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  Chronicles of the People - Between Utopia and Dystopia   
                       -by Salocin-                        
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       Life in the Empire: What Awaits the Faithful        
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Life in the Empire: What Awaits the Faithful
=Life in the Empire: What Awaits the Faithful=
During my visit as part of the Association of Imperial Scribes, I witnessed fully the aftermath of the Two-Week War: from the mass confusion, the complicated and very difficult time of transition to new laws and standards, as well as the criminal proceedings against undesirable elements of the former upper class - industrialists, nobles, archons, sufrits, and everything in between.
It was at one of these proceedings against Skeiron Goldfeather during a public trial in Weter that this industrialist, who exploited his workers in accordance with Nova Griffonian pre-war laws with 10-hour workdays, no representation, and none of the other rights working Sylanians have in the Empire that I perceived something that piqued my interest.
The old griffon seemed shocked, but moreover, it looked as though it was entirely incomprehensible to him that his workers had a right to only need to work two hours per day. He then pleaded that he was not aware of these new laws, which of course the court was able to disprove promptly, and ended up sentencing him to death.
Now, while I personally do not agree with the verdict that had been given - I much preferred for him to be re-educated - it was at that moment that I realized just how much the common griff was in disbelief that they indeed had a right to a two-hour workday.
With my position as a Scribe for the Imperial Navy, I have the privilege of knowing the ins and outs of living both as a citizen in the Empire and as one in the protectorates that were established in the aftermath of the invasion. Equipped with this knowledge, I have created this document that gives a small overview of what the inhabitants of Faust can expect to become normalized in the coming years. The Stellar Culture Shock shall not last forever, and eventually, generations will have grown and died without ever knowing the problems that plague their lives these days.
So, this is what the average citizen of the Empire will witness in their life.
You'll be born biologically by a mother and one or more fathers, with all of your genes being cleared of any possible defects, and purified from abnormalities, making you a genetically perfect child—one of trillions. Thanks to your superior genes, you will never know disease, handicaps, or unwanted mutations. Likewise, any ailments that may occur over the course of your life will simply be healed at the press of a button in your local Rejuvenation chamber, something Faustian natives call a bathtub.
You will already have the best possible start to have a long and happy life, but it doesn't end there. Ingested will be food which has been engineered to perfection over millennia to deliver the most nutritional benefit without any negative side effects, while simultaneously adapting to the consumer's tastes and desires. As such, you'll never know obesity. This food is either harvested on Garden Worlds with the optimal environmental conditions to grow food or is synthetically produced in factory complexes present on every world of the Empire. As such, food is, of course, abundantly available and free.
Once you reach age twenty and reach schooling age, as is mandatory throughout the entire Empire, you'll be taught privately by the best academic staff the Empire has ever had. These educators have dedicated their afterlives to teaching the next generation of imperial citizens a constantly updating repertoire of knowledge tailored specifically to the individual needs and skills of the citizen in question. Once complete, you'll have knowledge of the workings behind the state, universe, and everything beyond that utterly dwarfs what the best academic institutions in Equestria, the Griffonian Empire, or Aris can offer—all of that free of charge. Education is not a privilege of the few but a good right of the many.
If you end up being psychically gifted, then you may even be granted access to skills and knowledge relating to the Shroud by specific teachers selected by the Imperial Military. When completed, this education will enable you to join specific departments of the military or perhaps help with Shroud Research on the homeworld itself.
You'll end up with a robust and refined set of life skills too, including but not limited to first aid, personal expression and creativity. For example, something that I have noticed is sorely missing from every educational curriculum on Faust.
However, besides schooling, there also exist various Youth Leagues for children, most prominently the Young Devout, which organises communal activities with the goal of fostering a sense of collective team spirit and an appreciation for the Church and its offerings.
