NationStates Jolt Archive

[ OOC: If you said you were coming to the ceremony in the Tribute Thread to PM Ell then you're welcome to post immediately. Also if you'd like to be in Timiocato for today's ceremony, just TG me and I'll send along my permission or rejection. We're going by fluid time so that we can RP some of the conversation between the new PM, the outgoing one and our distinguished guests. ]

Passing The Torch

It was an unusually warm day for the end of January in Timiocato, a gleaming sea of modernity and propriety along the shores of an untidy aquamarine sea, straddling millions of tall palm trees. Normally Timiocato only crested at the low 20s, but today it was nearing thirty degrees Centigrade and it was still only nine in the morning.

The faint sounds of vehicles on streets, children laughing and foghorns blaring could be heard from almost anywhere, the gold sun warming a blue, cloud-filled sky as a refreshing, tepid breeze tossed palm fronds aimlessly around. Down in the Government District, the footsteps of hundreds of thousands of Pacitalians could be heard as they marched toward the Piazza di Santi to see the investiture of Constantino Sorantanali as the sixty-eighth prime minister of Pacitalia, as the highly-lauded Timothy Ell prepared to exit Pacitalian politics gracefully.

Whether or not Sorantanali would be a different leader than Ell remained to be seen, but the two men's friendship helped both to bond them and contradictorily help shape their differing views. Ell was a pragmatic capitalist conservative who believed in a social safety net and little or no social assistance or welfare. Sorantanali believed in the reinstitution of slight elements of the welfare state, even replacing welfare with workfare. Sorantanali was not too dense to realise that a devoutly capitalist nation like Pacitalia could not and would not accept a welfare state, even in its primitive form. However, he felt that Pacitalians were compassionate enough to accept that some people needed the help welfare provided, whether they liked it or not. After all, compassion was smack-dab in the middle of the national motto.

Time would, however, tell the overall political differences between the soon-to-be-former PM and the emerging political head of the country. Whether or not it would be beneficial or detrimental to the country... that was a different story. Today was simply a day to show how democracy was strong in Pacitalia, stronger perhaps than in any other country. And the whole world was watching. It was showtime.

Bump

Far removed from the troubled politics of his home country, Maxwell Newson had gathered his forty-two year old frame and appropriate paperwork signifying him as Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to the Republic of Pacitalia from His Majesty’s Government of the United Kingdom. As his narrow-chassis limousine rolled out from the stucco walls of the embassy compound, its little flags flapping in the warm Timiocato breeze, Newson allowed himself a moment to relax as he was driven down some of the most beautiful streets in the world. Overall, he reveled in his post, there were few nations if any that could surpass Pacitalia.

The drive was uneventful, but he arrived shortly ahead of schedule, in typical formal Azazian fashion and he was escorted to his seat by Pacitalian hosts, who carried on their faces the smiles and beaming eyes near characteristic of the people as a whole.

"Let us not mourn the dawn of Timothy Ell's rule. Instead, let us look forward to the future with earnest, zeal, and confidence. Tim brought Pacitalia into the forefront of the international community. He brought peace, stability, and prosperity at home, and projected an image of conciliation and strength abroad. Militarily, politically, economically, Pacitalia is top-notch. Its accomplishments are largely due to the sensible policies implemented by Tim. Let us hope his successor retains his wise policies and continues to bring success and pride to Pacitalia and her people."

--Imperator J.L. I--

[OOC: Hope you don't mind if I take a few liberties with my arrival post, Pacitalia.]

Skies above Timiocato, Pacitalia, 1000 Local Time

The Gulfstream V soared through the air over Timiocato, the late-morning sun glinting off the aircraft's elegant frame. As the plane banked towards Timiocato Isolamunicipa International Airport, the rays struck the center of the Great Seal of Halberdgardia emblazoned on the starboard side of the plane, while the identical Seal on the port side remained in shadow. The pilot had gained clearance to land, and within minutes, the plane had come down for a smooth landing on the strip.

Secretary of State Kenneth Hawkins was the first to emerge from the plane once it had extended its stairs, and, taking in the vibrant, fresh air of Timiocato and the beautiful weather, he could not help but let a smile come to his face. The Halberdgardian ambassador to Pacitalia [OOC: we exchanged embassies a while back], Santiago Sanborn, was waiting on the strip by a line of limousines. Hawkins and his two bodyguards approached Sanborn, and Hawkins gave the man a firm handshake when he met him.

