NationStates Jolt Archive

please note: this is a storyline thread - IC: just for Watfordshire and Knootoss - OOC: anyone can vote :roll:

Watfordshires' factbook entry is right here too:

http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=1905791

Knoot: Just wanted to let you know about this in advance so you could ad any RPing of Ad & Woulter between each chapter. Once you've responded to each chapter I'll post the next, as I'm pretty much done. Then I can edit the text for it to be posted in the CACE diplomatic lounge. I hope recent experiences haven't soured the idea of more RP with commies :wink:

Melkert & Bos in Watfordshire

Chapter 1: On the crest of a wave


The voyage to Watfordshire on board the sea-worthy ‘Homestar Runner’ is a pleasant enough trip for Melkert & Bos. The passage is calm and left to their own devices by the silent Shiree crew, it offers the opportunity for relaxation and a moment to reflect upon their diplomatic mission so far.

The sun is high above them when, from his position at the bow, Wouter Bos first spots a regular silhouette on the eastern horizon. A burly sailor, with long blue-black feathers in his topknot and decked out in nothing but a baggy black sarong, observes his curiosity,
"The tidal power stations" he nods toward them before resuming his balanced gait across the fore-deck.

Before long, the ‘Homestar Runner’ has passed between the line of monolithic generators and fast approaches the Watfordshire coastline. The air seems crowded with noisy gulls as the vessel clips past a small flotilla of red-sailed fishing boats. The figures aboard them shout and wave as they pass and Wouter smiles and waves from the gunwale, while rubbing extra sun protection on his pinking flesh.

Larger vessels fill the bay before them as the sailors deftly bring the ‘Homestar Runner’ in among them, and tack toward the harbour. The ‘city’ of BrightOn rears up sharply from behind the busy quay, a single wisp of cloud grazing the top of the plateau in its’ centre. Avenues of trees and patches of greenery break up the brightly painted buildings and the massive sprawl of black, red and white teepees that cover the broad hillside in a chaotic, organic morass.

"Its’ madness! – But there may be some method in it" Melkert mutters under his breath.

From the heaving crowds, someone tosses a dark green melon up over the deck which Wouter promptly catches. The burly sailor swiftly thrusts a sharp blade into it, before swinging down to join the other scurrying crewmen in their efforts to moor the vessel.

A gangplank is lowered and the two Knootians make their way unsteadily down it, becoming immediately surrounded by a gaggle of tanned children who point, prod, poke and laugh at the diplomats before a fearsome looking youth clears his way through to them. The young man stands well over six feet tall, his head is shaved apart from a braid at the back which is adorned with the same long blue-black feathers they had seen in the sailors hair. His face is painted deep red and his eyes flash as he holds his hands up, palm outwards, and hails them.

"Monsieur Melkert! Monsieur Bos! Greetings! And welcome to Watfordshire!"
The children and assorted onlookers shuffle backwards and form a respectful circle around the three.
"I am Ingleson Earnest and I am to be your guide during your stay in BrightOn – please allow us…" the young mans’ sentence trails off into a series of welcoming gestures as several youngsters in white robes rush forward to place garlands of fragrant white flowers around Ad and Wouters’ necks. Two youths dressed in similar baggy black cotton to Ingleson collect up the Knootians baggage as drums and trumpets suddenly strike up a lively tune. The people around Melkert & Bos cheer and wave and slap the two men on the back as Ingleson and the attendants bustle them through the resurgent crowd.

Ad Melkert keeps a nervous eye on their luggage until he finds his senses overwhelmed by the garish harbour surroundings and Wouter beams through mouthfuls of sweet, juicy melon as he allows himself to be guided under the brightly coloured awnings, into a low wooden building.

#tag# having a problem restarting the comp and I don't want to lose this thread. I will reply.

OOC:
Well you may have noticed that I left the CACE board and I am not yet sure if I will ever return there. It's nice of you to post here. Atm I am completely thought with SeOCC and I am tired of being constantly insulted. However I still had a lit of fun with many of you and I would like to finish the RP with Bread and Honey as well. Could you possibly ask B&H if he wants to continue here on the NS forum too?

Oh - and nice writing.

ICishness forthcoming due to timeconstraints.

ooc: You should TG Bread & Honey - its friendly. :lol:
As you're pushed for time, I'll post chapter 2 for your delight and delectation - you might not even feel like contributing til chapter 3... so just GRUNT occasionally, and I'll turn over the pages for you :wink:

Chapter 2 – Moderated relaxation

One of Ingleson’s attendants brings glasses and an earthenware jug of clear water for the pair, while an old man dressed in baggy red linen examines Ad & Wouter’s bulging passports and affixes a Shiree stamp to each.

"First things first gentlemen…" Ingleson Earnest addresses his charges,
"The city awaits us and I am to escort you to the public baths for your refreshment before we settle down para cena with some of the more prominent Heralds – they are all most eager to meet you. We are in the process of acquiring some Celdonian automobiles for diplomatic use, but for the moment we have allocated you a small buggy with two horses for the duration of your stay – it is my pleasure to perform the services of both guide and chaffeur".

Melkert notes the simplistic amiability of the young man, who seems most excited about, and perhaps a little proud of his diplomatic role.

