Iraelia
TNPer
Director of State Leopold Dupont sat, cross-legged, 35,000 feet above Bergum, Maloria. In his lap sat a copy of the Phoenix Strait Free Trade Agreement, a pen, and an empty piece of paper. God willing, by the time he left Maloria it would be filled with dry ink that will determine the future of Callise's relation with one of it's closest allies. At least for the remainder of his Directorate
The trade war between Callise and Maloria had caused irreparable harm to both nations, and it was in the best interest of everyone involved to sit down and put an end to these petty squabbles. A week ago, this discussion would have been a legislative impossibility. But a week ago, the Sovereigntists hadn't militarized the border with Highton and caused an international incident.
Dupont knew dealing with the Sovereigntists was bound to be hard, but he expected the loose coalition to be somewhat manageable as a governing partner. But the once close relationship between the Liberal Party and the Sovereigntist movement was a thing of the past, and if Callise ever wanted to move forward, Dupont would need to cut ties with them.
As the State Plane skidded against the Bergum Airport runway, Dupont gathered his bearings and greeted the gaggle of reporters and dignitaries who waited outside his plane.
"Les dés sont jetés," he muttered to himself.
And with bated breath, he stepped foot onto Malorian soil.
The trade war between Callise and Maloria had caused irreparable harm to both nations, and it was in the best interest of everyone involved to sit down and put an end to these petty squabbles. A week ago, this discussion would have been a legislative impossibility. But a week ago, the Sovereigntists hadn't militarized the border with Highton and caused an international incident.
Dupont knew dealing with the Sovereigntists was bound to be hard, but he expected the loose coalition to be somewhat manageable as a governing partner. But the once close relationship between the Liberal Party and the Sovereigntist movement was a thing of the past, and if Callise ever wanted to move forward, Dupont would need to cut ties with them.
As the State Plane skidded against the Bergum Airport runway, Dupont gathered his bearings and greeted the gaggle of reporters and dignitaries who waited outside his plane.
"Les dés sont jetés," he muttered to himself.
And with bated breath, he stepped foot onto Malorian soil.