"It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Secretary," Sanborn said.

"Likewise, Ambassador Sanborn," Hawkins said. "As I understand it, you've been on this job longer than I've been in mine."

Sanborn nodded, smiling. "That is correct, Mr. Secretary."

"Well, congratulations on being a damn fine ambassador, Mr. Sanborn," Hawkins said, returning the grin. "Keep up the excellent work."

"Thank you, Mr. Secretary," Sanborn replied.

"Well, shall we?" Hawkins asked, gesturing to the limousines.

Sanborn started. "Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Secretary," he said, directing him toward his limousine. He got in after Hawkins, and the driver sped them both off towards the ceremony.

Timiocato was a welcome change from the cold, dark Capital Cities. Princess Anne especially welcomed the opportunity to leave Hamptonshire after the downfall of the Regency. It was almost too much for her, in less than eighteen months she had seen so much that she had loved brutally destroyed. Now, though, was a time for rejoicing. Anne would see her newly "adopted" brother, Tim Ell, for the first time in nearly a year and she'd get her first chance to meet face to face with the new Pacitalian Prime Minister.

She sat in the library of the Ambassador's Residence. Ambassador Luis Santiago and Acting Foreign Minister Wolfgang Hayek were to accompany the young but world-wary Princess to the ceremonies. It was Santiago's second tour of duty as Ambassador to Pacitalia. Hayek had been Ambassador for nearly four years, it was something of a controversy when he left Timiocato for Hamptonshire City. When he left the Pacitalian capital he was amongst the most popular foreign figures in the nation.

"Princess," Hayek called out from the hallway, "Ambassador Santiago has arrived. We're ready to leave when you are."

Princess Anne stood and turned toward the Minister. "I do so love this country...don't you, Wolf?" After ten years of friendship, Princess Anne made it a point to call him by his nickname in private.

"Well," Hayek paused to think carefully, "it is beautiful but I don't think even the most beautiful Pacitalian beach could take the place of any Hamptonian mountain in my heart."

Anne silently stared at him. She smiled and walked out of the room. The three delegates got into the car and made their way to the Piazza di Santi. They did not want to waste a moment of time.


[OOC: I apologize for this post but I wanted to show my intent to participate in this thread.]

[ OOC: Anybody that was intending to post an arrival/small talk-type post can still by all means do so, we're going on fluid time since Sorantanali is already PM by the current real time (8.44pm CPST). ]

The bell on the adjacent Capostica sounded three times as the clock struck dead on noon, its low sound booming across the Piazza dei Santi and quieting the anxious assembled and foreign dignitaries, whose voices had buzzed excitedly. Wild doves rocketed out of the Capostican Tower, frightened by the immense vibrations of the gonging bell. The sun was still warm and gold in the nearly cloudless true blue sky.

The Comissioneri Alti (High Commissioner) of Pacitalia, Pier Agano Anzomatti, a fiftysomething man with a lightly bearded face, gray eyes and a slightly prominent chin, stood at the set of microphones and opened his mouth to speak to the quieting crowd. His hands were extended to aid in the speeding up of silence. Anzomatti had a slight smile on his face as he drank in the happy anxiety of the million-plus Pacitalians and foreign faces that were assembled here.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice echoing around the spacious piazza, "we are all assembled here today to witness the investiture of Signore Constantino Giancarlo Ambrosino Sorantanali as the legitimately, rightfully and democratically elected prime minister, head of state, head of government, and protector and defender of the Pacitalian republic and her territories, pursuant to the powers delegated thus in the official national documentation recognising the legitimacy of this state.

"Furthermore, we are here to witness the supreme and unbending dedication this republic has to the values and destinies laid before us by the ideological beliefs that form the foundation of a solid democracy. Today, you bear witness to an event that is both explicit in its occurrence and implicit in its defence of Pacitalian democracy. Today, we are witnessing one of the greatest acts of a democratic system next to the casting of a ballot - the investiture of a man or woman the people have chosen.

"The clock has struck twelve. Let us begin the proceedings." Anzomatti smiled at the crowd as a cheerful roar erupted from the bowels of the mass of assembled Pacitalians and foreigners.

