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Two Humble Nations


Fulgistan

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The jet carrying @Mauridiviah's President Diego Polo touched down deftly on the tarmac of Bogd Gioro Liberty International. General Secretary Almas and Secretary for Culture Tekin waited in the terminal, alongside a veritable legion of staff, organizers and press. This was the Mauridivian leader's first visit to Fulgistan, and Almas aimed to make a good impression.

"Comrade Almas, sir, are we sending out the honor guard? I understand President Polo generally frowns on displays of aggression."

"Yes, go ahead, Bayanchur. I doubt he'll like it, but all foreign heads of state get the same welcome."

"Well, except for the angry Madrians. Those are a unique touch."

Almas sighed; he'd been hoping the protestor's wouldn't show up. "How many?"

"Two hundred at most, and I expect a decent amount are here out of boredom."

"Licensed, I assume?"

"Yes; believe it or not, they registered their protest within minutes of us announcing the date of the visit; I guess the clerks in the licensing office didn't put two and two together right away, so here they are."

As Tekin finished speaking, two lines of Revolutionary Guards in dress uniforms, carrying (now ceremonial, thankfully) Varinco Muffins, formed up along the path from the plane to the terminal. As the Mauridivian president came down the steps, looking slightly bemused at the display, Almas felt a little relieved; Diego Polo was a man you could talk to. Not like Ivanoff, not like LaFleur. With the offensive in the southwest finally making some progress, and Mauridivian-Fulgistani cooperation materializing in the form of the rapidly expanding Radio Free Eurth, this was a highly important time to sit down with President Polo and identify goals for the future. Perhaps, just as Fulgistan enjoyed cooperative relations with Prymont, Almas could show the world that socialism was not to be equated to immorality, and that two democracies with divergent views and different peoples could be close friends indeed.

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Polo and his entourage eventually made their across the tarmac to the terminal building, where the press photographers immediately set their cameras to snapping. Almas stepped forward and gave the President a firm, warm handshake and his winning smile.Taking a page from President Duval's book, he opted for the classy greeting.

"Welcome to Fulgistan, Mr. President. I believe they'll want a picture, no?"

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Polo had been looking forward to this meeting. Fulgistan was looking more and more like a promising regional ally, and it looked like a nation that would soon evolve into a proper, multi-party democracy. The creation of Radio Free Eurth was certainly looking a step in that direction, anyway. Coming off of the plane, still somewhat unable to hear as his ears were not fully accustomed to the ground pressure, he was faced with an extremely organized row of soldiers, all of them with glittering bayonets, which only worsened the visibility problem caused by the already bright Fulgistani sky. Half deaf and half blind, he stepped off the plane trying to look like a normal person.

After the initial shock of "oooh my eyes, man it's sooo bright", Polo noticed how truly straight the line of men were. It was truly uncanny. It is an appreciated gesture that showed the discipline of the Fulgistani troops. He thought about ordering his generals to train soldiers like that, but then he remembered that it would probably be shot down by the unions.

Walking across the tarmac, Polo started feeling a lot better about the brightness, and made sure to yawn a few good times to help with his ears. His personal assistants (which, him being the President he got take four, one of them being the Minister of Foreign Affairs himself) quickly caught up to him. Together, they walked with as much dignity as they could muster to show respect to the soldiers. Upon arriving to the the terminal building, the handshakes and small talk in front of the press began.

Now, Polo himself did not speak Fulgi, but one of his assistants did, and he translated Almas' sophisticated greeting. Without hesitation, Polo responded:

"Thank you Mr. General Secretary. They always do want a picture, don't they?", trying to chuckle so that he would be smiling in at least some of the pictures the press took of him.

After the greetings, the entourages of diplomats and their assistants made their way to a several cars, with Almas and Polo riding together. These fancy vehicles would take them to Tomur Almas' office, where they would get down to business. On the way to Bogd Gioro however, the motorcade passed by a decently-sized group of protesters: Madrian self-exiles. Telling the driver to slow down, Polo quickly rolled down the window and began to address his people in perfect Mauridivian:

"Now, listen here you b***-*******! Monarchy shall never return to our lands, much less your wicked version of it! Return to Mauridiviah and join us in democracy and freedom, otherwise go **** y*********."

Untranslated and partially censored quote (for those curious enough):

Quote

"Escuchadme, hue*ones! La monarquía nunca volverá a nuestras tierras, mucho menos la versión malvada de ustedes! Vuelvan a Mauridiviah y unanse a nosotros en la democracia y la libertad, si no j*danse.

With that statement full of decorum and kindness, the motorcade continued on to its destination.

