Twice Upon a Time in Foxchester (Closed)

[Anaia Region]

This is a closed RP. Do not post here without express permission. TG this nation for details.

A sporting region is one that is almost wholly culturally entwined with NS Sport.

There are four* such regions in the multiverse: Atlantian Oceania, Rushmore, Esportiva and Anaia.

This is Anaia's story.

Contents:
 - The Declaration of Foxchester
 - Twice Upon a Time...
 - The Peace Room
 - The Button
 - Anaia Emerges
 - The Foxchester Amendment

*ymmv

[Audioslavia]

The below all featured in the World Cup 88 Roleplay Thread

The Declaration of Foxchester

Prologue

Foxchester, Starblaydia, ten days after the split

The doors at the front of hotel opened out onto Marble Avenue. They were made of glass, rotated and had the name of a rich Legalite chef-turned-entrepreneur-turned-excruciatingly-smug-television-bastard-turned-chef inscribed in gold leaf and turquoise. In direct contrast in every single way, the double doors at the back entrance opened out onto the bins-and-bookies laden Smith Street and were a mess of splinters and chips through its faded light blue paint. They were covered in grease and had one of those foot-high stainless steel bottom panels that served only to remind you of how many people kick doors open at just above foot height. The double doors opened, the light inside was switched off, and three silhouettes emptied out onto the cobbles, illuminated only barely by the dull pink flickering of a semi-functioning street-light and, eventually, an empty cigarette lighter chattering in the dark.

“You back in tomorrow? Said a rotund woman in a cagoule. The first man got his phone out and stared at it unblinkingly. The second man kept frowning at his unlit cigarette before finally giving up.
“Nah. They’ve got me a shift packaging chickenwire” said the second man, rummaging in his jacket pocket.
“Sounds fun” said the first man, still yet to blink
“It won’t be,” said the second man. “You got a lighter?”
“I don’t smoke” said the second man, staring at his phone. “Bad habit”
“How much money did you spend on Sugar Crunch Adventure today?” said the woman, sarcastically.
“I needed that fourteenth farm to speed up production of these lemons” said the man with the phone, still without looking up.
“Yeah. Well anyway, nice to see you again, take care”
“Yeah see you” said the man with the phone, as he and the woman turned and walked towards the bus-stop round the corner, leaving the second man to continue his quest to make fire without fuel.
“Harrison Harrison?” came a voice from the shadows. Harrison Squared stopped futilely flicking the wheel on his lighter and looked to the sound of the voice. It was coming from a small man emerging from the shadows. He was dressed head to toe in beige, with one of the beige garments being a mackintosh coat that was about as greasy as the door behind Harrison. He rummaged in the coat for a lighter - a gold one with seven letters on the front. “IBJJGNB” - and lit it in front of the man, who put the tip of his cigarette in the flame.
“Harrison Harrison. So… when I called you that time, and convinced you I needed to speak to you…”
“‘Convinced me’ is a nice way of saying ‘bribed me because’”
“Which is a not-nice way of saying ‘paid’, Harrison. When I called you, and offered to pay you… did you panic when I then asked you to make up a false name?”
“Yeah” said Harrison, taking a drag of his cigarette and looking away.
“I hope neither of your names are Harrison” said the man in the mac.
“Closer to that than I’d like,” said Harrison. “One of them, anyway”
“Yeah I figured out who you were,” said the man, putting his lighter back in his coat pocket, but not before lighting a cigarette of his own.
“I was supposed to have quit but, hey, sometimes life, uh, finds a way”
“Yeah I’m quitting soon” said Harrison, for the fourth time that year and the fifty-fourth time since he started, eight years ago. “Do we talk here?” he continued.
“Unless you want to be seen in a bar talking to Jeremy Jaffacake”
“I’m a temp” said Harrison. “If I lose my job I’d earn more money on the dole anyway”
“Why do you do it, then?” Asked Jeremy
“You ever been unemployed?”
“Sure”
“Unemployed and on the dole?”
“No”
“Wouldn’t recommend it” said Harrison. “What you got in that bag?”
“Beers. Sandwiches. It’s a warm evening. Is anyone going to be coming into this car park any time soon?”
“Buggered if I know” said Harrison. “Only done the three shifts here. There won’t be anyone here til the cleaners arrive. 6ish.”
“How about we sit on that bench, crack open a beer, and you tell me everything you know about that temp shift you did here ten days ago”
“The one with the politicians” said Harrison
“The one with the politicians” said Jeremy, producing a can of Batiob Pilsner from his bag.

---

Foxchester, Krytenia, ten days after the split

“Ah for fuck sake” said Rubio, watching helplessly as his flight to Audioslavia ticked over from ‘delayed, expected 3hr’ to ‘delayed, expected 4hr’. To the board’s right, a rotating plate clock kerchunked from 22:59 to 23:00. The shutters on the last open bar rolled shut. It was him and fourteen other people alone in an airport the size of two and a half airports, but for a handful of security guards and some airline staff retreating to the exit or to the much more comfortable staff rooms.

Rubio summoned a chocolate bar from a vending machine, stuffed it in his pocket and went for a walk around the airport, trying to find one of those vending machines that did an overly sweet and powdery espresso which, he once admitted, was his favourite type of coffee. To his right, a girl in uniform caught a glimpse of his tired expression and tried to offer him some comfort.
“Sorry, honey. Flights are a bit iffy, what with the sanctions. Airspace, oil prices, increased security. That flight got stuck in Tyrellia but it’s on its way. They’ll do a quick turnaround too if they can, love”
“Thanks” said Rubio “Honestly I don’t mind airports. Better if the bars are open though”
“I know love. And I’m sorry. Take care” she said, making her way towards the exit. Rubio found one of the coffee machines and took his double-espresso to the quietest part of the airport he could.

His phone chimed to the sound of the first verse of Black Sheep by Metric. Rubio pulled it out of his pocket and noted the caller ID was withheld. He didn’t even know they could do that any more.

“Yellow, Rubio Sanchez?”
“YOU’RE PERFORMING AN AUTOPSY OF THE FOX”
“I’m sorry what”
”IT’S MORE VIVISECTION ANYWAY. THE FOX HAS MORE TO SAY”
“Excuse me what the f”
”THE OTHERS YOU HAVE CONTACTED. THE CHAD AND THE HARRISON. ONE WILL ALWAYS LIE. ONE WILL ALWAYS TELL THE TRUTH”
Rubio took his phone away from his ear for a second. The voice on the other end sounded like someone had run a bass-and-potato filter through it. He thought for a second.
“So if I asked Chad what Harrison would say if..”
”THIS ISN’T THAT SORT OF QUESTION”
“Well then I’m stumped”
”YOU WANT INFORMATION ON FOXCHESTER. I WAS THERE. I HAVE THIRTY MINUTES. YOU HAVE THIRTY MINUTES. ASK, AND I SHALL TELL”
“Jesus, fuck hang on I need to..”
”YOU DO NOT NEED A PEN”
“I won’t remember the exact quotes”
”YOU DO NOT QUOTE ME. I OFFER INFORMATION, NOT NEWS. INFORMATION ABOUT THE MEETING IN KRYTENIA LAST WEEK. THE BIG ONE.”
“I need a name” said Rubio, “I’m a journalist. This is nothing without a name”
”YOU DO NOT QUOTE ME. IF YOU NEED TO REFER TO ME, YOU CAN REFER TO ME AS…”
“..yes?”
”DEEP GOAT”
“Gross”

---

Cestravolpe, Audioslavia, ten days after the split

The Passaggio del Patriarcato is a narrow cobbled pathway that winds along the coast of the quiet yet extortionately expensive tourism honey-pot of Cestravolpe, a village-turned-town-turned-pretentious seaside retreat for families of bankers, politicians and other arseholes. Make your way along the winding road from the train station to a town centre that slopes seamlessly down to an artificial beach and you’ll have twenty minutes of the languid Cosuman Sea to your right and to your left will be a collection of ice cream parlours, quiet bars, expensive looking restaurants and cosy yet expensive bed and breakfasts. Most tourists will stop in the main part of town to sit by the sea, eat an ice cream and sip Marza, a local liqueur made of grapes and marzipan, but those with extra special pretentions will make their way up the hill towards the Sceriffa, a five-star hotel that looms preposterously over the otherwise quaint sea-side resort. All the buildings around it are short, pastel-coloured and crumbling adorably at the corners. The Sceriffa is six storeys of heavily tinted windows and jet black marble cladding but for all four of the building’s sides proclaiming the hotel’s name in giant neon letters. Visiting the town, you get the feeling you’re a lego person in a model lego town that someone has put a bottle of artisanal gin in the centre of. “When did they put that there? Does it even belong here? I can’t even see the bricks. Is someone going to take it away?”

It is along that path, and up that hill, and into that ridiculous hotel that a former politician had taken his family. He called himself a politician, but in reality he was just an overpaid political aide, as nobody would have ever voted for him even if he’d campaigned for free beer and deportation for whomever you didn’t like the look of. After a long evening looking at pretty old churches and museums and art galleries over the rim of their assorted smartphones and handheld gaming systems, most of the family had decided to retire early for the evening, the parents having drunk a little too much wine at dinner and the kids having eaten far too much sugar. The wife announced she was tired and she’d be taking the kids up to the room before collapsing onto the bed. The husband nodded, said he’d have a quick cup of tea and do a bit of work at the hotel bar: that work supposedly being to check the next day’s headline news and offer his services to whichever politico looked like they needed help, but in reality involved ordering a margarita, removing his wedding ring and seeing if he could get a quick tour of someone else’s hotel room.

The woman sitting alone on a comfortable-looking two-person sofa seemed a decent shout. A little older than he’d typically pursue when his wedding ring was firmly in his wallet, but she was wearing clothes and breathing oxygen so she was clearly up for it. He put on his best ‘I’m really really rich’ voice.

“Mind if I sit here” said the man, gesturing towards an area of the sofa directly next to, if not on top of, the woman. She made a show of smiling brightly. She looked momentarily like she was trying to blush.
“Sure, depends if you have a drink for me though” she said, nodding at her half-empty glass
“What is it you’re drinking, sweetheart?” said the man. The woman briefly seemed to get the word ‘sweetheart’ stuck in her throat, but she resisted the urge to vomit it back at him and regained her composure without him noticing.
“Vodka martini” said the woman, eventually. The man smiled disgustingly but would only get the first syllable of his witty repartee out of his mouth.
“Sha..”
“I take it however it comes” she said, which drew a kyuk-kyuk from the man as he sat beside her, summoning a barman towards their table by tapping at it impatiently and clicking his fingers in the air.
“Vodka martinio for the lady, per favorio” he said. “I’ll have another margaritio, please barmanio, gratsy”
“I didn’t know you spoke Italian” said the woman as unsarcastically as humanly possible, which wasn’t very unsarcastic at all.
“It’s the only language they understand” said the man
“What’s your name anyway, sweetheart” said the woman, though it seemed like the vowels of the word ‘sweetheart’ had given her a dull existential pain to say. The man paused for a second to finish his first margarita before answering.
“Chad” he said. “Chad McBad. Now how about we take our drinks upstairs to your place and, hey, you can slip into something more… naked”
The woman refastened the top two buttons of her shirt as she took her drink and finished it. It was water.
“Well it’s good to know you’ve no imagination” she said, in a deeper tone of voice this time, pulling a voice recorder from her purse. “It’ll be really easy to know when you’re lying” she said, showing it had already been switched to record.
“Wh..”
“Chad McBad is the ludicrous fake name I suggested for you over the phone” she said. “It was shortly after I’d told you you had a duty to the Audioslavian people - and to the Anaian and Atlantian Oceanian people - to collaborate with us to tell us everything you know about the Foxchester Declaration”
“But..”
“Shortly after I suggested the fake name, you told me I could interview you if I could find you alone and away from your ‘loving family’ at any point over ‘the next few days’. Well, Chad, here we fucking are. I have a ridiculously shiny hotel room upstairs where we can take our drinks and you can unburden yourself. Just not in the way you were thinking two minutes ago.” The man pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Or,” continued the woman, “I can find your poor wife and play her the tape of you trying to seduce someone, what, four minutes after your kids went upstairs. Complete with the phrase ‘slip into something more naked’, which I actually have to admit I quite *like*, if only for its originality.
“What did you say your name was again?” said Chad.
“Sue” came the reply.

