NationStates Jolt Archive

"Is this on? Very well. Good day, Waughslinders!" The crowd cheers. "As of today, our colony is once and for all a Nation. Therefore, I am extending a hand in welcome to all nations to send here one Representative. We ask that this representative be young enough to be trained in our own ways of diplomacy. And so we request from all peaceful nations a human representative between the ages of fourteen and eighteen, reasonably intelligent and in good health, to train as a Waughslind Diplomat. Good day!"

OOC: What?, thats. . .kinda odd, but nevermind.

IC: The ruler of Pathological Exiles will send one representative. He is male, 17 years of age and in very good health. he also maintains a high level of intelligence. He will be sent to learn your ways of Democracy. Be warned though, any hostile action taken towards this representative will be met with severe consequences. We take the safety of our people very seriously.

Underdirector Herbert Villenueve replies, "What is your representative's name? Will he arrive at Waugh Seaport or Beckin Bay Airport? What date?

OOC: First major RP I got involved with was like this...started out hella good, then turned into a total bs fest...hopefully this one wont...

IC:

The black Skyline shot down the interstate, more specifically I-22 level 3 north, at speeds approaching 150. The model, a 1999 R34 GT-R, slid through the night, the high pitched whine of its inline six cylinder engine bouncing off the walls of the buildings that the higway weeved through. And behind the jet black Nissan were five white Toyta Altezzas, as well as two white Toyota Soarers. Red and blue lights flashed as the Altezzas fell behind, but the Soarers managed to hold with the Skyline.

The driver of the black Nissan flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror, watching the approaching Toyotas. Shit, this ain't good he thought to himself, popping the car into 6th. The blow off valve hissed, and the turbocharger wailed. He had run from the cops many a time, but this time they had managed to get a jump on him. Maybe they would go easy on him if he stopped...

That was it. He slammed on the brake and clutch, yanked the hand brake, and spun the wheel furiously. Within seconds, he was now facing the other way, heading straight at the Soarers. They split as he shot in between them, and then the drivers laughed as the Skyline came to a dead stop. Four police 4Runners had lined up, an inviting challenge, but the driver, Ian Watkins, didn't want to risk it. He slowly stuck his hands out of the window, and opened the door, stepping out with his hands up as severl handguns were leveled at his chest.

He smiled, and shrugged. "Sorry officers, was I speeding?"
______

The 777 left New Dellas International for Waughslind. Sitting in Seat C, row 37, was Ian Watkins. The last thing he wanted was to be shipped off to some God forsakken hole in the middle of nowhere. He had never even heard of Waughslind, but, it was better than a 2 year prison stay.
______

To Whom it May Concern-
It has been decided within our government to send a young man to attend your program and serve as a representative of Imitora. He breeches the required age limit by two months (He has just turned 19), yet we feel this to not be a problem. He should be arriving shortly, as we have been informed that his flight had just left.
Speaker Marisa Powell

"...Sirs, you appear to have underestimated us. We are not a way to punish your criminals. Apparently Waughslind Diplomatic Academy has been assigned to your representative as a punishment, an alternative to jail time?"

OOC: The whole arrest and jail time incident are private incidents. THere is no way for your government to know about it.

ooc: Fine, all right.
ic: "Ian Watkins, here for training under the Waughslinder Diplomatic Academy?" A tall, burly man greets Watkins as he steps off the plane. "I am James White, assigned to take you to the school. Please follow me."

Ian scoffed and grabbed the messenger bag he had used to carry smaller items: a CD player, a few car magazines, cell phone, and a CD wallet. He followed the bigger man through the airport, not as much intimidated by White as he was...annoyed.

White flicks several switches on the dashboard of the large luxury car, a Caduin MkII. It rises off the ground and speeds toward the school.

Ian sat back in his seat, closing his eyes. "Tell me when we get there," he mumbled, pulling a black 'Get Sideways' hat out of his messenger bag.

Ian sat back in his seat, closing his eyes. "Tell me when we get there," he mumbled, pulling a black 'Get Sideways' hat out of his messenger bag.

"Righto." White rummages in the glove compartment and pops the latest release from Radio Berlin into the CD player. "Might as well enjoy this godforsaken mission." The car sweeps over miles of empty desert.

Ian closed his eyes, and drowned out the music mentally. He was less than a fan of most, if not all forms of punk, and debated pulling out his own CD player. Despite his distaste of the band, he still enjoyed an eclctic mix of everything from Techno (in all its many forms), to Alternative, and the ever excellent Stevie Ray Vaughn.

Ian closed his eyes, and drowned out the music mentally. He was less than a fan of most, if not all forms of punk, and debated pulling out his own CD player. Despite his distaste of the band, he still enjoyed an eclctic mix of everything from Techno (in all its many forms), to Alternative, and the ever excellent Stevie Ray Vaughn.

"...Little bastard doesn't like Radio Berlin? Damn."

Hearing the comment, Ian opened one eye, looked at the driver, and then pulled his own CD player out of his bag. Flipping through a CD wallet, he grabbed the Tweekend album, popped it in, and closed his eyes, the elctronic beat easing him into sleep.

The car speeds over a great ocean. "Why the hell is the Fortress so far out anyway?" He switches over to 'Pints of Guiness Make you Strong' by Against Me.

"Thats the point," Ian mumbled, not quite asleep. Murder was just ending, meaning that Name of the Game was up next. He adjusted himself, he didn't think he would get much sleep, and looked out the window. He wondered why he was here, and why his name came up for this. Most of the time street racers just ended up in a 2 year lock down in one of hte minimum security prisons on teh coast.

Bump so some others get involved

"All right, here we go." The car slows slightly and hits pavement with all four tires and speeds to 200 miles per hour. "Tell me, student, do you like excessive speed?"

"Yeah, passes the time and boredom gives me somethign to do when I'm not busy." He shifted in his seat as the song ended, and the next started up, the deep elctronic beats slamming his ear drums.

"Then watch this. This is my own personal vehicle, I'm a streeter in my spare time." White switches into fourth and accelerates to 300 mph.

"Nice," Ian noted, then sat back in his seat, and closed his eyes. He pulled the hat lower over his eyes. He'd rather be in his Skyline. He hated cops. He dug through his messenger bag, Several issues of Import Tuner and Sport Comapact Car, and removed an issue of Imitora Military Monthly, and opened it.

