NationStates Jolt Archive

http://www.westpapua.net/news/01/11/images/jenasah.jpg

Sentani, Loro Sae Province, Tanah Burung

The body lay in state in the man's ancestral village, draped in the flag of the province. Fat in death, preserved somehow. Surrounded at all times by the Sentani tribesmen, mourning their lost leader. Markus Rumbiak, last of the Radical Old who had led this country to independence, was dead at the hands of a man who (in the end) had proved more skilled than he at duelling.

A short man dressed in black touched the rim of the coffin gently. "Rest in peace, Markus, inshallah," he said. "At least, we can give you a sendoff to remember." He took out a laptop and started to type out a message.

To all friendly governments,

It is with sadness that i inform you of the dath of Markus Rumbiak, a former member of the Tanah Burung collective presidency. You are invited to send a representative to Chief Rumbiak's funeral in the village of Sentani. Funeral rites will be conducted according to the ways of the Church of the Rocks and Trees. This event is clothing-optional.

La'o hamutuk, mau bere!
Mari Alkatiri
People's representative for foreign affairs & human rights

"I wonder if we're a 'friendly' government?" pondered Sir Archibald S. Hughes, tapping his chin and reading the letter.

"I often wonder if y'all qualify as a government, period," shot back Mr Edwards, who was reclining in an easy chair some distance away. "But, if they're sending us this sort message, I'd assume we are."

"Hmm..." Sir Archibald managed to make the indecisive sound come out as a compliment for Edwards' powers of deductive reasoning. "Well, I suppose we're more or less obligated to send someone."

"It was a man from out country who gave Markus the axe, after all," agreed Edwards. "Least we could do is send his widow some flowers."

"Was Mr Rumbiak married?"

"I dunno. Maybe not."

"Still, we have to send someone."

"I'd recommend we don't let the Company select our ambassador," replied Edwards. "Either he'd come back in pieces, or else the funeral procession would."

"The Executor isn't a people-person, is he?"

"How about Dhawan?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Dhawan - y'know, former Prime Minister, leader of the Commonwealth Party -"

"- and brown skin. You really think that sending a Gallagan would convince Tanah Burung that we've somehow magically changed the racist conceptions of ninety per cent of our population?"

"Well...no, not if you put it that way," shrugged Edwards. "But it can't hurt to try."

"Hand me my pen," sighed Hughes, holding out a hand.

OOC: I hope that these things have seating arangements or I an Iansisle are going to be snipping the whole thing through.

Apethorpe Palace

"Father, you sent for me?" A young blond in a gray dress and sandles stands in the Palaces long gallery. The wide, tall sets of windows are open letting the trade winds of the Southern Klatch cool the room.

"Yes, as you know I've been trying to train you in being a peace maker rather than a woman who perfers to shoot things to deal with problems."
A thin, older man in blue pants and a silk shirt looks up from reading next to a window. His blue eyes look kindly on his younger daughter.

"Yes father..."

"Your last assignment was a complete and utter disaster..."

"Yes father..."

"Drugging the lead negotator of Dyelli Beybi was a poor tactical move..."

"Yes father..."

"Now, let's see if you can keep yourself from doing any damage somewhere that we don't really care about since they won't trade with us at all..."

"Yes Father?"

"I want you to go to Tanah Berung to convey our regrets at the hack job this man Rumbiak got in the international papers here in the Klatch. And our regrets that he died in such a horrific manner."

"Yes Father..."


To: Mr. Alkatiri
Office of Foreign Affaris and Human Rights, Tanah Berung

From: Outer Ministry, The Dual Duchy of Alcona and Hubris

Subject: Offical letter of Condolance and notice of vistitation
by a member of the Royal Family.

Mr. Alkatiri, The Government of Alcona and Hubris and His Grace, Alexander III wish to convey our condolances to your nation upon the loss of such a well known public figure as Markus Rumbiak. Upon his Grace's Request a Formal Statement of Remorse will be delivered by Elizabeth Crawford, Markgraivne of Both as a represenative of the Royal family of Alcona, Hubris and Cwahaba to your nation and the family of Markus Rumbiak. We hope that this will not inconenince you or your people in anyway.

On practical matters we are well aware of the distinct nature of your land's permitted landing sights. At this time either a flying boat or the Royal Yaht may be used to transport the Markgravine to the funeral. The Outer Ministry will be arranging details of the visit.

Again, my personal wishes of condolence to your nation and to the family of Markus Rumbiak.
Your Humble Minister,
Baron Yastburg,
Outer Minister of Alcona and Hubris.

Griffin, still recovering from the one year affair, looked at the invite. Neither he nor any of his predacesors had any real expierience with TB, and the only real contact he could recall ended with the representative walking out of the confrence.

He decided to change the situation, and ordered an ambasador to the funeral.

The photo sent showed a man who, at first glance, would be considered a poster child for a special forces unit. Shaved head, very muscular but atheltic, and a rather imposing figure.

However, Ambasador Ryan Marshall had only spent four years, the required term, in teh ICMC. He had played quite a bit of football and rugby in college, and had excelled in law. He was working his way up to an important post in the government now, and at the age of 25, was considered a very eligable, by physicall and personality at least, bachlor.

A message was sent to the Burung government, alerting them of the arriving ambasador, and politely asking that his CV-22I Osprey not be shot down.

Ambasador Ryan Marshall (OOC: Of course, he will be wearing a suit, a bling suit, at the funeral) (http://www.mustangdaily.calpoly.edu/archive/20030109/cimages/a2.jpg)

*tag for a later post... damn man, I'm running out of people to send places ;) *

Sir Alec looked over the reports of Mr. Rumbiak's death and the invitation to the funeral. He paused at the 'Church of the Rock and Trees'

"Oh dear" he said aloud "Janice, could you take a letter"

His secretary entered and jotted down as he spoke.

"To Our Friends in Tanah Burung,

We are saddened by the death of the Right Honourable Mr. Rumbiak. We wish to express our sincerest condolences to his family, his tribe and his nation.

I must also regretfully decline to attend Mr. Rumbiak's funeral. The laws of the Free Republic bar officials from attending 'religious' ceremonies of any kind. I will be there in spirit and my thoughts will be with you.

Sir Alec Connover, Ambassador to Tanah Burung, Ilek-Vaad"

He paused and looked a bit chagrined "Just send that to Marty Algatari, or whatever his name is, the new Minister of Foreign Affairs. I'm sure he won't even read it when he sees that there's no bribe inside.............."

Sir Alec then took the rest of the day, and possibly the week off.

With permission, SeOCC will send Under Minister of Foreign Affairs Stacy Ribaun (a man) to attend Mr. Rumbiak's funeral.

MFA Frontdesk

Saturnino Vacuno, the minister of foreign affairs, received the letter with much worry. Most of the ambassadors were in Larkinia, in the "Picnic for Peace" and he had nobody to send to TB.
"Well, I'll guess I'll have to go in person", he said to himself.
He sat down and wrote a letter to Mari Alkatiri.


Dear Mari Alkatiri,
Is with much worry and sadness that the news of Rumbiak's death were received in Hell Bovines. A personal friend of the duque and of the bovine people, Rumbiak was also a great tanah burungian patriot and he had the qualities most valoured by our nation, courage, idealism and honesty.
From our humble position is that we mourn and console the people of Tanah Burung and Rumbiak's friends and family in such difficult time.
Sadly, the duque won't be able to attend in person to his beloved friend's funeral, as the current "Picnic for Peace" to Takeo Katana, in Larkinia, is holding him back. However, I will asist in person and pay my respects in the name of the duque. From here, in Hell Bovines, we wish you and the people of Tanah Burung a good luck in your future and we will accompany you in this difficult time. Best wishes,

Saturnino Vacuno (http://www.dulemba.com/images/illos/big/cowman.jpg), Minister of Foreign Affairs, Hell Bovines

As he dispatched the letter, he asked for a small, one-person chopper be prepared for him. He dressed with an elegant alpaca wool robe and went torwards the airport....

Javin Katana had returned from the Imitora party a day before, when he received a message from the Foreign Affairs Office

[code:1:907825b78a]
Javin,

You are ordered to represent the government of Larkinia at the funeral for Markus Rumbiak in Tanah Burung. Intel file encoded and attached.[/code:1:907825b78a]

Rumbiak died? No way! I thought that old guy was too tough to go down at that young age.

Javin remembered the first time he'd met Rumbiak, at the Third World Conference when he referred to Markus and the others as 'fascists', now his reaction to that brought a grin to Javin's face.

He read through the intelligence file. Someone from the Iansislian Embassy had killed him in a duel, why didn't that surprise him.

He picked up his still packed bags and punched up the first diplomatic flight into Tanah Burung.


Dear Mari Alkatiri,

On behalf of the Larkinian Government, we are deeply saddened by the loss of a man like Markus Rumbiak. We will be sending our Special Envoy, Javin Katana, to attend the funeral as the representative of Larkinia.

Again, our deepest sadness on your loss,

Michael Davis
Acting President, Larkinia

undo!

Gren Palace, Ukun Rasikan

Mari Alkatiri was deicing to order a new chair. This soft thing that Bi Bere had been sitting on simply woudl not do. He wanted a nice, simple, wooden chair, perhaps with a piece of batik thrown over it. No cushions. Pah, soft living was everywhere. No wonder the nation had grown fat and self-satisfied.

He turned to his correspondence. Rather good of old Markus to die like that, delivering the votes Alkatiri had needed to win. And quite gratifying, the response to his invitation to the old man's funeral. It would be a chance to meet some foreign diplomats: his baptism into the world of global politics.

Vacuno from Hell Bovines, he expected, would be a valuable ally. Dhawan from Iansisle was an enigma to him, but sending an opposition figure was probably wise of them in the circumstances. Javin Katana? Well, the Larkinian freelance trouble-maker had visited before, so at least he was unlikely to get lost in the jungle. The Markgravine of Both, to him, sounded like a breed of show dog. And he had no idea how to deal with royalty. Let the local nature freaks tackle the protocol, he figured. Alec Connover was lying low. Perhaps that wasn't surprising, given the recent election. Still, some sort of friendly gesture seemed called for. There were dozens of fruit baskets lying around the room from Bibere's tenure: he'd send one of the those over to the Vaadian embassy with his compliments. And an Under Minister from SeOCC. It was a long time since anyone from SeOCC had been here: Bi Bere had let relations grow frosty. It was time to fix that.

Alkatiri turned back to the keyboard and started typing.

To those nations sending representatives to the funeral of Markus Rumbiak, many thanks for your words of sympathy on behalf of my government and the family of Markus Rumbiak.

As you know, jet aircraft may land only at Tiga Burung airport. Those travelling by jet will be transported by blimp to the village of Sentani. The village is also accessible by sea and a short riverboat trip.

Visitors of rank are asked to convey any requirements to Gunung Peak, Master of Protocol of the Sentani nation, who is in charge of formal arrangements.

Alkatiri

Accessible by sea? Now that was singing Iansisle’s song! Granted, traveling anywhere by ship, even one of the R.I.N.’s new fast destroyers, would take considerably longer than by air, but having Dhawan out of the capital longer appealed to certain interests in Tarriff’s government. No one in the Centrist Coalition had quite yet forgotten being stabbed in the back by the Free Traders - or Free Traitors, as some styled them - and Hiresh Dhawan had the reputation of being a crafty opponent. Not quite so crafty as, say, the Earl of Dirwisham, but head and shoulders above most.

The new destroyer Cannae, fresh out of her acceptance trials, was detailed to run Dhawan to the seaport. Her pinnace (very few destroyers carried a barge) would be detailed to carry the former Prime Minister up the river, unless Tanah Burung was of a different opinion.

Dhawan was technically of royal birth, the son of one of the puppet maharajas through which the Company ruled, but he had long been disowned. Neither the government nor Mr Dhawan transmitted any particular requirments to Minister Alkatiri.

Javin read the reply as he sat in the back of the armored SUV, Visitors of rank? What about visitors who the government think are rank? He thought with a grin. The last time he'd been to Tanah Burung, they were marching in the streets about some ad campaign and colonialism, before that was the Third World Conference. He figured he was about as welcome in Tanah Burung as an outbreak of herpes at the Mustang Ranch.

Oh well, he'd try to make the best of it, he mused as Van der Meere Airfield glinted in the distance. At least they were letting him fly one of the new military jets there instead of taking one of the Official diplomatic planes.

The Royal Guard didn't really care for the idea of having Elizabeth seperated from her transportation by a great deal. The idea naval access would be a fairly nearby alternative seemed like a far wiser idea. And the truth was that the Elizabeth and her escort were heading home from the Walmington Empire Days, sans diplomat.

The A.R.N. Elizabeth received communications that they were to expect a V.I.P sea transfer from a flying boat one day out of Tanah Berung, which they would be attending as a funeral. Ths ships turned in the central atlantic to make their way for their new duty.


To: Gunung Peak, Master of Protocol of the Sentani nation
Subject: Requirements

The Markgravine of Both will be entering port approximatly one day before the funeral, abourd the Royal Yaht Elizabeth with a naval escort. A barge will be used to transport her to the village.

Captain Jones desires to know how many gun salutes would be appropriate when entering port to salute your flag?

Second, the Markagravine will act in according to your traditions to her best ability. Please understand that we are unfamiliar with your customs.

Third, if rank is of any importance in these matters, the Markgravine's rank would be considered equal to a Princess of Royal Birth.

She is also considered the Nar Mac Pumba or War Cheif for the North Eastern Tribes and daughter of the Oska Pumba or Cheif of Cheifs, if that would be more helpful distinction of rank to use.

The Markgravine will be understand any problems that might occur because of her odd dignities. For futher information we suggest you contact the Vrakian Diplomatic Corps as she had a great deal of contact with them over her career, and may be helpful.

The Markgravine by her rank is to have her swordsman in her presence at all times, as this is also a security measure, we hope that this can be accomidated.

If there was an airfield with blimps, the Osprey could make it, and so it was done that Marshall arived via CV-22I(P), and after a short stop at Tiga Burung to refuel, was off again. The tilt rotor, using an onboard GPS system and satalite imaging landed at the blimp airfield at Sentani, and Marshall disembarked the aircraft.

His vehicle of choice, a red Ducatti 999R was also of loaded. He was on his own, no escorts, so decided that if he were to travel, he might as well have a little fun while doing so.

Sirs,

SeOCC requests permission to provide our own helicopter transport for UM Ribaun; the helicopter will be unarmed, but will be equipped with EDW defense devices.