---

Foxdale, The Plough Islands, ten days after the split

With a satisfying thwack, the batsman executed a sharp cover drive and gestured for his partner to get his ruddy socks on. A few seconds later, he returned to his crease having amassed two further runs for his team. A sparse crowd clapped politely. At the back, a gentleman in an off-white hat congratulated the batsman on a hitherto commendable knock of twenty-five.
“It certainly is good to have cricketing weather back at last” he said, waggling his glass of virgin apple juice at the man four seats to his right.
“Totally” said the man. “A week of rain. What are the chances?”
“Oh, the weather had gone unnoticed, I am afraid” said the hat. “Foxchester had beckoned me thence for that business with the Declaring”
“Good gosh, were you? I mean… did it?” it was sometimes difficult to piece together the grammar of Plough Islander English to find where exactly the auxiliary verbs were.
“I was in the room myself” said the hat. “Special administrative support for Cde Martin, you see”
“Gosh that must have been exciting” said the man, moving a few seats closer to the hat. “Would you tell me about it, mister…”
“Clark” said the man in the hat. “Frederick Winston Clark. Quite the accent you have there”
“Well, I’m not from around here, you see. The name’s… Daniel.”
“A pleasure it most certainly is, Daniel. And yes of course, take a seat. What do you want to know?”

---

The Friday

Frederick Winston Clark

“The meeting room at the hotel was named The Peace Room. Shall we say it is an interesting moniker for such a chamber. It is well lit, with a multitude of windows that are individually rather small; the wooden sort that you might heave upwards to take in the morning air in a listed building. The room must be the size of a tennis court, if a little squarer, but has a low ceiling which gives it a rather claustrophobic feel. The tables in the centre are ghastly, however”

Chad

“Big ring-shaped table with a bluish ring of lights above it. It’s early evening though so there’s a warmish golden hue that makes it all feel like a pleasant family cottage. Until the sun begins to set anyway and the dim blue lights make us look like some kind of evil cabal. A ring of chairs around the edge. There’s a gap in the ring where you can get to the centre, and in the centre there’s another small table. Basically imagine a C-shaped table with a circular table in the middle. C-shaped table is about the diameter of, hmm, maybe the width of a living room. The table in the middle is like an average-sized round table. There’s some spare glasses and bottles on it. It’s lower than the ring table so you can still see each other when you’re sitting down.
Everyone sits in order of nationality, so to the right of the gap in the ring there’s Wilbur, and he’s sat next to someone from Cobrio. To his left there’s the gap in the table and then the Vdaran.”

Deep Goat

IT’S THE TABLE FROM DR. STRANGELOVE ONLY WITH A GAP IN IT AND IT’S IN THE ROOM FROM TWELVE ANGRY MEN ONLY BIGGER

Harrison

“Big fuckin table, the diameter of two living rooms. I’m on drinks duty. If someone finishes their drink, I have to top it up. Mainly water and coffee, some whiskies and stuff. You have to take their glass away without them noticing and put a fresh, full one down without them noticing. There’s some spares in the middle you can get to via a gap. Thing is, in this job, at no point should anyone notice you or the fact that their drinks seemingly never end. You’re supposed to leave the room when you’re not busy, but they all keep drinking when they’re not speaking, and there’s so many of them that most are drinking when they’re not talking so… so yeah you don’t leave the room. You just kinda stay there”
“And you hear everything”
“Yeah. You don’t *listen* to what they’re saying, but bits and pieces stick out”
“Did you recognise anyone there. Korra Starblayde, Wilbur Hawes, anything like that?”
“Who’s Wilbur Hawes?”
“First Minister of Audioslavia”
Oh.. shit sorry.
“He’s not someone whose face you’d remember. Or name. Or anything. Don’t worry. Korra Starblayde though?”
“No”
“…No?”
“I mean, the second time yeah, but the first time no”
“What do you mean ‘the first time’?”

Chad

“The second meeting, the Sunday night one, wasn’t initially planned. It happened because of what happened at the NEATO meeting on the Friday. Usually it’s not the *highest* level bods attend NEATO conferences, but we’ve just had elections in so many places and, well, there’s a lot of newly anointed heads of state wanting to get their hands dirty. Wet behind the ears, still pretending they’re going to do half the things in their manifesto. That’s why my boss at the time was there.”
“Wilbur Hawes”
”Indeed. And therefore why I was there myself. There was also Mathieu Lupin, the Osarian first minister, instead of their usual Foreign Sec staff. Dante Quaglia too, Calvetti.. about half the people who ended up signing the Foxchester Declaration on the Sunday. Chromatika sent what appeared to be an argumentative mannequin and.. Well it turns out it was indeed an argumentative mannequin but that’s a story for another time. Not 'all' were newly-appointed leaders, but some were. And it starts with Wilbur. He’d run his election campaign promising to build closer relations to the Anaian nations. The NEATO nations.”
“And this is the old NEATO, right?”
“*An* old NEATO, not the oldest NEATO. NEATO started as an environmental non-gov in Starblaydia. After they disappeared into a financial black hole, their offices and name and even an old trading license that dated back to the first days of AO were taken up by the new version of NEATO - North Eastern Alliance Trade Organization. That was decades ago. Since then they’ve accomplished very little apart from relaxing tariffs on corn and wheat and arguing for free movement of workers but not quite getting it”
“People are treating NEATO as if it’s new”
”This version *is* new. Well the acronym’s been changed now.”
“New Anaian Trade Organization”
”Yeah. There’s an RL States thing called NATO already though, so this is NEATO. Saves them finally removing all the stupidly old signs from the offices”
“It sounds like NEATO isn’t a military organization at all”
“It wasn’t. And then it wasn’t again. Now it’s ‘pretty much’ not a military organization. It doesn’t have a unified army or control over anyone else’s army or anything like that. Likely never will. NEATO having a military wing would be like a civil servant having a security detail”
“It ‘pretty much’ isn’t a military organization?”
“That’s the funny thing. The ‘pretty much’ comes from the magic words. The magic words were spoken”
“I’m sorry what?”

Deep Goat

MAGIC WORDS, MISTER SANCHEZ. DO YOU REMEMBER THE GREAT REMOVE? THE WIGHT INCIDENT?
“Remember it? If it hadn’t happened, I’d never have met my wife”

Chad

“‘Do I remember the Wight Incident’, fucking that’s a good one. I was in Kjeligsted just a few clicks south of Wight when it happened. I almost died. Quit my job and ended up meeting my husband, which is good. And Jeremy Jaffacake. Less good.”
”Well you’ll know the man responsible for it was also responsible for a land reclamation project in Audioslavia, plus some business in the Licentian Isles previously”
“Most people have forgotten about the whole ordeal”
“Audioslavians like to forget about the period of its history before they arrived into Atlantian Oceania, but it wasn’t a brief amount of time at all. If you’re talking about percentages of its total history, Audioslavia hadn’t been in AO for long at all, compared to the other Anaian nations.”
“Wait, what do you mean ‘the man responsible’. Man, singular?”
”Singular. Man.”

Frederick Winston Clark

“Old Shakersson, he called himself. Frightfully dressed. He was wearing blue overalls covered in grease. A white van was parked outside. He rather smelled of burned cigarettes and lavender, but mainly of the forest.”
“He smelled… ‘of the forest’”
”Peculiar man. Anyway, as soon as the magic words were spoken he says he was summoned”
“Magic… magic words? Sorry but go back a bit”

Harrison

”Yeah sorry let’s go back to the start. The start of the end.. Pass me another beer. So it starts with this bald guy. Audioslavian accent. Someone any-further-businesses the meeting which is usually a sign that I get to knock off and have a ciggy soon, but this bald guy pipes up and says pretty much nothing. It’s like he’s reading a script he’d been rehearsing for the weeks before, but the script is just... it's birthday card saccharine shit”
“What did he say?”
”Dunno, wasn’t paying attention”

Chad

”Trust me, it wasn’t what he said, it was the way he said it that caused the reaction. The reaction being… well nobody was particularly impressed. Or even listening at all. The general thrust was ‘closer relations to Anaia’, Anaia at the time being this wishy-washy term that kind of included everyone in the room but also kind of didn’t. Some awfully wet ‘ideal’ that some of the older nations had as this… this far flung future destination where all Anaian nations are ‘as one’. Far flung indeed, right?. It wasn’t usually associated with independence from AO, it was more… it’s more wanky than that. Like that kid in your class at school who says they’re passionate about world peace but in reality they just like instagram.”

Harrison

”It’s like when a company says you’re a family. They don’t know what a family is aside from increased eyes on a photo op. That’s the feeling I got from the bullshit he said. Thing is, everyone else in the room was clearly bored out of their minds listening to him prattle on about unity and family”

Deep Goat

AFTER THE AUDIOSLAVIAN FINALLY FINISHED SPEAKING, THE STARBLAYDI DIPLOMAT REACTED FIRST. HE SUGGESTED THAT THE AUDIOSLAVIAN HAD CONVINCED HIM THAT THEY SHOULD JUST MAKE THEIR OWN REGION WITH BLACKJACK AND HOOKERS. THE AUDIOSLAVIAN DID NOT REALISE HE WAS BEING SARCASTIC AND WELCOMED THE IDEA OF ENCOURAGING THE DEREGULATION OF GAMBLING AND OTHER VICES AMONG THE NATIONS OF A NEW INTER-NATION-STATE PARTNERSHIP, WHATEVER THAT IS. HE DID NOT SEE THE IRONY IN THE THEATRICAL WAY THAT THE OSARIAN PRODUCED HIS LAPTOP COMPUTER AND STARTED WRITING A PRETEND PRESS RELEASE, EVEN THOUGH THE OSARIAN WAS WAGGLING HIS HEAD AS HE TYPED ON THE KEYBOARD AND WAS CLEARLY ONLY PRETENDING TO TYPE, OCCASIONALLY JUST SLAPPING THE PALMS OF HIS HAND UP AND DOWN ON HIS KEYBOARD WHILE SMILING WIDELY AT THE AUDIOSLAVIAN, AND YET THE AUDIOSLAVIAN JUST STARTED SPEAKING SLOWLY AS IF HE WAS DICTATING THE OPENING LINES OF AN INDEPENDENCE DECLARATION. THIS CONTINUED FOR FIVE MINUTES BEFORE THE LEGALITE SPOKE.

Frederick Winston Clark

”I believe it was the Ko-orenite who finally cut in. I mean a joke is a joke but everyone was starting to feel sorry for Wilbur and the Mathieu’s head was starting to get tired from the sheer *energy* of his own sarcastic typing. I mean he was typing on his keyboard with his fists while crossing his eyes and nodding and smiling as widely as he could, it was *so obviously* a joke, and yet Wilbur… Audioslavians are not so bright”
“The Ko-orenite?”
“Abodhiru was his name. Not a name you’d forget in a hurry. He sat forward and said, with a very serious face…”

Harrison

”Why *don’t* we start our own region”
“And who said that?”
”The one that looked like a goat”
“There were Krytenians there, you’ll have to narrow it down”
”Nah it’s from the place where they’re all goats”
“Ibex? Ibixa? Mriin?”
”Yeah one of them.”
“Ibex weren’t part of NEATO”
”Mriin then? Dunno”

Chad

“I was just so embarrassed for Wilbur that I was too busy being thankful that someone had interrupted him at all to figure out exactly *who* had interrupted him. Could have been Starblaydi, maybe Krytenian… honestly it could have been anyone”
“Maybe the Cobre?”
“I’d have noticed if it was the Cobrian”
“Yeah you probably would. So what did they say?”

Deep Goat

WHY DON’T WE JUST START OUR OWN REGION WITH BLACKJACK AND HOOKERS

Chad

“Why don’t we just split from AO?”

