NationStates Jolt Archive

Lossë-Elen Entertainment Presents...

A blonde elf woman dressed smartly in light grey and silver robes looks at the camera with startling green eyes. “Welcome to a bold new experiment in ‘television,’ political science, and stalking.

“Frankly, we have no idea what strange reasoning lies behind this programme, as little as you do in fact. But for some reason, the President for Life – dictator, in other words – of Allanea, wants to be the most watched man in history. As a dangerous menace to the international community, we thought there might be some sociological value in observing him in his native habitat, so we agreed.

“It’s going to cost nothing for the public to tune in to observe this pseudo-human fish-tank, which will be made available free of charge in holographic and television formats, both digital and analogue, complete with continuous commentary by a guest panel of commentators, and also online on the ‘internet’ and most other computing networks, including in all cases at minimum a wide selection of angles and options.

“Some are probably concerned with the likely barbarity of the mode of life experienced by this overgrown barbarian warlord, and for this reason, any states carrying the Kazansky channel will be expected to treat it as an ‘adult’ channel, though a filtered feed will be provided if this is not possible. Similar precautions will be taken on computerised data feeds.

“We also have no idea how long this strange aberration will last, or how many people will watch it. And now, without further ado, I present our initial commentary team.”

[Scene Change]

“Hello,” says a grey haired bespectacled man, “I am Li Sang, A practising psychologist specialising in exhibitionism and social transgression, and I’ll be giving, for the first few hours of the programme, my views on the mindset of the Allanean leader, focussing on both activities shown and what’s known of his history.”

“Jason Leven, Political Scientist,” says another, younger looking fellow, “I’ll be occasionally commenting on the policies being pursued by the Allanean government.”

An attractive, dark haired, mostly Caucasian looking woman of what might be called ‘mixed race’ in some countries, “Elisabeth Neville, Political Satirist, from The Hypocrisy of Der Angst – Yes, the personal abuse is part of the service.”

“Serkelacia Ivanneth,” the next, was an elf woman sharing Sirithil’s rare eye colour, “For the most part, I’ll be running the technical aspects of the show during this shift, but I’m likely to stick my oar in too. We have seeded the Kazansky estate with about four tons of sensor-dust, and have fifty remote camera drones located throughout its grounds, as well as a satellite field, and knife-missiles for following the subject when he leaves home. Unfortunately, legal concerns prevent us showing the subject when engaged in some activities, so we may have to cut away or re-run segments…

“And now, without further ado, let us begin…”

[Scene change, voice overs remain]

The default screen shows a satellite view of the Kazansky estate, zooming in, to focus on the Allanean leader, switching to a local camera, as Li Sang begins to outline his ideas about Kazansky having a mental age of eighteen…

---

OOC: Death threats, reviews of this deeply horrible piece of culture, subscription figures, advertising contracts... any kind of plausible response to this televisual nightmare is possible. You too can send someone to be a panelist on this giant insult to good taste. Naturally, your nation isn't expected to carry this show if it doesn't want to (I'm not sure why anyone would) but it's online, as well...

ANN

"A political leader…"

The camera shows Kazansky, standing at a podium and addressing Congress. He is in the middle of a passionate speech. 'Freemen! Allaneans! Let me be straightforward. There can be no compromise on the issue of freedom – not in the name of security, not in the name of progress, not in the name of prosperity – for in the long run, there is no prosperity, no progress, no security without freedom.'

"A military commander…"

The camera shows Kazansky standing on a hill, observing a battlefield in Antanjil. Before him, thousands of bodies line the snow, dressed in the red or black trenchcoats of the Antnajylian army. The camera shifts to show the Allanean flag waving off the Parliament of Dreams at New Albor.

"An accomplished sportsman…"

Kazansky is shown in a ski suit, moving expertly down a slope. Skiers would recognize this as a ski slope classified as extremely difficult, somewhere in the mountains of mainland Allanea.

"Dozens of unauthorized biographies have been written."

The camera shows a book shop window full of copies of the Cecil B. Demented biography of Alexander Kazansky.

"But who really is Kazansky? Now you will know!"

The camera shifts to show Kazansky, sitting naked in a pool, flanked by two young women and raising a large cup full of foaming champagne to the camera.

"See you on my show."

"Hey, Dave, you gotta see this!"

Stretching, David Quetzal rolled off of the couch and lurched sleepily into the computer room.

"Yeah, what's up, bro? Better be worth my... Hollee shit...."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. I mean, a TV show on Alex? You know this is going to give half of the human race deeply repressed issues, right?"

Daniel scrolled down the website, taking in the full extent of the article.

"Damn, this should be pretty good. No way in hell am I going to let the kids watch this, but still... Any way I can watch this at your place?"

"Sure what the hell. Liz'll love to see you again, you never visit. And I have this bizarre feeling she'll get a kick out of this too..."

"Why does that creep me out, just a little?"

The camera displays a view of Kazansky's office. From the window, the waters of the Greater Prussian Sea are visible. It is a stormy night – the wind howls, the sea roars, and raindrops obscure the glass, making the view foggy at best. The room itself is scarcely decorated – steel bookshelves cover most of the walls, a pump-action shotgun is locked to the internal side on the table, and – peppered with several large holes – a picture of Eric von Strubhausen hangs off one of the walls. A large bayonet-knife is impaled in the photographed man's left eye – clearly, it had been thrown by Kazansky himself.

Behind the table, working on a laptop, sits KAZANSKY. The President for Life is dressed in a black outfit – the latest in Menelmacari fashion. His glasses are the usual black-framed glasses he is known for wearing, and his hair is long enough to almost reach his shoulders. He is also extremely cheerful

KAZANSKY: Greetings, viewers! As you see, this is the first day of my show – and before we start, I would like to introduce myself. I'm Alexander Kazansky. I have lots of shiny titles – anything from President-for-Life to Count de Centreville, but you can all just call me Alex. What you see here is my office – where I go if I need to type up a letter or something like that. Unfortunately, even in Allanea's government, there's still lots and lots of bureaucracy to deal with. But at least here, I can do it with a smile and a glass.

Kazansky whips out a large goblet made out of a human skull.

KAZANSKY: This here, if you wonder, is Emperor Galf of Antanjyl. This little bastard had his nation invaded by – among other people – the Allaneans – because they were exporting slaves, you understand. So, with no further ado, guy orders all the slaves killed and made into foodstuffs. Had millions of people made into tinned food, you understand. But, given Allanea's invasion was already under way, fellow ended up – right here on my table.

He fills Emperor Galf's skull with champagne.

KAZANSKY: Prussian champagne, you must understand. The best. Bear with me...

He throws something into the skull cup. The camera view shifts to show us a small white tablet dissolving rapidly, not unlike an aspirin tablet.

KAZANSKY: For those of you not in Allanea, this is supercaf – a high-tech analog of caffeine. Really a wonderful thing for an early start – and for those of you out of my timezone, it's two-thirty AM. So, you will ask, what's on my schedule today? A few pardon applications – let me see – oh wow... look here on the screen, sixty-five pardons. I can't really be bothered reading them all right now, so let me type up a blanket approval of all pardon request. Can't really go wrong with canceling someone's execution. Now, what we have... Congress in on their three-month vacation... goram bastards voted themselves a Special Three-Months Leave, if you can believe that. Then again, I'm sure most voters would rather have Congress on leave.

Let me see what interesting stuff we have... oh, Allanean Arms won the bid to manufacture three hundred ekranoplans for the Marine Corps... excellent, we really needed those. Let me just type up a few lines and we'll have that confirmed. The Air Force wants to start a bid program on a next-generation fighter... denied... victory for Allied forces in Hatarian Morocco... eight hundred Xharn-supported insurgents exterminated by Team Spearhead operations... yeah, the usual.

So there goes that. Now, the newspapers.

Oh, this is freaking special. Liberty Times now reports, and I quote... 'the communist Students' Coalition had seized the grounds of Concord University Campus, Allanean West Virginia, demanding that the state government take over education funding completely. In response, the University administration declared all Coalition members expelled, and is seeking civil charges against both individual students and the Coalition as a whole. After realizing they would be forced to pay compensation for every day the University remains idle, Coalition members abandoned the grounds without a fight – only to be arrested for trespassing by Concord County Sherriff and members of his posse.' Goes to show that a good lawyer beats a SWAT team any day.

Mmm, nothing much here. And that's all work for today! Yay for vacation!

A short pause while Kazansky folds up the laptop.

But look! Pansy!

The door opens, and PANSY PARKINSON walks in. She's wearing a dark green long-sleeved shirt with silver stitching, and a pair of equally green pants that could have been BDU pants if not for equivalent silver stitching.

PARKINSON: Do me a favor, and don't call me Pansy. I have a surname.

She perches in Kazansky's lap.

KAZANSKY: Whatever. He kisses Parkinson.

PARKINSON: Oh, Alex, it's not whatever, it's my name... you sure are good at this... do it again...

Kissing and fondling ensues.

KAZANSKY: At any rate... mmm... yes, viewers, if nobody had noticed yet, this is Pansy Parkinson, she works in one of the private institutions I operate outside my role as President... as you see here... she thinks I'm cute for some incomprehensible reason. As you also see, she clearly choses weird hours to be awake. Pansy, darling, did my mail arrive?

PARKINSON: Yeah. And for the dear love of everlasting God, don't call me...

KAZANSKY: Okay, Miss Parkinson. More kissing and fondling.

I think we are boring the viewers half to death. Parkinson giggles.

Summon SuSE.

Parkinson leaves.

And now, viewers, you will be introduced to some members of my entourage.

The room is entered by a penguin not more then twenty inches tall. It clambers up Alexander Kazansky's leg and tries to hug him with it's wings, but is obviously too small. Kazansky hugs the tiny animal right back.

This here is SuSE – she's the White House Telecommunications and IT expert. Don't be fooled – she's sapient. SuSE dear, can you scale to a normal size?

The penguin jumps off Kazansky, and within seconds, it's almost the size of a human.

SuSE is of course magical – and sapient, as well!

SUSE: Yes! Sapient, SuSE is!

KAZANSKY: Do you know what we're going to do today, SuSE?

SUSE: Today is the starting day of your show, but I didn't know there's anything special to do..

KAZANSKY: Today, you – and Miss Parkinson – will help me introduce the viewers to my team of friends and assistants – not just the closest members of my cabinet, but other people that I like, as well. Quite a few of them do share this vacation with me. SuSE, go fetch everybody.

The penguin speeds off.

Very well. And now, while SuSE and Pansy – I mean, Miss Parkinson – wake up the different people on the Island, I'll have me some chocolate...

Kazansky whips out a chocolate bar of immense proportions.

Milk chocolate. My favorite.

He breaks off a few squares and eats them slowly.

