Corruption and Cannoli (IC)

by **San Lucio** » Sun Dec 08, 2024 12:07 pm

Corruption and Cannoli

The Grand Duchy of San Lucio. The name brings to mind some beautiful, tiny Mediterranean tourist trap, with an easy going figurehead duke and a high standard of life for its happy, italic citizens. That… is not exactly the case. It is a tiny and rather scenic Mediterranean island, with the white villas of the wealthy overlooking the turquoise waters, it is true. But it is also dominated by the deep pits of diamond mines, the telltale chain link fences of work camps and the uncaring grey smokestacks of factories, all hidden beneath the veneer of a tropic paradise. How did this happen? It is said that San Lucio was formed when an angel fell from heaven into the sea, its flaming body forming the island. Perhaps that is the reason the otherwise unremarkable island is so ridiculously rich in wealth. Its veins run with gold, the seas around it are flush with oil deposits. Iron and coal blacken its insides, while diamonds sprinkle the earth below it. Precious orange amber rich mines supply the world’s jewelers, and the islands silver deposits could kill thousands of werewolves, if such creatures proved real. Naturally, humanity is not the fondest of sharing and thus the current situation. The ruling Santangelo family has gleefully drained the Lucian people of wealth in pursuit of excess, and foreign corporations compete for lucrative extraction contracts. Mercenaries shoot each other over briefcases stuffed full with conflict diamonds, and criminals await to strike a bargain with a brutal and corrupt government. Success means riches beyond one’s wildest dreams. Failure means likely death, another casualty for the pile. How will you fare?

Important San Lucian People and Factions

Luca ‘L'innocente’ Santangelo, Duca of San Lucio: L’innocente, as the current dictator of San Lucio is often known, is a absolute madman. The young and rather immature noble is prone to mood swings, outbursts and the occasional brutal assault. It is not the personality one would think that he has, given the Duca’s cherubic and wide eyed innocent looks. It’s a shame, too, that he ended up that way. Luca used to be a sweet kid, the then Conte being dragged around the island by his loving father. The soon to be dictator was used as a sort of unofficial mascot for the military in his youth. In fact, that is where his nickname came from. Sadly, the mental illness that is endemic in the Santangelo’s began to manifest, exacerbated by the brutal death of his father against insurgents. Perhaps it is this trauma that has led to the Generalissimo of San Lucio to be the extraordinarily flamboyant person he is. He lavishes those who have earned his fickle favor with riches beyond compare, and ruthlessly torments those who fall out of it. It is rumored that the spoiled sociopath once beat someone to death with a golf club, and then an hour later spent thousands to save a peasants lost dog. He is fickle, murderous, and affable. A dangerous combination, yet someone who sincerely wishes to profit off of San Lucio will have to deal with. Good luck.

Prime Minister Silvio Vitale: While L’innocente may be the dictator and face of San Lucio, the scatterbrained man is not the best when it comes to the boring part of government, namely economics and paperwork. Thus, Silvio Vitale was… ‘elected’ in a 100% unanimous democratic election. A quiet and reserved man, one who realizes that he would never win an actual election. So, he uses the brash and public L’innocente as the figurehead, while he keeps quietly keeping the country together. Thoroughly corruptible, but never in a self harming way. Vitale is smart, and unlike the Duca, is very patient. A worthy ally, although one that is much harder to get to…

Lady Zoe Santangelo: The younger sister of L’innocente, and the one person who he will never execute. The psychopathic dictator is extremely protective of her. Zoe is an… interesting case. While the Santangelo line’s infamous propensity for mental illness has mercifully touched her lightly (likely being concentrated in her brother), it didn’t skip her entirely. She is known for being rather… spacey, at times, and often obsessed with small details. Still, despite that she is uncommonly kind and innocent. Zoe is in charge of all of San Lucio’s charitable works, which is incredibly small but present. Still, the government keeps her from seeing the atrocities that go on in San Lucio daily…

Mircatu: The Mircatu are San Lucio’s premier crime syndicate. A Sicilian organization descended from market guard fraternities, the Mircatu are a brotherhood wrapped in ritual and mystery. They are brutal and ruthless, although they have a certain honorable mystique to them. The criminal brotherhood is tolerated by the government as they keep most violent crime at bay and serve as another way to beat down the citizenry, and the Duca finds them fascinating. They specialize in racketeering and protection rackets, and their family based cell structure gives them some much needed internal competition. They often serve as leg breakers for morally dubious politicians and businesses. Extremely brutal to rivals, but often generous to their neighborhoods. Lucian’s know that if they have a problem, they can go to their local don. Provided they have paid their protection dues. A worthy ally for any foreigner wishing to survive in San Lucio

Milizia d’Argento: the MD is a brutal fascist militia that serves as a political proxy for the tyrannical government. Brutal, nationalistic, and often racist they are hard reminder that for all the charm and eccentricity of L’innocente, he is still an oppressive dictator. They are supported by the government, and are often seen assaulting unionizers, burning books and complaining on social media about foreigners. Still, they are often willing to provide security and resources to foreign corporations favored by the government. Any foreign alliance with them is likely to be tenuous, however.

Brigata Cremisi: A Communist insurgent group, one that is extraordinarily brittle and weak. The serf populace of San Lucio is much too disconnected and starved to foment an effective revolt, with its core being formed of foreign extremists with a propped up militia of natives used for propaganda purposes. It used to be significantly more powerful, before they made the mistake of killing L’innocente’s father. The then 12 year old heir, despite being puppeted by a regent, ordered the extermination of the group. The killings were loud and public, and the raids frequent. The Brigata still exists, but it is effectively neutered and reduced to disaffected teens graffitiing their symbols on abandoned warehouses. Still, perhaps they could be an ally to someone who wishes to help the people of San Lucio, unlikely as that may be.

Il Malocchio: What would any military dictatorship be without an intrusive secret police? Il Malocchio, or ‘The Evil Eye’ to English speakers is a ruthless and one of the few efficient Lucian government bodies. Even the possibly mentally disturbed Duca understands the need for controlling the populace. Known for ‘reassigning’ workers to the euphemistically named ‘campi di produttività’ and taking political dissidents on death flights, the Malocchio are competent and not rife with nepotistic cronies. Unlikely to be an easily corruptible ally, however, an extremely potent one if won.

Forza di Difesa Anticriminale (FDA): The Forza di Difesa Anticriminale is a militarized police task force, formed by the Duca during his brief anti-drug phase, the FDA is extremely violent and corrupt. It spends most of its time taking bribes and killing rival criminals. In fact, it is basically another gang with official backing and a mandate. They are known for being over eager to shoot ‘criminals.’ They often spend their shifts beating up random poor citizens and guarding foreign corporate sites, or seizing criminals stocks of drugs and then distributing them for a tidy profit. If some crafty corporation wants a quick and easily corruptible ally, the FDA is always willing to make easy money in exchange for looking the other way, or the occasional extrajudicial killing.

Società Abbiati: SA is corporation that was entrusted with extracting diamonds from San Lucio. However, Jacopo Abiatti fell out of favor with the generalissimo after it was discovered he had candles in his Villa, which had been recently made illegal only hours before. After this unforgivable and treasonous act, SA’s contract wasn’t renewed. Now the company is desperately attempting to prevent its seemingly inevitable collapse, not helped by the strange disappearance of Jacopo. They are a potential target for rival corporations, or perhaps an ally to the more charitable. What they are for sure, however, is a cautionary tale about the Duca’s fickle mind…

The Knights of our Lady of the Rosary: San Lucio is very italic in culture, and is off the coast of the Italian mainland. Thusly, it is very catholic nation. The Knights of Our Lady of the Rosary, or the Rosary Knights are a religious military order dating back to the crusades. Nowadays, they serve as the Vatican’s main organizing body in San Lucio, keeping the church’s influence strong while also collecting generous donations. The Knights main job is shielding the church from scandal, making sure Lucian atrocities don’t rebound onto the See. A good ally to any catholic players, although likely to antagonize others.

I Custodi: One of the few relatively morally acceptable factions in San Lucio, a green protest group that is attempting fruitlessly to improve conditions and maintain San Lucio’s natural beauty. They prefer peaceful protest which generally gets them shot by Milizia goons who dislike those who want actual democracy. After all, they represent a threat, however peaceable. A worthy ally to moral players, but a currently weak and non-confrontational one…

Player Factions

OOC Stuff

Heya! Welcome to Corruption and Cannolis! I am San Lucio, although usually I am Daeva, and I am happy that you are at least partially interested. Enough to read this. Anyways, this RP is designed as a long running political and character intrigue game. Players will… uh… play as foreign corporations, mercenaries, and criminals attempting to corrupt San Lucio and attempt to gain access to the massive wealth therein. Or… I suppose one could play as a charity or something. Try and change things… but where’s the fun in that? Anyways, the game will center on intrigue and character development as opposed to military stats and one liners. If this sounds fun, well, San Lucio awaits!

Rules

by **San Lucio** » Sun Dec 08, 2024 12:08 pm

Società Abbiati Boardroom, Pazzi, San Lucio

“-CEO Jacopo Abbiati missing-”

“-SA Stocks plummeting, investors jum-“

“Rumors of Abbiati nationalizatio-“

Francesco Abbiati turned off the television in disgust, turning to the stuffed shirt directors behind him. “Every channel. Every. Damn. Channel.” The young man seethed. First, due to some insane new law by that idiot L’innocente, the company had to deal with governmental interference. Then, their contracts came up for renewal and those traitors in government hadn’t renewed them, and to top it all off his brilliant father had went missing. Missing! Ha, kidnapped more like. The shareholders were pulling out, and it would take a Herculean effort for the hastily sworn in CEO to keep his father’s company from being torn apart and picked clean by their competitors and worse, the government. “All because of some damn candles! Let’s think of solutions here, people! Our contracts are up in a month. A month! If we want to be able to rebound from this that better be the most damn profitable month of our fiscal year!” He shouted petulantly. His father was really a better CEO, more charming than his bitter son. But the son was all the company had at the moment. “We could… relocate?” The timid voice of Isabella Amato, the gold mining companies accountant. “No, it’s too late for that! All our assets are here.” Francesco snapped, causing the number cruncher in front of him to wince. But then… the businessman began to smile. “You know what? I just had an idea. One where all of us profit. As long as we can hold onto our holdings and keep those damn foreigners claws away from them, we can drain them for all they are worth. Screw safety and caution, just take everything as quickly as possible, then make a tidy getaway…. Yes.. that will do nicely.” The young man said in his best evil genius voice. Little did the businessman know that he was about to set off a massive and dangerous chain of events…

Villa d'Avorio, Pazzi, San Lucio

The courtyard of the Duca’s home, the Villa d'Avorio was burning. Not from revolts, no, the structure itself and the inhabitants there in were perfectly safe. No, the bonfire in the center was a welcome addition, requested by L’innocente himself. The sickly sweet smell of thousands upon thousands of candles being thrown into the fire by the rabid Milizia d’Argento, alongside other contraband such as communist and other such distasteful books, and anything else that the Generalissimo wished to not be in his country. Fascist and monarchist slogans were shouted by the militants as they marched around the insatiable flames, feeding its lapping tendrils worshipfully. From a balcony, Luca Santangelo himself, better known as L’innocente waved and smiled at his ‘fans.’ He didn’t look the part of a dictator, his large round eyes and golden blond wavy hair, handsome features and quick and joyful smile didn’t make him seem the type. But if one looked closely at those childlike eyes, one could almost see cracks forming. The Duca wore a maroon military uniform and a white beret, as white had always been the color of the Christian Nationalist party. The only political party allowed in San Lucio, as it happened. With him on the balcony was Silvio Vitale, a much more dour looking man who wouldn’t look out of place in an accounting firm. “Look at my people, Silvio. They love me.” L’innocente said in a rare good mood. “Sire.” The prime minister assented. After all, one didn’t insult one’s boss when they could kill you without repercussions. A commotion broke out below as the crowd seemed to single out someone. A fool had decided to arrive with the symbols of the Brigata Cremisi on theirs clothes. Luca laughed as the Milizia reacted violently to the interloper. It would seem that the bonfire would have more fuel after all, just when it seemed they had run out…

What a perfect time to enter the fraught world of Lucian politics…

by **Socalist Republic Of Mercenaries** » Sun Dec 08, 2024 4:37 pm

Berlin, Federal Republic of Germany.
Joachim Wojewódka studied his reflection in the cracked mirror of a low-lit Berlin apartment, the room cluttered with the relics of his latest preparations. In front of him sat dye kits, makeup palettes, and a faded photograph of a man who didn’t exist: Friedrich “Mithras” Neumann, the persona Joachim would embody for his latest venture into chaos. He was now the middle aged, forever unimpressed CEO of Mithras Holdings GmbH, which to outsiders was a boutique firm catering to ultra-high-net-worth individuals and small institutional investors, but internally, as its creator, he knew very, very well it was just a Munich-based shell corporation.