Frederick Winston Clark

“Why can an independent region not simply be started, or at least there were words portrayed to that effect. Whatever the sentence was, it caused a white van to appear outside”

Harrison

”Whatever the words were, the guys behind the Audioslavian went pale.”
“Why?”
”They were telling the bald guy they were pretty sure those were the magic words. The ones that had been ‘foretold’, whatever that is”

Deep Goat

YEARS BEFOREHAND, WHEN AUDIOSLAVIA HAD RECLAIMED THEIR LAND, THE INNER GOVERNMENT HAD BEEN TOLD THAT, COME THE TIME, THEY WOULD NEED THE GREAT REMOVERS TO RETURN, AND THAT A SET OF WORDS, IF UTTERED HONESTLY AND SINCERELY BY AN ALLY, WOULD CAUSE THEIR RETURN. THEY WERE THE ‘MAGIC WORDS’. KNOWN BY THE CIVIL SERVICE, NOT BY THE POLITICIANS. BECAUSE POLITICIANS WOULD JUST MESS IT UP

Harrison

”And then this dirty great van turns up and this guy in overalls walks through the door. I mean so much for security. And he’s dragging this box into the room. Oh god the box. He just cuts through to the middle and slings it on the table, knocks over a load of glasses, like I’m definitely not going to knock off early tonight. He says ‘bout time’ and expects people to know who the hell he is. I think he’s my spirit animal?”

Chad

“Knocks over some cups and such, and pulls this cord that makes the box open. What was inside looked remarkably like a dog sighs canon.”
"A what?"
"A dog-sized cannon"
"Oh. OH.

oh"

Deep Goat

OLD SHAKERSSON INFORMS NEATO THAT THE ROCKET SHIP THAT GOES WITH IT IS PARKED OUTSIDE. A MEMBER OF THE PLOUGH ISLANDS DELEGATION LOOKED THROUGH THE WINDOW AND ANNOUNCED THAT, YES, THERE WAS INDEED A SPACE ROCKET IN THE CAR PARK. HE REMARKED THAT IT WAS PARKED NEXT TO A G-PLATE BETA JULIET ‘500’ AND THEN GAVE FAR TOO MUCH INFORMATION ABOUT THE CAR AND NOT NEARLY ENOUGH INFORMATION ABOUT THE SPACE ROCKET

Frederick Winston Clark

“...version of that car, I believe it was built in Bretsaar originally, in Mertagne, before said nation was moved north, that used to be featured in adverts for an old Mertian football team named Blades of Bretsaar, as there was somewhat of a crossover between the ownership of the football club and the ownership of that particular factory, but not the actual company, and so there was a peculiar situation whereby this Mertian football team would be standing next to the latest version of the car - I believe the 500 at that time had slightly pointer air intake inlets whereas the version built to the north in Ostosaide, Ostosaide, the team that once had an octopus on their crest, the version of the car built there used to have smaller air intakes but, crucially for a front-engined three-door at the time, it had this...”

Harrison

”So he says that the thing in the box goes on the rocket, but that you needed some special equipment and some very qualified people to actually do that bit”
“Like some kind of multi-million dollar aeronautics company and a team of rocket scientists, I assume”
”I mean you’d hope so. I wouldn’t fancy figuring it out myself”
“So what *was* it?”

Chad

“He called it an ‘Orbital Ignore Cannon’”
“Oh, I see”
“That’s what we’ve been calling it, yes”

Deep Goat

AN ORBITAL IGNORE CANNON IS THE ULTIMATE DEFENCE AGAINST BORDER DISPUTES. SHOULD ANY AGGRESSION TAKE PLACE, BY ANY SIDE, AT ANY TIME, THE ORBITAL IGNORE CANNON MAY FIRE ACCORDING TO PRESET PARAMETERS, AND THE SITUATION CAN BE IGNORED QUICKLY
“How quickly?”
I HAVEN’T BOTHERED LOOKING UP THE SPEED OF IGNORANCE
“Yeah I don’t really care either”
IT’S PROBABLY PRETTY QUICK
“I reckon it’s quite slow”
WE CAN LOOK IT UP
“Invovles reading though”
YEAH

Chad

“Shakersson says the Anaian nations would be able to leave without it, but not easily. The thing about divorces is sometimes only one side wants it. Or has any idea that it’s coming.

Frederick Winston Clark

“...interestingly the midnight blue version of the 500 was never made with left-hand drive in mind, as up until recently there had been no...”

Harrison

”I mean that was just it. At one point everyone was being sarcastic about seceding and the next, all it took was someone just assuming they were seceding and asking about the technicalities of it for them to go ‘well yeah I guess we’re seceding’. They started describing how they thought the map of Anaia would look, and where its borders with Atlantian Oceania would be. I went away to put the shards of glass I’d just cleared up into the glass bin and, by the time I got back, they were asking where the old man had gone. Like, he just gave them a cannon and left. I mean, great, who wouldn't say fuckaye to a free cannon, but at least have a cup of tea. Basic ferro-ballistic etiquette.”

Chad

“Because NEATO meetings typically *didn’t* contain the main decision-makers in every nation, the people there figured anything they wrote down didn’t necessarily have real, long-lasting, effects on the multiverse. Turns out that was wrong”
“Wait, Chad, you said someone put the cannon on the table.. Didn’t that send drinks flying?”
“It did indeed”
“Did they get cleaned up?”
“Erm… I assume so?”
“By who?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the whole situation got ignored? We saw the cannon in action just once that day, shortly after Shakersson left, telling us we would be needing his services again soon. I don’t know whatever for. All he told us that the reason he was giving us the cannon was that, back during the Wight Incident, the government of Wight had given Audioslavia a present. A ‘we’re sorry we tsunamied you’ present. Only they said they’d sent it into the future.”
“They’d send it later?”
“No. They’d sent it into the future”

Deep Goat

ORBITAL IGNORE CANNONS ARE POWERED BY THE COLLISION OF ROLEPLAYS WITH ANTI-ROLEPLAYS, RESULTING IN THE ANNIHILATION OF A PAST ROLEPLAY, TO BE REPLACED BY *PREVIOUSLY EDITED BY…* INSTANTLY. THIS IS THE COST OF PEACE. AND LIKE PUTTING A SINGLE COIN INTO THE PIGGY-BANK YOU’RE GIVING TO A SMALL CHILD, THE GOVERNMENT OF WIGHT CHARGED THE IGNORE CANNON WITH DOZENS OF SHOTS.
“So *that’s* where all those news reports went”
EVENTUALLY, YES. LIKELY THEY MERELY USED THE POWER GENERATED BY A REMOVAL TO CHARGE THE CANNON. TWO BIRDS, ONE CANNON.
“So how many shots do they have?
ONE CHARGE OF UNROLEPLAY CAN BE USED TO TEMPER MANY CONFLICTS. IT DEPENDS ON HOW MUCH HAS TO BE IGNORED AND WHO BY

Frederick Winston Clark

“...of course, some would say the *true* burst of popularity for the latter era ‘500’s came as a result of the use of it as the title of, and music video accompaniment to, new wave shoegaze jazz ensemble CTX’s hit single ‘500’ from the album ‘Planing Macs for Nigel’, but I rather prefer to prefer rather opinioning the mindset of the preference for... ”

Chad

“Yeah the Plough Islands weren’t in NEATO at the time. There’s always an outsider at these meetings though. Someone to propose ideas that the typical members might not have thought of. This time it was Plough Islands. Great time for their first appearance. Naturally they were invited back for the Sunday talks to join the new region which.. surprised them? Pleasantly so, I believe.

Frederick Winston Clark

“...coming back to my point, actually, the Plough Islands had been invited, as I understand it, to work out the transport agreement we’d been emailing one another about for some time. I hadn’t seen it on the minutes, but I was about to keenly bring it up as ‘any other business’ when Mr. Hawes started his speech”
“Cool yeah but going back to the thing we were talking about, I always thought the lower ride-height of SL version was in depressing contrast to the vehicle’s initial raison-d’etre as primarily a functional and affordable city car”
“Precisely! I mean good heavens, what if a sleeping policeman were to loom into one’s view of a morning drive? Why, in the SL version one would run the risk of…”

Deep Goat

”THE O.I.C. WAS TESTED ACCIDENTALLY. BY THE VDARAN”
“There was a Vdaran?”
”THERE’S ALWAYS A VDARAN”.

Harrison

”Oh my *days* the Vdaran! HAH. Oh man, that was the best thing of all”

Chad

“Yes, regrettably, Vdara had also sent someone to the talks. They were keen on opening trade routes to a place called ‘Yermá’. Said they’d made initial contact in a seemingly inexpensive currency-for-services agreement in an unnamed dockside area”

Harrison

”Worst thing about this job is not having the ability to just piss myself laughing at the shit people do and say. So while they’re rabbiting on and on about borders this guy gets bored and he starts complaining about the cannon. Says Shakersson had pointed it straight at him on purpose. Said the cannon was getting ‘wide’ with him. Says it belongs in the sea. Says he’s going to open it up see how it.”
“See how it what?”
“Just ‘see how it’ was as far as he got”

Frederick Winston Clark

“Good lord, yes. ‘I am going to open this up to see how it.’ are the exact words uttered by the gentleman of Vdara’”

Harrison

”Fuckin’ next thing you know there’s this blink of white light and a sound that goes, just, ‘fwomp’. And he gets to the word ‘it’ as he puts his hand on it... ”

Deep Goat

”THE ORBITAL IGNORE CANNON WORKS BY CREATING AN ARTIFICIAL IGNORANCE FIELD AROUND AN ATTACKED PARTY, RENDERING IT FRICTIONLESS WHEN THE ATTACKING PARTY ATTEMPTS TO ENGAGE WITH IT, BOTH METAPHORICALLY BUT ALSO...”

Harrison

”Just fuckin’ <fwip>. His hand slips off it like a hot knife… like a hot knife *around* butter? Basically he goes to touch the machine but his hand ends up gliding past it like it wasn’t there. Like he’d been trying to put it on the table all along but space-time wanted a say in it before he did it. Frictionless.”

Chad

“’The danger of the Orbital Ignore Cannon is through the consequences of a mistake. Say an enemy fires a rocket at an independent Anaia. The rocket would hit its target and then… would glide past it. Slipping through and around buildings like pushing a marble down a chute. The rocket would carry on, confused, until it exploded, harming nobody but, you might imagine, causing an annoyance in the form of a dulled and utterly silent explosion in the middle of their city. A hologram of terror. There is every chance that, if you overshoot, the rocket simply glides through the ignoring lands and hits… well the first thing that doesn’t ignore it, really.”
“Anaia’s defence system could consist entirely of a few well-placed c-shaped tubes”
”Yes, but that’s actually not necessary with the OIC’s secondary power mode.”

Deep Goat

”THE IGNORANCE FIELD CAN BE CREATED AND MAINTAINED USING LITTLE CHARGE, BUT IF IT USES MORE ENERGY IT CAN ENGAGE THE MUCH MORE DANGEROUS I.R.Y.G. MODE”

Chad

“I’m rubber, you’re glue...”

Frederick Winston Clark

“Frightful stuff. I mean the implication must be considered. Should Beta Juliet follow through on its plans for a hot-hatchback version, the mysticism of the 500 series would be all but erased.’”

Harrison

”That was it for that meeting. It was getting late. And thank the lord, too, because I was pretty hungry at that time. ”

Chad

“So the Friday NEATO meeting ended. Each and every nation there agreed to reconvene on the Sunday evening, with as little media footprint as they could, to hash out the details. Or, as most suspected, to put a pin in the idea.”
“But they didn’t”
”But they didn’t”

Harrison

”Caught a glimpse of the Krytenian and the Legalite guy having a natter outside on my way out. The Legalite was saying there had to be a loophole. A way they could get out of things before it was too late. The Legalite said, simply, 'what if we turn the ignore cannon on ourselves. Ignore... ourselves?'. 'It'll drive the conspiracy nuts crazy' replied the Krytenian, 'but they'll never figure it out'. Always wondered if they tried that. I wasn't around if they did"

---

The Sunday

Harrison

”I wasn’t even supposed to be there. Having the same random temp inside two important meetings - well important in hindsight I suppose - was a security issue. So they didn’t hire me back from Wright Recruitment for the Sunday”
“You were there, though?”
”Yeah they hired me from ‘McDiomp Opportunities’, another temp agency I’m on the books with”
“You work two jobs”
”I’m a temp, I work no jobs. According to my sense of self-worth anyway”
“So who was there?”
”All the suits that ended up signing that big piece of paper. Korra Starblayde was there. There were others. Aides and shit. Twice as many people in the room and even more outside it. Big fellas in black suits and dark sunglasses touching their ear like they’re about to sing some close harmony folk music”
“What happened to the cannon between Friday and Sunday?”
”They’d turned it on and stuck it in a safe place. Big bunny ears round the word ‘safe’. They had me go fetch it on Sunday and the turret had been used to store a couple of mops and, apparently, a big fuckin spider that was confused about not being able to get back out, what with not being able to get any purchase whatsoever. I took it back to the main room and put it in the middle of the table again. There was a random ballpoint pen on the table where I put it, though. As soon as it touched the pen, the pen shot out like a rocket, went through an open window and buried itself in a tree.”
“Yeah, nature abhors frictionless wightmagic”
”Fuckin’ abhorred that pen anyway”

Chad

”Sunday was the big day. Everyone who was anyone plus the Krytenians. And ‘none’ of them were happy.