Blue-collar jobs don't exist in the Empire. They are entirely automated and optimized, so no citizen has to deal with a mountain of paperwork. In fact, all the documents one has to apply for in bureaucratic countries such as Equestria have already been filled out before birth. More pronounced in Imperial society is writing, painting, song and dance, white-collar work, trade, and military service. Each is enough to afford one a comparatively luxurious lifestyle. Citizens can spend their careers chasing their dreams and passions, doing what they love, rather than toiling away in dangerous work environments for a high society they will never encounter. As am I, having become a scribe for the Association of Imperial Scribes. My passion is not just when history is written but to write history.
Finances don't matter, for currency is only used for rare and occasional trade deals with other Empires, not as a burden for us citizens.
You can own a home of any type—from one on a Garden World if you enjoy a solitary and simple lifestyle, to a spacious apartment on the Homeworld itself, where you can bask in the radiating beauty emitted by the Empress' seat of power. Likewise, these homes can be tailored to your whims, either entirely subservient to yourself and your needs and able to adapt to them, or a completely static and simple house where pleasure is taken from improving it by yourself.
From that home, you can go into the city where the air is clean and fresh. Polluting industries, modes of transportation, and energy disappeared hundreds of millennia ago.
Crime rates are almost non-existent, with the few who commit illegal acts being either re-educated in a matter of minutes or, if the victims so choose, being able to put the perpetrator into a state of permanently indebted servitude, for however long it might be.
Personal transportation can be done via the standard P30, which can be configured to either fly or hover close to the ground on designated roads. These P30 are incredibly safer and faster than what currently ruins Equusian and Griffonian roads. Much preferred by the majority of citizens, however, is public transit, which exists in an intricate network on every single planet. I can guarantee every viewer that in the next months, a project will be announced that will likely create a high-speed rail line between every major city on this world. Indeed something to be excited about.
One of the more incomprehensible aspects of Imperial lives may be that anyone and everyone can reshape their bodies to whatever weight, height, looks, and to some extent, age, suits them the most. It's not uncommon for there to be a romantic and sexual bond between groups of up to ten Sylanians, something that is understandably truly alien for you to read about, dear viewer. However, no matter your views on it, the fact of the matter is that a Sylanian could be born millennia late and yet could look just as young as one born this one.
I myself would like to interject here for a moment and mention I personally prefer myself to look like I'm, what could be considered for ponies to be their thirties, however, personal preferences may vary.
Likewise, all the stringent social norms that dictate how females or males are supposed to act, look, or feel have been eradicated hundreds of millennia ago. Of course, I recognize, though, that especially in the more rural parts of Faust, this sentiment and the new freedoms given will be highly unwelcome. But I have full confidence that the Planetary Administration will eventually manage to get these griffs and zebras to look the other way.
I have not mentioned ponies in this because Equestria made a positive impression on our forces. It did not share many of our laid-back social values, but it was also willing to negotiate with the Holy Imperial Navy.
Religion, however, might be more sensitive. The Empress is worshipped almost universally as the direct descendant and mortal representative of Tamesa, the Goddess of Everything and All. Temples dedicated to the worship of both can be found everywhere and doubting their divine nature openly is a thing of folly and denial. While other faiths are respected for members of other races, Sylanians are expected to be devout followers of the Empress. The Empress' Church furthermore offers many career pathways ranging from everything from a Church Scribe to eventually a Matriarch.
Aside from the array of every debilitating condition known to us, imperial citizens also have much more control over one of the last frontiers of biology: death.
While it does eventually come to all of our bodies, the soul lives on if so chosen. In the preceding hours, family members will be notified of the signs of fading life by the system inside your home or perhaps by your relatives. As you lose consciousness and fall into your last sleep, you'll be surrounded by relatives who will forever cherish your memory...
...or you'll find yourself in a new world. Your consciousness, having been transferred to the Starbrain, will allow you to communicate with your family, and whatever you want to imagine will be realized for as long as the universe shall live.
This is what can be expected to become possible for the loyal pony, zebra, griffon, kirin, hippogriff, changeling or deer.
-Imperial Scribe Kirium

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                An Interview with a Griffon                
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An Interview with a Griffon
It was quiet within the Manehattanite office. The window was opened lightly so the sounds of the city far below could be heard. The loudly honking automobiles, less so these days, thank the Empress, the hammering and jittering from nearby construction sites, and all the other sounds that were collectively forming a parody of white noise, reaching barely as high as the penthouse of Crystaller Building.