Anzomatti walked over to the outgoing prime minister, Dr. Timotaio Ell, and shook his hand. They both smiled at each other and Ell approached the podium. He raised his palms to the air, grinned and simply said, "Beautiful day, isn't it?" The crowd roared back its affectionate response.

Ell continued. "Without further delay, I ask Prime Minister-Designate Constantino Sorantanali to approach the podium."

The crowd applauded politely as the mood switched to match the sudden formality of the ceremony. Sorantanali rose from his leather chair and crossed the wide, clean red carpet to the podium. He shook hands with Ell and performed the customary bow to the crowd. Sorantanali raised his right hand and placed his left on the plexiglas-encased Carta Proposera di Libertà, Pacitalia's 503-year-old constitution. He raised his chin slightly to look at the Pacitalian flag fluttering in the breeze on top of the beehive-shaped tower in the Il Prado Novo complex.

Ell began the Investiture Declaration, the speakers carrying his voice over the warm gusts coming in from the ocean.

"Do you, Mr Constantino Sorantanali, pledge to defend the honour, regality, nobility and faith of the Democratic Capitalist Republic of Pacitalia and her territories and realms pursuant to your stay in the office of head of state and head of government of this great nation until you are hence thereby ineligible to do so, so aid you under the watch of God?"

Sorantanali nodded, unsmiling. "I do."

"Do you, Mr Sorantanali, promise to defend the integrity and strength of Pacitalia and her territories pursuant to the Charter of the Judiciary and the Guaranteed Rights and Liberties Charter, upon which you so rest your left hand in the name of your country, until said ineligibility under the eyes of the people you serve as head of the republic?"

Again Sorantanali nodded. "I do."

Ell raised his voice slightly, the genuine passion and character in his tenorous tone increasing as he began to realise that this was his last official act as the head of a country. This revelation appeared to move a few women in the audience, as they began to weep gently into handkerchiefs. Every Pacitalian was ready to admit though they were excited about the future, they were perhaps not quite ready to accept that Dr. Ell was no longer prime minister.

"Are you prepared, Mr Sorantanali, to swear your life in the service of your nation?"

"I am."

"Are you prepared, Mr Sorantanali, to expose your soul in defence of the legitimacy and morality of the people you are about to lead?"

Sorantanali responded with another nod. "I am."

"Are you prepared, Mr Sorantanali, to bear your own body for the defence of your nation and its inhabitants against subjugation or subversion from interior and exterior forces?"

"Yes, I am."

"And, do you, Mr Sorantanali, pledge above all," Ell said, pausing to catch a breath," to govern as the needs of your people request and as the dreams of these subjects before you aspire? Do you thusly agree to rule in cooperation and coordination with those you are ruling, and not over them?"

"I do."

Ell nodded, letting a smile appear on his suddenly youthful face. "Then, under the principles of righteousness and, in the name of democracy, I place my country in your hands."

Ell bowed to Sorantanali, stepped back and allowed Anzomatti back to the podium. The comissioneri alti cleared his throat and looked to the crowd. "Thus so, invoking my delegation and under the advisement of the outgoing prime minister, as well as under the provisions of the Pacitalian constitution and the principles and values of the Democratic Capitalist Republic of Pacitalia, I hereby have the honour of investing you, Mr Constantino Giancarlo Ambrosino Sorantanali, he of the noble provinces of Liguria and Sambuca, as the sixty-eighth prime minister of this republic in the length of legality."

Anzomatti continued, "I perform this investiture, effective for an electorally legitimate and responsible time period, that of no more than five years from this day and hour."

Immediately, the bells on the Capostica began ringing. After the tenth, there were no more sounds from the tower, except the resonance from the large instrument, the low tone carrying across the Piazza di Santi. Everything else, including the crowd was silent.

Anzomatti returned to the microphone. "Mr Sorantanali, please descend to your knees."

The prime-minister-in-waiting immediately obliged, his body tense with anticipation. He was literally seconds away from fulfilling his lifelong dream. He placed one knee on the red carpet but left one knee in the normal position. He held his hands behind his back, closed his eyes and lowered his head. Dr. Ell picked up the gleaming, unwieldy sword from the adjacent table. He tapped himself lightly on the head, then lowered the sword, its ruby hilt fiery in the afternoon sun. Moving forward, he tapped both of Sorantanali's shoulders once with the tip, then placed both hands on the hilt, lowered it onto Sorantanali's head and held the sword there for five seconds. Removing it, he pointed the tip of the sabre down and smiled at Sorantanali. Power had been officially transferred from one man to the next. One legacy to the next.