MFA Frontdesk

------------------------------------------------
Knootian embassy, Tanah Burung
------------------------------------------------

The lawn surrounding the embassy had not jet been replaced, staining the greens with some muddy brown spots, but the fast, joyous, erratic sounds of Avant garde jazz being played by a live band emanated from the Knootian embassy. The sound of the music was somewhat dampened by the new 2 metres high concrete wall that was in the final stages of its completion. Spikes and electrical wire had not yet been added. One embassy siege had been lesson enough for the Knootians.

The front gate of the embassy swung open, and two guards saluted as a slender woman dressed in black came out. She was dressed for a funeral, but the rose on her hat gave the attire a charming twist.

http://www.ladycynthia.com/images/Wedding_Vintage_Hats/2224%20Lettie.JPG

The woman’s hacks clicked as she stepped over the paved part of the street. Small spats of mud stained the elegant black shoes. The Knootian ambassador to the United Provences, Magda Vogels, headed off to the village of Sentani to attend Rumbiak’s funeral.

((TB, can cars be hired in your nation? One of those black Chicago mob drive-by cars would be best. *grin*
Of course, a standard message regarding attendance was sent. I *assume* being invited, since Bi Bere policy hasn't really change yet in those few days. I hope.))

Ummm...bump?

Nataka's staff pondered the delicate implications of the announcement from Tanah Burung, and finally came up with:


Bishop of Rome and Vicar of Jesus Christ, Successor of St. Peter, Prince of the Apostles, Supreme Pontiff of The Universal Church, Patriarch of The West, Primate of Italy, Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of Vatican City State,
LEO, the Fourteenth of that Name, Gloriously Reigning,

To the People and the Church of Tanah Burung, affectionate greetings and profound condolences on the loss of your beloved leader, Markus Rumbiak. Mr. Rumbiak's life of service to his people is an inspiration, and we know that he will be much mourned and greatly missed.

We have instructed Monsignor Emori Naitaku, who will be in Tanah Burung as part of an advance team to establish a nunciature, to carry a message of condolence from us on the occasion of Mr. Rumbiak's memorials.

Given in Rome, at St. Peter’s, the ____ day of _____, in the first year of our Pontificate.


Nataka looked it over. "Good choice. Emori spent all that time in Papeete, he won't have any problems with this pagan "clothing optional" ceremony. It is slightly equivocal, but by phrasing it as "carry a message of condolence on the occasion," you remove any implication that we are there to participate in a pagan rite."

"From a diplomatic standpoint, nicely handled."

The Benedictine nun who had drafted the communication smiled with pleasure. "Thank you, your Excellency."

(sorry all, real life is interfering, will move this forward on the weekend)

Dear Mari Alkatiri,

While we are somewhat late in our condolences, we offer our greatest sympathy for your people after the death of Marcus Rumbiak. This news has left our people, who knew of and respected Rumbiak as if he were one of our own, to hold a wake for Rumbiak in our own country in the next week.

Rumbiak, was, of course, a person after our own hearts, with an anti-colonialist stance much like our own. Our histories do share a great deal of occupation, yours with the Knootians, and us under the flag of Svea Riga for over 200 years. Rumbiak's fight against colonialism in Tanah Burung and his time in the government of your country was respected in this country, and we are saddened to hear of this great loss to your people.

A representative shall make his way to pay his respects.

Council Leader Alan Sharkey,
The Weegies.

Dear friends,

Thank you for your attendance at the funeral. You may arrive by a conveyance of your choice; restricitons on foreign military craft and automobiles are lifted for the duration of this event. However, we ask that no gund be fired under any circumstnaces, even for ceremonial purposes, out of respect for the dead and local law. We can assure you that security will be adequate, and ask that your own security dfetails be kept to a minimum. Any craft appraoching Sentani should carry defensive weapons only. I look forward to seeing you shortly.
-- Mari Alkatiri

(ooc: feel free to arrive, either by sea where there will be awestruck locals gasping at your technology, by blimp as described, or by car from Loro Sae City, accessible by Maglev from other cities in the southern Emerald Heights region.)

Eye on Society
By John Supermodel Santana

Goodness, what a galaxy of stars on the way to Sentani! Who knows if the little village can cope. I once went to Sentani, dear readers. You've seen one grass hut, you've seen them all.

The nautical splendour should wow them in Loro Sae: a shiny new destroyer from Iansisle, fresh from the sweat shop. That's the first time a warship is being allowed into coastal waters in half a century. I'm sure the river banks will be lined six deep to watch the pinnace sail majestically up the river. Watch out for crocodiles (no, the real kind, dahling, not the footballing variety). I hear former Prime Minister Hiresh Dhawan is quite a looker! Yee-haw!

Speaking of foxes, i can barely wait to see swahbuckling Javin Katana arrive aboard his glistening phallic jet at Tiga Burung field. Baby, stop by and see me aboard the steam barges. Just ask for the Supermodel, everyone knows me! Ooh, i'm warm just thinking about it. Oh, and condolences on your brother. I'm ready to comfort you in your time of pain. Woof!

Javin may have to take a number, though. I'm hearing breathless reprots about Ryan Marshall, the dashing young Imitoran diplomat who's dashing about the countryside in a red sports car. Shh! Don't tell the pollution patrol, but i think it's petroleum-powered. Me, i'm not too worried. You've got a fast car? I'm a fast gal.

As to this Ribaun from SeOCC, maybe not. I hear they don't like it when strangers come on to them. Some sort of fancy helicopter the dude's flying in. Anyway, i hear new foreign affairs supremo Mari Alkatiri will be kissing up to this fellow.

Then there's our fellow tropical paradise, The Weegies. Now, they haven't let me in on which Weegie in particular will be there singing the Internationale and (i'll bet) taking in a football match, but any Weegie is welcome, wight? We can commiserate over how we hate and miss our colonizers at the same time, over a nice cup of "special" tea, nudge nudge.

I bet neither of them have much time for Magda Vogels, the renowned horticultural enthusiast who gets to carry the banner of cash-mad Knootoss here in the tropics. The lady wants to come in a gas guzzler. Fingers will wag, but apparently they're letting her drive it on in.

But in all seriousness. We're honoured at the news of a Monsignor all the way from Rome itself, young fellow name of Emori Naitaku?. Now, there are some very nasty rumours that your Supermodel doesn't go to mass every day. I assure you, i'm there with bells on for the cuties they're churning out from seminary these days. It's just that the wafers go straight to my hips.

I'm especially excited we're to be graced with foreign royalty from Alcona & Hubris, a high-and-mighty named Elizabeth who's arriving on board her eponymous yacht. Eponymous? Me, i wax my legs with it! I had a word with the Sentani protocol-walla, and he tells me he's thrilled to have the chance to greet Her Gorgeousness in the manner to which he wishes to become accustomed. But the yacht's being asked not to fire guns. Might frighten the locals, dont'cha know?

On a beach somewhere Sir Alec naps in the sun, a newspaper draped over his face, open to that article. He is slathered in SPF 30 and honouring the late Mr. Rumbiak in his own, non-religious way. :)

Death and Diplomacy in the Third World: The Funeral of Marcus Rumbiak
By Wilson Mendez

UM Ribaun arrived in Sentani with a minimum of fanfare, flying over the jungle in a civilianized Scarecrow, stripped of missiles and painted rather obviously with SeOCC's diplomatic seal. Ribaun, who detests being called by his first name, is one of a relatively new breed of ministry officers that were drawn out of the Volunteer Army members that returned to SeOCC after the amnesty. A graduate of the Academy of Political Science and Economics, Ribaun proudly admits he 'served' in several third world nations, aiding rebels against capitalist governments. Travelling with him, we were held up for an extra two hours in customs while he explained why he had a ten pound sledgehammer in his luggage.

'I had it brought in from Svea Riga,' he said proudly as we took a shuttle to the hangar where our helicopter was waiting. 'If I see a Knootian I'm going to send Mittelner's love.'

Bravado aside, something ex-Volunteers have in no shortage, Ribaun is clearly not here to honor the dead. Rumbiak had never met with any SeOCC officers, and had been essentially unknown to the MoP or MFA until he chose to ran for Foreign Minister. With the election over, the Ministries are now free to speak their mind about the elections, and the message coming out of the MFA is extreme relief. To paraphrase Ribaun, 'If Bi Bere had won we'd have to look forward to another five years of self destructive pandering and pacifism.'

The implication being, of course, that SeOCC is expecting Alkatiri to draw a line in the sand significantly father left than his predecessor. The MFA's plans are, while not publicized, no secret in SeOCC: huge grants of technological aid to 'ideologically aligned' nations, first shot at MoE contracts and, of interest to those following the power struggles within the CACE, political support for international policies. Tanah Burung, a chronic opponent of many SeOCC policies, would be a key ally to pushing reforms through in the CACE, the argument being when the non-aligned poster child of the DNAC and TWSC is on board with the cyber-stalinists, it sends a message to 'anti-authoritarian' nations in the CACE and IFTA.

Rumbiak really couldn't have died at a better time, politically; his votes flooded into Alkatiri's ballot boxes, his funeral will serve as a show and tell of the new FM's policies and quite possibly create as much forward movement for Tanah Burung as his actions in life. Of course this is all terribly morbid, but illusions that this is about honoring the life of Marcus Rumbiak should be running out any minute now.

Perhaps Ribaun's arrival is the proper metaphor for his trip to Tanah Burung; travelling in a vessel uniquely SeOCC's, stripped of weapons but still equipped with the MMS's tools of the trade. Ribaun will offer a softer, gentler, but still fundamentally unchanged, SeOCC for Tanah Burung to ally with, one devoted to an economic and political network, but still unwilling to compromise on certain issues. Ribaun's job will be simple: get Alkatiri to the table, the table that sits in the MoE, to let the economists do their job, which is to make economic alliance to SeOCC so appealing that political compromise will become acceptable.

And with another metaphor, perhaps if Rumbiak comes back from the grave it will hold optimistic portents for Ribaun's less than easy mission.

(heh, non-aligned poster child, i like it!)

Sentani

The village is in a mayhem of rallies ("Viva Rumbiak! Down with colonialism!"), silent prayer vigils, arguments over the true meaning of Rumbiak's life, inebriated parties, parades and teach-ins. Atop the local hospital, though, all is tranquillity and silence. With a small group of aides, Mari Alkatiri is waiting on the heli-pad for the arrival of Under-minister Ribaun. And after that, the helicopter bearing the foreign minister of Hell Bovines.

There it is: the chopper adorned with the cryptic sigil of the city-state with which Alkatiri has just re-established diploamtic relations. Alkatiri draws himself up to his full 4'10" and prepares to greet the visitor.

On the blimp-landing field, Rumbiak's widow Natalia Bonay is there to meet the Imitoran blimp. "Ambasssador Marshall, i'm so pleased to meet you," the old woman says gracefully and slowly. "Your presence in our humble village honours us beyond measure." She presents him with a wreath of indigenous flowers.

She sees the car being off-loaded. "What in the world is that?"

Tiga Burung

A waiter interrupts the Vaadian ambassador's rest. "Sir? Sir? I have a fruit basket for you, compliments of the people's representative for foreign affairs & human rights. He's sorry you can't make the funeral. But i think you made the right choice. Now, can i get you a daquiri?"

Loro Sae harbour

There must be ten thousand people gathered to gawk at the Cannae and the Elizabeth as the two ships are welcomed. The river up to Sentani has been cleared of fishing boats for the day, and thousands more line the banks to stare at the foreigners' boats, cheer, and (in a few cases) jeer at the Iansislean craft.

"Stay out of throwing range of the bank," the local river pilot says. "Some fo the locals are still pretty angry at Iansisle for Rumbiak's death."

Burung-yang-membuat-dunia

The head of the Tanah Burung Conference of Catholic Bishops read the letter from the Vatican, thoughtfully passed on by Alkatiri's office. He read it and dashed off a reply to accompany that from the government.


To: Msgr. Emori Naitaku

Dear brother in Christ,

Please allow me to add my personal thanks in additon to those of the government for coming to visit us. I too shall be attending the funeral of Mr. Rumbiak as part of the inter-faith dialogue efforts of the church, and am very happy to hear of your visit. If it is agreeable, i will meet your plane in Tiga Burung and proceed with you by blimp to Sentani. This will give you the opporunity to meet with the Bishops of Tiga Burung and Loro Sae, just as my counterpart the Bishop of Matebian is meeting with officials in the Holy See. I think this will give you a good picture of the church and allow us to make a good start on setting up a Nunciature. It would honour us greately if you were able to preside at mass in the city of Loro Sae during your visit. After all, we cannot let the non-Christians have the field all to themselves!

F.X. Mangunvijaya
Bishop of Burung-yang-membuat-dunia

Marshall smiled, and thanked the girl for the flowers. He looked over at teh motorcycle. "That, Ms. Bonay, is a Ducatti 999R, one of the best motorcycles in the world. Its my baby." He smiled, looking back at the bike.

He turned back to Bonay. "I would just like to express mine, and the Domain's, deepest sympathies for your loss. I understand how it feels to lose someone close to you." He was dressed to a point overly casusal, a pair of jeans and a tight grey tshirt. His multiple tattoos were openly visable on his arms. "Oh and please, excuse my dress, my suit is in here," he siad, holding up a small plastic case.

Bonay's face crinkled into a laugh. "Oh, please don't worry about the dress, my boy, i'm sorry, i mean Mr. Ambassador. We don't stand much on ceremony here. Well, actually, we do, but not until the funeral ritual has actually started."

She eyed the motorcycle. "Say, how many people will that baby carry?"

"Two at most, but if your crazy and smart enough, you can get three on there, no biggy," he said, following her gaze to the bike. "Its fun, I don't go anywhere without it," he said.

The A.R.N. Elizabeth appeared in full regalia over the horizon.

Her sails set full out and her crew in full uniform as they began to sail into Loro Sae. The top of the escorting battlecruiser could be seen as almost a phantom ship. Caused by her sitting on the horizon…watching her charge make sail for the coast.

The Elizabeth was the oldest ship in the Alconian Fleet. A hybrid warship, born at the end of the age of sail and the emergence of steam. Her armored hull and forward 8 inch gun were antiques, over a century old. The modern CIWS and anti-air missile system were nods to a world that might thinking picking off a member of the House of Crawford would be a reasonable idea. The Elizabeth was a posting that might seem a career killer. But aboard you rubbed shoulders with the elite of the Klatch, and as such the volunteers for service abroad her included the best and the brightest.

