx by the National People's Soviet.

I certainly feel that my role in the great enterprise your nation has recently undertaken in holding free and democratic elections has been minimal at best, and confess that I regard myself as being unworthy of such an honour as the Order of Marx.

Nevertheless, despite my own unworthiness, as a mark of the deep respect and friendship which exists between our two peoples, and as a recognition of the efforts of both of our governments over the past several years which have brought our two nations to where they are today, I humbly accept your invitation to receive the Order of Marx at the Palace of the National People's Soviet. I have instructed my principal private secretary to co-ordinate with your office about the date.

With sincerest and humblest thanks and regards for you and your great nation,

Helen Princepissa

Life in the Fiefdom had, only a couple of years ago, been a rather static affair. Events (stuff, if you will) still happened. Wars were waged across the sea, great men died, coups occured but life in the Fiefdom was a constant. There was always the Great Comrade, always the Revolution, always the endless march of the proletariat. People wore the same clothes, did the same job and drove the same car as their parents, and sometimes even their grandparents. It was a banal, uniform world in some senses, but it was also secure and (in its own way) comforting.

Then everything changed. Wars, elections would have been bad enough to the previous state of affairs, but now the Fiefdom was no longer an isolated outpost of Juche-style communism. Today the Fiefdom interacted in the world, its borders were open and its media now fully engaged in the massive cycle of international affairs. And this, in turn, put greater demands upon the centrally-planned economy. If a Fiefdomite saw a Excalbian blender on international news and realised that his humble Zagreb one was worse in comparison, then he wanted it. And that, in turn, put pressure upon the planned economy. So government agencies now had to work longer hours and process information more speedily to keep up. The Fiefdom was now a 24 hour place, whereas only a few years ago the entire nation seemed to close down for the weekend.

Which was why, when many people heard of a return visit by Princess Helen, they could not help but ponder upon the changes that had taken place. And even though it had only been a few short years, to many it seemed like a lifetime ago since the young princess, probably terrified and utterly bemused, served briefly as Pantocratorian Ambassador.

Though it also asked the question, if such changed had occured in such a small amount of time, then what did the future hold?

For the Fiefdom? More then anyone could imagine.

National People's Soviet

The Palace of the National People's Soviet was a truly huge building. The vast central chamber, which could hold several thousand deputies, seemed rather empty despite a nigh-complete complement of deputies. It was built in a grand semi-circle, with all seating pointing towards the easterly wall, upon which was a huge coat of arms of the Fiefdom. Sitting behind an elevated desk, the Comrade Presiding Chairman of the National People's Soviet was attempting to bring the evening's proceedings to a close. Quite simply and quite blutuntly, he wanted to go home.
"Comrade Deputies, the final item of business is the proposed government decree number 627/4, to grant to one Helen Jacqueline Isabelle Rosaline Theodora Capet, Princess of The Holy and Most August Empire of
Pantocratoria, the Order of Marx for services to the Fiefdom-Pantocratorian relations. The Comrade Deputy for New Chapultepec-South?"

Already making her way to the central podium, Finduilas Nénmacil smiled politely as she adjusted the microphone.

"Comrade Deputies, it has been a long day and, I don't know about you, but I have a home to go to.
This, as we all know, is a decree and not legislation so just requires a simple vote on whether to bestow the Order of Marx to Princess Helen. I ask that the floor be opened to any who wish to speak on this matter."
The Presiding Chairman nodded, looking around the chamber to see the assembled delegates stay firmly routed to their seats.
"I shall therefore take that to mean that the Comrade Deputies are not opposed to this endeavour, or wish to express their wishes in a vote?"
Silence, once again, filled the room.
"I shall provide another chance for any who wish to speak on this matter?"
The quiet has deafening.
"And for the last time?"
Someone coughed.
"The proposed decree is moved to a vote."

The vote was carried out speedily, the results announced in similar swiftness and the day's proceedings closed, the delegates rushing out into the various bars and public houses that surrounded the assembly. It was a nigh-unanimous vote, a few grumpy communists rejected to awarding a member of royality with anything at all, and a few National Socialists (just to be awkard more than anything else), but most voted for the decree.

All that was left was to gift the award to Helen herself.

