04-11-2023, 07:48 PM
Jointly written with Lauchenoiria.
12:35 PM
Tlālacuetztla, Xiomera
Novella Islands' Embassy
“Please don’t hand me over to them! It was a mistake, I know, I was being stupid, I’m sorry, but please!” Amada said the moment Dalton entered the room. The longer she’d had to think about things, the more frightened she’d become. “I know I shouldn’t have been here; I promise, I’m not gonna do things like this again.”
The profuse barrage of pleading assaulted the ambassador’s senses the moment his hand turned the door handle, and he visibly winced as he connected eyes with the woman. Yes, of course what she was saying was true, though the shrill blubbering helped nobody… and certainly not Dalton’s conscience.
“Ms Toledano, please. Now…”
“Please listen, I’m sorry, I just thought, like, it would be cool but this isn’t like the movies, it’s real and I don’t want it to…”
“Now, Ms Toledano. Amada.” The Ambassador shifted his voice to a stern but reassuring register. He didn’t have time to waste on outbursts of emotions, and nor did she. Straight down to business.
“Amada. I regret to inform you that your… associates? Friends? In any case. The other three you were with this morning, have all been taken into Imperial Police custody.”
She cringed. “Oh God, my brother. He only came here for me. I’m such an idiot.”
“I’m assured by Commander Cochcuitli of the Central Tlālacuetztla Imperial Police that they are being treated humanely and in accordance with Xiomeran law… such as it is, in any case.”
“That doesn’t mean anything!” she exclaimed. “I doubt the Xiomerans know what ‘humanely’ means! I’m pretty sure their laws let them use prisoners in creepy experiments!”
“Let me be pragmatic with you, Amada. The Xiomerans aren’t going to fumble the ball here for a bit of sick and twisted fun, at least, not while we’re watching like a hawk.” The Novellan gave a wry smile, knowing full well that it was indeed his presence that was preventing the Imperial Police from their usual bouts of excessive interrogation.
“If you think that watching them will stop them, you’re mistaken. They’re probably gonna execute my brother and the other two whether you’re looking at them or not. I’m such a fool… but, like, what are you going to do? Are you gonna hand me over to them or let me go back to Lauchenoiria?”
“I… I do have a proposal. You’re almost certainly not going to be ecstatic about it, but under the circumstances, I’m sure you will agree it will be in everybody’s best interests.” Dalton gave a slight sigh as he plopped himself down in the chair opposite Toledano, before placing the notebook between them.
Now, to convince her that five years in a Xiomeran jail cell is the ‘easy way’ out. Hopefully, she’s close with her ‘friends’.
“I can probably arrange for you - and the other three WOE members - to be handed a reduced sentence. But that’s going to require a great deal of cooperation from you… including an admission of guilt.”
“You’re going to hand me over to them!?” she squeaked, her voice increasing in pitch as she tensed all her muscles.
"I'm afraid we don't have all that much choice, Amada. This isn't a film; this is real life." He gave a dry chuckle of resignation, before continuing. "There aren't any secret tunnels lying about, we can't just sneak you out the back door in the middle of Tlālacuetztla, and I'm afraid I'm not willing to ship you out of the country in a packing box."
The ambassador tapped his fingers on the notebook rhythmically as he spoke, watching the colour drain from the woman's face. As her hopes were dashed at every stage, and the terror of her situation set in, he could only feel a deep sympathy for her. Yes, Dalton was sworn to preserve Novellan interests in the face of adversity, and yes, she had broken Xiomera's notoriously strict laws... but he was still human, after all.
"Amada. This is your only option. Besides... if you don't go through with this, and even if I could whisk you away to Lauchenoiria, what of your brother?"
“Please, I… oh God,” she moaned, her eyes filling up with tears. “What are they going to do to us? Please don’t let them kill us, I… I don’t want to die!” She realised as she was saying it that her words didn’t match up with his earlier statement. “Wait, you said something about a reduced sentence? Do you think you can stop them from hurting us?”
"As much as I am loath to suggest semantics at a time like this, that truly depends on your definition of both 'stop' and 'hurt'."
She moaned.
The ambassador winced once again as he spoke those words. Now was not the time for being smart, but by the same token, it was the only honest answer to her question. Even the most trivial of offences in Xiomera are punished with sufficient quantities of 'hurt'.
"I'll be the first to concede that I'm not an expert in Xiomeran criminal law, but I'm led to believe such summary offences as what you are charged with are typically afforded ten years of hard labour. And that's Xiomera's definition of 'hard labour', mind."
Picking up the pen he had brought with him into the room as he spoke, he twirled it around his fingers, as he laid out the ultimatum for Amada. Click, click again.
"Five years of hard labour. Each." He circled the word 'five' he had written on the page earlier.
“No,” she said, turning white as a sheet. “No, no, no, no…”
"As to whether that's to Xiomera's standard of 'hard labour', or 'hard labour' in the in the more traditional sense, will be down to how well I can convince Commander Cochcuitli that…" Dalton was cut short by his secretary's knocking on the door, as he glanced over to see what they wanted.
"Ambassador Dalton, sir. There's a Commander Cochcuitli of the Imperial Police here to see you, sir... I've had him placed into conference room two."
"Thank you, Alex." The diplomat turned back to Amada, with a look that might almost be construed as pleading. "For your brother, Amada?"
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said, and she had indeed begun to go a little green. “I don’t have a choice, do I? Please, I need a bucket…”
As the ambassador walked out of the room to meet with Commander Cochcuitli and discharge his requisite diplomatic platitudes on that front - Dalton had kept him waiting far longer than he would have liked, by now - he did make sure to stop by his secretary's desk, on the way. With the necessary haste demanding an option more immediate than sending to maintenance for a bucket, they brought a small office recycling bin to the room Amada was in, who was indeed promptly sick.