A pale figure sat at the only desk in the room with two tables. One for guests and one for the mistress of this building. This mistress, as pale as the snow in winter and fair as the sky, basked in the sounds from far down below and in what quiet was soon to be interrupted. Staring out the window at the dozens of skyscrapers that rivalled the height of the Crystaller, but none surpassing it, she could not help but feel pride. A lot of work had already been done, with the foundations of Admiral and Governor Kahemot's regime having been put into place. All she had to wait for was approval. Stamp after stamp, a complicated navigation of Imperial bureaucracy, one which apathy she never felt as harshly as on these days but as sudden as she had been lost to thought - to meditation had it gone on for too long - clarity returned.
Kahemot let out a sigh, for she recognised her thoughts having once more drifted away from the task at hand. She breathed deeply once more as she knew her guest was about to enter, and she became keenly aware of both her excitement and worries, her bones turned soft by the uncertainty of politics yet simultaneously reinforced by her convictions and ideals.
Evenly she walked farther from the window and the view of the Manehattan skyline swept in sunlight, sitting down on her leather seat pointed toward the door. For a few moments, she was, it seemed preoccupied with whatever happened on her black tablet until the calm was interrupted by three knocks hailing from the wooden front door, enlarged specifically for the taller Sylanian stature. Then again, three knocks followed, after which the alien women finally decided to answer, "Come in."
With the door opening, the guest who entered could see a humanoid figure sitting on a leathery chair which then took to probe the guest of honour with a soul-piercing stare and ominous voice, "Whom do I have the honour to meet with today?"
"Queen Vivienne Discret," the griffon of brown fur spouted pompously as she stepped into the room. With a sense of grandeur only the truly confident could amass, Vivienne spread her wings and threw off the greatcoat that had covered her thus far, much to the astonishment of the surprised Sylanian guards at the door, which quickly went down to pick up the coat that was thrown to the ground, fold it, and then keep it ready in their hands for the esteemed visitor to pick up once she left.
"...but you knew that already."
What the greatcoat revealed was what, by all measures, was a griffon of small stature, even for Kahemot who had not seen a griffon for months now and was not yet intimately familiar with the physiology of these avians. Yet she was aware of whom she was, and so greeted her esteemed guest with forthcoming enthusiasm.
"Aha, it's a pleasure," the alien stated while readying her right hand.
The hand she offered her for a shake was taken tightly into Vivienne's right claw - not so much as to give her pain - but still uncomfortably tight, and once she let go with her chitinous, yellow claw, her stance and radiating pride turned infectious, making the Sylanians' hearts pound faster while her stern eyes revealed the defiant attitude the heir of King Moriset had towards her detractors. The Admiral immediately smiled, enjoying her presence with a twisted sense of joy.
"I welcome you to Manehattan." Upon her ears being reached by this gesture, the griffons' eyes sprung open, if only for the most fleeting of moments. Only now Vivienne took note of this pale humanoid, near ghost-like figure, speaking immaculate Aquileian.
"Merci, Governor. I am surprised you are well-versed in the Aquileian tongue," Vivienne complimented her, already viewing this alien with respect, especially since it bothered learning her language.
"I-..." The Admiral was stunned for a second and sat back down onto her comfy chair. She had not considered how natural it was to her to just learn a new language with a Knowledge Uplink. It felt incredibly off for her to even question this fact of life, the ability to simply access any piece of literature, educational or not and utilize it as though one always knew it. For a moment, she contemplated with still eyes and no bodily motions, whether or not to tell the royal that in fact, her Aquileian was as easy to learn as reading a magazine cover is, or perhaps that their language is almost the same as one of the many human dialects before deciding otherwise and replying,
"I prefer to speak to my guests in their own language. It's respectful."
"That is admirable," Vivienne added.
"Now, do I even need to ask what you have visited me here for?"
"For what you have invited me for. To claim my birthright," Vivienne proclaimed proudly.