To him, Mithras Holdings wasn't just any shell compant, it was his Magnum Opus, his centerpiece.

His usually clean-shaven face was now shadowed by a carefully cultivated stubble, streaked with an artful grayness, accented by a shock of white in his otherwise dark hair, combed from its unkempt mess. A meticulous transformation, one intended to grant him anonymity while giving off an air of authority.

He felt the stubble and smiled softly as his fingertips met the coarse hairs that now peppered his cheek and jawline, giving a knowing nod.

Neumann, an enigmatic “independent businessman and CEO” from Munich with a penchant for Mediterranean ventures, had no history—just enough whispered reputation to make him plausible. Joachim had crafted him with precision, a phantom conjured from the fog of Europe's old money elite.

The Lufthansa flight to San Lucio would mark his debut.

With a knowing smirk, he quietly placed the XxL™ Field-Laptop into a classy leather suitcase packed with spare changes of clothes and shut the latches. He adjusted the small gold lapel pin, in the form of a a stylized sunburst surrounding a lion’s head, and exited the apartment.

Berlin-Brandenburg International Airport
Joachim—or rather, Neumann—boarded the flight with 25 of his trusted associates. Each of them was similarly transformed, their appearances altered to evade recognition. The group carried with them nothing outwardly suspicious: sleek luggage filled with innocuously disguised tools of trade—satellite phones, encrypted laptops, and layers of paperwork hinting at investment firms and mining contracts.

The flight itself was quiet, the hum of the engines providing a backdrop to Neumann’s thoughts. San Lucio, a paradise rotting from within, was a chessboard of power plays, and he intended to carve out his space amidst its chaos. The grandiose, unstable Duca, the brutal militia factions, and the endlessly greedy corporations would all become pieces in his scheme. To him, this was his playground, paved in lead.

As the jet cruised steadily toward its destination, Joachim—now fully embodying Friedrich “Mithras” Neumann—settled back in the plush first-class seat. His confidant, Kostya Lagunov, who had assumed the persona of Harvey Forrest, sat across from him. Lagunov, a man of few words, was the type of person who analyzed every situation in minute detail before speaking. His presence was solid, calm, and unfailingly strategic—qualities Joachim had come to rely on. He seemed lost in thought.

"Mithras," Kostya began in a low voice, his eyes scanning the bustling cabin before settling back on Joachim,

"We'll need to secure a solid foothold before we do anything. You're sure about the mines?"

Joachim rubbed the coarse hairs on his chin

"Ja, ja... of course... If we can gain control of one of those derelict mines and turn it into a server farm, we'll have an undetectable base of operations. The constant temperature regulation will be a massive advantage for maintaining our encrypted servers. Our main problem with our servers is cooling, don't you know? Cooling makes up like 25% of our operational costs... If we could move our globally-based hardware and set this up as a 'headquarters' of sorts, we'll be saving like... three million dollars on operating costs..."

He paused, watching Kostya’s expression shift into a slight nod of approval. Kostya had long understood the value of turning something ordinary into something extraordinary, and this plan—born from the depths of the island’s often-overlooked infrastructure—was a perfect example.

"The first step, as we discussed, is capital,"

Kostya replied, his voice barely a whisper.

"We hit the ATMs, grab the cash, and establish a safehouse. Around $200,000 should be enough to get us started, wouldn't you agree?"

"Ja, of course... We need enough to grease a few palms. Some of the local factions are going t-"

A voice interrupted them—one they both recognized, but not in this context. Jameson "Jace" Macalister, the elusive American operator in the Xx_£yndicate_xX, stepped into the booth, the hard edges of his posture softened by the casual yet professional air he projected. He was under the persona Gabriel “Gabe” Trent for this operation, his American roots providing a subtle but effective cloak for his true operations.

"Heh, I hear we're going after the big fish already, boys?" Jace said with a sly grin, sliding into the seat next to Kostya, giving Joachim's Belarusian confidant posing as another "American" a nudge with a smirk.

Kostya frowned but held back.

He flicked a glance at the two men before continuing, his American accent cutting through the usual low murmurs of the cabin. "The ATMs are just the start. What about the other factions? Mircatu’s got some reach. If we can lock down a deal with them, it could give us some street credibility."

Joachim leaned forward, his expression unreadable but his eyes alight with the thrill of the venture ahead.

"That's the plan, Gabe. We get the cash, we start securing our first location, make some petty bank, and then we move on the Mircatu. They'll want something in exchange for their protection. The deal is simple: a cut of whatever we bring in. With their muscle on our side, we won't just be another corporate player—they’ll know us as a force."

He paused. There might be some underlying consequences, but that was as it would be right now.

"We could bring in some of the big guns from outside, but for now, Mircatu it is."

Kostya, ever the strategist, considered Joachim's implications, quietly nodding.

"Mircatu's loyalty isn't guaranteed, though. We'll need to find a way to prove we're a more lucrative ally than the others."

Jameson raised an eyebrow at the remark, nodding in agreement as well.

"Yeah, I guess. Their government's currently looking for someone to fill a power vacuum, and we might just be able to leverage that. Apparently, Santangelo fucking killed the last guy... I think his name was Jacopo Abbiati or something... so now Società Abbiati is in shambles... and look at us... like vultures, picking off bits and pieces of roadkill."

"Exactly," Joachim said with a grin, rubbing his hands together in thought. "We have the cash to grease a few hands, but we need to be cautious. We aren’t the only players on this island. It's a dance with knives, and we're stepping in with just the right moves."

The plan was taking shape as the airplane descended over the turquoise waters of San Lucio, an island that held the promise of wealth, power, and peril. The trio knew that the next phase would require precision, ruthlessness, and an unyielding drive to get their hands on as many of the island’s many assets as they could. For now, their focus was clear—secure the funds, establish a base, and prepare for the inevitable battles that lay ahead.

Kostya raised the champagne glass.

"Ради вашего здоровья и здоровья Синдиката."

Joachim quietly clinked his glass with his, and swung over to clink it with Jameson's.

"O zdrowie Twoje i Syndykatu."

Jameson chuckled softly. He spoke just about enough Polish and Russian working with the two to know what they meant.

"Yes, yes... to all of your good health. And of course, Here's to the Syndicate."

by **Rensato** » Sun Dec 08, 2024 7:01 pm

The Center and the Periphery

•Aishu District, Rensatō, Varathron•

_{•08:21, December 8th, 2024•}

The lights and sounds of the city outside - like a galaxy, in it’s appearance. All the stars of heaven themselves, brought down to the waiting and passive Earth - a hundred million souls moved together, at once. The flashing lights of advertisement, and the occasional patrol of a soldier in black and with the eyes of purple - looking out deeply into the endless horizon of great towers and glimmering lights, where deep in the distance they cast off of towering, billowing columns of fumes of some new industrial works to churn out with enduring vigor the products and amenities of a burgeoning Empire. To whisk by the towering skyscrapers, which sat as shining beacons atop the endless dimly lit dens of iniquity. The occasional buzz of Imperial surveillance drones, operating in their own little pairs, sailing carelessly above the troubles of the newfound Rensatōjin night. A voice, omnipresent - vaguely female, though distinctly inhuman and mechanical in intonation, continued to list endless series of instructions - “Civil Disturbance in Grid 318, Subgrid 27. Protection Team… Seven-One… Respond - Operation Code… 818.” - so had it droned on intermittently, yet never once had it ever ceased. Atop the great towers, where insignia the size of billboards remained proudly displayed - one stood, one like many of the others - and at the highest floor, of this high tower, where imported silken curtains kept dim the world-galaxy and where immaculate fine wooden dark tiled floors found and met with marble furnishings and black walls with eclectic patterns of silver driven into them.

A gentle crease - and a slow decline. She dipped her head low, silky-black hair coming to rest altogether and at once. Steady, and measured to the precise angle, the appropriate depth of a bow owed. Answered had she been, in the gentle bow - just a few centimeters higher, by the one she bowed to. Step. Feet, bound in shined black leather polished to a point where one might see his own reflection, put together. Step. They rose as one - harmonious - and there did the eyes of the pair lock upon each other, her shined and clean hair falling back into place. Each had a distinctly oriental appearance - the same pair of reddish eyes shared between them.

“Father.”

A soft voice spoke out - a touch of reverence left thinly veiled. The somewhat whitish man before her remained standing - the traits of his ever-similar to hers, yet aged considerably - his stern eyes calmed and tempered by the presence of his beloved daughter, and sealed behind silver-bound round glasses. His head had been balding to some small degree, with recessed hair that had turned to a distinguished silver coloration. His form, even in age, was sturdy, well built - bound in a silken, clean black suit - one that seemed to lack a dress shirt, being more of a business jacket - with the sole appearance of any break in that wholly black demeanor being an incredibly rich crimson coloration into a slightly offset pocket - into which intricate patterns of silver had been woven. He took a few moments to regard his daughter before he spoke himself - a deep, almost rumbling voice, dramatic in it’s onset and in it’s intonation.

“Sayuri-San.”
He spoke - using an honorific. He pitched his chin up slightly, as if to further examine her appearance. He’d raised her like he’d wanted, so it’d seem, even if he would never dare show it - a pencil skirt of black, paired with stockings over her yet unblemished pale skin - heels that had been pitched - tall enough to show a certain deftness of movement, and still short enough not to be wholly impractical. A face with somewhat calculating features, set between a clean short black Rensatōjin bob - cunning, yet firey orangish- red eyes looked up at him - as if in a mix of reverence and yet watching him for any err. A silken white, ruffled unmarred shirt - and common to the trappings of their Imperial overlords, a tasteful black corset which had sat partially obscured by the shirt ruffles. A black coat, designed to fit precisely to her slender form - and decorated with the imprint of a crimson lotus flower upon the breastpocket, emblazoned proudly.

