Eternity RPC Board
04-29-2019, 02:22 AM
(This post was last modified: 04-29-2019, 02:22 AM by Seperallis.)
Nereta, Videjszeme
Such a dark dismal day of endless mists drifting down from blankets upon quilts upon sheets of clouds. A day of air so thick and moist that those gathered beneath streetside awnings and overhands still felt the sticky grasp settle within their clothes hair, where one could grab fistfulls of dew, and footfalls splashed as much from they did from their wake in the atmosphere. A day that deserved the comforts of a warm drink and a crackling fire.
Viktors Petrovskis had neither in his study. Well, maybe a little something to warm the belly and soften the dryness of his reading as he poured over the recent report on the state the disparity between his agrarian countryside and the high-tech fast-life of the cities, a relatively recent development since the boom of foreign IT outsourcing to the country. Mordvanian investment - among others - had been a driving force in the surging buildup of new economic avenues, but the somewhat rapid development and import of educated cosmopolitan labor to meet it had caused its own host of problems that the knock on the door made it really hard to keep straight in his head, god damn it.
"Come in," the man heaved with a sigh, sitting back in his chair and placing his glasses upon the papers to rest his eyes; despite the clock reading midday, by the light outside it might as well be dusk.
The door cracked open, and in peeked a hand sliding upon the frame as a body followed in via head-first lean through its narrow invitation. The girl - it was clearly a girl now, Viktors' eldest - glanced left and right to confirm no one else was in the room while curly brown tresses bobbed along, an act that took not even a second in an answerless cadence that nevertheless felt itself drag itself, like this sentence, far beyond the bounds of pointlessness.
"My apologies, Mister Stanonik is here for you."
Still in the doorway, a hand appeared on her shoulder and another around the door to wedge both gently into the room, and in the place stood the long figure of Simo Stanonik, prime minister, blond eyebrows hinting at what an unfortunate bout of baldness had seen him lose some decade before. "Thank you Miss, but that is completely unnecessary-"
"I insist that it is, he is a very busy man, and we can't have anyone come in here."
"He's Simo, dear, hardly just 'anyone,'" Viktors stated with a sip of his glass and a smile, "but I appreciate your concern. Shouldn't you work on your oratories?"
"I already finished them," chimed the girl in an air of triumph, and grew three inches taller at the revelation."
"Is that so?" replied Viktors. "All the better then, let's have you continue your work, and keep anyone from interrupting me and Mister Stanonik."
The girl happily complied, almost skipping out the room and doubling back to close the door behind her. Both men watched her leave before Simo began, not waiting for an introduction, "I won't be taking much of your time, I simply came to inform you of an invitation by Saratov to a 'Marzannan free trade' negotiation."
"Again?" Viktors shrugged and shook his head, "well maybe this time it'll actually start. But you know you don't need my input anymore?"
"I do, but I still want it. This is something of a topic on which I'd rather we had some unified front while addressing."
Victor leaned back and took another sip of his cup. "Then we will be unified, Mr. Prime Minister, and as my input is that your input shall be heeded, what is your input?"
"That we go, see what others say, say some things ourselves and see what comes of it."
"Then that is what we will do."
"But what is your opinion of it?"
"What matters what my opinion is anymore?"
"What matters is it matters to me," said Simo, who slowly approached the desk, "I don't trust the Brigidnan affair that is brewing, yet I feel that it's long past time that we tried to bolster our negotiating power in the world. It's unfortunate, and there will be consequences, but we will deal with them. But we'll have to be at the meeting to make something favorable to us."
Viktors nodded along up to the end. "And I disagree; the Brigidnan plan would benefit us more precisely because less is likely to come of it, whereas this Saratov plan is likely to succeed, and do you think they care about outcomes that benefit Videjszeme?"
"We weren't invited to Brigidna."
"Yet another reason why my opinion doesn't matter. Go to this meeting, let's see what we can get out of it."