Oh well... out for a really-early morning run I go.

The camera shifts to an early bird's-eye view of Kazansky Island. On one end stands the Kazansky Mansion – an oversized three-story contraption with clear gothic influences. We can see a boat shed, a pier, a runway, an open shooting range, and a road that circles the entire island. Kazansky is running along the road, a tiny black spot, barely visible in the rain – but then, the camera zooms in on Kazansky, shouting across the roar of the storm.

Here I am, people! Jogging is always terrific in the morning – if you call three AM morning, and I certainly do call three AM morning! Ah, here come SuSE and Tommy!

The penguin, restored to it's original size, and THOMAS MORRISON appear, running behind Alex.

MORRISON: Morning, Mr. President! waves to the camera I'm Colonel Thomas Morrison, United States Secretary of Defense!

KAZANSKY: Hi, Tom! I don't think you need to be quite that formal – and here's Pansy and Vicky!

Victoria Sheshet and Pansy Parkinson appear behind Kazansky. Victoria is wearing her Sisters of Liberty livery.

I don't think Vicky needs an introduction -

PARKINSON: Didn't we -

SHESHET: Hi, Alex.

KAZANSKY: Screaming over the storm Okay, I'm sorry, Miss Parkinson!

While this happens, several people arrive and fall in behind Kazansky and the other Island guests. Another bird's eye view – and we see the joggers running through the rain in a triangle formation with Alex at it's head. Kazansky introduces the people as they appear.

Here's some more interesting people – my wives, Angelica Murphy-Kazansky, Lilian Smith-Kazansky – Angie is from Tiburon of course, and Lilian is from Arizona Nova, and this is Miss America – yes, it's her actual name, she's the Secretary of the Treasure – and this here is Miranda Novak, she's my secretary. And this, dear viewers, is Susanne Knotts – she used to be a model for the Allanean Arms annual calendar, but now she's just the custodian for my gun collection – which, incidentally, I'm going to show you after I'm done with the morning run.

Forty minutes of running that would likely be edited out in the abridged version, but that can be viewed in the live channel.

Okay, fellows. This is one of the entrances into my Armory – and Susie is rearing to go and show it to us!

No entrance is shown – merely a square of rusty steel on the ground.

Here. Observe, as I and Susie stand on this square... it recognizes my voice pattern. Open up, silly! SuSE, take my guests to the pool.

The square lowers, taking the camera view to underground halls housing perhaps the most enormous gun collection ever.

KNOTTS: Welcome to the Presidential Armory – at the very least, one hundred and fifty thousand guns from all over the world. This here is an assault rifle from Tarasovka – used in one of their civil wars, actually. This is a Doomani standard-issue assault rifle. This is the ABR-8 – used by the Califorian Army, the Imperial Guard, the Allanean Army...

KAZANSKY: Yes, I think the viewers get the picture. This here is a small rack housing different AR-15 variants – actually, several racks, from the original Colt AR15 to the belt fed Super Shrike from Allanean Arms – yes, this is a sawed-off light machine gun feeding elephant rifle cartridges, if you're wondering. Those are – let me see, this is an FN-CAL, this is an AAI ACR – that's Aircraft Armament Industries Advanced Combat Rifle – notice the weird cartridges it's meant to fire – this is a Desert Seagull Pistol -

KNOTTS: Speaking of pistols, here's some interesting examples. This is a Ballester-Molina pistol – and this right here is a Salvator-Dormus eight-millimeter pistol... oh it feels so hard and nice to hold in my hand, like a...

KAZANSKY: You're imitating the Girls Who Love Guns style of delivery, are you now? Anyway, check this out – a Bayard M1908! And this is an actual Godwin-Fyraz pattern bolter!

Twenty minutes or so of gun details by Kazansky and Knotts.

KNOTTS: But Alex here doesn't only have guns in his collection – he also has knives!

KAZANSKY: Indeed, honey. Kisses Knotts. And thus, let me welcome you into our Knife Hall.

The door to a large hall filled with different bladed weapons is opened.

I have everything. Starting from the common Allanean Bayonet Knife, Mark One, to a real Space Marine power sword, to a Next-Generation Ka-Bar – here's Wilkinson Sword's Survival Knife, and this is an SP6 Spec Plus... eight-inch black blade, as you can see. Almost as perfect as a Blackblade ABK – which I also have right here...

KNOTTS: And here's a nice powerfists. You like powerfists, don't you, Alex?

Five minutes of knife/sword/axe details.

Apart from everything else, the Armor also holds around two million rounds of ammunition for all those guns – anything from .22 rifle ammo to Hellbore ammunition. But the jewel of Alex's collection has not been seen yet, has it, Alex?

KAZANSKY: Indeed.

Another door is opened. Standing separately in a special room is a Nakil 1A2 tank, equipped with every Kriegzimmer bell and whistle, including two 20mm flak cannon mounted on the sides of the turret.

It's not special due to it's firepower – I own another Nakil, a T-80, a Merkava, and a two-seater A-10 Thunderbolt, which I use for executive travel – but this, ladies and gents, is a special Nakil. It's the one millionth Nakil made by Kriegzimmer – and it's much more valuable then it's face value.

KNOTTS: swooning Oh, Alex, it's so cool...

They kiss passionately.

Okay, we're pretty much done here – it'd take a century to show you all the toys! So, Susie – after you, to the pool!

They use a set of spiraling stairs to get out of the Armory. It is still raining outside – and now, the viewer sees a big pool, full of warm water – hot water, even, despite the raging storm. Kazansky smiles as he's approached by Parkinson – who is now not wearing her shirt – her bra is black, and not green like her other clothing.

PARKINSON: Alex! We've all been waiting for you for ages, did you try and show them all your guns or something?

KAZANSKY: Only about half. Wait a second, let me get my stuff off.

He undresses. The viewers are exposed first to the sight of a white T-shirt with the words FOR TRUTH, JUSTICE, AND AUTOMATIC WEAPONS on it. And then, Kazansky is naked. He is tall and slender, but pale to an amazing level. At over six feet, Kazansky weighs in at slightly over one hundred and twenty pounds – really tall, and really slim. Other than that, he looks healthy and beautiful – at least so think Parkinson and Knotts, hugging him from both sides and urging him towards the pool. At this stage, he is wearing only black trunks and glasses.

A few minutes later, Kazansky is in the pool, leaning back against its edge, sipping on a large goblet of wine – also made of someone's skull, but a different goblet from the one seen in the first segment of the show.

SHESHET: Who's skull was that?

KAZANSKY: Ellegen Smith, if you must know.

SHESHET: Who was Ellegen Smith?

KAZANSKY: Governor of some planet or another.

Kazansky drinks the wine while helping himself to a variety of candy from a large plate resting on the edge of the pool.

I love sweets, if you haven't noticed yet. Hey, Parkison? Want a chocolate frog?

PARKINSON: Sure!

KAZANSKY: Then take off that silly bra and get into the goram pool! Look, even SuSE is in the pool... and Tom is... SuSE does seem fond of Tom.

Camera view of Thomas Morrison hugging SuSE the penguin, who has now again scaled to human size.

And here are my lovely wives! Boy, are things heating up here or is it just the water?

Kazansky's wives, Victoria Sheshet, Miss America and Miranda Novak enter the pool. Parkinson and one of the wives hug Kazansky.

No. Definitely not the water.

Insert horrific group-sex-scene here, involving everybody mentioned above w/Kazansky and Thomas Morrison/SuSE.

OOC: The forum rules prohibit any more detailed descriptions of Kazansky's sex life here, but I'm sure this will suffice to most readers. Readers who would like to receive more detailed descriptions can of course solicit them in venues outside these forums.

From an earlier portion of the show (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=516072), an answer is eventually given, in the form of a running banner at the bottom of the screen, scrolling slowly enough to be read, prefaced as an official Dominion response.

To Victoria Sheshet, Allanea

First let me say that I admire both your courage and conviction for making such an attempt, especially in the face of our decidedly firm statements on the matter of our government’s attitudes towards yours. Next allow me to sincerely apologize that I cannot at this time be of any assistance to you, in spite of my desire to be able to do so. I am even more sorry for this after learning of your impassioned plea on international television, and the subsequent mockery and insult you received from your so-called leader on account. Allow me at the very least to offer compensation for your lost funds.

The hard facts are this. The Dominion cannot in good conscience enter into any relationships with Allanea until such time as there is a significant change in attitudes, ideology, responsibility, and leadership. Before you throw this missive away in disgust, please allow me the courtesy of attempting to explain why this is.

As it is the most egregious point, I will begin with your current leader, Alexander Kazansky.

Any sane citizenry would have by now demanded a leader who thought more of the state of his nation and his people than the supposed ‘party in his pants’, or lack thereof. At worst, they would have held him accountable for the many regrettable things that have happened to them, while he goes on to live without concern or consequence in the lap of luxury. It is a disgrace how he continues to carry on, sipping champagne from skulls in hot tubs full of women like some frat boy on a bender while his people continue to suffer for his mistakes. Does this behaviour not strike you as odd at the very least? Irresponsible, perhaps? Unconcerned, even?

He touts himself as a great military leader, while sweeping his many defeats and humiliations under the rug as if they never existed, focusing instead on genocidal exploits with pride, while loudly decrying the misdeeds of others, whether they measure up to his own ‘sins’ or not.

He brags about being a political leader when it is his actions that have directly caused the deaths and continued suffering of hundreds of thousands of his own people, flippantly allowing other nations to come to their aid, while he funds and incites yet more conflicts elsewhere instead.

He would rather show himself to be a childish playboy, hell-bent on hedonism, slandering and bragging as he goes, than take the needs of his nation, or the international community seriously. I am not so prudish to suggest that only this or that may be done, for morality’s sake or otherwise, nor do I presume to dictate morality to others. I do however believe, as does much of the multiverse it seems, that some things are best kept out of the street, where they tend to scare the horses, so to speak. There is a difference between being brazenly shameless, and just plain stupid after all.

He is, whether you will admit it or not, a disgrace.

The next few points are more difficult, given both the focus and breadth of them. I fully realize your people as a whole value self-expression and individuality, and in truth, I agree with the recognition of such. We humans were never meant to exist as a collective, but as a gathering of individuals, whether we find ourselves working together, or not. But I ask you, at what point does the pursuit of such self fulfillment become a liability for you? At what point does the need for benefiting the whole as opposed to the individual come into play? And if it does not, how do you expect to function as a society, aside from the self-perpetuating cycle of gain and need that tends to go on economically?

I challenge you that a group cannot properly function if the only concerns are those of the self. Those who have found themselves slipping into that trap even in my own nation have found that in the end, it does not grant them what they had hoped. To move forward, the group must to some degree or other move together, or the center cannot hold, and eventually, chaos reigns.

