Alsatian Island
TNPer
- Pronouns
- he/his
- TNP Nation
- Alsatian Island
7 November, 2023
Edmund House
Weskerby, Osynstry
Esthursia
about 6h50
"You can't be serious. You accepted it again?" The cynical voice of John Largan, former Forethane and self-appointed globalist-in-chief, boomed down the phone.
Harold Osborne sighed, the expectant opposition of the moderate to the visit. "Of course I did. You have seen the progress the Rayvostokans have made since the last time you rang me at dawn's call in terrified doubt, no?"
His predecessor took a moment to consider.
"... well, that being so, it's still... reckless. Appearances, George." Osborne's middle name - John always liked using it, noting how close he was in personality and character to George Asmont in doing so.
"Appearances? Let me make this distinction quite clear - this continent is in crisis, and Rayvostoka has proven to be one of the nations who has used the last few years to gravitate towards a positive role in global society, as well as democratising. In many ways, the way they're going, Rayvostoka may become more democratic than many liberal democracies."
"Really? You mean that?" Largan's hesitancy was redoubled - in recent years, it felt as if Osborne increasingly conflated "socialism" and "democracy", or at the very least viewed socialism as inherently "democratic" in the right circumstances... this felt like a very open instance of just that.
"Again, of course I do. The attacks on Rayvostoka have been just as much ideology as a legitimate response to authoritarianism. The way things are going, countries who wedge themselves as staunch state opposition to the communists are saying the quiet bit out loud - they're trying to obstruct alternatives to capitalism. It's so much easier to argue for capitalism when the alternatives are busy killing opponents and ruling as tyrants, and so much harder when your economic system completely disregards democracy in the workplace-" The exasperated voice of Largan interrupted Osborne's tirade.
"Kindly, George, not one of these lectures about capitalism, I'd rather not. It's 7am, and I could truly not care less. Good luck for your visit, and maybe you'll find common ground on your left-wing lectures over there." A slight laugh, tempered by the tiredness of Osborne having got up early ahead of the flight over to Lebedevgrad, stumble out of Osborne's mouth.
"You're the one who rang, John. Let me prove myself right for you, twice this time." A sarcastic groan came in response, and then Largan hung up.
Palace of the People
Lebedevgrad, Rayvostoka
about 11h30
Verdant stretches of land surrounded the Narodny, as the Forethane made his way up into the great expanse. Thinking to himself how contradictory it felt to be in what felt as if it were a regal palace in the continent's sole state socialist country, he pondered further on exactly how he found himself here. Ten, five - maybe even two - years ago, this wouldn't have been possible - but internal struggle and a deliberate attempt to thaw relations and shake hands had all begun to democratise Rayvostoka out of the rut that autocracy has a habit of digging down for nations. "If I live to see one Aurorian country go in the right direction rather than the wrong one while I am in power, to climb out of a conflict or the clutches of tyranny rather than into one, I have faith it will be this one." He told himself, reaching the entrance.
Feeling slightly ashamed that he had not attempted to learn a single phrase of the language ahead of his visit, his Reeve for the Ellands Alfred Frome decided, unwittingly, to drive that knife in further, with his cheery "Здравствуй!*", almost fooling Osborne into thinking one of his Rayvostokan counterparts had just popped up behind him, were it not for the very easily detectable Execester accent. Osborne had half a mind to reply in an extremely broad Hereshire Atlish accent, but he elected not to, instead just politely smiling at his eager foreign minister's antics and making their way closer to the red banners and flags.
This wasn't the first time the two nations had met, and the slight but definite degree of familiarity was giving Osborne a little more confidence this time. The recognition of Vera Federonova, Frome's counterpart as foreign minister, and her party's chair Sasha Denvikov, as the delegations approached one another. Even in the overcast conditions, there was a... fresher feel this time than in bitterly cold Tynwald last autumn; the apprehension of Osborne, which may have even leant into reluctance at times, just wasn't present this time. He was meant to be there, to meet with them, to shake hands and to arbitrate, to build ties. This was right, this felt right and there was... trust. Hard-earnt, hard-won trust, at that; Rayvostoka's reputation preceded itself, but Harold Osborne increasingly felt that maybe that reputation was being revised for a new era. That's what this continent does; shake things up. The funeral bell of the UAS and the geopolitical fractures and connections forged and broken in the last years, the incessant gunfire and death that it produced... could anyone blame Osborne for his rising implicit trust in a nation that had steered its way through a burning Auroria and come out with a new proto-democracy?
Reaching the Rayvostokans, Osborne's smile was significantly warmer, less tempered than the one he had worn the first time. "Thank you for having us. It is our pleasure to be here in your nation, my friends." And he meant it. "I truly hope we can use this opportunity to keep on consolidating our progress and our growing solidarity." The light tinge of socialism in his vocabulary stood out, he noticed, when it was fellow socialists he was talking with.
