NationStates Jolt Archive

Two Lavenrunzian aristocrats were strolling through the Imperial Park.
Not so much by their dress but by their manner were they recognized; there was an air of assurance and confidence about them.
A group of tourists from Aelosia were pointing up at a gravship going through the air above.
"Well...von Berg certainly did rid our nation of those elvish influences didn't he?" said one of the men sardonically.
"The indifference of the populace to the message was...surprising." growled the other.
"And now there are Mornahosse in the palace, Territorials everywhere...that will surprised us, didn't it?"
"Yes, my friend it did." the second man glanced at one of the arrangements of hedges, that were already covered in frost. "Delightful."
"Indeed. And now...now what?"
"Now we have to be patient." continuing to admire the hedges, the man said, "You see, our sudden lack of influence is being felt in many quarters.
Now it is time to prepare the way to discontent, disagreement and destruction. The elves are a fading people; the Territorials insular. We have but to move like a sculptor, a nick here, a chip there, and the structure will take the form we desire."

<tag>

Oh, and OOC:
http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-9/365830/dancebmage.gif

Tag McTagaroo

SD Raven bounces happily through, holding an oversize #tag#.

Zimia Province, Lavenrunz

A group of internal security officers had arrived at a rather dreary looking brick factory. There was a faint unpleasant stench, a rather greasy smell around the whole place, and one of the officers, as she got out, put a scented handkerchief to her face. A number of people in convict uniforms were wearily moving equipment out of a truck into one of the buildings through a large bay door.
A soldier supervising saluted, surprised and uneasy at the sight of all the brass. The female officer saluted rather vaguely, her eyes wide.
"Colonel von Kellermann?" a rather stout, red faced civilian approached across the mud stained asphalt, wearing a somewhat stained tunic and trousers.
"Are you Herr Grunewald?" Colonel Kellermann asked. She was a rather thin woman with plain features but an attractive gracefulness about her.
"Yes, your Honour. I'm Grunewald. May I say what a pleasure it is to be able to--"
"Not so fast." one of the other officers was out and looking around like a terrier looking for rats. "We need to actually see the facility first, Herr Grunewald. As you know, Colonel Kellermann is going to be in charge of any operations. I am Major Ehrlich and I represent the Ministry of Information. Lieutenant-Colonel Hotzendorff here represents the Ministry of Defense."
Hotzendorff, young and handsome, looked out of place and rather disdainful. He was staring at some of the prisoners, who were almost sexless with their shaven heads and baggy uniforms.
"I understand, your Honour." said Grunewald
"Lead on, Herr Grunewald." Colonel Kellermann said curtly.
"Your Honours might be aware that this facility was going to be shut down due to the hoof and mouth epidemic a year ago--no animals have been brought here since that time." Grunewald said, "But I am proud to say that it runs most efficiently."
Inside the main building, hooks still hung in rows. Drainage troughs were stained but clean; the grills gleamed softly in the light. There were coils of hoses and still rows of long handled blades, axes and electrical cutting tools.
"What's that smell apart from the general stink of the place?" growled Hotzendorff.
"That sweetish smell." agreed Kellermann.
"Oh, that's a special poison the Ministry of Agriculture sent us for the rats."
"Rats! There are rats?" exclaimed Kellermann.
"Well, there were. You can't help that when flesh and blood and bone are around." explained Grunewald. "Anyway, the poison is pretty effective, your Honour. We're always finding some dead ones about."
"That could explain the rest of the smell." muttered Kellermann.
"Let's see the holding facilities." suggested Ehrlich.
They walked down a large open passageway into the holding facility, which still held a not unpleasant barnyard reek.
"The place will have to be disinfected as well, and the stalls replaced with concrete and wood cells." said Kellermann. "How much convict labour is here?"
"About one hundred and thirty." answered Grunewald. "Fit for duty except for eight, I think--injuries and illness."
Kellermann stared around the place. She felt a bit ill at the task appointed her; she was an engineer for heaven's sake. Still, duty was duty, and this did require an organized mind capable of carrying out a complex and unpleasant task.
"I will work with you directly." she announced. "I think that this can be done; there's no point in writing up anymore paperwork than is necessary."
"And the location is perfect." agreed Ehrlich. "Colonel, I appreciate your confidence and will tell the Baron."
"The nearest garrison is of the 8th Imperial Fusiliers, very steady." Colonel Hotzendorff remarked. "They can secure all roads leading here; moreover the airfield and railroads adjacent will be perfect for moving in supplies."
"Very well." Colonel Kellermann turned to Grunewald, "Now you may extend your gratitude, Herr Grunewald, for being allowed to be of service to the Crown."
The stout man blushed and bowed.
The three officers went back towards the car they had come in, where the driver hastily dropped and stamped out his cigarette. They were chatting pleasantly, feeling that finally they had not made a trip for nothing, after looking at four previous locations.
Kellermann was quieter than the other two; she was pensive. The trials--such as they were--had begun, and her task would begin soon. She didn't have much time.

