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A curious, on-the-spot invitation had arrived in your apartment mail just that morning, with the seal of the Kaiser- not a missive from him, of course, but from the government of the Reich. From the Imperial Consulate in the city, informing you of an invitation to the gala being hosted today, though the name of your patron was, oddly, left blank.
The Imperial Consulate was a relic of the last century, a time when the Grossreich was closer together, when the protectorates were all under the umbrella of the Kaiser’s reign. These days, the protectorates were practically independent states in allegiance with the central “Reich Proper,” and though the big fancy building was no longer an administrative hub between territories, it still served some of its former function in coordinating diplomacy between the Reich and the protectorates nearby, which here in the northwest of the heart of the Reich, was Staubentroch, Emerrach, and Westbuchtr, as well as the Gepte. While Halmeggia was its own country, they also had a presence at the Consulate. Being a close associate of the Reich, the business of the protectorates often intersected with their own.
It certainly had during the Halmeggia Civil War, the uprising last year. The reason your airborne battalion had been the ones to intervene had been to circumvent the protectorates’ restrictions on the Reich when it came to military movements.
The Imperial Consulate was across the city, so you had a fellow apartment man, Imperial officer, and your second in command for the Luftpanzer Demi-Battalion drive you, rather than borrowing Herr Falkenstein’s car (You were saving for a panty-dropper hot rod). Even if your subordinate wasn’t happy about it.
“Here we are,” Captain Covacs said, a dreary Dhegyar fellow with a bitter sarcasm to his character that never failed to come out, thin of face and body both with the sort of eyes that managed to be empty and full at the same time. “I woke up today thinking, how do I want to spend my end of the year holiday? If only my superior officer would require me to drive him around. The only way it could be better is if he had me take us to an underground fighting ring to get pummeled into a paste by some Dustlands mutant thug.”
You got out of Covac’s (shitty) car, as did he. “Sounds like somebody’s all fussy because he’s hungry,” you teased, “The rationing ain’t that bad, not even before the Langenachtfest raise. Paratroopers shouldn’t have extra bulk anyways. Tell you what, to make it up to you, I’ll push you in for long enough to sample every tray on every table. I’ll walk back.”
“I want to know who in the world invited you here,” Covacs said as he shut the door behind him, “No name on the letter, to this place? It’s not even suspicious. Just odd.”
“I’m a good person to be friendly with around here, recently. Same for you?”
