Dinh AaronMk — Roleplayer Guild

Lower Peninsula

Lansing

The floor of the Representatives was abuzz as one man stole the debate on the floor, railing as he commanded the stand and thrusting and throwing his hands like a conductor orchestrating. His voice rose and fell. His energy strong, and passion there.

But he wasn't necessarily on topic.

Taking advantage of particular oversights in House function representative Paul Studdermaeder decided to go on the same tired political crusade that he started when he arrived from Traverse City. He commanded a certain notoriety for irrelevance and instead tried to direct the topic away from the war bill and on to fishing rights, then to the competitiveness of the Michigan brewing industry and local notoriety of the wines. He droned and driveled from the head of the chamber and couldn't be stopped on the pure technicality that he had started discussing the proposed war bill.

As off-topic as it was, it was a relief to Erwin he leaned back in the gallery stairs and listened with placated entertainment. Even if it wasn't meant to be Representative Studdermaeder's choice in time to strike was a delaying tactic for the senate that'd ultimately dilute the war authorizations before it passed to them for tacit approval or denial. However much was up to the wind really.

“I didn't think I would ever have to sit through so much of what I never needed to hear.” a observing passerby whispered to Erwin. Being the nearest neighbor in an otherwise empty gallery, the passing move to strike up conversation was understood.

“Welcome to politics.” Erwin replied with an earnest smile.

“I had a friend who was on the Williamston Village Council, he used to write me about what they were doing and it sounded civilized to say the least.” the man sounded baffled as he watched, “The House was in session, I figured I'd see how they do it. And I don't know what I expected anymore.”

Erwin smiled and nodded. With a soft laugh he turned to the man and answered him: “Welcome to the House of Animals.” He dressed himself with an all too pleasant and knowing smile of humored loathing, “I was once interested in a Representative seat, but I ended up passing that up on a Senate chair.”

“You're a senator?”  the man asked, stunned.

“Mhm.” he nodded, “I'm eyes and ears right now. Another correspondence on internal legislation.”

“Well that sounds...” the other started, “I suppose that's interesting.” he added politely, “What's your take on this?”

“Who's asking?” Erwin offered.

“Dave Conegal, Grand Ledge Herald.” he introduced himself.

“Oh, so you're in to cover politics?”

“Well, yes and no-” Dave said, resigned, “I was in Lansing to cover the proceedings for a ferry link along the Grand River between here and Lansing, a mass transit sort of option in partnership with communities down and up river. And well: it's off hours and I felt I should see a congressional event.

“Unfortunately, I'm rather disappointed.”

“As would anyone, but our friend's play at the podium isn't completely misguided if you know what he's doing.”

“How's that?”

“Studdermaeder is new meat, newly elected. As political news goes, he was elected to replace his predecessor on the basis that he'd give new voice to the Traverse Bay area. The man that came before him, Braedy Kind was what you might get away with calling career, but he since carried over into the Senate. As rumor had it, he was projected to loose in the much smaller Representative district and he rolled the dice on the larger Senatorial district.

“Representative Studdermaeder is simply doing as he said: albeit in an obnoxious way that derails any discussion.”

“I see it now.” Conegal nodded, “He can't be stopped?”

“Not at this point, only his breath will. He'll keep the wind his for as long as he needs or can. Back home people will hear he fought for them on a bill, and despite not having any significant legislation to his name: he'll stay.”

“Fascinating, so what's your opinion on all of this then?”

“I don't think I'm obliged to answer questions on senate business.” Erwin answered with a wry smile, “Perhaps another question. Perhaps another time.”

“When could the senate answer questions, if I might ask?”

“Next week, maybe.” the senator answered, “Provided this makes it out on time and we don't adjust any schedules to accommodate for this change of plan.”

“Then I won't pry you any deeper.” Dave said, excusing himself as he leaned away from Erwin. He returned to silence, watching the impassioned fillabuster on the floor below. Despite knowing what was going on though, he wasn't amazingly impressed with the off-topic show of force.

“Humor me, how'd you get into politics?” he asked, leaning back over to Erwin.

