Tâwâw! Benvenuto! (closed)

Paxiosolange

Paxiosolange

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"You'd almost be convinced that there was no war going on, were it not for the eerie quiet and the fortifications around the city."

The Predicean Treaty Years with the Tusacaway came and went in a rapid sequence of events, but their impact on the Tusacaway was never forgotten. In this RP, the globalizing forces within the Tusacaway usher the Tusacwyan to meet with their 19th-century allies in a two-day diplomatic summit. Upon arriving, they find their country has been plagued by the necessary sacrifices of the war effort. At war they came, at war they return, the Tusacwyan are curious to learn how the country has developed since the Treaty Years ended.

NEAR THE MINASKIC COAST​

The angelic mist rising from the wintry ocean flew through the air and spread cold winds about the outside of the ship. The deck was mostly clear aside from the patrolling Okipah officer and the occasional sightseer from the delegation waiting within the hull of the ship, although Kiscawak was affixed to the deck. His eyes followed every bit of colour and coast that he could, despite the lack of visibility. The Miskamowin flapped and fluttered all over the place. It was a flaming-red banner that had a tail cut like the jaw of the plains centipede. The College of Mitouyews was insistent that the banner be flown on the brig for spiritual protection, and despite its nature as a gigantic, inconvenient pennant, it held a sort of mystical charm, a vibrant radiance that gave a bit of colour to the vessel. Nicamon, Kiscawak's father suddenly arrived on the deck and posed himself next to his son.

"Is my headdress suitable?" He asked.
"Why ask me? You're my elder." Kiscawak skulked.
"Despite it all you are still unable to be pleased." Nicamon laughed, "We will be seeing much of the city of Antofagosta soon. You should return to your chambers and get dressed before we make a landing. Two Minaskic naval ships are going to travel with us and take us straight to the port!"

Kiscawak was still perpetually frowning over his lack of visual stimulation.

"How are we going to talk to the Minaskic?" Kiscawak asked.
"Quite simple, son. We have translators on standby for all the negotiations. The University's Outlander Studies department has been ravaged for their foreign language staff."
"I want to learn their language."
"I... Well... There is no better place to start than among the Minaskic themselves." Nicamon laughed.

He patted his son's back and returned to the bowels of the ship, leaving Kiscawak to scowl on the deck for a few more moments.
 
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Near the Predicean Coast

The Corvette Selvaggio sailed on the seas near Predice. She'd been detached from the main fleet, to provide escort to the incoming Tusacwyan vessel.
It had been over a century since anything like that happened. Ever since the Great Embarrassment of 1900*, the Tusacwyan had kept to themselves.
At the helm of the Selvaggio was the 27 year old Corvette Captain Oliviero Ciano.
The young officer stood on the bridge, with several other officers, keeping communication with the Tusacwyan vessel.
As the Fast Corvette closed with the Tusacwyan vessel, the officer took the radio, and said solemnly:

"Corvette Selvaggio now joining to provide escort. Welcome to Predice!"

Turning to his officers, he stated: "Let us hope that we are not rudely interrupted."




*The scandal that brought the Predicean-Tusacwyan bilateral relations to and end.
 
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NEAR THE MINASKIC COAST​

Kiscawak had returned to his room aboard the TSS Omahamaw in preparation for his introduction to the shores of the new, mystical land before them. For the initial greeting, the boy donned his ceremonious dress, a red yarn-woven headdress with screech owl feathers protruding at harsh angles like a crown. It was complimented by the red-yellow wampum belt which held in place a dark red mantle about his shoulders. He kept his braids wholly hidden. As he stood in front of his mirror assuring his appearance, he turned to the small cupola which granted him a slight view of the ocean and finally saw that the fog was wafting away. Without the fog were the silhouettes of buildings, people walking about, and strange new architecture.

"Antofagosta... The great harbour to the Minaskic..."

He admired the foreign town as it slowly emerged from the confines of the gloom, his mood was slowly turning. Nicamon entered Kiscawak's chambers with his unimpeachably bitter expression but seemed pleased to see that his son was finally prepared.