"Considering the troubles of the current Aquileian government, I saw it only fit to call here the only Aquileian who has a legitimate claim to the vacant throne. I intend to replace the Republic with a far more secure monarchy," the Admiral explained during the process of staring at a flat machine with a soft, glassy surface and a black synthetic shell. A tablet to the Admiral, a machine of unknown purpose to the would-have-been-monarch.
The Aquileian knew better than to question what this black thing's purpose was but she did understand it was not in use against her, at least right then and there. Vivienne saw no threat in the construct but rather within the implications of what the female alien in front of her just said.
"What is the catch?"
"Loyalty. It's not too much to ask for honestly, just making sure to suppress anti-Sylanian elements where they appear and allow our infrastructure projects to be conducted in Aquileia."
"...and eventual integration, with my country becoming subservient to your Empire," Vivienne added disdainfully.
"What? No, no, no, I truly do not intend on integrating Aquileia. You can rule over the Kingdom for thousands of years."
The griffon's eyes widened, "Millennia?"
Satisfied at having gotten her attention, Kahemot elaborated on the matter with a self-satisfied grin, "Life-extension technology, my dear. You can live and rule much longer than you could ever imagine."
"That certainly is a promise."
"It is, but I'm sure we can help each other beyond that. After all, I am the Planetary Governor of Faust and an Admiral of the Imperial Navy, and I have legions and technology at hand you would mistake for magic." Now the Sylanian began flaunting her allotted resources. Vivienne felt split on the matter. She saw what their technology is capable of, everyone did, be it on news cycles talking about the destruction of Versalipolis, an act she views with indifference or the massive construction projects beyond any financial feasibility pre-invasion, such as the Planetary Transportation Network. Even now, far removed from these infrastructure efforts of sheer megalomaniacal scales, she was still reminded of their immense might by the cranes and scaffolding she barely saw through the window.
The idea of immortality, in particular, was so foreign to her that it reminded her of a quote by a famous Aquileian pony, whose books she devoured when she was still a chick learning the ropes of advanced statecraft, a quote which she now recited in response, "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."
"Ah, I see someone has educated themselves. Amelie Neigh E. Clerk... or perhaps Solus Migyuan, Nizos Gig Ol Wahan, Arthur C. Clarke, or Alulim Et-Thoret. This world is nothing special in that regard," the Admiral pointed out with a subtle shrug, something that brought about great confusion in Vivienne.
"Pardon?"
"Almost every race in the galaxy has their equivalent of a researcher, author or poet that has dawned such a quote." The Griffon didn't feel anger or hatred and just took moderate offence as she turned away for a second. How dare he compare one of the greatest authors Aquileia ever brought forth with names that might as well have been fictional in themselves to her?
"Have I just come here for you to insult my subjects or will you finally elaborate?"
"They are not your subjects yet, and I will change that of course, but I can sense you are after more than that. What is your heart's desire? What wish of yours could I fulfil?"
Vivienne shook her head in softening disagreement as she spoke, "A deal with Maar himself..."
The Governor tilted her head, her long black hair waving along with it, and asked with neither a hint of negativity or offence in particular and merely asked with a hint of curiosity in her ever-soft voice, "You think me this evil?"
"True ruin doesn't come from the wickedness of the evil but from the wickedness of those with good intentions," the Aquileian cited once her index claw rose and she had made sure to have the alien's attention.
"As for a request, a wish, I had my eyes on a certain... pony," she admitted while her chitinous claws fidgeted and her face took on a red tint for a moment.
"So it is love that you seek?"
"Not love but devotion, not out of blind loyalty, but true faith in my title as Empress and love to me as a griffon."
"So it is a loyal slave you want?"
"Slave? I just want him to be head over claws for me. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Have you ever considered already that he would go over corpses for you, that he already is one of your most devoted servants and that he may be already willing to enter whatever relationship you are envisioning, Queen Vivienne?"