He looked at the cover story article, "Northamptons, Destroyers of Deazeman, Initial Defence of Imitora, and Pride of the Fleet", an article that dealt with the Northampton II class of modular assault frigates. His uncle was on one of them, a lieutenant in charge of radar operations on a C&C version. He read over the article, which divuldged only unclasified info, and then replaced the magazine with an Initial D magna.

"Hrmm. So the Northampton is now credited as the destroyers of Daezeman Psychic Isle? According to my textbooks, it was the chain explosion of an esoteric compound. Ah well. I'll have to show you the local backstreet races."

OOC: Thought so.

IC:

"Yeah, but a 15 minute mass ortillery bombardment sure as hell helped. And our textfiles describe it as a 48 hour bombardment, just so the Deazemani's didn't look weak."

Ian went back to the magna, and then closed the book. "How much longer till we get there.

ooc: You know my ways too well.
ic: "In any case, they were weak. Too much reliance on some power many of them had. At this speed, five hours. Which is why we're gonna kick it up a notch." White slams into fifth and activates the NO. The car doubles in speed.

Ian nodded, then went back to the Japanese comic. "Anyways, its different now. Sure, we still got a big enough force to whup up on just about anyone in a good stand up fight, but thats not efficient. Instead, we got the IIA who handles just about everything. Anyways, its alot more fun to watch a country destroy itself, or seemingly do so, than to watch a big dust cloud."

He finished teh magna, dropped it in the bag, and pulled out an older issue of IT. One of his buddies had gotten the honor of cover car, a Celica GT-S with one helluva wide body. His hopes were to one day achieve that, but they had just been dashed against the rocks. By the time he got home, there was little chance that his car was in one piece.

OOC: And you mine. Lets keep this thread from going to shit like the last time we tried this did. You can only have so many pages of [censored blur] before it just gets pointless.

ooc: Trust me, that thread has been long under the heading NOT TO DO. Anyway, this is gonna be a lot mo' fun.
ic: "And we've arrived." A many-spired castle looms in the distance. "Worthington Castle."

OOC: Excellent...what was the record on the old one, bout 250? I say we push for three...Also, you have nothing to fear. Robert, Hoot, and Ormsby are long gone...although there is still teh Orsmby Protocol, but I'm sure I'll have a chance to explain that later...

IC:

Ian looked out the window to the car. The castle was nice, yes, but not really impressive. Ian had never been impressed with architecture, be it the ultra modern Neo Tokyoishness of New Ausdon, the suburban New Ft. Warth, or the older look of New Luddock. It had never been his thing.

He stepped out of the car, stretched out a bit, and grabbed his messengar bag, CD player now tucked away safely. His parent's had sent him away with a nice present, that he would open later in his room. He grabbed his bags, one a larger duffle holding clothes and the like, another shapped like a guitar, and closed his car door.

"Let's see... I'm slated to be trained here as well. We Waughs are quite generous and therefore... you will be provided with 250,000 Waughslind pounds worth of any material you find necessary."

"Gotcha," Ian said, tossing the strap of the duffle over his shoulder, and turning. He walked towards the door, looking up at the sky in teh background. That was one thing he could honestly admit to having never seen, a clear, clean sky.

"You're room 34 in the main hall, registration is in the main cafeteria, etc, etc, you'll find it all out later."

"No prob. Say, anyone else gonna show up for this thing?"

"Good question. In any case, you're the first to arrive. You can order your materials through the pay office."

"Right," Ian said, walking into the lobby. He appraoched the counter for sign up in teh cafateria, and set his bags down.

A tall, thin woman taps her fingers on the counter. "Name?"

"Ian Watkins," he said, looking around.

[taggination]

"You're registered. You are to sign up for one weapons class, one language, and mandatory diplomatic and history courses. This card contains 250,000 pounds to be spent on clothing, materials, and 100,000 worth of hobby and other. Later you will be allowed to visit the central courtyard."

Ian nodded. He checked a class card, looking over his options. He'd rather not take a weapons course, he alsways joked among his friends that he was just a wheel man. He grabbed a basic small arms course, thinking it wouldnt be to hard. Language was a toughy, but he settled on French, as he knew it least. He handed the class registration back, thanked her, and headed for hsi room.

"Pistolry, Spanish, and 35. Thank yew." White hurries after Watkins. "Oi! My room's right by yours."

"Yeah it is," Ian said, walking to his room, opening the door. He looked in, and examined it. It looked better than a prison would, and he was greatfull for that much.

"Rooms bigger than training barracks, by God! Can't wait to see the private garages."

Ian settled down on his bed, and began un packing. clothes in the drawers as he had always done, picture of his girlfriend next to the picture of the Skyline next to the picture of the girlfriend in a thong bikini on the Skyline, and the guitar. He looked over the room, neatly done, well laid out, and collapsed on the bed, removing the book Whose Looking Out for You from his bag, and flipping to his page.

And now, the obligatory picture of Ian Watkins

http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-10/434717/metalhammer03.jpg

James enters his room and begins to hang weapons on the walls - first a pair of katana, then a Celtic Leaf shortsword, a dwarven burial axe, and a pair of longbarreled revolvers.

Ian continued reading as James unpacked. He looked into the other room, which had turned into a small arsenal. Christ on a fuckin cracker he swore silently. In Imitora, weapons had always been outlawed in school, fera of some sort of killing or maiming or the sort.

James looks up. "Oh, I don't use these. I'm a collector and a loresmith, especially of dwarven legend."

Ian nodded, and went back to his room. He was rather bored, and O'Rielly just wasn't callong out to him. He picked up his guitar, and began strumming out one of his songs.

"And the last touch..." James pulls out a drumset and sets it up in the back of his room. "Ahaha! Here we are."

"Drummer?" Ian called out over the sounds of the guitar. He was playing one of his own songs, but wasn't singing the lyrics. He didn't know why, just didn't feel like it. "Got a band?"

"Not since junior high." James spins drumsticks. "Haven't given the Great Skinned Beast a spin in years."