Rumbling once again from his deep voice, and turning at the heels of his fine, leather shoes - taking a few slow, measured steps to the window - with a single hand, beckoning Sayuri to follow.
“I have asked you here… my… flower… to discuss along certain lines of… investment. I intend to do business The… shareholders and I have… monitored a developing situation. Far, far from here.”

He paused - a subtle test - to see whether or not Sayuri would yet know what, still, he was speaking of - and Sayuri yet knew that her father had been meeting with the Zaibatsus without her - far be it from her to feel rage, but if ever it would stir, it would have been then - still dispassionate in tone, she rose to speak - her heels clacking along as she rose to stand near her father.

“San Lucio.”
She spoke without fervor - as if stating a simple fact. He turned his head, if only a few degrees - hardly even facing her, but regarding her still.
“Correct. The situation has developed not necessarily to our disadvantage. The… Chairmen have foreseen a situation to which a profit can be created. Our benefactors concur on this particular matter.”

He turned slowly from the window - gesturing calmly with an open hand to a conspicuous table, upon which lay a conspicuous, finely made example of porcelain, from which rose a wispy band of steam - the telltale appearance of a fine, hot Sake. Sayuri, in no haste, took her place at the table as they sat down.

“I must agree.” she spoke. “Yet I must also note… the irrationality of the power that governs that place. If the… shareholders and benefactors concur - then I shall defer such judgement.”

Her father chuckled - if only slightly. He snapped his fingers - ‘click!’
“A wise decision.” he spoke. A servant in an all-black dress with the little white frills one might associate with a more refined maid - quickly made her approach, giving a deep bow and a greetings of gratitude for service as she calmly and measuredly retrieved two, white cups - placing one for each, and promptly pouring the hot Sake. With a wave yet again - the servant bowed deeply, and promptly departed.

“For I have chosen to send you to represent… our company in this matter.”

Ever so slightly, Sayuri’s eyebrow raised. Her brother would be disappointed. She spoke in turn, not yet reaching for the Sake.

“I am honored that you would give this task to me, Father.”

Her father simply looked at her - with a black leather-gloved hand, reaching for the steaming cup of Sake - with a loose, yet confident hold - something to which Sayuri would answer with, holding her own in turn. He regarded her, staring deep at her in a way that made her feel as though she was being judged. It was hard to tell, most of the time - whether it was silent disapproval, respect, or simple unempassioned placidity - a trait that she had come to hate and revere in that father of hers.

“Do your task well, Sayuri-san - and you would do honor unto yourself.”

They each rose their cups, hands in harmony - one at the eye of the storm, and the other at it’s swirling and raging heart.

“Shinsei Jotei Banzai.”
She spoke, calmly as she could have possibly been as she stared into the eyes of her father - she needed to do well in this task, and there was no other option for her - lest she find herself useless. Her father looked on - rising with her and in his judgement, he quietly and yet passionately spoke in a dramatic, almost concussive way.

“Ban-zai!”

by **Hakarlsla** » Mon Dec 09, 2024 8:26 pm

The sounds of piano music filled the halls of the Hakarlic royal palace. It was small, at least for a palace, but its interior was still spacious and luxurious, decorated with the riches had been obtained from centuries of rulership. And behind the spectacular grand piano was none other than a royal- Ruria Abrekk. The 24-year-old darling of the people was arguably the most recognizable face within the entire royal family- with both her music career and her political position propelling her to that status, even ahead of her father, King Gundar. Resultingly, she wielded a hefty chunk of weight within the court of public opinion- and yet she was agile with it, quick to capitalize on any opportunity to further her goals. And one of those goals was the near-total political disenfranchisement and disempowerment of her brother, Prince Runar. She hated him. And she was far from the only one who had a serious issue with him- her older sister, Prince Ingvild, had a claim to successorship that actively conflicted with Runar’s. Ingvild was the elder of the two, but there hadn’t been a Hakarlic queen in centuries. Runar’s claim to the throne revolved around, effectively, an actively misogynist and traditionalist interpretation of Abrekk succession laws- where as Ingvild claimed the exclusion of princesses from the line of succession were merely traditions- and that they should move on from such backwards ideas.

But enough about the big picture- and more about the moment. Ruria’s eyes fluttered shut as she let her muscle memory take over. It was a song she had played many times- one of Hakarlic origin. Her late mother, Anna, had taught it to her when she was young- although by now, she had certainly exceeded her mother’s talents. Even then, she still gave her mother credit for her fascination with the instrument. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes like this, she liked to imagine her mother’s hand on her shoulder again, like it was back when she was only 12. Suddenly, she was jolted out of her meditative state by a voice. A voice she had once loved. Her damned brother, Runar.

“Oh, my dear sister, don’t you remember? We’re set to leave in only an hour.” She hated every second of seeing him these days. Once upon a time, she thought his greed was misguided- and that he was misunderstood. Now? Now, she couldn’t stand him. She had given up on her own brother. “I’m surprised you remembered. Now… why don’t you go back to your last-minute preparations. My bad, I forgot- you always have one of the servants do it for you- and then you complain about how they did it. It was funny the first… actually, it never was. It’s just sad that you can’t manage a damn thing on your own, Runar.”

Runar rolled his eyes. A small part of him was hurt every time Ingvild or Ruria, or his other two siblings pushed him away, and it was becoming all the more common. And he was getting quite numb. “Oh, Ruria. When did I ever mention my own preparations, hm? The question was, in essence… are you ready?”

And at that, the young princess groaned. “Yes, Runar. I am. Now leave me alone.” And with that, Runar slipped away. He didn’t want to give Ruria the satisfaction of feeling like she had frustrated or hurt him. But she had. Part of him wished he could be better for… everyone. But that part of him was suffocating beneath his greed and sense of entitlement. The humility never won out in his mind, not in the end. It was always crushed by a domineering sense of “they’re trying to take away what I deserve, it’s me versus them”. And so he fell further away from his once-caring siblings. But deep down, he was miserable, even if he pretended to not care.

In both cases, they would have to turn their feelings off and their professionalism on for their upcoming trip- even if they had… differing degrees of such a thing. They were royals, after all. They couldn’t be weak.

by **Socalist Republic Of Mercenaries** » Wed Dec 11, 2024 6:14 am

OOC: introducing other group
IC:
Some Airport in San Lucio...
The Dassault Falcon 7X touched down smoothly on the sunlit San Lucio airstrip, its engines whining as the aircraft taxied toward a waiting convoy. Outside, a hulking IL-76 cargo plane of the Stratusian Ground Aviation Logistics Corps had already landed, its rear ramp lowered to reveal the squad’s vehicles. The hot Mediterranean air shimmered over the tarmac as they stepped off the Falcon, greeted by a cluster of vehicles parked in orderly fashion.

At the forefront was a pale grayish-blue 1986 Dodge Ram van, bearing the fading logo of "Oh-Kay Plumbing and Heating" in red italicized font on its side. Beside it sat Gerhard Sprechter’s dark gray 2016 GlasMASH UR-39 Executive, its sleek and polished form an obvious contrast to the Dodge’s beat-up appearance. A short distance away were two clean, black 2012 Ford Econoline E-150s, their tinted windows concealing their ЧВК «Распутин» operators.

Poldi gave the Dodge a once-over, his lips twitching into a smirk realizing what Gerhard had pulled off.

"Seriously? The Home Alone van? The one with Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern? What do you think we are? The Wet Bandits?" he quipped, referencing the 1990 comedy with the kind of tone that could puncture a tire.

Gerhard, unfazed, slid his sunglasses into place and smiled.

"Of course, It's for you guys, but you see... I have a finer taste in things." he said with a touch of melodrama, gesturing toward his immaculate GlasMASH.

The squad rest of the squad approached the Dodge, and Anton raised an eyebrow at the sight.

"Why this? You're telling me we look threatening in that thing?"

Gerhard chuckled, patting the van’s side affectionately. He holds up a finger, wagging it theatrically.

"Appearances, my good sir Kovalev, can be deceiving. How invisible can a beat-up old van be? This little treasure lets us go wherever we please without raising an eyebrow... It's not unlike how the Russian FSB uses UAZ-452s for Spetsnaz transport during undercover ops - pull up on the side of the street, pop out of the trunk guns blazing if things go south. A bit of camouflage for urban missions never hurts."

Yuliana opened the side door, revealing an interior that was nothing like the unassuming exterior. The van’s cabin had been gutted and rebuilt into a practical operation hub. Alongside the driver’s seat were additional communication systems and a GPS setup and laptop, while the rear contained a weapons workbench, neatly organized with compartments for extra fuel and ammunition. Along with all the electronics upgrades was a thin aramid lining and HDPE plates were fitted discreetly inside the body shell, offering a degree of protection.

"Holy shit... it's a whole functional armory inside..." muttered Poldi

"Okay, I'll admit," Marleen said, stepping inside to inspect,

"This is a lot more impressive than I thought." she said with a dry chuckle.

Gerhard leaned against the open door with a sly grin.

"See? It's all about blending in while staying prepared. I call it functional flair."

Poldi, still unimpressed, turned toward the GlasMASH.

"Meanwhile, that thing sticks out like a sore thumb."

“Luxury has its price,” Gerhard replied breezily, moving to unlock his executive car.

Marriott San Lucio - Pazzi
The convoy pulled up to the grand facade of the San Lucio Marriott, a towering structure of gleaming glass and white stone overlooking the azure Mediterranean Sea. Valets in sharp uniforms hurried over, but Gerhard waved them off, stepping out of his sleek GlasMASH UR-39 with the air of someone who owned the place.

The rest of the team filed out of the Dodge and Econolines, stretching and eyeing the opulent hotel. Poldi whistled low.

"All this? Guess the Bureau’s feeling generous."

Anton grinned as he hoisted his duffel bag over his shoulder.

"A blank check from the Rodina. Gotta love it when they spare no expense."

Inside, the lobby was a cathedral of marble and crystal chandeliers, the kind of place that smelled faintly of fresh flowers and wealth. The team checked in quickly, the concierge almost reverent as he handed over their keys and explained that they had secured the entire top floor of suites for their stay.

As they rode the elevator up, the hum of luxury surrounded them. Yuliana leaned against the mirrored wall, her rifle case slung over her back.

"Top floor, huh? Makes it easier to see who’s coming for us."

Marleen stuck her tongue out at the remark.

"Or harder for us to escape,"

The doors opened to reveal a wide corridor with plush carpeting and tasteful lighting. They filed out, each heading to their assigned rooms. The top floor was split into suites, each one more decadent than the last.

Poldi flopped onto the nearest couch in his room, letting out a groan.

"This beats sleeping in the back of the van."

Yuliana nodded in agreement, stowing away her rifle case and gear bag in the closet.

As the team settled in, muffled sounds of chaos began to seep through the walls. It started with laughter, then a series of loud thuds, followed by someone shouting,

"Ay pizdec! Alyosha! Not the lamp, you idiot!"

Marleen tilted her head up away from her novel she was reading raising an eyebrow.

"What the hell"s going on in there?"

Anton chuckled softly.

"Sounds like the rowdier crowd decided to relive their childhoods. Pillowfight, maybe?"

Another loud crash from the suite next door seemed to confirm it.