"Good, you are ready for the day's coming affairs. Son, I would like you to introduce yourself to our interpreter for the duration of the summit, Pactaw Wicanas Amow."
"My gift is my hand." Kiscawak greeted.

Kiscawak outstretched his hand and locked fingers with the man. He seemed to be only a few years older than he was. Another student, undoubtedly.

"As is mine. I'm so glad to see you, Nistis! If you want you can just call me Nick, it sure doesn't bother me." The man chuckled.
"Right... So you've been speaking Predicean for how long now?" Kiscawak asked.
"Oh you know... I started learning to write Predicean the moment I got my hands on that dictionary in Seminary... Although I really got good at speaking it throughout university. Who knew an Outlander Studies diploma would pay off so well, eh?"
"Yeah..." Kiscawak chuckled.
"Anyways... I just translated my first genuine Predicean phrase from the brig. They told us that some escort ships are coming in to move us safely to the harbour. I was surprised to learn that the Minaskic are in apowwen you see..."
"Apowwen? With whom?"
"Another country further down the coast. Your father told me we don't have any relations with them at the moment. But it looks like that'll change since we're here on a more personal basis."
"Personal?" Kiscawak asked.

Nick chuckled for a moment. Kiscawak got the sense that the interpreter was not a very acute individual through his demeanour, although he did possess an exceptionally useful skillset.

"Well... The Treaty Years left some... Some unfinished bidniz between our country and the Minaskic."
"Such as?"
"Well the old Predicean Embassy was basically just thrown out. No warning, no notice... More of a public decision than a governmental one. Nowadays that would never happen. And since then it's just been... Radio silence!"
"So you're trying to say diplomacy between the Tusacaway and the Minaskic is a bit more... Pertinent?"
"Sure, however you want to put it." Nick giggled again.

Kiscawak shot a glance at his father. Nicamon raised his eyebrows, "Well, there is no time to make fools of ourselves. The ambassadors will be meeting with us right when we exit the harbour so it would be best to get a move on... Nick, you should... Well... I need you to dress up in something better than what you are currently wearing as well."

"Oh!" Nick said, dusting off his denim vest, "Of course, Pactaw."

"It is going to be a bizarre and spectacular day for all of us, so do not feel the need to be incredibly ostentacious. These Predicean men appreciate smiles and a good temper, so approach everthing with a sense of delicacy."

— • —

FOOTNOTES FROM THE TEXT​

Pactaw — Male honorific in the Tusacaway
"My gift is my hand" — A formal greeting in the Tusacaway, derived from the need to supplement the custom of gift-giving with an affable gesture
Nistis — "Older brother", A term used for addressing new acquaintances
Seminary — High-school level education in the Tusacaway is known as "seminary"
Apowwen — Meaning "vengeance" or "struggle", a term used to convey a grave military conflict
 
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Closing in on Antofagosta Harbour

The sun was sinking below the horizon, creating a silhouette of the city's skyline. It seemed eerily... unmoving though. It was 6:15PM, and most people were no longer out on the streets, as the curfew was 7PM.
The Predicean flag still proudly waved over the city though, which was relatively safe from the enemy, indeed, many towns in the south had already fallen to the enemy, so people took what they could get.
You'd almost be convinced that there was no war going on, were it not for the eerie quiet and the fortifications around the city.

A small welcoming party was waiting on the pier, with a small guard detachment, and a few government officials. Aside from them though, there wasn't a soul in sight it seemed.
Even most lights were off, though electricity wouldn't be cut until 9PM, generally.

The Fast Corvette now broke off its escort, heading back to the main fleet, as the Tusacwyan ship was now within the protection of the city. All ships were needed to defend the precious cargo heading to Predice, which fed its war effort.

As the Tusacwyan ship docked, the Prediceans got their gift ready; the finest bottle of wine you could get in Predice. This had been one of the few bottles to be spared export, at least for a little bit. All wine had been reserved for export to fund the war effort, an incredibly unpopular policy, but it was making the government some money, and every penny counted.