"Bunch of my friends and I gotta band back home, startin to get some strret cred, moving outa shitball clubs and into the bigger stuff. We write our own stuff and everything." He continued strumming teh guitar, and cought up to himself in the song, and mentally sang...And I sit and wonder, Falling under, Get my way or nothing will move on, Everyone has gone... he continued to play.

"Hmmm..." James intuitively adds in a drumbeat.

OOC:

http://www.dragonninja.com/audio/01_The_Fake_Sound_Of_Progre.wmv -Song that Ian is singing in regular form, albeit incredably crappy streaming version of it

http://www.dragonninja.com/lostprophets-shinobiacoustic.mp3 -Better acoustc version of it that is being heard from Ian's room

IC:

Ian continued on, letting the drums follow the general tone of the song, when, suprisingly, he began to sing aloud. "You feel so empty, but I've got me a friend..."

James continues accompanying to the end of the song. "And now... Allow me to go wild!" He lets loose in a roar of thumping bass and snare. At the end, he cracks his knuckles and grins. "Ah... that's good drum."

Ian nodded. Not a fan of big drums, but then again, to each their own. And Mike, his drummer, had been known to go wild in songs. But thats what made them the band. He continued strumming around, pulling out a sheet of paper, working on lyrics for a new song.

OOC: And in my quest to get damn good bacnds some promotion, I sugest you all check out The Lostprophets (spaces are for loosers). The Lostprophets are a Welsh band, semi-alternative, semi-metal, and all good. First heard them back in 1999 or 2000 when they were first getting started, been following them ever since. All you NFSU players will notice they have a song on the EA Trax, as well as their own in game car. Ian Watkins is the name of the lead singer, and the picture I used that is now invisable is of Ian. So, on my score, they get a 10 outa 10, which is damn hard to do by my standards.

ooc: And while that's going on, check out Radio Berlin, Guff, and Turbonegro, all independent, all very good.

OOC: I did check out Radio Berlin, thats how I knew Ian didn't like them. Not a huge fan of indie...Anyways, I'm off to bed I have till wensday for free dom...speaking of which, I gotta get my freind to head down to Sam Goodies for me, reserve a copy of Legions of Boom and Start Something.

ooc: Bah. Seeya!

This thread has been tagged by the semi-official Larkinianthread tagging agency.

Tom Groder sat on the bench of the park, the sunlight glinting off the ocean. The artificial landmass was a 5 year project to solve Berliston's growing space problem, and as such, it was one of the most modern things in the city. He tapped into the local area Wi-fi port with his laptop, and went through his bookmarks. No news except for Marines breaking up a riot in Sambizie, another widespread UFO sighting in the plains, and the new Arcology in Halisfavon. Nothing new on BlogNet worth reading, and his schoolwork was finished. He took out his Mp3 player, and plugged into the laptop as he logged onto his filesharing account, downloaded some music, and paid the fees. He leaned back as he listened to Juno Reactor, and switched to Rammstein, and some other German bands popular in the German population of the nation. He was just getting into the opening of Sonne when a new message symbol flashed in the corner of the LCD screen. He groaned as he looked at the address. The mix of alphanumerics ending with a ".gov" was usually not good news. He opened it.
"Mr. Groder, you have been selected by the UCSNE Foreign Exchange Board for a very unique opportunity…" he muttered to himself as he went through the rest of the Email.
--
To who it may concern
The UCSNE Foreign Diplomat and Foreign Exchange Boards are sending Thomas Groder, age 18, for training as a diplomat. We look forward to strengthening the bonds between our two nations.
Attached is his Flight Schedule.
--
The small AB230 jetliner touched down, and with the wheels hitting the ground, Groder leaned forward. He plucked the headphones off of himself, and deposited the Mp3 player with his Cell and PocketPC in his carry on bag. As he exited the aircraft, he wondered what exactly he had got himself into.

Tom Groder sat on the bench of the park, the sunlight glinting off the ocean. The artificial landmass was a 5 year project to solve Berliston's growing space problem, and as such, it was one of the most modern things in the city. He tapped into the local area Wi-fi port with his laptop, and went through his bookmarks. No news except for Marines breaking up a riot in Sambizie, another widespread UFO sighting in the plains, and the new Arcology in Halisfavon. Nothing new on BlogNet worth reading, and his schoolwork was finished. He took out his Mp3 player, and plugged into the laptop as he logged onto his filesharing account, downloaded some music, and paid the fees. He leaned back as he listened to Juno Reactor, and switched to Rammstein, and some other German bands popular in the German population of the nation. He was just getting into the opening of Sonne when a new message symbol flashed in the corner of the LCD screen. He groaned as he looked at the address. The mix of alphanumerics ending with a ".gov" was usually not good news. He opened it.
"Mr. Groder, you have been selected by the UCSNE Foreign Exchange Board for a very unique opportunity…" he muttered to himself as he went through the rest of the Email.
--
To who it may concern
The UCSNE Foreign Diplomat and Foreign Exchange Boards are sending Thomas Groder, age 18, for training as a diplomat. We look forward to strengthening the bonds between our two nations.
Attached is his Flight Schedule.
--
The small AB230 jetliner touched down, and with the wheels hitting the ground, Groder leaned forward. He plucked the headphones off of himself, and deposited the Mp3 player with his Cell and PocketPC in his carry on bag. As he exited the aircraft, he wondered what exactly he had got himself into.

OOC: Sorry about the lateness of this post, my server went to crap for a few days and it's still pretty bad. Anyway, I'll post when I can.

IC: James didn't know why he was being sent to learn diplomacy, all he knew was that he was told to go, and so, he did. He was given a day to say goodbye and to pack his things, but that day went by far too fast for James. Soon he was on a C-130 transport heading to Waughslind. He grabbed some music, clothes, and a few other necessities shortly before being picked up by a military humvee. On his way to the airport, James was told that any violation of his person was to be relayed via pricomm (private communications) to military HQ. James listened with half an ear, adjusting to the fact that he would not see his family, he friends, his girl, or anything else familiar for a long time. James was still thinking about this when he boarded the plane and took off.

Transmission From PE Executive Office (EO):
::
Our Citizen will be arriving within the day, his name is James. He will land at Waughslind Internation in an unmarked C-130 transport. Please have a representative meet him at the airport to show him his facilites.

