Welcome to Gaia! ::

The State of Tennessee
☀Andrew S. Hickory☀

"Same here," Andrew said with a nod. He was starting to come to the conclusion that caballo must mean horse and felt unfortunately clever for figuring it out by himself. Maybe he could eventually become bilingual, too. As his Spanish speaking population increased he was going to need to learn sooner or later anyway. When Romero praised Iris' intelligence a bashful smile lit up his face again even as he blushed awkwardly. "I like to think she is," he said modestly. "Iris has been with me since the mid-1800s. The General bred her for me... I mean, President Jackson."

Tennessee hesitated realizing that someone outside of America probably wouldn't know who his general was. He'd never needed to explain Andrew Jackson to anyone before and he wasn't sure how to even if they asked. Luckily the conversation shifted towards something to do with a woman named Juliana. Andrew worried he might be accidentally intruding on a conversation that was none of his business since he'd only just met both gentlemen.

Grade 9
The Volunteer

Luis Esteban Salazar-Carriedo
The Timid Junior

"It's okay... I'm sure she's hanging out with all her guy friends..." Argen knows how popular his childhood friend is. She does like to talk with others. he didn't mind so much, he just wished she'd let her know. Luis Esteban sat down on the bench. A bit sad that Juliana wouldn't join her for lunch. Maybe she was tired of him

{Translations:}
(Out of Buenos Aires: )



Argentine Republic
Republica de Argentina

“Amazing!” Romero exclaimed, awestruck. “Jackson took a bullet in the chest and he not only didn’t die from it, but also kept fighting? It would’ve been amazing to have such a man in the Venezuelan army at the same time. We were all fighting for our independence from Spain, since your Monroe Doctrine officially protected us all from Europe ever claiming us back. Not that General Bolivar was a pushover, mind you. He led almost all us South Americans to independence years within each other! You remember him, don’t you, Luis?” The Argentinian might perceive the last question as loaded, for a more forceful personality might be exactly what he needed to tame the wily Brazil.

“Well, not exactly…” Romero scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. “General Bolivar only directly led Ecuador, Bolivia, Colombia, and Venezuela to independence, but he pretty much inspired the rest of South America to revolt with us from Spain. I believe a comparable figure would be your George Washington?” Romero paused, unsure how to continue. There was so much he could say about his hero; where to begin?

He decided to start from the beginning, but as he went on, his memories of the general’s military expertise sharpened. “A ver… Simón Bolivar was born to slave-raising nobles in Caracas, my current capital. I won’t bore you with his full name, which comprises ten words—sí, we Hispanics are rather fond of long names; it helps us remember our bloodlines—but his parents died rather early and he himself was raised by a strict family slave and Don Simón, who inspired him to liberación from Spain. After he returned to my country, Bolivar rallied all of the warring provinces to union as New Granada. Then he led a lightning campaign stretching across northern South America, liberating first Colombia, Venezuela, and then Bolivia. He survived at least one murder attempt in Haiti, but his journals tell of a few more. No doubt they were sent by Spaniards jealous of their colonies’ impending freedom. Even though Bolivar was exiled, he appeared many times before the Haitian people, promising them freedom if they would help him reclaim Venezuela, and soon the whole island was in arms for him. He even managed to get Britain and Germany to lend troops for our cause! Even the General’s dog, Nevado, embodied his patriotic fury, for he always followed his master even into the battlefield. Unfortunately, Spain’s General Torres tore him apart.

“Despite all the Royalists arrayed against him, Bolivar personally led his cavalrymen straight into the heart of Spain’s forces with revenge added to his fervor, and he waged a grand duel with General Torres in the middle. He narrowly missed Torres’ stab for his throat by simply leaning out of the way, and in the next stroke, Torres was simply meat on a horse.”