In a nod to the Tanah Burung sensibility on pollution, the engines remained stilled as the ship performed all of its final maneuvers on sail. In a deft movement of ancient skill, the ship turned and raised her sails. The crew dropped her forward anchor and the Elizabeth came to rest in the harbor of Loro Sae with the Alconian battleflag dipping in salute.
http://www.eng.auburn.edu/users/donatgw/4a14027r.jpg

On board a woman 5'11" in height with long blond hair and piercing blue eyes looked over the scene before her. Her frame screamed 'tomboy' even as most people applied the words "gorgeous" to describe her. She was dressed in a black linen pants, a matching silk jacket and a dark blue blouse. In a nod to local conditions she wore only a pair of black sandals. The man standing behind her right wore a white uniform, it looked like from another age. The tall military cap with a red plume, the gold braid and polished brass were hard on the eyes. The crest of the House of Crawford was emblazoned over his heart in green, blue and platinum. Strapped to him was a hand and a half sword. He might be able to wield it, but he was only to carry the weapon for his Lady. His weapon was the 9mm on his right hip.

"Well this looks like a nice country…"

"Thank god for tropical wool my lady is all I have to say…" her swordsmen added. Alcona was a sub-tropical island, so both found local conditions favorable. But the Royal Guard uniforms had always been a bit old fashioned with the high strait collars and the long sleeves.

"Well, you should get into that thing more often." Elizabeth joked.

The ship's crew lowered a large boat into the water. Several sailors in blue uniforms stood at honor guard postions on the small, sleek craft. The phrase 'crocs' had changed plans. Specifically, the launch had a good deal of "emergency" fire power ready to deal with any nasty crocs. Of course the fact that tanks tended to avoid short range engagements with Klatchian Crocs might have led to the overkill.

As the honor guard of marines saluted, Elizabeth Crawford, second daughter of Grand Duke Alexander III, left the craft named for her Great Grandmother and steped onboard her launch. The swordsman followed, and the sleek wooden jet boat began to make its voyage up river.

edit: a few spelling mistakes...

Another article reflecting on Rumbiaks death…


Shattered mirror, a voice of the people silenced
By Femke Halsema, Green leader.

Today, in the small village of Sentani, the funeral will take place of a man who’s voice will forever have a place in the history of his nation. Those here in Knootoss from the generation before me will no doubt remember Markus Rumbiak as a black and white television image, a fighter for the independence of his nation. He may have fought the forces of the Knootian Republic, but at the same time he was fighting for something we as Knootians all hold dear: freedom, and self-rule. I am confident that many with me now understand his choice, his choice to stand for his own people just as our United Provinces once stood for our independence from the Empire of Lavenrunz.

After he helped liberating his own country, he dedicated his life to pointing out imperialism and colonialism wherever it roared its ugly head. Rumbiak did not only manage to inspire his own people, he also provided us Knootians with a mirror. Even if we may not always have liked what we saw. His untimely death is a slap in the face of democracy in Tanah Burung. When a voice of the people dies, the people are left voiceless. Whatever comes after this can only be a twisted representation of what should have been. A shattered mirror.

And Rumbiak was a voice of the people. A voice for moderate leftism, a voice for the ideals that many in the nation he loved so much hold dear. Those who remain after his legacy should honour him by learning the lessons he tried to teach. Respect can be paid by recognising his significance and respecting his ideals and the ideals of his followers. This is not just a matter of respect for the honoured dead, it is a matter of respect for the millions of people who would have voted for Rumbiak. It is a matter of respect for the shattered mirror of a democracy.


Magda Vogels arrived in her car, accompanied by two Knootian officers dressed in the ceremonial uniforms of the embassy guard: a solemn dark-green cloth contrasted by a red collar with golden pips polished brightly. Out of consideration for the way Rumbiak had died, they had dispensed with the ceremonial sabres. A certain well-known AIVD agent had made sure, however, of additional security arrangements. Another car with blinded windows trailed the luxurious embassy vehicle.

Tiga Burung

A waiter interrupts the Vaadian ambassador's rest. "Sir? Sir? I have a fruit basket for you, compliments of the people's representative for foreign affairs & human rights. He's sorry you can't make the funeral. But i think you made the right choice. Now, can i get you a daquiri?"



Sir Alec awoke with a start, and eyed the waiter warily "Fruit basket? I didn't think communists sent fruit baskets......." he peers into the basket as he's talking "are those bannannas green? I could get a stomach ache........." He pauses again "daquiri? I'll have three. What the hell, daquiris for everyone!" He hands the waiter he credit card and relaxes back into his chair and continues reading the paper.

Emori Naitaku, fresh from assisting the newly-appointed Legate to the Tarakuti Nation in setting up legation offices and facilities, was relieved and pleased to get Bishop Mangunvijaya’s note. He had been traveling for many days (it seemed like weeks, when you hopped time zones and used so many modes of transport,) and it would be a relief to be able to let someone else look after the details for a while.

He sent off a quick note in return:


Bishop F.X. Mangunvijaya
Burung-yang-membuat-dunia

Your Excellency,

I am greatly honored by your cordial welcome and will look for you at the airport in Tiga Burung. Your suggestion of a meeting on the journey will be most helpful, and it will be a pleasure to meet with the Bishops. As to the matter of presiding at a Mass, I would very much like to concelebrate with a local priest, someone who is familiar to the faithful of Loro Sae.

Respectfully,
+Emori Naitaku (Monsignor)

The flight attendant had to awaken him to lift his seat back for landing when they approached Tiga Burung. Naitaku thanked her pleasantly, and checked to make sure the breviary he had been reading during the flight had not slipped between the seats. He put it in his pocket, and ran a hand over his short, thick fuzz of greying hair. A few breathing exercises brought his alertness level back up to normal as the jet taxied in for a landing.

Courteously, he waited for his seatmate to gather belongings and squeeze into the aisle, before he slid over himself. He’d been a bit late getting on the flight and his small travel bag was a couple of bins forward. The smiling flight attendant helped him, and he thanked the man in his soft, musical accent. Naitaku had worked in tropic climes for much of his life and he strongly preferred his own version of a priestly cassock, a cross between the more tailored, western version and the looser wraparound garment of his homeland. It was black, but had a colorful band of cloth along the shoulder yoke, edged with the purple of his monsignorial status but conveying a pleasantly exotic impression. This attire, combined with his tall, spare physique and rigidly erect posture, seldom failed to make him noticeable in a crowd, and he had no fear that Bishop Mangunvijaya would not perceive him as he made his way out the entrance of the boarding passage.

On Approach to Tiga Burung Airport

The black jet skimmed through the air on its final approach to the airport. Javin sat back, watching the heads-up display in front of him as he closed in. After receiving clearance to land and fighting the urge to buzz the tower while approaching Mach 1, the jet dipped and quickly touched down on the tarmac.

He taxied the small jet to a side runway and opened the cockpit as a small ladder was wheeled over to the fighter.

To all friendly governments,

It is with sadness that i inform you of the dath of Markus Rumbiak, a former member of the Tanah Burung collective presidency. You are invited to send a representative to Chief Rumbiak's funeral in the village of Sentani. Funeral rites will be conducted according to the ways of the Church of the Rocks and Trees. This event is clothing-optional.

La'o hamutuk, mau bere!
Mari Alkatiri
People's representative for foreign affairs & human rights

To: Mari Alkatiri
From: PM Lin Pak, The People's Republic of Kay Son

Most unfortunately we have recieved your message at the eve of our national Parlimentary elections with much our country concentrated on who will be leading us in the next 2 years. With much regret I must inform you that I will not be attending. Instead, a delegate from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs will be dispatched to attend in my stead. However, I am curious to know if the funeral has already started or has finished.

(I'm starting to think the server god hates me :?)

...though I bet it hates everyone, so I'm really not that special.

(oops...I’ve discovered a rift in the space-time continuum! Hughes as Foreign Affairs Minister indicates the D’Carlonia government, but the Cannae indicates the Tarriff government - events seperated by a good four or five years! As part of my quick control for self-inflicted plot holes, I’m ignoring that whole bit involving Hughes and Edwards - it never happened, see? *glances around suspiciously*

...besides, Tarriff is just so much more fun to play with than D’Carlonia ;))

Did it give the Tarriff government a certain amount of pleasure to flaunt its new fleet about the world? Certainly! Did they know (or care) that Tanah Burung wasn’t at all impressed by their testosterone-induced (literal :P) showboating? More than likely not. International diplomacy, according to E. Tarriff’s Big Book o’ Plans, consisted of one-upping all comers until that magical amount of prestige had been garnered to hide all the inherent social inequities in Iansisle.

On the other hand, Tarriff’s desire to flex Iansisle’s muscle was tempered by his desire to cause Hiresh Dhawan as much physical discomfort and psychological duress as was humanly possible. One might think that Dhawan harbored more distaste for Tarriff and his ‘Free Traitor’ party than was the reverse case, but, in that case, one wouldn’t understand Edward Tarriff very well. His mind, as poor as it was in matters of state, kept meticulous track of all the enemies he’d made over the years - a list as long as the Jaizar river - and made damn sure he could squash them any time he felt the need.

In fact, had Tarriff had his way, Dhawan wouldn’t have been allowed within a hundred leagues of Tanah Burung. Tanah Burung - Jason Fletcher notwithstanding - was a prestegious posting, and this funeral was sure to draw more than its share of international and domestic press coverage, and a good deal of those news reel cameras would pointed straight at the Iansislean delegate. However, Inswick had intervened, and Dirwisham had been quick to defend the Foreign Minister. This government had withered its chief’s temper tantrums often enough to be much fazed by Tarriff’s pouting and protests.

Inswick and Dirwisham’s reasoning had been sound enough. It was based upon the Gallagan ex-premier’s conversation with Rumbiak at the Winter Gala a few years back, which had been widely publicized. Dhawan already had the reputation as a stalwart enemy of the empire and colonialism; the Company’s recent storm of IanCorp backed media activity had been sure to paint the opponents of what it termed ‘progress’ in a very negative light. Surely, a Gallagan MP, appearing in public at the funeral of a native revolutionary couldn’t help but propagate that image? It was a win-win-win scenario for the government: Dhawan’s powerful block in the CCP would be weakened, relations with Tanah Burung would be saved, and the government wouldn’t have to appear as pandering to native interests!

Not that anything comforting to the government could alleviate the cold, wet, long journey crammed into a tiny cabin on one of the smallest warships in the Royal Iansislean Navy. The long journey from the West Shield to Tanah Burung could have been five days or five years, for all that Dhawan could tell. He was more than out of his element; he felt like a fish flopping about on the deck, knowing that a knife was the best he would be able to expect.

(I would ramble on more, but I’m about to fall asleep (heh...does it tell? I’ll give you a cookie if half this post makes sense to you). So...uh, To be continued!)

MoI Release: UMFA Ribaun Meets With New TB FM

Under Minister of Foreign Affairs Stacy Ribaun concluded a three hour meeting with newly elected Foreign Minister of Tanah Burung Mari Alkatiri today, and both described the meeting as productive and amicable. While both officials declined comment on the contents of their meeting, they did confirm that both countries had committed to a full diplomatic meeting to be scheduled after the funeral.

MoI Frontdesk

Tiga Burung

The tarmac was packed as various dignataries and miscellaneous celebrity-watchers gathered to see foreign jets touch down at the country's only international airport. Police kept back a small crowd of suspicious tomato vendors who wanted to "shake Javin katana's hand, no really officer, just shake his hand. What, these? They're tomatoes, offerings of, um, goodwill!" Instead, the Larkinian diplomat was bustled to a waiting blimp.

"I'm Markus Rumbiak's son Simon," a man on board said to Javin. "He seems to have left you something in his will." He handed over a bottle of scotch and what appeared to be a muzzle.

On the tarmac, Msgr. Naitaku's plane was touching down. A great cheer went up, as the first Vatican representative to visit the country in decades stepped out and was pointed in the direction of a yellow carpet. "Hidup Papa! Hidup Bapak Gereja!" the crowd shouted: long live the Pope, long live the father of the church.

Standing well apart from each other, Bishop Mangunvijaya and the Bishop of Tiga Burung waited, smiling in Naitaku's direction. Behind them, a blimp painted with a giant cross waited to bear the ecclesiastical party to Sentani.

Sentani

"Would you like to, uh, ride it to the funeral?" Bonay asked Marshall. "i'm walking myself, unless someone offers me a lift."

Shouting erupted in the distance, as one of the foreign boats was sighted on the river. The villagers weren't quite sure who it was, but they were excited anyway. Foreigners! By river! Everyone knew foreigners came by balloon. This was somethign new. And the Sentani people loved novelty.

A group of the village's most enthusiastic men gathered at the docks, in their best outfits, carrying their ceremonial spears and jostling one another. "Welcome, welcome," they shouted.

http://www.smh.com.au/ffxImage/urlpicture_id_1057783346501_2003/07/11/papua.jpg

In another part of the village, Mari Alkatiri brushed past reporters brusquely. "No comment, I said. That means i am not going to comment, you jackals." He turned to Ribaun. "I apologize, Under Minister. The press can be unruly in this country. Do feel free to tell them to back off."

He vanished into another room and started ot hammer out some more diplomatic correspondence.

Prime Minister Lin Pak, People's Republic of Kay Son,

Dear Prime Minister,

Many thanks for your message of condolence. I am sorry to hear that you cannot be with us in person, but i am pleased to hear that a representative of your government will stand with us. The funeral has not yet begun, and a palce will be reserved for your diplomat.

In solidarity,
Mari Alkatiri

An official entered the room. "The newest seating charts, Bapak."

Alkatiri sighed. This was not what he'd gotten into politics to do. He had half a mind to seat some mortal enemies alongside each other, just to liven things up.

Tiga Burung

The tarmac was packed as various dignataries and miscellaneous celebrity-watchers gathered to see foreign jets touch down at the country's only international airport. Police kept back a small crowd of suspicious tomato vendors who wanted to "shake Javin katana's hand, no really officer, just shake his hand. What, these? They're tomatoes, offerings of, um, goodwill!" Instead, the Larkinian diplomat was bustled to a waiting blimp.

"I'm Markus Rumbiak's son Simon," a man on board said to Javin. "He seems to have left you something in his will." He handed over a bottle of scotch and what appeared to be a muzzle.

Javin looked over at the group of ... tomato vendors with a grin. "Nice to see I'm back in a country where I'm appreciated," he chortled before blowing them kisses as he's led to the blimp.