In Good Faith
PE EO
::
::

OOC: Sorry about the lateness of this post, my server went to crap for a few days and it's still pretty bad. Anyway, I'll post when I can.

IC: James didn't know why he was being sent to learn diplomacy, all he knew was that he was told to go, and so, he did. He was given a day to say goodbye and to pack his things, but that day went by far too fast for James. Soon he was on a C-130 transport heading to Waughslind. He grabbed some music, clothes, and a few other necessities shortly before being picked up by a military humvee. On his way to the airport, James was told that any violation of his person was to be relayed via pricomm (private communications) to military HQ. James listened with half an ear, adjusting to the fact that he would not see his family, he friends, his girl, or anything else familiar for a long time. James was still thinking about this when he boarded the plane and took off.

Transmission From PE Executive Office (EO):
::
Our Citizen will be arriving within the day, his name is James. He will land at Waughslind Internation in an unmarked C-130 transport. Please have a representative meet him at the airport to show him his facilites.

In Good Faith
PE EO
::
::

Wireless internet was a must in Imitora, and Ian was no stragner to it. He continued searching through lists upon lists upon lists of music, and picked a song of the list, and downloaded. He transported it to its proper genre file on the laptop, and closed the screen, clicking it to 'music' allowing his play list to go on while the computer was on standby. He looked at the 'Metallica is a Nazi' stciker on the cover, and in turn, pulled off his 'Lucky' tshirt, and on a 'Save Napster' Tshirt. In Imitora, music was free.

He layed back in the bed, listening to a song, wondering when everyone else was gonna show up. He closed his eyes, thoguht about home for a second, and pulled out an issue of SCC.

In each room, a wide screen activates. "Registered students of the Waughslind Diplomatic Academy, good day! You are all to report to the main commons immediately.

ooc: Everyone who's entered, you're all in your rooms. Gimme your choices for language and weapon, out of:

French
Spanish
Russian
Gaelic

Pistolry
Swordsmanship
Archery
Axeweilding

Ian pulled off the headphones, and wlaked over to the commons, weaing a loose Tshirt and a pair of jeans.

A long table is set for dinner, and several dignitaries in pinstriped suits bustle about.

Ian looked around for a second, then found an empty seat. He brushed his hands off on his jeans, and continued to look aorund the room at the suits.

A tall, bearded man in a suit with three bars on the shoulders greets Ian. "Good day, young man."

Ian looked up at the man, studying his features. One thing Ian was good at was memorizing features. When he was finished fetting the features, he smiled. "Hey," he said, simply.

"Haha, that's what I like to see in a diplomat, informality. My name is Windsor, by the way. David Windsor."

"Ian Watkins," he replied, nodding. "From Imitora."

"Right, I picked up as much. Tell me, have you ever heard of cerebral bionics?"

"Yeah, stuff like that is big in the military, well, ground forces at least. Starting to get more notice on the private sector, but not really gettin the good ups in the homefront. Most people like themselves the way they were born, and hell, I dun blame them. I mean, if God wanted me to have machines or nanobites or what ever, then shit, he woulda given them to me." Ian stood, and offered an open hand.

"Good to meet you. I think you'll get along well here, especially if you're interested in the national pastime, as records tell me."

"Just might, if I could have my car." He trailed off in the end, thinking about the Nissan. He nodded, and pushed the thought aside. "So whens this thing gonna be gettin off?"

"As soon as our other students find their way into the commons."

"Sounds liek a plan," Ian said, returning to his seat.

bump for others to get involved.

Groder decided on pistolry and Russian, the weapon because of his late father, a BPD Cop, and Russian because of his home city's Russian minority. He pulled on his shoes, pocketed his Mp3 player, and headed toward the common. He saw Watkins and Windsor, and pondered the nationalities of the other students.

James stepped off the plane and into the scorching sun. He stared out over the tarmat for a long second before slowly stepping out of the plane. As he came down the ramp, a small sports car drove out to the plane, stopping with a screech in front of James. The trunk popped open, and James walked around the back, threw his duffel in, and walked back to the front of the car. He got in without bothering to look at the driver, simply putting on a seatbelt and saying "let's drive."

"No problem." James' driver pulls out of the airport and onto a maglev catapult. The tube-car is tossed through ring after ring on the way to the fortress.

ooc note: Windsor is David Windsor, Lord of the South Common, Prince of Manninggaol, King of Waughslind. heehee.

OOC: Ok

ooc: Nobody in the student body knows this, however.

OOC: Ok

A short inauguration ceremony opens the school. The long table is set, and a rich dinner is brought out of the kitchens.

bump!

Groder sat himself down, and began digging in. He was hungry, having not eaten anything on the flight, and enjoyed the food. He was still quite mystified on who the others were, but kept this in the back of his mind as he ate.

Ian began eating some sort of meat, and drank water. He looked around, noticing other students, and wondered what the school would be like. And as always, his mind drifted back to home, wondering if the soda he drank when he would return home would be from a can that used to be the rear quarter pannel of the Skyline.

The first days pass quickly. The third week, Windsor is replaced by Waugh. "Good day... I am David Waugh, the new Director of this school. The previous director was... well. A royalist, and I'm sure you all know about the recent revolution. The Fortresslands will not be affected by this change."

Tom went through the days, not really taking a chance to get to know anyone, and the replacement of the director only sunk the point in. The classes were interesting, but the one question was why? This certainly wasn't an average diplomacy course, and why kids his age? Whether his question was ever answered or not, it was more interesting than school back home.

"When will the program begin, Waugh?" A dark-skinned man with a frizz of white hair glares angrily at the Director. "We do not have much time, much time at all. Get on it!"

"I never agreed to this program. I told you I would take your stock of the stone and that I would consider it. Your deals with the royalists have no bearing on me."

"Do not betray me, Waugh. The former glory will be returned, and the god-spirits will be awakened."

"I do not follow your god-spirits, and I never knew your damned former glory! I will not risk my students, even if I have to kill you myself, White."

Ian was on break from classes when his computer beeped. He had been talking to a freind, who said they had held a funeral in his car's honor, when the little envalope symbol appeared. He clicked on the symbol, and read the email. He wasn't sure how he was recieving an encrypted message, but he was, and downloaded a decryption program to read the email.