Ingleson leads Ad & Wouter through the offices and out into the mid-afternoon sunlight It is hot and humid as the Knootians mount the buggy and Ingleson gees the horses into a gentle trot. Some of the more established streets between the permanent buildings are cobbled, but the grassy pathways winding around the expanses of teepees are beaten earth and obviously exist in a purely temporary way. Many children and old folk stand and talk in the residential areas, halting briefly to wave at the passing buggy. Ad notices a few other horses and donkeys burdened with large wicker packs of hops and grapes, also bales of cotton and linen, but for the most part the goods are carried atop the workers heads, or in small handcarts.

"Ingleson, I was wondering.." Wouter pipes up, ".. with such a transitory populace – how is it possible to locate people, and to maintain individual records of employment, contribution to the state etc.? .. it all seems rather… well, chaotic.."

The young Shiree laughs and answers loudly over his shoulder, keeping one eye on the ‘road’, as the buggy winds its way up the hillside,

"The permanent building we are passing on the left holds the answer to your question Msr. Bos: It is a Post Office. Post Offices in Watfordshire serve a series of purposes – they house the only modern communications technology available to the populace and are located at a maximum of twenty mile radii throughout the country, with a heavier concentration of course, in our cities and centers of industry.

The Shiree log in every morning before desayuno, in order to receive correspondance and their ‘post’ – or employment – for the following week. The menial and physical tasks are distributed equally amongst all the Shiree dependant on health and fitness etc. the only exceptions are the seven to fourteen year olds who attend the Military Dancing Academies for the whole day"

Ingleson stops the buggy briefly to speak with a young woman. Her head is shaved and adorned in the same way as Ingleson’s and she wears the same baggy black ‘uniform’. She nods to the diplomats and as they continue to traverse up the gentle slope, their young guide explains:

"That was my cousin Sharlee. She is one of BrightOn’s many ‘Moderators’ – I assume a rough parallel of this post in your society, would be an ‘officer of the law’" Ingleson chuckles,
"Although, that title has little meaning to our people. As I briefly mentioned; the standard military service is completed by the majority of the Shiree by the time they are fourteen, at the time when we undertake the ritual of "Connexion". However, as many as 25% of the population choose to return to the academies at the age of sixteen, when it is usual to specialize for a further two years, and it is from these successful graduates that the Moderators are selected. I myself am a Moderator within the capital and I also train elementary classes in ‘Tai Chi’ and ‘Iron Body’ at BRightOn’s original academy"

As the buggy reaches the next hairpin turn, the mass of teepees begins to thin and the pathway inclines more steeply. Ingleson Earnest points out the many circling buzzards above them to Wouter who recalls they are Watfordshire’s national animal. The land on either side of the path becomes increasingly tree-lined until they are clopping through a long wooded corridor, a mixture of autumnal colour resplendent about them. As the party bursts once more into the sunlight, Ad & Woulter catch their breath at the stunning vista displayed before them. Beyond a collection of wooden lodges and tents, the tiered baths of BrightOn cascade from the plateau far above them, down into the city. A cable car is almost hidden amongst the trees on the other side of the cascade, but a line of naked and toweled Shiree slowly stroll up the hill to the higher tiers, enjoying the walk in the afternoon heat.

Ingleson is greeted by an aging man in a white sarong, his long silver hair piled into a high knot he waves to the Knootians and removes a large-bowled wooden pipe in order to speak.

"Most esteemed guests, I wasn’t due to meet you until cena, but I had a feeling young Earnest might make our famous baths your first stop. I am Felix Jethoscopes", he shakes them both firmly by the hand as Ad & Wouter climb down from the buggy.

After changing out of their clothes and donning thick toweling robes in a large teepee, the four men enter the largest pool near the entrance to the baths. The natural basin is about four feet deep and a bench-like shelf has been carved from the soapy, chalky stone around the edge of the pool, allowing the bathers to sit with the water lapping comfortably about their chests.

"The baths aren’t too crowded at this time of day, as most of our folk are still busy working" Jethoscopes explains, splashing his feet out in front of him.
Ad and Wouter sink into the warm springwater – Bos letting out an involuntary sigh of pleasure as he rests his head against the rim of the pool.

"The baths are almost an entirely natural phenomenon", Ingleson Earnest continues as his elderly companion puffs away on his pipe.
"We have shaped the pools for additional comfort but most of the work has been done by mother nature herself. The lower tiers are larger and cooler, but the hot springs at the plateau are worth the climb"

"The waterslides on the far side of the trees provide a little more excitement than my old bones require…" Jethoscopes interjects, "…but please feel free to take the cable car up to launch yourselves down them should the mood take you".

The view down onto the south side of the city is thoroughly picturesque and Melkert & Bos spend a happy couple of hours wallowing in the baths, rushing down the exhilarating flumes with Ingleson Earnest and languishing under the subtle ministrations of the members of the Union of Tourism & Massage. As the sun begins to close with the horizon, Wouter notices the gleam from the far-off tidal stations. Bathed in evenings orange glow, the ambassadors are given white baggy linen robes and shoes. The spritely Felix Jethoscopes clambers alongside Ad and Woulter as the young Moderator gees the horses back down the hillside.

"This evening my friends, we will eat cena in one of the less conspicuous public eateries" Jethoscopes tells Ad while Wouter dozes next to him - despite the bumps and jolts of the buggy.

