[color=gold][center][h1]The Gran Federación Azulvista Turns Over A New Page In Its History:[/h1][/center][/color]
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[color=gold][center][h2]When in Rome...[/h2]
[i] The Senate tests its capacity in the face of a new Galaxy
Featuring: Disma De La Cruz[/i][/center][/color]

For centuries, the venerable halls of the Cortes Generale had stood at the heart of Azulvista. The olive trees planted along the grand processional had slowly begun to be uprooted and replaced as they approached their final years, scaffolding had been set up along one wall to facilitate cleaning methods, and even the front that contained the halls of the Senate itself had undergone rennovations within the past decade. It was a building that oozed history, oozed power, oozed [i]Azulvista.[/i] 

Inside, arrayed across tiered seats with plush, velvet covers or standing around the fringes of the commanding central podium, sat and stood not humans, but statues, hair neatly trimmed or carefully coralled into pitch-perfect stylings, business suits and military uniforms pressed and clean, buttons shining, cufflinks gleaming, every single face symmetrical, unblemished and [i]perfect[/i] in a way that no Homo Sapiens could ever hope to accomplish without surgery.

And they were all bickering.

Disma Martin José Perpetua Andrea De La Cruz was slumped, half-asleep in his chair, a cigarillo smouldering in the ashtray in front of him, his ears long since having tuned out the constant, unrelenting, maximum-volume shouting match that had sprawled out for hours now. Frankly, he was amazed that none of the old farts so proud of their own voices had even come close to throwing down a glove, but it seemed that even in a moment of grandeur and glory, a time where the Saints themselves had reached out to show their beneficent face, to rip open the portal between stars... The Augustus Clique was still doing what it always did - form ranks, squabble over petty bullshit and make everyone else listen to them as they rambled on and on about what a momentus time it was.

Blindly, his hand flopped out and scrabbled for his smoke, the Profectus' perfect, sculpted fingers wrapping around the length of dried leaf to bring it to his mouth. For a moment - one, small, [i]blissful[/i] moment, the rest of the world fell away, replaced only by the soft crackle of embers awakening, the rush of smoke as it entered his mouth, and the smooth, rich flavour of the Lebrón family plantations. He exhaled, and the world around him crashed back in.

Saints he was so sick of this shit. 

Blinking his eyes a few times, he cast a weary eye around the room. Once, the Senado had been a place of fluidity, of movement, of dynamism - no voting blocs, just people with mutual interests shaking hands to push through policy and sort the system's problems. Now, its rigidity wasn't just political, but [i]physical[/i], the room itself bent to serve those who had been here for centuries, and would probably remain for at least a century to come. On the right, every chair packed, every seat with an ass placed atop it, were the Augustus Clique - the old geroncrats who had never once seen a suggestion they couldn't coopt into making them personally better off. In the center were the Gracchi Clique, younger faces, but the light long gone from behind their eyes as they pushed reforms that either did nothing or were killed off... And then, where he sat among a scattered collection of other young faces, were the members of the De Angelo Clique.

Disma sighed yet again, and took another long pull from his cigarillo. Half-heartedly, he reached forward to nudge the button that signalled to the Speaker that he wished to talk, his eyes rising up to the wizened figure of Grandes Béatrice. She glanced down at the screen before her, then looked up and across, their gazes meeting each other. He gave a weak smile, she pursed her lips, as if accepting the request was a personal insult to her and everything she stood for. Then, the sscreen in front of him dinged softly, his name slotting neatly into place below so many others... But fuck that, honestly. 

He adjusted the microphone in front of him a few times, took a sip of water to clear his throat, and then leaned forward to speak. "Yes, thank you for your wonderful contribution to the discussion, Senator de Nuevo Porto. If I may..." There was immediate consternation from across the room, dagger-like stares thrown the way of the young man. The Grandes opened her mouth as if to say something, but he cut in first, before she could shut him down and turn off his mic. Raising up a hand to pinch thumb to middle finger, he began. "Given that I have been granted allowance to speak, and the venerable Senator has been talking for the past... Forty seven minutes, I was hoping that I might make a suggestion which is to the benefit of everyone in this most hallowed of institutions. A proposal, if you will." He rose to his feet, away from the mic, cigarillo clenched between his teeth, a smirk across his face. There were going to be pictures of this moment, he was sure of it.

He extended his arm out before him, held it up high, then raised his index, pausing for dramatic effect before launching his plan. "Despite it now having been days since the reopening of the Gateway, we have only marshalled the Armada to protect our own border, not to venture forth, and see whatever or whomever else might still be there. We still do not even know the status of venerable Earth, let alone any number of other systems that the Initiative's hand once graced. However, we have La Introducción, and we have the right honourable Senator Don De Carvajal, of the Gracchi, whose ancestors once sailed the seas of our home planet as a pioneer and explorer. Does it not seem right, that he should take up the position on a bridge once more? Is it not correct that we should send one of the most esteemed members of the Gracchi to make contact with Sol, and see the Sun our Saints carried us from? Is it not apt, to meet history with history, legend with life and answer destiny with legacy?"