Здравствуй! - "hello" in Rayvostokan
Edmund House
Weskerby, Osynstry
Esthursia
about 6h50
"You can't be serious. You accepted it again?" The cynical voice of John Largan, former Forethane and self-appointed globalist-in-chief, boomed down the phone.
Harold Osborne sighed, the expectant opposition of the moderate to the visit. "Of course I did. You have seen the progress the Rayvostokans have made since the last time you rang me at dawn's call in terrified doubt, no?"
His predecessor took a moment to consider.
"... well, that being so, it's still... reckless. Appearances, George." Osborne's middle name - John always liked using it, noting how close he was in personality and character to George Asmont in doing so.
"Appearances? Let me make this distinction quite clear - this continent is in crisis, and Rayvostoka has proven to be one of the nations who has used the last few years to gravitate towards a positive role in global society, as well as democratising. In many ways, the way they're going, Rayvostoka may become more democratic than many liberal democracies."
"Really? You mean that?" Largan's hesitancy was redoubled - in recent years, it felt as if Osborne increasingly conflated "socialism" and "democracy", or at the very least viewed socialism as inherently "democratic" in the right circumstances... this felt like a very open instance of just that.
"Again, of course I do. The attacks on Rayvostoka have been just as much ideology as a legitimate response to authoritarianism. The way things are going, countries who wedge themselves as staunch state opposition to the communists are saying the quiet bit out loud - they're trying to obstruct alternatives to capitalism. It's so much easier to argue for capitalism when the alternatives are busy killing opponents and ruling as tyrants, and so much harder when your economic system completely disregards democracy in the workplace-" The exasperated voice of Largan interrupted Osborne's tirade.
"Kindly, George, not one of these lectures about capitalism, I'd rather not. It's 7am, and I could truly not care less. Good luck for your visit, and maybe you'll find common ground on your left-wing lectures over there." A slight laugh, tempered by the tiredness of Osborne having got up early ahead of the flight over to Lebedevgrad, stumble out of Osborne's mouth.
"You're the one who rang, John. Let me prove myself right for you, twice this time." A sarcastic groan came in response, and then Largan hung up.
Palace of the People
Lebedevgrad, Rayvostoka
about 11h30
Verdant stretches of land surrounded the Narodny, as the Forethane made his way up into the great expanse. Thinking to himself how contradictory it felt to be in what felt as if it were a regal palace in the continent's sole state socialist country, he pondered further on exactly how he found himself here. Ten, five - maybe even two - years ago, this wouldn't have been possible - but internal struggle and a deliberate attempt to thaw relations and shake hands had all begun to democratise Rayvostoka out of the rut that autocracy has a habit of digging down for nations. "If I live to see one Aurorian country go in the right direction rather than the wrong one while I am in power, to climb out of a conflict or the clutches of tyranny rather than into one, I have faith it will be this one." He told himself, reaching the entrance.
Feeling slightly ashamed that he had not attempted to learn a single phrase of the language ahead of his visit, his Reeve for the Ellands Alfred Frome decided, unwittingly, to drive that knife in further, with his cheery "Здравствуй!*", almost fooling Osborne into thinking one of his Rayvostokan counterparts had just popped up behind him, were it not for the very easily detectable Execester accent. Osborne had half a mind to reply in an extremely broad Hereshire Atlish accent, but he elected not to, instead just politely smiling at his eager foreign minister's antics and making their way closer to the red banners and flags.
This wasn't the first time the two nations had met, and the slight but definite degree of familiarity was giving Osborne a little more confidence this time. The recognition of Vera Federonova, Frome's counterpart as foreign minister, and her party's chair Sasha Denvikov, as the delegations approached one another. Even in the overcast conditions, there was a... fresher feel this time than in bitterly cold Tynwald last autumn; the apprehension of Osborne, which may have even leant into reluctance at times, just wasn't present this time. He was meant to be there, to meet with them, to shake hands and to arbitrate, to build ties. This was right, this felt right and there was... trust. Hard-earnt, hard-won trust, at that; Rayvostoka's reputation preceded itself, but Harold Osborne increasingly felt that maybe that reputation was being revised for a new era. That's what this continent does; shake things up. The funeral bell of the UAS and the geopolitical fractures and connections forged and broken in the last years, the incessant gunfire and death that it produced... could anyone blame Osborne for his rising implicit trust in a nation that had steered its way through a burning Auroria and come out with a new proto-democracy?
Reaching the Rayvostokans, Osborne's smile was significantly warmer, less tempered than the one he had worn the first time. "Thank you for having us. It is our pleasure to be here in your nation, my friends." And he meant it. "I truly hope we can use this opportunity to keep on consolidating our progress and our growing solidarity." The light tinge of socialism in his vocabulary stood out, he noticed, when it was fellow socialists he was talking with.
Здравствуй! - "hello" in Rayvostokan
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