Deep Goat

”FOR MOST OF THE NATIONAL LEADERS, IT WAS LIKE THEIR SON HAD TRIED TO SELL THEIR HOUSE FOR DOUBLE ITS VALUE. TEN POINTS FOR INITIATIVE BUT MINUS SEVEN THOUSAND FOR, WELL, EVERYTHING ELSE. THE TALKS BEGAN WITH SOME NATIONAL LEADERS GIVING A 30-SECOND OVERVIEW OF THEIR INTENTIONS GOING INTO THIS MEETING. THOSE WHOSE NATIONAL LEADERS HAD ATTENDED ON FRIDAY WERE POSITIVE. THOSE WHOSE NATIONAL LEADERS WERE AWOKEN EARLY ON SATURDAY MORNING TO BE TOLD THEIR PLANS HAD BEEN CANCELLED FOR THE WEEKEND BECAUSE THEIR INFERIORS HAD DECIDED TO CARVE UP VAST SWATHES OF LAND BETWEEN THEM AND OH ALSO THERE’S THIS MAGIC CANNON MAYBE THIS SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN AN EMAIL GIVE ME A CALL WHEN YOU GET THIS… WERE LESS POSITIVE. SOME WERE CROSS. INITIALLY AT LEAST. AND THEN THE HELLO-CIRCLE CAME TO THE STARBLAYDI. THE STARBLAYDI BEING...”

Harrison

”Korra Starblayde! Korra fuckin’ Starblayde as I live and breathe.”

Chad

“You remember, twenty minutes ago, when I told you about NEATO? They’d literally acquired the license for the organization from that Starblaydi NGO. The one that had run environmental campaigns *eons* ago? Yeah, about that ‘license’. It included an agreement with the Starblaydi government that, what they hold true at NEATO, Starblaydia will hold true in government
“What like… like that Catholicism cop-out?”
”What?”
“The one where Jesus says he’d hold the same moral standards in heaven as humans do on earth, effectively giving the church the ultimate trump card. Basically their own Orbital Ignore Cannon but it’s for the bible”

Deep Goat

“What if the Orbital Ignore Cannon isn’t over Anaia at the point of attack?”
”WHAT”
“Like it’s in orbit, it can’t just stay above Anaia”
”YES THE ORBITAL IGNORE CANNON REQUIRES A GSOH IN ORDER TO WORK, OTHERWISE IT JUST CAUSES ENDLESS PROBLEMS”
“A what? GSOH?”
”GEO-STATIONARY ORBIT HANDWAVE”
“Ah”

Harrison

”And she says they have to do it. She’s pretty zen about the whole thing. Like she’d made peace with it, whatever her initial reaction. Changed the tone a bit, I tell you. Like ‘this is all happening, so let’s go big or go home’

Chad

“So we went round the room again. This time just answering the question. “Do we actually create a new region”. It was… it was just yesses. Heaven knows which other nations might have said ‘yes’ if they’d been there. Then we went around again. One question: “Today?” and… I mean why not?”
“AO hasn’t liked the official line being a shrug and a ‘welp why not?’
”That is regrettable. I think we should try to hold formal talks with Atlantian Oceania to…”

Harrison

“Bullshit. Have you ever been broken up with? Or have you ever broken up with someone?”
“Well…”
”There’s nothing you can say. Say you finally agree to meet up and have the ‘why’ conversation... you’re not going to answer all the questions they have, because they’ll be fixating on a certain type of thing one day and a different thing the next. You can’t allow them that open door of ‘whenever you have a question, ask me’ because they’ll never run out of questions but you’ll pretty quickly run out of ways to rationalise the feelings you had at the breakup. You can’t give them an answer that satisfies them. It’s not possible. And if they ‘are’ ever satisfied that a mixture of X and Y were the reasons for the breakup, it’s more likely that X and Y were the conclusions they would have drawn anyway. They’re just hearing them louder than A, B and C because it fits whatever worldview they already had. If you’ve done a few breakups, you realise that the best, kindest and most honest fuckin’ explanation is no fuckin’ explanation at all. You can rationalise your feelings and impulses however you want, but at the end of the day they’re feelings and impulses and can’t be accounted for by any kind of rationality. You’re trying to rubber-stamp a cloud”
“Who are you talking to right now?”
”Honestly my ex from a few months ago. And myself from a few exes ago.”

Deep Goat

”YES, THE ORBITAL IGNORE CANNON WORKS FOR CONVERSATIONS AS WELL. NEWS BULLETINS, ARTICLES, YOU NAME IT”
“How do you ignore a conversation”
”SORRY YOU’RE BREAKING UP, WHAT WAS THAT”
“I said…”
I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF MY BETA JULIET 500”
“Okay point taken”

Chad

“and once it was agreed, with some caveats, they decided to draw the boundaries. Well, dictate the boundaries. Rather aggressively, I thought.”
“The wording was.. weird?”
”A side effect of when an idiot dictates a declaration to someone while everyone else is outside having a break”
“..Wilbur Hawes?”
”He dictated the letter to.. I mean this is going to sound stupid but…”
“Don’t tell me the Osarian did his bash-the-keyboard routine again”
”Not quite. I wonder if Wilbur cottoned on that his typing style was more careful this time and included things like space bars, backspaces and fingers”

Frederick Winston Clark

“A riveting read, I thought. Actually quite legible considering it was an Audioslavian mind behind it. They are more, shall we say, style over substance, when it comes to writing. Actually no, call it the appearance of style over style, and all that over substance. I believe one would require a calculator with the capability of displaying myriad decimal places to accurately calculate how little substance appears in the average Audioslavian text.
“Why tell one story when you can throw four tenths of a story haphazardly at a wall whenever you like”
“The Anaian way, and precisely why we have come here. Can you imagine if the nations of Anaia had done this the fit and proper way? And how boring that might have been? Respectful, yes, thoughtful, yes. Atlantian, certainly. Anaian? Not to my mind. One side grandstands with gunboats and sanctions, the other has a time-travelling dog-sized magic cannon that skelps Vdarans. The dividing line between the two regions is not so much geographical as it is cultural, and the line not so much a border as a yawning chasm”
“I dunno, the Vilitans can get pretty creative themselves”
“And the Anaians owe more to them than they will ever care to admit”

Chad

“If I could go back and try to persuade Wilbur to do it differently, I would. I would have done it very differently”

Harrison

“Shoulda woulda coulda. Nah. It’s done.”

Frederick Winston Clark

“And, of course, speaking of skelped Vdarans..

Chad

“There ‘was’ a second test of the Orbital Ignore Cannon, yes. Again… not one that was planned. You’re probably wondering why no Vdaran politician or diplomat signed the Declaration of Foxchester, right?”
“I assumed they weren’t involved at all”
“They were very much supposed to be involved but their leader, one Charalambos Romanatos, was… having a lie-down at the time. He, like his underling two days prior, wasn’t a fan of the cannon. Said it belonged in the sea.”

Harrison

“Honestly I should just move to Vdara, I could drink ouzo on a beach and watch those moustachioed bams hurl shit into the sea all day”

Deep Goat

”THE VDARAN LEADER, CHARALAMBOS ROMANTOS...”

Harrison

“fuckin’ Charmander Rhombus whatever his fuckin’ name was. Spirit animal.”

Deep Goat

”...APPROACHED THE IGNORE CANNON WITHOUT LOOKING AT IT, SO AS NOT TO STARTLE IT, AND DECIDED TO GIVE IT A PLAYFUL SLAP ACROSS THE BARRELL.”

Frederick Winston Clark

“Regrettably, the cannon had, at that moment, entered its secondary mode of function.

Chad

“”I’m rubber, you’re...”

Harrison

“’Bastard’ he shouts, which gets my attention. There’s a *ringing* sound, but it’s not the sound of flesh on metal, it’s unmistakably the sound of someone’s cheek getting slapped. He turns around like ‘αμ γοανταε φυκιν σκελπ συμ φυκιν κυντ’ but there’s nobody there. Then he glares at the cannon”

Frederick Winston Clark

“Now I have always admired the pugilistic arts from afar, never quite having the stomach to watch two gentlemen inflict lasting damage on one another’s psyches and bodies, but nevertheless I do admire the very art of pugilism, and it was with such wonder that I noted Mister Romantos’s expert footwork in pivoting quickly to place his weight upon the balls of his right foot, and to turn, bringing power through the shoulder, fist balled in primal aggression, to deliver a right hand uppercut of remarkable furiosity and sumptuous technique directly unto the stock of the Orbital Ignore Cannon”

Harrison

“Sack of fuckin’ spuds mate”

Frederick Winston Clark

“Sadly, his effort went unrewarded. Or, rather, it was rewarded instantaneously. Such technique and delivery, such a devastating and immediate karmic punishment”

Deep Goat

”IF IGNORANCE HAS A SPEED LIMIT IT IS UNDETECTABLE AT TWO PACES”

Chad

“..glue. After Mister Romantos was helped out of the room by two security guards, the declaration began to be signed. There was, thankfully, no hancocking of the signatures, although all three Ko-orenites did insist on getting their scribbles down. 18 nations, 18 signatures. Counting Kryosis’s ‘X’ as a lack of signature, perhaps. And then the declaration was sealed just in time for another surprise.”

Harrison

“This guy walks in. Shakes off his coat. It wasn’t even raining outside. Throws his hat onto the hat-stand, misses, takes a seat where the Vdaran guy had been sitting. It’s still alphabetical order, like, so he’s sitting next to the gap, with the Audioslavian fella on the other side of the gap. Just says ‘sorry I’m late, guys, what did I miss?’ and cracks open a bottle of Batiob Stout. ‘Can’t wait to get stuck into those Free Republicans again. You heard about that Biden fella in RL states? Weird guy but I reckon he might beat Hilary’”

Chad

“Wilbur just stared at him. Eventually said ‘It’s been 84 god damn years what the hell’.
‘Traffic’ said the Mertian. Bloody ‘traffic’. So I advised Wlbur, as is my wont, not to let him swan in here like he’s still one of the gang.”

Deep Goat

”THE MERTIAN’S ARRIVAL LEAD TO THE IMMEDIATE FIRING OF THE MAN YOUR WIFE IS INTERVIEWING”

Frederick Winston Clark

“And I believe… I believe that is all I have in terms of gossip. What do you think will happen now?”
“Probably a very interesting zoom call, on my part. After that… well the current state of affairs can’t go on forever, can it?”

Deep Goat

”THE STORY IS NOT YET OVER. ANAIA’S DECLARATION WAS A FINAL SEVERANCE BETWEEN ITSELF AND ATLANTIAN OCEANIA, BUT THE CURRENT STATE OF AFFAIRS, WITH THE BORDER AND THE SHARED MAP, WILL LIKELY NOT CONTINUE. OLD SHAKERSSON SAID HE WOULD RETURN, AND HE WILL. THE IGNORE CANNON LAUNCHES SOON, BUT A TRUE REMOVAL OF ANAIA FROM THE AO MAP MUST HAPPEN IF THE TWO REGIONS ARE TO COEXIST WITHOUT STRIFE, AND DOING SUCH A THING SHOULD, ONE WOULD HOPE, MEAN THAT SUCH A WEAPON NEVER HAS TO BE USED.”

Harrison

“Whatever happens, nobody’s ever really going to know the truth. There probably isn’t one. For guys like me shit’s going to continue as normal at any rate, I guarantee that. It doesn’t matter if it’s wight-magic or dream-magic or forty-thousand helicopters, everyone will have their own story. Honestly who wouldn’t prefer 40 wacky stories to one kind of boring one?”