Once inside, he shook hands with Simon and received the gifts with a laugh, "I'll savor this," he said looking at the bottle of scotch then the muzzle, "Hmmm... a muzzle. Whatever for?" He asked innocently. "Must be for me to give to those who would rather argue with my views instead of debate them," he added with a mischevious grin.

Sentani

Shouting erupted in the distance, as one of the foreign boats was sighted on the river. The villagers weren't quite sure who it was, but they were excited anyway. Foreigners! By river! Everyone knew foreigners came by balloon. This was somethign new. And the Sentani people loved novelty.

A group of the village's most enthusiastic men gathered at the docks, in their best outfits, carrying their ceremonial spears and jostling one another. "Welcome, welcome," they shouted.

The jet boats engines died down and then came back to life for one last time as the pilot manuvered the craft up to the dock. Two sailors jumped from the boat and pulled it tight against the dock and then began to secure the craft.

The tan blond in black rose from her seat and stepped onto the gunwale. The crew snapped to a full antention salute as the Markgravine stepped off the craft and onto the dock. She returned the salute almost absent mindly as she looked at her welcoming party.

To her swordsman she wispered..."Well if I learned anything from my roomate in college they just said 'welcome' or 'eat me'..."
"Based on their dress I hope it is the former my lady..."
"So do I...let's see how well IIS did in a pinch..."

She took a few more steps forward and then gave a short bow at the waist and began haltingly in the local tounge (with a cultured welsh accent to make things even more muttled...)

<Greetings...I come to attend the funeral of.....Cheif Rumbiak....I....ask...may....I...come ashore>*

*screw up as desired, IIS had to pull all of this from a few scanty Dutch Antropology texts in Torrhall University...

Marshall smiled. "I got an extra helmet on the bird," he said, gesturing to the CV-22. "I can grab it if you want a ride," he said, chuckling.

A squadron of 4 Israeli "Lavi" fighter planes land on the tarmac of Tiga Burung, each bearing the sign of their squadron and the Republican Air Force. The glass cover slides out with the pilots slowly getting out. One of the pilots takes off her helmet to reveal a very attractive woman with Chinese features- an almost mirror image of Zhang Ziyi with the exception of her hair being streaked with yellow. The girl turns to her fellow pilots and starts barkening their orders. One of the pilots points to a strange crowd that is coming near the squadron. The girl turns, rolls her neck, and says:

"So which one of you is the Minister?"

“Fancy-pants Alconians,” muttered a rating on Cannae’s pinnace as he eyed the jet boat tied to a river dock ahead of them. Neither he nor any of the other occupants of the Iansislean small craft were quite sure on what principles a ‘jet boat’ operated, but they were sure it was much better than their wooden diesel-powered boat.

“Quiet, Lloyd,” snapped the Cannae’s first lieutenant at once, shooting a look over at the offender. He wasn’t in a very good mood; nothing in his previous experience could have prepared him for the long, hot, sticky journey up a tropical river. Lieutenant Dohan hailed from the Foothills and had served all his previous assignments in the Northern Seas. Yet, he dared not remove his blazer or cap, lest the already shaky discipline he’d cultivated be utterly undermined.

Dohan spared himself a wistful thought for the completely acceptable tropical uniform the Navy provided for just such occasions: it was hanging neatly in his tiny cabin back on Cannae. He’d never liked the short legs and sleeves of the thing; and how hot could it really have been? Several other wardroom officers, most of whom had seen duty in Gallaga or the colonies, had warned him; why hadn’t he listened? The only thing that could really complete this disaster would be if he contracted the yellow fever.

Dhawan, on the other hand, had both the advantages of experience - albeit years distant - and not having to maintain the strict dignity of a naval officer. He was dressed as casually as a funeral would allow and had refreshed himself on a regular basis from the pinnace’s fresh water store. He watched with mild disinterest as the crew put the boat alongside a dock and tied up, then took a deep sigh. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, it was time to be a statesman rather than a politician again.

Setani

The small chopper, painted in black and burgundy landed on a small helipad in Sentani. Saturnino Vacuno got out of the vehicle, accompanied only by a sigle aide and translator.
"Damn! I shouldn't have dressed the alpaca silk robe. I'm too hot.", he said to himself, as he stepped down, admiring the beautiful jungles that surrounded the village.......

Tiga Burung

"Minister?" The people at the airport looked around confused, not sure what the word meant. One strode forward from the crowd to greet the Kay Son party. "I'm Hortense Horta, from the foreign affairs department. A thousand welcomes to Sunny Tanah Burung. I think you have some fans already!" With a nod of her head, she indicated a group of children trying desperately to get a good look at the jets.

"But forgive me, your blimp awaits. There will be tea and food on board, make yourself at home and enjoy the view!"

Sentani

With a grin, Bonay hopped aboard that new-fangled "motorcycle" thingy. So, the boy can take a hint! She began giving him directions to the funeral hall.

Elsewhere in the village, Mari Alkatiri strode forward, carefully plastering a smile across his face and holding out his hand to the Bovine foreign minister. "Dr. Vacuno, i presume? So good of you to come, and just in time. Please, let me take you to the funeral hall."

On the docks, the shouts grew even more excited as the village men saw that there were two boats heading towards them. As a blond giantess with pale skin stepped out, they recoiled in fear. Was she a ghost? No, not from what she was saying.

"Greetings...I come to attend the doughnut of..... Tree-tender Rumbiak....I....ask...may....I...come ashore."

Some of the words were strange. In fact, she sounded like something out of the history books. A man answered in English. "Thank you, Queen from across the seas, for honouring us by speaking our own language. But let's simply speak English, we all learn it in school! Tell me, are you from Alcona or Hubris?"

The crew aboard the second boat appeared to be having some sort of argument amongst themselves. Which pegged them as being from Iansisle. As it approached the dock, security forces rushed out of a nearby hut and formed a double line separating the people of Rumbiak's village from the visitors from his executioner's country.

Marshall smiled, and reved the bike up, letting the engine wail a bit, before popping the clutch. The rear wheel overtourqed, and pulled the nos of the motorcycle up, catching as Marshall, mentaly calculating his wieght with hers, balanced the bik on its rear wheel, before letting the front drop as the began rolling forward quickly. He followed her directions precisely, driving the Ducatti hard, and leaning into the truns a little more than usual, ye arriving at the funeral hall safely.

He dismounted the 999R, and grabbed his back pack. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go get changed," he said, slipping off towares a bathroom in the hall.

Ambassador Vogels parked her car on the edge of the village and walked into town for the funeral. She was followed by the two guards.

"Greetings...I come to attend the doughnut of..... Tree-tender Rumbiak....I....ask...may....I...come ashore."

OOC: Ah well, IIS is going to be demanding more money again...


Some of the words were strange. In fact, she sounded like something out of the history books. A man answered in English. "Thank you, Queen from across the seas, for honouring us by speaking our own language. But let's simply speak English, we all learn it in school! Tell me, are you from Alcona or Hubris?"


Elizabeth turned slightly and wispered something in Manx to the man behind her. She returned to facing the group and replied,
"I am Markgravine Both, here to represent my father, Grand Duke Alexander the thrid of both Alcona and Hubris. As for being from Alcona or Hubris, my father's lands are one country, and as such I am from both."

She smiled a bit more and then continued, "This is my swordsman, Naver, I would formally ask again if I may come ashore?"

Monsignor Naitaku looked startled. He was normally the "advance man," the bureaucrat whose unheralded arrival made possible the more elaborate reception of other, more important Church dignitaries, but after a second his teeth showed whitely in a broad grin. He nodded to the crowd, and blessed them, moving toward the blimp and the waiting bishops.

In spite of the gray in his hair, the grin was distinctly boyish as he contemplated the airship, a mode of transport he had never experienced.

"Bishop Mangunvijaya? And you must be Bishop Bendoro? Such an honor to meet you. And to receive such a warm welcome. I am Emori Naitaku."

He looked around, and breathed deeply. "This is simply wonderful. A sad occasion, of course... the obsequies of a beloved leader... but such a pleasure to be able to see something of Tanah Burung and really meet people. Usually my work is very administrative and pedestrian."

He walked over to greet some of the crowd, blessing babies, nodding, smiling. "Thank you... thank you for such a warm welcome. The Heavenly Father's blessing upon you."

A flustered diplomatic flunky ran up to Mari Alkatiri. "Sir, we forgot to greet the Knootian ambassador!"

Alkatiri gave a small, humourless chuckle. "Forgot? Oh, what a shame." He sounded less than sincere. "I'm sure that she'll find her way. Have a small fruit basket sent to her room. One with plenty of ripe durian fruit."

At the docks, the Alconan (and Hubristic?) swordsman is waved ashore. A band starts to play, as the sea-born dignitaries are pointed in the direction of the funeral hall.

Aboard the airship Santa Cruz, the Vatican delegate is offered the usual tea and light refreshments. "It's a real joy to have you with us, Mangunvijaya says. "It's wonderful to see the church coming together once again. We've been isolated from one another too long. I'm thrilled that we will be once again a gathered people of God in the fullest sense."

At the entrance to the funeral hall, village officials greeted each guest with a bouquet of flowers. Inside, seats were arranged in a horseshoe shape, with the bereaved family at the head of the room. Music played -- if a slow drum and a single flute playing no discernable melody qualified as music. With each arrival, a seating chart was consulted and the guests directed to their place and offered a drink.

"The coffin and the religious leaders will be here soon," they were told. "Have a drink, talk amongst yourselves, and leave your clothes in the cloak room if you like."

At the head fo the room, two of Rumbiak's children sat silently, naked save for a feathered head dress on Viktor Rumbiak and a coral necklace on Rosa Rumbiak.

[code:1:21bdf402a8]
Rumbiak family

Larkinia Hell Bovines

The Weegies Holy Vatican See

SeOCC Alcona & Hubris

Alkatiri (TB) Village chief

Kay Son Imitora

Iansisle Knootoss
[/code:1:21bdf402a8]

Col. Su-Jun Pak sat uneasy within her chair. She was not really used to foreign visits; in fact the only foreign visit that she had been to was in Adderton. The rest of her guard mirrored her image as they paced around in the blimp, not at all comforted with their planes some distance away.

Then there was the language of these...people. Col. Su-Jun Pak wasn't too sure on if they were speaking English or gibberish. The minister that they had been assigned to seemed so...open...that it was hard not to see if there were any guards with AK's with them.

She sighed, slipped some whiskey in her tea, and downed it. Then, she turned to the Minister-

"So....Minister...when are we leaving to this....errr...funeral? What will happen to our planes?"

If the security guards bothered Dhawan, he did his best not to show it. With a slow walk - perhaps more due to the arthritis creeping into his bones than any desire to appear unimpressed - he climbed from the boat, making the proper greetings and introductions when required. Lieutenant Dohan followed close behind him, leaving a non-commissioned officer to watch over the pinnace. Normally, leaving Iansislean enlisted men without an officer in a foreign port was a bad idea, but these men had, realizing the significance of their assignment, been carefully selected and dually warned of the consequences misbehavior would bring.

Dhawan eyed the man with some misgivings; from what he knew of Tanah Burung, a military uniform - especially on a Shieldian officer who had been sweating through his undershirt the entire river voyage - would be most unwelcome. But he had no way of stopping the lieutenant from tagging along, and he would have to put up with the Cannae's officers on the return voyage to Port Laughlin.

The offer to remove clothes almost caused Dohan to turn redder than his sunburn. Dhawan, who was certainly no social liberal, had been expecting it and declined respectfully in both of their names, leading the sputtering officer to their seats before he could cause an incident. There, Dhawan quietly accepted the location at sat quietly. Dohan, however, seemed to find something wrong with them.

"They could have put us further back!" he whispered fiercely, gesturing towards the front of the room. Unfortunately, this caused him to glance Rumbiak's children, which turned the face from red to purple.

"Someone has to sit at the back," replied Dhawan, clasping his hands respectfully in his lap. He wasn't a Christian, but a career in politics had clearly taught him the ultimate futility of standing on religious principles. "I'm positive there was no malicious intent."

Inside, of course, he knew that to be completely untrue. He had rather misinterpreted the damage done to Shieldo-Tanah Burung relations; they had gone from Third World Conference partner to on par with Knootoss. Dhawan knew he was here to control damage and clean up the Company's mess; he had no idea just how much damage had already been done.

Such are the perils when you allow a private interest to dictate foreign policy, he sighed to himself, showing no sign that he would answer Dohan's increasingly temperamental string of whispered protests to the situation (everything from how the nudity was clearly sacrilegious to how the seating arrangements were obviously a slight aimed at no other than His Iansislean Majesty's honor).

Elizabeth smiled a lot, took the flowers with a polite thank you. And didn't flinch when offered to remove her clothes. Nudity seemed to be a norm around here, but then she had a strange feeling that if she did go nude, a good deal of the other male delegates would be paying her far too much attention. Some might faint due to too much blood located below the waist.

"Thank You for the drink and the offer, but considering the other cultures represented here, we wouldn't want to cause them to be uncomforatble."

She sipped at the local beverage and noted the location of other delegates. As she sat down in her seat, she smiled at her nearest neighbors and wondered who she was going to sit next to.

I wonder who made the seating arangements?

The Hubarian swordsman stood in a quited corner looking over the group.

Elizabeth smiled a lot, took the flowers with a polite thank you. And didn't flinch when offered to remove her clothes. Nudity seemed to be a norm around here, but then she had a strange feeling that if she did go nude, a good deal of the other male delegates would be paying her far too much attention. Some might faint due to too much blood located below the waist.

"Thank You for the drink and the offer, but considering the other cultures represented here, we wouldn't want to cause them to be uncomforatble."

She sipped at the local beverage and noted the location of other delegates. As she sat down in her seat, she smiled at her nearest neighbors and wondered who she was going to sit next to.

I wonder who made the seating arangements?

The Hubarian swordsman stood in a quiet corner looking over the group.

Monsignor Naitaku accepted the flowers with a nod, and said in his own native tongue "Goni ei pakata-ba ei rek'na topi (The gift is the goodwill/blessing of the giver.)" He politely declined the offer to disrobe, but showed no discomfort at the presence of the many who had accepted.

He was a trifle abashed at being placed so near the front, but approached his seat quietly, and paused to bow slightly to the Rumbiak children before seating himself. It was a fascinating mix of attendees, and he wished he had more diplomatic savvy--the nuances were lost on him, with the obvious exception of the Knootian placement.

Bishop Taofinu would expect a full briefing, so he made a few mental notes, before settling himself into a state of meditative prayer while awaiting the beginning of the ceremony.