His eyes scanned over it, and he wondered just what it meant.

[code:1:41e33cdd59]
<<Encrypt Code>>
JANINE

LEVEL{PRIORITY}

Mr. Watkins,

As you most likely know, there has been a change of power in the land known as Waughslind. The new form of government is now being anylyzed, however information is scarce and processing may take longer to complete. Therefore, we advise that extreme caution be taken during your stay, and any oddoccurances be noted and reported. Thank you for your cooperation

Sam Byrnes
Director
The Corporation

[/code:1:41e33cdd59]

Ian closed the email, thought about it for a moment, and went back to talking to hs friend as if nothgin was wrong.

"Computer, notify all countries which have sent a delegate here about our change in government and assure them that we remain peaceful." Okinawa sits back in his seat. "Ugh... I knew government was a pain in God's shiny ass, but... "

The tube-car was a new experience to James, but nothing all that special. He had heard of them before of course, this was just his first time riding in one. As the car sped towards it's destination, James pulled out a cd player and popped in some indie rock, his favorite type of music. He closed his eyes and let himself drift back to home. It was not long however, before the car stopped and the driver hopped out. James, taking the cue, unfolded himself from the car and stared up and what he supposed was his new home.

"Kinda big"

the driver just nodded and walked towards it.

James grabbed his bad of stuff from the back of the car and walked forward towards the building. A large placard read WAUGHSLIND SCHOOL OF DIPLOMACY. James sighed and went inside, hoping to find a bathroom so he could piss, then a nice little room to sleep in.

Ian was lying on the floor, shirtless, pushing a set of weights up. The stereo was, as usual, louding playing music. At this exact moment, it was G Units "Stunt 101". The wieghts were 80 pound free weights, and although he couldn't get the full range of motion lying on the floor, it was better than nothing. When the song ended, he called out of his room, hoping to get a reply. "Anyone know if they gots a weight room around here?"

Ian was lying on the floor, shirtless, pushing a set of weights up. The stereo was, as usual, louding playing music. At this exact moment, it was G Units "Stunt 101". The wieghts were 80 pound free weights, and although he couldn't get the full range of motion lying on the floor, it was better than nothing. When the song ended, he called out of his room, hoping to get a reply. "Anyone know if they gots a weight room around here?"

Groder looked up from his Tablet PC, currently on a online motorcycle catalog.
"Not a clue..."

James peered around the doorway. "Weights? Jah. There's everything here. Only problem with the fortresses in the Fortresslands is that it's so damn cold."

bump!

The colony of New Delaware Island hereby refuses to send a diplomat representative. Should you wish to submit an appeal to our decision, you may contact the NDI Governor here:

http://www.nationstates.net/cgi-bin/index.cgi/target=display_nation/nation=new_delaware_island

"Silly monkey thinks we care. You don't have to tell us this sort of thing*- just don't send one."

*ooc: to boost your post count

bump!

James meandered through the halls of the fortress? school?, hoping to find some sort of dorm area. He finally stumbled upon an area of the school that looked like it housed students, or soldiers. Whatever. He opened a random door and, seeing as no one was in, dumped his stuff on the bed and began to unpack. About halfway through, he noticed a course packet sitting on a bed stand. He flipped through quickly and selected Russian and swordmanship as his courses. Should be fun, James thought. He resumed unpacking, cd player - out, music, books, clothes, snacks, video games, all came out of the duffel and into the assorted cupboards and cabinets scattered about the room. James had just flopped on his bed to listen to some tunes - indie rock - when a person poked their head into the room.

"Hey . . ."

"Ello! I'm James, usually called Gun. How's up?"

OOC: Only post for the night, sorry, but I got ma PS2 set up in my room, and it looks like a long deserved night of NSFU

Ian walked out of his room, still shirtless, a miraid of tattoos snaking down his arm and back. He looked at the new student, nodded, and kept walking towards the weight room.

"Let's see... I'm gonna call up Blueflagger, see if we can get the rest of Kings In A Gutter in here... Anybody wanna see a rock show, then?"

OOC: Its kinda hard to play NFSU when you dont have NSFU in your posesetion...

IC:

Ian didn't hear the question, as the rap continued to play in his ears through his headphones. He smiled as he hummed along to 'In Da Club', and walked into the weight room, tossing a towel down on one of the benches.

Gun calls an old friend, Blueflagger, lead vocals for his band. "Ay, Blue! Get up here. Bring Pipes and Womp."

bump!

James looked up at the guy.

"another James, okay, I can deal."

and with that he flopped back onto his bead and went to sleep, with some tunes still playing in the cd player.


OOC: a more involved post tomorrow.

"All right, good. Wonderful. And bring in my 'special' drum." Gun slams the phone down. "Now to wait while the bus gets here."

*bump*

A gigantic, flaming-red tour bus speeds into the deceleration catapult. "Let's get this party freakin' started!" Blueflagger leaps out of the bus.

Tom rose from his room, turning of his Mp3 player, looking at the commotion.
"Hey everyone... uh, pardon my french, but what the hell is going on out here?"

"Party! This is the rest of Kings In A Gutter. Meet... Blueflagger, his wife Pipes, and Womp."

Ian walked by the band, stopped, looked breifly, then kept walking. "Alright, garage punk, waahoo," he said, unenthusiaticly, then walking on to his room.

Ian walked by the band, stopped, looked breifly, then kept walking. "Alright, garage punk, waahoo," he said, unenthusiaticly, then walking on to his room.

The band tunes up. Gun taps on the 'special' drum, and the whole castle vibrates. "Perfect tune. Let's start off with Machina Al Denta, Blueflagger.

The first song winds up with a thumping rhythm, and busrts into raging lyrics:

"Machina! Al Denta! Machina! Al Denta!

Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!

Somebody! Lowered me! Under the theater!
Somebody! Shattered three! Inside a grain-eater!
Finding a little cat in an out-of-tune box!

Machina Al Denta chewed me up!
Machina Al Denta made me erupt!
Machina Al Denta found a way!
Machina Al Denta - what do ya say?!"