Chad

“Whatever the government does now it is, regrettably nothing to do with me any more. At least until I find some more work. Whether or not I'm involved, one thing's for sure. That Declaration of Foxchester needs a nice, thorough Amendment of Foxchester to go with it.

[Mertagne]

Twice Upon a Time...

“We will shortly be arriving at – Foxchester Airport. Please ensure you take your belongings with you as you leave the train.”

Julian stared nervously at the platform from inside the train carriage, clutching his hastily ordered ticket in one hand and his briefcase in the other. The sun peeked through the iron roofing of the platform as the train drew to a stop, and he quickly stepped onto the platform before composing himself for a moment.
He opened his coat and fumbled for the documents that had been faxed over from the leaders involved in the original declaration. With the Mertagnian government recently being restored after several years of strife, the communication methods were still a bit slapdash, and the authorities involved in getting Julian there had overcompensated for the lack of technology available. The letter, which was dated for the original signing of the declaration, became more smudged by the poor-quality ink on the dot-matrix paper every time he took it out of his pocket. He’d already missed the date of the original declaration, but was determined to be in Foxchester to ratify it. As Mertagne’s first Foreign Premier in just under half a century, it was down to him to enact the growing wishes of the Mertagnian people for stability through greater regional connection, to avoid the mistakes of past infighting which reduced the previous Mertagnian government to its knees.

As he was daydreaming on the platform, the last of the eager passengers passed him by, and he quickly snapped back into the world and headed out of the station. Spotting several taxis, some cyan, some purple, and some yellow, he quickly headed over to what appeared to be a collection point. Remembering the scratchy telephone call he had received just a few hours ago, transport was waiting to take him over to the room in which the talks would be held. Deftly dodging the roar of vehicles that paraded around the city, he spied a simple black car with a piece of paper spelling “Anaia Delegate” in the window. With a tap on the window, he barrelled into the front seat.

“Is this the car for the Foxchester talks?” Julian asked.

“Sure is. We’ll be leaving shortly, it’s a good job you got here when you did!” the chauffeur replied, with an eyebrow raised.

Before too long, a cadre of men in suits entered the back of the car, and the chauffeur spoke to the most senior of them. “Chancellor Baumann?”

“That’s correct.”, Baumann replied.

The car set off at a pace that was either the stern timekeeping of a Starblaydi, or the madcap “get it done” attitude of a Krytenian.

“Excellent. I will be your driver for today, and this man will be your additional security detail, provided through the agency. His name is… forgive me, I’ve not asked as he’s just arrived. You are?”

Julian was taken aback and didn’t quite know how to respond. “Julian Vermudyen, but I believe there’s been some kind of mistake? I’m attending, but not in the capacity you appear to have specified…”

The chauffeur looked quizzically. “You’re telling me a man of your build isn’t Chancellor Baumann’s security detail? That’s a good one. Anyway, it won’t be long before we get there – strap in and talk about whatever it is you people would normally discuss...”

“It’s rather nice to meet you, Chancellor. I’m afraid you really will have to believe me – here’s my passport if you’re unsure.” Julian slid his diplomatic passport to the back of the car, which bore the seal of the newly appointed government.

Chancellor Baumann studied it before handing it to an aide, who studied it some more. “You look harmless enough.” He said, with a smile. “So, Mertagne? You’re a bit late, as I understand it.”

Julian sighed as he took the passport back. “You have absolutely no idea. This is the third Foxchester I’ve been to, and I’m still not sold that we’re actually heading to the correct one! Some of the maps I’ve been going off have been so old, and I’ve had more than my fair share of problems regarding west Starblaydia…”

The journey continued, the car zipping through the streets in the morning sun. The driver was so lightning fast that Julian was unsure if the car was driving itself, and before too long they had arrived at the building in which they were to make history.
Julian stepped out of the car and looked up at the building. Decorated to accommodate all nations attending, he spied flashes of cyan and purple that adorned the building, which looked neither opulent enough to be of Starblaydi origin, nor workmanlike enough to be of Krytenian origin.
“Looks imposing, doesn’t it?” he posited to Baumann.

“Quite. But you have to remember, there are friends inside.” Baumann replied.

“Let’s see how we’re welcomed back, then.” Julian said, once more pulling out the documents from his coat. As he handed them to the aide at the door, he couldn’t help but scowl as he, hindered by the smudges on the dot-matrix paper, read exactly where he was:

”… are required to journey to Foxchester, ████████, as soon as possible to attend talks regarding your nation’s place in the new region of Anaia…”

[Kotzellach]

The Peace Room

One hundred and twenty-two votes. The bastards from the Workers’ Party had betrayed him at the last moment. The Declaration had been ratified, but now he owed a lot of favours to a lot of people. A lot of trouble domestically, all for the love of ratifying an international treaty, but it was what was best for Kotzellach.

What mattered in the end, however, was that the Declaration had been ratified. Almost immediately, he’d received news that the Anaian nations, with a few extra countries, would be meeting up again in Foxchester. Which one? He wasn’t told, so in the end he’d just prayed and hoped that the one which the pilot set off to knew where he was going. An odd fellow, he was, having the countenance of one that was not of this Earth.

But he knew better than to question the pilot, now. And now here he was, flanked by several members of his security guard. Attempting to conceal the amount he was sweating by too much, he soon located the nondescript car reserved for him...only to discover there was someone already in it.

A Mertagnian! An honest-to-god Mertagnian, from just south of the Reiss Islands. Kurt had lost count of how many times the Kotzellachians had attempted to send ships to the country which had closed itself off, trying to trade. But every time they’d been fobbed off, told the country was not open, not even a little bit. And so Mertagne had become a metonym for an unsolvable problem — not for lack of trying.

Baumann’s eyes lit up as he inspected the Mertagnian delegate’s passport. Yes, it did seem to be real. Perhaps there was some chance, then, that trade and other opportunities would present themselves in the future. Already there were some rumours of activity from the Cosumarites, and now if the Mertagnians had deigned to attend this conference, there would be a bright future ahead for the Anaian nations.

The building in which the conference was held was impressive, though it was impossible to tell who’d built it. There were little hints of it being both of Starblaydi origin and Krytenian origin, though Baumann resolved not to think about it. Once the two had presented their credentials, they were swiftly escorted up, through a maze of corridors. Soon, the two were in front of a double oak door whose height easily dwarfed the Mertagnian, embossed with gold.

“This is it, then,” mused Baumann.

“Indeed, Chancellor,” Vermuyden replied. “Let’s go.”

In one swift motion, Julian Vermuyden pushed both the doors open, something which almost seemed to take no effort for the well-built man.

---

The room struck Baumann as that of...something which was built in the century prior, perhaps during a period of global instability, and one of a last resort. A good place to see the world end, a good way to see the progress of troops.. The size of the domed room dwarfed everything else that was in it, while multiple maps of Anaia and Atlantian Oceania with flashing dots graced the walls. Were they population centres, or…?

Baumann took a cursory glance towards Northeastern Anaia, towards the island that he shared with Savigliane. The land occupied by both him and Savigliane was lit up in white, whilst the terra nullius wasn’t. It was a similar situation throughout the rest of the map — Huayamarca was lit up in white, while Semarland wasn’t. Ko-oren was, but Andossa se Mitrin Vega wasn’t. The southwestern map, however, was lit up in various shades of red. The Eternal Empire. Red. Siovanija and Teusland, red. And so on.

Were they preparing for war, or was it just...a room that felt fitting for the occasion? Kurt hoped it was the latter.

In the middle of the room, then, a circular table sat, with copious amounts of cigar smoke rising from it. A few metres above the circular table was another circular light, suspended from the roof. It seemed to be the only source of lighting the room had apart from the illuminated dots and maps on the wall. And around the table was possibly the greatest collection of world leaders anywhere in the multiverse at that single point in time. The leaders of twenty-four countries had gathered, now, and they were all reading their own notes, doing their own thing.

Baumann looked at the mismatched gang of leaders. There were some amongst them who he recognised — the Savigliano foreign minister, Dante Quaglia. They made eye contact, and shared a nod. They’d met before, on one of the numerous bilateral trips that the two governments often made to share how Kotzellach and Savigliane could assist each other after their literal world-changing event. The Québécois Prime Minister, Arséne Kim, who seemed rather calm in his pair of horn-rimmed glasses, also gave him a cursory nod. A man in a jumper, the Chosen of Zaiden, a half-goat...this motley crew certainly seemed to give off the general sense that something serious was going on. Or that something was about to happen. A venerable rogue’s gallery, then.

Most leaders, however, were too engrossed in their own business to actually care about the two latecomers’ sudden appearance. Baumann nodded at Vermuyden, and a slight smile, before they both attempted to find their seats.

Quickly, Baumann located his own, in between the Krytenian and Ko-orenite representatives. Both countries had quickly ascended to take on leading roles in the new region, with the Ko-orenites leading the push at the World Assembly to get the new region recognised as soon as possible, and the Krytenians...well, the Krytenians tried. Sitting down and introducing himself to both delegations, they both extended the typical courteous greeting to them, and shared a bit of small talk about how their own countries had been going. Krytenia was in the middle of a general election campaign, brought on by Foxchester, while Ko-oren seemed to be plugging on just fine.

Bringing out his own briefcase and notes, Baumann asked a nearby intern to bring him some water, as he began studying the briefing that the Foreign Ministry had prepared for him. “The Impact of Joining Anaia on Kotzellachian Trade.” “Immigration Policy And Anaia.” “Anaian Free Trade Area.”

God, the wonks back home were good, but they could be utterly boring and unimaginative sometimes.

He had barely studied the documents for about five minutes when Arséne Kim stood up, glanced at the crowd, and coughed loudly enough to get everyone’s attention. The Québécois Prime Minister was well-built, and the glint of the light in his horn-rimmed glasses made him look even more imposing than he usually did. Twenty-three pairs of eyes focused on the middle-aged man who yet seemed to give off a youthful exuberance. He spoke.

“I think all of us who are meant to be here, are. Shall we begin?”

[Legalese]

Legalese Director-General Abigail Calvetti took a deep breath, then rose. “Monsieur Premier, I’ll begin. Colleagues, I believe the best way to describe the reaction to our Declaration -- at least outside our borders -- is suboptimal. The Vanorans -- who as we know have memories as long as their lifespans -- have neared hostility in their reactions, as have others. It comes as no surprise that the nations of Atlantian Oceania have started to consider what this all means for them as well. At minimum, we’re looking at our nationals facing expulsion from a number of nations, even as we’ve all attempted to be more even-measured about it all -- for which I salute you all in your restraint. However, as our neighbors have not been as universal in the same, then perhaps we need to consider our options. What does this all mean for us?”

“There is an option available to us” came a voice from near the door. “The man who gave us our cannon last week. He told us that we would be needing him again”
All eyes turned to see the Audioslavian First Minister Wilbur Hawes who, rarely for him, was talking without sounding like he’d been rehearsing his words for a week straight.
“Shortly before we arrived, Shakersson made contact with me.”
“What do you mean ‘made contact’” came a Cobre voice from next to Wilbur. Wilbur shrugged.
“When I tried to set off to this meeting from my hotel, I noticed that my car had been replaced by a dirty white transit van with ‘clean me’ written on the side. Shakersson pipped his horn and told me to hop in. Gentlemen… Old Shakersson explained a few things to me on the way here. And I believe his solution may be exactly what we’re looking for, should we wish to truly break ties with our former homeland.”

