The german colonies in Africa are independent
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Chapatrap,
Timemaster
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7 yrs ago
Current
I RP for the ladies
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7 yrs ago
#Diapergate #Hugs2018
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7 yrs ago
I fucking love catfishing
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7 yrs ago
Every time I insult a certain coworker, i'll take money from their jar. Saving for beer would never be easier!
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7 yrs ago
The Jungle Book is good.
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Bio
Most Recent Posts
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7 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Roleplay
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Forum: Nation Roleplay
Hello. Any chance for me to sign up here?
Sure. List of taken countries is on the front page of ooc. We're here if you need to ask anything
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7 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Roleplay
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Isfahan, Persia
---------------------
Isfahan was an ancient jewel in Persia's crown, a city brimming with history and art. Yaqob was frustrated that he didn't get to see any of it. What he saw from the window of the airplane was the small shapes of buildings against the far away mountains. He sat in his chair, itching to explore, pent up by Akale Tebebe's schedule and the expectant Chinese.
When they were done refueling, they headed east toward the purple of approaching night. The desert looked like the husk of a cheese all laid out below them. Here was the land of Cyrus, Alexander, and Shapur. He wanted to take a year and tour it all, to pay homage to the ruins at Persepolis, feel the warmth of the flame at a Zoroastrian fire temple, listen to the call to prayer from golden minarets. Instead he sat back in his chair, sipped a glass of ice water, and lamented how tragic it was to be royalty.
"Put the things you don't want them snooping through in your personal luggage." Akale sat down across the hall. Today he was wearing a robe adorned with galloping golden giraffes.
"I have nothing to hide."
"I don't have anything to hide either, but I have plenty of things I don't want people to see." Akele looked out the window into the dark, "I'm going to sleep. You should too. We have a long flight ahead of us. It'll be morning before we reach Urumqi."
"I'm going to do a bit of reading first." Yaqob held up a book; Selected Essays of Hou Sai Tang, Translated by Kifle Mesrak. "Just a few minutes."
"Suit yourself." Akale went to the back. Yaqob took a sip of water and started to read.
On Power and Politics
Hou Tsai Tang
December 9th, 1954
It is no secret that in the past half-century a dynamic shift has been undertaken in China greater than any mass movement or revolution in at least Asia. With the changing of the eras the once great Qing found themselves out of touch and out of power. And with the passing of the eras so too did the people of China find themselves captured by the movement of consciousness and foreign ideology which not only shone a light on the inability of the Qing to rule, but on the modernity of its dynasty and its institutions.
Yaqob took a pen and underlined where it said "Foreign Idealogy." Wasn't Houism naturally opposed to foreign ideologies? Like a man following clues on a treasure map, Yaqob felt like he was on the right path to find Hou's unspoken intentions.
Conspiring powers ultimately brought to the Qing its autumn period, which rapidly accelerating came upon its early winter days with the the revolution in Wuchang. The assumption to power of Sun Yat-sen as president of the nascent Republic of China in Nanjing marked what many believed at the time to be a course set to modernity and westernization under the new Republic. To the intellectual and the traveled the hopes of the Republic was that it would become a bend in the river of history, steering the waters of China from stagnant archaic antiquity to the fresh clean streams and bends of the modern world with modern government.
Yaqob rubbed his eyes. He wanted to complete the essay. He didn't realize he was this tired.
But principally at the completion of the Revolution and the abolition of the monarchy in 1912 the conditions in China did not change for the better as the nation divided and peeled back at the seams. The nation no longer came to resemble a cohesive whole but a broken house with each room a feuding member of the same family. With a house divided, the Chinese Nation came to question its course and its self. Was modernity fundamental to Chinese sovereignty in the 20th century, or did our futures lie in the past, with monarchy? As the century wore on and as the Japanese invaded our homeland we as a people grappled with this question, seeking to answer it until we got our final question in its latest revolution.
He wrote in the margins "The monarchy was..." but he didn't complete his thought. His eyes were heavy. He nodded off a few times, fought to stay awake, but sleep took him in the end.
When he woke up, they were over the jagged snow capped peaks of a colossal mountain range. He felt cold, but put that off as his imagination, and sat up straight.
"Welcome back." Akale said. He was sitting in the seat across the aisle again.
"Back?" Yaqob knuckled the sleep from his eye. "From?"
"We're arriving in Urumqi very soon."