"We will be joined by five of our more prominent Heralds; Msr. Magic Hooley Snr. (one of our most widely regarded chefs) – Msr. Kilgore Limbo and Mme. Tula Gladand from the Union of Courtesans – Mme. Bella Favourite joins us from the Transport and general workers Union - and finally Msr. Dexter Kanewitz, a well-known auteur from the field of Recreational Drug Research will accompany yourselves and young Earnest to the clublands after the meal."

The buggy, back into the center of the city and once more surrounded by the bustle of many tanned Shiree, progresses slowly along the busy pathways. The welcome odours of food being prepared and lightly fragrant woodsmoke, wafts from the banks of teepees, and Melkert marvels at the wholely social nature of the people conversing, singing and promenading together like courting peacocks, in the familial comfort which seems to preceed the evenings repast.

"It is half-term at the university and the current UN proposal is so straightforward it has demanded little of my time" Jethscopes plugs a wad of greenish weed into his pipe and sparks it up.
"..and so it has been a luxury and a pleasure for me to make your acquaintance Ad… after my application to the post of Ambassador to Bread & Honey was passed over, I doubted whether I would ever enjoy such diplomatic privilege as I have experienced today in your company. I am only sorry that the current CACE position on diplomatic communication seems necessary, but perhaps the Third World Solidarity summit might yield more opportunity for cultural exchange – who knows? …Ah! Here we are!"

The buggy has entered a built up area: most of the wooden buildings are four stories or more and the broad cobbled streets are thronged with Shiree. Ingleson turns the horses down a narrower lane and halts the buggy outside a brightly lit building, the words "Bibianian Eaterie" painted across the broad fascia.
"Hmmpf!" Bos shudders himself awake "Oh! Time to eat? Excellent!"….

*grunts appreciatingly*

You have a very unique nation. I wonder what it would be like to have a nation with people in teepees. 8)
-small OOC nitpicking: Bos' first name is Wouter. Without the 'l'.
-Expect Melkert to be very interested in what the Recreational Drugs man has to say. It's Knootoss' main export industry. 8)


"..there is always maso, delicious maso, half a gramme for a half-holiday, a gramme for a week-end, two grammes for a trip to the gorgeous East, three for a dark eternity on the moon..."
~RecDrug Incorporated advertisement.

You could also put 'storyline thread' in the title instead of 'private RP' to attract more visitors. This is interesting for more people then just me and it allows you to establish a presence on the forum. :wink:

Thanks K>>

sorry 'Wouter' - damn my Anglophilia - have edited previous posts. Well, here's the next part. I may be slightly more erratic from now on, as I'm moving house, so my only connection will be from work for the next day or two. And I'm supposed to be, well - working there :wink:

Chapter 3: Q&A para Cena

The interior of the eaterie is lit with candles on each of the four tables – a brighter light shines from above a well-stocked bar and from the chink between the double doors that lead to the kitchen. The walls are lined with photographic portraits of a multitude of be-feathered, face-painted Shiree, who seem to jointly regard Ad & Wouter as they enter the small restaurant. Jethoscopes motions them to the rear of the room where the other expected Heralds await them.

Exchanging pleasantries with each of the Heralds, Melkert & Bos are seated at opposing ends of the rectangular table while Ingleson excuses himself to attend to the horses.

The cena passes like a whirlwind for Bos, who leaves most of the discussion to his senior colleague. A starter of a thin soup with noodles and dumplings is swiftly followed by a flavoursome vegetable casserole served on rice with some kind of orange paste on the side. The party consume a liberal amount of beer with the food which is a thick, sweet brew, that Melkert compares favourably to some of the Belgian trappist-styles he is familiar with. Questions from the Shiree to the Knootians and from Melkert in return pepper the meal until the dessert of a vast bowl of fruit salad gives way to more general conversation.

Bella Favourite: "Ad, may I call you Ad? – what are your feelings on the proposed economic treaty from SeOCC? – do you feel it may garner any support from many capitalist nation-states?"

Tula Gladand: "We are keen to establish connections with as many nations as possible, though due to our ignorance, we are nervous about some of the more war-like peoples of the world – can you recommend any friendly countries? Or perhaps provide some information about who we should ‘avoid’?"

Magic Hooley Snr.: "The peoples of the world seem strange and various to us. Elves and Bovinoids amongst other races abound… who amongst the nations you have encountered struck you as the strangest?"

BUMP - anything to say for yourself young man?

OOC: I'll post. i just need to find time to find something intelligible and at the same time keep the other RPs I am involved in moving. Plus I have to juggle with RL right now... It'll come, I haven't forgotten
~Knoot

OOC: no prob. after you.

Melkert has had a few more drinks than usual and had gotten a little drunk. However he still tried to answer the questions asked to him while Bos was exchanging drinking songs.

Bella Favourite: "Ad, may I call you Ad? – what are your feelings on the proposed economic treaty from SeOCC? – do you feel it may garner any support from many capitalist nation-states?"
“Well… that’s a tough one”, Melkert said and he emptied his glass. “Personally I don’t believe it will be a huge success.” *hic* “As a diplomat I’ll have to tell you how competentelatelaly (!) flawed it is..” he smiled with red cheeks and leaned forward. “But also… as a person. If they don’t take us who will they take?” he asked rhetorically. “No seriously, any grad student can tell you that if a nation with free enterprise has to give up trade with all other capitalist nations it will kill their economy.” He said as he made a cutthroat gesture.