Several Harbour workers quickly moved stairs to the ship to allow the precious cargo to disembark. Nobody, though, could shake the unmistakable tension in the air...
You never knew when another New Alemaner fighter could pass overhead, or when another missile could hit the city. As such, the gift ceremony would be done as quickly, and with as little pomp as possible, so that the Tusacwyan delegation could quickly be moved to a place of complete safety, to the north of the city.
 
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THE BARREN PORT OF ANTOFAGOSTA​

There was a palpable sense of urgency in the air. The Tusacwyan were aware that at the time of arrival, the Prediceans were at war with the as-of-yet elusive nation of the New Aleman. Banal as it were, there were still a seldom few lights in the distant town. The Tusacwyan had not seen war of any significant scale since 1954, and despite the glaring new landscape in the distance, the isolated ambiance was something that was not very well understood. Nic himself was quite nervous seeing such a small greeting party and such a ghostly harbour. The location was immense in size, at least five times the size of the port of Menykawn—all without a soul in sight. Kiscawak was tantalized by the view. The pinkish orange sunset was mesmerizing and the humid air widespread around the tropics was absolutely addictive. Among the small landing party of interpreters, ambassadors, and the Chieftain, Kiscawak was the gift-bearer and led the way off the vessel and onto the docks.

"Greetings, gentlemen of Predice." Nic began to speak in Predicean, "What a lovely evening it is for you to have accepted us here! We understand there is a matter of civil strife at the moment and we are understanding of your necessity for haste. May I introduce to you gentlemen, the Chieftain himself, Nicamon Pascaw, and his son, Kiscawak Pascaw. This is Onitawa Mawapiew, the Tusacaway's Grand Ambassador. You should refer to me as Wicanas Amow, and I am the principal interpreter for these gentlemen."

Nic gestured towards Nicamon and he quickly stepped forward.

"Buonasera." He bowed his head.

Several members from the Predicean party also came forward and seemingly introduced themselves. The Predicean language was rapid and expressive where Tusacaw was monotonous and annunciated. Kiscawak was enchanted by the men in their western attire. After the Prediceans had ended their dialogue, Nic turned back to Nicamon.

"This man with the moustache that points downwards is the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Umberto Alexander Giugini. Although he says you may just call him Signor Giugini. This man with the moustache that is curled is Deputy Minister of Finance, Pietro Renzi or Signor Renzi. And finally, this man with the moustache that forms a circle around his mouth is the prospective Predicean ambassador to the Tusacaway, Enrico Chagi or Signor Chagi."

"Tâwâw." Giugini pronounced.
"Grazie!" Kiscawak smiled.

Nicamon shot a glance at Kiscawak and widened his mouth. Kiscawak proceeded to step forward and handed a woven basket to the Predicean men. In return, the Prediceans handed Kiscawak a great glass bottle full of wine. The Predicean men unwrapped the basket to find within a woven wampum belt in red, white, green, and blue. Upon it was interwoven a great deal of white patterns which converged towards a single image of several figures holding hands. As Giugini proceeded to thank the delegation. Kiscawak smiled and began to motion around his waist.

"It's a belt!" He said in Tusacaw.

Giugini suddenly realized what Kiscawak was saying and proceeded to laugh slightly awkwardly before wrapping the wampum belt around his hips and tying it in place. It looked very strange upon the man's clothing, although it did give the man's attire a splash of colour and it seemed to amuse Kiscawak. As the delegation proceeded to walk away from the dock down a gangplank, a guide began to recite to Nic the events of tomorrow. Obviously having arrived so late in the evening, Kiscawak and the Chieftain would be accommodated at a hotel for the night, before going on a tour the next morning and attending a conference. As this went on, a loud "POP" could be heard from behind, as Kiscawak quickly learned to open the bottle, and began to drink out of it.

"Kiscawak. Put that thing down!" Nicamon scolded.
"What do you mean? Are we just supposed to carry it?"

The Prediceans proceeded to slightly chuckle, watching Nicamon swipe the bottle from his son. He handed it off to Nic, who proceeded to smell it and made a bit of a sour face.

"Smells like... I'm not sure what it smells like, but it's burning my nostrils." He remarked.
 
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