And while I again respect and admire your desire and indeed rights to express yourselves, I ask this. Do you and yours ever take the time to offer the same respect to others, with your nigh constant efforts at imposing yourselves, your oddities, and your lack of propriety in places and times where it is not perhaps, appropriate? Your lack of regard for others shows in nearly every action your government, and many of its people take, even for something as supposedly small as your message. While I applaud your ingenuity at getting it to its intended destination, did it ever occur to you to attempt to make it anything more than a general carbon copy request? It was nearly thrown out with the rest of the junk mail on account.

It lacks direction, it lacks a contact, in fact it lacks nearly everything one expects from a message asking for something some would consider as important as the re-establishment of some sort of dialogue between nations. It reads like spam mail claiming a penile enhancements. Most of the missives from your government do, if one studies them. You present yourselves not as serious diplomats, but as used car salesmen, hoping to grease your way into getting what you want, and laughing all the way to the bank. As you said, there’s a sucker born every minute, and your government certainly has illustrated a knack for searching them out, and taking advantage of their good natures for as long as it can maintain the illusion.

Believe what you will, as Kazansky has already stated he does - you and your people have my deepest sympathy. Indeed, my pity, whether you feel indignant at such statements or no. Your continued acceptance of the status quo leads me to believe that your people are too ignorant to know better, too indoctrinated to demand anything better, too apathetic to care, or lack the comprehension to understand the difference between freedom, and reckless endangerment and abuse at your government’s hands. You lack adequate protection, save through what alliances and ties you are able to maintain for however long a time. You lack direction, save for the near constant bluster and attention-grabbing actions that all too often seem designed to elicit a negative response just so that you can have something to cry pity for. You lack cohesive leadership, save when that leadership is engaged in whatever depravity his mind has concocted for the moment. And in engaging in what seems to be a constant, desperate rush to achieve satisfaction, at whatever the cost, you lack soul. I cannot imagine having nothing more to look forward to in life than the grasping, selfish pursuit of instant gratification that seems to personify your people, and for that, and for your continued abuse on account of it, be it by your leaders or international powers, I weep.

You Victoria, demean yourself with such things as was broadcast internationally lately, and with so closely associating with a mindless, selfish child like Kazansky. From what I witnessed your people cannot all be lost causes, for surely you must be more than simply an exception to the rule. Your words to him showed occasional promise, and wisdom, while his were merely the barely cogent ramblings of a sociopathic hedonist trying to claim a martyr complex.

If you want things to change, change will have to be made on your end. If you want your government to be taken seriously by more than those few you’ve chosen to surround yourselves with, the likes of which all too often fall into similar categories as Allanea for their inability to present themselves as more than your usual run of the mill, frothing at the mouth egoists, too wrapped up in their own superiority to acknowledge that their actions have consequences that are not always so easily undone.

If that time ever comes, and you and your people are serious about reform and a new start, under whatever form of government you choose for yourselves, know that at the very least you have a sympathetic ear here, and one willing to listen to proposals, and perhaps even requests for assistance should they be needed.

Again, my heartfelt apologies for not being able to offer anything of substance at this time. The Dominion stands firm on its policies, and cannot betray ourselves, our allies, or our own ideals for pity of the Allanean people alone. Regardless, I wish you luck in finding some method of balance or path through the chaos, in hopes of eventually finding that center, and becoming in time, a respected nation among your peers.

With regard,

--Nathicana D’Aquisto, Dread Lady and First Imperatrice of the Dominion

A Roanian can lounge anywhere. Give one a stone chair on top of a windy hill, and he'd be indolent on it faster than it would take another person to decide to sit down. Alessa was never one to break a trend, so lounge on her couche she did, rather attractively too. (Though it helped that she was wearing what a Roanian would consider the bare minimum neccessary for a young lady travelling randomly on her own). "Rose, bring up the channels for the system we're passing through."

Right away, Mistress Annirere

Alessa picked up her remote as the holoscreen lowered from the ceiling, and began to flip through them. 'Big Brother 30000, My Life Amongst the Elves, 'Hunting the heretic and how to clean and skin him', "The United Nations: A Celebration" and something called 'Yogi Bear'. Oh, and 'Anarchy around the world: A Diary of Chaos". Hum.' "Anything decent on, Rosie?"

At 7:30 on Beam 500 there's "One Man Under God: The Matthew Iesus Story

Alessa made a face. "What about right now?"

World's Funniest Terminal Diseases, and some new show by Lossë-Elen entertainment. About Alexander Kazansky.

"Well...I don't know about Kazansky...but there only so many humorous terminal diseases." Alessa folded one leg over the other and sipped her wine. "You might as well put it on." She sighed and closed her eyes. Unfortunately, when she opened them she was staring right into a pair of breasts that placed her own nice pair into the shade. Her eyes narrowed, and the glow in her eyes began to brighten dangerously as the episode wound on. "Rosie."

Yes, my captain?

"This...Kazansky. He's meant to be running a country, right?"

Depends on what you mean by country. Rosie waited a second, and then spoke again. My lady?"

Alessa was currently watching the poolscene. For what might have been the first time in her life, she was actually in a position a human or elf would recognise as 'sitting'. Her fists were also clenched as if there was nothing she would like more than to direct some violent magical energy at the people within that group. "I've seen enough, Rosie." She hissed, a little orb appearing in her hand within which was a perfect fascmile of what she had watched on TV. Suddenly jagged lightning bolts shot through the image, chargrilling everyone. Then, against all probability, a volcano erupted inside the swimming pool.

Shall I change the channel?

"What?" Alessa looked up. "Oh. Oh, no, no, just turn it off. This might amuse me for a couple of hours." She lay back against the cushions and resumed her illusionary acts of magical homicide.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"From across the galaxy and down to Darsalin, this is the DN42."

'Owing to the unfortunate riot outside the Allanean Consulate in Darsalin Base this morning, Allanean News Network is now a blacklisted channel within the confines of the Viceroyalty of Roanian Mars. A government spokesmale said that the viceroyalty was looking to hold talks with Lossë-Elen entertainment about related matters...'

"Talks? Talks about what? It's your own fault for running it. We put up clear disclaimers that go so far as 'Do not watch this, it sucks' and 'we disown all content and themes within this televisual horror."

Spokesperson, LEC

Victoria Sheshet's lips are only slightly pale as she enters Kazansky's office. She cannot see the sensordust filling the room, and yet she knows it's there. She needs to collect herself before she begins to speak. “The Dominion... the Dominion sent a reply, Alex.”

Kazansky looks at her carefully for a few seconds. “I don't understand. They refused to meet with you, is that correct? Why are you so upset, Vicky?”

Again, a pause. “I read the reply already, Victoria. It would be a lie to say I did not expect something like that from the Dominion. But I will not demean myself – and you, Victoria – by saying “I told you so”. I am not, happily enough, going to stand re-election anytime soon. I do not need to be making remarks on this level.”

“I will – you will pardon me – not make any comments on what Her Grace had said about me and this show – you understand that what we are saying will be, of course, viewed by people all over the world and I do not wish to disgrace myself by turning this into a match of insults between myself and the Dread Lady.”

Victoria starts to say something, but Kazansky halts her with a simple jesture.

“But on a broader perspective... let me just look over her comments on the Allanean people. There are, as you understand, two great tyrannies in the world. The first is the tyranny of government – a form of legitimized violence society uses on it's members to make them.. conform if you will. Don't do this, that, and the other, or we will send people with shiny uniforms and they'll send you to prison. I believe I don't need to explain to you what has been done in Allanea to prevent this sort of tyranny – our Constitution – our political system – our courts – and yes, our military.”

“But there's a far less obvious sort of tyranny, Victoria – one that, in fact, is necessary in a society before the first may take firm root. Call it the tyrant-neighbor, if you will. It's the small things that strangle you, day-by-day. Imagine, if you will, a society that has a uniform code of conduct imposed – not by a government, but by custom. For example – it was never illegal, to my knowledge, to wear a toga through the streets of, say, New York in the 20th century. But for some odd reason, how many men in togas could you meet in 20th century New York? In the street, I mean. Not at themed parties.”

“See, in Allanea, we have dealt with the Tyrant-Neighbor. First of all, we've managed to create a society that's broken up into so many little subgroups that it's not possible for a single set of customs to take hold of everyone else. Second, we have now maintained a few generations that despise all customs but the respect for the oddities of one's neighbor – if by respect you mean not mocking or snubbing the fellow who insists on wearing a tie. The difficulty is... it's really hard to make an Allanean to wear a tie in the first place.”

“And this is a difficulty – you've seen firsthand what horrors it wreaks on our international prestige. But then, the question remains -”

“STOP!” - Victoria's scream reverberates loudly through the room. Kazansky's eyes widen.

“What the -”

“Alex! Listen to me, please! You have to stop your show! Now! At once!”

“...you're joking, surely. Why the hell should I stop the show?”

“Why? Well, apart from the fact the Taraskovyans, with whom I have nearly renewed relations, have stopped even responding to goram phonecalls?! Apart from the fact that you're making the entire nation look stupid on television? How about the fact that you've given everybody on the goddamn planet the opportunity to mock you, your sexual habits, your life?!”

Alexander Kazansky recoils in horror as he looks at the Secretary of State. It is as if she has announced his death sentence, not suggested that he should end a television show. It takes him a few seconds – but he rolls his chair back to the table and says one firm word.

“No.”

“Alex! You can't... you can't do this to yourself! I mean, screw everything else. I mean... why? Why? Why are you willing to submit yourself to this horrendous humiliation? What are you trying to gain? Do you think that there's one nation outside Allanea where a person could conceivably view this and think “Oh, Alex is so fucking cool, I wish I could be like hm?” Is there at least one person on the planet to whom you think this could somehow endear you? And I don't mean the Allaneans who already think you're some form of fucking deity, Alex! You can't go on like this!”

“Mmm. I was going to cut down on the online orgies. Viewer polls say the public does not like them.”

“Alex! Please, for the love of God! Stop the show! Call the Menelmacary televisionpeople and tell them you don't want to do it anymore.”

“No, Vicky!” - Kazansky's voice is now angry. He rises, pushing his chair aside. Only now the viewer realizes how much he is taller then Victoria.

“Alex, please... what do you stand to gain from this nonsense?”

“Everything, now shut up! I'm – NOT - SHUTTING – THIS - SHOW – DOWN!”

“Alex, I'm your friend! That's how you recruit people into your inner circle, remember? You only let people you trust into the cabinet! I'm not talking about the good of the nation! I'm talking about you, just you, shut the show down, please! Please, you can't-”

“I am not shutting this show down just because Nathicana D'Aquisto or whoever else it was – and I probably said her goram name wrong, so fuck me if I care – I'm not shutting it down because Nathicana D'Aquisto thinks it makes me look bad!”