“My father decided to become mayor of our hometown a few years after the bombs fell. By then people were starting to suffer from the starvation after the bombs or leaving to seek refuge in the mystical golden states to the south, or to the Great Prairie where it was said they weren't as bad off; they never returned.

“Not many people were around to notice or take him seriously, but he won. And won young. Had me a few years after.

“But all through my child-hood he brooded over our town, a little hamlet east of here called Howell. So, you could say I was raised politically, and he gave me the inspiration to try and leave. Simple as that.”

“So what happened to your dad?”

“He up and disappeared.” Erwin nodded, leaving it to that. But what needn't be said was towards the end the elder Codlyka was himself a slowly growing more eccentric by the weak. He was beginning to spend weeks out of the office in an almost withdrawn, detached state.

By his last night he had whispered many things. “I miss it all.” being one. Then he was gone.

“So unfortunate. God rest his soul, that's all that needs to be said.”

“Aye indeed, God rest his pour soul.”

Upper Peninsula

South-west of Escanaba

The singing of songbirds was swept away with the arrival of an army of ax-weilding men who began to disperse at the end of their road. The beaten and rutted two-track path ended in a vast sandy clearing where there was already an assortment of tools laid out waiting for them. A shoddily built gazebo on one side made an open-air long-hall where metal and plastic tables had been thrown down in a haphazard fashion as an outdoor mess hall for the lumberjacks. Posts driven into the spring-melt whetted sand housed heavy posts for the horses to be tied to.

The order given was decidedly silent as the laborers dispersed into the forests to go about their work. In teams of three they fanned into the shady brush of towering spruce and inter-spaced hardwoods. Worries bird song chirped overhead and more than a few squirrels scuttled away at the wet cracking of twigs as they went about.

“So Marc, ya gonna try and get back at that McTarson guy for whipping you good?” Flannagan asked excitedly as he followed alongside him. His wide green eyes begged for more blood as he looked his partner over.

“No.” Marc answered simply.

“What? Shit man why not, he fucking iced you is what he did! Shit, it's what we woulda fucking did in Traverse, I tell you that much!”

“Troll,” a husky voice grumbled from behind them, “You shut your fuckin' trap or I'll have to beat you in a brawl here and now. And I will be tacking your tongue as a trophy when I win.”

Marc looked behind him with unemotional apathy. He was still too hung-over for any of this shit and just wanted to cut some wood.

Behind them was a bear of a man, a hulking pillar of old muscle who had been in the field more than any one of the two in front of him. With a great husky beard and mustache that obscured his lips, and giant caterpillar eyebrows he was a true bear in the face as well. “I don't give a flying fuck what ya Trolls do in Traverse. But up 'er we have rules. And Marc – drunk as he can be – abides be dem.” he grunted as he shifted the long saw that rested bent over his shoulder.

“I don't rightly remember, nor do I care about this fight.” Marc grumbled.

“Aye.” the bear of a man acknowledged, “And knowin' Marc for as long as I have, dhat's all he needs t'here.”

“Fuck, the two of you are fucking boring.” Flannagan swore.

“Rightly so, run on ahead and measure up and mark some trees for us to cut and we can get on with our job.”

“Fuck, fine.” moaned Flannagan, bounding further down the wooded path.

As he foot steps grew distance, the bear walked up alongside Marc. “Piece of work he is, eh?”

“Where dha fuck did Jimmer find him even?”

“I dunno, but I take he came in off'er dha boats, lookin' for work for the season. Some migratory ass hole. But we'll make a man of the kid yet.”

“Is that so?” Marc asked.

“Yea, Brady said he'd take him hunting later t'is summer to put blood on his hands. Force him to eat his first heart like dha Woodsmen up north and around Iron Mountain like t'do. Maybe then he'll have some of dha north in him and have more respect.”

“That can't be it though?” Marc asked him.

“Aye, I offered after I'd fight him hand to hand like a man.

“We already know he can drink, but he 'comes a piece of piss when he's shitfaced so that's not on dha agender. Probably best we don't force him to drink till he drops, or he might come fer ya now.”