The mountains gave way to foothills, and the foothills to an irrigated farmland. Urumqi, much like the farmland, followed the terrain in square blocks. They aimed for an airport on the plains north of town. Chinese military men waited on the tarmac for them, standing like statues, dressed in uniforms the color of evergreen trees. When the plane came to a stop, they surrounded it, and two of the men came inside. Akale Tebebe stood up and welcomed the leading officer like a salesman greeting his mark. They spoke Chinese. Yaqob didn't understand them, so he sat tight and waited. They motioned to him several times, but he didn't know why. More soldiers boarded the plane and the search began. It didn't bother him much. The only time he felt uncomfortable was when an officer picked up his book from the chair next to him and flipped through it. The man must not of had any opinions, because he put it back and moved on.
When the search was over, they were off. Yaqob returned to his reading.
The breaking of aristocratic and bourgeoisie power in China by Communist Revolution has thus far shown and created the single strongest and single most stable government in the Chinese nation since the abolition of the monarchy in 1912. Infusing the state with the sort of stability and peace of mind it has not had in over half a century it has conducted itself with grand shifts in power to bring formally to an end the warlords, the emperors, the viceroys, and the banker which had so far lorded over the Chinese state with hungry eyes. But how is this so? What change has there been in the national fabric of the nation for there to be so? Has there been something for once with so much power that it able to impress itself over the heads of dynasty seekers, or could there be said to be something more subtle woven into the social fabric of the state?
Yaqob circled the end of the first sentence and wrote in the margins on that page "Hou identifies with the Emperor." He kept reading.
To understand this history of stability so far, the principles of power must be understood. For it is in power and its use and its distribution that determines the success of a state and the revolutionary character on which it rides. What structure does power manifest itself in? What physical material and in what way is material used to benefit and shape the structure and the power? And of the amorphic, abstract state? The law? The Ideology? These facets of power can be defined simply into three categories, the Three Material Facets: the state's capital, the national structure and the state's ideology.
Yaqob underlined the second sentence.
To further break down the definitions the state's capital is inclusive of those resources which it needs to survive; its water, its food, its industrial and raw materials, and its capacity to manufacture commodities with these resources and the means by which it operates it. The ideology is its politics, its religion, and its structure, simply the way in which the physical resources of the realm are ordered and structured. And then how it is all packaged and structured. If the material conditions are the locations, the cities and villages in a country side than the ideology is the road, and the structure the placement.
To understand this flow of power is however not as simple as simply knowing its definitions. For it is in its use that can be truly understood.
"What is Hou's true ideology?" Yaqob wrote on the bottom of the page. The dinner bell rang and he closed the book. Dinner was served mid evening. It consisted of two hard-boiled eggs, slices of grilled steak, fried potatoes, and rolled up strips of injera. Akale took wine with his meal, and Yaqob took coffee.
"You're going to need to learn Chinese." Akale said, looking down at his food.
"Yes. I look forward to it. Was it hard to learn?"
Akale smiled. "It's a whole lot different than any other languages. Their writing system makes very little sense honestly. Don't know if I'll ever learn it."
"I'll consider it a challenge. How is my education to be handled? My brother and sister went to school in Europe."
"Wait a few years and you'll probably be able to apply to a European school. For now, we'll make sure you have tutors so you aren't far behind."
"Would China be an option?"
Akale paused. "China? Well... probably not. Europe accepts aristocracy as a matter of fact, but the Chinese... I'm not sure you'd receive the right lessons from people who believe some barefoot dirt farmer is your equal."
Yaqob disagreed, but he did feel like arguing the point. He turned back to his studies and read for several more hours, midnight when they made they arrived over Beijing.
Isfahan, Persia
---------------------
Isfahan was an ancient jewel in Persia's crown, a city brimming with history and art. Yaqob was frustrated that he didn't get to see any of it. What he saw from the window of the airplane was the small shapes of buildings against the far away mountains. He sat in his chair, itching to explore, pent up by Akale Tebebe's schedule and the expectant Chinese.
When they were done refueling, they headed east toward the purple of approaching night. The desert looked like the husk of a cheese all laid out below them. Here was the land of Cyrus, Alexander, and Shapur. He wanted to take a year and tour it all, to pay homage to the ruins at Persepolis, feel the warmth of the flame at a Zoroastrian fire temple, listen to the call to prayer from golden minarets. Instead he sat back in his chair, sipped a glass of ice water, and lamented how tragic it was to be royalty.