Before anyone could even begin to protest, he pressed forward. Anything to end this interminable rot that had set in. "I wish to put it to a vote now, before we go through the laborious process of creating a final draft. Those in favour, please, signal so now." He reached down and tapped at the screen, causing it to flash a bright green, then raised one of his hands up as if he was about to listen to the anthem.

Around him, the De Angelos stirred. A few quiet whispers, a few suspicious glances sent his way, and then one by one the sounds of fingers against touchscreens, and the glow of green began to emerge out from the left of the room. In the center, the Gracchis had been almost more enthusiastic than his own clique was, and a sea of green light began to emerge out, until at last, even as they shot daggers across to him, a few of the Augustus members reached forward, and green began to flicker to life.

[color=gold][i]That ought to put some fire in them.[/i][/color]

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[color=gold][center][h2]Il Duque's Daughter Is A Caged Wolf[/h2]
[i] One woman navigates Azulvista's longest night.
Featuring: Isabella de Isla Loba and Disma De La Cruz[/i][/center][/color]

[b]Anno 800, 01/01/08. Winter Solstice.
La Cabeza, Isla Loba Duchy.

13:45[/b]
Isabella looks pristine and perfect. Her hair has been done up in muted Flavian style- the excessive coifing and curling left behind in favour for a still extravagant but more understated. An automated cook now goes through its self-cleaning cycle to get rid of the dregs of a guiso. Today will not feature a feast, after all. Isabella has drunk a single modest glass of wine, her BAC is 0.3.

[b]14:00[/b]
The first guests - Thiago J.S.A.S Cantero and his partner, Mia V.V.M.I Merino, arrive exactly on time. They are met with a warm welcome, and the first of their two bottles of wine is promptly opened. The trio share light conversation, cigarettes and drinks on the apartment's balcony, as the first sun approaches the horizon. A second glass of wine puts Isabella at a 0.6 BAC.

[b]14:23[/b]
The main body of the guests arrive, putting the penthouse's occupancy to 13 people. An order placed to the building's kitchen sees several trays of canapés arrive, and the conversation continues on the balcony. The second bottle of Thiago's wine is finished by the time Azulvista Prima touches the horizon, a warm haze shimmering above the coast off La Cabeza. Isabella's BAC remains at 0.6.

[b]14:54[/b]
The first sun has now fully set, but Azulvista is caught in the twilight of a double sunset - Altacanción Prima will soon sink below the horizon, starting the longest night. All but one of the guests have now arrived, and light orchestral music now makes its way across the balcony, where it's swept out into the evening breeze along with the tobacco smoke. One of the profecti present is a violinist - an instrument is quickly found for them. Isabella's BAC has crept to 0.9.

[b]15:02[/b]
The second sun sets to polite applause from the young patricians. The violinist bows and the instrument is set back inside. Light conversation continues as the canapés are finished, along with another several bottles of wine. Isabella finishes her eighth cigarette of the evening, and the ashtrays have to be emptied out. Her BAC remains at 0.9.

[b]15:36[/b]
A light drizzle begins, and the balcony's roof is unfurled to keep the guests dry. Pleasantries continue, but the first of Isabella's alcohol collection comes out - a Zamorano Distillery, Anno 699. Many compliments are exchanged as tasters go around to the group. Mia is already giggly - Isabella is feeling slightly light headed at a BAC of 0.13.

[b]17:00[/b]
The final guest has still yet to arrive, but the last of the day's warmth has seeped away. The guests retreat inside, where the large hosting lounge is rearranged for the group, and its tobacco filters are set to full blast. The bottle of Zamorano is quietly put away as the mixology machine in the otherwise pristine kitchen is set to work. Soon, the partygoers are sipping caipirinhas, daquiris and between the sheets. The music has changed too - although the initial bosso nuevo is quickly exchanged for new style flamenco. Isabella's BAC is now 0.23.

[b]19:05[/b]
The first few guests have taken their leave without ever seeing the final guest. Isabella sees them out politely, but with a notable sway to her gait. The violinist has picked the instrument up again, but merely plucks rather than actually playing. A second round of more substantial foodstuffs arrives to the penthouse. Isabella's BAC is now 0.25.

[b]20:09[/b]
Disma De La Cruz finally arrives to the penthouse.

[b]20:17[/b]
"You've been at this for [i]how[/i] many hours and you still haven't needed to downcycle once? Come on now Iz, that's just lazy." Disma's cigarillo smouldered away as the man himself rummages through a seemingly endless series of darkened glass bottles.