[Audioslavia]

The Button

Through the doors at the side of the room lumbered an old man in blue overalls with windswept skin and pale hair. He looked like someone had gotten a Hinodejin graphic artist drunk and asked them to roughly sketch, using only a biro, what they assumed an elderly ninth century buddhist monk would look like cosplaying as a mechanic. He was pushing in front of him what looked like a drinks trolley, upon which there was one of those silver platters with a dome on top like you’d see covering a pig and an apple in a posh restaurant in an old cartoon.
“Mr. Shakersson” said Wilbur, gesturing towards the table of expectant faces. “You’ll see our numbers have, er, grown slightly since you were last here”
“Yup” said Shakersson, continuing with the trolley into the middle of the room. There, he put the platter atop of the central table and, agonizingly slowly, wheeled the trolley back out of the room, closing the door behind him.
The group eyed the platter wearily.
“Maybe it’s…” started Alexander Mason, but he was interrupted by the door re-opening as Shakersson shuffled back inside.
“It’s the button. The one we said we’d bring”
“The button?” asked about five different people.
“Yup” said Shakersson. “The button”.
The platter’s dome was removed without fanfare, revealing what appeared to be a large red button, about the size of half a bowling ball and seemingly about as robust - attached to a breadbin-sized wooden box. From the outside, it looked as if the large red button would produce a satisfying, cathartic ker-chunk sound if it were to be pressed. The large red button had a single word written on the top of it. In bright, white letters it said, simply, ‘BUTTON.’
“I am informed by Mr. Shakersson” started Wilbur Hawes, “that pressing this button will cause what he refers to as ‘an event’.”
“Yup” said Shakersson.
“An event?” came a voice from the back.
“The event” corrected Shakersson, nodding.
“What… happens during the event?” asked Gavin Mycroft. A thin smile rippled across Wilbur Hawes’s face for a moment, anticipating a moment where he’d get to show everyone who was in charge between him and the Krytenian. He was beaten to the punch by a voice to his left.
“As I understand it, knowing a little something about Wightmagic” came a voice - that of Duke Aim, the representative of Wight, “What happens for us, during an event as the as The Event, is that…” - he paused to allow everyone to process whether or not ‘the’ could be used as an adjective like that. He didn’t care whether or not it could. “...nothing happens at all”
“Time is paused,” said Wilbur, smugly.
“No” said the Duke, unbuttoning his red jacket as he stood up. “Time simply stops…”
“That’s what I said”
“...being time” continued Aim, eyeing the rest of the room. There were some nods, some blank expressions and some puffed out cheeks of what the fuck.
“That’s what I… what?”
“Oh” said Gavin Mycroft. “Omni-Spatio-Temporal Inversion Abscondment Sequence”
“OSTIAS” nodded the Duke. Maximiliano Buendía shook his head and repeated the word. Wilbur Hawes could only offer a quiet ‘what’?
“Time stops being time” said the Duke.
“Starts bein’ space” continued Shakersson.
“We just press the button here, in the Anaia region” said the Duke, “and then we wait”
“Wait?” said Wilbur, worriedly.
“Time will be space” said Gavin. “So it follows that space will be time. So we just wait”
“As we wait,” said the Duke, “space will travel forward at the same speed as time. We just wait for the space to tock into the distance. After enough tocks, we end the sequence, and have therefore absconded”
“Absconded with what?” said Ksenia Meledin
“Whatever you want,” said Shakersson.
“In this case, a group of nations” nodded Duke Aim.
“So we… we will… we will have moved through space but… not through time?” asked Wilbur, not really knowing what the sequence of words he’d just said meant.
“Technically we won’t have been going to have moved through either” said Gavin, “but this is hardly the time to be conjugating temporal verbs in the past impossible never tense.”
“Quite” said the Duke, before a short silence overcame a room who were either trying to figure out what this meant for the space-time continuum or were just basking in the relief of not having to listen to people talk nonsense for a few seconds.
“That fuckin’ button” came a voice near the door in what was unmistakeably a Double-Doric accent.
“Don’t try to throw this in the sea too, Mister Romantos” came a warning from the back.
“Doesn’t belong in the sea” said the Vdaran. “That.. is the most pressable button I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen some buttons in my time”
“You’ve certainly pushed some buttons in your time,” said the Cobre, narrowing his eyes.
“Well before we even think about pressing this button...” warned Korra Starblayde
“Button needs pressed” said Charlambos Romantos
“...we need to decide whether or not we even want to…”
Korra Starblayde was interrupted by the squeal of metal on wood as the Vdaran Premier scootched his chair backwards and, using the space he’d made himself, leapt over the desk, bounded towards the central table and lunged for the button, bringing a meaty right palm down hard right on top of the part of the button marked “BUTTON.”

The sickening thwap of Romantos’s hand against the button sounded awfully like the sound of a damp walrus flung violently against a solid polished marble wall via a trebuchet. At least it did according to the imagination of Tequilan president Tzalti Larrosa, whose brother would oft regale him with stories of the horrors of war from his time as general of a travelling pirate militia army. The stories usually started harmlessly enough, but after a couple of drinks he’d invariably get onto the topic of the brutally inhumane Walrus vs Big Marble Wall war. After he’d finished, his brother would sit quietly on the edge of his seat staring blankly out of a window, as if replaying the events in his head. Tzalti could practically see the airborne blubber in his brother’s mind’s eye splattering futilely against the reddening alabaster. Who even put that wall there in the first place? Why did the walruses take such umbrage at its existence to sacrifice their own against it so violently? Such questions were unanswerable. Anyone who ever said that war, war never changes, had clearly never seen a single tusk embedded in marble, reflecting the day’s last light on a surreal hyperboreal mammalio-muralic killing-field.

As Korra Starblayde concernedly clicked her fingers in front of Tzalti Larrosa’s vacant, haunted expression, the Vdaran marched directly to the door holding his right hand. Were this a Tom and Jerry cartoon, the hand might have been glowing red and pulsing painfully. The button had been unmoved by Romantos’s enthusiastic slap. It was left to Dante Quaglia to roll his eyes and raise his hand. Once a few pairs of eyes were on him, he lowered it again and asked:
“What the fuck just happened?”
Shakersson shrugged and put his hand on the heavy red semi-sphere marked ‘button’, flipping it upwards to reveal, beneath it, a normal sized flat red button connected to the wooden box below.
“Buttons don’t have ‘BUTTON.’ written atop them” said Duke Aim, watching the door close behind the Vdaran before turning towards the Savigliano. “Things that have a button inside them. They have “BUTTON.” written on them. Now. Shall we decide whether or not to employ Shakersson’s removal team?”
“I thought it was an Omni-Space-Tempo Indo-Ambulate thing or whatever” came a voice from the other side of the room.
“It can be,” said the Duke. “But more often it just keeps time steady so Shakersson and his crew can move things one square mile at a time.”
“Time’ll start again when we’re finished,” nodded Shakersson. Wilbur Hawes threw his hands in the air.
“But that’s what I…”

He was interrupted by the sound of a chair squawking against the floor. Chromatik Premier Keri Wyse Aart observed the room and took a deep breath.

[Chromatika]

“Ladies, gentlemen, and fellow leaders: We stand on the precipice of change, that timeless, honored word on which all things memorable from the lens of history are born. When I first heard of this proposal, I was gripped with the immensity of the situation: this must not be done lightheartedly, nor should it be done without looking at the preponderance of the details of what is being suggested.

When Chromatika was drawing its first breaths as a free people, unshackled from the oppressors that had ruled over our lands for our recorded history, it was nations from the region that we now call Atlantian Oceania that helped us. Banija was one of the biggest reasons why a free Chromatika stands today, and to the Banijans, Chromatika will owe a debt of gratitude that it can never repay. Thankfully, talks are still proceeding between Chromia and Busukuma beyond the level of regional politics, which I am very thankful for.

Other nations, like Siovanija and Teusland, Farfadillis, Baker Park, Equestria, and even Valanora, have been parts of our everyday lives, providing value in recognition, in trade, in camaraderie, in populace, and in the knowledge that we belonged together to a whole that couldn’t be rivaled, in my humble opinion, by any other region in the sporting universe.

It is due to these reasons that I was filled with trepidation of this proposal from the beginning. My cabinet and I debated until the late hours of the morning whether we would have the Declaration go to the Chambers at all; then, it took till the last vote in the Chromatik Chambers of Legislature in order for the Declaration to pass. However, it has passed, and as it has been decided, I am here to represent the wants of my people.

If we are going to do this, there will have to be considerable efforts made afterward to correct any slights that may occur during the communication of our intentions. Emotions will run high and may dictate proceedings for a time; we must be patient, we must be gracious, we must be understanding, or history will remember us in a different light than we view ourselves, and our intent will be misconstrued by high tempers and whispered words behind closed doors. That being said, as it has been decided, as it shall be: If this is indeed the best way forward, let us make sure that we do it right.”

Keri Wyse Aart then sat down wearily and took a deep breath. This was going to have repercussions in Chromia and Chromatika for years to come, but at least she would not be remembered as a Premier who didn’t do the will of her people, regardless of the consequences. She double checked her phone to make sure that the scheduled phone call with Busukuma still existed for the following day, and then turned back toward the room.

[Huayramarca]

Augusto Buendía walked through the halls of the Foxchester Palace, he tried to figure out where his seat would be into the immense room that was about to presence one of the biggest moments of Huayramarcan and, pretty much, several other nations that are near to the Windy Nation. Buendía had to take his glasses in order to see the small letters on the placards, he scratched his head and then grabbed his few hair when he read “Maximiliano Buendía, President of the Huayramarcan Republic” Some childhood histories popped in his mind, Maximiliano is his second name and the one that people used to bully him, he really despised his second name. Wilbur Hawes from Audioslavia, Assane Traoré from Osarius and Gavin Mycroft from the southern neighbor nation of Krytenia saw with weird eyes at how Buendía was being mentally tortured by his own name.

The main reason of Buendía’s presence, as leader of Ñucanchi Ñan Party, was to certify the firm decision of Huayramarca into a matter that can boost progress efforts for Huayramarca in the long term if the situation is well managed. This was the third meeting among the leaders, but this one was the definite one, there was need to provide heavy argumentation that would impulse the leaders to sign the treaty and then starting a new era. After a lot of false calls from the Vdaran representative, where he was fooled with a false button by the Old Shakerssen, the Wightling delegate into the meeting, it was turn for Buendía to deliver a speech about Huayramarca’s stance in the topic.

Buendía sipped some water and cleaned his throat, his indigenous outfit helped him to attract the attention of the gathered representatives, then, he said: “Atlantian Oceania has provided a lot for some nations and nothing for others, the latter is our case: We are an under-developed nation that needed support two years ago during Hugo Mina’s iron-fist dictatorship, when our fragile institutions succumbed, we asked support from AORDO and we were ignored because Huayramarca was a newly discovered nation in the region that wasn’t known in depth by the organization… That’s a cheap excuse that showed how much we care to them” he was being sarcastic in the last phrase, then, took some water and continued “Throughout their history, development, support and power has been focused only in Southwestern nations, but what about us in the North? Hey, we do exist and we also need help sometimes.”

Despite being a new nation, Huayramarca hasn’t remained closed to what was happening outside, proof of this was the next couple of words from Buendía “There were obscure passages in our history here in the North, the Corvidae war where nobody in the region, outside northern nation nations, cared about and helped to solve: Audioslavia, Royal Kingdom of Québec and Shingoryo, and several others were capable to turn this zone into what it is now, we didn’t needed the help of anybody else… Then, I proceed to ask you: Aren’t we capable to handle this new era by ourselves? This is an era of maximum stability, economic growth projections are favorable and we, as northern nations, are capable to interconnect ourselves via trust and partnership in order to maximize the effects of those growth projections. Let’s turn this into a real thing!”

Then, Buendía said “I, for one, am a proud Anaian citizen from now on. I trust in your knowledge, comprehension and will to benefit your nation by forming part of this deal, I know that you know how to ponder the points that I mentioned before, also, how we can handle great projects such as rebuilding after a war, a big joint league as it was LigAnaia, COCANEFA too, the cultural connections between nations such as Québec and Huayramarca; Audioslavia, Krytenia and Starblaydia; Chromatika and Ko-oren too. We are a melting pot of freedom, diversity, perseverance and resilience through hardship.” Then, he raised his fist and said “For Huayramarca, for Anaia ¡Revolución o muerte, venceremos!” while slapping the red button he had in front of him.

Some in the room applauded, some others showed themselves skeptical and deemed necessary to analyze the pros and cons of every argumentative intervention that was held during the meeting. No matter what, Buendía turned things into a direction that nobody would’ve expected before with his rousing speech, a day that won’t be easily forgotten in the minds of a lot of nations.

Before finishing his intervention, Buendía spoke once again “Life has dynamics and cycles, everything has a beginning and an end, there’s an imperious need to reinvent how our nations interact into a new era of technology, transport, economic and international affairs. We as northerners can understand between ourselves better than anyone else, that’s why I once again urge you to think about how your nation and its society can unleash their real potential in a friendly and cooperative scenario such as Anaia can be.”