"Put the things you don't want them snooping through in your personal luggage." Akale sat down across the hall. Today he was wearing a robe adorned with galloping golden giraffes.
"I have nothing to hide."
"I don't have anything to hide either, but I have plenty of things I don't want people to see." Akele looked out the window into the dark, "I'm going to sleep. You should too. We have a long flight ahead of us. It'll be morning before we reach Urumqi."
"I'm going to do a bit of reading first." Yaqob held up a book; Selected Essays of Hou Sai Tang, Translated by Kifle Mesrak. "Just a few minutes."
"Suit yourself." Akale went to the back. Yaqob took a sip of water and started to read.
On Power and Politics
Hou Tsai Tang
December 9th, 1954
It is no secret that in the past half-century a dynamic shift has been undertaken in China greater than any mass movement or revolution in at least Asia. With the changing of the eras the once great Qing found themselves out of touch and out of power. And with the passing of the eras so too did the people of China find themselves captured by the movement of consciousness and foreign ideology which not only shone a light on the inability of the Qing to rule, but on the modernity of its dynasty and its institutions.
Yaqob took a pen and underlined where it said "Foreign Idealogy." Wasn't Houism naturally opposed to foreign ideologies? Like a man following clues on a treasure map, Yaqob felt like he was on the right path to find Hou's unspoken intentions.
Conspiring powers ultimately brought to the Qing its autumn period, which rapidly accelerating came upon its early winter days with the the revolution in Wuchang. The assumption to power of Sun Yat-sen as president of the nascent Republic of China in Nanjing marked what many believed at the time to be a course set to modernity and westernization under the new Republic. To the intellectual and the traveled the hopes of the Republic was that it would become a bend in the river of history, steering the waters of China from stagnant archaic antiquity to the fresh clean streams and bends of the modern world with modern government.
Yaqob rubbed his eyes. He wanted to complete the essay. He didn't realize he was this tired.
But principally at the completion of the Revolution and the abolition of the monarchy in 1912 the conditions in China did not change for the better as the nation divided and peeled back at the seams. The nation no longer came to resemble a cohesive whole but a broken house with each room a feuding member of the same family. With a house divided, the Chinese Nation came to question its course and its self. Was modernity fundamental to Chinese sovereignty in the 20th century, or did our futures lie in the past, with monarchy? As the century wore on and as the Japanese invaded our homeland we as a people grappled with this question, seeking to answer it until we got our final question in its latest revolution.
He wrote in the margins "The monarchy was..." but he didn't complete his thought. His eyes were heavy. He nodded off a few times, fought to stay awake, but sleep took him in the end.
When he woke up, they were over the jagged snow capped peaks of a colossal mountain range. He felt cold, but put that off as his imagination, and sat up straight.
"Welcome back." Akale said. He was sitting in the seat across the aisle again.
"Back?" Yaqob knuckled the sleep from his eye. "From?"
"We're arriving in Urumqi very soon."
The mountains gave way to foothills, and the foothills to an irrigated farmland. Urumqi, much like the farmland, followed the terrain in square blocks. They aimed for an airport on the plains north of town. Chinese military men waited on the tarmac for them, standing like statues, dressed in uniforms the color of evergreen trees. When the plane came to a stop, they surrounded it, and two of the men came inside. Akale Tebebe stood up and welcomed the leading officer like a salesman greeting his mark. They spoke Chinese. Yaqob didn't understand them, so he sat tight and waited. They motioned to him several times, but he didn't know why. More soldiers boarded the plane and the search began. It didn't bother him much. The only time he felt uncomfortable was when an officer picked up his book from the chair next to him and flipped through it. The man must not of had any opinions, because he put it back and moved on.
When the search was over, they were off. Yaqob returned to his reading.
The breaking of aristocratic and bourgeoisie power in China by Communist Revolution has thus far shown and created the single strongest and single most stable government in the Chinese nation since the abolition of the monarchy in 1912. Infusing the state with the sort of stability and peace of mind it has not had in over half a century it has conducted itself with grand shifts in power to bring formally to an end the warlords, the emperors, the viceroys, and the banker which had so far lorded over the Chinese state with hungry eyes. But how is this so? What change has there been in the national fabric of the nation for there to be so? Has there been something for once with so much power that it able to impress itself over the heads of dynasty seekers, or could there be said to be something more subtle woven into the social fabric of the state?