"I'm hosting Dis, that means guests come before I do. Starting to reconsider if I should have bothered if you're going to be like this about it." Isabella rolled her eyes, taking lazy drags from her cigarette. 

"Oh I'm messing with you..." He paused and more clinking followed, before he finally and triumphantly retrieved a bottle. "Finally something that'll serve. Didn't expect a de Loba to have something like this in their drinks cabinet. Silver Label Number 3? Didn't you know the..." A faux-gasp, "Mathetes drink this stuff?" He popped the bottle open with a practiced hand, then gave it an experimental sniff. "Eh, it'll do."

"Careful making mathetes jokes with Fernando around, I'm sure he'd love that condescending attitude. But yes, I have a bottle of Silver Label around, I anticipate certain people having absolutely terrible taste." She allowed herself a small smirk as the senator restarted his search, this time for glasswear.

"Shot glasses... Shot glasses... Shot glasses... Give me a hand here Iz, this is ridiculous, you have like fifteen cabinets here."

"Second row, last across." she sighed. "You still haven't said why you were so late by the way." She ground the butt of her cigarette out, then near-immediately retrieved a fresh one out from a silver case. 

"And I'm not going to! Aren't I wonderful like that?" Disma flashed a grin right back at the host - the very same one that had graced the news only a few evenings prior, only lacking the addition of his cigarillo. "Right," he set the glasses down. "It's not just us taking these right?"

"Oh for... Go to the lounge, I'll bring it in behind you. Nice hat, by the way, doesn't make you look stupid when you wear it inside at all." Cutting in close to Disma, she did everything short of physically pushing him out of her kitchen.

"Well I figured if I was going to make more headlines, I needed a stronger brand. You like it? I think the cross is a nice touch." He reached up to the wide brim of his tejana and gave it a rakish tip, the golden cross glinting in the kitchen's light, before vanishing out the room.

[b]20:42[/b]
After the first rounds of shots, Isabella is forced to retreat from the party and tap the penthouse's detox machine. By the time she returns, her BAC is down to 0.3.

[b]20:57[/b]
The bottle of Silver Label is entirely drained. Sensing the shift in mood, several more of the patricians take their leave, but some remain, leaving eight members of the party left standing as the next hour ticks over. The lounge's chairs are brought in closer, the music once again changes, and a suggestion is made to get out a set of cards. Isabella's BAC is back to 0.10

[b]21:47[/b]
"Remind me why I play cards with you assholes?" Fernando ran a hand back through his hair, eyes flicking between his dwindling set of chips, his cigar and the flop. "I know you're all cheating, I know I have to work twice as hard to keep up, and yet somehow every damn time Disma goes 'oH we sHouLd pLaY pOkER' I end up getting roped into this shit. Check."

"Counting cards isn't cheating! It's just playing smart!" Mia tossed a chip forward, her hand slowly drifting down to take another sip from a lipstick-marked glass filled with cuba libra. "Check, by the way."

"Easy for Profecti to say, little miss 'my parents spent millions on my ability to track variables.' The mathetes sighed, then reached for his cigar, teeth working away a little before he took several deep puffs.

"Oh, because yours [i]only[/i] paid how many thousands it's my fault? You're not even a-" she took a quick gulp of her drink. "Plebe, come on."

Glancing across to Fernando, Disma cut across any further remarks from Mia. "Is that how I sound?" Disma smirked, fingers running over his set of chips. "Bet, $1000." A small groan from Fernando as the mathetes eyed up his stack.

"Yeah, it is actually." Fernando finally replied, before rolling his eyes and staring at Disma across the smoky lounge. There was a breif-moment of faux tension, before the pair shared a brief snicker, Fernando glancing across the table. "Alright, alright, Isabella?"

"Call." Isaballa's carefully done up hair had collapsed after the first few hands, the pins that had held her bun in place now sitting beside her stack of chips. "Fernando, you know there's no [i]requirement[/i] to play, right? If you're worried about your disadvantage you can stay out of the game rather than go into it grumpy."

"Hey, I'm happy to prove that us mathetes can lose [i]exactly[/i] as much money on poker as all you fancy patricians. Besides, it balances out because half of you are hammered." 

"And you're not!?" Despite having just refilled it, Mia's glass was already looking remarkably empty.

"Not as much as you at least. Tiago?" A small smile crossed Fernando's face as he gestured across to the last player sat around the table.

"Raise, $500. Also, are we playing or complaining here? Come on, let's get the Turn down at least." Reaching for his cigar, the table's focus shifted as the next card came down. 

[b]22:17[/b]
"Alright, I [i]finally[/i] got Mia to actually downcycle, saints above." Tiago flopped down atop one of the lounge's chaises, the final hand of the poker game still strewn across the table. "You feeling smug by the way Disma? Isn't Carvajal reaching the Gateway soon?"

