Claw Summit's Fudge Festival and Treaty

June 3, 2025, a summit was held between House Ailurus, House Meles, and House Sauropoda.   The Pandas and Badgers have been working toward more lasting friendly relations with the Dinos for some time now. Since Regent Dazz was displaced and misses her original home and hunting ground in Michigan, the three Houses got together for a party where amiable discussions took place for a mutually beneficial agreement.    

The Agreement

House Meles

Will cede the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to Sauropoda and allow a train track that goes through their borders in Wisconsin. The track will run from lower Michigan to the UP.

Will help build the tracks Sauropoda requests.

Will increase trade of West Coast orchard fruits (cherries, apples, pears, peaches, and grapes) and wine to Sauropoda and Ailurus.

House Ailurus

Will cede the lower part of Michigan to Sauropoda and allow a train track that goes through their borders in Ohio from the Sauropoda Protectorate to lower Michigan.

Will increase trade of corn to Sauropoda for Literomantic biofuel.

Will help build the tracks Sauropoda requests.

Ailurus sponsored the food for the ensuing festivals.

House Sauropoda

Will give 50% of the copper mined from the Up for Meles Literomantic Battery manufacturing and a yearly stipend of pecans, Maine lobster, and clam chowder to House Meles.

Will plant Georgia Peaches in Ailurus territory for House Ailurus.

 

Mutual Arts, Transport, and Education

To further bonds between our peoples, the three Houses will freely allow the following in each of their territories.

The showing of Meles movie releases and touring of music groups

Touring theater troupes and productions from House Ailurus

Dino Rave Casino Boat tours on the larger rivers and Great Lakes

Reciprocal dessert trade!

Reciprocal education. Members of one House may study at another House's universities on the same scholarships and grants afforded to House citizens.

Reciprocated protectorate funded transport for citizens of each House.

Future Fun?

The three Houses expect to hold an annual Fudge Treaty Festival.  

Story Time

How the Treaty Started: Mapping with Nachos

It began not in a grand hall or beneath banners of state, but somewhere between a plate of fresh nachos and the clatter of a clumsy bowling game.   The leaders of House Sauropoda, House Meles, and House Ailurus—Dazz, Shy, and Bard—had not met for formal negotiation, but stumbled into each other and snuck away for a break. Dazz, weary-eyed and hoarse from long weeks of logistics and leadership, leaned back in her plastic chair and exhaled.   “You know,” she said, brushing crumbs from her uniform, “I’d kill for a bit of shoreline. Just enough for the hatchlings. Dino lands are packed tighter than a herd in mating season. It’s getting hard to breathe, let alone roam.”   There was a pause. Shy, ever composed despite the sleepless shadows beneath her eyes, glanced up. Bard, newly minted leader of Ailurus, chewed thoughtfully on a jalapeño and actively ignored the smoothie the drone had brought him.   “Show me,” Bard said at last, sliding the plate of nachos to the center of the table. Dazz blinked. Shy raised a brow.   “Here’s Meles,” Bard said, dribbling a line of salsa along the left edge of a corn chip. “And here’s the Ailurus coastline.” A swipe of sour cream. “Where do you want your water, Dazz?”   And just like that, it happened. A treaty built on snack food and exhaustion, on mutual respect and the kind of trust that only comes from not just being in the trenches together too many times, but from having fun together. From being human together. Three leaders, not just soldiers but friends, carving the future with corn chips and sauce.   There were no speeches. Just talk—about what the hatchlings needed, what Ailurus could offer, and how Meles could reinforce the trade routes. Shy pointed out migration paths and safe crossings in between sips of root beer float. Bard laughed when he misjudged the ranch dip and accidentally redrew the border of an entire river. Dazz offered to fund a shared rave ferry system.   “I’ll throw in three crates of fizzy drinks if anyone lets me keep the lakeshore cliff,” she grinned.   “Only if I get to name it,” Shy said, standing to take her turn on the lane. She had kept score and refused to let anyone cheat…even though she definitely cheated now, just to see if Bard would notice. He did notice the foxfire. Gave her a look but stayed silent.   The ball rolled. Pins scattered. A strike.   The room erupted in whoops and claps, and the moment became something more than a break, it became a turning point. The lines drawn in sauce would be redrawn later in ink, but the heart of it stayed: honest talk, shared goals, and a plate of greasy diplomacy that somehow worked.   The Claws Summit Treaty, as it came to be called, wasn't born of posturing or policy. It was born of nachos, trust, and a willingness to listen. And maybe—just maybe—a little bowling magic.    

“Sweetest Victory”: The Claw Summit's Fudge Festival

⁣A Mackinac Island Treaty Celebration   The treaty was signed. The borders had been redrawn in ink this time. Now came the celebration. And where better to mark the start of something tender than at Mackinac Island with a new Dessert Festival, where the air itself smelled like caramelized sugar and freedom?   Bard arrived first, wrapped in a gauzy jacket the color of candied rose petals, already balancing three paper plates and a warm smile. He'd tried to sneak in unnoticed, failed, and was immediately pulled into a swirl of dancers spun sugar-sweet and music warm enough to melt fudge.   Shy arrived next, brushing cookie crumbs from her jacket and holding a chocolate pie like a diplomatic offering. "I found the peanut brittle stand," she said, eyes bright and tired in the same breath. "I may or may not have threatened to nationalize it. Now there’ll be paperwork waiting for me at home."   Dazz rolled in later, a dusting of powdered sugar on her scales and a suspiciously large caramel apple. “I was not in a fudge-eating contest. I have not lost to Clawdia,” she said flatly, jaw twitching as she chewed. “And if anyone says otherwise, they’re lying.”   By the time the sun dipped low, the sky turned sherbet pink. A soft breeze curled between the stalls, carrying the scent of cinnamon buns and hot cocoa. Lanterns swung from sugar-sculpted arches, and fireflies blinked over the shores of the Great Lakes the Houses now, finally, shared properly.   The three leaders sat on a hill overlooking the festival below. People from all nations joined in and ate themselves into a sugar high like none before. Forgetting all worries of tomorrow.   “I can’t believe we pulled it off,” Bard said softly, half to the stars, half to his friends. “It felt… so easy.” He looked up. “Why do people think this is hard?”   Shy nudged him with her elbow. “Felt easy for you,” she murmured. “It can be hard for others. Especially if they’ve been burned before. You will see soon enough.”   But Bard just shrugged, his eyes still on the sky. “Baking is just controlled burning, too. Sometimes, a little heat is worth it in the end. Last time, it was me. This time, it wasn't. That’s how it goes.”   Dazz just snorted and rolled her eyes. “Can’t we bring you anywhere without you going all dramatic fairy?”   Bard didn’t answer, but Shy grinned and shook her head. “I’ve had Bard as my right hand in the SCM for years now. That’s what we gotta deal with from now on.”   Below, fireworks exploded in the shape of glittering pterodactyls, glowing woodlander creatures, and blooming night flowers. The music of the orchestra bled into the clap of hooves, and the laughter of children and tired diplomats mixed freely, indistinguishable in its joy.   “Same time next year?” Dazz just flopped backwards onto the blanket and lazily closed her eyes.   Shy leaned back beside her, stretching out like a sun-warmed cat. “Only if we renegotiate the cinnamon bun distribution.”   Bard didn’t reply. He was watching the sky, face open and calm, a smile on his face.