 

Edited by Mauridiviah
Minor details (Fulgistan's language is Fulgi and Almas is riding with Polo) (see edit history)
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Almas cringed inwardly. Diego Polo had decided to start off his stay in Fulgistan by yelling obscenities at its citizens. No doubt this would be all over the evening news thanks to Youhuan, the venomous b*tch. Tekin turned to him, a forced smile on his face.

"You know, on the bright side, those protesters probably took the new high-speed train to get here."

Almas grunted, and stayed silent for a while. As they neared the city center, he decided to try and break the awkwardness.

"As I'm sure you're aware, Mr. President, although the Central Committee meets in the Xuanwu Palace, I myself live and often work in my own residence, the House of the Revolution. I can offer you accomodation in one of the guest rooms if you'd like, but of course we're quite willing to provide you with a hotel if you'd prefer privacy. Heck, we could put you up in Wulumuqi by the beach if you like; you can get from there to here in half an hour thanks to the new railway."

He hoped that sounded impressive, and not boorish. Fulgistan probably looked desperate in its attempts to modernize so late in the game, but Almas figured that it was better late than never. As the motorcade pulled up to the front of the House of the Revolution, his worries eased; he was on home turf now, with a probable friend.

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The entourage disembarked from the cars and made their way inside. Tekin had a little presentation on Fulgistani culture prepared for Polo's aides; the man was a wizard with slideshows. Did the little animated transitions and everything, very conscientious. That would probably keep the Mauridivian lackeys occupied for an hour or two. Time enough to get down to brass tacks with the President.

Almas opened the door to his office, after the aides had been ushered into a board room. Pulling out Polo's chair, he sat down behind his broad wooden desk; a desk which had always had the unfortunate effect of accentuating the General Secretary's short stature. But of course, it had been Jian Bozaan's (allegedly), so he couldn't get rid of it. In any case, he leaned back in his chair and addressed his counterpart.

"Can I make you more comfortable, Mr. Polo? Something to drink, perhaps? We have a stock of beverages on offer, including a case of sloe whiskey from the finest Prymontian distillery."

When Polo had tendered a response, Almas poured a hibiscus water for himself; it was the latest trend in Lahui, and his wife had the whole family drinking it. Sour stuff, and he was suspicious of its actual health properties, but it was better than nothing.

"So, Mr. President; I take it you have a lot to say to me. How can we help each other, sir?"

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Polo was very satisfied with himself after shouting down those protesters. He'd shown them who was the boss, who carried the democratic will of an entire country behind them, yada-yada-yada. Even the Fulgistani delegation, smiling at him, seemed to have been satisfied with his strong takedown of the opposition. Everything was good.

Then came the talk of the accomodations; Polo was impressed with the General-Secretary's priviledge to both live and work in the same place. As to where he was staying for the duration of visit, Secretary of State Luti adviced him not to stay in an official government residence because "all communists bug those", and he did like the idea of experiencing the Fulgistani tourism industry, so a hotel would have to do.

"Thank you for the generous offer to stay at your residence, Mr. General-Secretary, but I would prefer to stay in a hotel, so that I may take in Fulgistan. A hotel in Wulumuqi sounds great."

Then the motorcade arrived to a giant white building with red flags hoisted all over; the epicly named House of Revolution, Almas' very own residence and office. Here is where the heads of state and government were going to get down to business.

Upon arriving, Polo's entourage and Almas' entourage began discussing things over a very detailed slideshow. The intention, it seemed, was that Almas and Polo speak of things privately before engaging with the greater group of diplomats and assistants. With that, Polo and Almas entered the General-Secretary's office.

Almas pulled out a chair for Polo (A true gentleman!) and proceeded to sit down behind a wooden desk, which looked to be made for somebody of--well, a greater stature. Then the General-Secretary offered Polo a drink, and of course he was going to take the good stuff.

"Whiskey? Please!" said Polo. Finally, something to take off the edge, and it was that expensive Prymontian stuff no less.

For himself, the General-Secretary seemed to give himself a water. Apparently he's not one to party. With that, it was time to really get down to it.

Polo did have a lot to say to Almas, but when actually faced with the man in the flesh, asking him, the pool of words seemed to dry up. No place really seemed like an appropriate start. Perhaps with discussing Radio Free Eurth, a nice and easy topic, or the current state of Mauridivian foreign aid in the southern provinces, or their mutual disapproval of places like Derthalen, or... or...

