Roleplay > Vignettes

Welcome to Izhitsa

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Izhitsa:
This is the thread for Izhitsan vignettes. Table of contents arriving once there's actually a reason to add a table of contents.

Izhitsa:
5 February 2020 --- 8:30 AM --- An office above a grocery store

The room, lit by sunlight, held rows of desks in various states of decay. At one time, this would've been a loud unproductive mess of an office, filled with the sound of a dozen people trying to work despite the smell of Ondrey's fish, the noise of Yana's incessant pen-clicking, and the sheer mind-numbing boredom.
Today, only the boredom remained, combined with the sound of one keyboard, tapping away on a state-of-the-art microcomputer from 1996.

Welcome to Izhitsa, a land of peace, prosperity, and

And lying through our teeth, thought Karla. Well, it's a job, of sorts. And it came with extra rations, too, for all the good the tourism board could apparently bring the nation. Well, they said tourism board. But three people hardly make up a board. Maybe a tourism stick.

Welcome to Izhitsa, a land of peace, prosperity, and brotherhood where you never step on a landmine and end up a crippled wreck in a moldy office!

Hm. Perhaps that came on a little strong. How about...

Welcome to Izhitsa, a land of rolling hills, smiling faces, and verdant seas!

Not that she knew anyone who ever swam in the sea. The water was incredibly cold, and on top of that, there was supposed to be sea-mines all along the coast. No one could agree who had put them there. Anyway, the point was that there was, technically, a sea.

From skiing in the mountains of Smrk to biking through Ved Forest, Izhitsa has something for every adventurer!

Emphasis on adventurer. We wouldn't want regular tourists here. Their families might complain if they die.

Visit historical monuments in Hrabohrada, swim through coral reefs in Mbruk, or go on a traditional wine-tasting tour around Tsestovani Tsitron!

‘Wine-tasting tour’ sounds fancier than ‘pub crawl’, right?

It’s all within your grasp when you visit Izhitsa!

She gritted her teeth. Good God. It was going to rain today. She always knew when it was going to rain, a superpower which never compensated for the intense pain in what was left of her leg. She swallowed a painkiller and waited for the throbbing to subside.
The door creaked open. “Hey, Karla! How are you this fine morning?”
“Not fine for long, Rado,” said Karla. “And what brings you here so late?”
“Oh, you know,” said Radovan, knowing full well she didn’t. “It’s my day to buy gas, so I figured I’d get in line early.”
“Along with 30 or 40 other people who thought the same thing.”
“It's better than the afternoon lines. Say, speaking of being late, where's Pavla?”
"She's off trying to convince some Vanoran airline executive to offer flights to Izhitsa." Karla reached into a folder and pulled out a card. "She left contact info if you need her for anything."
"No, thank you," said Radovan. "All she would do is ask me why I'm talking to her instead of working on the website. Anyway, what are you working on?"
“You know that video which is supposed to play when you enter the website?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m writing the script for it and Pavla will have your head if you’re not ready to put it in when we’re done filming.”
“You want any feedback?” asked Radovan, pulling up a chair.
“I’ve just been throwing out ideas. It’s only a few lines so far. You’re not going to get that much of a delay out of it,” replied Karla.
“It’s worth a shot.”
Karla read it to him.
“Seriously?” said Radovan. “You want them to visit Hrabohrada?”
“Well, I suspect people are going to want to look at the only Izhitsan city with an international airport, no?” said Karla. “Especially after they fly in?”
“Seems you ought to warn them, at least.”
“Come on, Rado. It’s not like people are shooting each other here anymore.”
There was an awkward silence.
“I’m going to work on adding video functionality to the website,” said Radovan, getting up.
“That sounds like a good idea.”

Hah. Very funny, thought Karla. Warning people about visiting Izhitsa. We’re a tourism board, not a foreign consulate. Although…
She opened a new document.

Welcome to Izhitsa, a formerly peaceful, prosperous land ravaged by years of war.  From the foxholes carved into the mountains of Smrk, to the vast reaches of Ved forest burnt down by incendiary bombs, civil war has violated the Izhitsan nation in every conceivable way. Visit the bullet-scarred monuments of Hrabohrada, swim around sea-mines in Mbruk, and see the homeless steal grapes from the vineyards of Tsestovani Tsitron. See the awful consequences of nationalism when you visit Izhitsa!

Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly a traditional pitch, but she’d met a couple Achkaerinese once who’d be enthralled by the idea. She’d hated people like that during the war, those unfeeling bastards, but if they were willing to come here and pay, well, that was business.