"Uhm... I see. Well, you knock yourselves out. I've gotta... yeah."
He flopped down into his room again, wondering exactly how loud he would have to play Rammstein to make it through. He sat down, going over a couple webpages he had bookmarked for his classes. He had a newfound intrest in UCSNE Government and Military issue handguns, and also common ones he might be expected to handle.

"Goddammit Gun, how did you end up in a school full of milksops without any musical taste? I mean, these guys are relative Kewpie Dolls in the toybox of preference-bearing ninnies." Womp retunes his guitar. "That's it, we're gonna have to floor them. Pipes! Get ya flute out! We're gonna be orchestral."

The next song is a flowing, Beethoven-inspired instrumental, Sticks To Ya Gums.

The door to Ian's room was shut, and thanks to a pair of noise cancelling headphones, the only music he heard was a demo of is little group's next album. He strummed his fingers on the desk along with the beat of the song 'Ride', and he talked to friends through a messenger program.

He missed the small 'urgent mail' icon appear on his task bar.

"...Okay, so we still have the attention of the one geek from the Kelly Coast. Gun, get your special drum. We're either gonna knock down the castle or attract some attention."

Gun slaps the drum, and the floor shakes. "Here we go."

The next song, Hardly Worth Mentioning:

"It's just a nip and a tuck!
It's just a cardboard-tube... f***!
It's just a U-V tanning bed!
It's just an image in your... head!

*slap of the special drum*

And it is hardly worth mentioning!
And it is not a great big deal!
When a melting-pot celebrity!
Only wants to cop a feel!

It's just a... low-grade movie.
It's just a... little groovy.
It's just a tabloid tale.
It's just a madman's rail.

*thump*

And it is hardly worth mentioning!
And it is not a great big deal!
When a melting-pot celebrity!
Only wants to cop a feel!"

From the tiny portion of the song Ian could still hear, he had figured that it was, as he entitles it, antiestablishmeny punk. He, as did a good percentage of Imitorans, hated antiestablishemnt, or more commonly known as black flag, punk. He turned up teh volume of his CD player a touch more, and went back to talking to friends.

"Damn. Well. You know what, Gun? These nerdy bastards just aren't worth it. We're gonna go back to Cackalackie, those guys rock. And if you have any idea of what's fun, you'll come along. Mallinkt's just not that good."

Ian smilled as teh music stopped. He turned his music down a little, and then noticed teh small black 'urgent mail' icon. He clicked on it, and began reading. He smilled, looking over the news brief, nad felt that much happier. He closed it, saving the article, and went back, again, to talking to his friends.
____

The sattalite was old, well, older, and well disguised as a communication sattalite. It slid through the inky blackness of space over Waughslind, and transmitted data back to a rellay station in New Empire, then to Adejaani, then to Imitora. The man at the computer had no relation to or care for Ian Watkins, but he was assigned an observation duty for Waughslind. He looked at the data, and decided to anylyze it in the morning.

"...I think you're right. This place is fecking boring, and I miss the road. Is Vera still there in Hokitoki?"

Ian walked out of his room, duffle in one hand, backpack in the other. He nodded at the band, and kept walking toward the door. "Well, was a pleasure and all, but I'm headin home. Got the order to jump on back just a few hours ago. I'm sure they'll send someone to replace me, but yeah."

He walked out the door, and a taxi was waiting for him. He slid into the back, nooded at the driver, and put his head back, listening to his Mp3/CD player.

"Yes, she's still there, and she kicked that ass Mallinkt in the nads for replacing you. So get your ass back."

Gun packs and is gone in three hours.

bump

OOC: Give us some story to work with, I'm grabbing pics of two (yup, two) new students I'll be sending...

ooc: Okay.

ic: "Okay. Since it's National Cross-country week, we're all going to taake a trip down to Kissle Castle. Still just as fecking cold, but more in the way of weapons ranges. Also, you'll all be allowed to have your friends visit you. I'm sure you all saw the impromptu show last week. Very good, but nonetheless not allowed. Apparently, there's a malevolent computer system down there at Kissle, and Premier Okinawa wants the school to check it out. Bastard..."

A letter arives at the desk of the appropriate authorities, and explains that Ian had to return due to governmental business, and that two new students, a female and male, were both on their way.

OOC: Give me about 30 minutes to get pictures and some story written up.

"In any case, we have three students coming in. We will leave for Kissle in two days, so be prepared."

A tall, bulky man, 18, slips in at the back of the room.

OOC: Well, since I like actors and actresses whom havent made it big enough to get a google picture yet, we dont get any pics.

IC:

The black 777 slid though the sky effortlessly, and on bored were two special passengers. Seth Cohen and Anna Winters sat in seperate sections, and really didn't know each other. Anna was always the 'trendy' type in school, and Seth was always the one who stayed away from the crowd.

The 777 landed, and Seth and Anna collected their bags, and were off to the school.

The new guy, Berring Hokt, is a blacksmith's son from the Sandland. He signs up for pistolry and German. "I think I will like this school..."

Seth, being the advanced planner that he was had signed up in advanced. He had selected German and fencing, while Anna was stuck in French in pistolry. They got to the school, unpacked, and went about meeting new studnets.

"Let's see, let's see... Ah, we're visiting Kissle tomorrow! Wonderful!" Berring bumps into Anna in the hallways. "Oh, hello."

Anna looked up at Berring, somewhat upset that he had knocked her headphones off from her Mp3 player. She seemed startled at first but then smiled. "Anna Winters," she said, nodding. She pushed he shortcut bleach blonde hair out of her eyes, and held out her hand.

She was dressed like the standard 'designer punk' in a short cut pink PVC jacket, black tight low cut jeans, and a black 'wife beater' shirt with Japanese characters on it. She had pink braclets on each hand, and carried a black PVC purse.

"Berring Hokt. Yes, my name sounds like a sick cat." Berring grins, and shakes Anna's hand. "So, what classes did ya choose?"

"French and pistolry," she said, snuffing at the word pistolry. "What about you? And Berring is a neat name."

"German and pistolry. Better than axmanship and Lower Nuglinnian."

Anna had no idea what he meant by that, but laughed anyway. "So, Berring, where ya from?"

"Cackalackie, in the Sandlands. I'm the obligatory minority, full blooded nomad."

