Pour tous Marine Royale Gauloise

[ONIKS]

Initialisation...

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Intensité du signal:_████ _____ 33%
Encodage: __________ ██████████ PLUS FORT

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Source: _________ Provance
Expéditeur: _____ Lieutenant Miroslav de Gobineau ____ [C]
Destinataire(s): All Marine Royale Gauloise assets ___ MRG|





Sujet: _________
Prière

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Transmission entrée...

Mesdames et messieurs du Marine Royale Gauloise,

My name est Miroslav de Gobineau and I am Lieutenant of The Gallic Council, commander du CLN Succube Mignonne. But now, I am reaching to you not as Conseillard, but as a Gaul. I am contacting you on my own initiative and I am speaking on my own behalf.

Long story short, we need you back in Gallia. This war is becoming a meaningless slaughterhouse with no winners, there are only losers. You are finest warriors Gallia have, its best chivalry and Gallia will suffer if you are going to lose.
I know, I know, I may sound cynical or naïf. But current situation calls for careful evaluation of your actions. If you lose, Sirians will slaughter everyone - there will be no 'POWs' in the end. If you win, well, I don't know, what's going to happen next, shamefully. Maybe, you have heard recent news. Picardie is under firm Counseil control, we have amassed fleet in Provence and finishing preparations to invade Ile-de-France, Roi is nowhere to found. I don't know what will happen with you after your return, but this will be grim.
Personally, I respect you. And thus, I am here not to scold you or to taunt you. I want to give you an idea what to do.
I know, that there will be a fight in Neuve-London, a bloodshed. But you don't need to die for it. If situation is getting out of control, you should retreat back to Languedoc through region of Hebrides. There is no shame in that.
Why you even should consider that? Because we have common mission. We both fight for prosperity of Gallia. We might have different views on Gallia, but, ah, merde, I am tired of speaking long.
If you'll come back, no one will hate you and if you come back, Gallia will be strong. Think about it.
Amicalement, Miroslav de Gobineau
11.08.741 AGS

Piéce(s) jointe(s):

●N/A

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On hiatus for unspecified amount of time

[NoMe]

sender : no importance
location: ''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Subject : Shame on you

Début de communication

touch yourself bastard, *t'as pas honte!*

No word more to qualify this!

Fin de communication

[Lanakov]

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MARINE ROYALE GAULOISE

Nouveau message entrant.
Identifiant : Amiral de Gaule Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup
Unité : Cuirassé Le Téméraire, Nouveau-Londres system
Destinataire : Miroslav de Gobineau

Sujet : Returning.

13 août 742 A.G.S.
Londres

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Chanteloup appears on screen. She looks defeated, and is sitting seemingly alone in private quarters.

Monsieur,

She inhales... And no word comes out. She starts again.
You know, I'm keeping track of a lot of things because of this job. But the one I enjoy the most -She picks a small leatherbound booklet on her console, and waves it in front of the recorder - ... is this. It's a journal of oddities. All the strange things I've come across, the surprises, the crazy, bewildering things I've seen or had to do. There's a chapter in it for... Well, precisely this. All these outlandish communications and messages I received from people I'd never expect to even look me in the eye.

She opens the booklet and peruses it, at random. Ah yes. There is this one time I organised a press conference for one of the most wanted, demented and famous psychopaths of the galaxy. Oh, and that time where an outcast sex cult attempted to get in Gallia's good graces, through me. Or when the hideous rogue nation of Crayter sent me a cruel, and in retrospect quite appropriate April Fools message. Ah, one of my favourites ; when I received the most inappropriate bakery for last Christmas, from a Sirian girl I had just interrogated, and without asking anything in return. Who does that ? You see, my crew took charge of this package and sent it to my parents' home, knowing I'd be there for this event. I unpacked it in front of them, and discovered oversized male genitalia-shaped cookies. In front of them. My parents. She laughs softly, closes the booklet, and puts it back on her console before returning her gaze on the recorder. Her eyes are watery, as though she was on the brink of tears, but her voice remains constant, with that usual cutting edge and staccato delivery.

I feel like this transmission of yours is going to take a special spot in that booklet, monsieur de Gobineau. I'm tired, you know. I'm very tired, and much like you, I imagine, I want all of this to end. I'm very much prepared for all of this to end. Your message comes at a particular time. Probably not by chance... I've just been informed about your fleet amassing, with our predictions being that an all-out assault on Paris is the end goal. And as a result, I've just received instructions. Final instructions, as it were. I probably would not have answered your message, had I not received them. But I can't be alone at a time like this, so it has to fall on you. I'm just as surprised as you are.

I will be returning, rest assured. We will be returning. I feel our presence in Bretonia has lasted for long enough, and I miss home.
I just have one more thing left to do in London, it would seem. So I'm going to do that, then we'll come back, and we'll talk.

I promise.

Thank you for your message.

The transmission fades.

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Feedback, insults, marriage proposals and declarations of fealty

If everyone was a bit more like Lanakov, the entire world would be more positive. Including pregnancy tests.