Yaqob circled the end of the first sentence and wrote in the margins on that page "Hou identifies with the Emperor." He kept reading.
To understand this history of stability so far, the principles of power must be understood. For it is in power and its use and its distribution that determines the success of a state and the revolutionary character on which it rides. What structure does power manifest itself in? What physical material and in what way is material used to benefit and shape the structure and the power? And of the amorphic, abstract state? The law? The Ideology? These facets of power can be defined simply into three categories, the Three Material Facets: the state's capital, the national structure and the state's ideology.
Yaqob underlined the second sentence.
To further break down the definitions the state's capital is inclusive of those resources which it needs to survive; its water, its food, its industrial and raw materials, and its capacity to manufacture commodities with these resources and the means by which it operates it. The ideology is its politics, its religion, and its structure, simply the way in which the physical resources of the realm are ordered and structured. And then how it is all packaged and structured. If the material conditions are the locations, the cities and villages in a country side than the ideology is the road, and the structure the placement.
To understand this flow of power is however not as simple as simply knowing its definitions. For it is in its use that can be truly understood.
"What is Hou's true ideology?" Yaqob wrote on the bottom of the page. The dinner bell rang and he closed the book. Dinner was served mid evening. It consisted of two hard-boiled eggs, slices of grilled steak, fried potatoes, and rolled up strips of injera. Akale took wine with his meal, and Yaqob took coffee.
"You're going to need to learn Chinese." Akale said, looking down at his food.
"Yes. I look forward to it. Was it hard to learn?"
Akale smiled. "It's a whole lot different than any other languages. Their writing system makes very little sense honestly. Don't know if I'll ever learn it."
"I'll consider it a challenge. How is my education to be handled? My brother and sister went to school in Europe."
"Wait a few years and you'll probably be able to apply to a European school. For now, we'll make sure you have tutors so you aren't far behind."
"Would China be an option?"
Akale paused. "China? Well... probably not. Europe accepts aristocracy as a matter of fact, but the Chinese... I'm not sure you'd receive the right lessons from people who believe some barefoot dirt farmer is your equal."
Yaqob disagreed, but he did feel like arguing the point. He turned back to his studies and read for several more hours, midnight when they made they arrived over Beijing.
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7 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Roleplay
<Snipped quote by Nerevarine>
You're basically accepted by the way, you just need a mod or someone to clarify it*
alls good in the hood
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7 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Roleplay
<Snipped quote by Vilageidiotx>
I may end up going with another country, in that case. I completely understand the logic behind that, but the idea of the King-in-Exile and the massive changes in the Canadian government and society that would be brought over with him and the other exiles were somewhat central to the idea.
However, if necessary I can do something similar to what I had planned (minus the Royals) in a post-Commonwealth Republic of Australasia. The main obstacle standing in my way is my utter lack of knowledge about Australia and New Zealand beyond the little bit of research I've done on the area recently. Still, it could be fun- just a bit challenging for me personally.
Just let me know. I'm alright with doing either, I'm just a little partial towards Canada under a pseudo-Social Credit government. I can work with people here if you guys have an idea of what you think a British Republic could look like in this universe, or have any ideas to make it a bit more open for a future player.
Generally its best that, if you're existing requires major changes to a country that isn't taken, you find a way to downplay or ignore the details of that country. It's hard to do that when you yoink the monarchy of another country. If you think there are ways you can pull it off without describing anything about Britain besides Canada's independence from it, then do it that way.
I'd be okay with you taking Australia and New Zealand. So long as you don't make off with something outside of those countries.
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Forum: Nation Roleplay
After a bit of consideration, I think I'll lay claim on Canada. I'll be working under the assumption that in the 1930's, spurred on by unrest and economic decline, a brief but fierce Second English Civil war occurred, resulting in a British Republic dominated by socialist and left-wing interests, resulting in the exile of the Royal family along with large flocks of conservatives, government officials, significant elements of the Royal Navy, and others. Hopefully the result ends up interesting. With the instability of its neighbor and different, more active King in the form of a determined Edward VIII, Canada should be on a much different trajectory than OTL.
Don't make too many assumptions about England. You can break off, but its probably best you not take off with the King too. We might end up with an English player later on who wants the monarchy.
Make your own King. King Red Green or some shit.
Hellenic Socialist Republic
Leader:
Premier Demitrios
@Chapatrap's gonna hafta sign off on it. When he says go, you're good.