“She and the Taraskovyan government. And, mind you, everybody else on the planet outside Allanea. Alex, it's deranged.”

“No, you goddamn fool! It's my only hope! Can't you see I've got nothing to lose here?!”

“What? Your only hope? Alex, you're raving. And as for losing... apart from your popularity, respect of the entire world, and your dignity, sure, nothing.”

“I don't care, Vicky. Let the whole world hate me – let my closest friends turn against me – let me be removed from office – this show will run it's course.”

“Alex... did you just admit that this show is more important to you then your office as President? On live, international TV?”

“Oh, fuck you! Yes, god damn it! As a proper fucking Allanean I care far more about my private life than about my duties! And as long as I carry out these duties faithfully, it should not matter what I care about!”

Fear now reflects in Victoria's eyes. She cannot even begin to comprehend what has happened to Kazansky, but she is afraid. She backs slowly towards the door, trying for one last time: “Alex, please! Please, end this awful-”

“Enough of this! Get the hell out of my room and don't talk to me about this subject again!”

* * * *

A few days later

Victoria is now far away from Kazansky-Island – she has other duties apart from the duties of the Secretary of State – and as a matter of fact, the set of the Kazansky Show now brings in her a sense of dread. And so, a small helicopter bears her to a location not far from one of the six Strategic Forts that defend Allanea. Briefly, she can sport the enormous slabs of armored concrete that form Fort-Czapp, it's gun emplacements and missile launch arrays – and then, the helicopter overtakes it and heads south-west along the shoreline.

Her goal is a smaller – anything is smaller then a Permanent Strategic Fort – building. Visualize a mix between a gothic monastery and a fortress, and you will begin to have a sort of clue about the First Convent. The helicopter sets up to land, and it's door slams open even before it has fully settled on it's landing pad.

A woman in a black-and-white nun's livery rushes to assist Victoria – but there is no need. With her head held high, Victoria steps off the craft and walks towards the Convent's doors.

“Greetings, Sister Victoria. How may I?”

“A room, Sister Constanza. That, and my computer. I have to send a few letters.”

Dear Aiyana!

I apologize for not writing to you for an entire week, but you know that my two masters – the Allanean Republic and the Messenger's Sisters of Liberty – are demanding ones. Yet it seems that I have missed something, something has gone askew in my plans.

Surely you are aware of the horrendous television show that my immediate superior – Alex Kazansky – is running these days, with the aid of some Menelmacari television company. However – as you will see once you view the file attached – he is taking the whole thing far too seriously – as if his life depends on the show's success (which it can't, given he is immortal, and perfectly so). He had nearly gone berserk when I pointed out how horribly embarassing the very existence of the show is to him as a person.

Courtesy of the show, I am actually mailing you a video segment of my conversation with Alex. As you understand.. this behavior is not exactly common of him. As such, I am facing two options. Either Alex has gone terminally insane – something I find hard to believe – or, more likely, that the administration of Losse-Ellen have some from of hold upon him – perhaps through some dark secret of his, something that took place during his exile in Menelmacar. This is the only logical reason for the desperation that is so obvious in his voice when he speaks of the show.

Aiyana, I need to end this horrendous show.

Can you somehow help me?

Sincerely yours,
Victoria

She paused, looking at the sea outside the high window of her room – more like a prisoner's cell in terms of size and comfort. Now, the other letter. This would prove... almost harder to write.

It is again a letter to the Dread Lady herself.

Your Majesty!

Forgive me, but I do not know the proper terms of address. It is likely that your full title is not 'Majesty' but something else entirely. Where I am currently, I am lacking in reference books. Also pardon me if I fail to address every point in your wonderfully-detailed letter. It was more then I hoped to receive in return.

The great debt that I, personally, feel to Alexander Kirillovich prohibits me from discussing his real and alleged personal failures in this medium. Suffice it to be said that I believe you to be mistaken in your evaluation of his character – although like you, I am slightly puzzled as to the meaning of his latest project.

As for the shortcomings of the Allanean people... first of all, I do not recall saying in public that 'a sucker is born every minute', or at least never in regards to the people who are nice enough to cooperate with Allanea. Our relations with our allies are nearly always in some form bilateral. Our friends in the Sovereign League bailed us out during our conflict with the Reich – we aided them in Operation Hallowed Sabre and in the Eurasian War. If I'm a used car saleswoman, I at least sell cars that actually run.

The Allanean national character is ill-shaped for international diplomacy. For one, quite a few people here see the complex workings of ritual associated with it - the black cars, the three piece suits, the elaborate legalese – as a peculiar form of outdated oppressive custom, in one rank with floor-length dresses and avoiding pork. Second, Allaneans are ill-suited for political compromise – as you have already realized by now.

Between us, if Congress were to cooperate a little, I am pretty sure most of the political demands the world community can make on Allanea – reducinng the flow of arms to terrorist organizations, for one – could be achieved without even stretching the limits of our Constitution. One would merely have to amend the existing blacklist of terrorist organizations with the few dozen, for instance. But then the problem is that – with few exceptions – the people that would negotiate such efforts would be... Allaneans. You already understand what that means.

I myself am of no Allanean birth, and have spent my childhood elsewhere completely. As such, I am unfortunately forced to agree with most of your criticisms of Allanean culture and society – though I am without tools to amend it in any visible way. I am capable of affecting political change – to amend Allanean foreign policy in ways that would be amenable to the Dominion, to pressure Congress to pass laws that would prohibit the nation's executive branch from doing this, that, and the other. I am uncapable of moulding the 'mysterious Allanean soul', the загадочная Алланейская душа, much as I sometimes would like to do so.

I do, however, agree with your opinions. That I am left with no recourse to rectify the failures you have identified is another matter whatsoever – unless you can suggest one.

Please accept my humble apologies.

I remain your servant and the servant of the Allanean Republic,

Victoria Sheshet,
United States Secretary of State.

P.S. I would appreciate it greatly if you would not broadcast your response to this on international television. I have ordered this message to be routed to you via the most discrete way possible – as such, it'll be both faster and surer in it's arrival to you.

OOC: Not all is as it seems about this show... ehehehehe...

"So Kazansky embarrasses himself even further," mused the Secretary-General. "First by starting the show to begin with, then ruining his entire credibility as a leader with enclosed actions or televised activity."

He snickered, "What else is new?"

Michael nodded solemnly, "Well, not to forget that he started to insult the Dominion, and then when he recieved any kind of response tried to claim the moral high ground." He rolled his eyes. "Please. If he was really serious he wouldn't have made such provocative comments to begin with."

Carmine nodded, agreeing. "I think he lack's the so-called intelligence to realize that everything he does or says on the show can be taken as equivalent to official diplomacy. Insulting one's nation will be, and is likely to be taken seriously. Not to mention that it's especially underhanded and weak -- if he really wants Nathi to know his opinions on the Dominion, he should have sent a private message."

"To be fair, Secretary, he is an Allanean," laughed Michael.

"True," Carmine smirked. "And we could expect nothing else from him."

Michael's attitude turned serious, "What kind of response do you want to make to the show, Mr. Goodchild?"

Pondering momentarily, the Secretary-General kept his composure cool.

"I don't. If Kazansky wants to make a fool out of himself on international television, that's fine by me. I've considered he and other members of his staff to be one giant terrorist organization for a long time now; Allaneans are nothing but cockroaches, give them an inch and they'll infest your house - while making themselves look stupid in the process."

He shrugged, "Even as level-headed as their Secretary of State might seem at times, I'm not even willing to give her the credibility that she has any potential either; prone to random outbursts of silliness just as the rest of them. And she is a member of the illegitimate government. Not anyone I'd worry about; positive or otherwise."

Michael smiled, "A wise choice, if I may say so."

Carmine dismissed the compliment, "You said it yourself Mister Thatcherson, they are Allaneans."

An anonymous letter was written to operators of the show in the meantime. It may or may not have been from the Austarian Government, an Austarian Citizen, or from the Austar Union at all. That said, no Austarian citizen would have been interested in the antics of a madman. Hurts the brain, you see.

To: Whom It May Concern, Kazansky TV
From: Anonymous, Undisclosed Location

What can I say, I have been watching President Alexander Kazansky's television show from the get go and it has proven almost every theory that his enemies have come up with. Kazansky is despicable, the stain on the reputation of an even worse nation - he is rude, senseless, has no idea, and has a complete ineptitude to reality; such is a shame for the Allanean people since they seem to suffer from every mistake their leader makes - an almost daily occurrence I might note. Still, they support him, which brings me to the conclusion that most of Allanean-born Freemen have the minds equivalent to either bees or ants, or the supposed freedom of Allanean citizens continues to be the greatest cover up of the known multiverse.

Nevertheless, I am speechless. This is not entertainment but some kind of punishment - heck they could show this crap in Prison as a kind of response to unsocial behavior. I'm sure even the criminally insane could agree, Kazansky is without a doubt one piece of shit the world could do without.

One thing I'm curious about however, is if Victoria Sheshet (Allanean Secretary of State), has considered taking measures into her own hands. Evidently she feels like she has some kind of outstanding debt to him, but I must at least comment that she has regrettably done so with any respect she might have retained by otherwise not joining the pariah that is the Allanean government. He is abusive, if not physically, but mentally and or verbally - although it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he did hit her from time to time. The persona that Kazansky has well adopted has gone much further than worth being shocked over - any new revelations tend to only prove that he is indeed a complete idiot.

Still, Victoria seems to have at least half a demented brain. She could injure, maim, torture, or even kill Alexander Kazansky into submission - she, Allanea, and the world might even do better with someone such as herself being promoted to the President-for-Life position, although any other option might be a better option considering his amount of ridiculousness. *chuckles*, For what it's worth, many would probably prefer Matthew Iesus as unelected head of the United States of Allanea, Nathicana D’Aquisto for her common sense, or even Carmine Goodchild for a little of the same - not to say that any sane person would want to, if for any other reason than to force the entire Allanean citizenry into an occupied submission and therefore from interaction with the international community as a whole, hopefully forever. One thing we can agree on, however, is that Alexander Kazansky is far from fit to be running any nation. He is a terrorist, troublemaker, and stain on the universe's proverbial underpants - Oh how I wish somebody would do something about him with a degree of permanent change in heart and mind.

But any man (or woman for that matter) can dream. We all have a dream, and mine is the total and absolute destruction of Alexander Kazansky.

