NationStates Jolt Archive

The clear blue water was common near this marina, it was a hotspot for toruists from across the Americas. Many came to baske in the nice rays. However, today was slow, much like across Brazil. It was an inexplicable feeling, that of laidbackness, reflection.

But in the marina, was asmall, nondescript yacht. It beared no decoration nor name. However, unknown to most of those who looked upon it, it carried the most precious cargo, the most cherished in the land of Brazil.

There was a small grouping of men, in regular garb. They laughed, most of them of Africa descent. They were waiting for the iscreet convoy to arrive, they hid their weapons well. This was to be a quiet event.

Smiling a single man sat on the top of the yacht, a slighlty heavy set Hispanic man. He was wearing a simple clothing outfit, rather modest. He seemed to be enjoying the air more than the sun. He waited for the "friend" to arrive, before taking a small trip across the clear, clear waters.

Sergei Ilyanov was a fat man, a very fat one. Let me tell you the truth, he looked like Boris Yeltsin... he is Boris Yeltsin. But just with a different name. He was wearing a leather jacket, blue jeans, and a white shirt under that jacket. The heat didn't bother him much, the Island was a very hot place. Hot and humid to be precise.

He didn't have any sunglasses, and for once he was unarmed. He usually carried a Colt .45 but it was rude to not trust a security force. Back to the story. Sergei boarded the Yacht, and after a few minutes of looking he approached "O Presidente" of Brazil.

He took a seat. "Ah Mr. President, how are you?" He said speaking through his accent.

After Sergei had boarded the boat, it seemed to mechanically begin its steady, slow voyage across the water, with a slight jerk at first before it began to smoothly glide across the calm waters. As Sergei came to were President Hernadez was sitting he smiled warmly. Beside him on the top of the yacht was a chair.

"Enjoy the view, Mr. Ilyanov."

He spoke through an accent himself, not as punctuate as Sergei's, but present nontheless. He looked to the coast of Rio de Janeiro, truly a remarkable city, much like that of Seattle, clear, and beautiful, unlike such industrial centers of LA or Chicago. Except without all the rain, that is.

As Sergei sat down Hernadez smiled and began.

"You need not call me by my official titles, Juan is perfectly fine. Mind I call you Sergei?"

Sergei looked out towards the city. He was impressed. He had this dominating image that South American countries were impoverished and poor. He already had been to the Aztec National Union, and it was very rich, but it didn't change his mind that most South American nations were poor. Call him a Western socialist if you will.

He then looked at the river slowly passing by the Yacht, he wasn't much of an ocean man. And ironically, the Island had two rivers... and it was an Island. Either way, he was enjoying the trip.

He smiled warmly. "You can call me Sergei, I'm not the most sophisticated man you'll meet. So, Juan, how is Brazil?"

Juan smiled. He seemed rather troubled about it though.

"We are preparing for war, we have made the decision that we will not stand idly as imperialists take the land from the innocent. We are beginning operations in Risbani occupied Tunisia and also we are sending forces to Beligum, under siege from Praetonia."