She sighed, slipped some whiskey in her tea, and downed it. Then, she turned to the Minister-

"So....Minister...when are we leaving to this....errr...funeral? What will happen to our planes?"

"Ah," Hortense Horta said, "perhaps you haven't noticed due to the silent technology of the airship, but we are already aloft. Your planes will remain under guard. Have no fear, we do have proper security forces." The blimp made its way as quickly as is possible with these things towards Sentani, and the Kay Son delegates were led into the hall and seated alongside Mari Alkatiri. "This man actually is a minister," Horta whispered to them.

Alkatiri had been sitting impassively, allowing himself only an inward smile as the foreign guests tried to decipher the meaning of the seating plan. He too had kept his usual black Nehru jacket and trousers on: although he was not devout, Islam still taught modesty and in this, at least, he was a faithful Muslim. He glanced with an air of disapproval across the room at the naked village chief and over to his left at the naked Rumbiak family, and wrinkled his nose ever so slightly.

He turned and spoke to the one he took to be the leader of the Kay Son group. "Welcome, madam. My apologies for not meeting you in person, and my thanks for visiting us. I hope that this will mark the beginning of positive relations between our nations."

Across the room, the village chief turned to Elizabeth. Naked himself, he was more than a little disappointed the statuesque noblewoman had decided against disrobing. "Your presence honours us, most excellent lady," he said, trying to keep his eyes fixed at face level.

As Dhawan entered, one of the flower-girls slipped a note into his hand.

Esteemed sir,

The late Markus Rumbiak spoke well of you and your people. Many of us are resolved to honour his memory in ways other than this trivial ceremony. Will you meet with us later, in private? If your answer is yes, simply hand one flower back to any of us here by the door.

For freedom,
The friends of Rumbiak

Javin, not caring about the seating chart but was secretly hoping that the representatives from SeOCC and Imitora would be seated together (every good funeral needed a gun fight :P ), approached Dhawan after he'd entered the room, "M.P. Dhawan, I'm certainly glad to see you here today, despite the sad circumstances."

Alkatiri had been sitting impassively, allowing himself only an inward smile as the foreign guests tried to decipher the meaning of the seating plan. He too had kept his usual black Nehru jacket and trousers on: although he was not devout, Islam still taught modesty and in this, at least, he was a faithful Muslim. He glanced with an air of disapproval across the room at the naked village chief and over to his left at the naked Rumbiak family, and wrinkled his nose ever so slightly.

He turned and spoke to the one he took to be the leader of the Kay Son group. "Welcome, madam. My apologies for not meeting you in person, and my thanks for visiting us. I hope that this will mark the beginning of positive relations between our nations."

Col. Su-Jun Pak bowed, a slight smile appearing on her lips. Inside however, it was the opposite.

The rest of her retinue- Jack, Peter, Susan, and Lok T'ing followed her procedure. Jack took out a small brown wrapped object from his pouch and stepped out of formation. He unwrapped the covering to show a picture of a maiden dressed in blue silk sitting against a flowing waterfall.

Col. Su-Jun Pak motioned to the painting with reverance, then spoke:
"Dear Minister- as a mark of your....sorrows...take this picture of Ath'usa...our goddess of serenity?....goodness...to watch on your people's future from here"

At long last, Dohan tired of complaining long enough for Dhawan to check the note that had been tucked into his hand so secretively. He could only glance at it for a second while the lieutenant was sneaking glances at the lovely lady who had just entered.

After Dhawan read the note, he crumpled it up into a ball and put it in his jacket pocket. "If you'll excuse me, lieutenant," he said, "I think one of the girls back there is so pretty I just have to hand her one of these flowers." Perhaps a little more explonation than was needed, but Dohan didn't seem to pick up on anything.

"Go figure," he mused to himself. "You can take the Galler out of Gallaga, but never the barbarian from the Galler." Then, to top his racist thoughts, he stole another sidelong glance at Elizabeth.

Meanwhile, Dhawan handed back a single flower to one of the girls who had slipped him the note. "Thank you," he said simply.

Javin, not caring about the seating chart but was secretly hoping that the representatives from SeOCC and Imitora would be seated together (every good funeral needed a gun fight :P ), approached Dhawan after he'd entered the room, "M.P. Dhawan, I'm certainly glad to see you here today, despite the sad circumstances."

"Mister Katana," smiled Dhawan broadly - at least, as broadly as the somber circumstances permitted - at the sight of a friendly face. He deftly moved the sheet of paper that had been pressed into his palm to a side pocket. "I cannot tell you how distressed I was to hear what happened to your brother. He was a good man, just like you."*

(* um, assuming the proper timeline. But then, I've already warped space and time once this thread. :P)

Marshall, who had gone through the trouble of changing into a suit, politely declined to disrobe, and instead took the flowers with a small nod and smile. He was tempted to give one to one of the prettier females in teh room, but decided against it. he was here to represent Imitora and pay his repsects, not pick up girls.

The suit was, to the best description, 'bling'. Black with a subdued white pinstripe, silver trimmed black pearl buttons and cuff links, and a black tie on a white shirt. The tie was held in place with a tie pin, silver tipped with a 14k diamond, and his glasses were slim rimmed, with a hint of silver, that matched teh entire ensemble. It was topped off with a silver rolex with a black face. In general, it was tastefull, not over done, but still had an air of flash that was appropriate.

(every good funeral needed a gun fight.

ooc: 1. Ribaun brought a sledgehammer, not a gun, 2. it's not for Imitora.

ic:

UM Ribaun arrives, alone, and takes his seat.

ooc:

i'm not much for these kinds of posts; anyone who wants to talk or pick fights with UM Ribaun can TG me.

Across the room, the village chief turned to Elizabeth. Naked himself, he was more than a little disappointed the statuesque noblewoman had decided against disrobing. "Your presence honours us, most excellent lady," he said, trying to keep his eyes fixed at face level.


Elizabeth didn't seem to have much of a problem keeping eye contact. "I am happy to be here in service of my father...I see that this ceremony is traditionally clothing-free. I wish to show no disrespect but I fear that an incident might errupt if the other international delegates had to deal with my nude figure."

Her eyes catch the young Iansisle officer glancing at her. "I'm afraid that the rest of the world's moral codes are not as strong as yours."

"Morality?" the chief laughed. "Oh, my country has that in spades. I am certain you have have the right choice, Your Greatness." He turned to face the other direction. "You must be Ambassador Marshall. Do you know the Markgrin... the Martini... The Markgravine of Both?"

Alkatiri nodded to Ribaun as he entered, but said nothing. Instead he made a low bow to Su-Jun Pak and gestureed for an aide to place the painting on the nearest wall. "Your generosity touches me, Colonel. I do not know this goddess, but i trust she watches over your country well."

By the door, the flower girl's face broke into a broad smile as Dhawan handed her the flower. "Oh, you've made me so happy, sir," she said before slipping out of the room. After the funeral, then, her firends would have a chance to speak with the former Prime Minister.

Magda Vogels was a sensitive woman, and noticed very much that she had not been greeted by Altakiri. It hurt her. Even if diplomatic relations would be less, she saw no reason not to extend proper diplomatic regards.

She stepped along with an elegant pace, her hips moving slowly as she walked around the village looking for someone from the family or the reception to talk to. She bore her relative isolation with dignity and petted a naked child on the head after he had curiously approached her.*

At the entrance to the funeral hall, she accepted the bouquet of flowers with a courteous smile. She politely refused to take off her clothes, but still with a smile for the locals. There was a nudity movement in the DDR but she felt that she did not have to prove her liberalness at this occasion. Besides, this would be the opportunity to show her new black dress – she saw herself as a sign of civilisation in a barbarous region. The two soldiers in uniform also accepted the flowers and followed the ambassador silently.

The Knootian Ambassador was then directed to her seat and immediately noted the rather poor location. Bah, she thought, “politics at funerals. It’s almost like a family occasion..”

She looked around, and nodded kindly to the other ‘westerners’ in the room, notably Elizabeth and the two from Iansisle. One man she could not quite place. He did not have Asian or local features ”Perhaps he is from one of the WBO countries?”, she whispered in Dutch to one of her chaperones in uniform. The military man shrugged. ”Maybe GMC? The SLAGlands? I don’t know if they have a mission here. And the WBO nations sending someone? I always thought it was just us that bothered because of our… history.”

Magda discarded the notion of the man being SLAGlandic and forgot diplomatic politeness by actually gazing across the room with a slight frown. Her gently eyes piercing. With her hand before her mouth she added ”Could it be that terrorist?”

OOC:
Yes, awfully neocolonialist I’m sure. ;)
And, yeah, rub the seating arrangements in don’t ya. ;) SeOCC has a telegram

OOC: I had an arriving post lined up a day or so ago, but the damn forums ate the post. Well, we'll be there now.

IC:

Sarah Maretta was slightly excitable, thought Kenneth McCormack. She was young, and this solemn occasion might be the wrong place to have initiated her into the wonderful world of international diplomacy. He looked at her, and sighed. He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at her wrists.

"Maretta, do you really need to wear that many bangles on your arms? Whenever you move, it sounds as if a percussion section has fallen off a cliff."

She looked incredulously at him.

"Ken, there's no need to be so stuffy, really. Call me Sarah. It's not as if you're my boss. And I can wear anything I want, really, as long as it doesn't offend anyone. And this green dress... it's not going to offend anyone."

"There is some decorum, ...Sarah." he finally got out. "And well..."
he glanced at Sarah. "If this was a fundamentalist Muslim state, it would offend."

"Now you're just nitpicking. We aren't in a Muslim state. Live with it." Sarah grinned. "Now, that suit..."

"Stop." He could just imagine the giggles that Sarah would start when they went into the funeral. Tanah Burung had... certain ways of doing things that others find a little embarrassing.

To her credit, she only smiled and declined when she was asked if she wanted to participate further in the event. Must be better trained than I thought, as he, also fully clothed, took his seat, nodding to a man who he assumed was SeOCC, considering the clothes, the serious businesslike expression, and the pasty complexion.

The Markgravine said nothing but....

What an ugly green dress, and with that many...things on her arm...well I wonder if she is a diplomat or something more exotic?

She did appear slightly anoyyed. The every fifteen second sound of the bangles across the funeral hall was going to be an irritant with her the entire event.

She returned her focus to Marshall,
"I do not beleive I have made the aquaintence of anyone from Imortia before now"

Her eyes did note the body build, and knowing Imortia the man was obviously a fellow special ops. Well, isn't this an intresting location...

"Mister Katana," smiled Dhawan broadly - at least, as broadly as the somber circumstances permitted - at the sight of a friendly face. He deftly moved the sheet of paper that had been pressed into his palm to a side pocket. "I cannot tell you how distressed I was to hear what happened to your brother. He was a good man, just like you."

"Well," Javin started, "It was a shock to everyone. Even more so when the people responsible for this were pointed out in the press. But I think he'll pull through."

Sir Alec strolled back to the Free Republic's embassy , feeling very nice after a nap, a few drinks and some under ripe communist fruit. He was also greeted by his car as he returned.

The sleek black and chrome Jaguar XJ12 Sovereign gleamed in the tropical sun , his 'assistant ' Sir Aldred was signing off on the papers for it and assuring the official from the Tanah Burung DMV that it did indeed run on ethanol.

"Ah, there you are Alec, car is here, Minister of Foreign Affairs called, very upset." stated Sir Aldred as he signed.

Sir Alec gave a low whistle "I've never had my own car............. who's very upset, you, the car or the Minister?"

Elsewhere in the village, Mari Alkatiri strode forward, carefully plastering a smile across his face and holding out his hand to the Bovine foreign minister. "Dr. Vacuno, i presume? So good of you to come, and just in time. Please, let me take you to the funeral hall."

"Yes, it's me. An honour to meet you, Mr. Alkatiri. It's a pity that this has to happen in such sad context."
Saturnino was then escorted to the funeral hall. As he walked, he took a glance at the village, where many locals were following him with a bit of curiosity.
As he entered the funeral hall, he was struck by the sad image of Rumbiak's coffing. He couldn't still believe that such active and noble man was now dead, and in the worst of ways, he thought as he gave a glance torwards the ianislean delegation.
He then sat down, and realised how sweaty he was. *The damn alpaca wool!*, he thought to himself again. Then, looking around to discover some naked tanah burungians, he decided to join them by breaking the protocol and taking off his wooly robe.
*Much better*, he thought now refreshed, as he waited for the funeral to start.....

OOC: Its Imitora...

IC:

Marshall nodded, and shook The Markgarvine's hand. "Ryan Marshall, pleasure is all mine," he siad, shaking her hand.

OOC: Its Imitora...

IC:

Marshall nodded, and shook The Markgarvine's hand. "Ryan Marshall, pleasure is all mine," he siad, shaking her hand.

Sorry, was supposed to be me, Im using a friends computer....

"Well," Javin started, "It was a shock to everyone. Even more so when the people responsible for this were pointed out in the press. But I think he'll pull through."

"I understand," replied Dhawan. "Well, I'm certain he'll pull through: Larkinia's doctors are without peer, except perhaps in Celeborne."

Dohan cleared his throat loudly. Dhawan, who obviously wasn't quite finished talking, glared at him.

"If you'll pardon me, Mr Katana, I'd like to put these flowers down. It has been a pleasure to see you again, however."

He thought that walking to his seat would give him a chance to ditch Dohan and check the mysterious message all at once.

alpaca wool
OOC: On a Hell Bovine? Something is very, very, wrong...

ooc: only because it would be rude not to say so, but i didn't get any TG's from anyone. also, Ribaun did not bring the sledgehammer to the funeral. that would have been totally tasteless.