This question took her by surprise and certainly not positively so with her eyes springing open by a millimetre. Vivienne's mind was abuzz with questions and possibilities on how they could possibly know this. "Just how?" But then she also remembered their capabilities and a twisted feeling of elation spread throughout her avian body, as did the realization that they likely used some unfathomable piece of machinery. No matter what she said now - her opponent would never reveal the truth, she was sure of it - and so the griffon stayed quiet and answered in a way that she saw as most sensible, "Yes, I am aware that he is devoted to me already, but what I want in him is a spark of love. If I am spending my time dealing with day-to-day issues of Aquileia, it might as well be with the one I truly love."
Kahemot, for her part, ignored entirely the fact she just, by accident or purpose, revealed she knows more than what she lets on and instead just threw her a warm, maybe even genuine, smile and softly answered in tandem with "That is sweet, and I am saying this earnestly."
"Yeah right, I've heard what happens on your worlds and ships, to the slaves you capture and even to your own crews. You say this like you hedonists would know anything about true love, however, I expect your people to be at least capable of following suit to my request."
The Admiral's reaction upon the Griffon voicing her disdain for their traditions was as swift as it was disturbing. She smirked, seemingly amused, "Believe me, if you truly knew our culture, you'd learn to love it in no time."
Vivienne was shocked for a moment, and more importantly deeply disgusted. In the meantime, her opponent smiled upon hearing the disgust the griffon felt toward their activities.
Her smile was uninterrupted with the amusement she took from the conversation too unending. The Admiral had to seriously keep hold of herself so as not to laugh out loud. Was it not a sign of higher, superior intellect and a long and fulfilling life to seek these carnal but consistently elevating pleasures? It was amusing to Kahemot, for what she heard was but a confirmation these primitives needed Sylanian guidance.
"What? You expect me to feel sorry or even pity ourselves for taking full advantage of all the possibilities of stimulation? We simply are able to enjoy the time we have much more efficiently. Your forebearers' courts were no different, and neither were those in Griffenheim, Griffonstone, or De Vleugels."
"Don't insult my lineage like that! We live short lives, sure, but you witness thousands of years and you spend, nay, waste your time with orgies?"
"Art, my dear. It's just another form of expressing the creativity of our people, just as drawing, singing, or the dance is for you. It might be hard for you to grasp this… concept, but when Sylanians enter into a bond, their minds intersect. It is a level of pleasure you may, unfortunately, never be able to reach for your brain would not survive the bond."
"Enough of this, I have not come to Equestria to discuss the details of your people's lack of restraint. Can you fulfil my request or not?" Vivienne then asked with an elevated but not yet truly intense tone of voice.
"I will, I will, so long as you pledge your loyalty to the Planetary Administration and the interests of the Empire, of course," the Sylanian reiterated with unceasing calm.
This was the chance she was waiting for. It was now or never to bring up the territories lost to the Planetary Administration in the aftermath of the invasion. Unfiltered disgust was all she felt when she heard of the terms the Republicans agreed to. It felt like a punch to the stomach to see her enemies, those that killed her father and sold out her country, her birthright, give up core territory central to the very identity of Aquileia.
The moments preceding that gut punch, however, she pondered President Rodièr's situation and realized that despite her fuming enmity they were not fully at fault. Most likely, like every leader unwilling to die for his ideals, he was forced to sign the treaty, no matter the reservations, and while most would have despaired, and truly she too felt a deep fear, Vivienne also recognized the immense opportunity.
Memories are short, and the Aquileians would never forgive a Rodièr or Verany. Had he not been executed by the Reichsarmee, leaving only her as a leader who could ascend to the throne if she was to secure Sylanian support? Mistrust would be directed towards her for sure, but not the hostility of nationalist and republican elements, the former apathetic to her and the latter too weak for any significant action.
Thankfully, she didn't even need to seek an audience with aliens for they came to her and she was here right at this moment in time.
But Vivienne never planned to rule as a puppet over a rump state, a shadow of what Aquileia is meant to be but to transform her nation and ready it for an era few rulers have managed to adapt to. She would use this window of opportunity to present her demands.
Then what about the parts of Aquileia that have been removed from it and been put under direct rule from Manehattan? You expect me to rule a loyal Aquileia with only Rila and Aquila?"