"How much you want to bet Gerhard’s sipping on something expensive right now?"

Anton chuckled.

"Not taking that bet. It's too obvious."

The team eventually began to settle in, the distant sounds of chaos fading into the ambiance of the hotel. For now, it was a moment of calm in a storm they all knew was coming.

Meanwhile, Gerhard had already disappeared into his own private sanctuary. His suite was immaculate, with modern minimalist decor that somehow managed to feel both inviting and commanding.

The man had an eye for exclusivity, after all. He shut the door behind him and exhaled in contentment, relishing the silence compared to the chaos next door.

He set his luggage down, pouring himself a glass of brandy from the bar, and sank into a leather armchair. Outside his window, the city’s skyline gleamed under the fading sunlight. For Gerhard, moments like these were rare—and precious.

by **San Lucio** » Wed Dec 11, 2024 5:59 pm

Società Abbiati Boardroom, Pazzi, San Lucio

“What.” The flat response from the generally hotheaded Francisco Abbiati was entirely worse then any outburst he could have had. Isabella Amato, the CFO of the company cringed as she prepared for her volatile bosses reaction. The only thing worse than giving bad news was giving it twice. “Almost all of our savings are… gone, Signor Abbiati.” She said softly, nervously fidgeting with her necklace as she awaited the imminent explosion. “Ah. I see…” the man said calmly, standing from the finely carved mahogany table he sat before and striding listlessly towards the massive window. Below say Pazzi, San Lucio’s capital with its white brick walls and orange barrel clay roofs. So peaceful, besides the nationalist parade snaking its way down the cobble stone streets of the cozy italic town. If one had only seen beautiful harbor town, they would likely have the wrong idea about the island nation. But such internal ramblings only delayed facing the inevitable. “I see.” The CEO repeated in denial. “How?” He asked curtly. “Oh… uh…” Amato stammered nervily, shifting her weight cagily. “It was withdrawn from our accounts, sir. Legally. We still have whatever our remaining investors will cough up, ah, and our remaining gold stores are untouched… but our savings are gone.” Francisco nodded slowly, turning towards the board deliberately. The rising sun silhouetted him as he began to spoke. “Then we must have a traitor. Who withdrew it? There must be a paper trail.” The businessman asked coldly. This was the question the accountant was dreading the most. The answer was not something that would go over well, even when compared to the endless storm of bad news she had already delivered. “Your father, Signor Jacopo Abbiati.”

Later, the crack that appeared in the boardroom window was said to have always been there. And any employee was wise not to mention the bandage that had appeared wrapped around Francisco Abbiati’s hand…

Ad published by Società Abbiati

25000 reward for any actionable information regarding the location of Jacopo Abbiati, 30,000,000 for his safe return.

Streets of Pazzi, San Lucio

The Christian Nationalist Party of San Lucio was rather vocal, and its armed wing the Milizia d’Argento was rather violent. Such was to be expected. So, it wasn’t exactly surprising when the parade had found itself in front of the local headquarters of Texron Energy Corporation. The Monticellian owned company was a up and comer in the oil business, but that wasn’t exactly relevant to this story. What was relevant were the flames lapping at is base, the rabid crowd hucking torches and Molotov cocktails through its windows. “Morte agli americani!” the Milizia instigator shouted through his megaphone, riling up the mob. The Monticellian security guards laid where they fell, a casualty of the riot. To all spectators and even to most of the participants this was merely a boiling up or nationalist fervor, striking back at perceived foreign exploitation. But that’s not what this was, not in the slightest. The San Luciano government couldn’t care less about foreign companies profiting off of the island, in fact they encouraged it due to the wealth it brought them. No, this was a message. Texron hadn’t paid their dues, and Il Malocchio was only to happy to remind them of the consequences of screwing with the Duca. It was all too easy for the secret police officers to use their right-winger connections within Milizia d’Argento to make this little reminder happen. One of their agents watched, aloof, smiling at the burning building. Luciano emergency services would contain the blaze, but, ah, the Texron Offices would be conspicuously left unsaved. If those Monticellian’s wanted to keep their contracts, next time they should pay their ‘processing fees’ on time. The inferno was so vast, it was even visible from the skies or the Marriott hotel…

Runway B, Royal Santangelo Airport, Pazzi, San Lucio

The Hakarlic royals initial greeting was not exactly what they might have expected. Instead of ambivalence or a red carpet, a troop of rough San Luciano soldiers awaited them to forcefully escort them from their private plane with only curt Italian to justify themselves. Well, that and the rifles hanging from their scarred, muscular forms. The deafening sound of an approaching helicopter practically drowned out all other sentences as the royals and their crew were practically shoved out of their plane onto the tarmac. More soldiers stood in a loose semicircle around the plane, their guns held to the side in a ready position. The sound was all encompassing now, the black angular vehicle making a slow descent and whipping up the air around the crowd. The black hat of one of the Luciano officers was swept off of his head as the helicopter completed its descent, with one of the soldiers opening the door to reveal… L’innocente. The mad dictator of San Lucio himself, one whose reputation for having a wicked temper and a shattered mind… smiled angelically at them as he dismounted the helicopter, followed closely by a practical giant of a man. “Buongiorno!” The Madman of Pazzi said cheerfully, taking his maroon beret off his golden hair, swinging it in a sweeping gesture as he indicated the country around him. “I am Luca Santangelo, Duca of this fine country. Welcome to my country. I figured it was only right for royalty to be greeted by royalty.” The young man said perkily, his straight white smile seeming to single-handedly disprove the stories about the man. Still, his face darkened somewhat as he noticed his soldiers grips on the pair of royals. “Unhand my guests.” The Generalissimo said coolly, the two soldiers instantly releasing the pair and backing up nervously. “Dino, if you could show these two fine gentlemen… their bonus?” The cherubic dictator said incongruously icily, the massive man behind him nodding slowly and gesturing for the two soldier to follow him.

As the pair of guards were taken away out of view, Luca turned back to them happy once again. “Perdonami, I am surrounded by incompetents. This was supposed to be… much less like a hostage taking.” He said, seemingly genuinely apologetic. “Anyways, I hope the surprise I have prepared for us will make it up to you both.” Luca said, beginning to walk back towards the helicopter and gesturing for the Prince and Princess to follow him. “I have cleared my schedule for today, especially for you two! Well, are you coming?” The Duca said, smiling happily as two gunshots rang out in the near distance. It would, perhaps, be for the best not to consider what those two soldiers got for their bonus, and simply accept the Duca’s hospitality while his fragile mood was still positive…

by **Rensato** » Thu Dec 12, 2024 2:47 am

A Northerly Wind Blows

Impersvokuflot VN-2192, Outbound to San Lucio, Levanora Vastness
19:21, December 11th, 2024

A sonic boom crashed like thunder over the dark, swirling abyss of the vastness - great swept wings of perfect white, adorned at each end by silver, thick lines of black with just the simple tinges of purple. Warm eyes beheld what lay below - scanning with a few passes over the great ocean that lay before her. It was far from the first time she had set out on a plane like this, and it wasn't the first time she had ventured beyond the great expanse of the great north. It was a kindness, perhaps - in the hum of those great turbojets that propelled her forward through the waiting skies at twice the speed of sound. She reclined back into her leather backed seat, which creased and yielded ever so slightly to her. Beside her - the sound of steps rang out, as Sayuri's head turned to look out at the plane around her - the fine wooden paneling, the gentle warm light of little lamps casting dainty shadows which danced playfully. Nothing had stirred, thus far - she took a simple few steps over, heels on the ground yet making little noise, plucking a bag from a nearby table.

Neatly clutching at the straps of the bag - and retrieving the silver-coated laptop inside, she placed it in a professional manner onto that desk of hers - it was not yet time to relax, not when there was work to be done. Deftly her hands pressed upon keys, swiftly did she prepare an array of credentials of the highest order of secrecy, to prepare and draft the assortment of documentation she would require for the effort ahead of her now - an army of lawyers, accountants, and consultants, had always been in ceaseless motion - slaving one after another in the ever so-cleverly designed web of contracts, lease agreements, rent arrangements... It always seemed, in every day of this world, in all the centuries and decades, there was simply never enough time - statements to prepare, legal documentation to ensure was double and triple checked - on and on, the work went, day in and day out, without usual breaks, without interrupt-
Knock, Knock, Knock.

A quick hand pressed the lid of the laptop - and a soft sigh escaped Sayuri's cherry lips. She spoke in an accent, in the language of her occupiers - a soft tone, just loud enough to be heard. "Kasal einvir." She knew who it was - instinctively, she stood, to bow - something that was answered with a small degree of hesitation by the woman who stood before her. A uniform of black leather told all one needed to know before even truly earnestly looking - and yet, the woman was quick to rise. "Sayuri Hakakamura," she spoke. They each looked on each other - the woman before Sayuri wore a uniform of black leather with a gentle warm sheen under the reddish light of the cabin - a dark armband, and a clean appearance - and silver hair, almost the same color as her pale skin - the purple eyes, of course, were most striking - set between rather full cheeks that almost always seemed to harbor a little smile - as if all the world was a joke no-one understood but her. Sayuri's lips broke - wordless for a moment, before finally speaking quietly. "Isana-san." Isana made a slow approach to one of the chairs - leaning back slowly, as if she had owned it. "It is not needed to be so formal, Sayuri. I'm not a noblewoman, you know." Sayuri turned briefly, glancing at her laptop before turning back to her - uttering quickly. "What is it you wish to convey... Isana-san?" - to this, Isana sighed briefly, before straightening her spine - looking directly at her. "I suspect you are aware of the... circumstances of the matter in San Lucio. It will not be like work in your home-country. The... situation, as it stands, has degraded to some extent since your last brief. We know of the presence of the Hakarlic royalty in the country. Foreign actors have been entirely anticipated, naturally.

"I thought you should know, then, I've arranged some strings on my end. The Empire's support is with you, as you should know, then. To that end, as well, that a corporate office belonging to a Monticellan company, Texron offices in the country has been... burned, by the ruling government. While I would not presume the ruling government would offend us - caution is... advisable. The situation remains delicate - and, dare I say - volatile." Sayuri leaned back - Texron. Such was a new development - the risks for a foreign investor remained extensive. “The wild beast is something to behold in the wild. A safe bet is like… taking a single strike against a wild duck. It bears reward, yes. Ample enough, even, to eat upon. No risk, either. No one will sit down and tell you earnestly how they have fought perilously and vanquished such an ignominious creature. I can hardly suggest one would mount and stuff the head of one.”

She paused for a moment - looking up. “I live for the Hart. For the Vixen, of luxurious pelt. For the taste of a shark. They will fight. It is those who will be remembered in the books of history - or in the memories of ones such as you. Texfron pushed too hard, they didn’t know when a temporary compromise was necessary - they paid the price for the blunder, and for failing to recognize the rules of the game. I am not one to make the same mistake.” She clutched a pen between her fingers - twirling it in her hand aimlessly. “San Lucio is a fine prize. Wealthy. What exists of the government - insane, but not stupid. Unpredictable, even. Your Imperials are necessary - a position of strength is the best perspective.” She stopped twirling the pen in her fingers - locking her eyes with Isana. “I must confess - for the most part our investments here are yet minimal. A portfolio nearly empty. I believe they perhaps don’t know us too well… I cannot guarantee yet that my reputation precedes me. It would benefit the both of us that we… make a proper introduction.”

