Author Topic: Tytorian Vignettes  (Read 5978 times)

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Offline Tytor

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Tytorian Vignettes
« on: May 10, 2019, 07:56:32 AM »
And here I go, reanimating my vignette thread.  As with the thread in the old forum, this post will serve as an index and will be updated with each new post.  I'll be starting off with two vignettes reposted from that thread (one of them slightly edited to move it forward a couple years), as they make up the beginning of a series I intend to finish.  They will be posted momentarily.  For my first three vignettes (An Appointment with the Ages, Heavens Above, and Fire in the Sky), see the old forum.  They're still there.




Index:
Far Above the World - Part 1
Far Above the World - Part 2
Far Above the World - Part 3
Far Above the World - Part 4
Far Above the World - Part 5
Far Above the World - Part 6
Far Above the World - Part 7
Far Above the World - Part 8
Common Sense
Remembrance Day
We Built This City
Joy
Scrabble Night
Ecumenism
Ante Up
Stuck in the Middle with You
All Fall Down - Part 1
All Fall Down - Part 2
« Last Edit: October 13, 2023, 05:01:27 PM by Tytor »
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Offline Tytor

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #1 on: May 10, 2019, 07:59:24 AM »
Far Above the World - Part 1

Tsargrad, East Crownlands
March 26th, 2017
2:00 pm


Mackenzie Collins, Executive Administrator of the Tytorian Aerospace Ministry, sat in the reception area outside the office of Prime Minister Madeline Thatcher.  He had an appointment, and he was hoping to make a good impression.  Collins had never actually met with the new prime minister for any length of time, and the fact that he had maintained a good working relationship with her two conservative predecessors might put a damper on things.  In short, he was worried, and he took several deep calming breaths as the receptionist told him he could enter the office.

As Collins opened the heavy wooden door, he reflected on the fact that he felt like a disobedient schoolboy sent to see the principal.  Prime Minister Thatcher sat behind her desk, regarding him somewhat imperiously.

"Good, you're here," she said, gesturing at the chair opposite her, "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Madam Prime Minister," Collins replied, taking the indicated seat.

"My pleasure," Thatcher said, smiling slightly, "Cornwallis and Goodfellow have told me that you are as competent an administrator as the Aerospace Ministry could hope for."

The compliment took Collins somewhat by surprise, though less so than the smile.  He'd half believed Thatcher couldn't smile, and it was nice to be proved wrong.  "Er, thank you," he said.

"I believe you had a proposition, Mr. Collins?" Thatcher prompted.

"Uh, yes.  Yes, ma'am, I did," Collins answered, still mildly wrong-footed, "How familiar are you with the Atlas Program?"

"Vaguely.  Wasn't it cancelled a while ago?"

"Yes, ma'am.  After the near-catastrophe that was Atlas 8 in 1974.  One of the oxygen tanks exploded in lunar orbit, if I remember correctly.  The three remaining Atlas spacecraft were subsequently placed in long-term storage at Highmark Cosmodrome."

"And?  Go on.  What bearing does this have on modern Tytor?"

"Project Atlas was a moon program.  Well, is a moon program, if I can get the funds I need."

"Let me get this straight.  You want to restart Atlas?"

"Yes, ma'am," Collins said, taking a deep breath before launching into his sales pitch, "We have kept three Atlas spacecraft and their lunar-capable rockets in long-term storage for the past forty-three years.  I want to make use of them, to put a Tytorian on the moon using Tytorian technology and manpower.  To do that, I need funds.  I need to train cosmonauts, engineers, and ground control personnel.  I need to refurbish rockets and space capsules that are nearly half a century old.  In short, I need the support of your administration."

"If I give it to you, do you believe that you will be able to complete your proposed goals and bring everyone involved home safely?" Thatcher asked.

"Yes ma'am, I do," Collins said confidently, "We have the technology, and we know it works.  We just need the motivation to make use of it."

Thatcher looked Collins straight in the eyes.  She held his gaze for for almost thirty seconds before speaking.  "That's good enough for me," she said finally, "I'll arrange a press conference immediately."

She stood up, and Collins followed suit.  "Well, Mr. Collins," Thatcher said with another smile, "Get ready.  We're going back to space."

(OOC: This vignette was originally posted on the old forum on March 26th, 2017.)
« Last Edit: May 14, 2019, 10:16:18 AM by Tytor »
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Offline Tytor

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #2 on: May 10, 2019, 08:03:42 AM »
Far Above the World - Part 2

Highmark, West Crownlands
May 9th, 2019
12:10 pm


Mackenzie Collins, Executive Administrator of the Tytorian Aerospace Ministry, stood quietly in the observation area some distance from Highmark Cosmodrome's Launch Pad Four.  It really wasn't all that long ago that he had watched Challenger lift off from this very cosmodrome, at a launch pad very like this one, and he couldn't help but feel some apprehension as a nearby loudspeaker announced that there were only a few minutes to go.  It really was a lovely day, all things considered; despite a light rainfall that morning, the sky was now quite clear.  Collins shook himself mentally.  The Aerospace Ministry had come a long way in the last two years, and the Atlas spacecraft was known to be reliable.  Yes, there had been the near-catastrophic Atlas 8 mission in 1974 that scuttled the program in the first place, but they'd managed to get the cosmonauts involved home safely in the end.

"So?  How are you getting on?"  The voice of Prince Charles cut across Collins' reverie, and he started slightly.  He'd quite forgotten that the royal family had turned out to watch the launch.

"I'm fine, I guess," Collins said, "A little nervous, but I suppose that's normal."

"Yeah," Charles said, "There's, what, ten minutes left?"

"Don't remind me," Collins answered with a grimace, "The last time I was at a launch like this, there was a huge explosion.  I can't shake the feeling that something's going to go wrong this time, too."

"It'll be fine, you'll see," Charles said consolingly, "Anyway, I should get back to my family.  Father will be wondering where I've gone off to."

Collins nodded, and the prince walked off, somewhat aimlessly.  Collins took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and the loudspeaker announced that there were now only five minutes to go.  He heard his phone go off, but didn't really register it.  His mind was elsewhere, more than four decades in the past.  He'd been only four years old when Atlas 8 suffered an oxygen tank explosion mid-flight.  Really, he should have been too young to remember anything, but he did.  One of the cosmonauts aboard Atlas 8 had been his father.  Though distant and vague, the memories of those few days and nights came back to him at times all these years later, and his unease grew.

The loudspeaker started counting down, and Collins was snapped back to the present.  He watched with baited breath as the huge rocket ignited and slowly, gracefully, began to rise into the air, aimed straight at the stars.  This was it, this was the defining moment.  Collins expected any moment to see a flash of fire, a repeat of the explosion that claimed the Challenger, but no such disaster occurred.

An hour later, after almost everyone else had gone home, Collins still stood there, staring skyward, silently willing Atlas 9 to succeed, to prove that Tytor was, in fact, capable of reaching the moon.  He felt that he needed to know that more than anyone else in the world.  He didn't notice when Prince Charles returned.  He didn't resist when he was guided back to the office complex that served as the Aerospace Ministry's beating heart.  He didn't hear as dozens of jubilant Tytorians congratulated him for a successful launch.

For Collins, the next week was looking very long indeed.

(OOC: This vignette was originally posted on the old forum on April 12th, 2017.)
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Offline Tytor

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #3 on: May 10, 2019, 08:13:00 AM »
Far Above the World - Part 3

Atlas 9 Command/Service Module
May 9th, 2019
12:15 PM


The rocket carrying Atlas 9 lifted gradually off the launchpad.  All systems were working fine; despite the age of the spacecraft, it was in perfect working order.  Captain C. Evan Anderson, mission commander, felt himself being pressed against the seat behind him as the command module was launched in the general direction of the moon.

"Highmark, this is Albion," he said into his radio receiver, making use of the mission callsign for the first time, "Everything seems to be in good shape here.  How're things looking on your end, over?"

"Albion, Highmark," Ground Control replied through some static, "You've got green across the board.  Enjoy your trip, over."

"Roger that, Highmark," Anderson said, "That sounds like something we can do.  Over and out."

Anderson sighed contentedly and laid back for the rest of the trip's first two phases.  After a while, Lieutenant Peter Travers, the lunar module pilot, tapped him on the shoulder.