Izhitsa:
6 February 2020 --- 2:05 PM --- A Stage Outside the Former King’s Palace in Hrabohrada

Antek Dzhavid and Matvey Karamovo stepped off the stage, keeping their gloomy looks centered on the ground in front of them. They reached the road east of the former king’s palace, and, ignoring the flying questions from the swarm of pressmen, squeezed into Matvey Karamovo’s personal car, a VVV Type 3. It was an ancient, battered thing. Matvey’s father had taught him how to drive in it, and he was determined never to replace it until he had run it into the ground. That was 18 years ago, and, despite the addition of armor plating and replacement of most of its engine, it was still going strong.
It was Antek who broke the silence. “God. What a mess that whole business was.”
“Yes,” said Matvey. He started the car.
“Have I told you how my parents died?” said Antek.
“No,” lied Matvey. He had known Antek ever since Yach and Izhitska Ednota had begun collaborating against the nationalists. He didn’t know anyone who was comfortable challenging the High Lord when he was like this.
“Gassed by the nationalists in the massacre at Okray,” said Antek. “But not all at once, no.” Antek sniffled. “That would’ve been too easy. They took every Yachese they could find, and gave them just enough gas to hurt them, but not kill them. Then they revived them and found a different gas to poison them with. And they did this until there were no more Yachese left in Okray.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Matvey, monotone. He hated to admit it, but he often felt the only reason the nationalists had lost was because of stupid wastes of resources like that. He worried that a second uprising wouldn’t be so imprudent. “Where am I driving you to?”
“Hrada Central station,” said Antek.
“You took a bus here all the way from Yach? How did you get to the palace?”
“I walked. I want to reconnect more with the people. The war kept me too far away.”
Ah, yes, thought Matvey. The bourgeois poet wants to reconnect with the hungry, tired workers. I’m sure that went smashingly.
“It went smashingly,” said Antek. “I met several interesting people on the way.”
Matvey frowned. He had a question burning in his mind. “Lord Dzhavid, you told me that you wanted to bring back Izhitsa’s reputation on the global stage. Was this what you had in mind?”
“What do you mean?”
Matvey glared at the road. “Publicly challenging a global power before we’ve even put together a new constitution? Or even established normal diplomatic relations with, well, let’s be honest, anyone?”
Antek frowned. “It’s a matter of moral standing. You agreed to this, Chairman.”
What I agreed to, thought Matvey, was simply acknowledging the facts before a silent international community. Not accusing King David of planning war crimes. Not equating the deaths of nine terrorists with the murder of thousands. And certainly not your moralising.
“I didn’t think you would say it like that,” said Matvey.
“Then you don’t know me well enough.”
They drove in silence for a while. While there weren’t that many vehicles on the road, there was still a fair amount of debris left from the siege of Hrabohrada. The city, never very well-planned, had become a maze of detours and bypasses. Antek contemplated the debris from the car window. He watched bits of Embassy Row, pieces of Hrada High Street, and chunks of Zhludum Bridge being shipped off to landfills or reused to pave roads. He saw piles of history drift by, beloved no longer by the new Izhitsa. It hurt him to see so much beauty destroyed in the last seven years, and it hurt to see people treat it as nothing but common refuse material. But somehow, it felt better to see that humanity was as it has always been: striving to be something better.
“This is your stop,” said Matvey. “Hey, before you go, I need you to tell me something.”
“Yes?” said Antek, stepping out of the car.
“About rationing in the Yach Administrative Zone. Did you make a decision?”
Antek squatted down so that he could see Matvey. “Yes. I decided…” he sighed.
“What did you decide?”
“I decided that your heart was in the right place.” Antek closed the door and left for the ticket center.
Matvey watched him walk in. Jumped-up bourgeois bastard, he thought.

Izhitsa:
5 March 2020 --- 8:42 AM --- An office above a grocery store

In the years leading to the civil war, the businesses of Hrabohrada valued open offices for their ability to increase productivity by stuff as many people as possible into cramped space where everyone could hear everything everyone else did, but not the conversation they were having at their desk. They would occasionally receive a manager who had their own room, who would bark a motivational speech and some vague orders before going back upstairs. This was called “thought leadership”, apparently because the managers had thought about leadership and then decided against it.

Today, most of these offices were abandoned, or, like this one, nationalised for the new military administrations imposed on the city at the end of the war.

Pavla announced her entrance to the Izhitsan Tourist Board, as she always did, by kicking the door open, slamming it against the wall. “Alright, ladies, let’s get to work for once!”