Good King Wenceslaus looked out
On the Feast of Stephen
Where the snow lay round about
Deep and crisp and even

Brightly shone the moon that night
Though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight
Gathering winter fuel...

Brightly coloured lights were strung up all over Hofburg, and the larger pine trees in the Imperial Park had been decorated. On the salt strewn sidewalks of the city hawkers were selling hot nuts, Christmas decorations and small toys for charity organizations.
Amid the usual neon and flashing video signs for big name companies were signs advertising farm bred turkeys and geese, Christmas trees, pageant and party costumes.
Many people, bundled against the chill--Hofburg didn't get much snow, mostly the occasional sleet storm--were hurrying to and fro from department stores, to waiting taxis or buses or car parks. Civil Guards in winter greatcoats stamped occasionally to keep off the cold and rubbed their leather gloved hands together.

"Hither, Page, and stand by me,
If thou know'st it, telling:
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"

Baron von Shein stared gravely at the disheveled officer before him.
"Colonel von Klippert," he said, "You were the commanding officer of the First Battalion of the Cavalier Guards. Are you telling me that you had no idea that Captain von Berg and his troops intended treasonous murder?"
"None..." Klippert was not a young man, and his once handsome features had sagged, fear in him from his untidy and dirty uniform to his unruly hair and bloodshot eyes. "You must believe me, Excellency..."
The other members of the board conferred quietly. Shein nodded at what was whispered to him, and looked up. "Guilty." he said. It was repeated by each of the others, each time causing Klippert to flinch.
"Sentence, death by firing squad." said Shein, fighting to keep the weariness from his voice. "Next."

From outside he could hear the faint strains of the Christmas music, and wished he was watching his grandchildren decorating their tree. He sternly forbade himself to imagine the same on the part of Klippert's children. Klippert was a traitor; his children and closest relations would either be watched for the rest of their lives or off to the Marsh Islands.
The next person was marched in.
"Name?" asked the secretary of the Justice Commission.
"Hannah Baumann." the young woman said, her gaze direct.
"You are the wife of Lieutenant Erich Baumann, Executive Officer, F Company, First Battalion of the Cavalier Guards?" one of the judges on the commission demanded. He was shocked that she should be so lovely, so unstained in appearance, a wonderful example of Lavenrunzian womanhood.
"Yes, Excellency." she replied.
"Tell us, Frau Baumann, how it is that you gave no information as to the plotted treasonous actions of your husband with regard to his intent to murder the Empress and the Heir." said Baron Shein in a dry voice. He lit a cigarette and drew the soothing smoke into his lungs.


Note: events in this thread follow those in this:
http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=87656&highlight=

As the club doors opened, the sound of drums was already going; and when Spiro was saying, "Ah, Major, your usual table?"
Erica von Fischer was nodding, her body already feeling the rhythms of the song, a nasty hard one like she enjoyed...her friends were handing the valets their greatcoats and eager for a good drink and some hot food.
Piano doing a low melodious rumble;
Mr. Keith with the Teeth was already singing, waving his cane like a weapon:
Eight ball in the pocket with a voodoo moan
You can't trust him, cause he never alone
Then he'll start talkin' chicken shit
And grab your fuzzy dice
That's when my hounds begin to howl
That's when my dogs begin to growl
Don't be shy take off your towel
And get to slammin'...