“And you know something else about those SeOCC people… they all…”

Bos saw that Melkert was blabbering and quickly intervened. “Hey Ad have another drink okay? Take this.” He said as he gave the ambassador something that seemed to be non-alcoholic. As Ad drank his drink Bos turned to one of the Shiree…

Tula Gladand: "We are keen to establish connections with as many nations as possible, though due to our ignorance, we are nervous about some of the more war-like peoples of the world – can you recommend any friendly countries? Or perhaps provide some information about who we should ‘avoid’?"

“Hmmm… friendly countries.” Bos thought for a moment and replied a bit philosophical. “Well, the trouble is that the NS world is filled with belligerents. Only the path your nation has chosen determines which ones you will face.” He continued a bit more carefully: “The thing is that we meet most friendly relations through trade, a road that is completely shut out to your people because of your economic system. Truly a shame though – our people get to see so much of the world as they travel it in search of places to buy and sell.” He hoped he had not lost them yet: “Many nations in the Ur Trade Pact are friendly, nations such as Ur, Vrak and Gradenk are cultured peoples who are happy to exchange openly to better all involved parties.” He smiled, obviously having good memories from the encounters: “I almost forgot the Dutch! Knootoss isn’t the only Dutch nation that rose since the Kingdom of the Netherlands fell apart and there are many whom you might like. Ballotonia for example is in many ways a sister nation of Knootoss; and their diplomatic corps is active in many ways to assist other nations. Stephistan is another such nation. All laid-back liberal nations with whom you can have pleasant exchanges.”

Bos continued in the same way: “Another loose organisation my nations is involved in is the UNAOTO – the United Nations Against Tyranny and Aggression” which is really a more tightly knit, liberal UN kind of thing. Nations such as Ell and Mintar are generally friendly and there even is a CACE member in the UNAOTO. And if you want to meet friendly elves then Tor Yvresse is the place to go. We have friends among the stars as well – on Mars, and in the Proxima Centauri system for example – but they are probably out of your reach for now.”

Magic Hooley Snr.: "The peoples of the world seem strange and various to us. Elves and Bovinoids amongst other races abound… who amongst the nations you have encountered struck you as the strangest?"

Bos smiled. “Oh yes, the Vrakians are a race of giant sentient walruses for example. But you asked for the strangest. Well, that’s got to be the clangers. Yes, definitely the clangers. You know what clangers are?”

OOC: look up posts from “Clangerland” ^_^

thanks K. I'll get back to posting after the third. Haven't got a reg. connexion yet since the move.

*goes into waiting mode*

Chapter 4 – ‘Free Rock Eugenia’ at the ‘Last Chance Pagoda’


‘Although we live a basic existence on Terra Firma, our Space Program is advancing quite rapidly Msr. Bos’ Magic Hooley Snr. responds to the young Knootian with a wry smile and a glint in his eye ‘...Although it is probably true to say that there aren’t yet any teepees on Mars’

As the meal concludes and Jethoscopes pats out his third pipefull of ash, Dexter Kanewitz, the Shiree pharmacist, drops a hand-printed envelope onto the table before each of the Knootians. In a garish fluro font the text reads:

‘Free Rock Eugenia @ The Last Chance Pagoda
Midnight til Dawn
Door Tax: 5/2 Bones Posted/Unemployed’

Kanewitz smirks in a self-satisfied fashion. His skin is dark and his long blue-black braids are littered with white gull feathers. He toasts a slurp of beer to the welcome guests before stating:

“The envelopes in front of you contain two very different pills. The Blue pill is known across much of Aperin as ‘SoMah’ and contains a pleasuring blend of vitamins, algaeic nutrients, minerals and a few helpful additionals from our Volks Laboratory in White Auk.
It has a balancing effect on the brains' serotonin receptors – kind of giving them a hose-down and a hot bath if you like – leaving one feeling reflective, pleasantly emotional and thoroughly rested. I’d recommend that whether you choose to go back to the lodge we have provided for you on the Playa Deucement, or join Ingleson Earnest in the clublands tonight, you sample our SoMah as it is not currently available for export to nations that haven’t signed the Economic Bridge Treaty.

Should either of you choose the red pill this evening; an entirely different vista ‘İQue Magica!’ awaits.

The ‘Chutzpah’ are one of our hyper-psychotropics that we have developed during our research into the ‘Console’ mushroom…”

Kanewitz takes another draft of beer and wipes the foam from his moustache before continuing.

“While I have the luxury of your digestive attention; native to Watfordshire; the Console mushroom is one of the fundamental cultural ingredients that makes the Shiree who we are… our young Moderator Ingleson Earnest may have mentioned the ‘rights of passage’ ceremony the ‘Connexion’”

Ad and Wouter scan back through their memories of the day (that seem to have stretched into weeks;-) and recall a brief mention by their guide of the Shiree coming-of-age ritual.

“..well, the Console mushroom is used in this ritual, during which it drastically alters our perceptions of reality in an extremely hallucinogenic manner – enabling us to experience not only the beneficial vibrations of the folk surrounding us, but also a clear connection with the spirit dog ‘ChinChin’”

Ad imperceptibly raises an amused eyebrow and glances at Bos, who seems entranced by the Shiree chemists' charismatic delivery.