After the most tense 10 seconds of this entire meeting, Polo finally spoke (In English, of course, the language of international diplomacy):

"There are many ways that Mauridiviah and Fulgistan can aid eachother and the world at large. Radio Free Eurth is a great example of that. Allow me to ensure you that Radio Free Eurth shall continue to recieve funding from the Mauridivian Broadcasting Corporation and young Mauridivian journalists and media graduates will be sent your way. We believe that this initiative will be very beneficial to the democratization of the world as well as the spreading of freedom in general and support RFE proudly. Mauridiviah will also continue to send aid to the southern provinces of Fulgistan, to try and thwart the misery there, as well as in the Hellenic Rus. 

We are also glad to see another nation in the world condemn and refuse to economically benefit the terrorist cult of Derthalen, and we hope that you continue this policy and continue to join us in economically sanctioning them. This form of pressure is much more effective to the brutish violence that we see employed by them.

Now, as to the future of Mauridivian-Fulgistani relations, I believe that a free trade agreement between our nations would be very beneficial between our two nations, and seeing as we both have strong labor laws, no workers would suffer as a result. This would only benefit our economies. What do you think, Señor Almas?"

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

Obliging, Almas pulled a decanter of the Prymontian liquor from below his desk and poured it into a crystal glass over one of those newfangled ice chunks that melted slowly. Sure, it was 10 am, but who was he to judge? These Solidaridad folks didn't eat dinner until midnight, so he'd heard, so clearly they had different drinking habits as well. In any case, down to business.

"This is all very cheering news...Compañero Polo. Radio Free Eurth is the pride of the Fulgistani people, and of all freedom-loving states the world over. Of course, it pleases me greatly to have you here for the opening ceremony of RFE headquarters tomorrow, a landmark event in the history of democracy. In addition, I am beyond happy to report that in Takhar and Kunduz provinces, Mauridivian aid packages have saved dozens of lives, and improved the quality of life for many unfortunate residents."

The General Secretary topped up Polo's glass, noticing he was really into the northern spirit.

"A free trade agreement is certainly amenable to us, and with the ease of doing international business in the region under threat from Derthaler piracy, this could stand as a show of solidarity between our two nations. Er, on that note, both Mauridiviah and Fulgistan recognize the threat posed by totalitarian states, not only to their own citizens, but to the world at large. Should the people of Mauridiviah ever find themselves harassed, threatened or attacked by the forces of rogue nations, Fulgistan and her people will gladly intervene on their behalf."

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Polo was a little confused about the sudden "All that matters is that two stood against many" routine Almas did, but it was really touching and he quickly felt like it was time for commitment. 

"The people of Fulgistan have our full backing if they were ever to need it as well. There's very few nations in the world that rule through the consent of the governed, and Fulgistan stands among them. We must stand together against the enemies of democracy, to the death! Un bridis!" said Polo, trying to invoke his inner President. After his request for a toast was reciprocated, Polo drank the last of his whiskey. This meeting had been a total success. Mauridiviah and Fulgistan were now growing closer towards an alliance that would prevent more powerful nations or rouge states from pushing them around. Polo left Almas' office on a high note (and a little tipsy). 

Reuniting himself with this staff (who looked like they'd all been transported back to Literature class), they wrapped up the power point presentation, said their goodbyes, and were driven towards Wulumuqi Hotel. As the rest of the aides gathered the luggage and began to get their room keys, Polo left the crowd and approached one of the hotel's concierges. There, he got his attention as subtly as he could, looking around to make sure no one was looking at him. He then turned towards the concierge.

"English?" asked Polo, almost whispering. The Fulgistani man stopped for a moment, perhaps trying to remember if he did speak English, or perhaps recognizing the strange man smelling of whiskey that now sat in front of him, bending over the counter, and then finally replied by slowly nodding his head.

"Do you know where a man could get.... company around here?" said Polo, looking around again. The Fulgistani man nodded his head again and then grabbed a small booklet from underneath the counter. Looking around himself for a moment, he then handed the booklet over to Polo. "Call and tell them your room number. They'll come tonight." said the concierge. Polo nodded and, stuffing the booklet into his suit pocket, returned to his group.

After everyone recieved their room keys, Polo told his delegation to go start drafting the free trade agreement between Fulgistan and Mauridiviah in Caballeros' room. He then went down to the bar to have a Samarkhand Dance, but realizing that yet another picture of the President of Mauridiviah drinking alone is not something he wanted to give to the media he quickly took his drink up to his room. The drink was a staple of Fulgistan, and it was Polo's first time having it. Now alone in his room, Polo decided to try out another staple of Fulgistan for the first time.