"I was thinking, sir," he said, "This mission could very well make history.  Do we need to make some sort of speech?"

Anderson thought for a moment before responding.  "Well," he said finally, "I suppose it doesn't matter too much.  I mean, I've got a pretty good idea of the things I'll say to Highmark when we reach the moon, and they'll probably be broadcasting it all live to TBS, or something like that.  But, again, it probably doesn't matter much what we say.  We're not on a script here, after all."

"Good point, sir," Travers said, looking relieved.

"And cut it out with that 'sir' nonsense," Anderson said, leaning back again, "We're three guys in a small metal box strapped to a rocket.  I don't figure ranks matter much right now."

"Sir, yes, sir," Travers said with a grin.

Anderson took a playful swipe at Travers, who ducked.  The three cosmonauts sat in silence for a while longer before the radio crackled to life again.

"Albion, this is Highmark," Ground Control said, "Just checking in on you.  Everything still going good up there, over?"

"Affirmative, Highmark," Anderson replied, "All systems are showing green.  We'll make good time, over."

"Good to hear, Albion," Ground Control said, "You know all of Tytor's praying for you.  Highmark out."

With that, the radio clicked off once more, and the three cosmonauts settled in for the rest of the journey.
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Offline Tytor

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #4 on: May 14, 2019, 12:25:44 AM »
Far Above the World - Part 4

Atlas 9 Lunar Module
May 13th, 2019
4:37 PM (Highmark Time)


The moon loomed large in the spacecraft's small windows.  Anderson and Travers prepped the lunar module for descent as Lieutenant Daniel Foster sat back and watched from the command/service module, of which he was the pilot.

"You space jocks about ready?" Foster asked half-jokingly, "We'll be reaching our designated detach point in not very long, and I'd rather not miss it."

"Yeah, we'll miss you too," Travers said, grinning, "Just help me get this hatch closed and you won't have to listen to our voices any more."

"Albion, this is Highmark," a voice said over the radio, "You're approaching your descent point, over."

"Roger that, Highmark," Anderson said into his transmitter, "We're just about ready, over."

"Wonderful," Highmark said through a little static, "Just keep us posted.  Over and out."

"See you on the other side, folks," Foster said.  With a sharp clang, the hatch slammed shut, and Travers pressed a few more buttons.

"All right," he said, "Looks like it's time.  Let's get this show on the road!"

The lunar module detached from the rest of the spacecraft with ease.  Very gradually, the two parts separated, and the lunar module began to feel the effects of the moon's lessened gravitational pull.

"Highmark, this is Trinity," Anderson said into his headset, "We're away.  Repeat, Trinity is away."

"Congratulations, Trinity," Highmark replied, "We'll keep an open line here so you can give us updates on the fly.  Godspeed."

"Roger that, Highmark," Anderson said as Travers continued to make slight adjustments to their course.

The lunar module started descending faster, and it seemed that all was well.
« Last Edit: May 14, 2019, 04:33:17 AM by Tytor »
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Offline Tytor

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #5 on: May 14, 2019, 05:01:05 AM »
Far Above the World - Part 5

Highmark Cosmodrome Control Room
May 13th, 2019
7:39 PM


Mackenzie Collins watched the screen showing the progress of the three brave cosmonauts of Atlas 9 as the lunar module came ever closer to its designated landing point: Tycho Crater in the moon's southern hemisphere.  He was nervous.  The last time Tytor came close to any sort of space travel milestone, the seven cosmonauts aboard the Challenger had lost their lives.  In fact, he had been at the launch pad when it had happened, and Project Challenger had been placed on hold ever since.  Still, Atlas 9 had not encountered any serious difficulties as of yet.

As Collins glanced around surreptitiously for some wood on which to knock, Travers' voice came over the PA system.

"Highmark, this is, uh, Trinity," the cosmonaut said, "Not to alarm you or anything, but we've overshot our landing site."

Collins heard Roger Bennion, the mission director, mutter a curse under his breath, but when he spoke, it was with little concern in his voice.

"Good to know, Trinity," he said into the microphone on his headset, "Look around quickly to see if you can spot a decent alternative."

"Roger that, Highmark," Travers replied, "We should be landed in no time."

Bennion left it at that, so Collins returned his gaze to the screen in front of him.  Trinity was running out of time; the fuel gauge was hovering dangerously close to empty.  The Aerospace Ministry hadn't planned for the cosmonauts to miss their landing spot, and very little extra landing fuel had been provided for in the design of the lunar module.

The seconds ticked slowly away.  There were thirty seconds of fuel left.  Now there were twenty-five seconds.  Now twenty.  The silence in the control room was deafening, the tension almost palpable.  Fifteen.  Ten.  Five... four... three-

"Highmark, Tycho Base here," Anderson's voice said suddenly, "Trinity has landed.  Repeat, Trinity has landed."

All at once, the tension broke, and the room exploded with cheers.  Collins released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.  The usually somber and reserved Bennion seemed to be dancing something of a jig.  The control room staff members were hugging one another and sharing high fives in a general display of jubilation and ecstasy that Collins knew was being echoed nationwide as Tytorians everywhere watched the landing live.  Collins knew he needed to get to the press room for the briefing he'd promised, but he wanted to savor this moment as long as he could manage.  In only a few hours, the cosmonauts inside that lunar module would be walking around on the surface of the moon, and all too soon would be back in Tytor as celebrated national heroes.  Collins could hardly wait.

It was going to be a good week after all.
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Offline Tytor

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #6 on: May 14, 2019, 10:13:23 AM »
Far Above the World - Part 6

Tycho Base, The Moon
May 14th, 2019
2:08 AM (Highmark Time)


It had taken three whole hours, but Anderson was finally ready to step out of the lunar module and into history.  He'd been training for this moment for years, and he had a rough idea of what he wanted to say to all the people watching on television.

"You about ready, then?" Travers asked him, looking about ready himself.

"Yep," Anderson replied, "Let's get this show on the road."

With that, the hatch was opened, and the two cosmonauts looked out over the barren wasteland that was the moon's surface.

"Such desolation," Travers commented.

"It's magnificent," Anderson replied, feeling awed.  The cosmonauts finished their preparations in silence, and then the time finally came.  Anderson maneuvered himself out of the lunar module's interior an onto the ladder.

"Don't fall," Travers cautioned jokingly, "I won't be there to catch you."

Anderson grinned, though he knew Travers couldn't see it.  "Well, I'm on the ladder, preparing to step off onto the surface of the moon," he said for the benefit of those watching on TBS, "This is something only one Tytorian has ever done before, and I think I am speaking not only for myself, but also for Dan Foster and Pete Travers and everyone back home at the Aerospace Ministry when I say that I'm dedicating this mission to Dr. Matthew Howard and the other brave men and women who died aboard the Challenger four years ago."

He moved down to the bottom rung and deployed the lunar module's external television camera, then paused, gathering his thoughts.  After a moment, he continued.  "All right, I'm stepping off the ladder," he said, "Rest in peace, Doctor Howard."

Then he stepped down onto the lunar surface.

A few minutes later, Travers stepped down beside him.  "To all of you planetside who have ever doubted," he said, fully serious for perhaps the first time all mission, "Who have ever believed that there is something, anything, you cannot do, know that you are a member of the human race.  Mankind has learned how to place one of their own on another world, and I believe that you can do whatever you set your mind to.  No, it's more than that.  I know it.  Don't you ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

Anderson nodded gravely, then remembered no one could see such a gesture.  "I can second that," he said solemnly, "May the moon ever remain a symbol of humanity's capacity for doing the impossible."

Suddenly, through another channel left open for communication between the command module and the surface, Anderson heard the unmistakable sound of Foster starting to strum his ukelele, which he'd somehow snuck into the capsule before launch, followed by Foster's voice.  He was singing, "Ground control to Major Tom..."

Anderson smiled to himself.  All was well.
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Offline Tytor

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #7 on: May 15, 2019, 08:20:31 AM »
Far Above the World - Part 7

Atlas 9 Command/Service Module
May 14th, 2019
8:53 PM (Highmark Time)


Foster watched nervously as the lunar module came back up from the surface of the moon.  It was official: Tytor had reached the moon on its own, had landed not one but two men on its surface, and had planted the Tytorian flag near the landing site.  The next test was whether or not the cosmonauts involved could return safely to Mundus.  Foster thought they probably could, but he did have his doubts.  What would happen if they didn't?  He pushed the thought out of his mind.  All he need do right now was help maneuver the command/service module into alignment with the lunar module before aiming a course back home.