“..Despite every Shiree’s experience of ‘Connexion’ being intensely and personally revealing, the spirit dog ‘ChinChin’ appears in every individuale trip and – after a sometimes uncomfortable review of our first 14 years in this world, leaves us with our hearts filled with love and vigour and our minds imprinted with a heightened morality and sense of purpose; long after the other more debilitating effects have subsided.

Anyway, the red pill: the ‘Chutzpah’ is the closest simulation to the Console that we have been able to synthesize. We have omitted some of the more harrowing effects and there are distinctly more stimulants and artificial lobe-enhancers than in the natural high, but it remains so close to the model that ‘ChinChin’ is witnessed by roughly 30% of our researchers”

Kanewitz takes a long hit from an ornate glass bong which one of the Bibianian waiters passes around, as Ad & Wouter council each other. The mixture of beer and weed has loosened Wouter’s tongue and he glows with confidence and satisfaction.

“I have no idea about half of what this weird shamanistic scientist is saying, but I’m up for the Clublands and the ‘Chutzpah’!”
Bos chuckles conspiratorially to his colleague.

Feeling slightly over-full, Melkert shakes his head.

“Well, I’m pershonally looking forward to some sleep Wouter” he slurs in reply – “If Msr. Kanewitz is willing, I’d like to discuss his business a little further at our lodgings – perhaps I can entice Madamoiselle Gladand back to our ‘wigwam’… yes! Definitely the blue pill for me!”

The two companieros chuckle and exchange firm handshakes while the methods of exodus from the quiet eaterie are prepared.

As the party emerge from the restaurant into the warm night air, the Knootians are alarmed by the struggling bodies of a mob of Shiree and other nationals locked in some form of combat in the dust of the street. Dodging a sprawling figure, Ingleson Earnest jogs into the throng as the two central combatants; a muscular man clothed in grey coveralls and a young Shiree with ragged robes and dreadlocks, fall apart before leaping once more at each others throats.

"For a nation that purports to be universally pacifistic, this situation seems a little on the aggressive side" Melkert mutters 'sotto voce' to his junior colleague.

Magic Hooley Snr. chuckles behind them:

"For a supposedly pacifist nation we generally fight very well too" he quips, steadying himself as one of the fighters is flung against him from the dust cloud now surrounding the ruckus.

The aging chef helps the stunned youth to his feet and continues:

"Most of our martial arts are conducted in a most civilised fashion though, with the passionate heart and cool head that all great art demands... this kind of uncontrolled brawl is virtually unheard of, if you gentlemen would just step back for a second, I believe our young Moderator should have the situation under control quite presently"

Indeed, as Ad and Wouter look on, their young guide has, in a swift sequence of movements, immobilised the two combatants the fight had seemed centred around and is in the process of separating the rest while giving some of the more agitated members of the crowd what appears to be a "stern talking to".

Melkert notes that no-one has attempted to assault Ingleson other than a few of the grey clothed foreign nationals, who appear to be the only people in the street wincing and clutching at their knees and elbows. As for the Shiree - after interacting with the young Moderator their temperament has been transformed swiftly from aggression, to affability and even good humour. In a matter of a minute or so, Ingleson seems to have persuaded 3 of the more physical youths to display their dancing abilities in the street while he speaks with the Shiree and muscular man who Melkert judges to have initiated the brawl.

Ingleson returns to the company, evidently pleased with himself.

“Apologies Msr.s – our recently arrived friends from Tellenic Aperin are still adjusting to the Shiree way of life and it appears that a few have indulged in more stimulants than they are used to. Msr. Kanewitz is just preparing his horse to return to the beach with you Msr. Melkert. I am glad to be accompanying you to the Last Chance Pagoda Wouter” Ingleson beams at the younger of the two Knootians and clasps his shoulder firmly, before a look of genuine concern expresses itself

“Please my new friend - consider deeply the implications of your choice, before indulging in ‘Chutzpah’. The experience may alter the paths you will choose for the rest of your life”


OOC: sorry to have kept you waiting K – hope you like.
Please let me know if either of your characters wish to take the ‘Chutzpah’ – I’ll TG the permanent affects if they decide to and then post the next chapter.

In peace

Beno

*Boomp*

OOC:
Melkert will get cold feet decline in the last moment. Bos will take it. I'm curious what you have in mind for them!
~your reader.

OOC:
Melkert will get cold feet decline in the last moment. Bos will take it. I'm curious what you have in mind for them!
~your reader.

Excellent - I'll TG the effects shortly

Dexter Kanewitz swings up onto the back of a tall black mare, Melkert takes the profered hand and clambers up behind him. The horse bears them without a saddle or bridle and Kanewitz seems to guide the steed simply with his hands and thighs on its flanks. Once he’d adjusted to the trot, Melkert enjoys the ride through the vast Shiree settlement. The area of beach on which the Knootians lodge had been placed takes about an hour to reach, a roaring fire welcoming the pair llies between the teepee and the dunes. Two Tourism & Massage practitioners (a large balding olive-coloured man named Bruce and a short coffee-skinned woman named Joelle) greet Kanewitz and Melkert warmly. Joelle feeds and waters the black mare as the others make themselves comfortable at the fireside. Bruce plays a series of simple Shiree folktunes on a lute-like instrument, while Kanewitz and Melkert talk quietly and indulge in a small quantity of SoMah.