OOC: actually, I *did* send you a TG
*edits out hammer*

The Lavenrunzian Embassy was a stately building which took the lovely flowers native to Tanah Burung and ruthlessly tamed them in a geometric garden. Although it was designed to be airy and well ventilated, with carefully treated wood and stone to avoid the tropical erosion, nevertheless it was a wondeful specimen of a Lavenrunzian provincial palace in the tropics.
The servants were mostly brown skinned small folk from the Lavenrunzian province of Surya, largely muslims, though the bureaucrats and staff were largely fair, blonde, red haired or brunette Lavenrunzians, with blue or grey eyes. The embassy was ruled with a strict formality by the Charge d'Affaires, the cold eyed Gottfried Semper.
The Ambassador, Freiherr Max von Lutz, was genial and gave the initial impression of being a lazy polo playing aristocrat. He did like to play polo, and in fact had won a Silver at the Olympics some twenty years before, but he was actually a very astute senior diplomat. One reason he had been chosen is that he had made an art of appearing casual, friendly with just enough formality, the sort of man who could make friends anywhere--and yet beneath it was the sort of man who was used to wearing down opponents in ruthless negotiations. In the present case, Tanah Burung was very important as being the main voice of moderation in CACE.
His wife, the Freiherrin, was, fortunately, the sort of woman who did not mind being a diplomat's wife. Indeed, she took a great deal of interest in her own activities, which were largely scientific but which now extended to learning as much as she could about the local culture.
The Ambassador avoided using the embassy's vehicles save for emergencies, thus when he was preparing for the funeral, he had prearranged bicycle carts for himself, his wife and their aides.
When their boat plane landed at Tiga Burung, however, they found that they were not actually expected, as a flustered aide came back to report. Already, his white tropical formal dress was getting sweat stained, his face speckled under his white helmet.
The Ambassador smiled, though he was perturbed, and patted his wife's hand. "Well,please contact the Foreign Office in Tanah Burung and tell them there's been a slip up in communications. What with all the activity back home and abroad it's no wonder."
"And let's get to some shade and something cool to drink." suggested his wife.

(ooc: Tanah Burung is not a CACE member, although it does maintain close trade relations with CACE through the International Fair Trade Agreement)

The crowds had began to disperse. The foreign ministry welcoming team at Tiga Burung was just settling down for a drink, their greeting duties over. With a sigh, they began to put up their feet and engage in the traditional post-mortem about the strange outfits that foreign visitors wear.

When a boy rushed in. "There's another ambassador arriving!"

The tipsy diplomats dissolved into confusion. "From where? Oh dear, wasn't that everyone?" Fortunately, at least one of them was able to recognize the Ambassador from the Teutonic Empire, sipping a cool beverage with his wife in one of the alcohol stands scattered about the tourist-oriented city of Tiga Burung.

"Ambassador, forgive us for not meeting you! In the confusion of change in the foreign office and the excitement of Bapak Rumbiak's funeral, we must have overlooked the news that you were coming. I am covered in shame, Sir. Are you here for the funeral?"

OOC: anyone responding to my post?

Kenneth looked around. Knootian at the back... he grinned as he saw that. "Alkatiri isn't afraid of making Knootian enemies, at least." he muttered to himself. Most of the countries represented he recognised, fairly large, well-known nations: Iansisle, Imitora, the Alcona and Hubris representative, with a look of disdain as she glanced at Sarah that disappeared as quickly as it came... and the sentient cows of Hell Bovines.

"Move around by yourself, Sarah. I'm going over to talk to our Bovine friend."

He moved over to Dr. Vacuno, and introduced himself, tersely. "Kenneth McCormack. Weegie Diplomatic Service."

Sarah stood by herself by a while, then milled about the hall. She'd noticed the glance as well, and jangled over to impose herself in the conversation that the woman from Alcona and Hubris was engaged in.

She smiled. "I do hope I'm not... imposing." She smirked internally. "Sarah Maretta, Weegie Diplomatic Service."

She couldn't just take her seat and stop jangling like a bleeding cart boy trying to sell his wares. And I thought our diplomatic service needed a good dose of common sense.

She returned the Imortians handshake with a fairly firm grip and then turned back to the young woman. Her blue eyes seemed about as cold as the Artic Sea. "Just making introductions, This is village Cheif...who somehow I've missed your name and I am quite sorry." She gives the man a nice smile.
"And this is Mr. Marshall from Imortia and I am Markgravine Both of the Dual Duchies of Alcona and Hubris."

Now miss Jingle Jangle make some nasty comment about the Imortians... she thought as she returned to gazing up at the young woman. Her hands in her lap.

Imitorans... Imitorans...

Sarah's eyes blazed. Obviously this woman thought she had some sort of privilege, with her titles and all. She made sure she moved her arms as much as possible, as her bangles seemed to annoy the woman.

"Markgravine, eh? Well, I wouldn't know anything about that. Not too big on titles at home... well, not since the last lot had to leave at short notice, anyway. Being removed from office by a few hundred thousand angry Weegies will do that to a person, it seems... I don't see why. We really are such a sweet nation." Sarah gave her another blank smile. I don't like you, you don't like me, she thought. Let's see how long this can last for.

She motioned with her glass, making the bangles move yet again.

"Gial'inain ne ufschin, Markgravine. And you, Mr. Marshall from Imitora", smiling at the Markgravine whilst intoning the last word. She sipped at the drink.

OOC:
On a Hell Bovine? Something is very, very, wrong...
Hey! Don't critisize Saturnino's most elegant clothing! :P
Actually, it sounds kinda strange.... :?
Disclaimer :No real alpacas were injured or shaved for the making of the robe

IC:

"Move around by yourself, Sarah. I'm going over to talk to our Bovine friend."

He moved over to Dr. Vacuno, and introduced himself, tersely. "Kenneth McCormack. Weegie Diplomatic Service."


"A pleasure to meet you.", The bovine made a reverence.
Then, offering his hoovish hand, he replied: "Saturnino Vacuno, Minister of Foreign Affairs, at your service."
"I hope things are going on well at The Weegies. In fact, it's the first time I have the chance to meet in person a representative from your great nation.", he said, politely.
"Though my sister Julia told me you have wondeful beaches....."

OOC: The Imortia versus Imitora thing is my dxylexia being a pisser...well not wanting to have Elizabeth come off as a total prick (if applicable) I'll just have it as an accent problem.

She turned to Marshall again..."I'm sorry for the bit of confusion back there, my accent seems to have turned the word Imitora into sounding like Imortia...I'll attempt to keep from repeating it." The welsh accent seemed to be doing a bit with a good number of words.

Elizabeth leveled her gaze at the female diplomatic semaphore and then said. "Thank You, unfortunatly my accent has a tendency to cause undesired problems. As for my title, I find it intresting that so many diplomats from republican and socialist nations refuse to learn anything of noble titles. Considering the number of imperial, constitutional monarchies or even absolute monarchies in the world it would be advantagous for a diplomat to at least familiar with them."

Her blue eyes sparkled, "Why do you suppose that is?"

Kenneth took the hoof and shook it. "Great?" he smiled. "Well, I wouldn't go as far as that. I doubt anyone would go as far as that. As a nation, we are chaotic. The government puts most of its energy into making sure the whole system doesn't break down, and I'm sure if we had more than a few people off in every department we'd collapse... we aren't the most stable of countries. Or the most stable of people, come to think of that. But every day is a surprise, and I wouldn't change it for the world. It's like being in the eye of a storm; calm in a part where you expect to see chaos abounding."

"I have to admit the beaches are excellent, especially now, with the large reduction in industrial pollution. The best ones are far away from where people normally go, though: the beaches at Mackintosh and Lylia City have nothing on the beaches at Easter House Island and the western coast of Weegia. But they're hard to get to, you see."

Sarah smiled blankly again. "It's probably a case of seen one king, seen them all. They are, after all, different names for what is the same thing. And anyway, most republics I know have gained a contempt for titles after they got rid of theirs; I don't think that you can remove that dislike."

Monsignor Naitaku watched interestedly as the other guests arrived, and the diplomatic skirmishing ensued. He felt a little pang of sympathy for the Knootian representative, she looked a bit lost, and no one was talking to her. Of course relations between Tanah Burung and Knootoss were not terribly warm at the moment. If it came to that, the Vatican was more than a bit anxious about developments in Knootoss these days, too. Still, she looked a decent enough person, and individuals couldn’t always be held responsible for the actions of their governments. He resolved to greet her later, if given the opportunity.

He tried not to stare at Dr. Vacuno. He’d never had much contact with the Hell Bovines, and although he wasn’t among the group in the Vatican who owned to a rather vulgar (he felt privately,) prejudice against the cowlike sentients, he didn’t know enough about them to feel comfortable initiating a conversation.

Sometimes, it was perhaps better not to be a diplomat. If he were Bishop Taofinu, for instance, he’d have to be analyzing who was talking to whom (and how,) and who wasn’t talking to whom (and again how,) and trying to make some kind of sense from it all. As it was, he was free to simply appreciate the vivid and diverse presences at the funeral, and the loveliness of the setting.

Kenneth took the hoof and shook it. "Great?" he smiled. "Well, I wouldn't go as far as that. I doubt anyone would go as far as that. As a nation, we are chaotic. The government puts most of its energy into making sure the whole system doesn't break down, and I'm sure if we had more than a few people off in every department we'd collapse... we aren't the most stable of countries. Or the most stable of people, come to think of that. But every day is a surprise, and I wouldn't change it for the world. It's like being in the eye of a storm; calm in a part where you expect to see chaos abounding."

"But that's part of your nation's personality, after all.", Saturnino smiled pleasantly.
"Reminds me of the debates in my own land, where some groups want to ban smoking. Maybe they are right when they say lung cancer is our main cause of death, but dammit, cigar manufacturing is not only one of our main industries, but a national custom. We can't just quit smoking, it's part of our culture."

"I have to admit the beaches are excellent, especially now, with the large reduction in industrial pollution. The best ones are far away from where people normally go, though: the beaches at Mackintosh and Lylia City have nothing on the beaches at Easter House Island and the western coast of Weegia. But they're hard to get to, you see."

"As for the beaches, it's great to hear your government also cares about the enviroment. A clean beach is indeed something many countries should aim to achieve. And don't worry about distances. Nowadays, luckily, with a blimp or a chopper you can get anywhere you want, including the most beautiful of beaches.", as he finished his talking, he looked around the room, trying to guess where was each delegate from. He recognised the iansisleans, to whom he planned to talk later, as well as the lonely knootian delegate. As he gave a look, he noticed a man in a white cloak that couldn't help but stare at him, no matter how much effort the man seemed to make to avoid it. Is he some sort of priest?, he thought to himself.
Suddenly remebering his senseless ranting about cigars, he took a small box of "La Revolucion" cigars and begun smoking one pleasantly. Despite the sad scenery, he was happy, this was a great chance to meet people, after all.

OOC: anyone responding to my post?

Alkatiri nodded to Ribaun as he entered, but said nothing. Instead he made a low bow to Su-Jun Pak and gestureed for an aide to place the painting on the nearest wall. "Your generosity touches me, Colonel. I do not know this goddess, but i trust she watches over your country well."

The Rumbiak family members began to exit the room, to fetch the spikes to nail shut the dead man's coffin. As they exited, they took a wide berth around the Weegie and Alconan women who seemed to be looking daggers at one another. They laughed to see Saturnino lighting up a cigar. It was a good thing that the usual rules against smoking, driving and the like were suspended for the august company. Tanah Burung had very few laws, but a good half of them had already been broken.

(ooc: things are very hectic for me right now, may not be able to make a proper post until Monday)

There was a look of dismay as the minister walkeda way from the picture. It seemed rather astonishing that there would be no other response than just placing it on the wall of a funeral home. True, the Goddess did watch over Her Followers, but not the dead.

Col. Su-Jun Pak looked behind on her squadron. Half of them had made the motion of forgiveness with the other half wandering to the drinks. She bit her lip.

She looked towards the other representatives. To her amazement, a clothed cow seemed to be deep in conversation with the other ministers. Curious to see if was actually real, she walked towards the cow.

Alkatiri pondered, once again, how the work of greeting dignitaries was his least favourite part of the job. With a sigh, he turned to his next duty, to be done while the bereaved family was out of the room.

Circling the room, starting with Col. Pak, he handed each delegation a large mahogany box, carved ornately with bird-related motifs by the carvers of the Biak Art Co-operative, one of the best-known in the country. Each time, he bowed low, saying: "Your presence honours here us deeply. On behalf of the family and the country, a thouand thanks and a thousand blessings."

To Magda Vogels, he added with a scowl: "And i'd appreciate it if you would stop arresting our citizens, Madame."

After handing the flower back to one of the girls, Dhawan wandered back through the group. There wasn't much talking going on; most seemed to be sizing up the other representatives. The room had considerably filled out since the last time he'd taken a gauge of it, and most of them came from countries either unknown to Iansisle's foreign ministry (hardly an unusual circumstance) or ones with which he was only vaguely familiar.

There was one known commodity in the room: Javin Katana. Dhawan remembered the first time he had met the enterprising young Larkinian; the memories of his office at #2 Jameston Place seemed so far away now.

"I am sorry about being called away," he said, walking up to Javin again. He spoke with a refined Shadoranite accent; there was no trace of Nusheld or Gallaga in his voice. But then, voice inflection was one of Dhawan's talents; he could sound like he was from any of the kingdoms of the Shield or the colonies or the Dominions if he cared. With a larger, familiar smile, he continued, "Sometimes I find most refined people in my country are the most uncouth."

Col. Su-Jun Pak looked at the box. She turned it around around. It seemed to be a good place to put her change in.

Ambassador von Lutz smiled genially as he was addressed, though with a certain gravity in the smile. "I understand, of course, that grief must take precedence over diplomacy, but of course my wife and myself would like to pay our respects."

There was one known commodity in the room: Javin Katana. Dhawan remembered the first time he had met the enterprising young Larkinian; the memories of his office at #2 Jameston Place seemed so far away now.

"I am sorry about being called away," he said, walking up to Javin again. He spoke with a refined Shadoranite accent; there was no trace of Nusheld or Gallaga in his voice. But then, voice inflection was one of Dhawan's talents; he could sound like he was from any of the kingdoms of the Shield or the colonies or the Dominions if he cared. With a larger, familiar smile, he continued, "Sometimes I find most refined people in my country are the most uncouth."

"it's not a problem, you are an important man," Javin nodded and smiled, "I do remember that from my last time in Iansisle, and the most.. rude and insolent of people hid behind the most flowery words. Although it was a pleasure to see you then, as it is now, despite the circumstances." Javin pulled the muzzle out of his pocket and chuckled, "Rumbiak's parting present to me, left me this and a bottle of scotch in his will. Would you be willing to help me drain that bottle tonight in remembrance?"

Each time, he bowed low, saying: "Your presence honours here us deeply. On behalf of the family and the country, a thouand thanks and a thousand blessings."

To Magda Vogels, he added with a scowl: "And i'd appreciate it if you would stop arresting our citizens, Madame."

The Knootian ambassador simply nodded, letting the insult glide off. "No need to exchange wits like this at a funeral", she thought, "If anything, that... man... has proven his complete lack of diplomatic finesse again"

OOC:
*Adds him with priority to the 'Death list' :P *

[@Knootoss]
Col. Su-Jun Pak looked around. One of the people that the minister had given the box to had a poker face to her; as if an insult had been uttered but not in loud words. Curious to note why such a blunder had taken place she walked up to the girl and said:

"Excuse me...."