As it happened, the connection was pretty much just as easy as in the simulations.  In almost no time at all, the other two cosmonauts were back in the cramped little spacecraft that would take them home to Mundus.

"Did ya miss us?" Travers asked buoyantly as soon as the hatch opened.

"Nah," Foster replied with half a smile, "It was nice to have some peace and quiet for once."

"Oh, you," Travers said goodnaturedly, "That's the nicest thing anybody's-"

"Enough, ladies," Anderson said, cutting Travers off midsentence, "Let's get ourselves back to Tytor, shall we?  I'm desperate to see my wife again."

With that, they got to work.  Soon enough, the lunar module was jettisoned and the cosmonauts were slingshotting around the moon.  Anderson picked up the radio transmitter and turned it on.

"Highmark, this is Albion," he said, "We're on our way back with no trouble.  Hope you've got our welcoming committee ready, over."

"Albion, Highmark," came the response, "You'd better believe we do.  The party's ready to start; all we're missing are the guests of honor, over."

"Good to hear, Highmark," Anderson said as his compatriots laughed, "We're looking forward to it.  Albion out."

He hung up the transmitter and chuckled softly.  It was going to be a short trip.
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Offline Tytor

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #8 on: May 18, 2019, 08:40:17 AM »
Far Above the World - Part 8

HTMS Admiral, Sea of Kyne
May 17th, 2019
4:30 PM (Highmark Time)


Mackenzie Collins looked out over the trackless sea with almost giddy anticipation.  Atlas 9's command module had successfully splashed down mere minutes ago, and the huge aircraft carrier was moving swiftly in its direction.  It seemed that the mission had been a complete success; Atlas 9 had made it to the moon and back without any major catastrophes.  Granted, this was more than likely Project Atlas' last hurrah, but it was a glorious one.  With the Tytorian public's confidence restored in the space program, perhaps even Project Challenger could be resumed.

"Mr. Collins," the ship's captain said through his reverie, "His Majesty left word that he would like you to join him on deck as the cosmonauts are brought on board.  We're almost there."

Collins glanced around the bridge; he hadn't noticed the king leaving, so absorbed was he in his own thoughts.  "Thank you, Captain," he responded, "I'll make my way down as quickly as possible."

The captain nodded, and Collins left the bridge.  As he walked out onto the flight deck, he saw the king standing with the rest of the cosmonauts' welcoming party.  His Majesty was wearing a brown suit that made him stick out like a sore thumb.  Prime Minister Thatcher was there too, looking dapper (was that even a word that could be applied to a woman?) in her usual dark blue jacket and skirt.  A handful of other officials were there as well, as, of course, were representatives of every major newspaper and television or radio station in Tytor.

Ignoring the press for the time being, Collins walked to the government delegation, shook hands with each of them, and turned to wait for the recovery.

"It's a beautiful day," King Michael said, recapturing Collins' attention, "Hardly a cloud in the sky.  Perfect weather, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, yes, Your Majesty," Collins replied, feeling a little startled by the king's small talk.

"It's a wonderful day to be Tytorian," the king went on, seemingly oblivious to Collins' discomfort, "I would hardly have imagined after Atlas 8 that we would ever make it to the moon ourselves, but you and the Aerospace Ministry have certainly proved that impression wrong."

Collins remained quiet, and the king finally started talking to someone else in the group.  Within a few more minutes, the ship's PA system announced that the carrier was in position.  The buzz of conversation among the reporters grew suddenly louder, while the government delegation fell completely silent.  Collins heard a few cameras going off, and then the crane being used to recover the cosmonauts from the sea started moving.

All at once, the only sounds to be heard on deck were those of the ship and its crew.  A hush had fallen over the press group, and it seemed to Collins that almost everyone was holding their breaths.  He himself was aware of each passing second, and every one felt like an eternity.  Finally, the slightly scorched command module of Atlas 9 came up over the side of the ship.  The crane set it down gently, and then detached.  There was silence for what was probably only a few seconds, but it felt to Collins like it was about an hour and a half.  Then the hatch on the side of the module opened, and everybody on the flight deck cheered as the three brave cosmonauts of Atlas 9 clambered out of the spacecraft to which they had been confined for most of the last eight days.

Anderson emerged first, followed by Foster.  Travers came last, lingering for a moment before following his crewmates into the sunlight.  King Michael bounced forward immediately to greet them each individually with a firm handshake and words of congratulations that Collins couldn't hear.

It was while the king was speaking to Foster that Collins suddenly realized that Travers was striding right in his direction, a mischievous gleam in his eye.  The cosmonaut barreled right into him and gave him a bear hug that lifted his feet off the deck for a split-second.  Then Anderson was there as well, giving Collins a similar, though less exuberant, embrace.  Foster disentangled himself from the king in order to join in shortly thereafter.  Now bright red, Collins was surprised once again when Anderson grabbed his wrist, spun him around, and started shouting at the assembled reporters with Collins' hand held high in the air.

"This man, Mackenzie Collins, is the reason Tytor was able to reach the moon!" he declared at the top of his lungs, "Mr. Collins is, however, a humble man, and he would be perfectly happy to let us cosmonauts take all the credit!  Do not let him do that!  He deserves much more praise for his part in the Atlas program than we do for ours!"

"He was the first one to even realize that we could make this work!" Travers joined in, stepping up next to Anderson, "He brought Project Atlas out of retirement and set his sight on the moon!  If he decides that resuming Project Challenger is for the best, then we can trust him!  If he decides that landing a man on Nergal is the best course of action, then we can trust him!  If he decides that landing a man on the sun is a good idea, then, by golly, we can trust him!"

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, Mackenzie Collins is the greatest administrator this country's space program has ever known, and that's a fact!" Foster put in loudly from Collins' other side, "The only two people to whom credit belongs for the successful completion of this mission are God Almighty and Mackenzie Collins!"

Collins realized at that moment that all his heartache and worry had, in fact, been worth it.  It was a good feeling.
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

Factbook -- News -- Press Office

Former Governor-General of The Infinite Alliance
Former Ambassador to Albion and the Global Right Alliance
Former Vice Premier and Speaker of the Senate of the Independent Order
Professional Procrastinator

Non-partisan and proud of it

"A witty saying proves nothing." - Voltaire

Offline Tytor

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #9 on: June 13, 2019, 10:55:06 PM »
Common Sense

TBS Studio, Tsargrad
June 12th, 2019
12:25 PM


Prince Harold adjusted his tie one last time before opening the door.  True, he could easily have had a valet do it, but he was trying to give the people a good impression.  So, he opened the door himself.

The reporter stood up respectfully as he entered the room.  Harold scowled slightly.

"Sit down, Mr. Fowler, please," he said, "Right now, I'm just a regular person running for Parliament.  There's no need to be so formal."

Fowler nodded and resumed his seat.  Harold sat across from him, and the two exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes.  Finally the cameraman spoke up.

"All right," he said, glancing at a digital clock below the camera's screen, "We're on the air in five, four, three--"  He held up two fingers, lowered one, then pointed off to the side of the set.  The news show's intro music began.

"Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome to One on One," Fowler said when it ended.  Harold noticed a little red light on the camera had activated.  "I'm Will Fowler, joined today by the royal family's Prince Harold.  As His Majesty's younger twin brother, Prince Harold has made headlines recently with his unexpected run for the House of Commons on the Conservative Party's ticket.  Despite, or, perhaps, because of, the novelty of the situation, he has led in each poll of his district's constituents."

Fowler turned his attention from he camera to Prince Harold.  "Thank you for being willing to meet with me," the reporter said with sincerity in his voice, "I'm really excited for this interview."

"You're most certainly welcome," Harold replied easily, "It's good to be with you."

"I appreciate that," Fowler said with a smile, "So, to begin, no member of the royal family has ever sought elected office like this before.  What made you decide to run for Parliament?"

