Vilageidiotx

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

'And up in Armenia, Sevan was a place ta git faded n' find a whore.'

Sounds accurate.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Meanwhile, Ethiopian helicopters...

feminist roleplaying

First wave is the nineteenth-early twentieth century movement that brought about voting rights and more legal emancipation for women. Very basically, it was more about laws. And, for whatever reason, temperance.

Second Wave was the mid-late twentieth century movement that focused on the idea of "Women's roles" in society. This would be sexual roles, career roles, the whole works. There were laws involved (Roe vs Wade for example), but it was much less about the legal status and much more about the broader place women had in western society.

Third Wave feminism is a little tricky because it is quite a bit broader. Some of it has to do with expanding western views on gender into other cultures, and some of it is more of a continuation of second wave feminism in the sense things like pay differences. It also has expanded into transgenderism and the like. On top of it, particularly in the English speaking world, is the popularity of "Privilege theory" in Sociology and the movement to produce policy based on it. That is where things get controversial. Whereas Privilege theory itself isn't completely off base, it is incredibly easy to oversimplify, and since it is popular with the college-going white middle class, people who get into Privilege theory tend to slight the importance of economic factors in favor of those things that apply to them.

And radical feminists are those who went off the deep end and want to start castrating dudes. We should start investing in codpieces soon...

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Bhutan

Democracy in Action: A Political RP

Tommy clutched his M4 carbine awkwardly to his small frame. It was not made for him, and it was heavy. His joints ached, but he had to keep going. He could feel the warmth of his own breath as it passed the tip of his nose. It was early November, and the forest floor was coated with damp, brown leaves. He took each step quietly. Tommy was good at being quiet - being a dwarf meant he weighed much less than the average man. Occasionally, his stubby legs would scraped hard against the crackling leaves, or he would start wheezing so loud that he had to stop, but at least his foot-falls were gentle.

He heard the sharp crack of an automatic rifle's report. duhduhduh. It sent his heart beating. He squinted and scanned the treeline. Brown. Brown. Brown. A camouflage pattern brought to life, fading into the morning fog.

duhduhduh duhduhduh Were they getting closer. He listened, and heard voices made faint distance and muffled by the cold humidity.

Tommy moved slower now, prowling catlike in the overpriced camo poncho that he wore over his clothes. He listened. He watched. He waited.

The snapping of a twig caused him to jerk his head. He saw movement, and there it was. A buck, out of the woods so suddenly that Tommy wondered at how he had not seen it coming. He leveled his gun. The animal stared at him, but it did not move. How did it not understand what was happening here? It was time to take the shot. Tommy took a deep breath, and slowly began to press down on the trigger...

Vwhoom, they came over a hill suddenly. A John Deer Gator loaded with drunk politicians. "Fack..." Tommy jumped, and he fired. The deer ran, and Tommy lost control of the rifle. He fell back on his ass, and the loud burst from his gun cut a branch from a thin undergrowth tree.

The other men laughed. Tommy felt moisture soaking into his clothes, and he did not know why he ever did this. They helped him into the back of the Gator, and he sat beside the stinking, bleeding corpse of a young buck that had been shot into two halves.

---

After a day of it, they set up in a field, where the sun was going down and the crackle of a campfire kept them warm. This he liked - sitting down, and enjoying the ghostly sight of twilight as it settled over the countryside and cloaked everything behind the woodline in darkness. The smell of fire, the feeling of the cold air, that creeping knowledge that everything behind your back was an open wilderness hiding in the dark, this was his natural place. Naturally. The towelheads had their desert, the colored's had their jungles, and a white man of Gallic ancestry had the woods.

They had ported with them a 57 inch Plasma TV and hooked it up to a gas-powered generator. The generator's clunking buzz annoyed Tommy in some profound way he could hardly understand, but he kept it to himself. Here, surrounded by cousins and uncles, in-law's and brothers, they watched as election results poured in.

They rooted for the Republican Candidate, Hayes, in the same way they would be cheering for football when Thanksgiving came around. The Presidency hardly effected the North Missouri political machine, and Tommy knew he had his office in the bag. There had been no democrat to run against him - only a libertarian supported by a renegade faction of Tea Partiers and anti-Pollaxes voters.

"Do you think Marty is going to give a speech?" The properly slushed Rolan Pollaxes slurred. He was the mayor of Bethany, and Tommy's eldest cousin. Rolan thought he was important because his town had a Wal-Mart.