Buendía sat, sipped some water and relaxed by stretching on his chair

[Quebec and Shingoryeo]

After the round of applause followed the long silence. This was then followed by the breakage of silence from the Québécois Prime Minister, Arséne Pineau Kim, who was the first leader to follow the Huayramarcan in making a statement.

The 48 year old Québécois, the son of two Acadianan immigrants in Québec City who had grown up embodying the ideals of the Québécois Commonwealth, knew it was the time for him to make a statement regarding the matter. ‘Mesdames et messieurs,’ He said in a quiet, touching tone, to emphasise the seriousness and to match the relative secrecy of their environment. ‘I would like to start by thanking Premier Aert and President Buendía for their impassioned defence of their respective reasons, and once again, thank you all for this opportunity to speak here right now.’

‘The past history, over and over again, has proven to all of us, standing here right now, that those absolutely determined to make their cases are the ones who could truly change the course of their world. That’s how all of us here, for thousands of years, were able to lead the world that we live in. Not because of our ability to stay complacent, but because of our ability to self-critique and evolve as we have felt the need to do so.’

‘Therefore, with that in mind, I would like to state my support for our cause to enter the New World, the one that inherits from the Old World notre héritage, notre histoire, et notre orgueil, but one where we could promise something greater. It’s neither a complete severance of ties, nor a betrayal, which is what certain nations of note seem to get it wrong. By pressing the button, we will be able to enter the new world with clear minds and use this valuable opportunity to reassess our relationship with the old world. To leave behind the Atlantian Oceania does not mean that we will be leaving behind our allies with no mercy or compassion, but rather an opportunity to reassess our friendships, and to see how we are going to renegotiate our terms. We should not retaliate with the same level of pettiness and hostilities that are coming from the other side of the fence, just because they are hurt over what’s perfectly a rational decision made on our behalf.’

‘Rather we should focus on reassessment and renegotiation, and aim for the best outcome possible to ensure our co-prosperous state that can prosper even further. It has been known for a while that Québec City’s relations with Busukuma, Borograd or Belle Haven will seldom change, and that's good news. That’s where mutual understanding of the governments came quickly enough after the initial shock, and the calmer minds have prevailed there. And I believe that’s what we should be focusing on, not wasting time on listening to mindless blabbers by underwater people not on the map!’

He punched the table with a particular thump, before slowly resuming to speak for one last sentence. ‘Thank you.’

[Legalese]

Abigail Calvetti rose next. "This is, admittedly, not entirely what we expected to be necessary, and what we have at stake is considerable. In Legalese, we've fought hard to get back to a place where we felt we could be respectable in this world, both for our own security and well-being, but to contribute again to the history books on behalf of Atlantian Oceania. Premier Aert's comments are well-taken, for those who are our neighbors and shared with many of us the blue and orange banner are not enemies unless they choose to make themselves such."

"And yet, I feel for and with President Buendìa, and the struggles our friends in Huayamarca face alone. We were fortunate centuries ago to receive help from our friends and neighbors when we faced a horrific onslaught from our north and the blood-sucking pretender to the Starblaydi protectorship, with our friends and allies pushing them back and helping to liberate our occupied lands."

She paused for a moment, hoping that her Starblaydi counterpart would see the way she danced around what really happened.

"I just don't think that Atlantian Oceania exists anymore, nor has it for some time."

"Since we agreed to join our brothers and sisters here in NEATO, the reaction reminds me of why this decision, as difficult as it was, was easier than it should have been. We've spent a good bit of time focusing on our own internal matters, without a word from our so-called neighbors in the Southwest, nary a word about foreign affairs. While I don't take it as dislike, the reactions we've seen now show why the opposite of love is not hate, but rather indifference. They were indifferent to us, until we decided to leave. It’s time to move forward, which we are proud to do today."

[The Plough Islands]

The next delegate to rise, from the far left of the table, was notable by the absence of a suit jacket. The conventional Plough Islander formalwear of a thick cashmere sweater over a shirt and tie was adapted to the cold, foggy days of the Celestial Ocean rather than the sweltering lights of the Peace Room, and the Plough Islander Premier, Dale Piper, was forced to mop his brow several times as he addressed the chamber.

"I would like to thank all our friends in Anaia for inviting us to join them, and for the opportunity to speak", Piper began, in a lilting, unfamiliar accent that at times grew forceful. "When our Minister arrived to negotiate a transportation routing agreement with many of the countries represented here, it would have been fair to say that nobody, at least in the Plough Islands, quite knew where the discussions were going to lead, but the surprise has been a welcome one. At this hour, though, we face a necessary decision in order to fully reap the benefits of working together in unity and the spirit of socialism, and in my reasons I must respectfully disagree with our friends from Chromatika."

Piper’s voice became stern. "Our small country has done nothing to ever harm the people of Atlantian Oceania, and yet we have had to face an absolute barrage of intimidation and falsehoods over the course of the weeks since the Declaration, even though we were but witnesses to it. There have been threats of military action and of a desire to 'reassert' Atlantian Oceanian control over Anaia; the Socialists have been accused of leading the people of the Plough Islands astray, when I have yet to meet anyone among our hundred and forty thousand comrades who has had any qualms about our decision. Most egregiously, we have been accused of 'treason', and 'betrayal', and of being conspirators in some wicked plot. Those who accuse us fail to address how our seizing on the opportunity for security and stability in our international relations could possibly have constituted conspiracy. How could we ever have betrayed something that the Plough Islands were never a part of?"

"I appreciate the attachment some of you may have to those nations that remained in Atlantian Oceania, and that our perspective is necessarily different due to our lack of shared history. But, with all due respect, it is those same nations that stand between the signatories to the Declaration and our future together. And, as far as I am concerned - as far as all Plough Islanders are concerned..." The Premier swallowed and glanced down the table, meeting the gaze of Minister Hawes. "...we refuse to countenance any further relationship with those who have threatened us, who continue to treat us with contempt, who, under the guise of 'friendship' and 'history', seek to destroy the socialist society we have built."

"The Plough Islands calls on our fellow travellers in Anaia to break the bonds of slavery that hold us back from our independence."

The last syllables of 'our independence' wavered a little as Piper's voice descended; both the speaker and his audience had been taken aback slightly by the vehemence with which the point had been made. The Premier found himself hesitating, and lowered his head. "I vote that we press Mr. Shakerssen's button".

[Audioslavia]

Wilbur Hawes observed the two seconds of silence after Piper finished. Rather than standing up, he leaned back in his chair just far enough for it to make a loud enough creak for a couple of sets of eyes to fall upon him.
“I’ve gone on record” he said, now looking at his finger-nails and thus making far too much of a show of affecting nonchalance, “as saying that I regret the suddenness of the breakaway. That if I could do it again, I would have done things more… diplomatically” he said, trying to sound as if every word he uttered hadn’t been practiced into his bathroom mirror the previous three nights running. “However, given some time to think more carefully, I’ve arrived at an extended conclusion. Given a choice between breaking away suddenly, but *fully* - breaking clean of all ties with Atlantian Oceania - or doing things the right way but maintaining the half-measure of a shared map and border, I would choose the former, every time. If we’re going to do something, let’s actually *do* it. No more buts, no more maybe. I choose to finger the button” he said, with a wry smile that faded quickly into a look of panic. “PRESS! Press the button. To put my finger on the button and… oh”

Wilbur Hawes’s previously confident voice faded into string of mumbled, embarrassed curses and unheard apologies to nobody in particular.

[Mertagne]

Julian Vermudyen stood, his towering figure standing in contrast with his skittish voice.

“Um, thank you for this opportunity to speak today. It’s very nice to know that our Anaian friends have not forgotten us in Mertagne.
Anaia, of course, is a word that is truly at the heart of every Mertagnian. While, to you, we may have lost our way over the years with troubling infighting over the woes of taming the frontier, know that we never forgot our friends and our pride for collaboration and unity. After all, it was many of your country people’s ancestors who all those years ago helped us build the nation I am proud to call my home. Even today, our communities in towns and cities across the nation remember and hold dear traditions and cultures that are reflected both across Calania and the wider multiverse. Anaia, therefore, represents more than just a breakaway, to Mertagne. It represents us coming back home, to old friends, and to family. I have visited many an Anaian Foxchester to come here today, and I am proud to say in every one I felt comforted. Bemused, certainly, but in each was a sense of homeliness I have been unable – and unwilling – to shake.
Old friends who came for us in our hour of need, and new friends who we look forward to collaborating with in the future. That is what Anaia means for the Mertagnian people, and that is why I know I speak for Mertagne when I say to push that button.”

[Krytenia]

Gavin Mycroft, the Krytenian Minister for Foreign Affairs, was next to speak.

“If you had asked me to press this button last week, I would have said no. The ties that bind are too close, I would have said. I would have implored that we should remain near and dear to our Atlantian Oceanian allies. Instead, they accuse us of treachery and skullduggery; they say that we have burned our bridges when it is they with the torches and pitchforks at the water’s edge.

We are a brotherhood, the whole so much more than the sum of our parts. Whatever we do next, we do it together. Krytenia will stand with our brothers in all corners of Anaia, come what may. If those in Atlantian Oceania wish to keep peace with us, then our hands will be extended; if not, then pushing this button simply means that we no longer have to care what they think. We are our own people, so let us make our own way.

I say we light this baby up - even if that means changing the bulb - and push the button.”

[Ko-oren]

"You've given us a tough choice," Ko-orenite Prime Minister Laurderinthen said, stepping forward. He immediately glanced over his shoulder towards the two other members of the delegation who had signed the Declaration. "And by 'you', I mean both Anaia and Atlantian Oceania. It was my government's understanding that aligning ourselves with Anaia would aid our cultural interests - and so far it has - while our economy would see little impact. Pressing this button will change that, and it will change our relations with our old region, whom we wish to harm as little as possible. Ko-oren became a greater nation learning from and exchanging experiences with AO's and Anaia's greats, and we see no advantages in tearing that ambitious, nurturing, and welcoming environment apart. And yet, Ko-oren's brightest future comes through the greatest wellbeing to our closest allies, thence the button must be pressed. I trust all of your judgments."

[Savigliane]

Dante Quaglia was next to speak. The Savigliano had been relatively quiet during negotiations and was a relative unknown due to his country’s newly-manifested nature. But as he stepped forward, the gravitas of the situation seemed to coalesce around him, and the other delegates leaned in with interest.

“I can sympathize with President Buendía in his plight,” Quaglia began. “When Savigliane...appeared on the international stage a few years ago, our neighbors in what is now Anaia jumped to our aid right away. Nations like Quebec, Chromatika, and Audioslavia didn’t have to extend friendship to the little island nation that fell from the sky. But the Anaians offered political support and closer connections in our nation’s darkest hour, and Savigliane will always be in their debt.”

“The lack of vitriol directed at Savigliane since our nations’ Declaration - especially compared to what the other delegates have been saying - is somewhat telling,” he continued, adjusting his tie. “While our relations have remained civil with the majority of Atlantian Oceania, this is mostly because we have had no bridges to burn. In this reality, we have never been particularly connected with the rest of the region. Our debts and our relationships lie in Anaian hands, which will make it all the easier to leave our former region behind.”

“And what is a region, anyway?” A few heads turned at the suggestion, but Quaglia pressed forwards. “Where we are from, it’s not as well-defined of a concept as it seems to be here. In this world, so much is determined by these ephemeral lines drawn in the sand by forces unknown. I don’t accept that Savigliane has been closer in culture or identity to all of the nations of Atlantian Oceania since our arrival, just because we share this one property. Our - well, we’ve all signed the thing at this point.”

“As long as we remain uneasily linked to AO, as we are now, neither side will be satisfied, settled, comfortable. That button is our chance to truly forge a new region and a new identity that we can all take part in.” He bowed his head as he delivered the last lines of his speech. “It is a true blessing to be able to determine the physical world in which we inhabit. We should not let that go to waste. I say we press it.”