Harold pretended to contemplate the question for a moment.  He'd known it was coming, and he had an answer prepared.  "Well, you see," he said after a sufficiently dramatic pause, "Growing up I'd always admired those old folks who got together in that big old building by Forrest Park, bickering and arguing but still managing to pass stuff anyway.  I'd always wanted to be like them.  Then, one afternoon last year, I looked in the mirror and realized I was finally old myself, and ever since then I've just been waiting for an opportunity."

"Really?" Fowler asked.

Harold grinned.  He couldn't help it; the look on the reporter's face was priceless.  "Nah, I'm just kidding," he said, waving one hand semi-dismissively, "I've been paying attention to the issues on debate recently, and I feel like this country really needs a good solid shot of common sense.  There's so much we could be doing--that we should be doing--that we aren't doing.  I hope to be able to help this country get back on track; back to the standards and principles of compassionate government that have brought us so far in this modern global society."

Fowler evidently had enough dignity to only look slightly chagrined.  "And you feel that you are the right person to help make that change happen?" he asked, studiously ignoring the quiet sniggering that could be faintly heard coming from the technical crew.

"Yes, I do," Harold responded promptly, "We'll see if the voters agree with me come election time."

"I see," Fowler said, "Could you elaborate a little bit on the changes you want to see happen?"

"Certainly," Harold said slowly, gathering his thoughts, "For one thing, I think that Parliament has recently been relying too much on what the world defines as a progressive modern society rather than taking a good serious look at what's best for this country and this people.  Now, don't get me wrong; I'm not being isolationistic or proposing anti-globalist policies.  No, nothing like that.  We live in a global society, and I think that's a good thing; it helps keep nations accountable.  But when the international community is advocating so-called reforms that run contrary to our moral values, or even pushing for inaction when action is required, then we need to choose to make a stand, even if it means that we stand alone."

Fowler frowned slightly.  "Might it be a little dangerous to abandon Tytor's partnerships and commitments?" he asked.

"Oh, that's not what I'm proposing," Harold said, smiling unconcernedly, "As I said, we live in a global community now, and we'll never again be able to do without allies and international treaties.  But when there are those who make friendship conditional upon their idea of how we Tytorians should run our nation, then perhaps we need to reconsider being friends with them."

"Are you referring to a particular nation or group?" Fowler asked curiously.

"No, not really," Harold replied, "I simply think that this country needs to be careful.  You could, after all, make the argument that the world remains a dangerous place."

"You most certainly could, yes," Fowler agreed, "What with nuclear weapons tests, saber rattling, and other such developments, many observers are calling this period one of the world's most dangerous yet.  What do you believe the Tytorian government ought to do about it?"

"That's an excellent question, Will," Harold said, using the time to consider his answer, "I think it depends on the situation.  I am, of course, just as committed to seeing Mundus become conflict-free as anyone else, but at times the best response to the threat of force is to call the aggressor's bluff, so to speak.  Many times throughout history, wars or other crises have been averted simply by making the stakes higher than the other side is willing to face."

"Do you see Tytor playing that role in future?" Fowler queried.

"Perhaps," Harold said carefully, "At the moment, I would say no, however.  The international community commonly fails to take us seriously; we're often seen as just another Rokkenjiman lackey--their feelings, not mine.  There seems to be very little respect for our role in the world.  Case in point, Tytor was recently left completely out of a comparative study of hard and soft power in the global arena; whether intentional or an oversight, it certainly throws Tytor's worldwide influence into serious question."

"I see your point," Fowler said ruefully, "Now, one more question, and then we're out of time.  In the ongoing crisis with Slava Lavosk, the government has taken a hard-line stance in backing up a proposed Rokkenjiman blockade with Tytorian warships.  Some in your party, along with more in the larger Conservative Alliance, have denounced this action as 'provocative' or 'irresponsible'.  What is your take on the situation?"

"It's certainly complicated, I'll give you that," Harold responded, contemplating his reply, "I would say that, given the timing of the developments, the Prime Minister was right to act quickly in support of our allies.  Does that mean that Tytor should follow through with the blockade?  I don't know yet; there's a lot of information that we don't have.  Other nations have been quick to rush to judgment, denouncing the blockade plans as 'illegal', but there is no international treaty of which I am aware, and certainly none that Tytor has ratified, which forbids blockades as a legitimate response to foreign aggression.  I note also that Slava Lavosk, particularly their current administration, has a horrendous human rights record--not exactly the kind of regime we can trust with nuclear weaponry."  He paused for a moment before continuing.  "There was a time, and it wasn't all that long ago, when these tests would have resulted in global sanctions and near-universal condemnation.  Now, however, most nations are content to merely look passively on while condemnation comes not to the aggressor but to those who act in response.  We must not stand idly by while dictators and madmen destroy the peace we have so narrowly won."

"Well," Fowler said once Harold had finished, "That about does it for our time here today.  Thank you once again, Your Highness, for consenting to appear on our show.  And folks, thank you for tuning in.  We'll be back after the break with Shelby Forthright, Speaker of Floodwater's People's Assembly, to discuss a recent initiative aimed at countering the effects of global warming on the island's famous coral reefs.  This has been One on One."

The little red light went out, marking the beginning of the commercial break.  Harold stood up and shook hands with Fowler, then left the studio, waving to the rest of the crew as he went.  He had a byelection to win.
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #10 on: November 11, 2019, 09:29:29 PM »
Remembrance Day

Tsargrad, East Crownlands
November 11th, 2019
12:46 PM


Thaddeus O. Kundick, mayor of Tsargrad, reentered his office.  He had just finished lunch, which had been a pair of glorious roast beef sandwiches his wife had made for him, but for some reason he was still feeling somewhat peckish.  He strode over to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a small box of crackers he'd hidden there the previous week.  Munching happily on his snack, he collapsed into his chair and swiveled to face the window.  He had been seated for only a few moments when his cell phone buzzed.  He pulled it out to see a text from his nephew, who was in college in Ravensfort.

Turn on TBS right now, the text said.

Frowning slightly, Kundick got up and switched on the television set he kept on a shelf next to the window.  The news showed the Decapolis Twin Towers in St. Elmo's City.  Thick black smoke was billowing from the north tower, and the newscaster was explaining that a TWA airliner had just hit it in an apparent navigational accident.  Kundick put his phone down on his desk, but remained standing, transfixed by the images on the television screen.  He could sense that something was wrong; perhaps it was just his paranoia from two recent attempt on his life, but he had a feeling that this was no accident.

His fears proved justified when, almost exactly seventeen minutes after the first crash, a second airliner hit the south tower on live television.

Kundick dropped his crackers.  In the same moment, he heard a muffled explosion from somewhere else in Tsargrad.  This couldn't be happening.  Why was it happening?  Who could possibly be behind it?  The mayor thought back on the previous few months.  In September, a man had been arrested for allegedly trying to blow up a skyscraper in Newcharter.  In May, a church in Ravensfort burned down in what authorities had since ruled to be an act of arson.  Just the other night, a man had been apprehended in Vigil while wearing a homemade explosive vest, screaming threats at the patrons of a nightclub.

What if... what if these things were connected?

There was another explosion outside, this one either larger or closer.  The newscaster was now reporting on bombings across Tytor.  A bomb had gone off in the parking garage of a skyscraper in Williamshaven.  Another bomb had exploded in front of a provincial government office building in Vigil.  Another had targeted the National Museum of War here in Tsargrad, while the second explosion Kundick had heard was indeed closer: it had occurred at the Religious History Museum, which was only two blocks away.  Kundick's mind was reeling.  He was in shock at this dreadful turn of events.

But it wasn't over.

One by one, more bombs were going off.  One in a crowded street in Ravensfort.  Another at the St. Elmo's City Stock Exchange.  Yet another at the entrance of Highmark Cosmodrome.  Still others at Riverford Air Force Base and Fort Rose.  More in Aquilae, Newcharter, Christiansburg, and Farmington, including one targeting the Newcharter cathedral.  On and on it went, one report after another, for nearly twenty minutes after the second airliner attack, and then the wave of bombings stopped.  All but two of Tytor's fifteen largest cities had been hit, as had several military bases up and down the country.  Initial reports were claiming upwards of eighteen hundred people could have been killed by the bombings alone.