Magda Vogels turned her head to face Col. Su-Jun Pak. Her lips curled with slight surprise and with a soft voice she asked: "yes?"

((OOC: For those that don't follow my RP's, Madga Vogels has an appearance of slender, dark, 1920's style, if you get my idea. (Black for the funeral, see my first post here) She is a middle-aged woman, however and behaves like a mother hen towards the Knootians in her embassy, so definitly not a 'girl' :P))

Col. Su-Jun Pak

"Not to be...a rat...(is that the word?)...is the water placid or darkened between you and the minister?" [pointing at the guy who is giving more boxes]

The ambassador looked a bit confused, raising an eyebrow at the open display of curiosity. "Oh, I , uh, have not yet been formally introduced to the People's Representative...", she replied diplomatically.

The Markgravine of Both smiled and replied to the young woman. "Perhaps you would find my more republican title easier to deal with, Lt. Governor-General Crawford."

She nodded as the box was handed to her and then turned to the Cheif. "Excuse me but what is the significance of the box, it is quite lovely..."

As Alkatiri makes his stiff greeting to each visitor, diplomats from his department can be seen wincing: as if they think he has set back good relations with some other countries by years.

Inside each box is a copy of a book, titled (in English and Tetemelayu, the national language) Dibawa Bendera Revolusi/Under the Banner of Revolution: The Collected Speeches of Markus Rumbiak. The books are weighty ones, printed in vegetable-based ink on paper made from hemp -- for it is not the tradition here, especially in the Church of the Rocks and Trees, to print books on dead trees. Strangely though, that never converted into any reluctance to carve dead trees into boxes.

“The images on this box,” the chief explained to the Margravine of Both and anyone within earshot, “are of trees growing tall in a forest, each one unique, but forming something great and beautiful once gathered together.”

A drum beat sounded, and the Rumbiak family strode back into the room, carrying spikes and the lid to the open coffin. The chief of Sentani village -- nameless on this occasion, as is proper for formal affairs -- began to chant in the Biak tongue, known only to a few, a song chronicling Markus Rumbiak’s life.

It went on longer than was really necessary. But that, too, seemed appropriate for the dead man, who had never used a short word when he could use ten long ones about the blood of the people. Like Rumbiak’s collected speeches, the song told of a boy who refused to listen to authority, who organized others against Knootian colonial rule and was one of the leaders of his country’s march to independence, who served for decades as a member of Tanah Burung’s collective presidency, who loved sports and wine and women and men, who fathered many children and gambled splendidly, and who died in a duel through his own fatal flaw: a lack of self-control.

As the song and dance ended, the Sentani chief spoke: “We are gathered here to remember Markus Rumbiak and lay his body to rest. He died by the spike, and by the spike is his body consigned to wood and to the earth. The first spike is driven by the community that gave him birth. Bapak Rumbiak’s community was the entire nation, and above all his faith, the Church of the Rocks and Trees.”

Villagers dragged a lid over the plain wooden coffin. A naked woman stepped forward, carrying a hammer and a spike. At 175 cm, she was tall for this part of the world, and would have been striking in appearance no matter what she wore. Here was a priestess in the Church of the Rocks and Trees, little known to outsiders except as the collective name for the nature cults that were here in Tanah Burung before the arrival of Christianity and Islam. She leaned forward, kissing the dead man full on the lips, and began to sing: a simple song in a clear voice and words that no one gave any sign of understanding. At last she held a spike against the coffin’s rim and drove home the first spike to nail the coffin shut.

“The second spike,” the chief said “shall be driven by his comrades in life. Bapak Rumbiak worked in government, and so the government is represented by Mari Alkatiri, the people’s representative for foreign affairs and human rights.”

Alkatiri came forward, accepted a spike and a hammer from the family, and approached the coffin. “Markus served the nation with all his being,” he said softly, looking uncomfortable and awkward at the need to speak in public. “He was passionate about the fight for freedom. Markus stood for something, and backed down to no one. A nation mourns him, but in mourning we rededicate ourselves to the ideals for which he stood for: the greatest freedom of all peoples everywhere. Markus: in memory of you.” He took the hammer and pounded home his spike.

A younger man was up next. “My friends, i’m Simon Rumbiak, the son of Markus,” he said. “I’m here to drive home a spike for the people he was closest to: his family. There are many of you here who had a special place in my father’s heart, and I know that your presence here would have touched him deeply. I think he was all about friendship among peoples, not about his government work. To be truthful, he found all that boring. It was the cut and thrust of debate that he loved, the thrill of it all. It was a tragic death, and there are many who are angry at how it happened. But don’t be. My father was about peace. He loved nothing better than a drink with a political enemy, a cup of cheer, a dance or two. Not bitterness. He would have loved to see you all here, friends. I know that his family is deeply grateful.” Simon took the hammer in his turn and drove home the third spike.

The chief stood again. “The final spike by tradition is driven by those who gave him the gift of death. The man who delivered the blow is not among us. Will another stand in his place?” He looked towards the back of the room, scanning it with his eyes.

Dhawan blinked slowly as the entrancing beauty of the funeral ceremony suddenly changed. He fought the nearly overwhelming urge to glance to either side of himself.

"Chief, as Mr Ashtonbury and his Honorable Company -" Dhawan's lip twitched ever so slightly "- did not think it appropriate to attend, I offer to drive the last spike in his name."

He walked slowly, even for his slightly more than fifty years, from the back to the podium, doing as Simon, Alkatiri, and the priestess had done before him. Dhawan had seen before that a short speech was appropriate, but couldn't help gazing silently over the crowd for a good fifteen seconds.

"I didn't know Markus as well as I wish I had," he started at last, "though I knew him well enough to realize what a kind-hearted soul, what a truly kind-hearted man, good father, and compassionate statesman he was.

"When I first heard that Markus - the news," he continued after a brief pause, "I could scarcely believe it. He was such an institution, such an inspiration, such a rock to look to in times of trouble; superheroes can't die, can they?"

Dohan sat back in quiet reflection. He had always heard that Dhawan was one of the Commonwealth's great orators; this stumbling, emotion-charged, and slightly off-kilter speech didn't seem to prove that. Perhaps he was only at his best with speech notes in front of a herd of politicians?

"And so," Dhawan concluded, "I drive this final spike for Markus; but I also drive it for all the great peoples of Tanah Burung and Gallaga. Markus, dear Markus: I shall do my best to carry on your work." And he drove the last spike home.

Magda looked dead serious during the whole affair, her expression being one of earnest interest. Even when the singing went on, she suppressed her feelings of being slightly uncomfortable in these surroundings. She breathed as small sigh of relief that at least the family had not chosen to politicise his funeral.

As the last spike was nailed, two tears rolled through Saturnino's cheeks. He had met Rumbiak during the first Third World conference and, despite he never had the chance to engage in a conversation with him, he had always considered the man a very noble person.
Funerals were sad, yet very necesary events indeed.

As Alkatiri makes his stiff greeting to each visitor, diplomats from his department can be seen wincing: as if they think he has set back good relations with some other countries by years.

Javin greets him in kind and walks to his seat, rolling his eyes at Alkatiri's demeanor.

Someone needs to pull the stick out of their a...

He was interrupted when he opened the box and looked at the book curiously, Looks like interesting reading... I wonder if I can smoke these pages...

Javin chuckled at the length of the ceremony. Rumbiak would've loved this. I don't even think he could have spoken this long, at least without drawing a breath.

He looked at Dhawan curiously as the man walked up to the front and spoke.

It was not the custom in Sentani to applaud -- least of all at a funeral. And so no one applauded as Hiresh Dhawan finished speaking and a dirge began to be played on an instrument that looked almost, but not entirely, unlike a flute. But anyone with an ounce of empathy would have sensed a hostile atmosphere as the Gallagan began to speak, turn to a respectful silence.

As Dhawan spoke his final words, Simon Rumbiak walked forward -- his arms outstretched at first, then fallign to his side as if he had remembered something. "I know it's not the custom to embrace in public in Iansisle," he said quietly to Dhawan. "But truly, i thank you for the honour of your words."

Monsignor Naitaku bowed his head respectfully as each of the participants approached the coffin and spoke (or sang,) and performed their part of the ceremony. (He kept his head slightly bowed throughout the priestess’ song and actions; this allowed him both to concentrate on the beauty of the song, and to discreetly avoid staring at the naked priestess.)

He was particularly moved by the words of Rumbiak’s son, delivered with such grave and joyful poise. Truly, the dead leader had been a remarkable and beloved man, a great loss to Tanah Burung and his people. But some intuition, born of the expressions and demeanor of the people of Tanah Burung present, led Naitaku to believe that in death, perhaps, Rumbiak’s leadership might become more powerful than ever.

He noted Alkatiri’s awkwardness with some surprise; although the man had been polite when introduced to the Monsignor, his manner had been stiff—unusual in a diplomat, Naitaku thought. He wondered how Bishop Taofinu would get along with this man. The Bishop was easy to like, of course, but still…

He most carefully held the box and the book it contained in his lap. It would be returned to the Vatican where it would be carefully catalogued and studied as an artifact of the local culture, as well as the product of human endeavor in creating beauty.

Col. Su-Jun Pak paid respects to the coffin, then turned to the Knootoss representative:

"Col. Su-Jun Pak, Republican Air Force, People's Republic of Kay Son"

"There are many things which are not customary in Iansisle," replied Dhawan, but he didn't show any signs of wanting to embrace. A brief, awkward silence reigned as he considered the younger Rumbiak.

"It was my pleasure. Your father was a great man, Simon," he said at last. "Greater than most any I've known. I only wish I had gotten to know him better at the winter celebration."

The roof of the house, with a great creaking of gears, began to retract. No fancy technology, this: the gears were turned by the great number of sweaty men outside, not by electricity. Still, the dark room was transformed into an open-air space filled with sunlight. As the roof retracted, a song began: starting as a dirge, it gradually became faster and faster. As the house of death became a house of life, so too did the song of death become a song of celebration and rebirth.

Finally it ended, and the Rumbiak family members came forward to lift the coffin up on their shoulders: not an easy task, given the enormous bulk of the dead man. Still, they shouldered it carefully and began to carry it outside into the streets of Sentani.

Outside, a group of about 200 young people was waiting, carrying the flags of Loro Sae province and banners inscribed with slogans from Markus Rumbiak's speeches. "Down with Colonialism," "No Countrry is Free Until All Countries Are Free," "Colonialism is a Disease of the Poor in Spirit." Surging towards the coffin, they shouted together "Ingin Rumbiak, Berjuang untuk Merdeka!" -- Remember Rumbiak, Fight for Freedom!

They tried to grab the coffin from the family. "We are his true heirs, give us the body!" shouted one boy.

Javin chuckled as he saw the crowd and heard the chants from his position, Good God... this is just what he would've wanted too.. He was never one to turn down a crowd of protestors.

Magda shivered lightly as she heared the somehow familiar chants. She was going through a bit of a Deja Vu. She then nods to the Kay Son representative with a smile, saying nothing.

Eye on Society
By John Supermodel Santana

Goodness, what a galaxy of stars on the way to Sentani! Who knows if the little village can cope. I once went to Sentani, dear readers. You've seen one grass hut, you've seen them all.

The nautical splendour should wow them in Loro Sae: a shiny new destroyer from Iansisle, fresh from the sweat shop. That's the first time a warship is being allowed into coastal waters in half a century. I'm sure the river banks will be lined six deep to watch the pinnace sail majestically up the river. Watch out for crocodiles (no, the real kind, dahling, not the footballing variety). I hear former Prime Minister Hiresh Dhawan is quite a looker! Yee-haw!

Speaking of foxes, i can barely wait to see swahbuckling Javin Katana arrive aboard his glistening phallic jet at Tiga Burung field. Baby, stop by and see me aboard the steam barges. Just ask for the Supermodel, everyone knows me! Ooh, i'm warm just thinking about it. Oh, and condolences on your brother. I'm ready to comfort you in your time of pain. Woof!

Javin may have to take a number, though. I'm hearing breathless reprots about Ryan Marshall, the dashing young Imitoran diplomat who's dashing about the countryside in a red sports car. Shh! Don't tell the pollution patrol, but i think it's petroleum-powered. Me, i'm not too worried. You've got a fast car? I'm a fast gal.

As to this Ribaun from SeOCC, maybe not. I hear they don't like it when strangers come on to them. Some sort of fancy helicopter the dude's flying in. Anyway, i hear new foreign affairs supremo Mari Alkatiri will be kissing up to this fellow.

Then there's our fellow tropical paradise, The Weegies. Now, they haven't let me in on which Weegie in particular will be there singing the Internationale and (i'll bet) taking in a football match, but any Weegie is welcome, wight? We can commiserate over how we hate and miss our colonizers at the same time, over a nice cup of "special" tea, nudge nudge.

I bet neither of them have much time for Magda Vogels, the renowned horticultural enthusiast who gets to carry the banner of cash-mad Knootoss here in the tropics. The lady wants to come in a gas guzzler. Fingers will wag, but apparently they're letting her drive it on in.

But in all seriousness. We're honoured at the news of a Monsignor all the way from Rome itself, young fellow name of Emori Naitaku?. Now, there are some very nasty rumours that your Supermodel doesn't go to mass every day. I assure you, i'm there with bells on for the cuties they're churning out from seminary these days. It's just that the wafers go straight to my hips.

I'm especially excited we're to be graced with foreign royalty from Alcona & Hubris, a high-and-mighty named Elizabeth who's arriving on board her eponymous yacht. Eponymous? Me, i wax my legs with it! I had a word with the Sentani protocol-walla, and he tells me he's thrilled to have the chance to greet Her Gorgeousness in the manner to which he wishes to become accustomed. But the yacht's being asked not to fire guns. Might frighten the locals, dont'cha know?