Erica sat and glanced at the others.
"Well..." said Wolfmar thoughtfully. "What a year."
"Yes." Erica slammed a hand down. "Fuck it, let's get drunk."
There was generally agreement. Colonel von Paderborn waved a waiter over. "Let's have some some good Houdish whiskey."
"Of course, your Honour." replied the waiter with a smooth bow, as Mr. Keith sang,

Dr. Bones, Dr. Bones, Dr. Bones
I love you Dr. Bones
Shake shake shake shake and rattle
Rattle them Dr. Bones
Come on and shake shake shake and rattle
Rattle them Dr. Bones...

Erica leapt up and grabbed the arm of a tall good looking guy in some civilian gear, a bit foreign looking; he was at first glancing in irritation, then grinned and let her lead him out to dance. She didn't care who he was, just that he could dance with her and lead her to some kind of oblivion...

In his study, Count Mirbach was burning a letter. It had arrived by diplomatic post and the thought of using it still made him sweat. The crisping charcoal edges were browning the rest of the letter and flames licked, almost angry to just envelope the whole thing.
On the walls of the study were pictures of his career. As a cadet in the Imperial Air Force Academy. Then as a pilot. Jumpsuited, helmet jauntily carried in hand, grin on his face. Though he really never saw a serious shot in anger as one; mostly air support in anti-CLA operations. As a young member of the Diplomatic Corps, shaking the hand of old Prince Ivarr. A picture of himself with Anna. Ah, Anna...poor innocent, poor pawn, bride of Matthew Iesus...dead. He felt a pang in his throat at the picture of himself and his childhood friend and cousin, in riding costume, laughing.
No time for sentimentality though. Time to get to work. He scooped the ashes into the ashtray and dumped that into the fireplace, which was blazing away. Done. Then he rose and walked out the door.

A small shop southern Knootoss
A young woman of about seventeen years in age was tagging several items in the shop when a strange looking customer came in. The clothes were somehow of a different fasion, a bit behind the time but still very stylish.

The customer looked around the shop and then bought some soap, trying to make himself understandable in Lavenrunzian.

Was that a Lavenrunzian?, the young girl wondered while she opened the till. We haven’t had a Lavenrunzian customer in months – strangely exited she took the mans money, wondering what life he had, where he had come from and where he would go.

OOC:
Knootian for: Welcome back!!!111133333
*huggles* *snuggles*
Missed ya!

OOC: lololo i like to spam threads with the word 'tag' when 34 other people have done the exact same thing omgwftfrofl

OOC: Mottos for Houdish Whiskey

"When you need to peel the paint off the wall with your breath."

"What do you mean it only goes to 200 proof?"

"Making the world drunk, one bar room at a time."

"Barbarians gargle with this stuff, can you?"

#tag#

God bless,

The Republic of Syskeyia

At a brothel on Prinz Ivarr Strasse, Hofburg

Heinrich, a beautiful blonde young man of barely twenty found himself getting aroused again watching a lovely naked woman brushing her long dark hair. Exotic for a Lavenrunzian; there was something foreign, perhaps Athenysian in her blood. Her deliciously full figure was all curves and softness, swaying and concavities blending into shadow as she brushed.
"I could help you do that." he offered, feeling blood rush to his loins as he watched the glorious display of her body.
She smiled over her shoulder at him, and then, as she took in the state he was arriving at, laughed and shook her head. "You amaze me, Heinrich--but no, there's the Ball tonight."
"Ah, yes, the Ball." he said wistfully. "It will be splendid, I guess?"
Countess von Katori, deliciously relaxed and sore, sat down to rub on some cream. "I expect so. They generally are." Why on Earth does a little whore-boy like you care? Stick to what you're good at.
Heinrich suppressed a sigh. He was so rarely really interested in clients. But it was like the Countess had a completely compartmentalized life. She never gossped or talked of troubles. He could not imagine her life outside the brothel, though he had some idea that she worked at the Palace. She was like a box of hidden inner cabinets and drawers, all separate and some brilliant intuition needed to know how they connected...

Zwoll, Lavenrunz

A large container ship had arrived and was passing inspection. Vera Leibnitz was yawning; she had a couple more ships to do--then, dammit, she was supposed to take the kids Christmas shopping. But she was better off than these poor bastards, unloading all these cases of machine parts from Ienotheisa and then onto dozens of trucks and trains bound for factories in the interior. It was snowing too. Weird to see so much snow. It almost made the grimy banality of the docklands...magical. She rubbed her eyes, rueful at her whimsy, and began checking the lists on her clipboard.