Kundick's thoughts were racing.  Only Floodwater seemed to have been spared entirely, but Northmark had experienced only one bombing, the fewest of any province on the mainland.  Both Floodwater and Northmark had been hammered by Hurricane Eileen back in September, so maybe the perpetrators of these attacks thought they had been hit hard enough already.  Then Kundick had an epiphany.  That parish priest who'd gone and left the Church of Tytor -- what was his name, Sutherland or something?  He'd gone and announced that Hurricane Eileen was a form of divine punishment, but it had only hit northern Tytor.  What if he were behind all this?

At the exact moment that Kundick's epiphany came, the south Decapolis Twin Tower collapsed.

More shock overwhelmed Kundick's mind.  Those towers weren't supposed to be able to collapse like that.  Had the airliner really caused enough damage to the south tower to compromise its structure?  It must have, because the building just wasn't there any more.  It was completely gone.  The north tower still stood, burning like crazy, but for how much longer?  Would it, too fall?

This question had just occurred to Kundick when he heard shots outside his office door.  His attention left the television for the first time in over an hour as he turned toward the noise.  The door smashed open, and he could see his secretary's body on the floor behind the masked men now leveling foreign-made assault rifles at his chest.

"What's the meaning of this?" he started to demand angrily.  Then they fired.

Mayor Thaddeus O. Kundick heard the first three or four shots before he died.

The intruders shot him at least a dozen times more, just to be sure, before racing out again into a firefight with the building's security officers.  The north Decapolis Twin Tower collapsed only twenty-five minutes later, after burning for over an hour and a half.

It was 2:28 PM.
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #11 on: March 28, 2020, 06:20:20 AM »
We Built This City

Aquilae, Decapolis
March 28, 2020
12:20 AM


Relatively speaking, Aquilae was really not all that far from St. Elmo's City.  In fact, William D. MacArthur could see the Tribute in Light faintly from where he was standing, despite the inherent light pollution of the bustling city surrounding him.  The two beams of light marking more or less where the Decapolis Twin Towers had stood barely four and a half months ago were mildly impressive even at this distance, and MacArthur half wished his city could have something equally grand.

MacArthur paused in his ruminations to allow himself a chuckle.  His city.  It was funny that he still thought of it that way, even though the Aquilae Reconstruction Project had been completed years ago by now.  He'd been Chief Operating Officer of For a Better Tomorrow then, and he'd insisted on being closer to the action than perhaps his position called for.  He'd been promoted since, of course.  As FBTGroup's new company president, he no longer had the ability to involve himself in the day-to-day goings on of the general workforce; a pity, but sacrifices had to be made if things were to go the way he had planned.

"Clear night, isn't it?"  The voice was expected, but MacArthur still started slightly before he turned around.

"Hal," he said, nodding in acknowledgment, "Glad you could make it."

Hal Morgan, the billionaire currently embroiled in a hostile takeover attempt involving publisher Murphy House, stepped out of the shadows and onto the veranda.  "Wouldn't have missed it, Bill," he said.

"I'm glad nonetheless," MacArthur replied, grinning slightly, "We have a lot to talk about."

"You recording this?" Morgan asked warily.

"Of course," MacArthur said "Microphone's in that potted plant over there."  He gestured at the other one, though; it wouldn't do for Morgan to know all his secrets.

"Why?" the older man asked again, almost peevishly.

MacArthur suppressed a sigh of relief.  He'd almost started thinking Morgan had principles.  "I'm a businessman, Hal," he said, "It's my job to keep good records."

Morgan seemed to accept that answer.  "Hmph," he said, "Here I was thinking it was to make a profit."

"That too," MacArthur said with a shrug, "That's why I asked you to be here tonight, in fact."

"Oh?"  Morgan seemed indifferent; always a danger sign with the ultra-rich.  If bored, they had a tendency to wander off in the middle of negotiantions.

"Yeah," MacArthur said quickly, "FBTGroup is planning a project that will make your takeover of Murphy House look like spare change.  Assuming it gets off the ground, of course."

"Oh?" Morgan asked again.  This time, he sounded interested.  Good.

"We don't have the cash on hand to pull it off on our own," MacArther said in his best impression of someone divulging only grudgingly, "Not without making some tough short-term financial decisions that could potentially cripple our competitive ability."

"And this'll be where I come in, then," Morgan remarked shrewdly.

"Yes, I suppose it will," MacArthur admitted.

"What exactly is this project of yours?" Morgan asked.

By way of answer, MacArthur spread his hands out to the nighttime bustle of Aquilae.  "This was perhaps For a Better Tomorrow's greatest achievement," he said sincerely, "But it was mainly a government program.  We were merely the contractors.  Imagine, for a moment, if you or I owned a city like this, with every inhabitant paying rent, every business providing at least a cut of their profits.  Sure, there'd be the costs of building the place and maintaining infrastructure, but even after that, just imagine the revenue!"

"You want to... build a new city?"  Morgan seemed to hesitate slightly, as if not quite believing what he was hearing.

"Well, yes," MacArthur said bluntly, "We believe that corporate principles can be applied to the realm of municipal government in ways that will streamline the process, eliminating inefficiencies and waste, bringing in an overall surplus almost inevitably.  With proper protocols, this could change the way governing is done all across Tytor."

"Very ambitious," Morgan said slowly, "I'll need to have some time to think this over before I commit to giving this financial backing."

"Of course," MacArthur said, nodding, "We wouldn't want to rush you into a decision, especially not one of such potential magnitude."

The two men continued talking for a few more minutes, and then Morgan took his leave.  MacArthur thought he'd done a pretty good job.  He'd lied about the purpose for Morgan's money, of course.  Oh, FBTGroup certainly planned to build a city, but as a cover story, not the main attraction.  They had... other uses for those funds, uses which Morgan didn't need to know about just yet.

There was one other lie, as well.  The faster FBTGroup could get Morgan to make a decision, the better.
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #12 on: November 14, 2020, 08:43:57 AM »
Joy

Tsargrad, East Crownlands
November 13, 2020
5:15 PM


Prince Charles de Tarrenburg, Duke of Parksfield and second son of the King of Tytor, sat in his favorite armchair by the fire in the master bedroom of Brindlebury Manor.  Brindlebury Manor had been the official residence of the Duke and Duchess of Parksfield for a little over a year now; Charles had been happily living "at home" at the Royal Palace, but his father had insisted that he move out following his wedding.  Of course, he and Theresa still visited regularly -- in fact, they were due at the palace by six o'clock for a reception the king was hosting that night for local firefighters, and Charles was already decked out in full fine dining regalia.  Right now, though, Theresa was in the bathroom getting herself ready; the pair had decided to limit the number of servants involved in these types of things very early in their marriage, and the staff was used to it by now.  Charles, meanwhile, was happily doing the crossword out of last Sunday's edition of The Tsargrad Times.

Since the two of them didn't need to leave for almost another half hour, Charles had the room's old phonograph playing an Elvis Presley compilation album.  The phonograph itself was a relic; while it had been repaired and refurbished many times over the years, Charles was certain that it had already been old when the oldest song on the album was first recorded.  Presently, it was playing "Can't Help Falling In Love".  A huge Elvis fan, Charles was singing along merrily, which naturally meant he wasn't making much progress on his crossword.  In fact, the only outward sign that he might actually be actively working on the puzzle were the folded newspaper on his lap and the pencil he was waving around enthusiastically as he sang.

"As a river flows," both phonograph and prince sang, "Surely to the sea..."

Really, prince's vocals didn't compare to Elvis's.  Charles had never been a great singer, but that didn't stop him trying.

"Darling, so it goes," he continued, still singing along, "Some things are meant to be..."

Charles petered off at this point, though the phonograph kept going with prerecorded gusto.

Take my hand...

Charles felt so blessed to have the family he had.  Theresa, his darling wife; his father, the king, regal yet loving; his uncle Harold, playful and boisterous as ever; even George, his older brother, who actually managed to be a role model when he wasn't tussling around on the floor with his kids.

Take my whole life, too...

Charles loved them all so much.  Sure, Theresa was the one who actually heard him say it the most, but that was par for the course.  After all, he was her doting husband -- for life, if either of them had anything to say about it.

For I can't help falling in love with you...