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@Shyri Wait, I fixed the dates? The Great War ended 1929? I still imply that in my CS, I haven't changed anything.
Ended in 1921. 1929 was a goof. We made fun of Aaron mercilessly for it until he changed it.
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Forum: Nation Roleplay
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June 3rd: Prewitt, New Mexico
-------------------------------------------
Taytu sat at a picnic table and fidgeted with a soda bottle, her pointer finger on the cap as she used her thumb to spin it slowly. "Sun City Sasparilla" it said, and there was an image of a cowboy on the label, facing forward, winking one eye while shooting at an Indian sneaking up behind him. Across from her, Noh Mareko ate an oversized hotdog.
"My friend says these are made of dogs." He said, unconscious of the mustard splatter on his over-sized tourist's t-shirt, "But the Americans say it isn't true. I do not know who to believe." He was fit, tall, and young; natural conditions for a soldier, and he was the body guard Gelay Hezekel assigned to her.
She still remembered the day Gelay told her she should travel the west. It was the day after her disastrous date with the Congressman from Illinois. Gelay hadn't looked at her very much, obsessing instead with his own aging face staring back at him from a standing mirror. It was on his insistence that every room in the Ethiopian Embassy in DC have a mirror, and he could insist because he was the Ambassador to the United States.
"They are not made of dogs." Taytu said, "They are pig meat."
"Pork?" Noh's face dropped.
"Don't bother, you're in America. God can't see you here." Noh was a Christian, but the Ethiopian church forbade pork. Taytu's own philosophy was When in Rome. Noh swallowed the bite already in his mouth, but he didn't eat any more.
A roller coaster rushed by in front of her, the image of a Vampiric Karl Marx painted on its front with blood dripping into his profuse beard. The imagery here at Liberty Land, a Rte 66 Tourist trap, was gauche to be sure. The coaster was art compared to the nightmare-inducing horses with grinning Presidential heads on the "Great Men Merry-Go-Round"
"I don't think the west is as bad as you thought it would be." Noh said. He had the voice of a man talking through a blanket. "I don't see the Communists you were worried about."
"I just saw Karl Marx go by. Behind you."
Noh looked. "Oh, that is just a ride. I do not think the guy who owns this place likes Karl Marx."
"No." she took a drink of Sarsaparilla. She was not a fan of soda, but America in its infinite brilliance were full of counties that scorned alcohol, and they didn't serve wine anywhere on the three acre premises of Liberty Land.
"I'm going to get popcorn." Noh said, "I do not think there is pork in the popcorn." Once he left, she sat alone, watching American families entertain their children. Why was she here? DC wasn't perfect, but a few bad experiences didn't mean she disliked the place entirely. Ambassador Gelay seemed to think she'd be able to clear her head on the coast, where the suffocating racial policies of the east had been resolved. But did that mean she liked the west? A world of outcasts and Communists? Those weren't her people. In truth, she understood the southerners better, even if they grouped her with their untouchables. Southern culture abandoned the presumptions of democracy, that all men were created equal. That made sense to her.
"Try the popcorn." Noh came back, smiling, holding a striped bag. "Let's go." She stood up. He looked hurt. "We haven't rode the coaster."
"I'm fine." She said, "Lets get on the road."
They'd rented a Ford Franklin in Denver; a long flashy car with a retractable hard-top that worked perfectly in the desert heat. Noh drove. She climbed in, retrieving a pair of rounded sunglasses and a headscarf from the glove compartment. They pulled onto the blacktop and headed west as American big band music played on the radio.
"What is your brother like?" Noh asked, speaking loudly so his voice would carry over the wind. He hadn't asked her much on the ride down from Denver where they'd met for the first time, but something about the amusement park made him feel more comfortable.
"I have two brothers."
"His Majesty?"
Sahle. "He's too busy with work." she said. A non-answer. She knew him all too well. When she was a little girl, she was embarrassed by how he acted in public. At seven years old Sahle streaked naked through the palace. She'd been six at the time, but she'd known better, and she'd known that she knew better, and she couldn't wrap her little head around why he was to be Emperor. She learned how politics worked as she grew older, but those early frustrations were still there, somewhere, in her subconscious.
"I bet he is busy." Noh said, "I do not know if I could do it."