"Oh, very smug, yeah." Disma reached to his breast pocket and pulled out a broad, thick cigar tube and popped the lid... Only for a distinctly more herbal smell than tobacco to spread out into the room.

"Not in the fucking lounge!" Isabella stuck her head back through the door, one arm pointed out towards the balcony door. "Blessed Esmeralda save me from the lot of you, Tiago did you just [i]leave[/i] your girlfriend hooked to the detox?"

"She literally insisted so yeah, yeah I did. It's fine, she's a big girl and she's done it before." He waved off Disma's offer. "I'm all good, thanks though."

"Iz, you joining me? Nobody else here is." Disma swept up his hat and narrowly avoided setting it down backwards, taking a cautious step to weigh how much the room was shifting around him.

"... The rest of you behave. I'll be back in ten. Tiago, if Mia does anything stupid I'm holding you accountable."

[b]22:19[/b]

"I'm guessing you haven't seen the news yet then." Disma had propped himself up in a corner of the balcony, fingers idly twirling the smoke around as Isabella emerged from the house, holding a glass of water.

"Can we not play this game right now Dis, if there's some kind of grand point you're building to, the-" Her hand hung in the air, still reaching for the stick.

"Chalca just fell to FUDA. Happened at around seven." There was a beat as the senator relinquished the joint, before turning to face Isabella properly. "Cesar, Elena, whole de Chalca family got snatched and they're not hitting and fading this time."

Isabella's eyes bulged a little, their entire body freezing for just a moment. "You decided to tell me about this [i]now?![/i]" 

"Well I didn't want to intrude on the atmosphere. Fun party by the way." He shrugged, Isabella working her jaw a few times before reluctantly taking her first drag. "Chancellor announced a state of emergency and the Senado is expected to ratify it tomorrow morning."

"[i]¡Chingada madre![/i]" She paused for a moment, smoke seeping out from her mouth, mind obviously racing. "There's de Loba Auxilia on Altacanción, the Hounds... Mierda, those are [i]my boys![/i]" Another, more pensive pull on the smoke. "I should-" Before she continued, she handed the joint back with an accusatory gesture. "What the hell is [i]in[/i] that thing?"

"I don't know, some new strain from the Lebrón plantations, not the point. Look, Iz, I know what you're thinking and it's a bad idea." Disma held out his hands apologetically. "You're right, this demands a response beyond what the Senado will do. But we have to play smarter than this."

"Disma, I know to a senator casualties are distant, but we're talking about ducal auxilia here. These aren't abstract deaths, they're body bags and soldier's funerals. People [i]notice these things.[/i]" Isabella folded her arms over, obviously unimpressed.

"Look, [i]please.[/i] The gusanos know that the Gateway reopening is important. We've had how many years of low-level conflict and the offensive came [i]now?[/i] It didn't have to be this specifically, but they were clearly planning for something so they could escalate. We have to do the same." He sighed, and for a moment some of the tension dissapated behind a screen of smoke. Puffing out a single ring, Disma continued.

"Look, I can guarantee you the Senado is going to mishandle the situation somehow. They might [i]already[/i] have managed to do so, I can't be sure. I'm not going to tell you how you should do it - you know your deal better than I do, but I [i]know[/i] whatever play you make, you need to hold it in reserve for as long as possible."

"Even if that means the situation starts to deteriorate? Disma, it'll take two..." She paused for a moment as she took the smoke back, before correcting herself. "Orbits are bad, it's three and a half weeks at hard burn AZL-ALT. And the Armada's occupied at the Gateway, so..."

Disma finally let out a small breath. "Exactly, and most forces here aren't ready for transport, so... Again, hold your fire. Use the time to get the response [i]organised[/i]. You have real power here, so keep it as an ace - play it on the best hand, not the first one it's good in." Isabella passed the stick back, Disma mimicking her earlier fiddling as Isabella thought.

"Alright. Fine. I'll get in touch with the other Julianos in the same stitch I'm in and we'll see what we think about the whole thing." She nodded slowly, one hand now idly playing with her cigarette case.

"Good. Great, even." He nodded stiffly a few times, then let out a slow breath. "You know, in some ways I'm almost appreciative of the play. Not even from [i]their[/i] perspective, but because, well..." He sighed a little, grinding the roach into one of the many ashtrays littering the balcony. "The Senado has already started fucking up with their reaction to the Gateway. More pressure on them means more opportunities for them to fuck up, and the more they fuck up..."

"The better things are for us." Isabella finished his sentence before turning and leaning on the balcony herself, eyes intractably drawn to space... And more than just space, the newly born third star, a stark bright twinkle that refused to be dimmed even through Cabeza's light pollution; the Gateway.

[color=gold]"The more everything changes... The less it all stays the same."[/color]