"Mm." Simo motioned to the papers on the desk, the report Viktors had been reading some moments prior. "I see you are already somewhat aware, but there is another matter I wanted to discuss, as well..."
Such a dark dismal day of endless mists drifting down from blankets upon quilts upon sheets of clouds. A day of air so thick and moist that those gathered beneath streetside awnings and overhands still felt the sticky grasp settle within their clothes hair, where one could grab fistfulls of dew, and footfalls splashed as much from they did from their wake in the atmosphere. A day that deserved the comforts of a warm drink and a crackling fire.
Viktors Petrovskis had neither in his study. Well, maybe a little something to warm the belly and soften the dryness of his reading as he poured over the recent report on the state the disparity between his agrarian countryside and the high-tech fast-life of the cities, a relatively recent development since the boom of foreign IT outsourcing to the country. Mordvanian investment - among others - had been a driving force in the surging buildup of new economic avenues, but the somewhat rapid development and import of educated cosmopolitan labor to meet it had caused its own host of problems that the knock on the door made it really hard to keep straight in his head, god damn it.
"Come in," the man heaved with a sigh, sitting back in his chair and placing his glasses upon the papers to rest his eyes; despite the clock reading midday, by the light outside it might as well be dusk.
The door cracked open, and in peeked a hand sliding upon the frame as a body followed in via head-first lean through its narrow invitation. The girl - it was clearly a girl now, Viktors' eldest - glanced left and right to confirm no one else was in the room while curly brown tresses bobbed along, an act that took not even a second in an answerless cadence that nevertheless felt itself drag itself, like this sentence, far beyond the bounds of pointlessness.
"My apologies, Mister Stanonik is here for you."
Still in the doorway, a hand appeared on her shoulder and another around the door to wedge both gently into the room, and in the place stood the long figure of Simo Stanonik, prime minister, blond eyebrows hinting at what an unfortunate bout of baldness had seen him lose some decade before. "Thank you Miss, but that is completely unnecessary-"
"I insist that it is, he is a very busy man, and we can't have anyone come in here."
"He's Simo, dear, hardly just 'anyone,'" Viktors stated with a sip of his glass and a smile, "but I appreciate your concern. Shouldn't you work on your oratories?"
"I already finished them," chimed the girl in an air of triumph, and grew three inches taller at the revelation."
"Is that so?" replied Viktors. "All the better then, let's have you continue your work, and keep anyone from interrupting me and Mister Stanonik."
The girl happily complied, almost skipping out the room and doubling back to close the door behind her. Both men watched her leave before Simo began, not waiting for an introduction, "I won't be taking much of your time, I simply came to inform you of an invitation by Saratov to a 'Marzannan free trade' negotiation."
"Again?" Viktors shrugged and shook his head, "well maybe this time it'll actually start. But you know you don't need my input anymore?"
"I do, but I still want it. This is something of a topic on which I'd rather we had some unified front while addressing."
Victor leaned back and took another sip of his cup. "Then we will be unified, Mr. Prime Minister, and as my input is that your input shall be heeded, what is your input?"
"That we go, see what others say, say some things ourselves and see what comes of it."
"Then that is what we will do."
"But what is your opinion of it?"
"What matters what my opinion is anymore?"
"What matters is it matters to me," said Simo, who slowly approached the desk, "I don't trust the Brigidnan affair that is brewing, yet I feel that it's long past time that we tried to bolster our negotiating power in the world. It's unfortunate, and there will be consequences, but we will deal with them. But we'll have to be at the meeting to make something favorable to us."
Viktors nodded along up to the end. "And I disagree; the Brigidnan plan would benefit us more precisely because less is likely to come of it, whereas this Saratov plan is likely to succeed, and do you think they care about outcomes that benefit Videjszeme?"
"We weren't invited to Brigidna."
"Yet another reason why my opinion doesn't matter. Go to this meeting, let's see what we can get out of it."
"Mm." Simo motioned to the papers on the desk, the report Viktors had been reading some moments prior. "I see you are already somewhat aware, but there is another matter I wanted to discuss, as well..."