With his Mp3 player off, Tom listened to the conversations in the hall. So there were replacements for Ian. The Kissile thing caught his interest, though. He walked into the hall, giving a 'hello' or 'hey' to anyone there.

Berring looks around. "Hmm. Too bad I missed that concert. Ah well. Where are the rooms, do ye know?"

"Down thataway." Tom said, pointing, "Hey, who're the two new guys? I can't find them."

"Couple of Imitorans. Dunno. I'm Berring, and you?"

Anna poked her head out of her room, and looked at Tom. "Hey, I'm one of them. The other one is around here somewhere. I'm Anna, from Ornage County in Imitora. I know Seth is around here somewhere..." she said, looking around.

"Suppose I've ended up in the same room as the previous guy had. Well, belni va berring?" He shrugs and heads into his room.

He turns to Anna.
"Tom Groder, Berliston, New Empire. Nice to meet ya."

Anna let her eyes roam breifly over Tom. "Pleasures all mine," she said, nodding.

Berring hangs a picture of himself holding a beautiful girl on the wall of his room near his bedpost. He finishes putting away his other possessions, and lays a flute on his bedside table. "Ah, Bella... How I wish you could be near me..." He wanders out to the commons.
ooc: By the way, Berring is 6'4", greatly muscled (he's a blacksmith's apprentice), and speaks in a strange Germano-French accent.

Tom nodded in return, and went back to studying his Russian. As he looked over the date on his Tablet, he realized he was missing the Empirian Football Conference title game. So, he decided to skip the practice to catch the last quarter of the game via a NESN netcast.

"Well, might as well practice a bit..." Berring picks up his flute and plays a tune that the girl in the picture, Bella, wrote. It is sad and mournful, but at the same time filled with hope.

Seth, who had yet to make an appearance at all, sat in his room, tweaking the stereo system. He then, after tunnign all the speakers, set it to full volume, and hit play. A mix CD began to play, and the first song, 'Rise', by The Cult, began blaring. He smilled as he sat down to his computer, and began doing a bit of research on fencing.

"Oh, verran va berring!" Berring storms out of his room and over to Seth's. He slams his fist on the door. "Ay!"

bump!

Groder ignores the music, listening to the netcast radio commentary on his headphones.
"Yes, yes, YEAH!"
He jumps up, nearly disconnecting the headphones.
"Best defense in the EFL my a-" he stops, hearing the yell and thinking it was for him.
"Ah, sorry..."

"Goddammit, you inconsiderate panvagat, don't make me get my hammer!" Berring bellows.

"Oh, now it's me, huh? Make up your mind! If you wanna fight, be my guest. I've got a Glock 20 for pistolry, and 2 clips of 10mm Hollowpoint. So shut the hell up and let me enjoy my home's national pastime, thank you very much."

"It's not you, it's the asshole blasting music while I'm trying to have pleasant memories."

bump!

Seth opened the door. He looked out at Berring, and gave him a quizical look. He had somewhat curly black hair, and didn't look imposing at all. He was maybe six feet tall, and not to muscular, built more like a long distance runner. He spoke almost quickly, and had an air of an attitude about him. "Uh yeah?"

"Yer music, while a damn good choice, is too loud. I'm trying to play a tune that reminds me of the wife back home here. So can ye turn it down?"

Seth thout for a few seconds, and tehn spoke. "Playing it loud reminds me of home and friends. I am farther from my home and friends than you are, therefor, logically, playing my music louder take a higher presidence." The door closed, and Seth went back to his computer.

"Oh, that's it." Berring slams his fist on the door. "Panvagat mek belln, I'll even provide the headphones. But if you won't have a little consideration, I will smash your system and not replace it for a week. I'm not an easily angered man, but -- wait, there's an ampitheater here. Never mind, panvagat!"

Clicking a button that automatically lowered the volume of the system to a barely audible level, Seth looked up from his computer. "You do know that violence and physical force is commonly the most widely used tactic by the uneducated and ignorant? Anyways, I'd be carefull if I were you. The amphitheater offerd the best area reception for Anna's damn cell phone. KNowing her, she'll probably be spending every waking minute in there. Anyways, aren't you a little young to be married?"

Anna was, as Seth had said, sitting in the amphiteatre, on a Nokia. She wore a two piece bikini with a pair of 'board' shorts, she planned to go find a pool after her talks. She was talking to one of her girlfriends back home about the situation of the opposite sex at teh school. "Coupla cute guys, but nothing major. One big guy, kinda like Ryan. 'Nother one from New Empire. Yeah, I think the big one has a girlfriend, but ya. Ya I know what you mean."

James, still bleary eyed from a good nap stumbled down the hallways, looking for someone. He had woken to find a pair of katanas, a longsword, and several daggers laid out in his room, as well as Russian I and II work books. Well, great, thought James. 'I guess I have homework to do." Shortly after that, he found himself in a new hallway, wondering where the hell he was. Looking around, he saw they guy he had blown off earlier. "Hey, hey Gun, where the hell am I?"

OOC: Sorry bout missing a few days, been up to my neck in school work and a job. Will post more often.

"I am married because my father told me to. I am sorry, I was raised in a smithy. My hammer is sometimes like my hand. As for the girl and her phone, she can deal with my music - I'm going to play."

The weapons-master turns around. "Sorry, Gun has left. I am also James White, however - I am his father. How are you?"

"Hmmm, married because your father told you to. No individuality whatsoever. Just like everyone else. Whatever." Seth turned his back on the man, and clicked the stereo back up to full volume.

"Right, and he thinks he's individual with his blasting music, while I have happiness and love... at least when my wife's around." Berring grabs his flute and storms down to the ampitheater.

Anna was sitting in the amphiteater talking on the phone when Berring walked in. "Oh, the one like Ryan just walked in. I dunno. So tell me about teh races last night."

Berring sits on the stage and begins to play the same tune. When he finishes, he sighs. "Ah, bi Bella... belni va amante..."

"hold on a second," Anna said, and held the phone at her side. "Umm, that was a nice song and all, but could you keep it down a pinch?" she asked, then went back to talking on the phone.

"...Are all Imitorans so irritable?" Berring mutters.

"Are all Waughslindians so rude?" she asked, before going back to her phone.

"No, just nomads like me." Berring sighs and plays a quiet tune, his heart longing for home and the arms of his beloved.