“Pavla!” said Karla, feigning an expression of offense. “How could you be so rude, lumping me in with Rado over ther-…”

“Hey, I do work! I did some yesterday, as a matter of fact!” said Radovan. Nearly three hours’ worth. And he picked up Pavla’s shopping, which wasn’t in the job description at all. “Oh, Pavla, I nearly forgot, here are the rations I got for you yesterday.”

Pavla took the bag and frowned slightly. “Isn’t there usually more?”

Radovan shrugged. “It’s the same as what I got.”

“Same here,” said Karla. “By the way, how was Nya Aland? Were you able to get Izhitsa Air a gate at the airport?”

“It was awful!” said Pavla, slumping into a chair. “A two-week trip to their country, and what gratitude do they show? An ‘I’ll look into it.’”

“I… don’t think that’s exactly how it works, Pavla,” said Karla. She knew it was useless to try to interrupt one of Pavla’s rants, but she felt an obligation to try.

“And that country doesn’t even have proper telephone service! I tried to call you on the satellite phone the other day, but all I got was dead air! Not even a dial tone!”

Radovan and Karla continued their work while Pavla ranted. Today, they were going to film that commercial they’d been planning for so long. The plan was to have Pavla give Karla’s carefully drafted speech on the wonders of visiting Izhitsa, while footage of Izhitsa’s finest tourist attractions showed behind her. One of Karla’s friends used to be an amateur film producer before the war, and taught her how to do all the editing. They even had a green screen set up in one of the halls outside the office. Well, a green blanket, anyway. And the brown stain near the corner somewhat detracted from the effect.

Pavla was nearly reaching an end to her speech. “... and that’s what’s wrong with Alanders. They’re all like ‘look at me, I believe in peace and brotherhood until someone moves in on some boats a couple hundred miles from me!’” She collected herself. “Anyway, are we ready to begin filming now?”


5 March 2020 --- 8:55 AM --- A hall above a grocery store

Pavla stood in front of the camera and read off the cue cards. “Hello. My name is Pavla Malkova, and on behalf of all of us I welcome you to the Izhitsan Federation.”

Radovan watched unimpressed. “Do you think you could try smiling a bit more?”

“Or least looking like you actually want tourists to be here?” said Karla.

“Fine,” grunted Pavla. She put up her best grimace.

“Oh,” said Radovan, feeling rather perturbed. “I don’t suppose you have anything less… how do I say this?”

“Something that looks less like you’re about to eat the viewer,” said Karla.

Pavla threw her hands up in frustration. “This is a normal smile for normal people! People smile like this all the time! See?” She grimaced again.

“Oh good God, Pavla!” shouted Karla. “Try not to blind us!”

“Okay,” said Pavla, “If you don’t like my smile, then you do the video!”

“Seriously? You want people’s first impression of Izhitsa to be a woman missing a leg?”

“Okay, then we’ll have Rado do it.”

“So their first impression will be a boy who can’t speak English?”

“Hey,” said Radovan, “I’m right here, you know?”

“Rado,” said Pavla, “If we taught you how to say all the words in the script, could you do the video?”

“I suppose so,” said Radovan, who was beginning to feel incredibly uncomfortable with the new direction this conversation was taking.

“Alright, then, it’s settled,” said Pavla. “Time for your first English lesson.”


5 March 2020 --- 12:04 PM --- An office above a grocery store

Karla began watching the video they pulled from the camera. She felt a tap on her shoulder.

“How does it sound?” asked Radovan. Karla paused the video.

“Like a Morelander pirate with a cold,” said Karla. “But it’s good enough. Thanks, Rado.”

“Now, it would have been nice if Pavla had taught me what all the words meant.”

“Wait, what?” said Karla.

Radovan shrugged. “She just told me to sound bubbly and happy the whole time.”

“Even during the part about the Great War memorial?”

“What Great War memorial?”

Karla facepalmed. “Pavla! We need to run it again! And tell Rado what he’s actually saying this time!”

Izhitsa:
6 April 2020 --- 10:03 AM --- An office adjoining the Izhitska Ednota Headquarters in Kherhorod