Ah, marital bliss.  Charles had fully enjoyed bachelorhood, to be sure, but now he was certain his happiness was complete.

For I can't help falling in love with you...

The immortal voice of Elvis fell silent.  For just a moment, Charles waited for the next song to start.  Then he remembered that this was the end of side 1 of the record.  He sat in silence for a moment longer, then groaned theatrically as he sat up and pulled himself out of his chair.  He dropped the newspaper and pencil on a side table as he made his way to the phonograph, making a mental note to grab them before returning to his seat.  As it happened, he never did return to his seat, at least not that night.

Just as he picked up the record in order to flip it over and start side 2, he heard what could only be described as a squeal from behind the bathroom door.  This startled Charles so much that he nearly dropped the record entirely.

"Theresa, dear," he called to his wife, whom he assumed had made the strange noise, "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong, Charles," came the uncharacteristically hysterical sound of Theresa's voice, "I'll be right out."

Feeling perplexed and slightly apprehensive, Charles put the record back and waited.  After about a minute, the bathroom door opened and Theresa walked slowly into the bedroom, apparently transfixed by something in her hand.

"Theresa?" Charles inquired again, "What is it?"

"Oh.  Oh, Charles," Theresa said breathlessly, still staring at the object in her hand, "Charles, I- I can't quite believe it."

"You can't believe what?" Charles asked once more, though now he was starting to think he might be cottoning on.

Wordlessly, almost beseechingly, in the manner of someone desperate for the confirmation of either a great hope or a great fear, Theresa held out what was unmistakably a positive pregnancy test.

All of a sudden, Charles was squealing too.

Several minutes of absolute pandemonium ensued before the Duke and Duchess of Parksfield could finally settle down long enough for Charles to call his father with the good news.  Theresa, meanwhile, called her own parents.  It was only after he hung up that Charles remembered why he was wearing his best dinner jacket; in the same instant, Theresa seemed to regain consciousness of the finery she herself was dressed in.  The two looked at each other and started laughing uncontrollably.  In that moment, tears filling his eyes, Charles realized he had been wrong.

Now his happiness was complete.
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Offline Tytor

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #13 on: March 25, 2022, 02:42:16 AM »
Scrabble Night

Tsargrad, East Crownlands
March 24, 2022
7:18 PM


"I don't think 'pasterly' is a real word."

   "Of course it is, darling.  Do you really think I would make this up?"

"Yep.  Now hand me that dictionary."

   "Ouch.  I am deeply hurt.  I can't believe you have so little trust in me."

"Well, after your attempt to pass off 'landwart' as a word, I've decided that I'd better keep a closer eye on you."

   "Heh.  Touche."

"Ahem.  Dictionary.  Chop chop."

   "Fine.  You know, while we're on the subject, how can I be sure 'actuary' is valid?"

"I have a second cousin who's an actuary.  You want to look it up when I'm done?"

   "I'm tempted, but whatever."

"Aha!  Right where 'pasterly' should be, there is absolutely nothing!  Take back your tiles."

   "Gah.  Fine.  I still think we should have used that Dartfordian dictionary instead."

"'Pasterly' wouldn't be in there either, honey."

   "You don't know that.  What if it's a word in Dartfordian English?"

"It's not, Charles.  'Pasterly' isn't a real word in any language, least of all Dartfordian English."

   "Worth a shot."

"What was that, oh losing husband of mine?  Oh, look, 'breadfruit' for 16 points, and it's on a double word score, so that's 32 points total."

   "Sorry, 'breadfruit'?"

"Uh-huh.  It's a staple food in Floodwater."

   "No way.  Let me see that dictionary."

"Okay.  Your funeral."

   "There's no way that's a thing.  Let's see... 'B'... 'bread'... the heck?  How is this a thing?"

"Told you.  So, I think that means I get to go again, right?"

   "Dang it.  Yeah, you do."

"Wonderful.  Oh, I should draw some more tiles, huh?"

   "Oh, yeah, rub it in, why don't you?  Go ahead.  Gloat."

"Ooh, yes, that's a good one.  'Gloat', for six points, with the 'G' on a triple letter score square, which ups it to ten."

   "Me and my big mouth..."

"I love you too.  Now, isn't it your turn?"





OOC note: This is a bit of an experiment in a slightly different style than my vignettes have been so far.  The basic premise is intended to be a Scrabble match between Prince Charles, Duke of Parksfield, and his wife Theresa, Duchess of Parksfield (a.k.a. the two featured in "Joy").  Theresa speaks first, and then it alternates.  The idea came to me on the fly, and I just kind of... went with it.  I realize it may not be everyone's cup of tea, but... well, I enjoyed writing it, and I suppose that's kind of the point.  I don't know whether I'll do something like this again, but it was good to try it once at least.
« Last Edit: March 25, 2022, 03:40:13 AM by Tytor »
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #14 on: July 17, 2022, 11:41:32 PM »
Ecumenism

Tsargrad, East Crownlands
July 17, 2022
3:55 PM


Richard Valance, Archbishop of Tsargrad and head of the Church of Tytor, glared across the table at his Catholic counterpart.  For his part, Roland Maybury, Archbishop of Southford, was unapologetic.

"However you want to spin it, you lot remain schismatics," Maybury said with an irritatingly patient tone, "The Roman Catholic Church was here first, and your whole denomination traces its origin to a petty argument the king had with the pope way back when.  You very explicitly broke off from Celestis, and what is that if not schism?"

"That's not the point," Valance snapped back, feeling more cross by the moment, "The Church of Tytor is its own church now, not just a wayward branch of yours.  We don't define ourselves by way of our relationship with the Pope."

"Perhaps, and perhaps not," Maybury replied, still obscenely calm, "You are Protestants, after all.  Your whole branch of Christianity traces its origins to one man's allegations of corruption in the Church.  The Ninety-five Theses, or whatever it is you call them?"

"We don't trace our lineage to Luther either, which you know perfectly well," Valance retorted.

"Details," Maybury countered, dismissively, "Whether you follow Luther or Calvin, or some other so-called 'reformer', your 'Reformation' still began with a disaffected Catholic priest nailing a piece of paper to the door of a Catholic church, in disagreement with the Pope.  You are schismatics, plain and simple.  All you Protestants are, no matter what your exact origin."

"You Catholics think all non-Catholic Christians are," Valance snorted, "That's what I'm gathering from this line of reasoning."

"Well, maybe not the Mormons," Maybury said, "I've never been certain what they're up to.  But almost every other Christian church out there explicitly draws its authority eventually from a Pope.  The Orthodox split off in the 11th century, and you lot in the 16th and 17th."

"Oh, I'm sure Samantra's Patriarch would love to hear that particular argument," Valance said, stifling a laugh, "You should definitely bring it up the next time you're up there.  He's bound to be more understanding than I am."

"Very funny," Maybury said dryly, "As a matter of fact, I like my teeth the way they are."

"News to me," Valance shot back, "Or do you think that because I'm an old man, I'm not strong enough to knock a few out myself?"

"How many hospital stays have you had over recent years?" Maybury asked by way or response, "At least three in the last eighteen months, no?"

"Enough, I suppose," Valance said thoughtfully, "I'm an old man, it comes with the territory.  Though I imagine the next one will be my last, and then it's off to meet my Maker.  I'll make sure to ask Him which of us was right, in the end."

"May that day be a long way off yet," Maybury said solemnly, "I enjoy our lunchtime debates, you know, even if I do pester you sometimes.  At any rate, I'm sure the Lord will tell you that, in the end, you were nothing more than an old schismatic with a stubborn streak."

Valance laughed at last.  "And don't you forget it, you young whippersnapper," he said, "Now then, I believe we've both got evening Mass to prepare for, no?  It's been good to see you again, my friend."

"Likewise," Maybury said, smiling in his turn.

The relatively youthful leader of Tytor's Catholics stood to help the rapidly aging leader of the Church of Tytor to his feet.  The two friends embraced momentarily, and then each returned to his respective cathedral to prepare for the evening's services.

It was a good day, a good Sabbath.  All was well.
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Offline Tytor

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #15 on: July 25, 2022, 07:41:16 AM »
Ante Up

JMF Northpoint, Floodwater
July 24, 2022
10:26 PM


"Full house, king high," Lieutenant Peterson crowed triumphantly, laying out his hand, "Read 'em and weep, boys!"