12:35 PM
Tlālacuetztla, Xiomera
Novella Islands' Embassy
“Please don’t hand me over to them! It was a mistake, I know, I was being stupid, I’m sorry, but please!” Amada said the moment Dalton entered the room. The longer she’d had to think about things, the more frightened she’d become. “I know I shouldn’t have been here; I promise, I’m not gonna do things like this again.”
The profuse barrage of pleading assaulted the ambassador’s senses the moment his hand turned the door handle, and he visibly winced as he connected eyes with the woman. Yes, of course what she was saying was true, though the shrill blubbering helped nobody… and certainly not Dalton’s conscience.
“Ms Toledano, please. Now…”
“Please listen, I’m sorry, I just thought, like, it would be cool but this isn’t like the movies, it’s real and I don’t want it to…”
“Now, Ms Toledano. Amada.” The Ambassador shifted his voice to a stern but reassuring register. He didn’t have time to waste on outbursts of emotions, and nor did she. Straight down to business.
“Amada. I regret to inform you that your… associates? Friends? In any case. The other three you were with this morning, have all been taken into Imperial Police custody.”
She cringed. “Oh God, my brother. He only came here for me. I’m such an idiot.”
“I’m assured by Commander Cochcuitli of the Central Tlālacuetztla Imperial Police that they are being treated humanely and in accordance with Xiomeran law… such as it is, in any case.”
“That doesn’t mean anything!” she exclaimed. “I doubt the Xiomerans know what ‘humanely’ means! I’m pretty sure their laws let them use prisoners in creepy experiments!”
“Let me be pragmatic with you, Amada. The Xiomerans aren’t going to fumble the ball here for a bit of sick and twisted fun, at least, not while we’re watching like a hawk.” The Novellan gave a wry smile, knowing full well that it was indeed his presence that was preventing the Imperial Police from their usual bouts of excessive interrogation.
“If you think that watching them will stop them, you’re mistaken. They’re probably gonna execute my brother and the other two whether you’re looking at them or not. I’m such a fool… but, like, what are you going to do? Are you gonna hand me over to them or let me go back to Lauchenoiria?”
“I… I do have a proposal. You’re almost certainly not going to be ecstatic about it, but under the circumstances, I’m sure you will agree it will be in everybody’s best interests.” Dalton gave a slight sigh as he plopped himself down in the chair opposite Toledano, before placing the notebook between them.
Now, to convince her that five years in a Xiomeran jail cell is the ‘easy way’ out. Hopefully, she’s close with her ‘friends’.
“I can probably arrange for you - and the other three WOE members - to be handed a reduced sentence. But that’s going to require a great deal of cooperation from you… including an admission of guilt.”
“You’re going to hand me over to them!?” she squeaked, her voice increasing in pitch as she tensed all her muscles.
"I'm afraid we don't have all that much choice, Amada. This isn't a film; this is real life." He gave a dry chuckle of resignation, before continuing. "There aren't any secret tunnels lying about, we can't just sneak you out the back door in the middle of Tlālacuetztla, and I'm afraid I'm not willing to ship you out of the country in a packing box."
The ambassador tapped his fingers on the notebook rhythmically as he spoke, watching the colour drain from the woman's face. As her hopes were dashed at every stage, and the terror of her situation set in, he could only feel a deep sympathy for her. Yes, Dalton was sworn to preserve Novellan interests in the face of adversity, and yes, she had broken Xiomera's notoriously strict laws... but he was still human, after all.
"Amada. This is your only option. Besides... if you don't go through with this, and even if I could whisk you away to Lauchenoiria, what of your brother?"
“Please, I… oh God,” she moaned, her eyes filling up with tears. “What are they going to do to us? Please don’t let them kill us, I… I don’t want to die!” She realised as she was saying it that her words didn’t match up with his earlier statement. “Wait, you said something about a reduced sentence? Do you think you can stop them from hurting us?”
"As much as I am loath to suggest semantics at a time like this, that truly depends on your definition of both 'stop' and 'hurt'."
She moaned.
The ambassador winced once again as he spoke those words. Now was not the time for being smart, but by the same token, it was the only honest answer to her question. Even the most trivial of offences in Xiomera are punished with sufficient quantities of 'hurt'.
"I'll be the first to concede that I'm not an expert in Xiomeran criminal law, but I'm led to believe such summary offences as what you are charged with are typically afforded ten years of hard labour. And that's Xiomera's definition of 'hard labour', mind."
Picking up the pen he had brought with him into the room as he spoke, he twirled it around his fingers, as he laid out the ultimatum for Amada. Click, click again.
"Five years of hard labour. Each." He circled the word 'five' he had written on the page earlier.
“No,” she said, turning white as a sheet. “No, no, no, no…”
"As to whether that's to Xiomera's standard of 'hard labour', or 'hard labour' in the in the more traditional sense, will be down to how well I can convince Commander Cochcuitli that…" Dalton was cut short by his secretary's knocking on the door, as he glanced over to see what they wanted.
"Ambassador Dalton, sir. There's a Commander Cochcuitli of the Imperial Police here to see you, sir... I've had him placed into conference room two."
"Thank you, Alex." The diplomat turned back to Amada, with a look that might almost be construed as pleading. "For your brother, Amada?"
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said, and she had indeed begun to go a little green. “I don’t have a choice, do I? Please, I need a bucket…”
As the ambassador walked out of the room to meet with Commander Cochcuitli and discharge his requisite diplomatic platitudes on that front - Dalton had kept him waiting far longer than he would have liked, by now - he did make sure to stop by his secretary's desk, on the way. With the necessary haste demanding an option more immediate than sending to maintenance for a bucket, they brought a small office recycling bin to the room Amada was in, who was indeed promptly sick.