Romero laughed conspiratorially. “It took three bloody years to evict those Royalists from my home, but, Díos, they were worth it. Spain could never again rule over my country and lord my land over my people in haciendas. After freeing us three from his dictatorial control, Bolivar helped free Perú and returned to guide us northern countries as we took our first steps as independent nations. We even called him El Libertador, the Liberator, and united eagerly under his Gran Colombia, electing him president unanimously. Bolivia loved him so much, he borrowed his name. Ecuador, Panama, Colombia, and I owe much of our current status to Bolivar. In ways, he was the father I never had.”

When he paused, Romero realized that he had rambled a bit overlong, as the other two stared at him in silence. He had only intended to give a brief overview of his heroic general and had unintentionally turned it into along-winded patriotic reiteration. He rubbed the back of his head. “Lo siento… No intenté decir tan mucho.”

Luis Esteban Salazar-Carriedo
The Timid Junior

Luis Esteban petted Iris's head, she is such a sweet horse "Eh? Oh, si. I remmeber him. He was such a fantastic man."

{Translations:}
(Out of Buenos Aires: )



Argentine Republic
Republica de Argentina

The State of Tennessee
☀Andrew S. Hickory☀

"Um... the type of warfare I dealt with as a kid didn't exactly work with the way most armies operated back then..." Andrew muttered as he struggled to answer Venezuela's first question. He still remembered how badly England reacted to the virtual guerrilla tactics that were prominent on the frontier and even how America struggled to understand it after he took up Tennessee's ownership. Many nations back then seemed to have expected everyone to flash their colors and strength while neatly lining up on opposite sides of the field for open confrontation, but it wasn't like that in the early American frontiers.

Where Tennessee grew up there were no so-called "Rules of War" beyond shoot, stab and kill until someone retreated. Surrender was never an option because that was just asking to be slaughtered and it was always better to die on your feet than kneeling and hoping for mercy neither side knew how to give. Even during supposedly peaceful meetings between himself and the local native nations there was always a chance someone would suddenly attack or had plotted an ambush. Having a concealed weapon that could be drawn at a moment's notice was practically common sense. Many horrible massacres had occurred because someone naively put down all their weapons under the white flag's false sense of security...

"It was a different kinda battlefield and one that extended into your house and even to negotiation tables. Everywhere an' anywhere was just a new place to start tryin' to kill each other..." he finally said after trying to think of how to explain it to Romero when many of Andrew's own siblings had never quite understood the degree of violence he and many of the original westerners had faced. "You woulda wanted a weapon on you at all times. It prob'ly don't sound too honorable, but it was better than gettin' scalped or killed just 'cause you were too stubborn or stupid not to have one hidden on you."

Rather than offended, Tennessee actually seemed happy if not a little proud that Romero called his tomahawks a worker's tool. He even nodded as if he'd been given a compliment. "Tomahawks are good for everything! They can be hammers, axes, knives an' even forks if you're real desperate... They're light an' easy to carry so you can get all your chores done without needin' to switch out for somethin' else. Kinda like the world's first Swiss Army Knife, I figure," he said enthusiastically as if he thought his favorite blades were the most clever yet deceptively simple devices in the world. "Tomahawks are always tools first an' weapons second. At least that's how it was when I was growin' up... I guess I never took much to swords 'cause you could only use 'em for fightin' an' it's hard to throw 'em proper." He wrinkled his nose at the thought of not having a good projectile weapon although a dagger probably would have worked just as well. It just seemed like such a pain to have to reach for it when the tomahawk was already conveniently in your hand.

Tennessee's expression softened a bit to an affectionate smile as he regarded Iris. "She's a Tennessee Walking Horse," he said. "I was real surprised with the General showed her to me since he usually only raised Tennessee Thoroughbreds. Iris ain't the fastest or strongest kinda horse, but she's smart an' reliable with great endurance. She's great for trail blazin' or workin' 'round the farm. Got one of the smoothest rides 'round so aimin' from her back is easy, but I don't like takin' her into battle. Walkers ain't really suited for fightin' or any rough stuff. That's why it confused me at first when the General gave her to me... Still, I'd rather have Iris over any war pony."

