NEW Story: Drip
⚠️ This article is archived, and should be considered non-canon.
The constabulary is old-fashioned and it can’t last forever. It predates Petticoat-era Vekllei, the previous regime lost to atomic ash, and even the monarchy itself — it was the first community militia of the country and a great deal of romanticism that had been lost in the death of the monarchy has been invested in them. Vekllei people have no gods and no kings; the comfort of tradition is invested in relic institutions like the constabulary. Their uniforms are ostentatious and stylish; they carry ceremonial swords; they guard the nation’s children and leaders alike as part of venrouiva policing, and so on.
Where community police stations are populated heavily with women and are largely unarmed, the constabulary has traditionally been a male institution with capable equipment. Even now, in an age of petticoat society and integration of womanhood into the economic fibre of the country, the constabulary is still mostly staffed by men.
As they do not make house calls, the constabulary is tasked with defending institutions and business of national importance — everything from schools to petrochemical plants and water infrastructure. They ride in cars or motorcycles. Vekllei still operates many thousands of combustion-engine motorcycles, but there are efforts underway to research all-electric motorcycles that could be refuelled periodically. A pity for constables, for whom the roar of a motor engine is half the fun and symbolises their unique status in Vekllei society, which is nearly totally nuclear-electric.
This woman here is an office lady, as designated by the small gi on her skirt. She’s late to lunch for a friend and only has an hour left. She hails the nearest constable, who helps her with directions. Such is the most extreme encounter most Vekllei people will ever experience with the elusive and romantic constabulary, at least until the second nuclear attack on the country and their rapid mobilisation as military police.
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