One week later, Port Sunlight International Airport

The last time Helen had attended the Fiefdom, her plane had been forced to land on the quite-frankly ancient Port Sunlight Aerodrome. In fact, most people were still required to land on this airfield until a few months ago. An update, therefore, was seriously overdue.
Worse, the capital's lack of a decent international airport had proven to be rather embarrassing for the Communist Party. This previous stronghold of Party support had recently been lost to a Socialist-inclined Independent, Quauhtlehuanitzin Velázquez, on the very issue of the airport. Building work had commenced soon after.

Not that it was finished, though. Runway 4 was still being constructed, and the terminal buildings were still hollow shells, but the Control Tower had been hastily completed and enough was running for a single flight. A Peacock International flight, in fact.

Princess Helen was significantly more relaxed about her second visit to the Serene Democratic People's Fiefdom than she had been about her first. For one thing, she was only visiting the Fiefdom this time. For another, the Fiefdom had changed fairly radically since Helen's stint as ambassador, at least in the respect that it was no longer fiercely isolationist with a reputation as a place where people had an alarming propensity for disappearing for long, sometimes indefinite periods without informing their friends or neighbours. And finally, her mother hadn't been hysterical about her departure this time, and hadn't requiring sedating at New Rome International Airport. Yes, this time Helen was significantly more relaxed indeed.

Accompanying her on her voyage, not including the usual entourage of servants (after all, who counts them?), were Helen's elderly grandfather, the Duke of Adrienople, and her "travelling companion", Countess Marian, the Sidhe who had permanently taken human form in order to remain on Earth after the Shattering. At the Duke's urging, the three wore conservative but modern clothing as opposed to the formal court fashion Helen wore for her first arrival in the Fiefdom and her introduction to Uncle Noel. Helen's grandfather joked that he would look like enough of a fossil without completing the look with clothing whose style had changed very little since the Thunderchild had arrived in New Huehuecoyotl. Marian added that corsets were particularly uncomfortable on aeroplanes, and the matter had been quickly resolved.

"It still looks very grey..." Helen remarked as she stole a glance out a window before disemarking the plane.

"I thought that the Fiefdom was supposed to be a tropical paradise..." the Duke frowned at the news.

"No, I don't mean the weather." Helen replied, pulling back from the window and standing up straight. "I mean the buildings, the city, the... well, the country. Asides from the airport itself, I wonder if very much has changed, in the day to day experience of the people I mean. Obviously a lot has changed politically but I wonder whether... well, whether everybody still drives the same car, wears one of the dozen same sets of clothes... it even seemed like the common people all had the same hairstyle last time."

"Commoners are not generally well-known for their sense of style." the Duke teased, offering his grand daughter his arm to escort her out of the plane. He was joking, of course. Despite having the good fortune to have never had to have mixed with common people to any great extent, Mathieu d'Adrienople fancied himself a down to Earth fellow with very modern ideas about class.

Helen smiled at the joke, knowing that from her grandfather, it was just that. For her part, Marian might have reflected that the words could have easily belong to Helen's cousin Andreus, the Despot of New Constantinople. She also might have reflected on the fact that had he said them, he would've meant them seriously. Helen accepted her grandfather's arm and the party left the aircraft.

Marian was visiting Port Sunlight for the very first time and had very little to compare it with besides Helen's descriptions of her earlier visit. She was a bit taken aback by just how bleak it managed to come across even in the middle of a tropical paradise. At its worst, Mortville had always been more vibrant than this. Nonetheless, Marian managed a smile as she looked about curiously.

It was difficult to deny that certain parts of Port Sunlight were grey. Grey, prefabricated concrete tower blocks that went out in drab uniformity for mile after mile. And, of course, the scars of dictatorship take many years to heal, and no one could imagine that people in the Fiefdom had emerged from the shell and reformed themselves as gun-totting Allaneans. This was not helped, in part, by the fact that the political reforms had originated from the same Party that had denied them for so long, giving the impression that (like the Almighty) 'what the party giveth it also taketh away'.