Signed,

Anonymous
Undisclosed Location

Eiå Victoria,

I am writing to you in response to a letter that has been forwarded to me with regards to the show ‘Kazansky TV’ which is already something of a cult classic here. While it is within my power to cancel it (and not even my political power) I am not sure that this would be an… honest… action on our part. We’ve all been watching it on and off over the past few days; it’s quite amusing. I myself have been impressed by your restraint and dignity. Miriel is apparently watching it far too much; whether she’s interested or mortified I don’t intend to know.

I can give you my assurance that there is no blackmail on the part of Luinthelë, she is indeed, incapable of such a thing without exceptional reasons, and I know her, as one of my closest friends and advisors, quite well in this respect. However, in view of the damage the programme is apparently doing, we have decided to scale back its broadcast distribution to Allanea itself as soon as possible, and drop computing bandwidth available drastically. While we can’t cancel the show entirely without breaking faith with Kazansky, this will still drop the international prominence (such as it is) very rapidly, while still in theory allowing it to be available internationally.

As for Kazansky’s motives; tell him ‘It works, yet not in the way you want.’

Yours,
Ranisath Cuilahîr Cuilévaher

First Convent of the Sisters of Liberty

It is good that none of the people that commented on Victoria's dignified comport are unable to view her convent. The first response to the Elenaran's letter is merely to drop to the floor and give a prayer of thanks – and to repeat the Incantation of Praise To The Messenger several times in a pious whisper. To a listener outside Sister Victoria's chamber, it may even seem that she is perfectly silent – only the prayer beads' clicking is heard.

This response is only natural – after all, how would you react if you received a personal letter from God?

And then, Victoria rises slowly. Something in the message attracts her thought again – it is as if a steel trap has snapped itself shut in her mind. She turns to the message and re-reads it in absolute horror. Now, the events of the past few days begin to fall into place.

She rises and reaches for a long, black bag. With a single, sharp pull she zips it open and then turns it over on her bed, letting the objects within scatter free. After some fishing, Victoria retrieves a cellular phone – large and festooned with a variety of strange buttons, as is the current fashion in Allanea – and dials.

At least, for the benefit of Victoria's fans, one half of the resulting conversation is televised. (OOC: Note that television viewers would only hear one end of the conversation with any sort of clarity.)

Kazansky-Island

"And so, faithful viewers… I would like to present the last addition to my collection. It's a digital lasgun – by this I mean, a lasgun designed to be worn on one's finger. As you can see, it's quite small – and, as I will proceed to demonstrate…"

Kazansky's phone rings. It is of a model quite similar to Victoria's, except it's significantly larger and sports even more buttons.

"Yes, Vicky, what would you like… you had a letter from whom? And what did he write?"

A smile of absolute bliss breaks on Kazansky's face. "YES! YES, VICKY! I love you so much, it's the best news I've heard in a year! Fuck that, it's the best news I've heard in a lifetime!"

The viewers, of course, have no idea what the good news are. They can't see Victoria's face fall at Kazansky's word's.

"Alex… I don't know what you're trying to achieve with this show… but I have a message for you… from Him."

"What? Is he going to orti-frag the Island? I do not care! Do you get it, Vicky? I do not care, this is the happiest moment of my life!"

She gulps. This is getting harder then was expected, and yet it has to be done. "It says here 'Tell him it works, yet not in the way you want'. I don't think this means anything good about your, eh, audience…"

Kazansky looks as if he has been hit in the face. "Oh God. Oh my God, Vicky. What…"

The First Convent

Victoria gets up from her bed. Now she understands why this message had been sent to her. The Messenger has given her a tool to achiever her purposes. Now, her voice is intentionally harsh.

"I told you what you need to do. You need to shut the show down."

"No… no, Vicky. It doesn't… it doesn't necessarily mean that. It could mean…"

She snaps the phone closed.

It is well that her end of the line is not covered by the cameras. Victoria's admirers cannot watch her throw the phone like a broken toy.

She waits for a few days, fasting, praying, preparing for a decision she knows must be taken – but one that she fears to take. The calls at her office go unanswered. Her phone is shut down. The other Sisters are ordered to turn laymen away from Victoria's chamber.

Seven days later, she sends a single missive.

Your Highness, Honorable Lady Miriel!

Pardon me for this unsolicited communication. I am not acting on my official capacity with the White House, and as a matter of fact, I shudder to think about the fate my 'career' would suffer, had my superior found out about the purpose of this letter. As such, I cannot trust my message to insecure connections such as the one I am currently reduced to utilizing. Therefore, I beg your permission to make an appointment with you, on Duat, in Issasrach, or in any other location suitable to you, so we can discuss a certain matter of high personal importance to me – though I suspect to nobody else.

I throw myself at your feet and beseech your mercy.

Victoria Sheshet,
High Canoness of the Order of the Sisters of Liberty,
United States Secretary of State.

In the meanwhile, on Kazansky-Island…

The content of the show undergoes, in the meanwhile, a drastic change. No longer does it portray wild parties in the hot tub on the Island. Instead, Kazansky treats the viewers to a sort of guided tour of the pleasures available in Allanea.

On Monday, Kazansky is seen going through a slalom course at a resort in mainland Allanea, drinking elven wine with the resort's owners, and then commenting - with the unmistakable air of one who actually knows what he's talking about – about the painting that hangs in the owner's room. In the remaining hours before he falls asleep he reads Menelmacari engineering magazines, Victorian poetry, and listens to music via a set of immense headphones - so loudly the viewers can clearly discern the contents of his playlist at any time. This repeats itself through the week, whenever Kazansky is alone and until he falls asleep.

On Tuesday, he is touring an Air Force base somewhere near Fort-Steel. He requests permission to use the airfield for some of his own aerobatics – and of course, is granted it. Afterwards is time for Dersconi vodka with Air Force officers, supercaffeine dissolved in champagne in Ellegen Smith's skull, and band practice for the next performance of Kazansky and The Cabinet – from which Victoria is absent.

On Wednesday Kazansky gives a lecture to a crowd of economics students in Liberty-City about the importance of the Allanean contribution to the studies of modern praxeology. Afterwards he visits a gaming convention in the city – kissing Agent Parkinson on the lips, playing a game of Space Crusade, and even singing some filk songs for the audience.

On Thursday, Kazansky inspects a few naval ships on patrol in the Greater Prussian Bay. After requests from the sailors, he performs his cover to a Cascada song. On the helicopter that takes him back to the Island, he reads a book titled "Paranormal Species of San Nereiana: A Study In Contrast".

On Friday, Kazansky throws a LAN party with the other inhabitants of the Island. The party involves computers, drink, and Parkison, who gleefully retires with Kazansky to his room – that, too, is televised – but at least the tub is not in play again. Two hours later, Parkinson and Kazansky rejoin the other participants and resume playing Dawn of War. This lasts literally until dawn on Saturday.

On Sunday – the day before Miriel likely receives Victoria's message – Kazansky spends the first half of the day reading in his office. Then he cooks some immense animal – accompanying the preparation with a commentary not unlike that in a cooking show – and then eats the animal with his guests. Of course, wine and the skull of Emperor Galf make an appearance as well.

It does not appear that the events are in any way scripted – apart from the fact that Kazansky has decided, for some reason, to tone down the 'depravity' of his behavior.

Perhaps he is worried that his viewers would remove their eyeballs with red-hot pokers just to spare themselves the horrors of the early days of Kazansky TV.

His Most Supreme And Divinely Illuminated Imperial Majesty Lord-Emperor Elrond Cassander Luciel Aeliel Baal Drakharn I Rejuvenator had very little to do on a day-to-day basis. In part this was because the government of the Divine Imperium pretty much ran on inertia, with thousands of bureaucrats keeping the entire thing humming on pretty much the same terms it had been running on for the past 2000 years. If any new crises coped up, the bureaucracy was so large it could just engulf them. The system, thus, tended to work.

However, it left very little scope for the Lord-Emperor to actually do anything. He lounged on his throne, reading one of his favourite books. Occasionally he'd sign off on a form brought to his attention, but generally the day-to-day business was handled, as it had been since the death of the Empress, by the ArchChancellor and cabinet.

"And now, Your Majesty, if you would just sign here, we'll be able to put an end to that nasty business about relations with the rogue state of Allanea." The seneschal nodded when the Imperial Seal was applied. "Splendid." The Roanian flipped through the forms. "And this will authorise assassination attempts on all that Kazansky loves..." He provided yet another one. "And this will authorise the Allanean ambassador to be fed to the jabbervock in the zoosphere here." That one was signed. The Seneschal bowed and walked to the door.

"Hold off a moment, actually." Cassander sat...well, he didn't sit upright, because Roanians don't do that kind of thing. And certainly he didn't get agitated, because for a Roanian, even one who was half-elf, to get particularly agitated about whether a human lives or dies was out of the question. There was a little curiousity in his eyes, however. "I think it's best I try to talk to him. Ruler to ruler. I mean, we have so much in common."

"You're a Roanian Lord-Emperor, heir to a line that stretches back into the murky depths of history, and he's a child in a child's body who just happens to live for a long time?"

"Well..."

"Your wife, the Light-Blessed Lady-Empress Ailisanra, died in your arms while to all accounts the 'woman' he loved has spurned him and refuses contact with him?"

"Yes, but..."

The Seneschal continued with a weary disdain for the 'human' they were both discussing, as if he felt this conversation was wasted. "You have children? And he... is a child?"

"If you would just..." Cassander sighed, his eyes growing dimmer.

"Maybe it's your intelligence. You just completed a thesis on agricultural techniques in pre-Imperial society, and he...um...he's...well...he's on a reality television show?"

"All right, I think you've made your point." Cassander pushed a button on his throne and a beam of light shot out. The Seneschal crumbled into dust which blew away on the breeze. "Now that that's done..."


PRIORITY PRIVATE COMMUNICATION

TO: President Alexander Kazansky
FROM: Lord-Emperor Cassander of the Divine Imperium
RE: Current relations between the Divine Imperium and the United States of Allanea

President Kazansky,

I appreciate that you must feel very strongly about this television show. However I retain faith that your recent notoriety has not removed your willingness to at least read a friendly letter from someone without your public profile.

I am under significant pressure to withdraw our ambassadors and consulates and expel yours. There are a number of reasons for this, though the salient points are as follows.

A) The recent experimentations on the planet you call Mars have alarmed the public in my nation and others, and raised the specter of Allanea's government not having sufficient control over its citizens. I am aware, through discussions with my finest Anthropologists, that the Allanean people would disagree, and I respect your feelings in the matter, just as I hope you would respect mine.

B) Evidence has surfaced, I won't bother to repeat it in the event it is slander, that the Allanean government engages in at least tacit support of terrorist activities and that the Allanean government itself is linked very expressly with a number of bodies. I would not consider this worthy of my sacred notice, if it was not for the insistent faith that members of my cabinet have in their sources.