"I don't know how he does it either." She looked out at the desert, watching the red mesas go by, hoping this conversation would end. The world seemed so big here, the mountains too far away to wall it in, and trees almost non-existent, that she easily imagined herself getting lost in it. Swallowed up by forever, forgotten, like one of the scarce houses she saw falling apart far in the desert on some dusty trail. The American Southwest was more arid than the Ethiopian highlands, having more in common with the Rift valley or the dry deserts of Eritrea. It reminded her of a time her family visited Eritrea on state business, the year before her father died. Sahle was just discovering the other sex then, and uninhibited by the shackles of shame, he'd entered puberty sprinting. Their trip was ruined when he was caught deflowering a local official's daughter. The issue had been hushed up of course, but the process of hushing it up replaced their father's business. Everything once again had become about him: the heir, the profligate.
They pulled into a small roadside inn at twilight, hoping to pass up the bar and find a room. A woman sat outside the parking lot wrapped in a blanket in front of a table of wares hard to make out in the setting sun. There were no cars here, only motorcycles. Taytu did not like this place, but she was tired, so she resigned herself to it and stepped out. The woman in the blanket called out to them. "Buffalo Soldiers." the old woman's voice cracked, "Don't go in there."
Noh walked toward her, looking at her curiously. Taytu followed. As they got closer, they realized the woman was an Indian, her wares a variety of nick-knacks made of beads and cloth. What looked like a pile of extra blankets near by her turned out to be a makeshift tent.
"The men in there don't like darkies" the woman said matter of factly.
"We're not from America." Noh said, "We're foreign visitors. Diplomatic immunity." Taytu rolled her eyes. Diplomatic immunity didn't mean a thing to your average person.
"They won't care about that in there." the old woman said, "They're Highway Rangers."
"Who?"
"They fought for the South in the last war. Got no home now. They travel the roads, hunting darkies. Commies. Whoever they don't like."
"They let you sell out here?" Noh asked.
"If I went in there, I'd be dead. But I sleep out here."
Noh bought beads from her and thanked her for the advice. They pulled back onto the highway, watching the flashing beer signs fade away into a neon star behind them.
The real stars were out when they arrived at the Petrified Forest Inn, on the edge of the Painted Desert. There were cars here instead of motorcycles. Still, Noh checked his concealed gun before they went in. The Inn was built from petrified logs used like rough stone, but its color was undetectable at night. Once the car had stopped, the desert seemed overtaken by a sacred silence, disturbed only by the buzz of a neon sign. They went inside.
The cramped lobby was dominated by a single leather chair and the overpowering smell of cigarette smoke. "Can I help you?" an old woman said kindly, putting her smoke out in a tray. Noh started toward the desk, but Taytu went around him, surprising him into stopping.
"One room, single bed please."
"Ten dollars"
Taytu took out a ten dollar bill and traded it for the key. "Room sixteen is on your right. If you need anything, I'll be here until midnight." Taytu smiled and went out. Noh followed her.
Their room was small and smelled musty. She didn't like the feel of carpet, so she paused before taking off her shoes and putting them under the small desk near the window. A clock made out of a wagon wheel hung over the bed. She crinkled her nose. This wasn't the America she'd fallen in love with.
"I'll sleep on the floor if you like." Noh started, looking down, "They've already made it soft like a bed. What an amazing country..."
He stopped talking when he saw that Taytu had slipped her dress passed her legs. It stunned him, but when she reached to slip off her hose, he looked away. "This is not appropriate, your excellency."
"I'll decide that." she said. In her underwear, she started undressing him, and she felt the bulge in his pants. Whatever he was professionally, he was still a man, and he didn't try to stop her anymore. Soon they were both naked, her body awkwardly thin to her, but his the figure of a warrior. She pushed him into bed and climbed on top. They both came before they were done, and he fell asleep.
She stayed awake. The big loneliness of the southwest had swallowed her after all, she thought, as the tacky clock above her head beat the rhythm of time. Somewhere, sounding far away, she heard a car engine purr gently, and it made her shiver.
At her side, Noh was dead to the world. She looked at him, reached over him, conscious of her nipples hanging just above his nose, and took the utility knife from his belt. It felt strangely heavy in her hands for something so small. She flipped it open, twisted around, and carved a notch in the bedpost. After returning the knife, she managed to fall asleep.