"Dear Hillbillies" Rolan put on a whiny, mocking voice. "I should not have lost. If I was Congressman, we would smoke weed every day and never ever pay a tax for anything again."

Everyone laughed. Even Tommy. It wasn't that funny, but Tommy had drank enough that just hearing everyone else laugh was enough. Martin Woolcruncher had been a threat early on, but he had fallen deep enough into the Tea Party to scare away many of those moderates who might have voted for him only to spite the Pollaxes. There was very little money in this district. Many knew, deep down, that the far-reaching threats he made toward government spending would mean less welfare for them. For a someone up here, their opposition to welfare ended where the city began. It was those minorities and their welfare queens that caused the problems. But nobody could make a living in these small towns without a little bit of help from the government.

"Damn, there goes Ohio." someone else said. "Looks like it is going to be Norman."

"That is good." Tommy squeaked. "Lets hope he does something to piss off our people. Then all I'll have to do to get reelected the next time is bitch about the president."

Everyone laughed. Tommy laughed.

"You'll be in office long enough to be a senator!"

"That's not how it works, Flan." Tommy answered. Flan Pollaxes was his great uncle. Even at seventy two, he didn't seem that competent.

"Well..." he thought. "Maybe you'll be in there long enough that i'll become the Assessor!"

Everybody laughed. "If Great Grandpa Ulysses retired." Tommy said. "He won't die, but he might retire..."

"Pfff." Flan answered. "He's already in that old folks home in Grant City. Can't think straight, but they just keep voting him in!"

Everybody laughed. It was true.

---3 months later

Around him, old men buzzed. The House was full of activity, as most of the congressmen flocked in hoping to make their faces known. Tommy had mingled for a while, but he had grown bored of it. Most politicians weren't sure how to react to a man half their height, and talking to them tired him too. He settled down in his seat. It smelled like stale paint, and it was horribly uncomfortable. People didn't fight over these seats to feel comfortable. A fifteen dollar lawn-chair would have sufficed better for that purpose alone.

"Members of the House," he heard the Clerk of the House say across the hall "Welcome to the opening session of the 114th Congress. As is our tradition, voting will now commence on the new Speaker of the House. One they are elected, congressmen will be sworn in and this session will be opened. Let the voting commence."

"Jesus..." Tommy muttered under his breath. He decided to wait for a few minutes. He pulled out his phone and looked at his recent texts. None. He had been anticipating something from a guy in Sweden selling an old ancient Gallic Helmet. He looked over pictures of it again. Good shape. Impressive. Much more interesting than this.

But this was how he got the money. And he was expected to be here.

Democracy in Action: A Political RP

Name: Tommy Pollaxes

Age: 39

District: Missouri's 6th District

Years in Office: 12

Political Party/Faction within that party: Republican, Moderate

Ethnicity/Religion: Generically Evangelical. Somewhat cloudy affiliation.

Character Background: Born to the politically active Pollaxes family of North-Eastern Missouri, Tommy is associated with the political machine in his district and is not as intensely ideological as many of his fellow politicians. Unique to the Pollaxes, Tommy was born with Dwarfism, but it has done little more than endure him to his constituency in ways that allow him to succeed politically where members of his somewhat controversial old-guard family cannot. Tommy has taken to heart the family legend that they are descended from the ancient Gaulic king Vercingetorix, and as such has a passing interest in things related to the ancient Gauls and Romans. Wears and impressive horseshoe mustache.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Beijing, China

Fulumirani Digane had never been a heavy eater. When he was a child, his mother would chide him for nibbling on injera at dinner and ignoring the spicy watt. Chinese food hadn't changed his habits. He had pushed the steaming bowl of red spicy soup to the side after taking a few sips. In front of him, his hands were wrapped around a hot cup of coffee. Ethiopian. It had been hard to find, at first. The Chinese did not have the taste for the drink. They preferred tea. In those years, chicory had been more common than the real bean, produced cheaply in America. Horrible stuff. He had imported his own beans from home.

But things had changed. African goods had taken hold in the east, and the Chinese were discovering coffee. African Cafe's were becoming fashionable, offering the internationally-claustrophobic Chinese a taste of the world they had been closed off from for so many years. He could find what he wanted in Beijing markets. Some days, when he felt like seeing the city and braving the tight crowds of the markets, he went shopping for his self. That was rare. Most of the time, he sent a secretary.