Dialing one of the numbers on the booklet that was advertised as "hot girls who can speek english" he called and ordered one. Ever since the failure of his second marriage, he had trouble picking up women. Having them come to him in this way was much easier.

The girl showed up (as advertised) and they had a fun time. Afterwards she left and Polo watched some TV before going to bed. However, he quickly remembered that he forgot to check in on his delegation, so he quickly got up, threw his pants and a shirt on, and headed over to Caballeros' room. It was a good thing that he'd remembered this fact at 2 AM, otherwise it would've been awkward.

Polo came out of his room and greeted the Fulgistani guard that was serving the night shift and wondered if the day guy shift had ever even shown up at all (at least Polo hadn't seen him) and they proceeded to walk together to Caballeros' room. Hearing Caballeros and his aides talking, he knocked on the door and was let in. They were all sitting around watching some Western on TV. 

"How's the first draft?" asked Polo yawning. Caballeros handed him the paper.

"One sentence? Oh god- guys!" said Polo, trying to not let his utter disappointment in his country show.

One of Caballeros' aides (Sabrina?) stood up and defended the group "Look, Mr. President, that whole powerpoint presentation and all the driving we did took like 6 hours. We did our work, go to sleep!" she said, before throwing a pillow at the President. Tired and not particularly up for dealing with this, he went out of the room and shut the door after giving a look to Caballeros. Polo however, wasn't done.

Grabbing his smartphone from the hotel room, Polo and his bodyguard went on a little adventure to Wulumart and bought a red spray paint can. Of course, Polo had disguised himself and his body guard appropriately (thank god for baseball caps) and had paid in cash. Upon returning to the hotel, the perfect crime was set in motion.

First, Polo had noticed that a camera was set up at the end of the hallway where Caballeros' and his room were located. Turning towards his guard, he pointed at the camera and asked in English:

"Work?"

After a moment, his guard slowly shook his head. Polo has a little surprised, but in this situation it was a relief. They quickly went up to Caballeros' door and Polo got to work. Once it was finished, Caballero's door was now covered in phrases like "Madria Libre!" and "Muerte al Ministro de Relaciones Exteriores!" and several pictures of fallices.

"Oh man, I feel like a teenager again!" said Polo, while admiring his handiwork. The Fulgistani guard of course, didn't understand him and had stood there stoicly the whole time. This was just a small triumph, but it would have Caballeros gulping down water bottles for the rest of the trip at least. Deciding that he'd had enough of today, Polo then went into his room and went to bed.

"What a day....." he thought, as he drifted off to sleep.

 

Edited by Mauridiviah
altered the ending slightly; made all the dialouge into italics (see edit history)
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  • 1 month later...

Across the hotel pavilion, in an otherwise inconspicuous two-bed room, a pair of Bureau for Internal Security agents were about to earn the score of a lifetime. They'd been given the assignment to discreetly watch Diego Polo tonight; ostensibly for his own protection, but in reality, of course, secret police forces seldom do anything for an altruistic reason. While Khaled, the senior of the two, watched the suite opposite their own room with binoculars, his counterpart Guafeng lazily flipped through cameras on the CCTV feed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa; Guafeng, get over here and look at this."

"Yes, I'm aware of the young couple on floor 3; I can only watch bad head-giving go on for so long.""

"No, no, f*cking get over here."

The younger man inclined his head and dropped the remote.

"You're joking. There's no way. This is a trick, surely."

"I mean, he's got the f*cking lights on and everything! The curtains aren't even cheekily half-open, they're just not there!"

"It's getting cheeky in there, all right. For f*ck's sake, Khaled, get the camera!"

Hurriedly, the BIS agent picked up a digital camera, equipped with a massive macro lens, and began snapping pictures of the Mauridivian president's illicit fun.

"Bet he thought we wouldn't have time to bug this place; joke's on you, puta madre, we weren't born yesterday."

"Nice one. Where'd you pick that one up?"

"My sister-in-law. She's Madrian. Nice girl, cooks good."

"Huh. Looks like that multiculturalism thing Bozaan spoke about really paid off, eh comrade?"

"You said it, comrade-buddy."

"Hey, d'you reckon the GenSec knows about this business?"

"Oh, what, like the BIS is gonna be doing this sh*t without Almas' say-so? C'mon, get real."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

The next morning, Almas' lackeys arrived around 10 am, hoping they'd given Polo enough time to breakfast. There was a motorcade waiting to whisk the Mauridivian head of state and his entourage to the opening ceremony of the new headquarters of Radio Free Eurth. A momentous day, and one that would probably see poor Presidente Polo in need of lots and lots of electrolytes.

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