Ulina leant in slowly - her eyes locked, her tone hushed and her face intent - her every movement was measured, and each word came out almost sensually. “And tell me - just what do you propose? A meeting with the little tinpot? Everyone there, those… foreign actors near and far will have the same idea, in varying shades. However…” she paused for a moment. “…what if we went directly to those businesses under him? Get into the works of investment deals - he’ll notice us going behind his back. From there he will arrange a meeting for us. Of course, as you stated - it is best to do such a thing from a position of strength. I can think of some ways to get a suitable first impression on the man. Do you mind?” Isana gestured to the door - to which Sayuri simply waved an approval. Heavy boots rang against the floor - dark, heavy, and to an unmistakable militarized beat. Stepping through the doorway and gently licked by the warm light of the room, the lights which slowly danced and caressed now found themselves over the heavy armor of an Imperial Shock Trooper. The gas mask, rhe glowing purple lights - the streamlined form, perhaps, and the curving nature of the armor. Science fiction, and horror indeed for those who had faced it. “If you should need an unmistakable visage… I believe this one is quite memorable. You’re an able servant of the Empire, Sayuri - as is your father. If you should feel Luca needs a reminder of what that means… we may gladly oblige.” Isana, with an almost dismissive wave - waves off the Trooper, who retreated from the cabin with a few more heavy steps, shutting the door behind her. Isana cocked her head, curious - reaching for a cabinet ever so slowly. “Do you drink, Sayuri?” - to which Sayuri let a small smile shine. “I am known to, at times, Isana-san. Please.” She waved to the cabinet - to which Isana drew two glasses, and a bottle of fine Arakhkhari Spring Wine.

Watching as Isana poured - Sayuri felt a need to speak. For the first time as business progressed - she did so with no hint of disinterest. “A… bold strategy. The man, however, is content that such is his own little kingdom, that he governs and rules all there. He wouldn’t touch us in the open, and if his lackeys tried to harm me… he’d know the consequences. Going completely behind his back is still… not fully conducive to our goals. However, I agree it is wise to make him want to meet with us. Perhaps the move alone to prepare investing opportunities without specifying the investee will be enough to bring him to the table as he seeks, in his… ‘wisdom,’ to seek claim to such opportunities before anyone else can seize the opportunity. Our Empire, and the image it projects… it will be quite the asset, I suspect.” She clutched the wine glass with a single, gloved hand - inspecting the red-purplish liquid within. “You’re not like your fellow officers, are you? I believe…”

She held the glass high.
“I believe we can work well together, Isana-san.” Isana, in turn, raised her own glass - holding it loosely, but with a certain confidence that exuded from her spirit - a brief smirk on her face flashing. “I believe we can do so indeed. To new partnerships.” Sayuri smiled in turn - holding her glass, she gave a small grunt of approval - followed by a quick “Kanpai!”

The warm velvet of the grapes passed down, sliding on the edge of a tongue - where the little flavors and aftertastes could be savored most wonderfully.

by **San Lucio** » Thu Dec 19, 2024 3:28 pm

Unione marittima, Santa Rosa, San Lucio,

“Don’t worry, Tommy Boy. Your kids will be taken care of. For old times sake.” Carlo soothed cheerfully as he paced alongside the piers edge, the moonlight shining off of the blade in his hands. It was a rather peaceful night, if one could ignore the soft whimpering of one Tommaso Sfortunato, a former mircanti of the Moncada Vancu of the Mircatu. Quite the mouthful, even for a native Luciano like Carlo Caruso. The rather rusty harbor crane creaked painfully as the chain that suspended the Pentito swung above the black waters. “We don’t like violent crime in this neighborhood, eh? You were part of the family, Tommy.” Carlo tsked disappointedly, fixing the slowly swinging traitor. “Please. The Sforz-” The gangster barked out a laugh, interrupting the plea. “This isn’t Sforza territory, is it, Tommaso? No, we don’t do needless destruction here. If you needed money, the Vancu could have helped. Truthfully, my old friend… I am disappointed. The don is disappointed.” The racketeer glanced towards the dark harbor, the hum of an engine catching his attention. An antique car slowly sidled toward the scene, stopping with a soft hiss of the breaks. “Well… I have an appointment to keep. le mie scuse, but I will have to cut this short. Think about what you have done, my friend. Arrivederci, Tommy Boy!” The micanti said cheerfully as he flipped a lever almost as an afterthought, the thoroughly restrained prisoner falling into the drink with a splash. Well, it was nice to get that checked off the to do list.

As footsteps echoed down the empty dockyard, Carlo dipped his head downwards in respect. “Salve, Don Moncada.” The recent murderer said reverently. “Is it done?” The older man rasped curtly, decades of smoking thoroughly wrecking the man’s vocal cords. “Yeah. Sleeping with the fishes, as the cliche goes.” The rather irreverent hitman responded, dusting off his dark waistcoat self-consciously. The stocky, older gangster sighed, and crossed himself. The rusted out debris around the private dock lending an air of melancholy to the air. This was not a pleasant event, despite the smoothness of its execution. “Tommaso was a good man. It is a shame, truly, that he broke his vow. Will you be attending his funeral, Carlo? It will be quite the message.” The don asked, his voice stern. He was a member of the old guard of the Mircatu. All about the tradition and the honor. Pointless crime that harmed his community harmed his Vancu, as well. “A message? Ah. To the Sforza, you mean.” The younger criminal nodded in understanding. The mild turf war between the two families had heated up recently, the conflict between the more violent and modern Sforza and the hide bound Moncada having gotten close to breaking the peace between the Mircatu families. “Yes. Killing their informant will… show Cristina Sforza and her cronies that we will not tolerate such violations in the future.” Carlo smirked. “Whatever you say, capo…”

Villa d'Avorio, Pazzi, San Lucio

“Where’s the Duca?”

The rather irrelevant question was met with a cold, raised eyebrow from Silvio Vitale, ‘Prime Minister’ of San Lucio. Prime minister being code for ‘Secretary/chief bureaucrat.’ After all, someone had to, y’know, run the country while L’innocente was busy rolling around in money and bathing in blood and whatever the hell else the disturbed noble did in his spare time. Clearly, his economic minister was rather ignorant of how things worked in this country. “Entertaining himself.” Silvio responded drily, before quickly glancing around to make sure his unstable boss wasn’t behind him. The rather skinny penpusher cleared his throat, opening a file to calm his nerves. Paperwork always calmed him down, especially when there were sizable bribes hidden in its fold. And speak of the devil! Looks like Dahut Energy was the new top contender for Texron’s rigs… anyways… “He is throwing some welcome bash for some visiting royalty. Ideally they won’t be.. too scarred, although given his eminence didn’t let me help plan it, odds don’t look good for them.” The prime minister said with a sigh, before looking back up at the assembled ministers. “Right, well, let’s get on with it. Marco, how is the seizure of SA mines going?” The pale, thin man asked his rather portly colleague. “Ah, that. Well, barring a few complications.” The Prime Ministers eyes narrowed. “such as?” He asked calmly, the air in the room seeming to drop a few degrees.

The economic minister gulped slightly. The PM didn’t look like much, but he wasn’t someone to tread lightly with. “Uh… Azienda Rosa Bianca was able to swoop in and buy some of the contracts.” Silvio blinked in surprise, which was about as much emotion as he ever expressed in his life. “If I… recall… ARB hasn’t been doing so well as of late.” The minister nodded, his chair creaking as he shifted nervously. “SÌ… that’s what we thought to. Despite their experience… they have been overshadowed.” Silvio nodded with false energy, imitating an excited child. “Continue with the story, Marco. I can’t wait to hear where it starts making sense.” The minister began twisting his wedding ring nervously. “Uh… they have gotten an influx of cash. Our sources think it is some hotshot foreign investor.” Silvio sighed and massaged his temples. “Great. Well, that is just we need.” The bureaucrat stood up, and began pacing annoyedly. “Well, gentlemen, find out who, yeah? Or I will ruthlessly throw you all under the bus when L’innocente is wondering where that promised wealth increase went.” The assorted ministers all stood up, babbling assent and rushing to preform the task…

Auditors and spies, a foreign investors most annoying enemies…

by **Hakarlsla** » Thu Dec 26, 2024 12:07 pm

San Lucio wrote:-snipidi toilet-

Between the two of them, it was clear who was taking the strange happenings better. Ruria still seemed composed and collected, whereas Runar was still visibly reeling from being roughed up. Frankly, he had genuinely thought that it WAS some sort of kidnapping, and while he was relieved to find out that it wasn’t- there was still certainly some shock left over. After all, in Hakarlsla, Runar was used to being the end-all-be-all nearly anywhere he went. Well, at least when his stupid father didn’t seem to be leaning towards his older sister. Thank the heavens Ingvild wasn’t here- her dry, blunt attitude would’ve worn him down like a belt sander being used on a stick of butter. Still, Ruria wasn’t much better. She was clever, and always knew how to make people like her. He envied that, but in truth, he didn’t understand how she checked her ego. Part of him knew it was a problem- at least, during his more self-aware moments. He just found the solutions unthinkable. While Runar was distracted and lost in thought and shock, Ruria did the talking.

“Ah, it’s quite alright. Well, it is and it isn’t. It doesn’t bother me, but if it upsets you, then it’s not alright, no? In either case, do show us what you have in mind!”

Ruria followed along, yanking Runar so he’d follow as well. She knew he got all soul-searchy sometimes, but now was NOT the time for it… anyways. She wasn’t sure what to think of this herself- but she could think on the move. Critical thinking always seemed to paralyze her brother- and she was absolutely nothing like him. She wanted to make sure that that was clear- especially after he inevitably said something out of pocket that attracted the dictator’s ire. She knew this wouldn’t happen- she didn’t merely expect it. She knew. And to be fair, she was absolutely right.

by **Rensato** » Sat Dec 28, 2024 6:34 pm

"...If you would kindly refer to Page 3,001..."

Hotel Varus, San Lucio, the Mediterranean Sea
17:32 December, 18th, 2024

The gentle rush of sea-waves - a tinged blue that had crashed into plumes of white that rose against, and high into the salty air of the sea-shore. It was welcome, perhaps. So much had transpired in a life above a sea of iniquity, so much had transpired in the course of even a young life - to simply breathe in, and to take stock of that sight - that was what she had needed. Sayuri adjusted the cuff of her white shirt - a small ruffle was out of place. Taking a few sharp steps forward onto the stone - she reached the balcony. It was a new sight, to be sure. She was quite used to something more busy - the constant flow of cars, left, right, of aircraft above cutting through the thick, choking smog - the neon lights that stretched to the distances from wherever one looked. It was quiet, perhaps, with the exception of the wind and the crashing waves - yet it was just quiet enough. Sayuri slowly closed her thin eyes, letting a rush of the cold air hit rush across her white face. With a measured, steady breath - she simply existed, for all but a moment. No Imperial eye looking over her shoulder - efforts therein hidden, a little moment of...