A murmur of appreciation went around the table as Peterson reached out and slid the pot toward himself.  He'd led them all on a merry chase this hand, that was for absolute certain, and none of his opponents truly begrudged him the victory.  Well, Jenkins didn't, anyway.

To Jenkins' immediate right, Staff Sergeant Barnes, TRMC, who was dealing next, gathered the cards and began to shuffle.  Next to the right, Lieutenant Ishihara, IRN, was sitting on the largest stack of chips, even after Peterson's good fortune - she had completely fooled the rest with claims of being new at the game until another passing Rokkenjiman officer had clued them in.  To her right was Ensign Callahan, TRCG, whose poker face had to be the absolute best Jenkins had ever seen.  To his right was Master Sergeant Hadley, TRAF, the only other woman at the table besides Ishihara.  To her right was Second Lieutenant Peterson, TRA, the man of the moment, who sat to Jenkins' immediate left.

Chief Petty Officer Jenkins, TRN, was assigned permanently to JMF Northpoint's administrative staff.  Peterson was part of the garrison.  The rest were among the various non-permanent units that cycled through the CSTO base.  Aside from Ishihara, each had been on base for at least a month or two, and the weekly poker game had come about fairly naturally.  Jenkins wasn't much good at poker, to tell the truth, but neither were any of the others save Callahan (and apparently Ishihara); to be blunt, Peterson's victory was a fluke.  Mostly, the games were just for fun, a diversion from the monotony of late Sunday nights on base.

Barnes passed the deck to Ishihara to cut, then dealt the next hand.  Everyone anteed, and Jenkins looked at his cards.  Deuce of clubs, ace of clubs, ace of hearts, seven of diamonds, deuce of spades... two pair, ace high.  Not bad, though even a three-of-a-kind could beat it.  Hm.  Probably best to play it safe, trade in just the seven.  He did so, but only got back the nine of hearts.  Drat.  Oh well.

"I bet fifteen," he said, sliding the requisite number of chips forward.

"I see your fifteen and raise you five," Peterson said, acting accordingly, and the bet went around.  Hadley called, as did Callahan.  Ishihara raised the bet by another five, and Barnes folded.

"Call," Jenkins said, pushing forward a couple more chips.  Peterson followed suit, but Hadley folded.  Callahan called as well, and Ishihara laid out her hand.

"Strait, jack high," Ishihara announced.

Jenkins grimaced.  "Beats me," he said.

"Four of a kind," Peterson declared, laying down all four eights.

"Looks like the pot's mine," Callahan said, smiling for the first time all night.  All eyes turned in his direction, and he laid out his cards one by one.  Ten of spades, first.  Then the jack of spades.  Then the queen.  The king.  Could it be?  Yes.  The ace.  He raised his arms in a gesture of complete victory.  "Royal flush, spades," he said solemnly.

There was stunned silence as Callahan collected the pot.  It continued as he leaned back, a silly grin plastered on his face.  Nobody said a word for two whole minutes.  Finally, Hadley broke the silence.

"After that, I don't suppose there's much point playing any more tonight, huh?" she said, "It's not like we're gonna top that."

"No kidding," Barnes said, nodding fervently, "I don't think I've ever even seen a royal flush in my life, much less lost to one.  Dang, man.  Congratulations."

"Now this," Callahan said, still grinning fit to burst, "This has got to be the best feeling I've had all month."

"Oh, I'll bet," Jenkins said.

"Yeah, congrats," Peterson said.

They agreed to leave it there until next week.  As they packed up chips and cards, Callahan got more pats on the back.  It was a good night, after all, Jenkins thought.  If he was to lose, losing to a royal flush was at least one heck of a story.

And by golly, it was totally worth it.





OOC Note: In case it's not clear, the 3- and 4-letter abbreviations in the third and fourth paragraphs are in reference to military branches.

TRMC: Tytorian Royal Marine Corps
IRN: Imperial Rokkenjiman Navy
TRCG: Tytorian Royal Coast Guard
TRAF: Tytorian Royal Air Force
TRA: Tytorian Royal Army
TRN: Tytorian Royal Navy
« Last Edit: July 25, 2022, 08:03:29 AM by Tytor »
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #16 on: August 12, 2022, 06:46:37 AM »
Stuck in the Middle with You

Highway 26, West Crownlands
August 11, 2022
2:15 PM


Well I don't know why I came here tonight
I've got the feeling that something ain't right
I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair
And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs


The 2004 Tri-Star Viper convertible raced north along the seaside highway, top down.  The Viper was Tri-Star Automotive's flagship sports car, comparable to the best foreign muscle car in a one-to-one match-up.  2004 was a particularly good model year across Tri-Star's whole line-up, and the Viper in particular had greatly profited by the company's burst of creativity that year.

Clowns to the left of me
Jokers to the right
Here I am stuck in the middle with you


Of course, that wasn't terribly important to the occupants of the vehicle, all of whom were singing along to the song blaring from the radio.  Mark was driving, which made sense as it was his car.  Sitting shotgun to his left was Jeff, his best friend, who had his left arm sticking straight out the passenger side window.

Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you
And I'm wondering what it is I should do
It's so hard to keep this smile from my face
Losing control, yeah I'm all over the place


In the backseat, behind Jeff, was Mark's girlfriend Kasumi, sunglasses on, long black hair flowing in the wind behind her.  To her right, behind Mark, was Jeff's sister, Annie.  Annie and Kasumi were dancing in time with the music.

Clowns to the left of me
Jokers to the right
Here I am stuck in the middle with you


The afternoon sun glinted off the distant skyscrapers of Williamshaven, just visible ahead and off to the right, just beyond where the highway curved with the land and disappeared from view way off in the distance.  Jeff's arm was pointed out toward the Kyne, which lay sprawled out like a deep blue blanket off toward the horizon beyond the cliffside.

When you started off with nothing
And you're proud that you're a self-made man
And your friends they all come crawling
Slap you on the back and say
Please
Please


The road trip had been Mark's idea, really.  It was a warm summer day, and the quartet had left his home around lunchtime.  The remains of the burgers and fries they'd picked up at In-N-Out on the way out of town had been stuffed into the wastebasket on the floor in the backseat.

Trying to make some sense of it all
But I can see it makes no sense at all
Is it cool to go to sleep on the floor?
'Cause I don't think that I can take anymore


Mark fell silent as his friends kept up their singing.  Kasumi was the daughter of Rokkenjiman immigrants who'd fled the Federal Republic back in the '90s, and while she'd been born in Tytor, her accent was still fairly distinct.  Didn't stop her from singing at the top of her lungs, of course.

Clowns to the left of me
Jokers to the right
Here I am stuck in the middle with you


Mark smiled.  Kasumi really couldn't quite hit all the notes, but she still sang better than Jeff, who sounded more like a wounded buffalo than a human singer.  Annie, though, had a great voice.  She sang choir at high school.

When you started off with nothing
And you're proud that you're a self-made man
And your friends they all come crawling
Slap you on the back and say
Please
Please


It was bittersweet, really.  This was likely the last time they'd all be able to all pile in Mark's car and go barreling down the highway without a care in the world.  Jeff was going to be enlisting in the Marines at the end of the summer, and Mark and Kasumi were going to different universities.  Annie, meanwhile, still had another year at high school ahead of her.

Well I don't know why I came here tonight
I've got the feeling that something ain't right
I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair
And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs


No use ruminating, though.  Mark shook his head and started back in singing along with the others.  Summer break wasn't going to end for another few weeks, so it was best to enjoy it while it lasted.

Clowns to the left of me
Jokers to the right
Here I am stuck in the middle with you


And, hey, who better to spend the rest of summer with than friends?

Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you
Stuck in the middle with you
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you


The 2004 Tri-Star Viper convertible continued on its merry way down the highway, top down, filled with friends who didn't have a care in the world right now.  Life was good.
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Offline Tytor

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #17 on: October 13, 2023, 07:25:52 AM »
All Fall Down - Part 1

Royal Palace
Tsargrad, East Crownlands
October 12th, 2023
6:11 pm


"And if Your Majesty would turn your attention to the left, there are a few new paintings in this hallway."