Anton Brazda’s office was sparsely decorated, as befitted the proper socialist. He had a desk, a picture of his family, and a map. He didn’t need such fripperies as paintings, or carpet, or lamps. Well, technically, he did sort of need a lamp, but the old one broke and there wasn’t any money for a new one, so he had decided to move his desk in front of the window.
One advantage of this was that he always appeared to visitors to be surrounded by light.
He heard a buzz from the phone. He pushed a green button. “Yes, Mr. Maresh?” he said.
“There’s a lady here to see you,” croaked the phone. “Your 10 AM meeting with the leader of the Social Democrats.”
“Send her in.”
Anton had thought it was odd that the Social Democrats would be reaching out to Izhitska Ednota, considering they’d refused to join their coalition five years ago during the civil war. What were their exact words, again? Ah, yes. We cannot join what is at its core a revolutionary group. We need to build up the world, not tear it down and start over. Bourgeois tosh for “We only want leftism when it is easy.” When he’d got that letter he nearly ripped it up without a second thought.
The door creaked open timidly. A woman stepped in. “Anton Brazda, I presume?”
“Tadar Hamady? What the hell are you doing here?” said Anton. “Get out. I have a meeting with the Social Democrats and--- Oh. I see what’s happened.”
“Yes, Mr. Brazda. A slight deception on my part, but you’ll understand why it was necessary,” said Tadar.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t call security right now.”
“I have an offer for you.” She shut the door.
Anton was taken aback. “An offer?” He faked a laugh. “An offer? Seriously? From the woman who, well, let’s see, what was the exact quote?” He opened a drawer and started shuffling through it.”
“You actually kept a copy of my review of your book for 14 years?” said Tadar.
“Ah, yes!” Anton pulled out a scrap of laminated paper and read from it. “‘Modern Solutions to Ancient Problems is a unique tome of economic thought. In the first half, Brazda manages to correctly identify everything wrong with the state of Izhitsa today. In the second, he lays out all of the best ways to drive Izhitsa’s already stagnant economy down a well. Mr. Brazda’s unusual parody of economics has well earned its place next to my Saturnin novels and will provide hours of entertainment for years to come.’”
Tadar smirked. She hadn’t remembered writing that bit. “I suppose I did come off a little strong. In my defense, I still keep your book next to my Saturnin novels.”
“Well, I’m glad you drove here all the way from Assif Ushaa to tell me about the state of your bookshelves. Now, if you’ll excuse me---”
“Tell me, what is the role of the Chairman in Izhitska Ednota?” She pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Anton’s desk.
Anton frowned. “The Chairman sets the agenda for the First Committee, signs off on resolutions, and acts as a figurehead for the Committee.”
“And the role of the High Lord of Yach is much the same,” said Tadar. “They set agendas, they act as representatives to Izhitsa and the world, but they don’t write policy. Well, they’re not supposed to, anyway.”
“What’s your point?”
Tadar attempted to dramatically stare into Anton’s eyes, but the light from the window blinded her and she was forced to look away. “When was the last time the Chairman listened to you, Mr. Brazda?”
“Well---”
“When was the last time the Chairman consulted the First Committee on a policy decision, Mr. Brazda?”
“Look---”
“Rationing was entirely his idea, wasn’t it? Planned by him, written by him, signed off by him? And what about the business with East Moreland? Or Tamora?” Tadar looked at the map on Anton’s wall. “How about his decision to divide Izhitsa between Izhitska Ednota and Yach? Did he even ask for a debate in the First Committee? Or did he just expect you to rubber-stamp his ideas?”
Anton huffed in frustration. “Why do you care about any of this?”
“Because our governments have been hijacked. Yours by a loose cannon general who barely knows what communism is, and mine by a jumped-up national poet who can’t keep his damned mouth shut. Tell me that isn’t true.”
“Well---”
“Wouldn’t it be better to find more capable leadership?”
Anton paused before answering. “You’re saying you want to replace Lord Dzhavid and Chairman Karamovo.”
“Yes.”
“With ourselves.”
“Yes. If half of Izhitsa must be governed by a communist, I want them to be a smart communist.”
“And if half of Izhitsa must be governed by a stuck-up bourgeois liberal, I want them to be a smart stuck-up bourgeois liberal,” said Anton.
Tadar ignored the slight. “Are you agreed?”
Anton rested his head on his fist as if he was thinking.
Tadar cleared her throat. “Why is it that you let Karamovo be Chairman anyway? Your ideas made the Izhitsan Left what it is today. You would’ve been a shoo-in for the Chairmanship if you hadn’t supported him. Why would you let a general take your thunder?”
Anton frowned and said nothing. What was he supposed to say? That he thought he could control him? That he underestimated Karamovo’s popularity? “Let me answer one unfair question with another. How do you think you’ll be able to oust the two most popular men in Izhitsa?”
There was a pause. Tadar got up from her chair. “Well, Mr. Brazda, I suppose I shouldn’t keep you. You have your meeting with the Social Democrats, remember?” She opened the door. “Oh, by the way, I must say, even though I whole-heartedly disagree with your economics, I must say there is one thing I deeply respect about you. You don’t care about scoring ideological points. You care about what works. You care about what’s best for Izhitsa.” She turned to leave.
“Mrs. Hamady,” said Anton.
“Yes?”
“Call me when you have a plan.”

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