"Citizens and distinguished guests," Anzomatti proclaimed. "I present this man, standing before you in the eyes of God and the burden of honour, Prime Minister, supreme protector and defender of the citizens, faith, integrity, ideals and legitimacy of the Democratic Capitalist Republic of Pacitalia and her sovereign territories for a time lasting no more than five years but, under the grace of God, no less than tomorrow."

The formalities had ended. Dr Ell walked swiftly up to the podium, and grinning, raised an arm to point at Sorantanali. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Prime Minister of Pacitalia, Constantino Sorantanali!"

Sorantanali waved to the crowd, beaming, as they yelled and screamed in approval, some waving light-blue and white FPD flags, others holding up pictures of him attached to two-by-fours. Balloons were released in the colours of the Pacitalian flag, as was confetti in the same colours. Horns honked, the crowd went insane with happiness and the bells on the Camera dei Santi behind the stage began ringing their joyful sounds.

Exactly thirty seconds later, controllers released 68 doves from their cages. They fluttered around the piazza before flying out into the open sky, taking with them the message of optimism that Sorantanali had brought with him from a successful campaign right into the office he now held. Seven army officers stepped forward, and at the command of an eighth, they fired their rifles at the air three times to signify the official start of a new administration in Pacitalia.

Pacitalia-sized bump ;)

Bump

Watching the ceremony, obscured by shadows, Imperator J.L. I watched the procession with the faintest of smiles on his face. He stood far in the back, as out of sight as possible, knowing how controversial he was in Pacitalia and not wanting to arouse an incident. He was flanked by four burly Special Imperial Guardsmen, who scoured the place with calculating eyes, searching for any hint of danger to their beloved leader.

The Imperator said nothing, just calmly puffed away on a thick cigar, repeatedly checking his watch. He had attended mostly to be polite, as Tim Ell, the now former Prime Minister, was a personal friend.

At any rate, he hoped the new Prime Minister, Constantino Sorantanali, enjoyed his gifts. J.L. was having the gifts delivered directly to the ceremony. The gifts were 200 boxes of the most expensive and delicious Italian chocolates, a massive wooden crate filled with bottles of perfectly aged, ambrosial wine, an 8 ft. tall statue of Mr. Sorantanali constructed of solid gold, a portrait of Mr. Sorantanali painted by one of the world's finest artists, an autographed photo of the Imperator, an ancient, 2000 year old battle sword of incalculable historical value, and a $500 gift certificate to Anda.

In the warm Pacitalian sunlight, Newson gathered his roaming thoughts with the familiar sensation of a heavy textured paper on his fingertips as they fell into his deep trouser pockets. As the doves soared into the blue Newson withdrew the envelope, sealed with wax that had the initials AWT impressed upon the blue material. Inside was a mere formality, but a formality that would be his own distinct pleasure to serve.

As the crowd settled into festivities, a line of diplomats formed in order to offer their congratulations to Pacitalia’s new leader and quietly the moderately built man, his hair brown with flecks of silver and grey denoting both wisdom and the stress of diplomacy, stepped into the line behind the foreign leaders and the dignitaries who rank fell above that of his own. The line moved slowly as the warm-hearted nature of the hosts ensured polite conversations with each person in line and so it took some time before Newson finally stepped before the new Pacitalian Prime Minister.

Mr. Prime Minister, if I may, Newson began with a polite bow, [/i]that was a jolly good show and I daresay that the next time my country changes leadership we shall strive to follow in your good lead and perhaps use doves to replace bullets. However, that is a matter for neither here nor now and so, sir, I present to you this.[/i] From within his silk jacket, black with thin white pinstripes, he pulled out the small envelope. On behalf of the Most Honourable Lord Salisbury, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, I am honoured to formally invite you to visit Lord Salisbury and the people of the United Kingdom when the opportunity presents itself. I spoke with him earlier today and he wanted me to personally convey his apologies that he could not attend the ceremony himself as there are, shall we say, issues that must be addressed at home before His Lordship feels he can take a trip abroad. For both the Prime Minister and myself, sir, I wish you the most sincere congratulations and the warmest of wishes for your future as the leader of Pacitalia and her people, a position you are well suited for if I may be so bold.