[Osarius]

Osarian First Minister, Mathieu Lupin, rose to speak; though his choice of tie -- deep purple, peppered with small, neon green novastrellae -- betrayed the words he was about to utter. “Comrades,” he paused, “while I appreciate the necessity of discussion and debate in any democratic system, I feel that we have gone around in circles here for long enough.” His manner of speaking was very calm, and deliberate. As if he was making sure everyone listening had plenty of time to digest his words. “Atlantian Oceania, or at least the Atlantian Oceania we joined, is no longer the same place. Some of you will have observed the continual Osarian refusal to join AORDO, or our reluctance to involve ourselves in any international incidents that may lead to military action. This remains our stance. As a result, we have long sought to foster close relations with the nations nearest to our borders, for the purposes of trade, intelligence exchange, and so forth.

"I suspect,” he paused again, “the situation is similar for many of the other nations represented in this room today. And yet, the shadow of our former region looms large -- thanks in no small part to the efforts of many nations represented here today, in fact.”

Another pause, while he scanned the room, briefly meeting the eyes of several other delegates.

“We are strong enough to go it alone, and yet, we cannot thrive while we remain in that shadow.” He punctuated the final three words with the briefest of pauses between them, hardening his gaze on his peers.

“We were told this was a progression, an exploration of the new, and how can any of that be true if we remain where we are? If we stay here, effectively functioning as a sub-region? A branch of Atlantian Oceania? This is not what any of us signed up for, and so, the button.”

[Cobrio]

Click here for some notes on Cobre phrases and their meanings, if the intent is unclear from context

Assane Traoré sucked his teeth. “Dey go bring us down, na we climb.” He muttered.

Lupin turned to him, speaking loudly for the entire room to hear, “Delegate Traoré, the floor is yours if you’d like to say a few words.” Again, the Cobre delegate sucked his teeth, and sighed heavily.

As he stood, revealing the deep green of his garb, hemmed in black and adorned with gold embroidered adinkra -- traditional Cobre symbols representing certain concepts; in this case, the symbols for excellence and democracy -- and he muttered quietly, so only Lupin could hear him “Why you go tell I speak to these imezi nzuzu? I go say same tings you already go say, na. Always go mek Cobrio man work for ugwu man, ori buruku.”

Lupin smiled quietly and muttered back “we must present a united front, my friend, it is perhaps unwise to call them stupid bush people, or to imply that Osarians have broken brains.”

Standing, Traoré grudgingly spoke, “Diplomacy is not a particular strength for my people, First Minister,” before turning to the rest of the room. “But it is clear that remaining in this place will only lead to conflict with the people of Atlantian Oceania. We must go.”

Noticing a few frowns in the room, Traoré continued. “In Cobrio we have a saying, na,” he explained, lapsing into his natural accent and dialect. “Beat grass and snake dey go wriggle, spread wing and snake dey go bite, stand still and snake dey go swallow.” Seeing the confusion in the room, he sucked his teeth again, muttering “kekeno tani, my god oh”. Inhaling deeply, he elaborated. “You see, some people will never be happy with what you choose to do. If you make changes, they panic. If you walk away, they lash out. If you do nothing, they will never think to ask if you wanted something else.” He frowned at the room. “Do not misunderstand, oh. I am not saying these people are snakes, only that they maybe cannot understand the reasoning we have. Because of this, whatever action we choose, even if we choose no action, there will be a problem to overcome. So now the only question is, what is the outcome with the most good? That is the outcome where we have pushed this button.”

Traoré waited for a moment before lapsing back into Cobre dialect. “All this discussions and talking is foolishness, oh. All this reasonings? Kiwani. Push de button and mek it ova wid, na.” He said, waving his hand dismissively and sitting back down.

[Vdara]

Vdaran President Charalambos Romanatos strolled back into the room, looking almost too confident. Considering he had already made a fool of himself at previous times, it was a surprise he was even let back into the room. He pointed to the button and said ”σεε θις?”, while gesturing angrily towards it. Nobody knew what he meant, but everyone simply pretended to listen. There was no use actually listening, of course, with Romanatos claiming that everything belongs in the sea. ”μαγιν ιφ ι πυμμελεδ θις φυκιν βυττον αγαιν.”

Without hesitation, Romanatos proceeded to clamber over the table and slam the button, with a chorus of gasps coming from around the table. The severe lack of any immediate consequences seemed to displease him, as the talk about how big and important the button press would be had gotten to his head, and he seemed extremely unimpressed at the lack of fanfare.

”θατ αλλ ιτ δοες? φυκιν κραπ βυττον θατ.” The other delegates, still bewildered, simply continued staring at the Vdaran. Expecting more, he hit the button again. Still nothing. Romanatos shouted “ιτ διδνυ δο φωκ!”, before sitting down and folding his arms like a petulant child. He had pressed the button, but at what cost...

[Pyazhnaya]

A nice, sunny day in Pyazhnaya, with its populace going about their daily routine, a perfectly normal day on the islands. Suddenly a strange, foul, loud squelching sound tears through the nation, stopping everybody dead in their respective tracks. Several people look around highly offended, suspecting whoever was close to them at the time of some indecent expulsion of - they don't even want to think about what it could be.

Shortly after Twii.tur and other social media are ablaze with reports of strange sightings of movement on the southern horizon, waves starting to rise along the shoreline. Immediately wild theories began to fly around, from an earthquake over a kraken attack to Sarzonia¹ rising from the depth of the ocean and several others that even conspiracy theorists dismissed as too unbelievable. Nobody knew why Sarzonia would show up here out of all places to begin with, so this particular theory did not really take off at first. Then news outlets around the country begin to report that it looked like a landmass to the south was starting to rise out of the ocean, which rekindles the Sarzonia theory as well as a new hypothesis that Québec had enough of it all and is leaving. In panic parents snatch up their children, herding them towards the storm shelters, which thankfully are numerous around the Pyazhnayan islands given their exposed geography in the ocean with police, instead of trying to restore order, join in the frenzied chaos and try to get as many people, including themselves, to safety.

Meanwhile in Foxchester, Pyzhnayan president Ksenia Meledin is in attendance of the speeches preceding the pressing of the button and then the ceremony itself when several aides suddenly pull out their cell phones, which are buzzing with alert after alert. Several of them rush forward towards their respective representatives. Québécois Prime Minister Arséne Pineau Kim motions for Mrs. Meledin to join him and he shows her a whole litany of outraged and scared messages about Québec leaving Anaia by rising from the ocean, about it trying to crush Pyazhnaya and some more, slightly more outlandish claims. At this moment it dawns on the president that there was a little detail she had forgotten to announce to her fellow Pyazhnayans before leaving for Foxchester.

She urgently motions for her aide to come over and in hushed tones instructs him: “OK, I may have forgotten to tell people that Anaia was moving. Could you maybe get someone over there to as casually as possible let them know and that there is no need for panic?” As the aide rushes off, she walks off in search of a glass of vodka. No, a pitcher of it.

------------------

¹ https://www.3wideracing.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=2346&st=0#

[Tropanaia]

The Tropicorp Scientists had completed their study of the great pedestal in the Cocoabo Forest. A similar pedestal had appeared outside of Tropicoast and like the one in the Cocoabo Forest, it appeared to offer a passage to a land that was both quite similar, and quite different from the one that originated. As one unfortunate Desert Wompbanth discovered, however, this portal was not designed as a passage for organic life forms. At least not yet.

The scientists first discovered the mirror location on the opposite side of the Pedestal by deploying a tracking sensor through the mirage atop the pedestal and locating it using a VOIA space drone. When they arrived on location they found not only the tracking sensor but the deceased Desert Wompbanth. As it goes with science, they quickly arranged to confirm that indeed the Desert Wompbath had come from the Tropicoast side of the portal, and passage through the portal was unsuccessful yet again.

Repeating the experiment at the Pedestal in the Cocoabo Forest with another Desert Wompbanth would see the Wompbanth pass through from origination to destination with no obvious health impacts. From then, Tropicorp scientists set out to determine why the differences between the two pedestals. The fact that they could easily pass non-organic material through originating in Tropicoast allowed the scientists to quickly set up their own new base camp which they dubbed Tropanaia based on the destination location of the material passing through the pedestal. They collected as much data as they could in their initial assessment of the varied pedestals and sent an invitation to scientists throughout Atlantian Oceania and the breakaway Foxchester States to join them at the Tropanaia base camp for further investigations into the phenomenon... granted everyone sign a non-disclosure agreement about their work prior to arrival in Tropanaia.

[Legalese]

Normally, in the interests of limiting resource usage and for the benefit of the environment, the Director-General traveled light, and by train: it took longer, but it was great for reviewing reports, clearing her head, and just getting some downtime from being head of government (though technically with power to stop/redirect the train; she'd been tempted to use it exactly once).

Her first foreign trip as Director-General, however, changed the equation. Due to the expedience and urgence of getting her to Foxchester, an aircraft was summoned up for her. It wasn't the prettiest belle at the ball, but would do. It could fit sixteen passengers normally -- more than enough for a delegation of five -- and had a professional, if dated look for a world leader. Some could call it a "retro" style, if so inclined.

As she boarded, she heard the discussion from the cockpit.

"How can I file a flight plan, when we don't even have accurate charts?"

"Martin, it's not like anything has changed. Still the same air, same countries around, and the Bekk is still over that way, so I suggest we direct the pointy end away from it, and when we get Port Hound ATC, we'll find out if anything is missing. I'll take us ou--"

"No, Douglas, the Captain has control. Radio for clearance."

A sigh emanated from the cabin. "Gulf Edward Robe Techno Item, requesting clearance for takeoff…"

[Anaia Region]

The Foxchester Amendment

The Anaian nations acknowledge that drawing boundaries was a mistake. In the light of the new dawn, this was a half-measure. An errant ‘but’ in an ocean of ‘ayes’.

The Anaian nations declare their total disappearance from the map of Atlantian Oceania. Any and all references to the geography of Atlantian Oceania made in the Declaration of Foxchester are to be ignored. In their stead, the following sentence is inserted: We sever all existing ties with Atlantian Oceania.

The Anaian nations forego any claims to the continent of Calania or to any part of northeastern Atlantian Oceania, as made in the original Declaration of Foxchester. For those nations removing themselves from Atlantian Oceania, the land upon which they now stand is not the same land they had previously occupied. The Anaian nations recognize that the land currently situated in the rough geographical position of Former Calania is a true continuation of the landmass, whatever name or shape it assumes, and are pleased to see that the nations of New West Guiana, 95X, and Gyatso-kai have homes in the northeast of a new, improved Atlantian Oceania.

The Anaian nations reaffirm their status as a free and independent region, of equal standing with all other regions in the multiverse, and welcome any nation in the world that wishes to join them.

We, the undersigned

Audioslavia - Wilbur Hawes [First Minister]
Cobrio - Assane Traoré [N'Katoma Delegate]
Chromatika - Keri Wyse Aart [Premier]
Flavovespia - Alexander Mason [President]
Huayramarca - Maximiliano Buendía [President]
Ibixa - Yolanda Ballano [Governor of Ibixa]
Ko-oren - Dhunerin Laurderinthen [Prime Minister], Abodhiru
Gelogathingun [Minister of Foreign Affairs], Dersherun Lekleorisethun [President]
Kotzellach - Kurt Baumann [Chancellor]
Kryosis - ╳ [Unknown]
Krytenia - Gavin Mycroft [Minister of Foreign Affairs]
Legalese - Abigail Calvetti [Director-General]
Mertagne - Julian Vermudyen [Foreign Affairs Premier]
Mriin - Äna Veraani [Ambassador to the North East]
Northwest Kalactin - Jared Sednah [Memetic Personality]
Osarius - Mathieu Lupin [First Minister]
Perlasilangan - [this space intentionally left blank]
The Plough Islands - Cde Dale Piper COP [Premier]
Pyazhnaya - Ksenia Meledin [President]
Quebec and Shingoryeo - Arséne Pineau Kim [Prime Minister]
Savigliane - Dante Quaglia [Foreign Minister]
Starblaydia - Korra Starblayde [Lady-Protector]
Tequilo - Tzalti Larrosa [Presidente]
Vdara - Charalambos Romantos [Leader]
Wight - Duke Aim [Appointed Legate of Messrs. Couth & Ruly; The Gentlemen Interregnum Of Wight]
Yesopalitha - Nirdasil [Chosen of Zaiden]