***********

Ten miles away, on the other side of the plateau, Bos was being introduced by Ingleson Earnest to the Shiree clublands.

(OOC: due to his increasingly inebriated state, Wouter’s experiences may appear erratic and chronologically confusing – possibly slipping in and out of present, past and future tenses and proving on occasion a grammatical minefield... he does his best though, so please bear with him)

A vast Japanese-style building with clammering queues of excited party people, blurred past Bos as he and Ingleson were quickly shuffled through a ‘guestlist’ side entrance and into the Last Chance Pagoda. In a matter of seconds Wouter had lost sight of his young guide in the throng. Strobing vistas of heaving Shiree bleached themselves onto his retina sporadically interrupting the stifling blackness of the clubs' interior. The kamikaze Eugenian bassline resonated somewhere in the Knootians' belly - more a sensation than a sound as he pressed on towards the dancefloors' heart.

A flash-flood of deja vu foamed around Wouters' mind before draining down through his limbs which, he acknowledged remotely, had taken it apon themselves to respond to the music without bothering, apparently, to consult his brain.

Faces of all ages, captured in the stark freeze-frame of the slow pulsing strobe: Open mouthed, laughing, gurning, silently shrieking amidst the din, flashed their rolling eyes at Wouter. The sweating flesh of the bodies around him seemed to rhythmically squeeze Wouter into semi-nakedness; feeling his already sodden Shiree shirt being lifted over his head as his waving arms joined a sea of others in the air, Bos found himself laughing a laugh he couldn't hear, as a glittering Shiree woman pressed her parted lips over his nipple, and a tall man ran his hands up Wouters' back, over his shoulders and along his arms.

The centre of the dancefloor tapered upwards in a series of stacked podiums covered in soft hide, to a broad platform, where a skinny bearded man sporting a wiry afro flipped vinyl between his decks with deft intensity. Wouters' bare feet barely touched the floor as the moshing pit of dancers bounced and leapt as one: The unity of the crowd lending it the slower motion of a larger entity and some kind of dispensation from some of the vaguer laws concerning local gravity.

***********

Down on the beach, Dexter Kanewitz's darting black eyes note the subtle, but growing signs of Ad Melkerts' chemical relaxation. The soft crush of the surf breaking onto shingle and sand seem synchronious with the tension that melts from the Knootians' frame like ice gently dissolving into water.

Indeed, on top of the alcohol, the effects of the SoMah lend a mildly psychedelic quality to Melkert's vision and the stresses of his protracted travelling and diplomatic duties appear to be escaping from the surface of his skin in slow tendrils of lazy steam.

Ad begins to chuckle and then stops himself as the sudden thought concerning Clarity that had given rise to his humour, floats on into the ether - immediately forgotten.

The pre-club bar on the outskirts of the Club-lands had been buzzing with an excitement that was almost tangible. Wouter had learned that the bars and clubs were often affiliated to different Clans or Unions. The ‘Genuine Genie’ was a small semi-submerged ‘earthship’ style building with a wooden balcony bar at ground level. Mellow acoustic music had been provided by a Eugenian violinist, bassist and clarinet player.

Ingleson had explained that his Clan: The ‘Earnest’, hailing as they did from White Auk and the South-Western pampas of Watfordshire, had particularly close ties with the peoples of Free Outer Eugenia – Indeed,he had selected the tour through the Club-lands to reflect the Eugenian influence on his people. ‘Free Rock Eugenia’ was a well-respected DJ and the ‘Last Chance Pagoda’ famed for it’s particular brand of sweat-soaked hedonism.

It had been a simple act – swallowing that small red capsule. Ingleson and his cousin Sharlee, the BRightOn moderators, beaming big smiles of encouragement to Bos, while the crowd of younger Shiree who had gathered around the first Knootian to visit the Club-lands, had laughed and urged him on with a smooth patois; the words of which Wouter hadn’t understood, but the gist of which had seemed perfectly clear. Wouter had made himself giggle as the drug began to kick in, when it occurred to him that the ‘Earnest’ Clans’ patois sounded like ‘buttered French’.


Ad Melkert began to catch himself as Joelle’s minute thumb movements around his toes threatened to take him somewhere else entirely.

His brain had been gamboling along the borders of conciousness and sleep: The place where the alpha waves thrummed, where relaxation and regeneration at their most concentrated, absolved the mind of any need for focus – Where thoughts sprang from nowhere and wandered off just as freely.

The night sky, without the accustomed cloak of light pollution reminded him of his recent trip to Bread & Honey and his lazy crossings of the Aperin seas. As the pinhole light show spread and swirled away above him in a wild jambouree and spilled diamante, Melkert found himself hoping Bos was behaving himself ... at the exact moment that Wouter, his body sheened with sweat, was managing to forget his senior colleague had ever existed. The physical press of Shiree bodies had enveloped Bos’ dancing form in a claustrophically wonderful heaving melee. Fear and pleasure jostled for control of Wouter’s intellectual joystick in a way he was familiar with from his domestic recreational narcotic tinkering; yet he had never experienced anything before that related him to the surrounding people in such a clear and obvious way.