C) Recently, I have learned that there is a television series featuring you. One of my agents, a rather charming young lady whom I might send to pay you a visit one of these days, has provided me with a full feed of her own volition. I'm afraid I must state that I disapprove intensely of some of the behaviour witnessed in this show, as unfit for a president, an officer, and a gentleman. I, of course, believe that this is merely an act put on for the audience. My cabinet ministers disagree strenuously.

I am aware that the opinion of a 'xenos', one who has, owing to the tyranny of distance, very little contact with leaders within Sol, would not be of particular value to you. However, it is my opinion that it is this television show especially that damages relations between our nations, as my viceroy in Sol reports that many of his subjects have been stirred up against you personally and Allaneans generally. As the agreement between our nations was specifically in regard to Darsalin Base, the failure of the people there to continue supporting it is concerning.

So be it, however. You are your own person, and can do as you please. I just advise that there might be consequences. Minor, in your view, perhaps. Yet consequences nonetheless.

Sincerely,

CD

While all this went on, the Congressional vacation was now drawing to an end. For Kazansky's viewers, it meant that the show would become significantly more boring. More and more, the show would be interspersed lavishly with footage of the Allanean President at his desk, doing what seemed to be work – writing letters, reviewing bill drafts, and sometimes reading long statistical reports from the different Departments. The Army was submitting a report on the new Ekranoplans, the Navy was reporting about the training sessions the Sakkran officers were still administering, and the Department of State was complaining about the ongoing failure of attempts to improve Allanea's status on Mars (Kazansky had shredded that one after reading the first page).

The activity had reached a boiling point in the last day before the opening day of Congress. Alexander had spent the entire day in front of his desk, reading letters from the leaders of the major parties – the Libertarians, the Republicans, the Constitutionalists, the Democrats, the Anarchists and the New World Order (as usual, letters from the Ambivalentira, Socialist, Communist, and National-Socialist Party leadership 'got lost in the mail).

As was usual, Kazansky chose his clothes for the Opening Day event himself. This year he would be dressed head-to-toe in clothing done by an expensive Vinyatirion tailor, and, apart from a pair of two ceremonial gold-framed pistols, he looked every bit the suave Menelmacari nobleman. He declined an official transport to Liberty-City, electing instead to use his own private aircraft – a two-seat A-10 Avenger, painted jet-black from nose to tail. Of course, he did not let anybody into the second seat of the Avenger, electing instead to fly to the capital on his own. His wives and the guests of the Island made way for Liberty-City on the Presidential Yacht.

Of course, it would not be an Allanean event if Kazansky didn't show off, and Kazansky showed off by landing his plane on Jefferson Avenue. He paced between two short ranks of Boy Scouts and right into the building of Congress.

He was greeted by a roaring buzz of over eight thousand voices. Alexander smiled at the different Congressmen, and proceeded the speaker's podium. It was not any different from any other such podium in any other legislature – except, of course, the large screen mounted on it to show the speaker's name, rank, and amount of legislative endorsements, and the fact it was covered by an energy shield to protect the speaker from gunfire.

It took a few minutes for the hall to fall into silence, and then Kazansky spoke.

“Greetings, my friends.”

“As is usual, I have been asked to open these proceedings. So, first of all, a short report on the state of the legislative proceedings. I am told that the Libertarians and the Republicans have approximately thirty-eight percent of the voters' endorsements between them, and that together with the Constitutionalists they maintain a majority in the House of Representatives – of fifty-one and a half percent. In the Senate, a similar coalition has emerged, with eighty out of one hundred and fifty seats controlled by the L, the R, and the C.”

“It's not really my job to comment upon the different proceedings in Congress – I just veto things.”

At this point, Kazansky was interrupted by a young man in a punk's outfit and a glowing pink Mohawk. Television viewers would immediately see a caption that identified him as “George Dayton, Democrat - 1,235,347 endorsements.”

Dayton's idea of parliamentary debate apparently involved jumping on his chair and screaming: “That's all you do, scumbag – vetoing progressive legislation and standing in the way of progress! You fiend! How many em-cees in bribe money had your handlers-”

At this, two men sitting next to Dayton dragged him bodily to his seat. The number next to his name, however, grew – before the camera switched, he became “George Dayton, Democrat – 1,236,501 endorsements.”

The Allanean President did not respond to Dayton's outburst. Instead, he continued on with his speech.

“So yes, it's not really my job to comment on this stuff – I just deliver these news. So yeah, guys. Have a good working session, you've got four months to your summer vacation. I'll be in the Presidential Booth, watching y'all. I believe it's the yearly budget that's up for discussion now. The Democrats want to amend it, or somesuch.”

“So good luck with your work -”

“And may God Bless Allanea.”

Several hours later

The Presidential Booth is a bit like a separate booth in a theater – except for being protected by a layer of transparent shielding, of course. It has enough place for the President of Allanea and several of his close associates, enabling them to watch proceedings in the Allanean House of Representatives as they occured.

Right now, an aged politician dressed in a peculiar blue catsuit remininscent of 'CSI: Las Vegas' ('Josh Quirrell, Democrat, 16,300,405 endorsements') was at the podium, talking about the contents of the current budget:

“- a disgrace! That's what it is! A central government that spends less then five percent on education is just that, a disgrace! This is not new – this has been Coalition policy for years and years – more and more money for aircraft carriers and anti-missile programs, less and less money for teachers and classroooms! This is their goal – every Pi for defense, not a dime for eduation! This is what they want, the greasy, extremist, corporate pigdogs!”

Now the purpose of the podium screen became clear – it showed Quirrell's name and the amount of people who currently endorsed him. Right now, it was falling, falling through sixteen million two hundred ninety thou-

“However, I would like to state that, over the summer, I have come to agree with my comrades on the right on this issue.”

There was a stunned silence through the hall. Even Kazansky leaned forward slightly. “Surely he doesn't plan to try and regain his endorsements merely by...”

And then, Quirrell spoke again.

“You understand, I would like to submit a bill to this Congress. A bill that would further limit and qualify public education spending. You will soon receive the exact wording – but the point is, I would like to institute a set of harsh, harsh conditions before states receive any education funding at all from the central government.”

From several ranks at one, there rose a murmur of approval. Dayton tried to rise again, but was immediately grappled by the men next to him.

“As such, I suggest we should deny education funding to any states that do not institute what I call a system of teacher's licensing.”

Quirrel smiled benignly upon the audience as he regained his seat. A few minutes later, a woman in Khristian traditional clothing rose to the podium in his place.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is unbelievable. What, teachers' licensing mandated by the central government? Here, in Allanea? What next? Licensing of the schools themselves? Mark my words, if this passes, we will not even need licensing of schools. Once the state governments comply with the scheme, once it's universal, we will see a system of total control of the schools and education by the State. Is this not something against which we were warned back in the 19th century?”

“Let me just paraphrase Brownson on this one – Such a system of education is not inconsistent with the theory of Xirniumite society but the thing is wholly inadmissible here.”

There was an uproar of agreement from one part of the hall, and an uproar of hatred from the other.

In his booth, Kazansky smirked happily.

“Say what you will about Quirrell, but the man's got talent. I'll bet you five hundred bucks that the newspapers will be debating teachers' licenses for the next four months.”

OOC: If one has all these spiffy dominions lying about, one might just as well RP them.

- - -

From: Kirill McFlintock, Minister-Chancellor of Atlantic Island
To: Victoria Sheshet, USA Secretary of Foreign Affairs
Subject: Vigvar's gloom
Encryption: Confidential

Dear Miss Sheshet,

I am contacting you on a sort of a personal initiative. As a Taraskovyan dignitary, I am not supposed to exchange letters with a member of the Kazansky Administration as per new interior directives, but His Excellency Ithun Khat, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, has given me the green light.

Not sure the message shall reach you, considering your latest lack of participation in important events, but I could not help but write to you to express my worries about the latest developments surrounding the Allaneo-Taraskovyan relations. Judging by the Overseer’s gloom face, Vigvar has lost any faith in the seriousness of the Allanean administration. So far, Vigvar has not ordered us to wrap up our operations in Northern Haven States, but something tells me such an order is highly probable.

And it worries me, Miss Sheshet, it worries me greatly. You shall excuse my bluntness, for I am an Allanean just like you, despite Vigvar’s gradual introduction of the term “Atlantic Islander” and phasing out of reminders that ARIA once belonged to Allanea. During my tenure as Minister-Chancellor I had to work with two Taraskovyan governments: a military junta and the democratic authority of today. Regardless of their political views, they have always been consistent and steadfast in their policies vis-à-vis of the outside world. The feeling in Vigvar today is that if the Allanean leadership is “crazed”, then Allanea itself is “crazed” and unpredictable.

One thing you must know about Taraskovyans: you do not want them on your back with that murderous ice cold glow in their eyes. Remember how that Allanean punk of a president insulted Taraskovya? Remember how it played out? Back then, they did not even have a foothold in Haven. Nowadays, TNDF's strategic artillery throughout their outposts in Haven can obliterate any and all Allanean states even before your military manages to respond. They have outposts in some of your other states. If the TNDF gets the go ahead, all of your cavalry and all of your men will never be able to put you back together again. And Vigvar does not stand alone, since they have allies which aren't particularly known to be fond of Allanea. And even those nations Allanea has been desperately trying to befriend shall simply stand aside and leave the Taraskovyans with full freedom of action.

As such, I implore you to radically shift your life style and cease being an obedient servant, or simply quit your job. Your President-for-Life has failed you, he has failed Allanea, he has failed himself. He has failed. Both thumbs down. Cease carrying the burden of his mistakes, once and for all.

If Kazansky ever so much as provokes Vigvar in the future, I shall not be able to do anything for you. We Atlantic Islanders are just a hundred million out of eight billion Taraskovyan subjects. Vigvar listens to me, but it does not mean Vigvar follows me.

Yours,
Kirill McFlintock

Lady Eagle was already dressed in her travelling clothes. The Roanian embassy staff in the Allanean capital had been packing things into their shuttles ever since the letter from Cassander had arrived. Enough time had passed, the Roanians felt, for the next letter.

The Ambassador placed it, and a copy of the previous one, in Victoria's possession, and then left. The Roanians completed their withdrawal within fifteen minutes, leaving their embassies and consulates in Allanean space abandoned.


Dear Miss Shehet,

owing to circumstances beyond our control but directly related to Alexander Kazansky and his refusal to respond to the friendly tone of our previous missive, we have been forced to order diplomatic contact between our nations cut. We advise once again that Kazansky is a threat to what remains of the Allanean reputation.

We have no hostile intentions to your people and we look forward to renormalisation of relations. We will give you 36 hours to withdraw all of your citizens from the Divine Imperium before we take steps to expel them.

~ The Divine Imperial Foreign Office, Master Justiel Garin Presiding.