"Miss Hakakamura-San."
Freedom. How fleeting was it, then. Always so close, and still always so very far away - just within reach to suddenly escape when one is just ready to grasp it. Work called once again - and so she turned her head from that lovely sea to the face of a simple employee of hers, dressed plainly - with a face obscured as per usual behind a filtered, white respirator that seemed perpetually attached to many of her people - the rather average looking boy giving a quick bow shortly after greeting her. Sayuri gave a bow in turn - but otherwise stared down the boy, before giving a gruff instruction in a low tone. "Speak." The boy stepped forward - evidently nervous, with just the slight tinges of red underneath his mask as he spoke professionally and quickly. "Yes, Hakakamura-San. The local government has been preparing an increasing number of legal questions for our endeavors as of late. Several inquiries." Sayuri slowly nodded - turning to face the ocean once again, a little smile on her face. "Someone's putting their nose where it does not belong. We have nothing to hide, however. We have all of the proper documentation.[/i]" She paused a moment - her expression now returning to normal as she continued to watch the waves - briefly catching the sight of a gush of white water in the far distance, spouting from the water. Turning back to face her employee, she spoke quickly. "All 3,712 pages of legal documentation in... seven volumes, and across nine-hundred and twenty-one triple-checked and double-printed forms. If they would like to audit such a thing, then we shall also file a formal request that such an audit be done manually by the proper auditors in question. No shortcuts." She perked her nose up, with a small hint of satisfaction. "All according to the law. See it done." The boy gave a quick, nervous bow, shaking just a bit - it was a simple order, yes, simply to give a virtual army of lawyers their go-ahead to offer the things which had already been prepared long in advance - but even simple things have great consequences. "By your will, Hakakamura-San."

The boy quickly ushered himself from the room - taking a quick bow and virtually sprinting, desperate not to upset her - something which drew only a smile from Sayuri's face - she had turned back to face the sea, giving another gentle sigh as she heard the latch of the door close behind the boy as he left rapidly. She processed, in her mind - the next course of action - drawing yet another, sharper sigh, she turned away from the ocean balcony and withdrew back into the pleasant hotel room - a little collection of her things already long having been placed inside. Taking a moment to look around - she brought herself to a speaker in the room... tuning it appropriately, and drawing upon it to play an old piece - one of her old favorites, a little piece of a Lirvittian singer-songwriter of the 1940s - Seri Okean. The little crackles and pops of the imperfections of a recording came through still, even as a deeper voice began to ring out warmly into the admittedly spacious suite. She watched as the speaker began to play, tuning the audio just high enough to obfuscate any noise of what she may have been doing at that time. With a calm, professional demeanor - she took a set of steps throughout - finding her suitcase, adorned with black and silver - and deftly unzipping it, she could find for herself any number of things buried under a mountain of neatly packed clothes of all kinds - a peculiar device, sleek, black, one that might be confused for a TV remote - with the exception of a much more visible, metal antenna that extended from it. Ensuring again that the volume of the music was appropriate - she ever-so-quietly went to all the usual places one might find little listening devices - inside the lampshade, under the table, behind paintings - a silent red flash with a little LED, silently proceeding as she checked - ushering herself back to the suitcase and stashing the device safely, she reached for her cell-phone - a clean, professional model with the logo of her own company subtly emblazoned on the back.

A few taps, a few buttons pressed - a message sent to a number without a face, re-routed and re-routed to an endless stream of connecting points across a broad network - such that to know the identity of the receiver quickly became impossible, and being encrypted in countless ways to a precise manner - a message soon received.
"Cut the fifth thread."
An errant thread was soon to be cut - and disposed of. A gentle sigh escaped Sayuri's lips once more as she stared at the open phone - letting the message blink a few times before she closed it, pressing a small button on the side soon after to render the message wiped from the phone's memory as she proceeded back to the balcony. Business as usual.

by **San Lucio** » Mon Dec 30, 2024 10:27 pm

A Rather Tense Helicopter Flight, Somewhere over the San Lucio Countryside, San Lucio

“You know, it is rather nice to have someone to talk to. Normally I am surrounded by Idioti.” L’innocente babbled cheerfully to the politely captive Hakarlic royalty. After being rather ‘gently’ escorted aboard the dictators helicopter by the terse uniformed blackshirts, they had been subjected to a constant string of affable and rather bipolar rants that could only have originated from Luca’s shattered mind. With such wide ranging topics as his opinions on Arakhkhari merchandising (something about the souls of kittens), his fathers bloody death and the Duca’s own conspiracy theories therein, and whether pancakes or waffles were better. It was all nonsense, of course, but at least it wasn’t the depravity the man was known for. In fact, it rather seemed that most people had misjudged the noble. He didn’t seem evil, maybe a bit disturbed, but not evil. “People tend to be intimidated by me.” Luca said in a confidential tone, glancing this way and that as if he was imparting some hidden wisdom. “Like your brother. Thought I wouldn’t notice, eh?” L’innocente said with a wide, childlike smile, poking the princeling playfully as if the foreign royal was some infant and not one of the claimants for the Hakarlic throne. “Don’t worry, I don’t take it personally. In truth, it is rather useful, si? Rather useful. Keeps those bastardi in line, eh?” His golden eyes shifted upwards to Ruria, a strange manic light in them. “Ah, but he will learn, the young principe. When he is king, I hope he takes the lessons he learns here to heart.”

The dictator said sagely, leaning back in his chair and talking about Runar as if he wasn’t even in the helicopter. The fascist despot seemed to view himself as Runar’s mentor, whether he wanted a teacher or not. Before anyone could respond, Santangelo’s scatterbrained mind found a new focus. “Oh, look, we are here!” He said excitedly, pointing like a child who had seen a deer outside their car window. Through the window on the helicopter, one could make out a rather large sports stadium, much larger than a small country like San Lucio could need. The small ant-like forms of more Luciano soldiers was visible, their red armbands giving them a perpetually wounded look. “I had this place built for the Olympics in preparation for when I host them. The Olympic committee admittedly still hasn’t gotten over the incident, but I hope they will see reason next year.” He continued to share perkily, speaking like a teenager to their friends at a sleep over. With a thump, the helicopter landed rather ungracefully. “I can’t wait to show you your surprise, I went through so much effort to make it for you!” The rather angelic looking man said as he hopped down the helicopter, the soldier behind him escorting the Hakarlic royals with them. They were greeted by ferocious barking as two massive black hounds tore across the path towards the group, their cavernous drooling maws open to reveal white fangs. The beasts lunged towards the small group, the intent to kill in their eyes…

“пятка!” A sharp voice commanded, the dogs immediately backing off and becoming as demure as puppies. The sharp commands source made itself clear as a rather strict looking blond woman made her way to the group. From a distance, it almost looked as if she was smiling, although on further inspection the playful smirk was revealed as a curved scar that marred her cheek. “Diana!” Luca said cheerfully, seemingly unfazed by the near mauling he was nearly subjected to. With a peppy about face, L’innocente glanced back at his guests with a small smile. “This is Diana Volkova. She has some official title, but she kills people I don’t like.” He said, as casually as if he said ‘she enjoys mint icecream.’ “Is my surprise ready?” He asked hopefully, almost petulantly. “Da.” The huntress said curtly. “My guys were able to round up ingredients. I want excess for my hounds, Luca.” The enforcer said, before barking out a laugh and striding away in satisfaction, her monstrous dogs loping behind her. The dictator sighed contentedly. “I love it when things come together, don’t you?” The tyrant asked rhetorically, before continuing onward.

“It came to me in a dream, you know? The surprise, I mean. It is truly a masterpiece.” He chattered along as he walked through the florescent lit corridors, decorated with the tattered posters of Luciano sports teams. “I mean, Ruria, you enjoy music. And I assume both of you like your country. So I figured a combination of those two things would be a perfect welcome to my country. All with a classic Santangelo twist.” With a dramatic push, he opened the doors to a private viewing box overlooking the concert. Below, groups of prisoners were chained to posts, with armed soldiers milling about below. “Ta-da! I have it all worked out. These are Anti-Hakarlic cells, communists, candle-makers and the like. But don’t worry, their deaths won’t be in vain. I have it hooked up so that each shot will be a note in your national anthem.” Luca said extremely cheerfully, almost giddy with pride. One could almost see the cracks in his golden eyes as they shone with manic intensity. With a slow and drawn out motion, he raised his hands like a conductor. With a slashing motion, the amoral band began its ‘song.’

“Welcome to San Lucio, I miei amici!”

Villa d'Avorio, Pazzi, San Lucio

“Why are you bothering me with this, again?”

Marco Acceto coughed nervously, and shifted from foot to foot. Silvio Vitale wasn’t a man to be crossed, despite being a glorified pencil pusher. After all, the pen is mightier than the sword and all that. “W-well, Signor… uh… you were interested in the investments earlier.. so… we have more information… and I just thought, well… you know, you would be interested…” The prime minister sighed in utter defeat and annoyance. “And?” The cold man prompted. “Uhhh… it took our guys a long time to get through the, uhh…” the nervy official glanced down at his notes. “Uh… 3,712 pages, but-” Silvio barked out a rueful laugh. “3,712?” The prime minister couldn’t help himself, it was clever. No one filled out the official paperwork. The whole point of the investment license system was to weed out people, and make sure the only people who passed were those who… were giving the ‘proper contribution’ to San Lucio. After all, the fabled resources and tax breaks of the verdant Island of Fallen Angels had to appropriately show their thankfulness to operate on the most bountiful place on earth. It was the polite thing to do. “They… heh. They actually filled it out? Correctly?”

The scrawny economic minister nodded vigorously. Anything to avoid being replaced with some cartel accountant. Recently, the Duca had been surrounding himself with ex criminals. Before that it was only native Luciani, and then it was expat right-wingers only. The court was continuously being shuffled, with only Luca and Silvio remaining constant. Ex-courtiers didn’t tend to live long enough to enjoy their pension, so Marco was rather content to suck up to Silvio in order to remain alive. “Sí, uh, at least as far as we can tell. My guys haven’t ever really… looked at them seriously. One died, seeing it.” Silvio continued to chuckle, a rather rare expression from him. “Ahaha.. well, what was that information you got from them?” Marco cleared his throat. “They are the Okakamura Joint-Stock Investment Organization, some Rensatōjin Zaibatsu. Well. A sort of proxy for the bigger ones. Collaborationist with the purples, tends to use local company’s as proxies.” Silvio nodded slowly. “Ah. Imperials. Well, that’s annoying. Still, that doesn’t actually matter. After all, this country doesn’t give a damn about who takes its resources. So long as they… heh… stimulate the ‘local economy.’”

“B-but… but they aren’t! Paying the toll, uh, I mean. Their paperwork is perfect! We can’t do anything.” Marco protested, wiping the sweat off of his brow with the back of his hand. The poor man adjusted his shirt collar nervously, studying the ice cold man in front of him. Truthfully, part of Marco didn’t believe Silvio was a Luciano. After all, no one this dispassionate could be Italian adjacent. “Marco. Have you learned nothing? I don’t care if according to our laws they can operate here, comprendere?” The Prime Minister tsked, like a parent scolding a child. “Do you think the Duca follows the rules of San Lucio?” The poor man could only stutter in response. “W-well… well… no… but…” Silvio shook his head. “This government has never cared about its laws! This isn’t some namby-pamby democracy! There was a Fascist Book Burning in the courtyard a few weeks ago. What, did you think that was some hippy bond fire? Think, Marco, think! We are corrupt! We profit off of suffering! So. Start. Acting like it!” Silvio said, raising his voice in a rare show of emotions. Marco nodded quickly, bowing and stuttering as he fled.