"I was assured for it to be within your capabilities. Was I wrong?" the pale tall alien asked with a very much fake innocence.
"My set of skills would most optimally be of use if I had all the historical territory of Aquileia under my wing."
"Pridea? Vinovia? Talouse? The Periphèrè? Are these lands you seek?" Provocatively and maybe provocatively the Governor and Admiral specifically choose to put an over-Aquileianized emphasis on 'Periphèrè'. Vivienne for her part did not even feel the need to react to this indignation and much rather focus on the topic at hand.
Vivienne moved her head towards the Governor, leaning over the Wingbardian maple desk before asserting with a lowered but dead serious voice, "If you truly want me to rule over Aquileia for you, it must be all of Aquileia."
After the initial surprise of her implicit domineering, she leant back with a smile growing on her face as Kahemot declared, "I think I like you, I really do. You are intelligent, assertive, and demanding. I will humour your request."
She then took her tablet back into her six-fingered hands and began tapping, reading what she wrote, "And so… I, the Planetary Governor of the Imperial World of Faust, hereby declare the Republican Provisional Government of Aquileia excommunicated, with Vivienne Discret, from here on out Queen Vivienne Discret being recognized as the rightful ruler of the newly reformed Kingdom of Aquileia."
Vivienne once more began demanding, seeing as she became much more proactive in turning her collaboration with the Sylanians into official business, "I want the transfer of power to be smooth. No killings... and don't even think about having your mob so much as touch my citizens the wrong way! I know what happened in Karthin was not the responsibility of rogue Reichsarmee elements."
"Sylanians never lie. I will honour your request."
"Good then our business is concluded," she hurriedly answered, as she prepared to stand up, take her apparel and leave, yet the Admiral took her hand without warning and said sternly.
"Before you go, I still have one question for you." Her appendage was cold to the touch, as icy as the winds in the deepest winter in Skynavia and as pale as Celestial Sea Whales. Vivienne unceremoniously shook it off before answering in a friendly tone that hid her derision, "Yes, madame?"
"Why should I choose you?" A moment of silence followed before Governor Kahemot continued.
"I have not ratified the decree yet, so may I ask you to elaborate on why I should choose you? You, Vivienne, are somebody who has proven to be very demanding over the course of this meeting, so what possible benefit is there to choose you over Republican elements that are staunchly loyal, with their leadership truly believing we have come to liberate them?" Kahemot asked inquisitively as though she had just changed her mind, chosen not to have the Discret dynasty reclaim the throne, her whole voice sounding harsh and weighty all of a sudden. Vivienne answered in earnest.
"Because you would not have allowed me to come this close to you without harbouring some doubts about the Republicans' ability to rule Aquileia. You even admitted as much half an hour ago."
Vivienne continued, "It is not beneath me to admit I was hiding before, during and after the invasion. I needed to disguise myself and keep to the shadows, like some uncivilized thestral, among my own subjects no less. The ones I'd have throned over I had to hide amongst, and in that time I have witnessed nothing but incompetence from those who promised a republican utopia. Vèrany was sharp and had ideals but those could not save him from the Reichsarmee overwhelming force."
"You think you could have done better in his stead?" Kahemot then inquired curiously.
"By the time the Archon attacked, it was already too late. For a successful Aquileian defence, he would have needed to go on the attack before the Empire had even yet subjugated Skyfall."
"That would have been around 1012."
"Correct. My plan would have sought for Aquileia to be the first one to attack, to use the momentum of the initial surprise attack to catapult the army to the Griffking river and capture the vital cities of Featishia. From there on out, the hardest-fought battles would be in and around Greifenheim."
The Aquileian then started to speak increasingly derogatively, "The instability of the Republic did not exactly help either, with communists and fascists beating each other to pieces on the streets while the Harmonists ran circles around the media and the military being an utter disgrace."
"...and after the invasion?" Kahemot wondered.
"By the Empire or your Empire?" Vivienne questioned, ever contemptuous.
"Ours."