In any other circumstance, the custodian's voice would have been perceived as monotone and fairly boring, but King Michael made it a point to take interest in the goings-on in his official residence.  Sure enough, the newly-decorated second-floor corridor to the left was lined with artwork he hadn't seen before.  "Tell me about this one," the King said, gesturing at the first painting on the righthand side - a river scene done in watercolors.

"That one is a William Stendahl piece, Your Majesty," the custodian replied, "Titled 'Sunlight on the Raven', it was painted during his Rose Period between 1835 and 1836."

"Talk to me about Stendahl."

"Well, he was possibly the most well-known Tytorian painter of the first half of the 19th century, born in a village outside Ravensfort in 1799.  His work spanned the years from 1824 to his death, and can generally be divided into three distinct phases: the Green Period, stretching from 1824 to 1831; the Rose Period, from 1831 to 1839; and the Blue Period, from 1839 to 1842."

"He died fairly young, then?"

"Yes, Your Majesty.  He was lost at sea during a storm in the Kyne just shy of his forty-third birthday."

"And this, then, is representative of the Rose Period?"

"Yes, Your Majesty.  The Rose Period was dominated by watercolors and landscapes.  The Green Period was also primarily focused on landscapes, but used oil-based paints almost exclusively.  He returned to oil paints for the Blue Period, but shifted his subjects to nautical themes."

"I see.  And are there any of the other two periods in this corridor?"

"There are not, Your Majesty.  Shall I arrange acquisition?"

"No, that's all right.  Tell me about this piece across from the Stendahl."

"Ah, yes, that is much more recent, Your Majesty: 'Rhapsody in Orange', by Fumi Suzuki.  It is a modern piece, completed only last year."

"It's... different.  Not what I would have expected to find in the Royal Palace."

"It is abstract, I believe, Your Majesty.  I am assured it has great contemporary value; it was recommended to me by His Royal Highness Prince Charles, and seems to be representative of Ms. Suzuki's typical work."

"Tell me about her."

"She is a third generation Tytorian of Rokkenjiman descent; born in Williamshaven, I believe, sometime in the 1990s.  1997, maybe?  I don't recall.  Anyway, she has only been active in the art world since 2019, but a few of her works have aready sold for very large sums."

"I see.  Do you know why she chose the colors she did?  Or, for that matter, why she named it 'Rhapsody in Orange' when she didn't use any orange that I can see?"

"I do not, Your Majesty.  If you wish it, I can arrange an audience with you for her so that you may ask her directly."

"Please do.  I have no idea what I'm looking at, but it's... stimulating, nonetheless.  I imagine I would be even further moved if I understood it."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Now, how about this one next to it?" King Michael said, gesturing to a vast portrait of a king in coronation vestments to the right of the Suzuki, "I believe that is my father, yes?  Yet I do not recognize the painting."

"It is, Your Majesty," the custodian replied, "I believe he had it commissioned to decorate a country residence which he did not end up purchasing.  It was discovered in storage a few months ago, but we can find no record of who painted it."

"It's quite large," the King said, stepping backward in order to get a better look at it, "Do you know when--?"

"Your Majesty!" the custodian squawked, moving forward suddenly, hand outstretched.

King Michael registered his mistake as his foot met empty space where he had expected to find the floor.  Without realizing it, he had maneuvered right to the edge of the staircase leading up to this hallway from the floor below.  He stuck out his hands for balance -- far too late, as he was already toppling back and down.  The poor custodian could do little but watch as his sovereign bounced down a full flight of stairs, finally collapsing with a sickening thud on his back on the landing below.

There was a moment of silence before the custodian recovered enough from his shock to react to what had just happened.  As he rushed down the stairs after his fallen monarch, he pulled a radio from his belt and started calling for medical help.  The King was not fully aware of what he said, only that words were being spoken.  He attempted to raise himself up on his elbows, but fell back to the floor, a jolt of pain shooting through his lower back, and slipped into unconsciousness.
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

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Offline Tytor

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Re: Tytorian Vignettes
« Reply #18 on: October 13, 2023, 05:00:30 PM »
All Fall Down - Part 2

King George Memorial Hospital
Tsargrad, East Crownlands
October 13th, 2013
10:00 am


King Michael opened his eyes and found he was an a hospital bed.  He had no memory of arriving here.  From his position, he could see a doctor or nurse (he couldn't tell which) with her back to him, speaking in low tones with someone just out of sight on the other side of the door to his room.  The angle was such that he could just see the side of a bodyguard's head in the hallway outside.  He tried to sit up, and found to his horror--

"Your Majesty, you're awake."  The doctor had evidently noticed his movement and turned around.

"Well, most of me is, anyway," the King said, "I can't move my legs."

"Yes, I was afraid of that," the doctor sighed, "Do you remember your fall?"

The King thought for a moment.  "I... yes, vaguely," he said, "I took a bad step."

"Well, you fractured your twelfth thoracic vertebra and damaged your spinal cord."

"Damaged in what way?"

"Partially severed.  From what we can tell, the damage is such that it is almost entirely affecting motor control in your legs.  We haven't been able to test it yet, but it's possible -- probable, even -- that you will find yourself suffering from fecal and urinary incontinence as well going forward.  In addition, you cracked three of your ribs; it's a wonder you didn't kill yourself."

"I see."

"There are procedures and therapies we can perform in an attempt to restore your spinal column and legs to full, or at least partial, functionality," the doctor went on, picking up a clipboard from a side table.

"How many Tytorians suffer from my present condition?" the King asked.

"Excuse me?" the doctor said, looking up.  When King Michael repeated his question, she said, "I don't have exact numbers in front of me--"

"That's all right, it doesn't matter that much," the King said, cutting her off, "Of those who do, about what percentage has access to these therapies, accounting for both proximity to hospitals with the expertise to perform them and the funds necessary to pay for them?"

"I... I guess I don't know, Your Majesty."

King Michael smiled sadly at the look on the doctor's face.  "Too few, by your expression," he said, "I will not ask any of my people to endure a condition I am not willing to face myself.  I thank you for the offer, but I will pass on these procedures; if a wheelchair is good enough for my people, then it's good enough for me."

"But... yes, Your Majesty."

"Now, who were you talking to through the door when I came around?"

"The Duke of Clarence.  He wanted an update on your condition.  I asked him to wait in the hall."

"Show him in, would you?"

"At once, Your Majesty."

The doctor went to the door, ushered Prince George inside, and then left the room, closing the door behind her.

The two men held each other's gaze for a moment.  At last, George broke the silence.  "Father," he said, a shadow of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, "You're looking well."

Michael chuckled, then grunted and clutched at his side.  "Ooh, don't make me laugh," he said, "The doctor says I cracked three ribs."

"And broke your spine, from what she tells me," George said, his smile fading.

"Yes," Michael said, spreading his arms and letting them fall back to his sides, "I likely will never walk again."

"Aren't there procedures--?"

"I refused them.  There are too many Tytorians who don't have that option.  I will stand in solidarity with them -- er, figuratively speaking."

"But--"

"Don't worry about me, George," Michael cut across him smoothly, "I'm content."

"Very well," George sighed.

The two sat in silence for a few more moments.  This time it was Michael who broke it.  "I suppose this is when you switch off my life support and seize the throne for yourself?" he quipped.

"Now?" George joked back, "Heck no, you're conscious.  I'd want to wait at least until you're asleep before I try and smother you."

The two shared a laugh, but Michael quickly became serious again.  "I'm going to need you to deliver a letter for me," he said.

"To whom?  And what for?"

"To the Prime Minister, designating you as Prince Regent for the duration of my convalescence.  While I'm sure I could perform what duties I still have from here, the kingdom deserves to have royal power in the hands of someone who's not restricted to bed rest at a doctor's orders."

"If you're certain."

"Quite.  Now, prop me up and bring me a pen and some paper."
His Majesty Michael the First, by the Grace of God, King of Tytor and her Colonies, and Lord Protector of Floodwater

Factbook -- News -- Press Office

Former Governor-General of The Infinite Alliance
Former Ambassador to Albion and the Global Right Alliance
Former Vice Premier and Speaker of the Senate of the Independent Order
Professional Procrastinator

Non-partisan and proud of it

"A witty saying proves nothing." - Voltaire