Junaklion Herald
Syskeyian Senate issues death warrant to obscure Tanah Burung society writer
SYSKEYIAPOLIS (AP)- By a unanimous vote and with the total consent of the Assembly, the Syskeyian Senate issued the senatum ultimum consultum, against Tanah Burung writer John "Supermodel" Santana.
The whole ordeal began when Senator Alphonsus Yukanchi of New Nicaea, a member of the Senate's Foreign Affairs Committee, came across Santana's column "Eye on Society" while reading foreign newspapers in an attempt to see how the rest of the world viewed things.
"Thta article was one of the most effeminate, emasculated, unsubstantial pieces of writing that I have ever read," the Senator remarked. "It's just disgusting.
Eventually the entire Senate got around the reading the article.
"It's a kind of 'morbid curiosity' phenomenon," remarked Senator Catherine Songchay of Bandalore. "Why are people always interested when they hear of some disgusting and immoral thing? Same thing here, though I'll regret it," she concluded, holding her stomach.
While many Senators remakred that the article made them "sick to their stomach," all denied to confirm just how sick they got.
However, a lot of Senators have been seen in the bathrooms, and Dominican University professor James Yungko predicted that "there hasn't been this much vomiting in Syskeyiapolis since the influenza outbreak of 1472."
According to the Constitutio Reipublicae, the senatum ultimum consultum, derived froma similar Roman custom, gives the Consuls unlimited authority to deal with the targeted person, including death. To prevent abuse of this measure, the senatum ultimum consultum can only be passed by the absolute consensus of the Senate, and then it can only take effect with the "consent" of the entire Syskeyian Assembly.
When asked about this development, President and First Consul Benedict Michael Sukothai remarked that he would not act upon the consultum for the time being, as he had "better things to do than to hunt down an inconsequential sodomite."

God bless,

The Republic of Syskeyia

-------------------------------
The Hague, Knootoss
A small, classy café
-------------------------------

I'm In The Market For You (http://www.btinternet.com/~dreklind/sounds/Inthemkt.wav) played in the background of a small, elite lounge / café

David Davinci, a corporate executive with ‘old wealth’ in his family had just entered the café, wearing an embroidered jacket with stars on his breast and a serene expression on his flat face. He spoke in a refined Dutch in which his grandfathers had not only spoken but thought, and with the gentle, patronizing intonation natural to a man of importance who had grown old in the better parts of society. He went up to Anna de Meer and kissed her hand, presenting to her his bald, scented, and shining head, and complacently seated himself next to her.

"First of all, dear friend, tell me how you are,” he said calmly.
"Can one be well while suffering morally? Can one be calm in times like these if one has any feeling?" said Anna De Meer. "You are staying the whole evening, I hope?"

"And the reception at the Lavenrunzian ambassador's? I must put in an appearance there," replied David. "My daughter is coming for me to take me there."

Anna pouted, hiding her disappointment not too well and inquired: “What has been decided about this Syskeyian embargo? I mean, behind the scenes. You know everything."

"What can one say about it?" replied Davinci in a cold, listless tone. "What has been decided? They have decided that the Syskeyian government has burnt his boats, and I believe that we are ready to burn ours."

David Davinci always spoke languidly, like an actor repeating a stale part. Anna De Meer on the contrary, despite her forty years, overflowed with animation and impulsiveness. To be an enthusiast had become her social vocation and, sometimes even when she did not feel like it, she became enthusiastic in order not to disappoint the expectations of those who knew her. The subdued smile which, though it did not suit her faded features, always played round her lips expressed, as in a spoiled child, a continual consciousness of her charming defect, which she neither wished, nor could, nor considered it necessary, to correct.

David continued with inflections of mild irony “In fact, they recently issued a rather virulent attack and a Fatwah against a society writer of some sort… from Tanah Burung I believe. The Roman Catholic version of a Fatwah at least. I must say, it is indeed the best course of action to conclude our affairs with them and allow history to unfold the way it unfolds. We would only be allowing their conflict with Arda to escalate because of their own actions," he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "From what I heard the government would have enacted sanctions because of this nasty stain they put on international relations, I imagine if they had not been enacted already.”

Anna De Meer burst out:
"Oh, don't speak to me of Syskeyia like that. Perhaps I don't understand things, but Chimaea never has wished, and does not wish to abandon them. Knootoss and Chimaea must save them. Our good and wonderful government has to perform the noblest role on earth, to crush the spreading darkness, which has become more terrible than ever in the person of this murderer and villain Melkor! We must not let all nations fall to them one by one... whom, I ask you, can Michael Sukothai rely on to repel the Dark Lord Morgoth? Nobody? ... our government, with its commercial spirit will not and cannot understand the Syskeyians loftiness of the soul. What real offer did Galadriël make? None. And what have we promised? Nothing! Van Mierlo ((Knootian Foreign minister)) has always declared that Melkor is invincible, and that all of humanity is powerless before him as long as they fight alone.... And I don't believe a word that he or Galadriël say about solidarity.

She suddenly paused, smiling at her own impetuosity.

"I think," said David with a smile, "that if you had been holding those negotiations instead of our dear Galadriël you would have brokered a deal with them by assault. You are so eloquent. Will you give me a cup of tea?"

*its late here, some stuff including characters plagiarised. Just making a point here that there are limits to antagonism and fundy homophobe behaviour Knootoss is willing to accept. I apologise for the offtopicness, we now return to your regularly scheduled RP.

After paying his respects to the dead hero, Vicente gave a look to the book he had been given.
*The duque will love this*, he thought to himself.

The sudden noise coming from the streets interrupted his mind.
*For the horns of my mother! Rumbiak keeps movilising the people, even after his death*
As a restless race that the hell bovines are, Saturnino felt the temptation to join the crowd. But he, unlike many of his co-workers, was a serious diplomat. He remained seated and looking at the events with curiosity....

According to the Constitutio Reipublicae, the senatum ultimum consultum, derived froma similar Roman custom, gives the Consuls unlimited authority to deal with the targeted person, including death. To prevent abuse of this measure, the senatum ultimum consultum can only be passed by the absolute consensus of the Senate, and then it can only take effect with the "consent" of the entire Syskeyian Assembly.
When asked about this development, President and First Consul Benedict Michael Sukothai remarked that he would not act upon the consultum for the time being, as he had "better things to do than to hunt down an inconsequential sodomite."

God bless,

The Republic of Syskeyia

ooc: Oh, yawn. Homophobic fatwas are so very dull, my dear.

ooc: Oh, yawn. Homophobic fatwas are so very dull, my dear.

OOC: Actually, it's not a fatwa, it applies only to the Consul currently running the country (he can order the guy to be killed, but other than that you just can't go and kill the guy), and it has nothing to do with the Roman Catholic Church and her hierchary. Purely a governmental thing (though the issue of morality may come into play here.)

Furthermore, the Senate did not pass the senatum ultimum consultum against John "Supermodel" Santana because he was a homosexual, they passed it because he was a blatantly decadent homosexual who apparent had his masculinity sucked out of him.

Anna De Meer burst out:
"Oh, don't speak to me of Syskeyia like that. Perhaps I don't understand things, but Chimaea never has wished, and does not wish to abandon them. Knootoss and Chimaea must save them. Our good and wonderful government has to perform the noblest role on earth, to crush the spreading darkness, which has become more terrible than ever in the person of this murderer and villain Melkor! We must not let all nations fall to them one by one... whom, I ask you, can Michael Sukothai rely on to repel the Dark Lord Morgoth? Nobody? ... our government, with its commercial spirit will not and cannot understand the Syskeyians loftiness of the soul. What real offer did Galadriël make? None. And what have we promised? Nothing! Van Mierlo ((Knootian Foreign minister)) has always declared that Melkor is invincible, and that all of humanity is powerless before him as long as they fight alone.... And I don't believe a word that he or Galadriël say about solidarity."

Go Anna! Go Anna! Go, go, go Anna! :D

God bless,

The Republic of Syskeyia

Uh huh. Here's a thought Sys. Grad a dictionary, look up irony. Then look up sense of humour. Then, try again. Hey, did you ever hear that song by The Clash: "I'm so bored, with Syskeyia"?

[never mind]

Furthermore, the Senate did not pass the senatum ultimum consultum against John "Supermodel" Santana because he was a homosexual, they passed it because he was a blatantly decadent homosexual who apparent had his masculinity sucked out of him.

OOC: And can we expect the Syskeyian govenment to issue similiar decrees against all other men it decides aren't manly enough for it's taste?

Uh huh. Here's a thought Sys. Grad a dictionary, look up irony. Then look up sense of humour. Then, try again. Hey, did you ever hear that song by The Clash: "I'm so bored, with Syskeyia"?

I prefer "Syskeyia Calling", to be honest.

Quick, TB, get Santana over here where I can hide him from the Syskeyian Inquisition... :wink:

Galdagan News Wire
Courtesy of the Transnational Press Coalition

CAERNAVREN (TPC), May 17 - Topping today's international news, Defense Minister Jacob Cortana related to TPC representatives that he had received diplomatic communications early this morning about the plight of the Republic of Syskeyia. The notice, which came in through the Coalition of Anti-Capitalist Economies' diplomatic network, indicated that Syskeyia presently sits juxtaposed against the irrepressible hard power of the Imperial Dominion of Melkor Unchained. When asked to comment on his thoughts regarding the matter, Cortana responded somewhat befuddled, "Oh. I was supposed to have some opinion on this?" When asked what the Commonwealth intended to do about the matter, Prime Minister Thibodeaux responded candidly, "Do?"

In related news, the Syskeyian Assembly voted unanimously to issue a death warrant to a noted society writer of Tanah Burung, John "Supermodel" Santana. A somewhat "flamboyant" article written by the man with his "eye on society" managed to evoke widespread baseless overblown fundamentalist Christian xenophobia, and immediately the Assembly issued a "senatum ultimum consultum" in Santana's regard after an exceedingly queer round of gastrointestinal discomfort. Prime Minister Thibodeaux immediately offered asylum to the author within the protective borders of Galdago, and indicated that he hoped this unfortunate situation would be the beginning of stronger diplomatic ties between the Commonwealth and its IFTA trade partner, as well as a clear defense of freedom of the press and civil rights worldwide. An independent polling agency, the Brackenbaugh Statistical Analysis Group, selected a cross section of Christians within Galdago to study their feelings of favor towards Syskeyia. Poll results indicate that, when asked what they though of the impending conflict between Morgoth's looming forces and the Republic, 89% replied, "I like my mirthless Inquisitors extra crispy." Also, when asked whether they wished to see an intervention by Galdago on Syskeyia's behalf in the conflict with Melkor Unchained, 94% answered, "Wait a minute. You honestly expect me to allow my tax dollars to pay for that?"

**CCBC report**

Following close on the heels of the public backlash over Iesus Christi's muder of a Catholic priest, a new wave of repulsion has swept Chimaean society on the news that the Syskeyian government has issued a death warrant against someone for being 'blatantly homosexual'.

A closely-worded statement from the Chimaean Foreign Ministry that was released this afternoon expressed indignation at the death warrant, and demanded it be withdrawn in favour of 'something less extreme and more humane'.

It is believed that the Prime Minister has issued an instruction to the Chimaean Ambassador in Syskeyia to discuss the situation with the Syskeyian government.

The homosexual lobby in New Sydney has strongly condemned the death warrant as 'tyrannical and intolerant to an almost Hitlerian degree' and have demanded stronger action by the Government.

SNN Special Report

In a unanimous vote today, the Syskeyian Parliament removed the senatus ultimum consultum against Tanah Burung society writer John "Supermodel" Santana.

While 99+% of the population considers homosexual relations to be immoral and homosexuality itself to be "intrinsically flawed," the majority of Syskeyians disagreed with the issuing senatus ultimum consultum against someone who clearly did not deserved it.

"I've read the article, and it's disgusting enough," remarked Teresa Dhanokyan, a senior at St. Teresa of Avila High School in Junaklion. "But the ultimum consultum? That's just way too much."

Furthermore, President and First Consul Benedict Michael Sukothai issued an international apology for the edict, claiming it was "a rash act" that "seriously abused such powers of the government" and something that "I had no intenting of enforcing.

The Syskeyian Senate also sent a letter of apology to Santana, saying that he "had done nothing so grevious as to merit such a grave edict" but that he should develop some morals and some testosterone.

OOC: *Winces at international rebuke* Sorry about that. I'm not a "kill all the gays" kind of guy- I do oppose same-sex marriage and think that sodomy (and other acts of homosexual sexual intercourse), but homosexuals do have rights as human beings and those should not be violated. Note that Sukothai never intended to do anything about the edict, and that it was a rash act.

Though Santana's article does sort of throw all of the TB's Church throws all the "gay couples are upright Christians too" argument out the window.

Oh, and Syskeyia has never had any Inquisitions. We have religious freedom (except for Satanists and "cafeteria Catholics"), homosexuals aren't persecuted (though sodomy is illegal in some provinces), and we're generally nice people.

God bless,

The Republic of Syskeyia

OOC: And can we expect the Syskeyian govenment to issue similiar decrees against all other men it decides aren't manly enough for it's taste?

Nope.

^bump^

God bless,

The Republic of Syskeyia

(OK, i said i wouldn't be replying IC. But, Galdago has given good reasons to change my mind as to one aspect.)

In related news, the Syskeyian Assembly voted unanimously to issue a death warrant to a noted society writer of Tanah Burung, John "Supermodel" Santana. A somewhat "flamboyant" article written by the man with his "eye on society" managed to evoke widespread baseless overblown fundamentalist Christian xenophobia, and immediately the Assembly issued a "senatum ultimum consultum" in Santana's regard after an exceedingly queer round of gastrointestinal discomfort. Prime Minister Thibodeaux immediately offered asylum to the author within the protective borders of Galdago, and indicated that he hoped this unfortunate situation would be the beginning of stronger diplomatic ties between the Commonwealth and its IFTA trade partner, as well as a clear defense of freedom of the press and civil rights worldwide.

Galdago Dreaming

A death threat by the zany cartoon character "Ayatollah Sukothai" has vaulted obscure society writer John "Supermodel" Santana into the international headlines.

Santana laughed off the edict of death and the subsequent half-apology as "criminally dimwitted" but said he was "tickled pink" at the offer of protective asylum in the Commonwealth of Galdago. "I don't need the asylum, but i'd love to tour Galdago in my hot pink convertible," he said. "In fact, I leave Sunday, as soon as i finish ironing my hair." Santana is said to have accepted an invitation to speak on freedom of speech issues in Galdago.

But Santana's 15 minutes of fame may be drawing to a close. The support from Galdago came along with an expression of hope for closer ties with Tanah Burung, and this diplomatic hook-up is quickly becoming the real story. "We're very keen to see that happen," said people's representative for foreign affairs and human rights Mari Alkatiri. Sources report that the collective presidency has proposed cooperation on a range of issues, an exchange of ambassadors, a trade agreement, and joint development of an earth-to-bigot missile defence system.