June 3rd: Prewitt, New Mexico
-------------------------------------------
Taytu sat at a picnic table and fidgeted with a soda bottle, her pointer finger on the cap as she used her thumb to spin it slowly. "Sun City Sasparilla" it said, and there was an image of a cowboy on the label, facing forward, winking one eye while shooting at an Indian sneaking up behind him. Across from her, Noh Mareko ate an oversized hotdog.
"My friend says these are made of dogs." He said, unconscious of the mustard splatter on his over-sized tourist's t-shirt, "But the Americans say it isn't true. I do not know who to believe." He was fit, tall, and young; natural conditions for a soldier, and he was the body guard Gelay Hezekel assigned to her.
She still remembered the day Gelay told her she should travel the west. It was the day after her disastrous date with the Congressman from Illinois. Gelay hadn't looked at her very much, obsessing instead with his own aging face staring back at him from a standing mirror. It was on his insistence that every room in the Ethiopian Embassy in DC have a mirror, and he could insist because he was the Ambassador to the United States.
"They are not made of dogs." Taytu said, "They are pig meat."
"Pork?" Noh's face dropped.
"Don't bother, you're in America. God can't see you here." Noh was a Christian, but the Ethiopian church forbade pork. Taytu's own philosophy was When in Rome. Noh swallowed the bite already in his mouth, but he didn't eat any more.
A roller coaster rushed by in front of her, the image of a Vampiric Karl Marx painted on its front with blood dripping into his profuse beard. The imagery here at Liberty Land, a Rte 66 Tourist trap, was gauche to be sure. The coaster was art compared to the nightmare-inducing horses with grinning Presidential heads on the "Great Men Merry-Go-Round"
"I don't think the west is as bad as you thought it would be." Noh said. He had the voice of a man talking through a blanket. "I don't see the Communists you were worried about."
"I just saw Karl Marx go by. Behind you."
Noh looked. "Oh, that is just a ride. I do not think the guy who owns this place likes Karl Marx."
"No." she took a drink of Sarsaparilla. She was not a fan of soda, but America in its infinite brilliance were full of counties that scorned alcohol, and they didn't serve wine anywhere on the three acre premises of Liberty Land.
"I'm going to get popcorn." Noh said, "I do not think there is pork in the popcorn." Once he left, she sat alone, watching American families entertain their children. Why was she here? DC wasn't perfect, but a few bad experiences didn't mean she disliked the place entirely. Ambassador Gelay seemed to think she'd be able to clear her head on the coast, where the suffocating racial policies of the east had been resolved. But did that mean she liked the west? A world of outcasts and Communists? Those weren't her people. In truth, she understood the southerners better, even if they grouped her with their untouchables. Southern culture abandoned the presumptions of democracy, that all men were created equal. That made sense to her.
"Try the popcorn." Noh came back, smiling, holding a striped bag. "Let's go." She stood up. He looked hurt. "We haven't rode the coaster."
"I'm fine." She said, "Lets get on the road."
They'd rented a Ford Franklin in Denver; a long flashy car with a retractable hard-top that worked perfectly in the desert heat. Noh drove. She climbed in, retrieving a pair of rounded sunglasses and a headscarf from the glove compartment. They pulled onto the blacktop and headed west as American big band music played on the radio.
"What is your brother like?" Noh asked, speaking loudly so his voice would carry over the wind. He hadn't asked her much on the ride down from Denver where they'd met for the first time, but something about the amusement park made him feel more comfortable.
"I have two brothers."
"His Majesty?"
Sahle. "He's too busy with work." she said. A non-answer. She knew him all too well. When she was a little girl, she was embarrassed by how he acted in public. At seven years old Sahle streaked naked through the palace. She'd been six at the time, but she'd known better, and she'd known that she knew better, and she couldn't wrap her little head around why he was to be Emperor. She learned how politics worked as she grew older, but those early frustrations were still there, somewhere, in her subconscious.
"I bet he is busy." Noh said, "I do not know if I could do it."
"I don't know how he does it either." She looked out at the desert, watching the red mesas go by, hoping this conversation would end. The world seemed so big here, the mountains too far away to wall it in, and trees almost non-existent, that she easily imagined herself getting lost in it. Swallowed up by forever, forgotten, like one of the scarce houses she saw falling apart far in the desert on some dusty trail. The American Southwest was more arid than the Ethiopian highlands, having more in common with the Rift valley or the dry deserts of Eritrea. It reminded her of a time her family visited Eritrea on state business, the year before her father died. Sahle was just discovering the other sex then, and uninhibited by the shackles of shame, he'd entered puberty sprinting. Their trip was ruined when he was caught deflowering a local official's daughter. The issue had been hushed up of course, but the process of hushing it up replaced their father's business. Everything once again had become about him: the heir, the profligate.