Later that day, an envelope stamped with the double headed eagle of San Lucio arrived at Hotel Varus. It was filled with legalese that ultimately meant nothing. The most important informations was the last sentence. ‘Investment License Suspended, due to lack of processing payments. Suspension may be appealed, following an appointment.’

by **Rensato** » Tue Dec 31, 2024 9:26 pm

Assets Transfer

Hotel Varus, San Lucio, the Mediterranean Sea
16:21, December 20th, 2024

Sayuri’s eyes scanned across the paper. It couldn’t quite be right. She turned, flipped through the pages again and again, the rustling of them sounding again. It wasn’t an inadequate legal shield - that was to be sure - nothing therein had, between the lines, done anything to suggest of a failing of the legal team. A ‘revocation of an investment license’ - such was… admittedly, the first brick-wall she had anticipated. Even as lawyers nervously offered, like tribute to an ancient Queen, the stacks of dossiers and assessments that had been processed into an ever-increasing series of convoluted legalisms that might be placed into a grand orchestra of singing finance, of a paper tail for the head of the snake to bite endlessly - one that increasingly cried out that the legal situation was one that was tenable - yet things had always been buried behind the legalisms, and somewhere, hidden under a mountain of white paper and pale lies, therein lay the ugly truth.

“…and the ugly truth, Okakamura-san…” had uttered the black-uniformed pale officer, in her usual tone. “Is that what must be accomplished within the framework of the law as it stands has… been achieved - of course… we all know that the framework of the law is something that tends to… bend. Depending on who possesses it, of course - and the force applied to it.” Sayuri tapped her pen expectantly against a little legal pad - watching the pacing Imperial officer in her uniform of black as she crossed back and forth like a waiting tiger. Sayuri, in her seat - availed - “…they have bid an appointment. They’ve left a window open. No doubt with the expectation that they can dictate terms. However - such has worked to our advantage. Our original intent was such to organize a meeting, was it not…?” Sayuri asked in a slightly high tone, with a gentle smile on her lips - before sharply cutting as she stood up again - facing the window. “However. The investments that have been made and the conversation which they have presented thus far demonstrates a certain… lack of respect. If they should have wished to meet - they would only need to ask… and this is a very impolite manner of conducting…” she circled her pen in the air, as she thought of the word. “Business.” Sayuri inspected her pen again after letting it come to a halt.

The Procuratarkvit watched along steadily - speaking plainly as she watched with narrowed eyes. “Now is not the time for… such measures, I must confess. They view us as newcomers, and expect us, naturally, to play by their rules. With… time, the situation can be altered - and with circumstances permitting, there may yet be a time for extraordinary measures.” The Procurat’arkvit stood up. “Nevertheless. It is wise to offer… preparations. On my end, it is not as if the Empire is blind either to this… flagrant abuse of an Imperial citizen - something with which we have sent a communique in… vague terms, voicing our disapproval with the present state of affairs. From my compatriots in the Itseti, however…” she withdrew an envelope - tightly bound, with fine paper - and a typical burgundy-colored seal in wax upon it, adorned with the now-infamous symbol of the Imperial Service of Intelligence. She set it upon the table as Sayuri watched on. “For you. Authorized release. Personnel who might interest you, circumstances permitting.” Sayuri clutched the envelope - dragging it over to her slowly - but not yet opening it - asking with a questioning, somewhat suspicious tone. “And what, precisely, do the Itseti have any interest with my operation…? I was under the impression such… information was not for my eyes. Regardless, I must concur - active measures are not yet required for the… events that are to occur.” Taking the envelope - and placing it into her sealed suitcase, locking it tightly thereafter - she stood up, and motioned over to stand up - to which the Procurat’arkvit swiftly did. “Spring wine? Anywho, I believe I will… have to attend this little get-together. The locals do things… differently than we do so in the Empire.”

“Yet all things can be corrected. With time.”

by **Hakarlsla** » Mon Jan 13, 2025 1:25 am

San Lucio wrote:-snip-

For the duration of and the lead-up to the flight, Runar seemed to be taking the backseat, letting Ruria do the talking. Frankly, Ruria was thankful for this- when he was overwhelmed by a situation (such as the repeated questionable-quality escorting the two had received), he had two usual reactions. One was to lash out and make his discomfort apparent at the expense of others. The other one was to either metaphorically or literally withdraw from the situation- and of course, he couldn’t really leave this time. So he simply… cowered in his own way, doing his best to not react much. Resultantly, he didn’t seem bothered by the Duca’s poking and assertion. As for Ruria, she continued to take the lead in the banter, rarely contesting the rambling of L’innocente. But one comment did cause her to arch an eyebrow- the one about Runar being King one day. She didn’t exactly like that assertion… “If the law of the land is respected to the letter… I don’t quite see him being King. After all, the succession laws clearly states that the “eldest competent and legitimate heir to the crown shall be granted the throne and its powers.”. I don’t see anything there that forbades my sister Ingvild, who is notably older than him, from ascending the throne one day.” This kind of rhetoric normally would’ve elicited a protest from Runar, but in this case, he found himself unable to be bothered with such a thing. This was, naturally, an effect of his little withdrawal- but that wasn’t fully apparent- or at least it wouldn’t be to the dictator who sat next to him. Ruria understood what was going on, though- and while she was tempted to press her advantage, she refrained. Such would be pushing her luck- it was not as if Runar’s distant state was impenetrable, after all.

In truth, Ruria wasn’t bothered by how the Duca spoke to her. She had some stoicism within her where it mattered most- and plus, it was a nice change of pace from the typically formal and fanboyish treatment she got from her fans and supporters. She admittedly had some struggles with her attempts to befriend commoners- mostly because they were very nervous around someone they idolized. So… she didn’t mind if this odd… royal? Noble? Eh, whatever, the point was that she didn’t mind the fact that he treated her like a friend, even if they weren’t. It wasn’t a problem for her. When they arrived, she quickly hopped out, while Runar lagged behind. She flinched at the dogs, but she certainly seemed less fazed than Runar, who visibly took a couple of steps backwards. Anyways, she would once again take the lead, responding once more. “I’d like to say I do- although, honestly… I’m more curious insofaras what you have in store for the two of us- but I suppose I’ll be seeing that soon, heh.” Even if she didn’t consider Luca to be a friend of hers, she didn’t mind being a bit more casual, especially with someone of an elevated status like herself and Runar were. The two of them continued to follow along- and then, the doors were opened, and the two of them got a look at what was going on, and the explanation wasn’t far behind…

And then the gunshots came. At first, there was no reaction. But with time, the shock wore off- and the royal siblings’ reactions diverged. Runar took a step back- even with his withdrawal, he was rather horrified. Sure, he had no problems with ordering the deaths of people he disliked, but this was far too much for him to witness at once. Ruria, on the other hand, just blinked a few times in disbelief, but then a smile creeped onto her face- one that conveyed a willingness to temporarily descend into some amount of depravity. “Forgive my brother, he’s always been… a bit squeamish. Unbefitting of someone who orders the amount of executions that he does. “Oh, this commoner slighted me! Get the firing squad! But don’t let me see any of it, that would be horrible!” If you ask me, the thought and… preparation you put into this is worthy of appreciation. Well, I can’t say I intend to… use gunshots in any future music of mine, but I’ll say… it’s creative. And… anti-Hakarlic cells? Outside of the Badlands? I’m surprised. Are you sure those ones aren’t just… more of those people you don’t like? No judgement, of course…” And for a moment, the young, ambitious royal guest seemed to have that exact light that the Duca’s had when he had been babbling to her and Runar during the helicopter ride. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), this moment would be interrupted by her brother stammering on as he tried to insert himself into the conversation. “C-call me crazy, but I think…” But even if he thought he had every right to speak his mind, Ruria thought otherwise. She drew close, tilting her head to feign curiosity, as if she was pretending to be genuine in her questioning. “You think what, hm? Because that doesn’t sound very much like… gratitude, my dear brother. And such an intricate display of effort deserves gratitude, yes?” It was in moments like these that it became apparent Ruria was slightly taller than Runar. And slimmer. And in control. Yes. In moments like these, she felt simply superior. And… perhaps there was a grade of truth to that- and certainly, in his current state, Runar was in no position to counter her assertiveness. “Right… but…” And once again, he would be interrupted. “But what? But what? Tell me, but what?” And Runar’s deep discomfort only grew- and he found himself with only one available answer.

“…nothing…”

by **San Lucio** » Fri Jan 17, 2025 9:20 pm

The Villa d'Avorio, Pazzi, San Lucio

“Why am I here, Silvio?” The blonde murderess snapped irritably as she paced back and forth the plush, mosaicked floor. There was a long drawn out sigh from the mahogany meeting room table. “Because, principessa, you are the… what was your title again?” Prime Minister Silvio Vitale asked disinterestedly, his bored eyes showcasing his utter lack of respect for the Duca’s latest employee. “Huntress of San Lucio” Diana Volkova responded icily as she studied the bureaucratic starched shirt that marred the view in front of her. Frankly, she had a hard time respecting anyone who spent more time reading memos and abusing staffers than hunting and killing. At least the Duca was entertainingly broken, and seemed to have a soft spot for her anyways. L’innocente she could get away with pushing around.

This was decidedly not the case with Silvio Vitale. “Ah, yes. That’s what it was. Code for security and assassin work, yes?” The pale man asked blandly, looking up at the energetically pacing Volkov. “Da.” She responded tersely, crossing her arms petulantly. Her mood was considerably worse without her pack of hounds. “Well, this is a very important meeting for this country, principessa” Vitale explained, as if he was speaking to a particularly unruly child. “And it might require security.” He said snidely, eliciting a scowl from the scarred huntress. “You could have had anyone for that. I have other duties much more important than babysitting you.” the woman seethed, which to her utter annoyance and indignation seemed only to amuse the cold, dry man. “Such as? Dogwalking? Shooting passersby from the balcony? Serving as a status symbol?” Silvio chuckled. “No, you decidedly don’t.” He finished, turning back to his papers without another thought, blowing off the woman without another thought.

Diana practically trembled with rage at this scrawny little maggot mouthing off to her. Her, who could so easily beat him to death with that very briefcase he fidgeted with now. Only the thought of the death penalty she would face due to such an action stayed her hand. What an odious little pencil pusher this one was. She just hoped when the small man lost favor with the Duca, she was the one allowed to pull the trigger. “But why?” She managed to ask through gritted teeth. “You really want to know? Fine. It’s because your country is pro-ISD. And your obvious and abrasive Volkov aura will serve as a nice signaling device for my friendly intentions. You are a prop, principessa.” The man said snidely. “Always hav-AH!” Silvio’s back hit the marble floor hard as his chair fell backwards, a quick kick from the murderess being sufficient to dislodge the man and send him sprawling to the floor. Silvio sat up in utter bewilderment, the shattered remains of the baroque wooden chair littering the floor around him.