Having said that, of course, something profound had occured. People still went to work, still went to church (or temple, depending on which side of the confessional divide you were) and still complained about their People's Cars. Now, though, there was a greater sense of freedom. People, for the most part, still lived in drab apartment blocks but the same uniformity in day-to-day existence had gone. People wore what they liked, bought what they liked and, for the most part, complained about what they liked. They were, for the most part, still socially conservative but that did not prevent them debating issues that were previously taboo, such as divorce. Some teenagers had even, thanks to foreign television, begun to be Goths, much to the consternation of their parents and elders (who tutted to themselves and noted that it never happened when they were that age).

Such differences, though, could not be seen from the unfinished airport and thus the assumption that the place was still a grim clone of North Korea remained.

Indeed, the sight which awaited the visitors did not convey the new Fiefdom. There, next to some wheezy and slow Zagrebs, stood a group of men that dressed in the same Zhongshan suits. Next to them was a army brass band and, other than the exception of the Dear Leader in a white uniform, the scene was almost exactly the same as that which greeted Princess Helen on her first visit. Almost, but not exactly. For the average age of the men was now much younger that the Old Guard which had been present back then. Trevor Macmillan, the new democratically-elected Cihuacoatl, had been present last time but now, instead of his uncle, an elf stood next to him. What's more, she was not dressed in the brown tweed suit that seemed the preserve of the Fiefdom's women (or was, until many replaced them with more Western alternatives) but a smart suit of some quality and expense. The snail of social change had, in recent years, begun to gallop.

"And then I said, 'look, you can't just remove the pump, you need to take off the...argh!"

As Princess Helen, and the Duke of Adrienople, left the aircraft the band instantly struck up 'God Save the Emperor', much to the dismay of the Foreign Minisiter Ahexotl Michin, who had stood too close and had, quite literally, received 'an earful'.

Finduilas Nénmacil, deputy Cihuacoatl, scowled at the Foreign Minister for good measure. She found herself, surprisingly, rather nervous at the prospect of meeting the Princess. This had caused some amusement with her uncle earlier that morning.

"Nervous," he had said as she checked her appearance in the mirror for the fifteenth time, "I could understand if it were an Elvish Monarch but a human princess? Whatever is there to be afraid of?"

"Well," she said, "As you keep reminding me, I'm only 100 so don't have a great deal of experience with monarchs, elven or otherwise. There's so much to remember. What if I make a mistake? What if I insult her by accident?"

"Finduilas," said her uncle, "Just be yourself and I'm sure you'll be yourself. And, if that doesn't help, remember that if you do make a fool of yourself, they're only humans. They'll cease to be within a century."

"Thanks," she had said sarcastically, "That reassures me no end."


"You alright?" said a voice next to her, breaking her daydream and returning her to the tarmac.

"Yes," she said to the origins of the voice and her coalition partner, Trevor Macmillan, "fine."

The band had already played the first verse of the Pantocratorian national anthem by the time the party reached where the Otiacicohans stood. A soft silence fell across the runway, with only the sound of the Pantocratorians' shoes (and the distant rumble of traffic somewhere in the distance) breaking it.

"Your Imperial Highness," said Macmillan eventually with a bow, "Welcome back to the Fiefdom. I trust your journey was not unpleasant."

Macmillan waited for a response (and accepted the greetings of the Duke or Countess Marian if they were made at this point), before introducing the lady to his right.

"May I introduce the Deputy Cihuacoatl and Leader of the Socialists, Ms. Finduilas Nénmacil."

"Your Highness," said the elf with a curtsy that she was convinced was inadequate even before she began.

"And the major of Port Sunlight, Quauhtlehuanitzin Velázquez..." said Macmillan, directing their attention to a handsome middle-aged man in a conventional business suit.

"Your Highness," he said in Nahuatl-accented English (he would also greet anyone else at this juncture, just in case anyone thought he was greeting Helen AND NO ONE ELSE).

"Now," said the Cihuacoatl with a smile, "If you'd care to, your Highness, the cars are waiting to take you to <insert destination>."

occ: Not sure if you want to go to the embassy, or to a hotel in order to prepare for the presentation.

Marian was aware of the clock of that Andreus had given to Empress Aurora as a present and thus did not believe him a very authoritative judge of style. Not that she was really thinking about that. She was rather surprised to see an Elf in the Fiefdom delegation. She had not known that Elves resided in the Fiefdom. She didn't let her surprise show as she followed the leaders of the party from the plane.