Foreign Affairs ❥ lrh

Chapter One: La Gracía at Last

Despite being unusually well-traveled for a 23 year old American, Violet had never even heard of La Gracía, let alone been there. But there she was, fast asleep on her second flight of the day just half an hour from landing in the tiny island nation that had suddenly spiked a niche subsection of the international news circuit several weeks before. Her mind had overworked itself into a tailspin running through the faces and names of the royal family, wording and rewording her questions about the history of Australia taking control over the country and where the lines between monarchy and democracy had been drawn. Where were they going? What were the transitional phases the world should expect moving forward?

Sharp turbulence startled her awake and she pulled her head off the side of her chair where it was leaning against the small window overlooking the North Sea. With a few short pops of her neck she pulled up her New York Mets hoodie (which she exclusively wore during travel) over her hair and readjusted the headphones attached to her walkman and turned up the volume on 'There She Goes' by Sixpence None the Richer. She looked out the window, straining her eyes to see any bit of land but saw nothing. Must be a tiny, tiny island.

Michael was still fast asleep next to her; his ability to sleep through anything had remained steady their entire lives. Violet watched his chest expand and fall, completely relaxed and wondered how he could be sleeping at a time like this. Almost immediately she realized that actually she, too, had just been sleeping at this time so she promptly shut down the thought.

Violet's only bag she had brought on the trip was her staple black leather backpack she brought with her everywhere and it was packed to the brim. She dug through it to find her handwritten notes that she'd folded up and shuffled through them on her lap.

Population: 336,400
Citizenship: Australian Gracían
Capital: Cøllette (pronounced: koul ettah)
GDP per capita: $102,200
Language(s): Australian English, Gracían, Dutch
Currency: Euros
Religion: 42% Christian, 28% Jewish, 11% Muslim, 19% Non-religious
La Gracía became an Australian territory after World War II but has always strived to regain its independence

Her eyes ran over the scrawled words several more times. She could recite these if anyone were to ask, but still felt so out of her depth to discuss them in such an official setting with the very people who were the subject of said discussion. There was so little information she was able to find. Understandably so, she thought, considering for the greater part of this century it hadn't been its own country at all.

There were a few things she had read about La Gracía she couldn't quite picture, though. Mainly, how the country functioned without personal cars. It was baffling. Public transport and biking were the most common ways of getting around and it had come up multiple times in her research but it was a mental hiccup that had stayed well past its welcome. The idea of a full city without traffic or honking... was so foreign, but intriguing. On paper, La Gracía seemed so much more interpersonally focused and friendly than many parts of her own country; she hoped that would, in fact, be the case.

She flipped to her slightly sepia tone picture of the Royal Family she was able to find in an Australian political commentary newspaper that she had special ordered to Manhattan. From left to right, Queen Lizabeth, her eldest son and heir Prince Ashton, her youngest son and next in line Prince Luke, her husband exempt from the throne Prince Andrew (not to be confused with the vile Prince Andrew of the British Royal Family), and then three people pictured who were not named or referenced in the article standing in the row behind them. It looked like a family of three. A mother and father just younger than the Queen, and a daughter between them with long brown hair.

They were quite a good-looking group of people, as Violet had noticed two weeks ago the first time she looked over the photo. But it wasn't the only thing that stood out to her about the photo. All three princes also had on what looked to be makeup. She'd let herself have a small smile when she saw that; otherwise, she was trying to remain completely neutral when it came to her thoughts about everyone involved. Taking sides or even developing surface level distaste or affection for anyone she was going to write about before meeting them had already been self-deemed off limits. But it was still something new to her to see men who were not in rock music, with mascara, eyeliner and shiny eyeshadow on. Especially particularly esteemed men. Everything about La Gracía was shaping up to be truly unique.