Post by callmedelta on Jul 10, 2022 20:38:26 GMT -5
Thomas Calvere was in his element. Franerre was declaring war on the UST. Well, Pareau would probably dress it up as an ‘intervention’ or a ‘liberation.’ They could call it a bake sale for all he cared, Franerre and the Union would be shooting each other. That meant Calvere suddenly had quite the opportunity on his hands. That was why he was currently lounging around on a long couch, akin to the one out might stereotypically see in a psychologist’s office according to his mistress. Apparently the Lusatian practice was some sort of status symbol among high-society women with too much time and money on their hands and nothing better to do than tell all their secrets to men who weren’t their husbands. Thomas didn’t particularly care, but the couch was comfortable, and it was much more practical than moving an entire bed into his office.
It allowed Calvere to recline back and close his eyes, envisioning the propaganda posters, newspaper headlines, and radio scripts for those few who could afford them in his mind’s eye. If one were to walk in, they would be forgiven for thinking Calvere was asleep if it weren’t for his hands raised up in the air, making subtle adjustments in his head. This first poster would be for military recruitment. He could see it now: a Franerri soldier, his bright blue and red uniform standing bright against the green hills surrounding him taking up the left side of the poster. He had a rifle in his hand, and he waved to the right, calling the viewer to action. On the right side of the poster was a woman lying on the ground, a ragged soldier in front of her. He was protecting the woman from the shadows looming inhumanly tall around him, shadows in the uniforms of the Union of South Touli.
Should Okeema be standing behind them, bearing a pair of horns and a devilish grin? Thomas mimicked holding a pencil in his hand, drawing Okeema in his mind’s eye. His actual artistic talents were little to none, but that was why he was the Director. Calvere pondered the addition. No, no, a fair number of Franerri probably didn’t know who Okeema was. The poster was fine enough as it was, adding too much more risked cluttering the image. The Director still needed to add the lettering, after all. He wrote the names of each relevant party by their representations on the poster, but that still left Thomas struggling for the main call to arms. What to say, what to say. “They need our help! Volunteer Today!” Basic, but it would be a nice fallback if nothing better presented itself. “Tafatu calls for aid! Will YOU answer?” Better, better, but could it be improved?
“Tafatu calls for our aid! Let’s answer her!” That was better. ‘Calls for our aid’ made it clear Tafatu wanted Franerre specifically. ‘Will YOU answer?’ made the decision on each individual to volunteer or not. Thomas didn’t want a poster to inspire a million unique choices. Probability stated that would leave you with 500,000 men. ‘Let’s answer her!’ meanwhile made the war a societal effort. It was something you had to do. Which was literal, given Franerre’s practice of conscription, but Thomas’s job, as far as he was concerned, was to make sure that people weren’t protesting the decision. If it was an inevitability, there was no use protesting. Perhaps ‘Will YOU answer?’ would be used later. Right now, as the man opened his eyes with a soft smile, Thomas knew he had a poster to draft.
It allowed Calvere to recline back and close his eyes, envisioning the propaganda posters, newspaper headlines, and radio scripts for those few who could afford them in his mind’s eye. If one were to walk in, they would be forgiven for thinking Calvere was asleep if it weren’t for his hands raised up in the air, making subtle adjustments in his head. This first poster would be for military recruitment. He could see it now: a Franerri soldier, his bright blue and red uniform standing bright against the green hills surrounding him taking up the left side of the poster. He had a rifle in his hand, and he waved to the right, calling the viewer to action. On the right side of the poster was a woman lying on the ground, a ragged soldier in front of her. He was protecting the woman from the shadows looming inhumanly tall around him, shadows in the uniforms of the Union of South Touli.
Should Okeema be standing behind them, bearing a pair of horns and a devilish grin? Thomas mimicked holding a pencil in his hand, drawing Okeema in his mind’s eye. His actual artistic talents were little to none, but that was why he was the Director. Calvere pondered the addition. No, no, a fair number of Franerri probably didn’t know who Okeema was. The poster was fine enough as it was, adding too much more risked cluttering the image. The Director still needed to add the lettering, after all. He wrote the names of each relevant party by their representations on the poster, but that still left Thomas struggling for the main call to arms. What to say, what to say. “They need our help! Volunteer Today!” Basic, but it would be a nice fallback if nothing better presented itself. “Tafatu calls for aid! Will YOU answer?” Better, better, but could it be improved?
“Tafatu calls for our aid! Let’s answer her!” That was better. ‘Calls for our aid’ made it clear Tafatu wanted Franerre specifically. ‘Will YOU answer?’ made the decision on each individual to volunteer or not. Thomas didn’t want a poster to inspire a million unique choices. Probability stated that would leave you with 500,000 men. ‘Let’s answer her!’ meanwhile made the war a societal effort. It was something you had to do. Which was literal, given Franerre’s practice of conscription, but Thomas’s job, as far as he was concerned, was to make sure that people weren’t protesting the decision. If it was an inevitability, there was no use protesting. Perhaps ‘Will YOU answer?’ would be used later. Right now, as the man opened his eyes with a soft smile, Thomas knew he had a poster to draft.