The First Republican relaxed in his study with a newspaper when Sir Alec, Minister of Foreign Affairs entered "Did you catch the new 'Alexander Kabansky' show."

The First Republican cleared his throat "Kazansky, not Kabansky, and no, I did not."

Sir Alec chuckled "Whatever. Anyhow it was rather ridiculous."

The First Republican shrugs "When the dim-witted decide they want to be popular they buy it. Mr. Kazansky has succeeded in becoming popular, he has become the 'Paris Hilton' of politics. No discernable talent for anything, except creating a spectacle of himself."

Sir Alec gave a hearty laugh "I'm writing Lossë-Elen Entertainment, they have to get him a chihuahua and an anorexic side-kick!"

Victoria has shrugged at the letter from Tarasovka – she saw it as a way to kill two birds with one stone. Her first act was to write back to the Taraskovyan official in a simple letter.

Dear Sir!

First of all, I am surprised at your pointing out that you are as Allanean as I am. I am as Allanean as you are Taraskovyan – that is, I may hold citizenship in Allanea, but I was not born in this society, and do not share it's culture and many of it's values. I am Khristian, as a matter of fact. Second, I suggest that you look to your own in-depth knowledge of Allanean culture – you may recollect that threatening Allaneans is never productive.

Ab auctoritate rei publicae Allaneanae,
Victoria Sheshet.

'And now, ' – pondered Sheshet, 'for the other bird'.

Within hours, copies of the Taraskovyan letter arrived in the editorial rooms in dozens of Allanean newspapers. In the evening, it was printed in Liberty Times, under the caption – KAZANSKY ADMINISTRATION DESTROYS RELATIONSHIP WITH TARASOVKA.

The morning after, the White House was bombarded with letters – different in tone, similar in message:

"While I respect the President deeply, I would suggest that the reality television show run by him should be ended, due to the damage it is doing to Allanean relations with potential partners abroad…"

"While I don't really care for Austar Union or the Dominion, the destruction of all progress in our relations with the Taraskovyans is a painful blow…"

"Fuck you, Alex K, that fucking does it! My stock of CBBC has dropped 1.5% this morning because of the business with Roania, and this is YOUR FAULT! I HATE YOU AND YOUR STUPID SHOW!"

Kazansky's response was to pile the letters in a big pile on the beach of the Island and ignite them with a flamer.

The show continued.

Miriel Aduniel Celebtiriel nos Fëanor to Victoria Sheshet of the Order of the Sisters of Liberty, greetings;

I have read and considered your message and I have decided that I shall receive you at Fëanor Palace Vinyatírion, 12:30 local time (VtST), tomorrow.

Manwë keep you under the One, and send fair wind to your sails.

And so, on the day and hour specified, Victoria Sheshet had arrived to Feanor Palace. She was not wearing her uniform, nor was she wearing the sacred livery of her order. Instead – jeans and a blue shirt, and a pair of Allanean army boots would suffice.

Excerpts from various Taraskovyan and ARIA media:

Grand Ducal Parliament overrules ARIA Constitution: McFlintock sacked

The Grand Ducal Parliament, under whose authority falls the overseeing of application of Grand Ducal law in Taraskovyan Dominions, has voted at an overwhelming majority today to overrule the Constitution of the Autonomous Republic of the Island of Atlantic and sack the Minister-Chancellor Kiril McFlintock. Overseer Kiril Molodarskiy was given full powers over the territory pending a further decisions.

“The content of the letter is not that proper to a Taraskovyan official,” a communiqué by the Parliament stated. “The stand alone behaviour of the Minister-Chancellor cannot be tolerated. And yes, as one can see, we can sack McFlintock.”

The Joint Parliamentary Committee on Foreign Affairs shall study the allegation that Foreign Minister Khat authorized the sending of the letter. The Committee is especially interested in whether the Foreign Minister supported some openly anti-Taraskovyan statements contained within the letter.

“I do not deny that Minister-Chancellor McFlintock contacted me with a request to be authorized to write to one Miss Sheshet,” His Excellency the Minister has stated. “I was not privy to the content of the letter myself and I was inclined to leave an elected official with the benefit of the doubt. I recognize my mistake, but I do not deem it grave enough to warrant standing down, as some gentlemen from the NPCA would love to.”

All of Atlantic Island’s political parties and movements, except for the Allanean Island Party, have condemned Sheshet's lack of discretion and put a share of the blame for the crackdown on her shoulders. It appears Atlantic Islanders did not really understand why she had to offer the private letter to the broader public instead of simply answering in private. The other share lies on the Minister-Chancellor, because "he just had to try and mend ties, really. And he chose the best person ever to do so with."

Kiril McFlintock, while sacked from his post, shall not face any charges what so ever, despite what some of the less trust worthy sources might indicate. The former Minister-Chancellor has stated that he would retire from politics and concentrate on more personal things.

[…]

Sheshet: not an Allanean, doesn’t share values

In a response to Minister-Chancellor McFlintock, Victoria Sheshet admits: “I was not born in this society, and do not share it's culture and many of it's values.” It would appear that Kazansky has chose the wrong kind of people to sit on his Administration. In fact, one can ask whose interests does the Administration serve: Allanea’s or its own?

[...]


Police puts down Libertyville, Sion riot attempts

Agressive demonstrations against the sacking of McFlintock, organised by the Allanean Island Party, have been dispersed by the Republic’s heavily armed riot police. In Libertyville and Sion, a group of aggressive rioters confronted the police using firearms, which left dozens injured, mostly rioters. Local police forces were assisted by TNDF’s Security Troops.

The Independence Party, whilst not calling for demonstrations, has condemned the Taraskovyan intrusion into ARIA’s interior affairs.

“Vigvar and Port-Allanea have both shown why we need independence and freedom from their gangrenous stupidity,” an IP spokesman stated.


[…]

Security Troops shut down Allanean Island Party

TNDF’s 212th Security Division has confirmed that its personnel have raided offices belonging to the Allanean Island Party detaining leadership and disrupting the party’s work. The measure followed the Party's call to demonstrations and riots against the Taraskovyan authority.

“We have not yet received orders to detain the AIP representatives in Congress,” a TNDF officer stated, “but we are ready to do so anytime.”

The Allanean Island Party, which calls for Atlantic Island to reunify with the United States of Allanea, appears to have the most agressive reaction to the latest events. The the Independence Party, which calls for a sovereign Atlantic Island to be established, has moderated its reaction and reiterated its favouring of a peaceful and democratic separation from Vigvar.

Never the less, the Independence Party has stated it will boycott the Congress, where it has 19 Representatives and 1 Councilor of State, if the representatives from the Allanean Island Party are detained or arrested.

“Whilst we are direct opponents of the Allanean Islanders, we condemn any action taken against an elected representative through non-democratic means. This is Atlantic Island here, not Allanea.”

[...]



Overseer: humanitarian operations in Allanean Haven states shall continue

Overseer Molodarskiy has denied any claims that the Republic’s Civil Defence personnel deployed on humanitarian mission into Allanea’s Haven states shall be called back.

“They are not there to help the government, but the people. Ordinary Allaneans should not suffer simply because Kazansky and his administration have lost all notions of reality.”

The Overseer did state that the workers would be recalled if “the Allanean leadership deemed their presence as no longer necessary.”

[…]

TNDF: “We can torch Allanea. But what for?”

A Ministry of Defence spokesperson has denied that they were going to torch Allanea anytime soon.

“The Grand Ducal Government and the National Defence Forces see no reason to go to war with Allanea, unless Taraskovya is provoked in any substantial way. After all, give Allaneans power and they will destroy themselves.”

[…]

Vinyatírion had long been a shining city of gleaming opalescent towers, many of them with octagonal rotational symmetry, or cylindrical, sheer sides. Fëanor palace was no different in that respect, though it was one of the larger and more impressive buildings in the city, like a mountain of warm ice set in its own gardens, with shoots of shimmering ‘Mithril’ and ‘glass.’ Neither were what they appeared to be. While Menelmacar did have Mithril, in great store, it was far too valuable to use as a building material.

What was often erroneously reffered to as Mithril was dense steels and more exotic materials, covered in two millimetres of solid, if synthetic, silver, and half a millimetre of a diamond-like substance that made it even more reflective, like a mirror. It was quite true that elves did love shiny things. Such structures were in fact, so shiny that many included dark-fields to reduce the blinding glare in the tropical sun of Menelmacar.

The ‘glass’ used was the same, not what it seemed; to even the trained eye, there was no discernable distinction, but at the level of atoms, or even of crystals and ionic bonds, there was virtually no resemblance. The super-resilient material had no real material properties in common with glass – save a translucency that was artificially amplified.

Victoria Sheshet had a good opportunity to see all this, and the carefully pointed roves of the areas nearer the ground. Carved wooden outbuildings and veranda structures from which banners fluttered and pastel curtains waved stood in the gardens, along with a number of streams and rivers, carefully planted woodlands of all types, ice-gardens and picturesque walled gardens where rare herbs and delicate flowers grew.

Of course, the reason that she was able to see all this so closely was because they wouldn’t let her take a vehicle near the palace. She wasn’t on an official visit, she wasn’t a ‘trusted’ person, and they didn’t think she was a good enough pilot anyway. Not that they said it.

Well, they didn’t say the last bit.

Because of this, when Victoria did make it to the palace’s doors, she was running late. When she made it to the ‘business areas’ she was running even later. There wasn’t any ceremony involved, nor did any of the staff bother to meet her, until she asked, when, after a perfunctory identity check, she was sent up in a lift that ascended to one of the highest spires of the palace.

The waiting room beyond, onto which two lifts (one of these was internal, though it wasn’t obviously different) opened. Thirty feet wide and half that high, its were delicate friezes of events from Menelmacari history, scenes in bas-relief from ankle-height to where the sloping ceiling – doubtless concealing something in the sizeable volume that was covered by the leaf-patterning.

There were two doors leading off the area, and though she couldn’t tell, three one-way windows looking in. One set of high, double doors bearing the Menelmacari dagger-star, swung open, to reveal another set of oaken doors with a great eagle carved on them in excessive detail. Not even a crack of light passed through either set, and the outer doors swung closed behind the ‘Kristian-Allanean’ without a sound.

There was a slight delay, as impossible, inconceivable, incomprehensible forces plucked at her, examining every atom of her body, every subatomic unit, and every thought in her head – though they did not relay or store these, they analysed the structure of her mind, searching for Asimovs, action blocks, hidden personalities, aberrant thoughts, chemical imbalances, and emotional states. As what they did find in her mind was precisely what the profile anticipated, and as, ‘not being an Allanean’ she wasn’t stupid enough to try and bring a weapon, the second set of doors swung open slowly, to reveal a deserted room beyond.