“Are you alright, sir? You seem to have tripped.” Diana asked innocently, hoisting the man to his feet with a bit more force than necessary. The Prime Minister studied her with wide, surprised eyes… before laughing heartily. “Hm. The chair was a Santangelo heirloom.” He said in mild bemusement, dusting off his jacket. “Still…point taken, Ms. Volkova.” He said with a raised eyebrow, pulling up another chair as he looked towards the door. Any time now, the delegation would arrive. Ideally, he would negotiate a mutually beneficial agreement would be reached. Hopefully, that vaguely annoyed imperial missive he had received would become a vaguely complimentary one soon. After all, it wasn’t the imperials presence that bothered him. Merely their lack of payment…

San Lucio Olympic Stadium, San Lucio

Luca turned towards the royal pair, a proud smile playing on his face. “I am glad you like it, Highness.” L’innocente said happily, as his quick, rapid gold eyes flicked back and forth between the pair, sizing up the two. “I admit I was partially inspired by the 1812 overture, with its cannons. Still, I think it can be improved for next time. I wasn’t able to hear the shots as well as I would have liked too, nor any of the reactions.” The Duca said in mild disappointment. “For any future shows of its type, I think a specialty area would have to be built…” The dictator mused, before looking up and seeming to remember he had guests. “Apologies, ah. I have a habit of thinking out loud.” He said cheerfully, before poking Runar in the stomach playfully like they were old friends sharing a private joke.

“So! You have a soft stomach, eh? What, can’t handle a little noise?” He laughed, before gesturing to the field below. “Look, My friend. All of this? All of this was for you and your sister. They died in your name. For your sake. Doesn’t that make you feel warm and fuzzy?” The Dictator asked with a contented sigh, before patting the traumatized prince on the back. “And I was able to do it like that.” He snapped dramatically, before chuckling. “That is the power that you might inherit. So, look, enjoy. Take the memory back to Hakarsla with you.” Luca said, before stepping away from the balcony and moving back away from the view of the twisted concert, the sprawled forms of the musical notes left behind to be cleaned by unfortunate blackshirts. “Come along, you didn’t think I would only give you a lovely concert, did you?”

He chuckled madly to himself for a few minutes, seeming to retreat into his own little world for a few moments. “No, that would be ridiculous!” The Duca snapped abruptly, before glancing back at them as if he hadn’t had a mild episode. “No, no. You two will be staying with me in my villa. Luxurious accommodations, much better than any of those resorts you would have stayed at. No arguing, it is decided.” Luca said perkily as he walked, unaware the two probably didn’t want to stay under the same roof as an insane man. “We will have a banquet, I think, to celebrate your arrival to my country. With the whole court. My little sister, Zoe, maybe some of… expendable ones I can’t remember the names of…” he paused before shrugging. “Doesn’t matter, important people. Oh, and Runar?” Luca stopped completely, twisting quickly to preform a quick about face. “If you try anything with my sister, I will turn your skin into a scarf.”

L’innocente’s cracked, golden eyes bored into the prince like cores of fire burning into his soul. It was clear he was not exaggerating. He kept the stare for a few more seconds, before turning back around as if nothing happened. “I can’t wait, this will be rather enjoyable. It’s been so long since I have had decent conversation. If you two would do me a favor, though? Don’t mention the surprise. Some of my court are overly sensitive.” With that, he boarded the helicopter once again, gesturing for his guests to follow. “I can’t wait for you to experience San Lucio…

Isn’t it paradise?”

by **Rensato** » Mon Jan 20, 2025 3:03 am

En-Route and On-course

San Lucio, the Mediterranean Sea
2024

Dark-blue passed to dart between the intermittent greens, the occasion-red-topped house breaking the scene much to ever-weary eyes - always eyes that had been set north, perhaps, or simply on what greenery remained in the winter months. For Sayuri, even the slightest touch of green was a welcome sight from the mega-city of Rensato-proper. The occasional sight of black-shirts, as they stared on coldly from the sidelines at her and her car - menacing in their glares, perhaps, but never bothering to step forward to disturb her tranquility in earnest - perhaps mindful of the dual hood flags of the Intendancy and of the Empire, which fluttered steadily in the headwinds. Sitting calmly, legs together modestly and with white-gloved hands sitting atop each other, Sayuri had let out a brief sigh - before speaking again within the confines of the car. "For a fascist militia, I've seen better." She took sight of a few of the tattooed skinheads from time to time. "No... doctrine. And for being the doctrine of stability, nation, and order - they seem to lack it all in equal measure. The conception of it - while I don't necessarily think they adhere even to their own professed beliefs, the ideology as a whole. It supposes that humanity is capable of imposing order on itself - emulatory of the Empire, in that way. Respectable, then, that they are not far from the truth - but ridiculous in their imitation of the Imperial Order." She paused, pointing out a particular group of marching thugs - "...it is a system that professes order, yet does not embody it. They correctly attribute to a liberal society the flaws therein, the crises of a dying era - but they never address that fact that there was, and only ever will be one answer and one sole cure."

And so her companion spoke.
"The Empress."
Sayuri spoke softly, in turn - taking a look for a brief moment at the face of the Imperial representative.
“Naturally, and of course - but beside that, they lack real… direction of any kind - outside, perhaps, of the orders of our fine host. I could do better with them.” - so this draw the attention of fair Isana. “Really? You may be a skilled criminal, Sayuri-San, running whores in the underworld, or… arranging for the removal of whichever person you’ve been told to remove. It’s a long way yet to running a private army.” She smiled, gripping a cup of coffee rather lightly with her hand. “Nevertheless, despite that - you have a reputation among my colleagues. One for brutality and for cunning, so I am told - and these are indeed high expectations, and neither am I the only one who holds such weighty considerations for your future. Miss Okakamura - so tell me. How would you run such… talent?” - there Isina grinned like a snake, taking a brief sip of her coffee, lounging back into the limousine seat like the eminent cat. Sayuri did not show it, of course, and she never quite could beyond a simple twitch of the eye - but she had always hated that… patronizing tone - and more than that, the lack of faith. She choked down any complaint, and spoke in a quieted manner. “To ask me to predicate a plan upon a glance would be unwise. One can make little assumptions.” - Isina almost did feel her respect vanish, before Sayuri continued. “However, neither am I one to… come to a new market without first so much as knowing the local… elements. So, let me tell you then - there are a number of chiefs, guardsmen, officers who have no business running a militia, and some militiamen who have no business being there - at least, not in their present capacity. I am sure we can find uses for them - elsewhere. I would collect the most loyal, those with proper ideological fervor. Condense doctrine to some… easy to understand points, and then, like a set of nails, hammer rhem into every mind. Indoctrination is a tool and should never be underestimated. That is for starters, of course… but the next thing coming is to revise how training is done. I could have such men whipped to shape.”

Isana chuckled heartily, throwing her head back against the cushion and taking a sip of her coffee - “Whipped to shape! And in what condition would you have them upon completion of your course. I must confess, I muat forsee that in these ‘fine’ examples of your species that I would likely find that half of them would be run into the highest echelons, and the other half into an early grave.” Sayuri tipped her head up, as Isana spoke again. “I like that about you. Willing to spill some blood - no tolerance for the incompetent and the weak. Cold as they say, perhaps.” Isana leaned back forward, setting the coffee aside. “You will do well, so long as your words are congruent to your being, Miss Okakamura.” - as she spoke, the limousine pulled aside. “This is my stop. You should do well at the meeting without the benefit of my presence.” - so Isana climbed out, her black uniform glinting under the sun as the car had come to a stop nearby a small, private restaurant. Her pale face leaned in through the open window, purple eyes aglow as a pair of black-suited Jundlandi mercenaries stepped to join with her. “I shall ask that you join me later.” - Sayuri gave a slow nod. “I would be honored. Farewell, Isana-San.”

And so the limousine moved back on - Sayuri watched as the Procurat’ark passed behind her as the streets moved by in flashes of green, of shades of blue, and of light - as the sights of Pazzi seemed to grow ever nearer to that pleasant destination of Villa d’Avorio. It would not be long until their meeting, now - where a small number of professionally dressed, conspicuously oriental-looking lawyers who had begun to loiter nearby as they awaited their undenied boss. Sayuri turned over her left, taking a look at her bodyguard for only a brief moment - speaking quietly, and in her native tongue - “be prepared for anything, faithful of mine.”

by **Kasdados** » Mon Jan 20, 2025 3:16 am

OOC: How do I join?

by **Hakarlsla** » Sat Jan 25, 2025 11:04 pm

San Lucio wrote:-snipidi toilet-

Runar visibly flinched upon being poked in the stomach. He was already on edge, and that only made him more uncomfortable. And it wasn’t about to get better, clearly…

“Er… right… it’s just-”

Of course, he wouldn’t be able to finish that sentence- as his sister was not quite finished with her depravity. “It’s just what, Runar? It’s just that you’re ungrateful, isn’t that right?”

Runar continued to struggle under the pressure. Sure, Ruria was antagonistic sometimes, but this was another level. He knew Ruria was making the most of the opportunity to try to get on the Duca’s good side, and he knew he should at least put up a fight, but he just… couldn’t bring himself to do so. He was subconsciously locked into his more withdrawn state- and it would take a lot more antagonizing than that to force him out of it- even if there was a small part of him that did actually want to retaliate. “Nevermind, I suppose…” This warranted a smile from Ruria. She was used to Runar being much more belligerent- so this was a very nice change of pace for her. She could get used to this- hell, she wanted to have the chance to get used to this, but such was unlikely. Anyways, a girl could dream, but the present mattered more than the unlikely hypothetical future. “Well… if it’s worth anything, I’ll certainly be remembering that. True, I won’t exactly be making use of such strategies in my music, but it’s certainly a unique feat.”

Once she was done with the more overt posturing, Ruria continued to seem unbothered by the Duca’s episode as the two of them followed along behind the Duca- at least, she didn’t show that it bothered her. Runar, on the other hand, continued to shift about nervously, keeping his head angled slightly downwards as to not lead the Duca to believe that he was staring at him. Such a thing probably wouldn’t end well, after all. Neither of them protested when the Duca made his assertion about where they’d be staying- with each of them having reasons that may have already been apparent at that point in time. And considering they had nothing to say, they continued to follow along- well, at least until L’innocente suddenly spun around to threaten Runar. By the time the madman was finished with him, Runar was visibly shaking. He really, really wanted to protest- because, in reality, if he was killed here, Hakarlsla would waste no time in treating San Lucio like a native village that had the audacity to exist in former territory of the Jenevrian Empire- in other words, they would bomb the place until evidence of human life ceased to exist. But he didn’t- although he did creep slightly closer to lashing each time the Duca did something that forced him off of his metaphorical balance. All he did was nod his head ad wait for the dictator to do anything else. For once, Ruria didn’t bother to take advantage of his weak position- this was mostly because there was a very small fraction of Ruria that still cared about Runar. It got smaller every time he lashed out boorishly without any remorse, but it never truly disappeared. A veritable asymptote, if you will. Once they were in the helicopter, Ruria glanced over at L’innocente with a slight smile. “The scenery is gorgeous, truly. I’d probably say that I haven’t been here long enough to fully appreciate the scenery, but that would be my only complaint…”

As she was in the middle of trailing off, she seemed to realize something. “Ah, and don’t worry about the surprise. I won’t mention it.” She didn’t care if Luca noticed that she had excluded Runar from that statement. Hell, she would slightly prefer if he did. What mattered is that she was definitely making a better impression than her brother- even if the Duca had some intial bias, she was sure she could overcome it with time. And that was good enough for her.