“I'd rather not fuck with him, honestly.”

“Good, so we're settled t'jus knocking his teeth out. Fine by me.”

As they turned a bend in the path, they pumped into Flanagan. The corrosive southerner had been rendered there on the spot a frozen statue of awe, and bleached disgust. His features a frozen wide-eye statue.

In the middle of the lumberjacks' path the dessecrated corpse of what appeared to be a bear. The hide shorn off of, and the rest of the misshapen remains laid sprawled out in the middle of the run.

“F-fuck, what is that!?” Flannagan stammered, frozen with fear.

“Well, shit.” Marc muttered to himself, “George, is it really one?” he asked, turning to the man bear.

Mumbling to himself, George put down his tools and inched towards the corpse. The mud had been turned red from the blood, and the gut had been pulled open so the ropy intestines laid out, nibbled at by birds and scavengers. He stepped around the mess as he turned to the head.

Lifting the misshapen skull up by the mouth, fingers gingerly clamped along the edges of the long razor teeth George turned the beast's skinless corpse to look up at the two other men.

Looking as if it had been beaten with a club since birth, and scarred with innumerable tumors in its flesh and bone there wasn't much denying it.

“Big Gray, someone actually came in and managed t' kill it.” George grumbled, “Shot out dha eyes.” he added, pointing out the empty holes gorged into the skull where the eyes were, “If yea have no dynamite, or can't seem to strangle it, drown it, ya aim for dha eyes.” the remark seemed more guided to Flannagan who continued to stare down at it with twisted terror and disgust. The knotting in his stomach was plainly visible in his face.

Stammering he backed away, “I don't feel to good.” he gasped, tripped back down the path with a shocked look still owed to the corpse on the ground.

“Shame he didn't stick, I always found dhese bastards interesting.” George remarked, looking back down at the mutant bear sprawled out in the muddy ditch, “Look here at dha forehead, looks like it might have had'a twin, didn't make it from dha womb.” he pointed, putting his finger on a half-developed lower jaw embedded in the thick bone and sinewy flesh of its scalp.

“Disgusting.” Marc commented. He was beginning to feel ill at the sight of the beast, and the stench from its open gut was petrifying to say the least. A foul stench of rotten fruit, flesh, and fresh shit and piss.

“I don't think we're alone in dha woods here right now.” George grunted, standing up, “Don't know about'chu, but if someone's stulking dhese trees and can shoot out a fucking Gray Fur, dhen I don't feel like staying.”

“I'm up for reporting to dha Foreman too.”

“I'm wid'ya dhere.”

@Abefroeman

The great possibility of your nation's power projection is very concerning. Even retrofitted the large numbers of working war ships is honestly making me feel uncomfortable. It's too big a sign of wanting to be the biggest stick on the block. And the moment that's left to grow let's loose a too big of a cascade from an RP administrative stand-point.

And not only that but realistically the major supply lines needed to field modern US Naval assets is beyond your local scope. A lack of admittance that even sea-worthy they're still basically useless there's heavier emphasis these days on radar-guided missiles than old-school deck guns.

There's also the matter of still having tanks at any capacity in a world where no one would functionally have a means to stop them.

Beyond that, the blind loyalty to the state is virtually unknown and impossible for an absolute police-state and there should be notable political instability. Especially in a region as renowned to be as conservative as it is and against encroaching government. An absolute military junta would not be experiencing complete subservience with the people.

And then the population's high too. I had suspicions about that so I ran the numbers and you're still exactly at where that region stands in head count as they do presently. And this is in a world where modern medicine died and food production would have suffered. In the decades after there should have been wide-spread deaths from preventable disease (influenza, chicken pox) and starvation (a lot harder to import food from the mid-west when it's harder to transport it and quite possibly demands more manpower among other factors).

And while you can get crude oil, it's basically useless unrefined and the nearest ones are well inside the attack zones for nuclear Armageddon. The San Francisco and LA area are in deep shit in a nuclear attack.

Dinh AaronMk Member

my beloved (french coded)

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