The receiving office of the Elentári was longer than the ‘waiting room’ but a little thinner, with about the same volume. The ambiance of the room, with its high, nave-like roof of golden leaves and wrought tree-form pillars. Unadorned surfaces of silvery-wood made up the walls, and fountains and couches decorated the room, as well as ‘pot plants’ that grew directly from areas of loam in the floor.

Like ghosts, a pair of white-and-black armoured Mornahossë appeared, and directed – in a quite perfunctory manner, Victoria to a door on the right hand side of the room, which opened up into an even wider room, with even more window space than the office had possessed on its far wall. The room was larger still, with fifteen chairs arranged in a two-row effect around an ancient version of the star of Fëanor. These were fragile looking chairs, seemingly twisted of vines and ascending high behind their tall occupants, contained foremost, occupying the chair opposite the double doors was the Elentári.

On her right was the Elenaran (with Luinthelë between them), and on her immediate left, Maglor. Of course, these weren’t the only ones. Clockwise from Maglor were Celebrimbor, Miriel, Glorfindel, an asian looking human she had no business recognising, with a staff propped against the back of his chair, Túrelio, to empty chairs, Serendis nos Fithurin, Sharan, Serindë nos Eärendil, the Prefect of Trade, and another empty chair, whose distinctive iron construction suggested it belonged to Asirnoth. This chamber was in effect, a cross between an audience chamber and cabinet chamber. There were other seats around, for larger meetings of this council of the Wise, and several servants and tables in the room for refreshments. A dog the size of a lion lay with his paws sitting on Siri's feet, and his tail waving somewhere near Celebrimbor, he looked up with one eye, raising an ear, and sniffed in the general direction of Victoria, before deciding to go back to dozing.

Victoria Sheshet eyed the elven lady with a certain air of apprehension, and then smiled. "Greetings. You must be the honourable lady Miriel nos Feanor. I assume you have an inkling of the purpose of my visit."

"A fair idea, yes," she replied.

"In this case..." - Victoria blushed to the roots of her hair - "Would at least... would at least the honourable Governor depart from the room? I am about to discuss a... a very good friend of mine, and I would very much like to avoid submitting him to further mockery... "

Sharan blinked, "What? Oh, if you insist," he said, and walked off through Sirithil’s office.

Victoria smiled shyly. "I apologize, your Honour. You understand... it's about this horrible, horrible show. You know, of course, that I have requested numerous times, that... I asked Alex to end this show, because he's making a goddamn fool of himself on international live broadcast."

"Not any more... It's domestic only now..." Luinthelë put in.

"And... and I care. I'm his friend. It's silly, I know - but he's like that. If you work with Alex... it's different, it's not like he's on TV, at all. I actually care. Not because he's President, because he's a person. These days, though - even though he's centuries older then me - I kind of feel like his mother. And, as you can imagine, he doesn't listen to me. I thought... I don't know why, but I thought, maybe he'll listen to you.

"I thought... maybe you would be merciful enough for some form of message for him... something to get him to end this show... and yet not cause him any more suffering... I don't know if you guessed yet, but he's madly in love with you. Has been for ages."

"Oh?" she asked mildly, "You know, we could just pull the plug on it anyway..."

"You could?" - Victoria asks, and her eyes lit up with hope - "You would do this, Your Highness?"

Miriel waved over to Luinthelë, "You don't recognise her?"

"No, I am afraid I don't. The only reason I recognise you is because..." - she suddenly fell silent.

"Because?" inquired Serendis meaningfully from behind the visitor.

"Because I have seen photographs of the Honorable Lady before."

No one laughed, surprisingly, and Miriel decided to continue, "Well, in any case... She owns the 'station' that's running it. She did do a personal introduction to the miserable thing..."

Victoria turned to Luinthelë in a snap. "This is a horrible show. You're allowing Alex to horribly self-destruct - helping him do so. I can't make you stop - if I could, I would. I just am... asking you to do so. Please."

"As you wish," she said simply.

Sheshet 's face shone with relief. "Thank you, your Honor. Thank you so very much."

---

Mere moments later, the television show’s feeds disappeared as though they had never been, in all formats. Doubtless copies would still exist, and become some sort of twisted cult classic, but otherwise, its euthanasia was as abrupt and unpredictable as its creation.

OOC: *awaits the other half of the convo*

OOC: *awaits the other half of the convo*

OOC: *hands Allanea a truckload of matsah to have something to chew while waiting*

Somewhere in Port-Allanea in the Allanean Haven States

“Are you sure you want this job, dear? It could be very dangerous.”

“You aliens are so naive. You are not afraid when it comes to going in the street – where 0.000015% of the population are ACIA agents who could kidnap you for horrible experiments – but you shudder in fear when I apply for a job with a guy who's known me before Allanea came to exist. Besides, with luck, he'll give me a laboratory in one of the Strategic Forts. That is far safer then our house.”

“Dear... our house is a counter-ortillery shelter from the Monocorporation. You've bought it when we've moved into Allanea again, remember?”

“Yeah, so? Think how much safer you'll be ten kilometers deep under layers and layers of armored concrete.”

“Uhm. Honey, have you ever given any consideration to the fact I have, you know, a life?”

But 'honey' – a young-looking man wearing a light-blue three-piece suit (an outfit more unusual in Allanea then, say, a toga or a set of Original Series uniform) – was not listening. He was mounting a bicycle. The strange vehicle sped out of the yard and into the street where it began to accelerate to speeds normally unusual for bicycles.

What was more unusual was the trail of orange and blue smoke that was rising behind the 'bicycle'. When it approached a street corner, there was bright flash of light like from a hand-grenade, and then the vehicle was gone.

A day later, Rejiro Techno – apparently, an old friend of the Allanean President – was appointed as head of the Defense Research, Expansion, And Development (DREAD) at the Department of Defense. Possibly this was favoritism. Also possibly, the man's 'unique and unequalled skills' also had something to do with it – anybody who builds a dimension-travelling bicycle in his back yard clearly qualifies as a skilled engineer.

In Alexander Kazansky's Office

“I can't believe... Victoria, I hate you. I hate you so much right now you cannot even begin to fathom it. If I could somehow explain to you how much I loathe you right now, your head would explode like a grenade. I can't... you went there and said... oh my god, Vicky. There's been...” - he smacks his head forcefully into the table. - “I need another drink, Vicky. I can't believe this.”

“But... didn't you write to her already, and basically said the same thing?”

“Oh Christ, Vicky. You're the dumbest Khristian in the solar system. And given Khristians are the most idiotic race that still qualifies as sapient, that's saying a lot.”

“You don't really believe that. You're just looking for a way to drive me mad. Alex, do you really think I'm going to fall for this?”

“You are dumb. See, once you told... oh my fucking god in the heavens, how could you even...”

“Once I told...”

“Once you told Miriel... I could not but write and tell her, myself. At this point it was idiotic to pretend otherwise. But... I didn't want to do this. Don't you understand? Why is it you understand perfectly all the shiny reasons we need to suck up to the... world community, but yu can't understand simple things like that? I didn't want her to hear it explicitly said, by me or by anybody close to me, that I love her. Here, I said it. Happy now?”

“Huh? That's public knowledge anyway – ever since that biography Cecil did.”

“That's.. different. This way it made it sound like I'm trying to win her hand or something. Which I am not. Okay?”

“You're not?”

“I'm not. Because that'd be pathethic and horrible and even more pathethic and horrible then what I'm doing now.”

“So why did you do the show?”

“It was... well, okay, I tried to kind of impress her. Like fuck that'd work. I was miserable and desperate and... fuck you, Sheshet! I hate you, don't you understand? You're not my fucking mother! You're not my friend! You're not my sister or girlfriend or anything like that! We just work in one office, okay? What the fuck makes you think you can do this to me? Did I let you? Did I at some point say “Vicky, you can go and talk about my private feelings in front of the goddamn Emperor of Menelmacar?” Did I, you fucking stupid slut? What on earth made you think you could... I hate you, Vicky, do you understand this? I want you to go and throw yourself off a fucking cliff! I want you to... God, I want you to feel like I feel now.”

“Eh?”

“Visualize you can't die. Ever. Even if you shot yourself in the face, you'd still be back in a few decades of suffering as a bodyless ghost – and visualize that you're the most base vermin that's ever crawled the earth. Visualize that you've destroyed the very last of your dignity and self-respect in your own hands – and visualize knowing, down to the deepest bowels of your sould, that you will always love only one person. And that person will never descend to the point of more then laughing at you. Never. And that you deserve it.”

He rises from the chair.

“I want you to try and visualize that you are condemned to this form of punishment – forever. For all of eternity. I will never speak to Miriel as an equal. I will never get to shake her hand, to see her smile at something I do for her, I will never sit next to her at a table. This has been denied to me, and – to make it all worse – I deserve it. There is no appeal.”

“I will never be loved by someone I love. For ever. For ever. Get over it – except I can't get over it. Sometimes there exists an emotion which you don't get over. They call it 'true love', I think. The kind of thing people in those fairy tales must feel, except I don't get married, don't live happily ever after, don't ever kiss or hold or dance with Princess Charming – ever, ever, ever. Can your tiny mind stomach never like that? Can you visualize this going on forever?”

“Visualize eternal life – as an immorality of suffering. Visualize my wealth – as a gold plating over an open wound. Visualize my power as nothing – for what could I possibly abuse it for? What is the point? I am vermin. I have nothing. Dignity? Self-respect? Hah! What do I care if D'Aquisto thinks badly of my rule? What matter it is that Darsalyn writes letters to me and admonishes my behavior? What will they do to me that is somehow worse then this? What?”

“You are not my friend, Vicky. No matter how much you pretend to be. No matter how you believe yourself to be. You care about what I do just because I happen to be President, and because what I do impacts Allanea's national prestige – in the eyes of people you want to suck up to. Never mind we have about eighty nations allied to us and we really don't need more. You just do your job – your duty as you see it – you don't care about Alex. You care about President Kazansky, and what he does. I respect that. Just don't call yourself my friend. Ever.”

Victoria looks startled for a second. “Alex, it's not true... it's not like that at all... Miriel said she wanted the show off..”

“I hate you, Vicky. I hate people who pretend to be my mother or friend or whatever and take charge of my life. I can't fire you – because you honestly did not fail President Kazansky. I just don't want to talk to you – except if you really have to, for work or stuff.”

“Alex!”

“Get out.”

“Sasha, listen to me, it's not like that at all...”

“Get – the fuck - out.”

“ALEX!”

“Trespassing is a really serious crime, Victoria. Get out or I will have you thrown out.”

“Listen to me! Please!”

“GET OUT!”

Dear Aiyana!

I think I have screwed up again...