An out-of-season snow had fell on Beijing. It was a light dusting, leaving sparse white clumps clinging to the spring greenery. There was still a slight chill in the air, but Fulumirani was used to that. He had adjusted to the cold during his time in Canada, but there were days when he missed the warmth he had grown up with. Sometimes, he missed the days that he was the ambassador to the rebellious American south. Nostalgia made him forget how unstable it had been. He just remembered what it was to be a young man in the flowering of his career. And he remembered the warm humidity there.

Snow clung to the pink cotton flowers of peach trees. Beyond were the sleepy buildings of ancient China, with sloping roofs and plastered stone that swallowed the morning's sound. The silent calm of this neighborhood was something he loved. Beyond the creaking green-painted wood of the veranda, it was still and quiet.

He heard footsteps cross the deck. The whining wood made Fulumirani wince. Sometimes, it would groan so loud that it sounded as if it were going to give way.

"Ambassador." he heard the familiar rusty voice of Jean Thaba. "The Chairman's office called us. Hou is on his way."

Fulumirani nodded. This was a conversation he had been waiting for. It was strange to him, how little stress the war was causing him. He had never married, and his parents had passed away years ago. He had a sister in Awasa who still wrote to him, but he hadn't seen her since his last visit home several years before. His part in this was was intellectual. It was duty, not anxiety, that paved the road he traveled.

He watched Thaba walk away, and wondered what his investment was. He knew that Thaba's family still lived in Douala, but he did not know much about them. He had brothers. Would they fight in this war? Thaba had spent a month with them during the winter to celebrate Christmas. He was a young man, still in his twenties. Did he want to fight? Thaba had never seemed like a violent man, but when everything you identified with was put to question...

Fulumirani's blood had never ran hot, but he had considered military service. He was too thin for it, and too lethargic to find anything about warfare admirable. In the end, he decided civil service was a better fit for him.

When breakfast was cleared away, he stayed on the veranda. The sun was peaking above the city, and the air was warming up. Hou would appreciate this setting more than an another stuffy office. A pitcher of water was brought out. Fulumirani waited, and thought.

With a creak the door to the veranda open. There was the dull thud of wood on wood as from within out strolled the Chairman of the Chinese politic. Hunched over a wooden cane. Wrinkled, old fingers gripping tight the modest, carved wood. A seizure had stripped him of most of his mobility, he could no longer walk without a third leg.

With a deep sigh, the Chairman breathed in the air of Beijing. It was warm, if still cool for the late weather. "Ambassador Fulminari," he said, "I hope I haven't come in poor taste."

He turned to the ambassador. "I came from a meeting, it was decided we should move fast to our best capabilities. I hope you are not at odds with discussing the recent storm at home."

"I think my Emperor would be angry if I were" Fulumirani said dryly. He reached to his side and gently pushed out a chair. "Please, sit."

Hou bowed politely. With a stiff groan he lowered himself down into the arms of the wicker lawn chair and leaned back. His fingers wrapped around the wooden cane as he held it out in front of him. His eyes staring distantly out across the local cityscape of Beijing.

"The recent military aggression within the Red Sea has prompted I and my command to consider military intervention to defend your people." he began with a low note, "Though we can not commit a full force immediately due in part of current endeavors and we will need to petition Congress. The issue would be too decisive right now to join in a timely manner. However we do have resources we would be willing to commit to the effort to bypass the National Congress.

"We'll commit the Pemba division of our armed forced to take part in what limited military action they can," Hou said, "Or to defend Addis Ababa when you need more men elsewhere, whatever the case. We will additionally be willing to lend recon support over the Spanish territories to determine the level of threat in an additional front, or the suggestion of a possible chemical attack from Spain."

"Any help will be accepted." Fulumirani explained. He leaned into the table, one elbow on the table. He put in his imagination an image of Africa, and of all the geography that divided it from China.

"I believe one of the largest concerns we have is with the shipping lanes. Spain will not be able to conquer Africa. Not truly. But they can try to subdue her. If we are going to disrupt the Spanish war effort enough so that they will not gain enough of a foot hold in our territories to began to annex them, we will need support from the Chinese industry."

"We understand and we'll be moving to accommodate." Hou said. To be honest it hadn't been thought of at the meeting, Hou thought, though was a valid point. If they were to attempt to disrupt the European shipping to effect Spain, it would be best to leverage something into Ethiopia.