There was also a good chance that there had been some method to Andrew Jackson's madness. Certainly having such a gentle, mild mannered horse seemed to temper the natural fighting instinct in Tennessee. Though his Volunteer Spirit served Andrew well on the bloodiest of battlefields there was much to be said about kindness and learning how to care for and respect someone who didn't have those same warrior impulses. Raising and working with Iris over the years certainly appeared to have taught the former frontiersman those things.

Grade 9
The Volunteer

The State of Tennessee
☀Andrew S. Hickory☀

Andrew was a little surprised when Romero laughed and pointed out the younger warrior had never seen anyone throw a sword properly. "No, sir," he admitted thoughtfully. "My first boss was real good with his sword, but I never saw him throw it. Most people at my place usually stuck with their rifles an' only used blades when the had to." Which, given he and his people were traditionally sharp shooters and long hunters, it was somewhat rare for enemies to get passed their bullets and within striking distance of the marksmen. So, though he was proficient with his tomahawks, he nor many other Tennesseans saw much need to better themselves with blades outside of their hunting knives and tools. Someone who was skilled and studied enough in the sword to throw it the way Romero was talking about had been virtually unheard of in the back country.

The Tennessean furrowed his brows slightly in confusion as if he had a hard time understanding what Venezuela meant by using a sword as a status symbol. Naturally there was a social hierarchy in Tennessee, but by the time it had been put into place swords were pretty much obsolete and not used except as decoration or by people who were actually in the army. When swords had been more relevant weapons things like status had been meaningless to him as a child. The only thing he required of his leaders were that they were brave and knew how to fight. Of course, one vital difference between Romero and Andrew was that the Tennessean had never truly considered himself a soldier even though he was a proficient warrior. Volunteers were people who rose to fight when fighting needed to be done in the militia but they usually weren't military men by trade. Gaining rank and honor on the battlefield was fine and dandy, but what really mattered to a Volunteer was the simple goal of protecting their home. Naturally they all expected one another to perform bravely and within the reasonable bounds of morality, but to a Volunteer so long as their homes and families were safe that was the important thing. Even calling Andrew Jackson the General had been more of an affectionate term in honor of his courage from Tennessee than a legitimate respect for Jackson's rank in the army.

"Huh... I guess I just always figured you could tell if a man knew how to fight by lookin' at him in the eyes or somethin'... Didn't know swords were supposed to say all that 'bout a person wearin' it," Andrew mused wondering what else he didn't know about swords. "I bet George woulda known that. He's actually a soldier an' works for the army. Me, I just shoot down anybody who tries to mess with me or my family. You a soldier, too?"

Iris seemed to beam at hearing Romero call her a beauty and blew a pleased gust of air from her nostrils. She thought these boys were silly with their talk of weapons and battle, but at least they could appreciate other things, too. There was more to life than fighting, after all. Like butterflies and sunshine and going on walks in the woods... That would be nice to do right about now in the cool September air...

Grade 9
The Volunteer

The State of Tennessee
☀Andrew S. Hickory☀

"I'd like to see you use your sword sometime," Tennessee said with a small smile. "I don't really get it, but livin' by the sword or whatever sounds pretty neat." At the mention of the United Nations the boy's eyes brightened with recognition. "Oh! That's the thing old Cordell Hull was always talkin' 'bout! I always thought it was a clever idea to make a place where nations could come together an' talk 'bout stuff like we states do with our meetings. I'm glad he went forward with it although I wonder if it was ok for FDR to call him the Father of the United Nations. I guess since he got a Peace Prize for it that means other people agreed, though. It kinda surprised me when Hull came home an' told me 'bout it since he was a good man but the kinda guy that usually gets overlooked easily... Did you ever meet him while helping found it?"

The question about Iris' intelligence earned a soft, thoughtful hum from the state as he eyed his horse. "Mm.... Pretty smart, I suppose," he said. "She helped me build that Godforsaken atom bomb. Most miserable experience of my life was bein' shut up in those stuffy labs so it was nice to have her 'round helpin' me figure out how to process the Uranium right."

Grade 9
The Volunteer