08-08-2023, 01:42 PM
Theater of Visions, Caronia
Friday, 13th January 1872
“Another fantastic performance, Fabián. You’ve outdone yourself once again!” Fabián Pesina hurriedly brushed through the long row of fat cats sitting in the front row of the theater as applause rang out all around. The world-renowned playwright had just debuted his latest performance and it did not disappoint.
But with every successful play of his came the floods of aristocrats who wished to spin Fabián’s works as one of the many achievements of Costenan colonial rule of Aredoa, which could not be further from the truth. In fact, the only contribution of Costeno to Fabián’s brilliance is that most of his antagonists resembled what he saw as the stereotypical Costenan elite- wealthy, powerful, obnoxious, stupid, complacent.
Not that any of them got the reference. They had been born as the successors to their fathers’ wealth, a ‘career’ that did not require much intellect. Most attended elite schools in the capital where teachers were scared into giving all the aristocratic children nothing but the top grades.
“Congratulations, Fabián. I’ll be in contact with those ministry links we discussed.” The men were all just empty suits to Fabián as he sped through, giving each one a brief handshake and an ingenuine smile. He was in a rush. Normally he would be attending a post-show party with his cast, but not tonight. He had a prior engagement that was firmly in the center of his mind.
Fabián exited the theater. He did not take one of the many horses and carts waiting for passengers. Instead, he set out walking through the dimly lit streets on the pleasant January evening, taking in his surroundings as he strode. Fabián left the city center and headed towards the impoverished outskirts, rushing to catch one of the few carriages that would be headed to Bancoa that evening.
Ministry of State Security, Vahania
“So, a ‘Cultural Congress’, they call it?” Under-Secretary Segura smoked a fine Aredoan cigar, filling the room with the light mist of smoke, as he posed the question to the intelligence agents standing in front of him. A number of officials were gathered to hear the details of the intelligence briefing.
“Yes, sir. A ragtag group seeking to undermine the state’s cultural reforms that have brought Aredoa firmly under the sphere of Costenan influence. It is their stated goal to restore a bespoke Aredoan national identity.”
“Well, why haven’t we shut them down yet? These things inevitably lead to notions of separating from the empire. I’d rather that it doesn’t get there, Colonel.” The Under-Secretary made no effort to hide his frustration. He had much better things to do on a Friday evening than to listen to the ramblings of fools.
“We have spent months gathering information on the group, sir. It is a collection of socialists, communists, suffragettes, trade unionists, self-determinationists, you name it. A recipe for treason. Our goal is not just to ban the cultural movement, but to cut off the heads of the various undesirable political movements. In one fell swoop, we will be able to seize their leaders and have them imprisoned for their sedition.”
“How much longer do we have to let this group fester while you gather intelligence? Decisive action is no good if it is not swift.”
“You misunderstand, Under-Secretary, we believe we have all the information we need to act now. The Cultural Congress is meeting in Bancoa tonight. With your blessing, we can move into their meeting place in a matter of hours.”
Chief of Police Javier Murillo spoke up this time. “Bancoa? We don’t have much of a presence down that far south. The logistics of mass arrests just don’t make sense with our manpower.”
“I have men from the capital that are stationed down there in anticipation, Chief Murillo. All I need is the Under-Secretary’s signature and we’re a go.”
Under-Secretary Segura let out a deep sigh. He wasn’t known for being a very inspiring leader. “Well, if you insist, Colonel. Just know that any failure and the blame will be placed squarely on you. I have no time for incompetence." He was handed a piece of paper by one of the intelligence agents and, after giving it a brief scan with his eyes, placed his signature on it.
Under the Protection of the State Ordinance (1836), I, the undersigned, do authorize any and all means of force to suppress the seditious and treasonous activities in the region of Bancoa.
X Anton Segura
Friday, 13th January 1872
“Another fantastic performance, Fabián. You’ve outdone yourself once again!” Fabián Pesina hurriedly brushed through the long row of fat cats sitting in the front row of the theater as applause rang out all around. The world-renowned playwright had just debuted his latest performance and it did not disappoint.
But with every successful play of his came the floods of aristocrats who wished to spin Fabián’s works as one of the many achievements of Costenan colonial rule of Aredoa, which could not be further from the truth. In fact, the only contribution of Costeno to Fabián’s brilliance is that most of his antagonists resembled what he saw as the stereotypical Costenan elite- wealthy, powerful, obnoxious, stupid, complacent.
Not that any of them got the reference. They had been born as the successors to their fathers’ wealth, a ‘career’ that did not require much intellect. Most attended elite schools in the capital where teachers were scared into giving all the aristocratic children nothing but the top grades.
“Congratulations, Fabián. I’ll be in contact with those ministry links we discussed.” The men were all just empty suits to Fabián as he sped through, giving each one a brief handshake and an ingenuine smile. He was in a rush. Normally he would be attending a post-show party with his cast, but not tonight. He had a prior engagement that was firmly in the center of his mind.
Fabián exited the theater. He did not take one of the many horses and carts waiting for passengers. Instead, he set out walking through the dimly lit streets on the pleasant January evening, taking in his surroundings as he strode. Fabián left the city center and headed towards the impoverished outskirts, rushing to catch one of the few carriages that would be headed to Bancoa that evening.
Ministry of State Security, Vahania
“So, a ‘Cultural Congress’, they call it?” Under-Secretary Segura smoked a fine Aredoan cigar, filling the room with the light mist of smoke, as he posed the question to the intelligence agents standing in front of him. A number of officials were gathered to hear the details of the intelligence briefing.
“Yes, sir. A ragtag group seeking to undermine the state’s cultural reforms that have brought Aredoa firmly under the sphere of Costenan influence. It is their stated goal to restore a bespoke Aredoan national identity.”
“Well, why haven’t we shut them down yet? These things inevitably lead to notions of separating from the empire. I’d rather that it doesn’t get there, Colonel.” The Under-Secretary made no effort to hide his frustration. He had much better things to do on a Friday evening than to listen to the ramblings of fools.
“We have spent months gathering information on the group, sir. It is a collection of socialists, communists, suffragettes, trade unionists, self-determinationists, you name it. A recipe for treason. Our goal is not just to ban the cultural movement, but to cut off the heads of the various undesirable political movements. In one fell swoop, we will be able to seize their leaders and have them imprisoned for their sedition.”
“How much longer do we have to let this group fester while you gather intelligence? Decisive action is no good if it is not swift.”
“You misunderstand, Under-Secretary, we believe we have all the information we need to act now. The Cultural Congress is meeting in Bancoa tonight. With your blessing, we can move into their meeting place in a matter of hours.”
Chief of Police Javier Murillo spoke up this time. “Bancoa? We don’t have much of a presence down that far south. The logistics of mass arrests just don’t make sense with our manpower.”
“I have men from the capital that are stationed down there in anticipation, Chief Murillo. All I need is the Under-Secretary’s signature and we’re a go.”
Under-Secretary Segura let out a deep sigh. He wasn’t known for being a very inspiring leader. “Well, if you insist, Colonel. Just know that any failure and the blame will be placed squarely on you. I have no time for incompetence." He was handed a piece of paper by one of the intelligence agents and, after giving it a brief scan with his eyes, placed his signature on it.
Under the Protection of the State Ordinance (1836), I, the undersigned, do authorize any and all means of force to suppress the seditious and treasonous activities in the region of Bancoa.
X Anton Segura