They pulled into a small roadside inn at twilight, hoping to pass up the bar and find a room. A woman sat outside the parking lot wrapped in a blanket in front of a table of wares hard to make out in the setting sun. There were no cars here, only motorcycles. Taytu did not like this place, but she was tired, so she resigned herself to it and stepped out. The woman in the blanket called out to them. "Buffalo Soldiers." the old woman's voice cracked, "Don't go in there."
Noh walked toward her, looking at her curiously. Taytu followed. As they got closer, they realized the woman was an Indian, her wares a variety of nick-knacks made of beads and cloth. What looked like a pile of extra blankets near by her turned out to be a makeshift tent.
"The men in there don't like darkies" the woman said matter of factly.
"We're not from America." Noh said, "We're foreign visitors. Diplomatic immunity." Taytu rolled her eyes. Diplomatic immunity didn't mean a thing to your average person.
"They won't care about that in there." the old woman said, "They're Highway Rangers."
"Who?"
"They fought for the South in the last war. Got no home now. They travel the roads, hunting darkies. Commies. Whoever they don't like."
"They let you sell out here?" Noh asked.
"If I went in there, I'd be dead. But I sleep out here."
Noh bought beads from her and thanked her for the advice. They pulled back onto the highway, watching the flashing beer signs fade away into a neon star behind them.
The real stars were out when they arrived at the Petrified Forest Inn, on the edge of the Painted Desert. There were cars here instead of motorcycles. Still, Noh checked his concealed gun before they went in. The Inn was built from petrified logs used like rough stone, but its color was undetectable at night. Once the car had stopped, the desert seemed overtaken by a sacred silence, disturbed only by the buzz of a neon sign. They went inside.
The cramped lobby was dominated by a single leather chair and the overpowering smell of cigarette smoke. "Can I help you?" an old woman said kindly, putting her smoke out in a tray. Noh started toward the desk, but Taytu went around him, surprising him into stopping.
"One room, single bed please."
"Ten dollars"
Taytu took out a ten dollar bill and traded it for the key. "Room sixteen is on your right. If you need anything, I'll be here until midnight." Taytu smiled and went out. Noh followed her.
Their room was small and smelled musty. She didn't like the feel of carpet, so she paused before taking off her shoes and putting them under the small desk near the window. A clock made out of a wagon wheel hung over the bed. She crinkled her nose. This wasn't the America she'd fallen in love with.
"I'll sleep on the floor if you like." Noh started, looking down, "They've already made it soft like a bed. What an amazing country..."
He stopped talking when he saw that Taytu had slipped her dress passed her legs. It stunned him, but when she reached to slip off her hose, he looked away. "This is not appropriate, your excellency."
"I'll decide that." she said. In her underwear, she started undressing him, and she felt the bulge in his pants. Whatever he was professionally, he was still a man, and he didn't try to stop her anymore. Soon they were both naked, her body awkwardly thin to her, but his the figure of a warrior. She pushed him into bed and climbed on top. They both came before they were done, and he fell asleep.
She stayed awake. The big loneliness of the southwest had swallowed her after all, she thought, as the tacky clock above her head beat the rhythm of time. Somewhere, sounding far away, she heard a car engine purr gently, and it made her shiver.
At her side, Noh was dead to the world. She looked at him, reached over him, conscious of her nipples hanging just above his nose, and took the utility knife from his belt. It felt strangely heavy in her hands for something so small. She flipped it open, twisted around, and carved a notch in the bedpost. After returning the knife, she managed to fall asleep.
In
Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)
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7 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Roleplay
Howdy, is there any established post-war lore for the various Commonwealth nations? I'm interested in putting what free time I have into this RP but I can't quite decide on what nation or NGO to play. Thanks!
Not really. If you're thinking of Australia or Canada, they should be tabula rasa. Don't mind the British app in the character section, he withdrew so its not cannon.
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Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)
→
7 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Roleplay
Okay, so there is one problem, but you can take it easy knowing that it is us and not you. Aaron fucked up the dates. The war actually ended in 1921. Sorry for the complication, it's our fault and I apologize again for it.
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