"We're currently in the planning stages to determine the logistic aspects of sending ships to the African coast." Hou continued, with much less of a lie, "Admiral Han Shen said he'll look into the necessary resources to dispatch to the African coast. There's no doubt we will use these to keep open African ports for relief supplies."

"One possible thing I would suggest." Fulumirani said, "Would be organizing a smuggling operation through Mozambique. They are a neutral party on paper, but their government is new and we have our agents within it. I doubt Spain would have the resources to blockade the entire continent. It would be a feat, anyway."

"That sounds like an option." Hou nodded, "When we next convene I will need to pass this to Commander Sing. If you would now - or then - we could arrange the contact information. Keep ahead of the Spanish and keep communications between us two brief. I'm sure he would Sing would prefer it that way."

Fulumirani nodded. "That will be acceptable. The lines of communications could be through my office to yours if you prefer. Or from mine to Commander Sing's. Whichever is determined to be more secure. There might be a point where, heaven forbid, things get out of hand enough that your IB becomes our primary contact with our forces in Africa... and I don't think that is a contingency we can make plans for. If it happens, the circumstances will require us to act based on the unique difficulties that arise." He cleared his throat. "There is another concern, too. The matter of refugees. I hope I am not too forward in assuming that the royal family and their entourage would be allowed in the country?"

"Yaqob lived here once," Hou said, "I'm sure China can accommodate again, and for whomever seeks safety. I'll see to the visa conditions are managed, and I'll bring it up when we meet again so we might organize appropriate lanes for them again. On the intelligence contacts, I'm sure Sing would much rather handle them himself."

"We will follow the stipulations and guidelines your government prefers. Do not worry about that." Fulumirani smiled in his aloof way. "Another thing too..." he shifted in his seat. "I was informed yesterday of a new concern. Regarding evacuation procedures, that is. Yaqob personally asked if the Chinese government would be willing to host certain... religious relics. There are items the old Ethiopian church do not want to lose to the Europeans. They would want assurances that these things will be returned to them when the time is right"

"I wouldn't have any problems with this." Hou said, surprised, "Could you say what needs to be protected here?"

"The communication was brief." Fulumirani said. "But I have my guesses. Nothing that has been verified to me, mind you. And it is hard to say what the scope of the Emperor's suggestion is. He likes these things, you know, his artifacts. But..." he paused for a moment. "If I were to venture a first guess, I would say that it is the Tabot of the Jews."

"I can't say I'm wholly familiar with items from the western faiths." Hou said apologetically, "But if they're important we'll find space to house them until the crisis ends."

"That is all we could ask." Fulumirani replied. "I think that will sate my Emperor."

"Honored, for a friend." Hou nodded, taking a deep sigh.

There was a moment's silence. A warm spring breeze blowing across the open porch. The soft woosh of a car engine echoed from the streets below, "I don't know how long it'll be until the commanders launch the orders for our preliminary moves." Hou spoke, "But I'm assured they'll begin shortly. Anything valuable we collect we'll move to your embassy. Provided formal contacts aren't made between our military and yours to more directly share intelligence and coordinate efforts. So I have a proposal myself," Hou sighed, "For this to work best I presume we will need to establish a joint mission. An organization between our militaries to coordinate our joint efforts through. One which might expand, should we tie up our ends and Congress approves to breech our decades long defensive policy."

"I think my government would be receptive." Fulumirani answered. He hadn't expected this much openness in the Chinese government. He looked out across the city, over the blooming trees of pink and fresh green, and out toward the center where the tops of distant buildings peaked over the nearby horizon of foliage. China. He had spent his time making small concessions, and enjoying the quiet gardens in this sleepy part of Beijing. It was easy for him to forget where he was. The sleeping dragon. This could be the war that woke the dragon. And if it were to be stirred... under its shadow, the world would quake.

"The condition of Pemba will be in question. I am not sure how the Spanish will react when confronted with Chinese territory sitting within Africa's borders. For now, we might be able to use it as a base for our cooperation, but the future might be more complicated. Would it be too soon to start considering military ambassadors?"

"Perhaps." Hou said, "We'll await that when Congress makes full provisions. The commander of the Pemba detachment should work just as well." the Chairman said dismissively, "When it comes time for full Chinese effort, we'll ensure we have dignitaries of our military in the court at Addis to streamline the effort and see to the Spanish retreat."

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

We should raid his RP's.

Just for shits and giggles.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Greedy priest took all the coffee =p

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Because dubs.