"Ugh, hold on Summer, I'll have to call you back." Anna stood up and pocketed the phone, walking out of the amphitheatre. "Some people," she said under her breath.

"Ah, wonderful. Now I have... space." Berring lies back and thinks of Bella, gently playing an idle tune.

Groder scratched his head, and put on a plain blue baseball cap over his brown buzz cut. His T-shirt and cago pants seemed almost oversized on his slight frame, and his Mp3 player's headphones where blasting Tier at full volume. He drew his weapon, a Glock 20, a big black plastic cased pistol chambered in 10mm auto, and fired two shots into the target's chest, followed by a single shot to the head. He hadn't spent a whole lot of time actually using his weapon for pistolry, but he figured he had gone though enough Russian that day to give him a magazine or two's worth at the firing range. He smirked, and double tapped two rounds into the head, and another round into the chest. He mentally checked the ammo he had left, 9 rounds, and repeated the double-single pattern 3 more times, and taking a better look to see where his rounds had fell.

"All students, report to loading area - report to loading area now. All necessary items will be provided. Kissle Castle training trip begins - NOW."

bump!

Anna arived at the loading dock minutes afte rthe anouncement, dressed casually in tight fitting black jeans and a pink teshirt with teh words "Punk Chica" written on the front of it. Seth arrived shortly after, wearing a plain blue tshirt and jeans. He had head phones off that trailed into his packet, connecting to an Mp3 player.

Groder put the pistol and spent magazine in a case, and ran back to his room where he deposited it. He put his Mp3 player in one of his pockets, and made his way to the loading bay.

"All right, me boyos..." The broad, ruddy Professor Alvin MacGruder barks. "Ye'll all go through dressing rooms when ye get to the Castle. As we say, all will be provided. This will be a MTE, Mass Training Exercise. Your minds and bodies will be challenged in ways they have not before. Get in the ships, we're a'goin!"

James swung into the room where a meeting had been called. Late, as usual, but hey, at least he was there. James had his katanas strapped on as well as headphones slipping off his ears. He grinned at the rest of the group, staring at him.

"Hey guy's, looks like I found the meeting."

"All of ye, leave yer possessions here. This ain't no vacation! And are those weapons regulation, boyo?"

Seth reluctantly put the Mp3 player away and grumbled. He got onto the transport, and Anna was behind him. He foud a seat at the back, and sat down. Anna grabbed one by the window.

"Now. I know this seems like a horrible wasate of time. Point of fact, ye'll all have one visitor during this week. Those of ye who are married, er, the one of ye, will of course have yer own room for privacy. Rest 'o ye... too bad, yer in the commons. Parachuting will happen Saturday. Woulda been Sunday, but due to strnge laws, well. Seems Anna wouldn'a been able to go on that as it were. This trip is partly a hands-on test, but there is little to no chance of injury. Is all of this clear to ye?"

Anna perked her ears up. "Um, excuse me? Not go on what? So we are still in the age where females dont get to do somethign cuz we dont have a penis? What the hell is this?" she demanded, grabbing for a cell phone.

"No, it's an archaic law. 'Single, divorced, or widowed women may not parachute on Sundays.' It's just there as a joke, lassie."

The phone went back to her pocket. "Damn straight it is," she said, sitting. Seth watched in semi-amusement at teh display.

Fiesty, he thought to himself.

"Ye'll find as you read the laws of this country that there are some damn silly ones. 'National sport shall be street racing,' indeed. In any case, we'll arrive in about an hour."

Anna simply 'hummphed' and sat back in her seat. She looked out the window, and wished that she could at least have her CD or Mp3 player.

Seth, on the other hand, took the opportunity of silence to be his usual self. "Excuse me," he said, grabbing the professor's attention. "Excuse me, stewerdess, whats the inflight movie?"


OOC: With street racing as a national sport, its a suprise that no one from Waughslind has shown up at the 'Get Sideways' thread. CORP and compitition.

"Movie? I think ye've got this all - oh, was that supposed to be a joke? I like you laddie, you have spunk!" MacGruder laughs as he claps Sean on the back, bruising his shoulder.

Seth dodged the slap, and watched as another student got nailed. And he laughed. He sat back in his seat, and closed his eyes. He hoped the trip wouldn't take long.

The transport slows and stops in front of a castel made up mostly of one gigantic tower.

Anna looked up at the tower and then back at the seat infront of her. "This better not suck."

"That depends on interpretation! I shall have fun at this trip! Ah, Bella, belni va merro!" Berring charges out of the airbus.

"Right," Anna said, drudging off the bus. Seth follwed, not any more enthusiastic than Anna.

"Right... New trainees report to the building over there for equipment. Visitors will visit you tonight and stay three days. You will be supplied with three changes of clothing and a weapon for the test on the last day here." A tall, thin man in a blue uniform instructs the students.

"Ugh, weapons," Anna sighed. "You better not be trying to turn me into a soldier or anything, I'm not fighting for somethign I dont believe in," she grummbled. Seth was more afraid of the prospect of having to do actual physical labor. Anna didn't have any registered visitors, but Seth had a freind from home comming in.

"It's a traditional part of diplomatic training here in Waughslind. Now get in there, tell the official your sizes and weapon, and change!"

"My sizes?" Anna asked. "Ugh, I hate this already." Seth walked past, told the man the proper details, and asked for a weapon that wont take any skill to use.

Berring stands by the testing field. "Ah... an inferior Colt model... expected."

Seth just shrugged.

After giving out the sizes, he moved to the officials.
"Whatever kind of 10mm or 9mm you got. I don't really care, as long as it's reliable."

OOC: sorry bout absence, I was out of town, post tomorrow.

James walked up to the officers that were handing out material, he gave his measurments to the guy standing behind a table with the uniforms on it.

"Hey, 32-30 and a medium."

After receiving his uniform from the impassive person (more like a non-com, James thought) James continued to the weapons table. Staring at the assortment of guns, he snorted.

"Don't you guys have swords or something? Eh, guess not. I'll just take the light fifty sniper over there and a 9mm."

Loaded up with weaponds (what for? he wondered) and a new uniform, James walked off into an open spot and began to organize his gear.

where did everyone go?