"Yours," the Griffon corrected the Admiral, seeing not to be associated with their Empire, for she could never be content to be a part of that Empire, to work for it and to serve this eponymous Empress. She continued, still speaking negatively and now even more so as Vivienne emphasized the importance of her role: "It only got worse. The current government has shown to be nothing but a squabbling assembly of corrupt hypocrites who cannot agree on even the smallest issue. Looting, police violence, and bloody streets are the order of the day, and that's where I come in."
"Oh, is it? We couldn't care less about how the protectorates and reservations are run," the woman answered with no care in the world, leaning back onto her cushy seat and eagerly awaiting the Griffon's response.
"Which is why you invited me here, to what, bring stability to a region that you supposedly do not care about?" Vivienne dared question, exposing the hypocrisy all too apparent over the last minutes. Why would they try to bring her here if not for giving her the titles she deserves? This was not the kind of situation to be set up as a trap like a cage for which to imprison a bird. No, Vivienne was assured of the Admiral's intentions to be genuine in his request, after all Sylanians never lie.
Yes, she knew they never lied but loved to tell not the full truth either, but no more worries about questions about her true motives came up as Kahemot finally dropped the act, if not the near-acidic attempts at gaining the Griffon's regard.
„There are some protectorates that are more important to us than others. Aquileia is important, and so are you madamè.“
"Oh please, cease your shallow flattery and speak plainly," Vivienne snarled angrily, for but a split second, the predator inside her, the primal beast Griffons once were countless aeons ago revealed, and the dignified royal persona dropped, if even for but a few seconds.
"Brilliant! This is why I like you! You can look right through the facade and beyond the unnecessary," she shouted gleefully like a little Griffon chick who just received the greatest gift in the world. Vivienne just sat there, unable to formulate a response. How was she even to respond to such strange, such immature, inappropriate, and truly alien behaviour, but what she recognised was another chance to continue to explain with the flow of her speech seemingly immaculate?
"...and as such I realise that what you desire the most is..."
Kahemot tilted her lightly in anticipation, "Hm?"
"Stability. When it's convenient, you prefer not to care about certain regions, such as the Polar Bear tribes in northern Equus or Llambet but when otherwise you just love violating your own treaties and promises of supposed independence."
"However, an area so economically worthwhile like Aquileia, yet rebellious enough to cause a serious headache for Sylanian authorities, is rather put under a stable and, most importantly, loyal protectorate. I can guarantee stability. The Republicans, in the meantime, have shown to be nothing but a self-eating snake."
With the clap of her hands, she concluded with clear elation and visceral exuberance that even the Griffon could feel, "Simply marvellous. I think you are the perfect fit for the job. It is beyond me why I didn't choose you from the beginning! It is put through. Aquileia is yours."
Warily, she looked upon the tablet, awaiting even so much as a single movement of the Governor's finger. "A-already? You didn't even move as much as a finger."
Only then, when she noticed her own stuttering, did Vivienne realize how infirm she felt. It was as though through the course of this meeting all her energy had been drained, and now she could already notice her voice softening and her claw tiring. Was it from all the talking? It must be, for these Maar-accursed aliens' oral techniques acted like a vortex that drained all life, leaving but a husk behind, like the succubi of Archonate's tales or Tirek of Equestrian folklore.
No matter what truly the cause of this increasing weakness, it made the Governor not look any better in her eyes.
"I communicate with my subordinates psychically."
"Sure..." Vivienne dismissively answered before rising from the cushy leather seat she had her rump and tail in. "Now then, I believe it's time for me to leave."
In equal measure, the alien too stood up, turning out to be only a single head taller than Vivienne. She offered the Griffon her snow-white hand. "Wonderful. I hope to hear from you soon, Queen Vivienne."
In response, despite what reservations she might hold about her opposite, she accepted this gesture, politely shaking her hand with the yellow claw on her right and spoke, "...and I bid you a day as pleasant as you are."
The alien, seemingly not realising what words truly had been spoken, waved her goodbye as the Governor's guards returned her cloak to its rightful owner. "Thank you. Goodbye, Vivienne."
Once out of sight and hopefully, out of mind, she muttered, "Tu parles aquilàis comme une vache sicamonaise, boudin."