His vision was dissolving backwards and forwards between the real and the hallucinatory at such a dizzying rate that he found he had absolutely no idea where he was. It came as no surprise when suddenly a small, glowing orange and white dog approached him at a casual pace through the throng and said:

“Hola Wouter… I am Chin-Chin… it is a pleasure to meet you”

Despite the early hour, the sun has already heated the close-cropped grass beneath their feet as Ingleson, Sharlee and Wouter walk slowly down the central palm-lined segment of a wide thoroughfare, which stretches from the lower slopes of the northern edge of the plateau towards the main port of transit. The beaten earth either side of them is traversed by a few early wagons and mounted Shiree fulfilling their early posts. No-one has spoken for some time and Wouter revels in the comfortable silence.

The sounds of Shiree preparing for the ritual desayuno emanate from the many teepees that plug the gaps between buildings and line every available patch between the harder-worn streets and paths, as does the low moaning, groaning and whispers of the early morning love-making that appears to proceed most other activities for the urban majority.

As his bare feet pad comfortably along Las Ramblas, Wouter listens to the cry of gulls, the gentle clop and whinney of horses and the conversational throb of sociability that rides the salty air: Replacing the electrical hum and constant river-rush of car noise that Wouter is used to, back in the Nederlands.

Large buildings of stone and wood line either side of the thoroughfare; Bos takes in the brightly decorated eateries as they continue to stroll. The spacious, functional formality of a large Post Office – already busy with urban Shiree receiving their postings and communications is barely touched by the predominantly red. Black and white murals daubed on most of the permanent structures up to shoulder height.

Wouter catches a glimpse of what seems to be a small orange and white dog running along a parallel street, but a wagon passes and in a trice it has disappeared.

*applauds just to let Watfordshire know that he is still there*

Melkert stirs from his slumber. His body is very warm under a thick quilt. The morning sunlight filters in throught the central smokehole of the teepee. Glancing to one side, Ad sees the coffee-coloured arm of Joelle poking from beneath the same quilt and he realises with a guilty pleasure, that his legs are wrapped around hers (ooc: Is Melkert single? - if so, subtract the guilt from the pleasure ;-).

Ad rises and pulls on a red linen shirt and wide trousers that tie at the waist. The interior of the lodge is decorated with skins, hangings and swathes of cotton. All the furnishings either bear emblems, characters and scribbles in their design and manufacture, or simply remain plain - red, black or white in colour.

Dexter Kanewitz finishes his Astanga Yoga excercises and strolls back up the dark pink sand of the beach to the lodge. Ad Melkert is finishing a call on his cellfone, despite his fine night’s sleep and various treatments of the previous evening, looks to Kanewitz a tad perturbed...

Melkert wastes no time in addressing Kanewitz - his easy and amiable tone has been replaced with a clipped, business-like patter.

“I’m sorry to have to bring our tour to such an abrupt close, but their have been some significant political developments back in Knootoss which make Bos’ and my return seem prudent at this juncture”

Kanewitz smiles in bemusement;

“That is an unfortunate turn of events Ad - we have barely begun your visit in Watfordshire... there are so many places we wished to show you... The Centre of Space Exploration at Muzzlecombe... the beautiful falls of the Wellson river near White Auk... and of course, the Temple of Duke Watfordshire at the top of the plateau here in our beloved BRightOn...”
Gesturing to the empty air, Kanewitz continues;
“Well, you may as well stop for a little desayuno amigo - it is unlikely your friend will return to the lodge in a hurry” the Shiree pharmacist gives a wry smile, “...young Bos is probably half way to Mars by now”

Melkert groaned internally. It was obviously going to be hell leaving this CACE nation with any degree of urgency.

“I’m sorry Dexter, but it is imperative that I move with all available speed. I must locate Wouter at the earliest opportunity and we shall then have to bid you farewell as guests, without I’m afraid, the grace you have shown us as hosts.... Is it possible to leave Watfordshire by air?”

Kanewitz’s smile and arched brow had taken on a more knowing slant. Melkert was fairly certain the Shiree was feigning knowledge of a situation he could have no involvment in, but there was something in the dark-rimmed eyes that almost suggested some kind of extra-sensory powers... powers of the vision of the future?... some kind of hindsight in advance?....
Melkert pinched the bridge of his nose. The Shiree drugs from the night before were obviously playing with his mind. He felt innocent... gullible to the point of ...

“Heheh” he chuckled to himself... “Between you and I Dexter, the reason for our leaving is far above and beyond either of our personal spheres of control”

Kanewitz’s expression relaxed as his Knootian charge laughed.

“Listen Ad, in the spirit of frankness I can confess that you haven’t been made quite as welcome as perhaps any of our fellow economic partners would be. It is a shame indeed that certain situations are ‘above and beyond our personal spheres of control’ just as it is a shame that we cannot exchange information, success, failure and even recipes which would be most beneficial, I’m sure, to both our nations” Kanewitz took Melkert’s hand and clapped the other on the Knootian’s shoulder.

“I can see the situation is serious Msr. Melkert. I shall ride you to the station and accompany you to the airport outside BRightOn immediately. Bruce and Joelle will round up Bos and join us there at the earliest opportunity. I can arrange for your things to be brought along within the hour. As I understand, you were due to join Mme. Cullinaen outwardbound to Tanah Burung. Well, we shall fly you to Tanah Burung - taking off in three hours, assuming your companiero can be located. It has been good to meet you Ad.” Dexter grinned slyly,
“...and while we speak in such honest terms I can tell you that you will be thoroughly searched. Nothing will leave Watfordshire with you that didn’t arrive with you... (including I am almost ashamed to say, any recoverable traces of the fine narcotics that yourself and Msr. Bos have imbibed) ...except I hope the memories of a night well spent.

Melkert smiled, looking almost relieved as the reminder of the usual formaility and endless red tape of his diplomatic life reaffirmed itself on the situation.

“I credit your nation with a skill and knowledge which perhaps doesn’t seem so obvious on the surface. Perhaps this would all be different ... but... ay! in another life eh Dexter?”

“Sure Ad,” Kanewitx returned a beatific grin ...” in another life”.

The Genuine Genie is empty apart from a solitary member of staff who, finishing her final pot-washing duties, takes a pull from a half-full bottle of Bibiana Blonde, which has been placed carefully by a concientious drunk in the bed of a plant pot. The Barmaid has nothing on but a pair of white cotton panties and, had anyone elwse been present, they would have enjoyed the wide, spiralling tatoo of a dragon which corkscrews up her spine over her shoulders and around her breasts and bellybutton.

THe memories of the Eugenian bassplayer who had given her so much pleasure on the bar-top a few hours before, were mixed with those of the young Knootian, who had graced the ‘Genie’s’ presence but 12 hours earlier. The barmaid (whose name was Jenny) had felt the excitement of a new foreign national in her bar. The musicians had created the atmosphere for the various members of the Earnest Clan and of course the other punters who had a prediliction for the White Aukian / Eugenian style of life, had welcomed the ambassador with all the aplomb of circus performers, and Jenny had enjoyed watching her brothers goading Wouter Bos as he had imbibed his first cap of Chutzpah.

Once the Knootian, with his moderator accomplices had left on their Club-Land trawl, the place had swiftly returned to normal, and the usual banter between close-knit Earnests and Post Office Union workers was swiftly resumed.

Wouter pictures himself standing next to Ad Melkert on a small airstrip surrounded by palms and tropical forest. A large white plane with a black fin taxis slowly in front of a small red jet as they make their way towards the gangplank, avoiding a series of electric trollies. Ad appears to be talking to him but Bos hears only a rushing in his ears followed by a dislocated and unearthly music. A warm zephyr blows Melkert's hair as he clambers on board and as he smooths it back, Bos blinks his eyes shut.

He is instantly back in the monstrous orgy of the "Last Chance Pagoda' - the Shiree woman dancing before him is emitting vibrant white sparks of energy from the palms of her hands which circle back and appear to become fused to the crown of Wouters head. He senses the spirit dog beside him as the sparks envelop his vision and everything is encompassed by bright light.

Bos sees himself from above. The glowing orange and white dog floats alongside him. He sees himself being helped down an alley by the BRightOn Moderator, Sharlee. He sees her cousin Ingleson attempting to administer some form of resuscitation on a prostrated elderly Shiree with knotted silver hair. Swooping lower, he sees himself shivering and crying and watches Sharlee comforting and consoling... then Bos feels the young womans arm around his shoulders and his tears are hot and wet on his cheeks.

Feeling his body jerk backwards, Wouter finds himself sitting on a padded bench - one of thousands that bissect a vast, empty auditorium.

Chin-Chin the spirit dog sits beside him, munching from a vast bucket of popcorn as huge expanses of red velvet curtain part, enabling Bos to view his life on fast-forward - projected onto the biggest cinema screen he's ever seen. The unedited mundanity, exhilaration, remembered fact and forgotten fiction bombard him from an unflinchingly candid and remote perspective.

Chin-Chin is mopping up the last of its mustard-smothered hotdogs as the credits begin to roll on the silver screen version of Wouters life, and when the image of the young Knootian sitting in the auditorium appears in conjuction with "FIN" projected across it, he turns in question to the orange and white glowing canine...
...but before he can verbalise his curiosity, the spirit guide smacks his lips, removing the last traces of ketchup and remarks;

"Well, that was pretty good so far Wouter... I don't know what you fancy doing now, but I'm off to get laid.."


*********


Ad Melkert watches the Aperinian sea glittering far below, as the small Shiree jet streams its way towards the Tanah-Burungian capital of Mateban. Wouter Bos, wrapped in loose white garments of Shiree linen and a thick red blanket sleeps soundly beside him.

One of the pilots steps back out of the cockpit and offers Ad a game of some sort of dice but the Knootian ambassador politely declines. Melkert, restlessly pulls his earphones out, silencing the fierce drums that were thumping their accompaniment to a display of Shiree Military Dance on the inflight channel. Ad pinches the bridge of his nose and tightly shuts his eyes. Right now he didn't care how serious the situation was with the CACE - Melkert was just glad to be heading home.


-FIN-

ooc: thought it best to wind this up.- unless you've got anything else to add of course :)

thanks for giving me the opportunity to flesh out some elements of Watfordshire.

Stay in touch

Beno

OOC: Very nice indeed. - though I had not expected Melkert and Bos to have such, umh, steamy adventures. :mrgreen:

It was fun and now I know your nation a lot better. And you can always point to this if people want to know more about you then a simple factbook can tell.

Anyways, after all this development I'm definitly keeping Melkert as a character. :P

Cheers,

~Knoot